{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_13053/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_13053","id":"gutenberg_13053","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13053","summary":null,"tags":["Art -- Periodicals","Category: Art","Category: History - European","Category: History - Modern (1750+)","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Literature -- Periodicals","Science -- Periodicals","The International Magazine of Literature, Art, and Science"],"text":"INTERNATIONAL WEEKLY MISCELLANY\n\nOf Literature, Art, and Science.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nVol. I. NEW YORK, JULY 22, 1850. No. 4.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nLITERARY COTERIES IN PARIS IN THE LAST CENTURY.\n\nThe revolutions of society are almost as sure if not as regular as\nthose of the planets. The inventions of a generation weary after\na while, but they are very likely to be revived if they have once\nministered successfully to pleasure or ambition. The famous coteries\nin which learning was inter-blended with fashion in the golden age\nof French intelligence, are being revived under the new Republic,\nand women are again quietly playing with institutions and liberties,\nperhaps as dangerously as when Mesdames de Tencin, Pompadour,\nGeoffrin, Deffant, Poplini\u00e8re and L'Espinasse assembled the destinies\nnightly in their drawing rooms.\n\nThe tendency to such associations is displayed also in most of our\nown cities. The Town and Country Club of Boston, the Wistar Parties\nin Philadelphia, the Literary Club in Charleston, the recent\n_converzaziones_ at the houses of President Charles King of Columbia\nCollege, and others, and the well-known Saturday Evenings at Miss\nLynch's, where literature and art and general speculation have for\nsome seasons had a common center, all illustrate the disposition of an\nactive and cultivated society, not engrossed by special or spasmodic\nexcitements, to cluster by rules of feeling and capacity: and clusters\nof passion and mind are rarely for a long period inert. When they\nbecome common they are apt to assume the direction of private custom\nand public opinion and affairs.\n\nIn view of these things, we are sure that the readers of the\n_International_ will be interested in the following translation of\nProfessor Schlosser's brilliant survey of those _bureaux d'esprit_\nwhich so much distinguished society and influenced its history\nin Europe, from the beginning to the middle of the last century.\nSchlosser is a Privy Councillor and Professor of History in the\nUniversity of Heidelberg. He is chiefly known in continental Europe\nby his great work, the History of the Eighteenth Century, and of\nthe Nineteenth till the overthrow of the French Empire, a work which\nderives its value not merely from the profound and minute acquaintance\nof the author with the subject, from the new views which are presented\nand the hitherto unexamined sources from which much has been derived,\nbut from his well-known independence of character--from the general\nconclusions which he draws from the comparative views of the\nresources, conduct, manners, institutions and literature of the great\nEuropean nations, during a period unparalleled in the history of\nthe world for the development of the physical and mental powers of\nmankind, for the greatness of the events which occurred, for the\nprogress of knowledge, for the cultivation of the arts and sciences,\nfor all that contributes to the greatness and prosperity of nations.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf we venture to bring the Parisian evening, dinner and supper parties\ninto connection with the general history of Europe, and the ladies\nalso at whose houses these parties took place, we can neither be\nblamed for scrupulous severity, nor for paradoxical frivolity. It\nbelongs to the character of the eighteenth century, that the historian\nwho wishes to bring the true springs of conduct and sources of action\nto light, must condescend even so far. It must also be borne in mind,\nwhen the clever women and societies of Paris are spoken of, that\nthe demands of the age and progressive improvement and culture were\naltogether unattended to at the court of Louis XV., as well before as\nafter the death of Cardinal Fleury, and that all which was neglected\nat Versailles was cultivated in Paris. The court and the city had been\nhitherto united in their wants and in their judgment; the court ruled\neducation, fashion and the general tone, as it ruled the state; now,\nhowever, they completely separated. Afterward the voice of the city\nwas raised in opposition, and the voice of this opposition became the\norgan of the age and of the country; but it was felt and recognized\nin Versailles only when it was too late. How easy it would have\nbeen then, as Marmontel had shown very clearly in his memoirs, to\nfetter Voltaire, who was offensive to the people, and how important\nthis would have been for the state, will appear in the following\nparagraphs, in which we shall show that even the Parisian theatre,\nwhose boards were regarded as a model by all Europe, freed itself\nfrom the influence of the court, became dependent on the tone-giving\ncircles of Paris, and assumed a decidedly democratic direction.\n\nAs early as the time of Louis XIV., the court had separated itself\nfrom the learned men of the age; and at the end of the seventeenth\ncentury the houses and societies could be historically pointed out,\nin which judgments were pronounced upon questions of literature in\nthe same manner as the pit became the tribunal to which plays and\nplay-actors must appeal; we shall not, however, go back so far, but\nkeep the later times always in our view. In those associations in\nwhich the Abb\u00e9 de Chaulieu and other friends of Vendome and Conti led\nthe conversation, literature was brought wholly under the dominion of\naudacious pretension and immorality, in the time of the Regency and\nduring the minority of Louis XV. In reference to the leaders there\nneeds no proof. What could a Philip of Orleans or his Dubois take\nunder his protection, except what corresponded with his ideas and mode\nof life?\n\nThe time of the minority of Louis XV. and that of the administration\nof Cardinal Fleury was for several reasons highly favorable to the\nformation of private societies, which entertained themselves with\nwit and satire, and carried on a quiet but continual contest with the\npersons and systems which were protected by the government and the\nclergy. Fleury regarded everything as sinful which had the appearance\nof worldly knowledge, or partook of the character of jests, novels,\nor plays; Louis, as he grew up, showed himself quite indifferent to\neverything which had no connection with religious ceremonies, hunting,\nor handsome women. Fleury spoke and wrote in that ecclesiastical\nphraseology which was laughed at in the world: he favored the clergy,\nschool learning, the tone of the times of Louis XIV.; but the spirit\nof the age demanded something different from this. All that was\nregarded with disfavor by Fleury assembled around those celebrated\nmen, who held their reunions in Paris, and this court soon became more\nimportant to the vain than the royal one itself, and it was proved by\nexperience that reputation and glory might be gained without the\naid or protection of the court at Versailles. This no one could have\npreviously believed, but the public soon learnt to do homage to the\ntone-giving scholars, to the ladies and gentlemen who fostered them,\nas it had formerly paid its homage to the ministers of the court.\nThis gave to the ladies, who collected around them the celebrated men\nof the time (for reputation was much more the question than merit,)\nand who protected and entertained them, a degree of weight in the\npolitical and literary world, which made them as important in\nthe eighteenth century as Richelieu and Colbert had been in the\nseventeenth.\n\nThe queen, on her part, might have been able to exercise a beneficial\ninfluence, however little power she had in other respects, when\ncompared with the mistresses of the king; but the daughter of\nStanislaus Leckzinski was a gentle, admirable woman, although somewhat\nnarrow-minded, and wholly given up to irrational devotional exercises\nand bigotry. Like her father, she was altogether in the hands of the\nJesuits, blindly and unconditionally their servant; such an attachment\nto a religious order, and such blind devotedness as hers would be\nquite incredible, if we did not possess her own and her father's\nautograph letters, as proofs of the fact. We shall present our readers\nwith some extracts from these letters, which are preserved in the\narchives of the French empire, when we come to speak of the abolition\nof the order of Jesuits.\n\nAs to the enlightened mistresses who had much more power and influence\nthan the queen, Pompadour seemed, as we learn from Marmontel, desirous\nof participating in the literature of the age and of doing something\nfor its promotion, when she saw how important writers and the\ninfluence of the press had become; but partly because both she and\nthe king were altogether destitute of any sense for the beautiful\nin literature or art, and partly because the better portion of the\nlearned men at the time neither could nor would be pleased with what\na Bernis, D\u00fcclos and Marmontel were disposed to be, who undoubtedly\nreceived some marks of favor from her. Voltaire is therefore quite\nright when he lays upon the court the blame of allowing the influence\nwhich literature then exercised upon the people, to be withdrawn\naltogether from king and his ministers, and to be transferred to the\nhands of the Parisian ladies and farmers-general, &c. Voltaire, in his\nwell-known verses,[1] admits, with great openness and simplicity, that\nhe attached much importance to the applause of a court, although it\nneither possessed judgment nor feeling for the merits of a writer,\nnor for poetical beauties; and he complains at the same time that this\ncourt had neither duly estimated his tragedies nor his epic poems. It\nis characteristic both of the court and of Voltaire that he eagerly\npressed himself forward for admission to its favor, and sought to\nattract attention by a work which be himself called a piece of trash,\nand that the court extended its approbation and applause to this\nmiserable and altogether inappropriate piece, ('La Princesse de\nNavarre,') which he composed on the occasion of the Dauphin's\nmarriage with the Infanta of Spain, whilst it entirely neglected his\nmasterpieces.\n\nThe Paris societies had got full possession of the field of\nliterature, and erected their tribunals before the middle of the\ncentury, whilst at Versailles nothing was spoken or thought of except\namusements and hunting, Jesuits and processions, and the grossest\nsensuality prevailed. The members of the Parisian societies were not a\nwhit more moral or decent in their behavior than those about the court\nat Versailles, but they carried on open war against hypocrisy, and all\nthat was praised and approved of by the court.\n\nWe shall now proceed to mention three or four of the most\ndistinguished of those societies, which have obtained an historical\nimportance, not merely for the French literature and mental and moral\nculture of the eighteenth century, but for Europe in general, without\nhowever restraining ourselves precisely within the limits of the half\ncentury. The minute accounts which Grimm has given, for the most part\naffect only the later periods; we turn our attention therefore the\nrather to what the weak, vain, talkative Marmontel has related to us\non the subject in his 'Autobiography,' because Rousseau was by far\ntoo one-sided in his notices, and drew public attention to the most\ndemoralized and degraded members of the circle only.\n\nThe first lady who must be mentioned, is Madame de Tencin. She\nbelonged to the period within which we must confine ourselves, and she\ngained for herself such a name, not only in Paris, but in all Europe,\nthat she was almost regarded as the creator of that new literature\nwhich stood in direct and bold opposition to the prevailing taste,\ninasmuch as she received at her house, entertained and cherished,\nthose who were really its originators and supporters. This lady could\nnot boast of the morality of her early years, nor of her respect even\nfor common propriety. She is not only notorious for having exposed,\nwhen a child, the celebrated D'Alembert, who was her natural son, and\nfor regarding with indifference his being brought up by the wife of a\ncommon glazier as her own son; but stories still worse than even these\nare told of her. She enriched herself, as many others did, in the time\nof Law's scheme, by no very creditable means; and fell under such a\nserious suspicion of having been privy to the death of one of those\nwho had carried on an intrigue with her, that she was imprisoned\nand involved in a criminal prosecution, from which she escaped, not\nthrough her own innocence, but by means of the powerful influence of\nher distinguished relations and friends.\n\nAll this did not prevent Pope Benedict XIV., who, as Cardinal\nLambertini, had been often at her house, as a member of the society of\nmen of talents who met there, from carrying on a continual intercourse\nwith her by letter; he also sent her his picture as a testimony of\nkind remembrance. This lady succeeded in procuring for her brother the\ndignity of a cardinal, and through him had great weight with Fleury,\nwith the court, and with the city in general; she is also known as\nan authoress. As we are not writing a history of literature properly\nspeaking, we pass by her novels in silence, with this remark only,\nthat people are accustomed to place the 'Comte de Comminges,' written\nby Madame de Tencin, on the same footing with the 'Princess de Cl\u00eave,'\nby Madame de Lafayette.\n\nThe society in the house of Madame de Tencin consisted of well-known\nmen of learning, and some younger men of distinguished name and\nfamily; she united, in later years, a certain amiability with her\ncare for the entertainment and recreation of those whom she had once\nreceived into her house. This society, after the death of De Tencin,\nassembled in the house of Geoffrin. It appears, however, that Madame\nde Tencin, as well as the whole fashionable world to which she\nbelonged, could never altogether disavow their contempt for science,\nif indeed it be true, that she was accustomed to call her society\nby the indecent by-name of her m\u00e9nagerie. Fontenelle, Montesquieu,\nMairan, Helvetius who was then quite young and present rather as a\nhearer than a speaker, Marivaux and Astruc, formed the nucleus of this\nclever society and led the conversation. Marmontel, who was not well\nsuited to this society, in which more real knowledge and a deeper\ntrain of thought was called for than he possessed, informs us what\nthe tone of this society was, and speaks of their hunting after lively\nconceits and brilliant flashes of wit, in a somewhat contemptuous\nmanner. Marmontel, however, himself admits, that he was only once in\nthe society, and that in order to read his 'Aristomenes,' and that\ngreater simplicity and good humor prevailed there than in the house of\nMadame Geoffrin, in which he was properly at home.\n\nMadame de Tencin's influence upon the new literature of the opposition\nparty, or rather upon the spirit of the age, may be best judged of\nfrom the fact, that she largely contributed to the first preparation\nand favorable reception of Montesquieu's \"Spirit of Laws.\" It is\ncertain, at least, that she bought a large number of copies and\ndistributed them amongst her friends. Madame Geoffrin went further;\nthe society which had previously met at Madame de Tencin's, no sooner\nheld their reunions in her house, than she drew together the whole\nliterary and the fashionable world, foreign ministers, noblemen and\nprinces who were on their travels, etc. Marmontel also says, that the\naged Madame de Tencin had guessed quite correctly the intentions of\nMadame Geoffrin, when she said, that she merely came to her house so\noften in order to see what part of her inventory she could afterward\nmake useful.\n\nMadame Geoffrin became celebrated all over Europe, merely by devoting\na portion of her income and of her time to the reception of clever\nsociety. She had neither the knowledge, the mind, nor the humility of\nMadame de Tencin, which the latter at least affected toward the close\nof her life; she was cold, egotistical, calculating, and brought\ninto her circle nothing more than order, tact and female delicacy.\nGeoffrin also assumed the tone of high life, which always treats men\nof learning, poets and artists, as if they were mantua-makers or\nhair-dressers; and which must ever value social tact and the tone\nwhich is only to be acquired in good society, higher than all studies\nand arts upon which any one possessed of these properties is in a\ncondition to pass judgment without having spent any time in their\ninvestigation. Marmontel is therefore honest enough to admit that he\nand his friends, as well as Madame Geoffrin herself, were accustomed\nto make a full parade when foreign princes, ministers, and celebrated\nmen or women dined at the house. On such occasions especially, Madame\nGeoffrin displayed all the charms of her mind, and called to us, \"now\nlet us be agreeable.\"\n\nGeoffrin's house was the first school of _bon ton_ in Europe:\nStanislaus Poniatowsky, even after he became King of Poland, addressed\nher by the tender name of mother, invited her to Warsaw, and received\nher as a personage of high distinction. All the German courts\nwhich followed the fashion, paid correspondents in order to be made\nacquainted with the trifles which occupied that circle. Catherine II.\nhad no sooner mounted the throne than she began to pay a commissioner\nat this literary court, and even Maria Theresa distinguished Madame\nGeoffrin in a remarkable manner, on her return from Poland. Besides,\nwe are made acquainted by Marmontel, who ranked his hostess among the\ngods of this earth, with the anxiety and cautiousness of this lady of\nthe world, who afterward broke altogether with the chiefs of the new\nliterature, and most humbly did homage to the old faith, because she\nhad never wholly forsaken her old prejudices.\n\nThe able writers of the time were used by Geoffrin only as means to\npromote her objects, to gain a reputation for splendor, and to glorify\nFrance. The King of Prussia sought her society, in order to refresh\nand cheer his mind when he was worn out with the cares and toils of\ngovernment.\n\nMadame Geoffrin opened her house regularly on Mondays for artists,\nand on Wednesdays for men of learning; but as she neither understood\nthe arts nor sciences, she took part in the conversation only so far\nas she could do so without exposing her weak side. She understood\nadmirably how to attract the great men to her house, to whose houses\nshe herself very seldom went; and as long as the appearance of\nfashionable infidelity and of scoffing, which was then the mode in the\nhigher circles, was necessary to this object, she carefully concealed\nher real religious opinions.\n\nThe weak Marmontel, who, according to his own description, was\nonly fitted for superficial conversation and writing, boasts of the\nprudence, foresight and skill of his protectress, and shows how she\nunderstood the way to gain the confidence of others without ever\nyielding her own. This distinguished art made the house of Madame\nGeoffrin invaluable to the great world, and to those learned men\nwho wished to shine in this kind of society, and to cultivate and\navail themselves of it, for such people must learn above all things\nneither to say too much nor too little. This society, indeed, was not\ncalculated for any length of time for a Rousseau or a Diderot. Even\nthe great admirers of Geoffrin admit that _savoir vivre_ was her\nhighest knowledge, she had very few ideas with respect to anything\nbesides; but in the knowledge of all that pertained to the manners and\nusage of good society, in the knowledge of men, and particularly of\nwomen, she was deeply learned, and was able to give some very useful\ninstructions.\n\nIt would lead us too far into the history of the following period, to\nenumerate and characterize the members of these regular societies.\nIt may suffice to mention, that in addition to all the guests who\nfrequented Madame de Tencin's, all the friends of Voltaire's school,\nand at first also Rousseau, made a part of the society at the house of\nMadame Geoffrin. We have already remarked that no prince, minister, or\ndistinguished man of all Europe came to Paris who did not visit Madame\nGeoffrin, and think it an honor to be invited to her house, because he\nthere found united all that was exclusively called talent in Europe.\n\nKaunitz also, who was then only a courtier in Versailles, came\nto Madame Geoffrin's parties. He was a man who combined in a most\nsurprising manner true philosophy and a deep knowledge of political\neconomy, with the outward appearance of a fop and a trifler. Among the\nother distinguished men who lived in Paris, Marmontel names with high\npraise the Abb\u00e9 Galliani, Caraccioli, who was afterward Neapolitan\nambassador, and the Swedish ambassador, Count Creutz.\n\nMarmontel was so much delighted with this society, even at a very\nadvanced age, that he gives us also accounts of their evening parties:\n\"As I was in the habit of dining with the learned and with the artists\nat Madame Geoffrin's, so was I also of supping with her in her more\nlimited and select circle. At these _petits soupers_ there was no\ncarousing or luxuries,--a fowl, spinach and pancakes constituted the\nusual fare. The society was not numerous: there met together only five\nor six of her particular friends, or even persons of the highest rank,\nwho were suited to each other, and therefore enjoyed themselves.\" It\nappears distinctly from the passage already quoted from Marmontel,\nhow the high nobility on these occasions treated the learned, and\nhow the learned demeaned themselves toward the nobility. It appears,\ntherefore, that Rousseau was not in error when he alleged that\nemptiness and wantonness only were cherished in these societies, and\nthat the literature which was then current was only a slow poison.\n\nMadame du Deffant appeared on the stage of the great world\ncontemporaneously with Geoffrin, and attained so high a degree of\ncelebrity, that the Emperor Joseph paid her a visit in her advanced\nperiod of life, and thus afforded her the opportunity of paying him\nthat celebrated compliment which is found related in every history\nof France. With respect to Deffant, however, we must not listen to\nMarmontel; she stood above his rhymes, his love tales, his sentimental\nwanton stories, and besides, he knew her only when she had become\nold. What we Germans name feminine and good morals formed no part of\nthe distinction of Deffant, but talents only. Like Tencin, she was\nill-reputed in her youth on account of her amours, and reckoned the\nRegent among her fortunate wooers; at a later period she turned her\nattention to literature.\n\nDeffant brought together at her house all those persons whom Voltaire\nvisited when he was in Paris; among these the President H\u00e9nault,\nand, at a later period of which we now speak, D'Alembert attracted\nto this circle distinguished foreigners and Frenchmen, who made\nany pretensions to culture and education. Deffant assumed quite a\ndifferent tone among the learned from that of Geoffrin. She set up\nfor a judge in questions of philosophy and taste, and carried on a\nconstant correspondence with Voltaire. Among celebrated foreigners,\nthe Englishman Horace Walpole played the same character in this house\nwhich the Swede Creutz had assumed in that of Geoffrin. Deffant and\nher Walpole became celebrated throughout Europe by their printed\ncorrespondence, which, on account of its smoothness and emptiness,\nlike all books written for the great world, found very numerous\nreaders.\n\nDeffant, moreover, like Geoffrin. was faithless to her friends; she\nwished indeed to enjoy the most perfect freedom in their society, but\nshe was unwilling that they should publish abroad this freedom. And\nshe strongly disapproved of the vehemence with which her friends\nassailed the existing order of things.\n\nWhen she afterward lost a considerable part of her property, and\nbecame blind, she occupied a small dwelling in an ecclesiastical\nfoundation in Paris, but continued to receive philosophers, poets\nand artists in her house; and in order to give a little more life to\nthe conversation, she invited a young lady whose circumstances were\nstraitened to be her companion. This was Mademoiselle l'Espinasse.\nL'Espinasse was not beautiful, but she was young, amiable, lively, and\nmore susceptible than we in Germany are accustomed either to allow or\nto pardon. Deffant, on the other hand, was witty and intelligent, but\nold, bitter, and withal egotistically insensible. The boldest scoffers\nassembled around L'Espinasse, and there was afterward formed around\nher a circle of her own. Deffant turned day into night, and night into\nday. She and the Duchess of Luxembourg, who was inseparable from her,\nreceived learned distinguished personages and foreigners, from six\no'clock in the evening during the greater part of the night.\n\nThe importance in which such ladies and such societies were held, not\nmerely in France but in all Europe, may be judged of from the fact,\nthat the breach between Deffant and her young companion was treated\nin some measure as a public European event. The French minister and\nforeign ambassadors took part in it, and the whole literary world felt\nits effect. After this breach there were two tone-giving tribunals for\nthe guidance of public opinion in matters of literature and taste,\nand their decisions were circulated by letter over all Europe. Horace\nWalpole, H\u00e9nault, Montesquieu. Voltaire, whose correspondence with\nDeffant has been published in the present century, remained true to\nher cause. D'Alembert, whose correspondence with Deffant, as well as\nthat of the Duchess of Maine, have also been published in our century,\nwent over to L'Espinasse. This academician, whose name and influence\nwas next in importance to that of Voltaire, formed the nucleus of a\nnew society in the house of L'Espinasse, and was grievously tormented\nby his _inamorata_, who pursued one plan of conquest after another\nwhen she saw one scheme of marriage after another fail of success. It\nappears from the whole of the transactions and consequences connected\nwith this breach, however surprising it may be, that this formation\nof a new circle in Paris for evening entertainment may be with truth\ncompared to the institution of a new academy for the promotion of\nEuropean culture and refinement. The Duchess of Luxembourg, who\ncontinued to be a firm friend of Deffant, took upon herself to provide\nsuitable apartments for the society, whilst the minister of the day\n(the Duc de Choiseul) prevailed upon the king to grant a pension of no\ninconsiderable amount to L'Espinasse.\n\nThis new circle was the point of union for all the philosophical\nreformers. Here D'Alembert and Diderot led the conversation; and the\nrenowned head of the political economists, T\u00fcrgot, who was afterward\nminister of state, was a member of this bolder circle of men who\nbecame celebrated and ill-renowned under the name of Encyclop\u00e6dists.\nWe shall enter upon a fuller consideration of the tone and taste which\nreigned in this assembly, as well as in the society which met in\nthe house of Holbach, and of the history of the Encyclop\u00e6dia, in the\nfollowing period, and shall only now mention at the conclusion of the\npresent, and that very slightly, some of the other clever societies\nof Parisians who were all in their day celebrated in Europe. It is\nscarcely possible for us to judge of the charm which these societies\npossessed in the great world. This may be best learned from their\nown writings and conversation, a specimen of which may be found\nin Marmontel's 'Memoirs,' and formed the subject of a conversation\nbetween him and the Duke of Brunswick (who fell at Jena in 1806) and\nhis duchess.\n\nThe society of _beaux esprits_ which met at the house of Madame de\nPoplini\u00e8re, in the time of Madame de Tencin, was only short-lived,\nlike the good fortune of the lady herself. In her house there\nassembled members of the great world who were addicted to carousing\nand debauchery, and learned men who sought to obtain their favor\nand approbation. The same sort of society was afterward kept up in\nthe house of Holbach. A smaller society, which frequented the house\nof the farmer-general Pelletier, consisted of unmarried people,\nwho were known as persons who indulged in malicious and licentious\nconversation. Coll\u00e9, the younger Cr\u00e9billon and Bernard, who,\nnotwithstanding his helplessness, was called _le gentil_, played the\nchief characters in this reunion, and the Gascon nature of Marmontel,\nwhich was always forward and intrusive, helped him into this society\nalso. Baron Holbach, who was a native of the Palatinate, and the\nable Helvetius who was wanton merely from vanity, brought together\nexpressly and intentionally at a later period, around their\nwell-spread table, all those who declared open war against religion\nand morality. We must, however, return to these men in the following\nperiod.\n\nHolbach for a whole quarter of a century had regular dinner-parties\non Sundays, which are celebrated in the history of atheism. All those\nwere invited, who were too bold and too out-spoken for Geoffrin; and\neven D'Alembert also at a later period withdrew from their society.\n\nGrimm, whose copious correspondence has also been published in the\nnineteenth century, gives minutes and notices of all the memorable\nsayings and doings that served to entertain and occupy the\npolite world in Europe. Grimm also entertained and feasted these\ndistinguished gentlemen. He was not at that time consul for Gotha, or\nemployed and paid by that court or the Empress Catherine to collect\nParisian anecdotes, neither had he then been made a baron, but was\nmerely civil secretary of Count von Friese. Both J.J. Rousseau and\nBuffon belonged at first to these societies; but the former, in great\nalarm, broke off all intercourse with the people who then played the\nfirst parts in Paris, and the other quietly retired.\n\n  [Footnote 1:\n  Mon Henri quatre et ma Za\u00efre,\n  Et mon Americaine Alzire,\n  Ne m'ont valu jamais un seul regard du roi;\n  J'eus beaucoup d'ennemis avec tr\u00e8s-peu de gloire.\n  Les honneurs et les biens pleuvent enfin sur moi\n  Pour une farce de la foire.--_La Princesse de Navarro_.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE ATHEN\u00c6UM UPON HAWTHORNE.[2]\n\nThe London _Athen\u00e6um_, of the 15th June, has the following remarks\nupon the last work of NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE:\n\n\"This is a most powerful and painful story. Mr. Hawthorne must be well\nknown to our readers as a favorite of the _Athen\u00e6um_. We rate him\nas among the most original and peculiar writers of American fiction.\nThere in his works a mixture of Puritan reserve and wild imagination,\nof passion and description, of the allegorical and the real, which\nsome will fail to understand, and which others will positively\nreject,--but which, to ourselves, is fascinating, and which entitles\nhim to be placed on a level with Brockden Brown and the author of 'Rip\nVan Winkle.' 'The Scarlet Letter' will increase his reputation with\nall who do not shrink from the invention of the tale; but this, as\nwe have said, is more than ordinarily painful. When we have announced\nthat the three characters are a guilty wife, openly punished for her\nguilt,--her tempter, whom she refuses to unmask, and who during the\nentire story carries a fair front and an unblemished name among his\ncongregation,--and her husband, who, returning from a long absence at\nthe moment of her sentence, sits himself down betwixt the two in the\nmidst of a small and severe community to work out his slow vengeance\non both under the pretext of magnanimous forgiveness,--when we have\nexplained that 'The Scarlet Letter' is the badge of Hester Prynne's\nshame, we ought to add that we recollect no tale dealing with crime\nso sad and revenge so subtly diabolical, that is at the same time so\nclear of fever and of prurient excitement. The misery of the woman\nis as present in every page as the heading which in the title of\nthe romance symbolizes her punishment. Her terrors concerning her\nstrange elvish child present retribution in a form which is new and\nnatural:--her slow and painful purification through repentance is\ncrowned by no perfect happiness, such as awaits the decline of those\nwho have no dark and bitter past to remember. Then, the gradual\ncorrosion of heart of Dimmesdale, the faithless priest, under the\ninsidious care of the husband, (whose relationship to Hester is\na secret known only to themselves,) is appalling; and his final\nconfession and expiation are merely a relief, not a reconciliation.\nWe are by no means satisfied that passions and tragedies like these\nare the legitimate subjects for fiction: we are satisfied that\nnovels such as 'Adam Blair,' and plays such as 'The Stranger,' maybe\njustly charged with attracting more persons than they warn by their\nexcitement. But if Sin and Sorrow in their most fearful forms are to\nbe presented in any work of art, they have rarely been treated with\na loftier severity, purity, and sympathy than in Mr. Hawthorne's\n'Scarlet Letter.' The touch of the fantastic befitting a period of\nsociety in which ignorant and excitable human creatures conceived each\nother and themselves to be under the direct 'rule and governance' of\nthe Wicked One, is most skillfully administered. The supernatural here\nnever becomes grossly palpable:--the thrill is all the deeper for its\naction being indefinite, and its source vague and distant.\"\n\n[Footnote 2: The Scarlet Letter: a Romance. By Nathaniel Hawthorne.\nBoston: Ticknor & Co.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe Emperor Nicholas has just published an ordonnance, which regulates\nthe pensions to which Russian and foreign actors at the imperial\ntheaters at St. Petersburgh shall be entitled. This ordonnance divides\nthe actors (national as well as foreign) into four classes. The first\nclass obtains, after twenty years' service, pensions averaging from\n300 to 1140 silver rubles. The others, after fifteen years' service,\nwill receive pensions from 285 to 750 silver rubles.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE HAIR\n\nCHEMICALLY AND PHYSIOLOGICALLY CONSIDERED.--Each hair is a tube,\ncontaining an oil, of a color similar to its own. Hair contains\nat least ten distinct substances: sulphate of lime and magnesia,\nchlorides of sodium and potassium, phosphate of lime, peroxide of\niron, silica, lactate of ammonia, oxide of manganese and margaim.\nOf these, _sulphur_ is the most prominent, and it is upon this that\ncertain metallic salts operate in changing the color of hair. Thus\nwhen the salts of lead or of mercury are applied, they enter into\ncombination with the sulphur, and a black sulphuret of the metal is\nformed. A common formula for a paste to dye the hair, is a mixture of\nlitharge, slacked lime, and bicarbonate of potash. Different shades\nmay be given by altering the proportions of these articles. Black\nhair contains iron and manganese and no magnesia; while fair hair is\ndestitute of the two first substances, but possesses magnesia.\n\nNo one ever possessed all the requisites of masculine or feminine\nbeauty without a profusion of hair. This is one of the crowning\nperfections of the human form, upon which poets of all ages have dwelt\nwith the most untiring satisfaction. However perfect a woman may be\nin other respects; however beautiful her eyes, her mouth, teeth, lips,\nnose or cheeks; however brilliant her expression, in conversation or\nexcitement, she is positively disagreeable without this ornament of\nnature. The question is sometimes asked, \"What will cure love?\" We\nanswer, scissors. Let the object be shorn of hair, and you may take\nthe word of a physiologist, that the tender passion will lose its\ndistinctiveness; it may subside into respect: it is more likely to\nchange into a less agreeable emotion.\n\nIn man, the hair is an excellent index of character. As the beard\ndistinguishes man from woman, so its full and luxuriant growth often\nindicates strength and nobleness, intellectual and physical; while\na meager beard suggests an uncertain character--part masculine, part\nfeminine. Was there ever a truly great man, or one with a generous\ndisposition, with a thin beard and a weazen face? On the other\nhand, show me a man with \"royal locks,\" and I will trust his natural\nimpulses in almost every vicissitude. When we see a genuine man, upon\nwhom Nature has declined to set this seal of her approval, we cannot\nhelp an involuntary emotion of admiration for the virtuous and\npersevering energy with which he must have overcome his destiny.\n\nPertinent hereto: we have read with unusual satisfaction the arguments\nfor Beards in Dr. Marcy's _Theory and Practice of Medicine_ and the\npleasant essays in the same behalf which John Waters has printed in\nthe _Knickerbocker_. Our conservatism yields before these reformers,\nwho would bring custom to the proprieties of nature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWHAT'S IN A NAME?--A good deal, sometimes. Thus, the truth of the\nadage of \"give a dog a bad name,\" &c., has lately been exemplified in\na singular manner. Eugene Sue, you may remember, causes some of the\nmost terrible events in the _Mysteres de Paris_ to occur in the All\u00e9e\ndes Venves, a fine avenue in the Champs Elysees. This has had the\neffect of giving the unfortunate All\u00e9e--though as quiet, modest,\nwell-behaved, moral street as need be--a detestable reputation; people\nhave shunned it as if it were a cavern of cutthroats--those condemned\nto live in it have felt themselves _quasi_-infamous--its rents have\nfallen, its shops stood empty, its business has dwindled away.\nThe owners of its houses, and its few remaining inhabitants and\nshopkeepers, have for months past been pestering the municipality of\nParis to devise means of restoring its fallen prosperity, and removing\nthe monstrous stigma attached to it. At last, moved by compassion, the\nmunicipality has given permission to have the name changed to \"Avenue\nde Montaigne.\" The ex-All\u00e9e, says the writer who informs us of the\ncircumstance, is in great jubilation, and is crying with enthusiasm\n\"_Je suis sauvee!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"NAMES HIGH INSCRIBED.\"--It is stated that the names of nearly every\ndistinguished man in every department of literature and science, from\nthe remotest antiquity down to the present time, are inscribed in\nletters of gold on the outside of the new _Bibliotheque de Sainte\nGenevi\u00e8ve_, which is now rapidly approaching completion. The list is\nnaturally one of tremendous length, and covers not less than three\nwhole sides of the vast building. It is impossible not to admire the\nspirit in which it has been devised, and the impartiality with which\nit has been executed. Altogether, it does the highest credit to the\nParisians, and especially to their municipal authorities. The names\nare arranged in chronological order, but without date, and without\nregard to the nationality of, or to the peculiar distinction achieved\nby the individual; thus the two last names are those of Berzelius, the\nSwedish _savant_, and Chateaubriand; and a little above them figures\nWalter Scott, Byron, and other English immortals. Living celebrities\nare of course excluded.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMR. HARTLEY, a benevolent English gentleman, directed in his will that\n\u00a3200 should be set apart as a prize for the best essay on Emigration,\nand appointed the American Minister trustee of the fund. The Vice\nChancellor has decided that the bequest is void, for the reason that\nsuch an essay would encourage people to emigrate to the United States,\nand so to throw off their allegiance to the Queen! Another decision\nequally wise was made at the same time in regard to a prize for a\ntreatise on Natural Theology. The learned Vice Chancellor regarded it\nas calculated to \"subvert the Church.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nRECENT DEATHS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nROBERT EGLESFELD GRIFFITH, M.D., died in Philadelphia, on the 27th\nult., in the fifty-third year of his age. Dr. Griffith possessed fine\ntalents; in addition to a thorough knowledge of his profession, he was\nfamiliar with most of the branches of natural science, while in botany\nand conchology he stood second to few in this country; and his social\nand moral qualities were of the highest order. He filled in succession\nthe chairs of Materia Medica and Pharmacy in the Philadelphia College\nof Pharmacy; of Materia Medica, Therapeutics, Hygiene, and Medical\nJurisprudence in the University of Virginia. Whilst laboring in the\nlatter station his health failed him, and he was induced to seek a\nwinters residence in the West Indies in hopes of its restoration. It\nbecame evident, however, that his health was permanently broken, and\nfor the last four years he has resided in his native city, Though\nsuffering much, his energy and industry never flagged: and he\nhas given the results of his labors in his Medical Botany and his\nUniversal Formulary, two works which will secure him a permanent\nreputation. He also enriched by his annotations a number of works\nrepublished in this country, among which we may mention Christison's\nDispensatory, Taylor's Medical Jurisprudence, Ryan's Medical\nJurisprudence, Ballard and Garrod's Materia Medica.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nF. MANSELL REYNOLDS, the eldest son of the late F. Reynolds, the\ndramatic author, died recently at Fontainebleau. He was long intimate\nwith and favorably known to literary circles in England, counting such\nmen as Wordsworth, Coleridge, Bernal, Lockhart, Hook, and many others,\namong his personal friends. As the editor of \"Heath's Keepsake,\"\nwhen it started, he proved himself a person of taste and ability. He\nwas also the author of \"Miserrimus,\" which excited a considerable\nsensation when published, and of one or two other works of fiction,\nwhich, together with his contributions to several serials, displayed\nmuch variety of talent.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJOHN ROBY, author of \"Traditions of Lancashire,\" and other works,\nwhich have been as popular as any of their class, is mentioned as one\nof the persons lost in the \"Orion\" steamer. Mr. Roby was long a banker\nin Rochdale, and partner of Mr. Fielden, and though an excellent man\nof business, his mind was deeply interested in literary pursuits and\nin cultivating the friendly intercourse of literary men.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nProf. CANSTATT, of the University of Erlangen, died on the 10th of\nMarch, after a long and painful illness. Dr. C. was one of the most\ndistinguished physicians of our times, and had won for himself a\nlasting reputation by his work on the diseases of old age.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nORIGINAL POETRY\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following graphic picture of domestic happiness in humble\nlife, was written by Townsend Haines, Esq., late Secretary of the\nCommonwealth of Pennsylvania, and now Register of the Treasury, at\nWashington. Mr. Haines is an eloquent and accomplished lawyer, with\nfine capacities for literature, to which it may be regretted that he\nhas recently given so little attention.\n\n  BOB FLETCHER\n\n  I once knew a plowman, Bob Fletcher his name,\n  Who was old and was ugly, and so was his dame;\n  Yet they lived quite contented, and free from all strife,\n  Bob Fletcher the plowman, and Judy his wife.\n\n  As the morn streaked the east, and the night fled away\n  They would rise up for labor, refreshed for the day,\n  And the song of the lark, as it rose on the gale,\n  Found Bob at the plow, and his wife at the pail.\n\n  A neat little cottage in front of a grove,\n  Where in youth they first gave their young hearts up to love,\n  Was the solace of age, and to them doubly dear,\n  As it called up the past, with a smile or a tear.\n\n  Each tree had its thought, and the vow could impart,\n  That mingled in youth, the warm wish of the heart:\n  The thorn was still there, and the blossoms it bore,\n  And the song from its top seemed the same as before.\n\n  When the curtain of night over nature was spread,\n  And Bob had returned from the plow to his shed,\n  Like the dove on her nest, he reposed from all care,\n  If his wife and his youngsters contented were there.\n\n  I have passed by his door when the evening was gray,\n  And the hill and the landscape were fading away,\n  And have heard from the cottage, with grateful surprise,\n  The voice of thanksgiving, like incense arise.\n\n  And I thought on the proud, who look down with scorn,\n  On the neat little cottage, the grove and the thorn,\n  And felt that the riches and tinsels of life,\n  Were dross, to contentment, with Bob and his wife.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM DICKENS'S HOUSEHOLD WORDS.]\n\nCLASS OPINIONS.\n\nA FABLE.\n\nA lamb strayed for the first time into the woods, and excited much\ndiscussion among the other animals. In a mixed company, one day, when\nhe became the subject of a friendly gossip, the goat praised him.\n\n\"Pooh!\" said the lion, \"this is too absurd. The beast is a pretty\nbeast enough, but did you hear him roar? I heard him roar, and, by the\nmanes of my fathers, when he roars he does nothing but cry ba-a-a!\"\nAnd the lion bleated his best in mockery, but bleated far from well.\n\n\"Nay,\" said the deer, \"I do not think so badly of his voice. I liked\nhim well enough until I saw him leap. He kicks with his hind legs in\nrunning and, with all his skipping, gets over very little ground.\"\n\n\"It is a bad beast altogether,\" said the tiger. \"He cannot roar,\nhe cannot run, he can do nothing--and what wonder? I killed a man\nyesterday, and, in politeness to the new comer, offered him a bit;\nupon which he had the impudence to look disgusted, and say, 'No, sir,\nI eat nothing but grass.'\"\n\nSo the beasts criticized the lamb, each in his own way; and yet it was\na good lamb, nevertheless.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nAUTHORS AND BOOKS.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nE.P. WHIPPLE was the Fourth of July orator of the city of Boston. The\n_Morning Post_ says, \"his ability is so agile, elegant, and hilarious,\nthat his readers generally do not discern the profundity and\ncomprehensiveness of his nature or the progressive power of thought\nmanifested in his writings. We await impatiently the publication\nof his late oration. It will be an apt opportunity, by the way, to\ncompare Mr. E. Everett with him, each having just spoken on a similar\nnational occasion. His level, 'fairspoken, immaculate regularity' will\ncontrast widely with the bold, vital vigor and originality of Mr. W.\nNo man of constitutional timidity, feeble will, and shallow thought\ncan ever have a real right to the title of orator. Men of minds\ncultivated overmuch, and elaborately trained, are apt to lack central\nspiritual vitality, as some fruits grown to great size by art of\nthe gardener fail of their native flavor, become insipid, and even\n_hollow_ at the center.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE \"HISTORY OF RELIGION,\" by the celebrated John Evelyn, author of\n\"Sylva,\" &c., now first published from the original MS. in the Library\nat Wotton, with notes by the Rev. R.M. Evanson, is among the books\nannounced by Colburn, for the first of July. The journals, in\nanticipation, express some curiosity upon the subject, whether it\nbe pedantic, orthodox, and trimming, like the author, or whether it\ncontain any of the Chubb and Toland spirit. Two new and important\nworks, ethically related to this, have just been issued; the one\nin France, called _Qu'est-ce que la Religion, d'apr\u00e8s la Nouvelle\nPhilosophie Allemande_, wherein Feuerbach's daring evolutions of\nHegel's principles are translated for the benefit of those who cannot\nread German; the other, called _The Progress of Intellect_, showing\nthe various developments of religious ideas through history.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLEIGH HUNT, it is apprehended, will be appointed laureate. The\n_Athen\u00e6um_ objects, and we think very properly urges, that if the\noffice is to be continued, it should be given to the finest living\npoet of her Majesty's own sex, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. This\nappropriation of the laurel would in a manner recompense two poets\nby a single act.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. ROBERT LEMON, of the State Paper Office, to whom we are indebted\nfor the discovery of the MS. of Milton's Treatise on Christian\nDoctrine, is to be editor of an extensive publication of Calendars of\nthe Domestic Papers in possession of the Government, from the reign\nof Edward the Sixth to the close of the reign of Elizabeth. The\n_Athen\u00e6um_ suggests that it will be of great advantage to the literary\nworld for its important documents illustrative of facts and manners.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDr. GUTZLAFF, who is preaching at Berlin and Potsdam on behalf of\nthe Chinese mission, lately introduced into the closing prayer of the\nservice, at the garrison church at the latter place, besides the name\nof the King and the royal family, a supplication for _his_ Emperor\nof China, and the ministers and people of that nation. Dr. Gutzlaff\nexpresses a confident hope that the Emperor of Japan will become\nconverted to Christianity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMEETINGS have been held at the house of Mr. Justice Coleridge, in\nLondon, at which a committee has been formed, with the Bishop of\nLondon at its head, to initiate a subscription to do honor to the\nmemory of the poet Wordsworth, by placing a whole length effigy of\nhim in Westminster Abbey, and, if the funds suffice, by erecting a\nmonument to his memory near Grassmere.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. E.G. SQUIER, our _Charge d'Affaires_ to Central America, is now in\nNew York, and will soon publish an essay upon the antiquities of that\ncountry, similar in design, probably, to his important volume on the\nremains of ancient works in the valley of the Mississippi, printed for\nthe Smithsonian Institute.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFRANCIS BOWEN, the editor of the _North American Review_, has been\nappointed Professor of History and Political Economy in Harvard\nCollege, and it is understood that the Latin Professorship, made\nvacant by the resignation of Dr. Beck, will be tendered to Mr. George\nM. Lane, now in Europe.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE FRENCH ACADEMY has decreed to M. Emile Augier, the author of\n_Gabrielle_, the prize of seven thousand francs, for the best dramatic\nwork inculcating principles of rectitude and morality.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nCHARLES LUCIEN BONAPARTE (Prince of Canino) is now at Berlin, where he\noccupies himself exclusively with scientific pursuits, and the society\nof learned men.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE UNIVERSITY OF DURHAM has conferred the honorary degree of M.A. on\nRobert Stephenson, and on Mr. Henry Taylor, the author of \"Philip Van\nArtevelde.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJOHN G. SAXE has been elected by the Mercantile Library Association of\nMontreal, to deliver the poem at the opening of their winter course of\nlectures.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE SULTAN of Turkey has granted to the Princess Belgioiso, for\nherself and the Italian emigrants, some extensive tracts of land on\nthe gulf of Nicomedia.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE NEW OPERA, on which M. Strakosch is now engaged, is to be called\n_La Regina di Napoli_. The plot is taken from the history of the\nunfortunate Queen Joana of Sicily, and abounds in scenes of dramatic\ninterest.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM THE DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE FOR JULY.]\n\nTHE OLD MAN'S BEQUEST;\n\nA STORY OF GOLD.\n\nThrough the ornamented grounds of a handsome country residence, at\na little distance from a large town in Ireland, a man of about fifty\nyears of age was walking with a bent head, and the impress of sorrow\non his face.\n\n\"Och, yer honor, give me one sixpence, or one penny, for God's sake,\"\ncried a voice from the other side of a fancy paling which separated\nthe grounds in that quarter from a thoroughfare. \"For heaven's sake,\nMr. Lawson, help me as ye helped me before. I know you've the heart\nand the hand to do it.\"\n\nThe person addressed as Mr. Lawson looked up and saw a woman whom he\nknew to be in most destitute circumstances, burdened with a large and\nsickly family, whom she had struggled to support until her own health\nwas ruined.\n\n\"I have no money--not one farthing,\" answered John Lawson.\n\n\"No money!\" reiterated the woman, in surprise: \"isn't it all yours,\nthen?--isn't this garden yours, and that house, and all the grand\nthings that are in it yours?--ay, and grand things they are--them\npictures, and them bright shinin' things in that drawing-room of\nyours; and sure you deserve them well, and may God preserve them long\nto you, for riches hasn't hardened your heart, though there's many a\none, and heaven knows the gold turns their feelin's to iron.\"\n\n\"It all belongs to my son, Henry Lawson, and Mrs. Lawson, and their\nchildren--it is all theirs,\" he sighed heavily, and deep emotion was\nvisible in every lineament of his thin and wrinkled face.\n\nThe poor woman raised her blood-shot eyes to his face, as if she\nwas puzzled by his words. She saw that he was suffering, and with\nintuitive delicacy she desisted from pressing her wants, though her\nneed was great.\n\n\"Well, well, yer honor, many's the good penny ye have given me and the\nchilder, and maybe the next time I see you you'll have more change.\"\n\nShe was turning sadly away, when John Lawson requested her to remain,\nand he made inquiries into the state of her family; the report\nhe heard seemed to touch him even to the forgetfulness of his own\nsorrows; he bade her stop for a few moments and he would give her some\nrelief.\n\nHe walked rapidly toward the house and proceeded to the drawing-room.\nIt was a large and airy apartment, and furnished with evident\nprofusion; the sunlight of the bright summer-day, admitted partially\nthrough the amply-draperied windows, lit up a variety of sparkling\ngilding in picture-frames, and vases, and mirrors, and cornices; but\nJohn Lawson looked round on the gay scene with a kind of shudder; he\nhad neither gold, silver, nor even copper in his pocket, or in his\npossession.\n\nHe advanced to a lady who reclined on a rose-colored sofa, with a\nfashionable novel in her hand, and after some slight hesitation he\naddressed her, and stating the name and wants of the poor woman who\nhad begged for aid, he requested some money.\n\nAs he said the words \"some money,\" his lips quivered, and a tremor\nran through his whole frame, for his thoughts were vividly picturing\na recently departed period, when he was under no necessity of asking\nmoney from any individual.\n\n\"Bless me, my dear Mr. Lawson!\" cried the lady, starting up from her\nrecumbent position, \"did I not give you a whole handful of shillings\nonly the day before yesterday; and if you wasted it all on poor\npeople since, what am I to do? Why, indeed, we contribute so much to\ncharitable subscriptions, both Mr. Lawson and I, you might be content\nto give a little less to common beggars.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson spoke with a smile on her lips, and with a soft caressing\nvoice, but a hard and selfish nature shone palpably from her blue\neyes. She was a young woman, and had the repute of beauty, which\na clear pink-and-white complexion, and tolerable features, with\nluxuriant light hair, generally gains from a portion of the world. She\nwas dressed for the reception of morning visitors whom she expected,\nand she was enveloped in expensive satin and blond, and jewelry in\nlarge proportions.\n\nJohn Lawson seemed to feel every word she had uttered in the depths\nof his soul, but he made a strong effort to restrain the passion which\nwas rising to his lips.\n\n\"Augusta, my daughter, you are the wife of my only and most beloved\nchild--I wish to love you--I wish to live in peace with you, and\nall--give me some money to relieve the wants of the unfortunate woman\nto whom I have promised relief, and who is waiting without. I ask not\nfor myself, but for the poor and suffering--give me a trifle of money,\nI say.\"\n\n\"Indeed, Mr. Lawson, a bank would not support your demands for the\npoor people; that woman for whom you are begging has been relieved\ntwenty times by us. I have no money just now.\"\n\nShe threw herself back on the sofa, and resumed her novel; but anger,\ndarting from her eyes, contrasted with the trained smile which still\nremained on her lips.\n\nA dark shade of passion and scorn came over John Lawson's face, but\nhe strove to suppress it, and his voice was calm when he spoke.\n\n\"Some time before my son married you, I gave up all my business to\nhim--I came to live here amongst trees and flowers--I gave up all\nthe lucrative business I had carried on to my son, partly because my\nhealth was failing, and I longed to live with nature, away from the\nscenes of traffic; but more especially because I loved my son with\nno common love, and I trusted to him as to a second self. I was not\ndisappointed--we had one purse and one heart before he married you;\nhe never questioned me concerning what I spent in charity--he never\nasked to limit in any way my expenditure--he loved you, and I made\nno conditions concerning what amount of income I was to receive, but\nstill I left him in entire possession of my business when he married\nyou. I trusted to your fair, young face, that you would not controvert\nmy wishes--that you would join me in my schemes of charity.\"\n\n\"And have I not?\" interrupted Mrs. Lawson, in a sharp voice, though\nthe habitual smile still graced her lips; \"do I not subscribe to, I\ndon't know how many, charitable institutions? Charity, indeed--there's\nenough spent in charity by myself and my husband. But I wish to stop\nextravagance--it is only extravagance to spend so much on charity as\nyou would do if you could; therefore, you shall not have any money\njust now.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson was one of those women who can cheerfully expend a most\nlavish sum on a ball, a dress, or any other method by which rank and\nluxury dissipate their abundance, but who are very economical, and\ntalk much of extravagance when money is demanded for purposes not\nconnected with display or style.\n\n\"Augusta Lawson, listen to me\"--his voice quivering with passion--\"my\nown wants are very few; in food, in clothes, in all points my\nexpenditure is trifling. I am not extravagant in my demands for the\npoor, either. All I have expended in charity during the few years\nsince you came here, is but an insignificant amount as contrasted with\nthe income which I freely gave up to my son and you; therefore, some\nmoney for the poor woman who is waiting, I shall now have; give me\nsome shillings, for God's sake, and let me go.\" He advanced closer to\nher, and held out his hand.\n\n\"Nonsense!\" cried Mrs. Lawson; \"I am mistress, here--I am determined\nto stop extravagance. You give too much to common beggars; I am\ndetermined to stop it--do not ask me any further.\"\n\nA kind of convulsion passed over John Lawson's thin face; but he\npressed his hand closely on his breast, and was silent for some\nmoments.\n\n\"I was once rich, I believe. Yes--it is not a dream,\" he said, in a\nslow, self-communing voice. \"Gold and silver, once ye were plenty with\nme; my hands--my pockets were filled--guineas, crowns, shillings--now\nI have not one penny to give to that starving, dying woman, whose face\nof misery might soften the very stones she looks on--not one penny.\"\n\n\"Augusta,\" he said, turning suddenly toward her, after a second pause\nof silence, \"give me only one shilling, and I shall not think of the\nbitter words you have just said.\"\n\n\"No; not one shilling,\" answered Mrs. Lawson, turning over a leaf of\nher novel.\n\n\"One sixpence, then--one small, poor sixpence. You do not know how\neven a sixpence can gladden the black heart of poverty when starvation\nis come. One sixpence, I say--let me have it quickly.\"\n\n\"Not one farthing I shall give you. I do beg you will trouble me no\nfurther.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson turned her back partially to him, and fixed all her\nattention on the novel.\n\n\"Woman! I have cringed and begged; I would not so beg for myself,\nfrom you--no: I would lie down and die of want before I would, on my\nown account, request of you--of your hard heart--one bit of bread.\nAll the finery that surrounds you is mine--it was purchased with my\nmoney, though now you call it yours; and, usurping the authority of\nboth master and mistress here, you--in what you please to call your\neconomical management--dole out shillings to me when the humor seizes\nyou, or refuse me, as now, when it pleases you. But, woman, listen\nto me. I shall never request you for one farthing of money again. No\nnecessity of others shall make me do it. You shall never again refuse\nme, for I shall never give you the opportunity.\"\n\nHe turned hastily from the room, with a face on which the deep emotion\nof an aroused spirit was depicted strongly.\n\nIn the lobby he met his son, Henry Lawson. The young man paused,\nsomething struck by the excited appearance of his father.\n\n\"Henry,\" said the father, abruptly, \"I want some money; there is a\npoor woman whom I wish to relieve--will you give me some money for\nher?\"\n\n\"Willingly, my dear father; but have you asked Augusta? You know\nI have given her the management of the money-matters of the\nestablishment, she is so very clever and economical.\"\n\n\"She has neither charity, nor pity, nor kindness; she saves from\nme--she saves from the starving poor--she saves, that she may waste\nlarge sums on parties and dresses. I shall never more ask her for\nmoney--give me a few shillings. My God! the father begs of the son for\nwhat was his own--for what he toiled all his youth--for what he gave\nup out of trusting love to that son. Henry, my son, I am sick of\nasking and begging--ay, sick--sick; but give me some shillings now.\"\n\n\"You asked Augusta, then,\" said Henry, drawing out his purse, and\nglancing with some apprehension to the drawing-room door.\n\n\"Henry,\" cried Mrs. Lawson, appearing at that instant with a face\ninflamed with anger--\"Henry, _I_ would not give your father any money\nto-day, because he is so very extravagant in giving it all away.\"\n\nHenry was in the act of opening his purse; he glanced apprehensively\nto Mrs. Lawson; his face had a mild and passive expression, which was\na true index of his yielding and easily-governed nature. His features\nwere small, delicate, and almost effeminately handsome; and in every\nlineament a want of decision and force of character was visible.\n\n\"Henry, give me some shillings, I say--I am your father--I have a just\nright.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, surely\" said Henry, making a movement to open his purse.\n\n\"Henry, I do not wish you to give him money to waste in charity, as he\ncalls it.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson gave her husband an emphatic, but, at the same time,\ncunningly caressing and smiling look.\n\n\"Henry, I am your father--give me the money I want.\"\n\n\"Augusta, my love, you know it was all his,\" said Henry, going close\nto her, and speaking in a kind of whisper.\n\n\"My dearest Henry, were it for any other purpose but for throwing\naway, I would not refuse. I am your father's best friend, and your\nbest friend, in wishing to restrain all extravagance.\"\n\n\"My dear father, she wishes to be economical, you know.\"\n\nHe dangled the purse, undecidedly, in his fingers.\n\n\"Will you give me the money at once, and let me go?\" cried John\nLawson, elevating his voice.\n\n\"My dear Augusta, it is better--\"\n\n\"Henry, do not, I beg of you.\"\n\n\"Henry, my son, will you let me have the money?\"\n\n\"Indeed, Augusta--\"\n\n\"Henry!\"\n\nMrs. Lawson articulated but the one word; there was enough of energy\nand determination in it to make her husband close the purse he had\nalmost opened.\n\n\"I ask you only this once more--give me the few shillings?\"\n\nJohn Lawson bent forward in an eager manner; a feverish red kindled\non his sallow cheeks; his eyes were wildly dilated, and his lips\ncompressed. There was a pause of some moments.\n\n\"You will not give it me?\" he said, in a voice deep-toned and\nsingularly calm, as contrasted with his convulsed face.\n\nHenry dangled the purse again in his hand, and looked uneasily and\nirresolutely toward his wife.\n\n\"No, he will not give it--you will get no money to squander on poor\npeople this day,\" Mrs. Lawson said, in a very sharp and decided voice.\n\nJohn Lawson did not say another word; he turned away and slowly\ndescended the stairs, and walked out of the house.\n\nHe did not return that evening. He had been seen on the road leading\nto the house of a relative who was in rather poor circumstances. Henry\nfelt rather annoyed at his fathers absence; he had no depth in his\naffection, but he had been accustomed to see him and hear his voice\nevery day, and therefore he missed him, but consoled himself with\nthe thought that they would soon meet again, as it never entered his\nimagination that his father had quitted the house for a lengthened\nperiod. Mrs. Lawson felicitated herself on the event, and hoped that\nthe old man would remain for some time with his relative.\n\nThe following day a letter was handed to Henry; it was from his\nfather, and was as follows:\n\n\"TO MY SON HENRY--I have at last come to the resolution of quitting\nyour house, which I can no longer call mine, in even the least degree.\nFor weeks--for months--ever since you married--ever since your wife\ntook upon herself what she calls the management of your house and\npurse, I have felt bound down under the weight of an oppressive\nbondage. I could not go and take a pound or a shilling from our common\nstock, as I used to do before you married, when you and I lived in one\nmind, and when I believed that the very spirit of your departed, your\nangel mother, dwelt in you, as you had, and have still, her very face\nand form. No, no, we had no common stock when you married. She put me\non an allowance--ay, an allowance. You lived, and saw me receiving\nan allowance; you whom I loved with an idolatry which God has now\npunished; you to whom I freely gave up my business--my money-making\nbusiness. I gave it you--I gave all to you--I would have given my\nvery life and soul to you, because I thought that with your mother's\nown face you had her noble and generous nature. You were kind before\nyou married; but that marriage has proved your weakness and want of\nnatural affection. Yes, you stood at my side yesterday; you looked\non my face--I, the father who loved you beyond all bounds of fatherly\nlove--you stood and heard me beg for a few shillings; you heard me\nsupplicate earnestly and humbly, and you would not give because your\nwife was not willing. Henry, I could force you to give me a share of\nthe profits of your business; but keep it--keep it all. You would not\nvoluntarily give me some shillings, and I shall not demand what right\nand justice would give me. Keep all, every farthing.\n\n\"It was for charity I asked the few shillings; you know it. You\nknow from whom I imbibed whatever I possess of the blessed spirit of\ncharity. I was as hard and unpitying as even your wife before your\nmother taught me to feel and relieve the demands of poverty. Yes, and\nshe taught you; you cannot forget it. She taught you to give food to\nthe starving, in your earliest days. She strove to impress your infant\nmind with the very soul of charity; and yesterday she looked down from\nthe heaven of the holy departed, and saw you refusing me, your father,\na few shillings to bestow on charity.\n\n\"Henry, I can live with you and your wife no more. I should grow\navaricious in my old age, were I to remain with you. I should long\nfor money to call my own. Those doled out shillings which I received\nwakened within me feelings of a dark nature--covetousness, and envy,\nand discontent--which must have shadowed the happiness of your mother\nin heaven to look down upon. I must go and seek out an independent\nliving for myself, even yet, though I am fifty-two. Though my energies\nfor struggling with the world died, I thought, when your mother died,\nand, leaving my active business to you, I retired to live in the\ncountry, I must go forth again, as if I were young, to seek for\nthe means of existence, for I feel I was not made to be a beggar--a\ncreature hanging on the bounty of others; no, no, the merciful God\nwill give me strength yet to provide for myself, though I am old, and\nbroken down in mind and body. Farewell; you who were once my beloved\nson, may God soften and amend your heart.\"\n\nWhen Henry perused this letter, he would immediately have gone in\nsearch of his father, in order to induce him to return home; but Mrs.\nLawson was at his side, and succeeded in persuading him to allow his\nfather to act as he pleased, and remain away as long as he wished.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTen years rolled over our world, sinking millions beneath the black\nwaves of adverse fortune and fate, and raising the small number who,\nof the innumerable aspirants for earthly good, usually succeed. Henry\nLawson was one of those whom time had lowered in fortune. His business\nspeculations had, for a lengthened period, been rather unsuccessful,\nwhile Mrs. Lawson's expensive habits increased every day. At length\naffairs came to such a crisis, that retrenchment or failure was\ninevitable. Henry had enough of wisdom and spirit to insist on the\nfirst alternative, and Mrs. Lawson was compelled by the pressure\nof circumstances to yield in a certain degree; the country-house,\ntherefore, was let, Mrs. Lawson assigning as a reason, that she had\nlost all relish for the country after the death of her dear children,\nboth of whom had died, leaving the parents childless.\n\nIt was the morning of a close sultry day in July, and Mrs. Lawson was\nseated in her drawing-room. She was dressed carefully and expensively\nas of old, but she had been dunned and threatened at least\nhalf-a-dozen times for the price of the satin dress she wore. Her\nface was thin and pale, and there was a look of much care on her\ncountenance; her eyes were restless and sunken, and discontent\nspoke in their glances as she looked on the chairs, sofas, and\nwindow-draperies, which had once been bright-colored, but were now\nmuch faded. She had just come to the resolution of having new covers\nand hangings, though their mercer's and upholsterer's bills were\nlong unsettled, when a visitor was shown into the room. It was Mrs.\nThompson, the wife of a very prosperous and wealthy shopkeeper.\n\nMrs. Lawson's thin lips wreathed themselves into bright smiles of\nwelcome, whilst the foul demon took possession of her soul. Mrs.\nThompson's dress was of the most costly French satin, whilst hers was\nmerely British manufacture. They had been old school companions and\nrivals in their girlish days. During the first years of the married\nlife of each, Mrs. Lawson had outshone Mrs. Thompson in every respect;\nbut now the eclipsed star beamed brightly and scornfully beside the\nclouds which had rolled over her rival. Mrs. Thompson was, in face\nand figure, in dress and speech, the very impersonation of vulgar and\nostentatious wealth.\n\n\"My goodness, it's so hot!\" she said, loosening the fastening of\nher bonnet, the delicate French blond and white satin and plume,\nof which that fabric was composed, contrasting rather painfully at\nthe same time with her flushed mahogany-colored complexion, and\nungracefully-formed features. \"Bless me, I'm so glad we'll get off to\nour country-house to-morrow. It's so very delightful, Mrs. Lawson, to\nhave a country residence to go to. Goodness me, what a close room,\nand such a hot, dusty street. It does just look so queer to me after\nFitzherbert-square.\"\n\nTo this Mrs. Lawson made a response as composed as she could; she\nwould have retorted bitterly and violently, but her husband had a\nconnection with the Thompson establishment, and for strong reasons she\nconsidered it prudent to refrain from quarreling with Mrs. Thompson.\nShe therefore spoke but very little, and Mrs. Thompson was left at\nfull liberty to give a lengthened detail of Mr. Thompson's great\nwealth and her own great profusion. She began first with herself, and\nfurnished an exact detail of all the fine things she had purchased\nin the last month, down to the latest box of pins. Next, her babies\noccupied her for half an hour--the quantity of chicken they\nconsumed, and the number of frocks they soiled per diem were minutely\nchronicled. Then her house came under consideration: she depicted\nthe bright glory of the new _ponceau_ furniture, as contrasted with\nshocking old faded things--and she glanced significantly toward Mrs.\nLawson's sofas and chairs. Next she made a discursive detour to the\nculinary department, and gave a statement of the number of stones of\nlump sugar she was getting boiled in preserves, and of the days of the\nweek in which they had puddings, and the days they had pies at dinner.\n\n\"But, Mrs. Lawson dear, have you seen old Mr. Lawson since he came\nhome?\" she said, when she was rising to depart: \"but I suppose you\nhaven't, for they say he won't have anything to do with his relations\nnow--he won't come near you I have heard. They say he has brought such\na lot of money with him from South America.\"\n\nAt this intelligence every feature of Mrs. Lawson's face brightened\nwith powerful interest. She inquired where Mr. Lawson stopped, and\nwas informed that he had arrived at the best hotel in town about three\ndays previously, and that every one talked of the large fortune he had\nmade abroad, as he seemed to make no secret of the fact.\n\nA burning eagerness to obtain possession of that money entered Mrs.\nLawson's soul, and she thought every second of time drawn out to the\npainful duration of a long hour, while Mrs. Thompson slowly moved her\nample skirts of satin across the drawing-room, and took her departure.\nMrs. Lawson dispatched a messenger immediately for her husband.\n\nHenry Lawson came in, and listened with surprise to the intelligence\nof his father's return. He was taking up his hat to proceed to\nthe hotel in quest of him, when a carriage drove to the door.\nMrs. Lawson's heart palpitated with eagerness--if it should be her\nhusband's father in his own carriage--how delightful!--that horrible\nMrs. Thompson had not a carriage of her own yet, though she was always\ntalking of it. They, Mrs. Lawson and her husband, had just been about\nsetting up a carriage when business failed with them. She ran\nbriskly down the stairs--for long years she had not flown with such\nalertness--rapid visions of gold, of splendor, and triumph seemed to\nbear her along, as if she had not been a being of earth.\n\nShe was not disappointed, for there, at the open door, stood John\nLawson. He was enveloped in a cloak of fur, the costliness of which\ntold Mrs. Lawson that it was the purchase of wealth; a servant in\nplain livery supported him, for he seemed a complete invalid.\n\nMrs. Lawson threw her arms around his neck, and embraced him with a\nwarmth and eagerness which brought a cold and bitter smile over the\nwhite, thin lips of John Lawson. He replied briefly to the welcomings\nhe had received. He threw aside his cloak, and exhibited the figure\nof an exceedingly emaciated and feeble old man, who had all the\nappearance of ninety years, though he was little more than sixty; his\nface was worn and fleshless to a painful degree; his hair was of the\nwhitest shade of great age, but his eyes had grown much more serene in\ntheir expression than in his earlier days, notwithstanding a cast of\nsuffering which his whole countenance exhibited. He was plainly, but\nmost carefully and respectably dressed; a diamond ring of great value\nwas on one of his fingers; the luster of the diamonds caught Mrs.\nLawson's glance on her first inspection of his person, and her heart\ndanced with rapture--Mrs. Thompson had no such ring, with all her\nboasting of all her finery.\n\n\"I have come to see my child before I die,\" said the old man, gazing\non his son with earnest eyes; \"you broke the ties of nature between\nus on your part, when, ten years ago, you refused your father a few\nshillings from your abundance, but--\"\n\nHe was interrupted by Mrs. Lawson, who uttered many voluble\nprotestations of her deep grief at her having, even though for the\nsake of economy, refused the money her dear father had solicited\nbefore he left them. She vowed that she had neither ate, nor slept,\nnor even dressed herself for weeks after his departure; and that,\nsleeping or waking, she was perpetually wishing she had given him the\nmoney, even though she had known that he was going to throw it into\nthe fire, or lose it in any way. Her poor, dear father--oh, she wept\nso after she heard that he had left the country. To be sure, Henry\ncould tell how, for two or three nights, her pillow was soaked with\ntears.\n\nA cold, bitter smile again flitted across the old man's lips; he made\nno response to her words, but in the one look which his hollow eyes\ncast on her, he seemed to read the falsehood of her assertions.\n\n\"I was going to add,\" he said, \"that though you forgot you were my\nson, and refused to act as my son, when you withheld the paltry sum\nfor which I begged, yet I could not refrain from coming once more to\nlook on my child's face--to look on the face of my departed wife in\nyours--for I know that a very brief period must finish my life now.\nI should not have come here, I feel--I know it is the weakness of my\nnature--I should have died amongst strangers, for the strangers\nof other countries, the people of a different hue and a different\nlanguage, I have found kind and pitiful, compared with those of my\nown house.\"\n\n\"Oh, don't say so--don't say so--you are our own beloved father; ah,\nmy heart clings to every feature of your poor, dear old face: there\nare the eyes and all that I used to talk to Henry so much about. Don't\ntalk of strangers--I shall nurse you and attend to you night and day.\"\n\nShe made a movement, as if she would throw her arms around his neck\nagain, but the old man drew back.\n\n\"Woman! your hypocritical words show me that your pitiless heart is\nstill unchanged--that it has grown even worse. You forced me out to\nthe world in my old age, when I should have had no thoughts except\nof God and the world to come; you forced me to think of money-making,\nwhen my hair was gray and my blood cold with years. Yes, I had to\ndraw my thoughts from the future existence, and to waste them on the\nmiserable toils of traffic, in order to make money: for it was better\nto do this than to drag out my life a pensioner on your bounty,\nreceiving shillings and pence, which you gave me as if it had been\nyour own heart's blood, though I only asked my own. Woman! the black\nslavery of my dependence on you was frightful; but now I can look\nyou thanklessly in the face, for I have the means of living without\nyou. I spent sick and sleepless days and nights, but I gained an\nindependence; the merciful God blessed the efforts of the old man, who\nstrove to gain his livelihood--yes, I am independent of you both. I\ncame to see my son before I die--that is all I want.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson attempted a further justification of herself, but the\nwords died on her lips. The stern looks of the old man silenced her.\n\nAfter remaining for a short time, he rose to take his departure; but,\nat the earnest solicitations of his son, he consented to remain for\na few days, only on condition that he should pay for his board and\nlodging. To this Mrs. Lawson made a feint of resistance, but agreed in\nthe end, as the terms offered by the old man were very advantageous.\n\n\"I shall soon have a lodging for which no mortal is called on to\npay--the great mother-earth,\" said the old man, \"and I am glad, glad\nto escape from this money-governed world. Do not smile so blandly on\nme, both of you, and attend me with such false tenderness. There, take\nit away,\" he said, as Mrs. Lawson was placing her most comfortable\nfootstool under his feet; \"there was no attendance, no care, not a\ncivil action or kind look for me when I was poor John Lawson, the\nsilly, most silly old man, who had given up all to his son and his\nson's wife, for the love of them, and expected, like a fool as he was,\nto live with them on terms of perfect equality, and to have the family\npurse open to him for any trifling sums he wished to take. Go, go\nfor God's sake; try and look bitterly on me now, as you did when you\nforced me out of your house. I detest your obsequious attentions--I\nwas as worthy of them ten years ago, before I dragged down my old age\nto the debasing efforts of money-making. You know I am rich; you would\nworship my money in me now. Not a smiling look, not a soft word you\nbestow on me, but is for my riches, not for me. Ay, you think you have\nmy wealth in your grasp already; you know I cannot live long. Thank\nGod that my life is almost ended, and I hope my death will be a\nbenefit to you, in softening your hard hearts.\"\n\nMrs. Lawson drew some hope from his last words, and she turned away\nher head to hide the joy which shone on her face.\n\nIn a few days the old man became seriously ill, and was altogether\nconfined to his room. As death evidently approached, his mind became\nserene and calm, and he received the attentions which Mrs. Lawson and\nhis son lavished on him with a silent composure, which led them to\nhope that he had completely forgotten their previous conduct to him.\n\nThe night on which he died, he turned to his son, and said a few\nwords, a very few words, regarding worldly matters. He exhorted\nHenry to live in a somewhat less expensive style, and to cultivate a\nspirit of contentment without riches; then he blessed God that he was\nentering on a world in which he could hear no more of money or earthly\npossession. He remained in a calm sleep during the greater part of the\nnight, they thought, but in the morning they found him dead.\n\nThe funeral was over, and the time was come in which the old man's\nwill was to be opened. Mrs. Lawson had waited for that moment--she\nwould have forcibly dragged time onward to that moment--she had\nexecrated the long hours of night since the old man's death--she had\nstill more anathemized the slowly passing days, when gazing furtively\nthrough a corner of the blinded window, she saw fine equipages and\nfinely-dressed ladies passing, and she planned how she would shine\nwhen the old man's wealth would be her own. She drew glorious mental\npictures of how she would burst from behind the shadowing cloud of\npoverty, and dazzle all her acquaintances. Her dress, her carriage,\nher style of living would be unique in her rank of life for taste and\ncostliness. She would show them she had got money--money at last--more\nmoney than they all.\n\nNow at last she sat and saw the will being opened; she felt that it\nwas a mere formality, for the old man had none but them to whom he\ncould leave his money; she never once doubted but all would be theirs;\nshe had reasoned and fancied herself into the firm conviction. Her\nonly fear was, that the amount might not be so large as she calculated\non.\n\nShe saw the packet opened. Her eyes dilated, her lips became parched,\nher heart and brain burned with a fierce eagerness--money! money at\nlast! uttered the griping spirit within her.\n\nThe will, after beginning in the usual formal style, was as follows:\n\n\"I bequeath to my son Henry's wife, Augusta Lawson, a high and noble\ngift\"--Mrs. Lawson almost sprung from her seat with eagerness--\"the\ngreatest of all legacies, I bequeath to Augusta Lawson--Charity!\nAugusta Lawson refused me a few shillings which I wished to bestow\non a starving woman; but now I leave her joint executrix, with my son\nHenry, in the distribution of all my money and all my effects, without\nany reservation, in charity, to be applied to such charitable purposes\nas in this, my last will and testament, I have directed.\"\n\nThen followed a statement of his effects and money, down to the most\nminute particular. The money amounted to a very considerable sum; his\npersonal effects he directed to be sold, with the exception of his\nvery valuable diamond ring, which he bequeathed to the orphan daughter\nof the poor relation in whose house he had taken refuge, and remained\nfor a short time, previous to his going abroad. All the proceeds \\\nof his other effects, together with the whole amount of his money,\nhe bequeathed for different charitable purposes, and gave minute\ndirections as to the manner in which various sums were to be expended.\nThe largest amount he directed to be distributed in yearly donations\namongst the most indigent old men and women within a circuit of ten\nmiles of his native place. Those who were residing with their sons\nand their sons' wives, were to receive by far the largest relief. He\nappointed as trustees two of the most respectable merchants of the\ntown, to whom he gave authority to see the provisions of his will\ncarried out, in case his son and Mrs. Lawson should decline the duties\nof executorship which he had bequeathed to them. The trustees were to\nexercise a surveillance over Mr. and Mrs. Lawson, to see that the will\nshould in every particular be strictly carried into effect. The will\nwas dated and duly signed in the town in South America where the old\nman had for some years resided. A codicil, containing the bequest of\nthe ring, with some further particulars regarding the charities, had\nbeen added a few days previous to the old man's death.\n\nMrs. Lawson was carried fainting from the room before the reading of\nthe will was concluded. She was seized with violent fever, and her\nlife was despaired of. She recovered, however, and from the verge of\nthe eternal existence on which she had been, she returned to life with\na less worldly and ostentatious nature, and a soul more alive to the\nimpulses of kindness and charity.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHORACE VERNET, the painter, is in St. Petersburgh, and is soon\nexpected in Vienna, where he will study the uniform, scenery, &c.,\nin order to paint various scenes in the Hungarian war.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHARRO HARRING has escaped from Norway into England, whence he has\nissued a document, describing the circumstances of his departure, and\nprotesting against the arbitrary and unjust conduct of the Norwegian\nGovernment. In this paper, which is drawn up with indignant eloquence,\nHarring appeals to the Norwegian Storthing of 1851, confident that\nhe shall receive ample justice at the hands of the Representatives of\nNorway.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMiss H.M. WEBBER, an American, has issued a pamphlet in Brussels\nadvocating the assumption of the male attire by her sex till they are\nmarried.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGARRIBALDI, the Italian general, is on his way to New York. He has\nwritten his \"experiences,\" which will soon make their appearance in\nAmerica, where, as in Europe, they will be eagerly read, as few men\ncan throw so much light upon the recent important events in Italy.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMrs. CHILD is passing the summer near Boston, and is still occupied\nwith a book upon the History of the Religious Element in Society,\nwhich has several years engaged her attention. A new edition of her\nnovel of _The Rebels_ has just been published, and the degree to which\nit has been known is illustrated in the critical announcements of it.\nThe Albany _State Register_, like other journals, seems to think it a\nfresh book, and observes of the writer:--\"The author of Hobornok has\nalways been a favorite with the public, though it is a long while\nsince we have had the pleasure of welcoming anything from his pen.\nThe present work, however, bears the impress of the talents which have\nalways marked his writings!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM THE LEADER.]\n\nOLD FEELINGS.\n\n  Once in my childish days I heard\n  A woman's voice that slowly read,\n  How 'twixt two shadowy mountains sped\n  Four colored steeds, four chariots whirr'd.\n\n  I watched until she laid the book\n  On the white casement-ledge again;\n  My heart beat high with joyful pain\n  On that strange oracle to look.\n\n  Day after day I would ascend\n  The staircase in that large old house,\n  And still and timorous as a mouse\n  I sat and made the book my friend.\n\n  I saw the birth of seas and skies,\n  The first sweet woman, first brave man;\n  I saw how morning light began,\n  How faded--over Paradise.\n\n  I stood with the first Arab boy;\n  I saw the mother and the child,\n  Of Oriental vision wild,\n  Laugh by the well for utter joy.\n\n  I saw the youth go forth at morn,\n  A traveler to the Syrian land,\n  And in the lonely evening stand\n  An exile weary and forlorn.\n\n  I saw him by the roadside lay\n  His sunken head upon a stone,\n  And while he slumbered, still and lone,\n  A dream fell on him, fair as day.\n\n  I saw a golden ladder reach\n  From earth to heaven among the stars,\n  And up and down its gleaming bars\n  Trod stately angels, without speech.\n\n  What wonders did I not behold!\n  Dark gorgeous women, turbaned men,\n  White tents, like ships, in plain and glen,\n  Slaves, palm trees, camels, pearls, and gold.\n\n  Ah! many an hour I sat and read,\n  And God seemed with me all day long;\n  Joy murmured a sweet undersong,\n  I talkt with angels, with them fed.\n\n  It was an old deserted room;\n  There was a skylight strait above,\n  And the blue sky lookt thro' like love,\n  Softening and coloring mortal gloom.\n\n  No playmate had I, knew no game,\n  Yet sometimes left my book to run\n  And blow bright bubbles in the sun--\n  In after life we do the same.\n\n  That time is gone; you think me weak\n  That I regret that perisht time,\n  That I recall my golden prime\n  With beating heart and blushing cheek.\n\n  That Book so prized, you tell me, friend,\n  Is full of false and deadly tales:\n  You say, \"a palsied world bewails\n  Its influence; but it soon shall end.\"\n\n  Thank God for that: I live for truth,\n  Glad to resign each rainbow sham;\n  But, still remembering what I am,\n  I praise my sweet and saintly youth\n\n  It was so genial and sincere,\n  My joy and wonder were so strong,\n  So rare and delicate a song\n  Young Life was singing in mine ear.\n\n  I therefore still in fancy climb\n  Up to that old and faded room,\n  Where feelings like fresh roses bloom\n  Over the grave of that fair time.\n\n  M.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLORD BROUGHAM has recently been engaged in the investigation of a\npeculiar phenomenon which he calls the \"diflection of light.\" The\nexperiment itself consists in causing a ray of light to fall upon\nthe sharp edge of a knife or on the point of a needle; the ray is\nthus \"diflected\" by the edge or point, and becomes prismatic. Lord\nBrougham, in addition to other curious phenomena, has discovered that\nthe ray, when once diflected, cannot be again diflected in the same\ndirection, but may be diflected in an opposite direction.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM THE SPECTATOR, OF JUNE 15.]\n\nLIFE OF THE AUTHOR OF 'TREMAINE.'[3]\n\nThe literary success of the author of _Tremaine_ was owing to the\nworldly experience and means of observation which his official\nposition gave him; but the sole interest which he possesses in\nthe eyes of the world arises from his success as an author. As an\noffice-holder, he was not a mere red-tapist, but one of those able,\nhard-working, experienced administrative men, who really carry on\nthe business of government, and, except in the case of rare ability\nand courage in a \"chief,\" are masters of the Ministers, though want\nof interest, ambition, or \"gift of the gab,\" retains them in a\nsubordinate post. As an author, Mr. Ward's temporary success was\ngreater than his permanent prospects. His subjects were generally\nlarge enough, he was a man of extensive reading, and his tastes took\nin a wide range; but he was essentially bounded by the present. His\nearlier works, which procured him the patronage of Pitt, and with it a\nseat in Parliament and office, were on the Law of Nations: and though\ntheir most attractive part related to a temporary subject, the rights\nof belligerents and neutrals, there was enough in that branch of the\nsubject to secure duration; but who reads them now? how few, indeed,\nknow of their existence? He cannot be said to have originated the\nserio-didactic novel, for Hannah More and others had long cultivated\nthat field; but he brought to it, what they could not bring, a\nwell-bred scholarship, a wide knowledge of public and private life,\nseen in affairs as well as society, with less of a narrow sectarian\nspirit: yet it may be doubted whether _Tremaine_ some thirty years\nhence will be more read than _Coelebs in Search of a Wife_. If\nMr. Ward did not found the school of fashionable novelists, he was\ncertainly among the founders; and he infused into the best of his\nworks, _De Vere_, a real knowledge of Parliamentary life, a newer and\ntruer view of statesmen and nobles, though a little _en beau_, and a\ngreat variety of actual characters. The circumstance of Wentworth's\nsupposed resemblance to Canning, and the accident of publication at\na time when the official conspiracy of the novel seemed acting in\nParliament, gave _De Vere_ a success with the world at large, which\nits length and longwindedness might have marred. Mr. Ward's essays\n(generally in the form of stories) were not so successful with the\npublic as his fictions. We think he was by nature designed for an\nessayist--naturally given to discuss and expound; but nature had\ndenied him that penetrating originality of perception, that vigor of\nthought, and (as a consequence) that terseness of style, which are\nnecessary to render the essay attractive and to preserve it. As\nRobert Plumer Ward was essentially confined to the present, so he was\ndependent on it; he was nothing if not in the mode, and in his later\nworks he rather fell behind the fashion.\n\nHis life as presented in these volumes was not very remarkable or\neventful. His father was a merchant at Gibraltar, and also held the\npost of chief clerk of the civil department of the Ordnance in that\ngarrison: his mother was a Spanish Jewess. Robert Ward was born in\nLondon, in 1765, on a visit of the family to England; and, after an\neducation at private schools, was sent to Oxford, in 1783. He left the\nUniversity in 1787, in debt; and soon after became a student of the\nInner Temple. An affection of the knee-joint sent him to Bareges: he\nwas speedily cured; but was so attracted by the pleasures of French\nsociety, that he remained in France till the Revolution; from which he\nhad a narrow escape.\n\n    \"It happened, unfortunately for him, that another 'Ward,' of\n    about the same age and personal appearance, had incurred the\n    suspicion of the Republican party, at a moment when suspicion\n    lost all its doubts, and death followed close upon the heels\n    of certainty. To use his own words, 'I was arrested for having\n    the same name and the same colored coat and waistcoat as\n    another Ward, guilty of treason; was ordered without trial to\n    Paris, to be guillotined; and only escaped by their catching\n    the real traitor: I was, however, banished the republic,\n    merely for my name's sake.'\"\n\nOn his return to England he was called to the bar, in June 1790; and\nbut for a singular circumstance might have passed through life as a\nliterary barrister, with middling success in law and letters.\n\n    \"He was, early in 1794, leaving his chambers in the Temple\n    for the purpose of paying a visit in the Northern outskirts\n    of London. Upon crossing Fleet Street he had to traverse Bell\n    Yard; and as he passed a watchmaker's shop his attention was\n    attracted by a placard in the window, of a very revolutionary\n    character, convening a meeting of a certain society, that\n    evening, at the watchmaker's. Many a man would have passed it\n    unnoticed, or contented himself with a feeling of regret or\n    indignation at the prevalence during that period of similar\n    views: not so was it with young Ward; he was fresh from\n    all the horrors which the success of such principles in a\n    neighboring country had entailed; he at once determined to\n    enter the watchmaker's shop and provoke a discussion with\n    him. For two hours did the young student contest with the\n    Republican the justice of his sentiments; for two hours did he\n    labor to impress upon him, not only by argument but by his own\n    experience, the horrors to which success must lead; but at\n    the end of that time he was obliged to leave him, apparently\n    unmoved, or at all events unconvinced. He paid his distant\n    visit, and late in the evening returned homeward through the\n    same alley. Desparing of success, he paid no second visit\n    to the disputant of the morning, though he did remark with\n    pleasure that the revolutionary placard had been withdrawn.\n    Hardly, however, had he passed the shop twenty yards, when\n    he heard some one running after and calling to him. He looked\n    back and beheld the Republican watchmaker. The manner of the\n    man was changed from the dogged imperturbability with which he\n    had listened to Mr. Ward's arguments in the morning to a frank\n    and eager confidence. 'I have called you in,' said he, 'to say\n    I have done nothing but think over your words: I feel their\n    truth; I shudder at the precipice on which I stood, at the\n    evil I was about to do; and am now as anxious to communicate\n    and prevent as I was before to conceal all our schemes.' He\n    then communicated to him the existence of a most fearful\n    plot against the Government, which, with his newly-awakened\n    feelings, he longed to frustrate by immediately informing the\n    authorities, if he who had convinced would also accompany and\n    support him.\n\n    \"They went to the Chief Magistrate, Sir Richard Ford; who\n    attached so much importance to the communication, that the\n    three were at once ushered into the presence of Pitt and his\n    colleagues, assembled with Macdonald and Scott, the Attorney\n    and Solicitor-General. The singular history was duly narrated\n    in detail; the arguments carried on by the young Mentor, the\n    misgivings of the Republican, and then the details of the\n    impending danger. The countenance of Pitt was turned with\n    interest on the young lawyer, who seemed not only to share\n    that horror of revolutionary movements with which he was\n    himself so strongly imbued, but who had so gallantly acted\n    upon it. 'What was your motive, young gentleman,' he inquired,\n    'for thus entering the shop?' 'I, Sir,' answered young Ward,\n    'am not long returned from France, and have there seen in\n    practice what sounds so fine in theory.'\"\n\nThough, according to report, Pitt was not the man to overlook rising\ntalent or lose sight of a useful adherent, eight years elapsed before\nmuch came of this singular introduction; during which the young\nbarrister published two books or pamphlets on the Laws of Nations,\nmarried a sister of Lady Mulgrave, and was slowly working his way\nat the bar. In 1802, Pitt, in a stiff enough letter, offered Mr.\nWard a seat for Cockermouth, one of the Lowther boroughs; and when\nhe returned to power, his prot\u00e9g\u00e9 became Under-Secretary of State\nfor the Foreign Department, (his brother-in-law, Lord Mulgrave,\nbeing Principal Secretary,) _after_ he had published a pamphlet\nin justification of Pitt's highhanded seizure of the Spanish\ntreasure-ships. Of course he went out on the accession of All the\nTalents after Pitt's death; and came in again on their expulsion,\nas a Lord of the Admiralty, still under Lord Mulgrave. In 1812, he\nwas moved to the Ordnance, as \"Clerk.\" In 1823, he quitted office,\nwithdrew from Parliament, and began novel-writing as an amusement, at\nfifty-eight. He died in 1846, in his eighty-second year; having lived\nlong enough to see his son, the present Lord High Commissioner of the\nIonian Islands, Secretary to the Admiralty under a Whig Ministry. He\nwas thrice married, and each time advantageously. His first wife, as\nwe have seen, was a sister-in-law of Lord Mulgrave; the second, whom\nhe wedded at the age of sixty-three, was the widow of Mr. Plumer\nof Gilston Park, which became his through the marriage; his third\nalliance, when he was nearly seventy, gave him the advantage of a\njointure of 1,000l. per annum allowance as guardian, and a couple of\nmansions. His writings would lead to the notion that Robert Ward was\neverything tender and amiable; and so he might be as long as he was\npleased; but he would seem to have had a quiet implacability, that was\noffended on slight grounds, and obdurate in displeasure. He quarreled\nwith his son on account of his politics: he received some slight from\nan official friend and repulsed all attempts at explanation, till a\nletter written when Ward was seventy-two and his correspondent turned\nof seventy produced a reconciliation rather dry on his part. It would\nhave been satisfactory to know that some relenting, some interest\nbeyond a \"suspicion\" of the writer, had been shown on the receipt\nof the following manly letter, written after the publication of\n_De Vere_. After alluding to the internal traits by which he had\nidentified the author, the anonymous correspondent continues:\n\n    \"It surprises me, I confess, that the feeling, judgment, and\n    sagacity, which sufficed to produce the work that I have been\n    commending, should have suffered the golden opinions of me,\n    which you entertained, to be filched and adulterated by mere\n    traducers, whose reports the hearer's own experience could\n    have almost refuted, and whose testimony was so obviously\n    liable to be warped by prejudice.\n\n    \"We live in a strange world. Before my feelings and\n    dispositions had changed from wavering and transient to\n    permanent and fixed,--before the desultory ramblings, which\n    almost became our age, had terminated in a path, and that,\n    I trust, a right and honorable one, and from which, with\n    moderate allowance for human inferiority, I have not deviated\n    since,--before my principles had attained their vigor, and\n    generated those correct habits which it was their province\n    to produce,--in short, while, like most young men, I might\n    be said to have as yet 'no character at all,' I obtained your\n    friendship. How I lost it, I have already told you. When,\n    remains to tell you. I lost it when any fruits which my youth\n    may have promised had appeared; lost it all at once, under\n    circumstances scarcely more annoying to my feelings than\n    revolting to my sense of what was right and just.\n\n    \"I am not seeking to penetrate what is to me, indeed, no\n    secret; neither do I form the unavailing wish that our expired\n    intercourse should revive. C'en est fait. A knot which has\n    been loosened or untied may be formed again, but this knot has\n    been cut. Accordingly, I neither address you by your name nor\n    subscribe my own. My hand-writing, though not disguised, is,\n    like yourself, much changed; and, though this were not the\n    case, you could not, after the lapse of so much time, have\n    recognized it.\n\n    \"My regard you continue to possess, though I am not certain\n    of your title to retain it. But you have, by means of your\n    estrangement, sustained a loss. In ceasing to entertain a\n    feeling of esteem and cordiality toward me, you have lost that\n    which is a source of soothing gratification to the mind in\n    which it is cherished, and which, I flatter myself, I as well\n    deserved to have retained with regard to me as any other of\n    your early friends, be that other who he may. Again: though\n    you have not lost a friend, (for my sentiments toward you\n    continue friendly,) you have elected to lose the usual and\n    not unpalatable fruits of friendship in my case: and this at\n    a time of life (for we are much of the same age) when old\n    friends can the less be spared, because new friendships are\n    rarely formed.\n\n    \"When our earliest meetings and the commencements of a\n    bygone friendship are called up before me by the letter which,\n    I scarcely know why, I am writing, I feel myself softened\n    as well as depressed by the recollection; and, as I write\n    farewell, it gives me pain to think that I might add to it\n    the words--probably forever. God bless you.\"\n\nThere is nothing in Robert Ward's life or literary eminence to require\nor even justify so large a space as his nephew has bestowed upon it.\nStrictly speaking, indeed, the biography occupies but a small portion\nof these bulky volumes, which are chiefly filled with remains or\ncorrespondence; and much of that little is not distinguished for\nmatter or character. The correspondence is indifferent. The latter\nportion of it is mainly devoted to literary criticism, or compliments,\nhaving for subject the author's works or those of his praisers; and is\nweak and flimsy to a degree. The earlier portion principally relates\nto politics, especially to the intrigues carried on by Canning and\nMalmesbury during the Addington Ministry to procure Pitt's premature\nreturn to office. To this Lord Mulgrave was judiciously opposed; and\nalthough there is nothing very new or particular in the account, and\nthe letters are rather flat, it gives the Mulgrave version of the\nbusiness. The most valuable part of the book, and which was, indeed,\nwell worthy of separate publication, is a diary that Mr. Ward kept\nthrough a considerable portion of his official life, beginning in\nJune 1809, and continuing with a short interruption till the death\nof Perceval, when it ceased till 1819; after which it was maintained\nto a later period than Mr. Phipps thinks it proper to publish it.\nThis diary consists of gossip, anecdote, on dits, and confidential\ncommunications made to Mr. Ward on various occasions and at critical\ntimes, together with his own observations and reflections on affairs,\nor remarks on characters. As he was much in the confidence of\nPerceval, saw a good deal of the Duke of Wellington, (Master-General\nof the Ordnance during the era of the Manchester massacre and\nSidmouth's spy doings,) and was continually behind the scenes, the\ndiary is both curious and amusing. Allowance must of course be made\nfor the writer's position as a partisan, and some of his later\nnotions are those of the \"laudator temporis acti,\" speaking without\nresponsibility; but it is sufficiently interesting to raise a desire\nfor the whole, published as a diary, and not mixed up with other\nmatters to which it has small relation.\n\nThe diary begins with Canning's intrigue against Castlereagh; and\nCanning is occasionally brought forward in the earlier period,\nand painted with a good deal of shadow, (he was then in a sort of\nopposition to Perceval,) and altogether a very different personage\nfrom the Wentworth of _De Vere_. Lord Palmerston, then a \"very fine\nyoung man,\" and a promising candidate for place, with no other faults,\nin Mr. Ward's estimation, than what he has certainly got rid of long\nsince--nervousness and modesty!--also figures in the pages, and at a\ncritical conjuncture of his fortunes.\n\n    \"Lord Palmerston came to town, sent for by Perceval. He was\n    so good as to confide to me that three things were offered to\n    him,--the Chancellorship of the Exchequer, Secretaryship at\n    War, or a seat at the Treasury, by way of introduction to the\n    seals, if he was afraid of entering upon them at once. These\n    offers were, however, in the alternative of there being any\n    of them declined by Milnes (Member for Pomfret), to whom they\n    were made in the first instance. Lord P. consulted me very\n    frankly upon them, and asked if I thought he would be equal\n    to the seals either in Cabinet or Parliament, particularly the\n    latter, where he had barely made his d\u00e9but. I told him, and\n    was most sincere, that in common with all his friends whom I\n    had ever heard speak on the subject, I thought him quite equal\n    to them in point of capacity, but as to nerves in Parliament,\n    (of which he seemed most to doubt,) nobody could judge but\n    himself. He said, Petty (whom I had mentioned) had come\n    forward after having felt his way and got possession of\n    himself in the House, and that if he had done the same, he\n    perhaps would not hesitate. As it was, he inclined to the\n    second place, but had written to Lord Malmesbury. We walked up\n    to Hyde Park discussing the subject. Among other topics which\n    I urged, one seemed to impress him much; which was, the great\n    difference there would be in his situation and pretensions\n    upon a return to office, in the event of our going out, if\n    he retired as a Cabinet Minister instead of a subordinate\n    capacity. He allowed it much flattered his ambition, but\n    feared the prejudice it would occasion to his own reputation\n    and the interest of his friends if he failed. I left him\n    inclining to the Secretary at War; and admired his prudence,\n    as I have long done the talents and excellent understanding,\n    as well as the many other good qualities as well as\n    accomplishments, of this very fine young man.\"\n\nOne portion of the diary relates to the Regency. New facts are\nscarcely advanced, but we think some freshness is given from the\nlight and coloring of the author. Unless Sheridan really persuaded\nthe Prince to throw over the Whigs, out of revenge for Whig hauteur,\nhis Royal Highness would seem to have acted entirely from himself.\nThe arrogance of Grey and Grenville comes out very strongly in the\npainting of his opponent. After all, however, it is doubtful whether\nthey _could_ have come in. The Tories would have been strong in\nOpposition; the Whigs could scarcely form a Government without the\nCanning votes, and the hatred with which the old Whigs regarded their\nleader rendered that junction impossible: what was more than all,\ntheir cowardly anti-national policy would have rendered their position\none of great difficulty with the country. The fact is, that poor in\npoint of talent as the Perceval Ministry was, it best represented the\nopinion of the country; as the Whigs now are in a similar position.\nSome of these points are well put in this report of a conversation in\nthe House of Commons; which will also give an idea of the manner of\nthe diary.\n\n    \"J.W. Ward told me what he called a bon mot, and seemed much\n    to enjoy, of Lady ----'s. He had said there was a difficulty\n    in getting people to accept of offices just now; she answered,\n    she thought Lord Grenville would be not unwilling to accept\n    them _all_ in his own person. Oh strange union, where this,\n    by one of their party, is thought characteristic and told\n    with glee! I understand, however, that Tierney has confessed\n    a difficulty. The Prince, it seems, wants them to accept, and\n    they are afraid to accept. They are therefore reduced to tell\n    the Prince, We would accept if it were to do ourselves good;\n    but not when it is inconvenient, though to do you good.\n    The remarkable part of the evening was a conversation with\n    Brand, who came over to sit by me. Though he had spoken, and\n    strongly, against us in the debate, he opened immediately upon\n    the merits of Perceval; he admired his conduct and ability\n    so much, that if he had ever given him a vote in his life, he\n    said, he would have supported him on these questions; that\n    his character had enabled him to commence the stand he had\n    made, and character had attached his party so much to him as\n    to continue the majority all through; that this sentiment\n    was not peculiar to him in the Opposition, but partaken\n    by many--indeed, all without exception admired him; that\n    this would give him extraordinary influence as the head of\n    an Opposition, which must give great trouble, to the new\n    Government when it was formed: nevertheless, he thought we\n    were not going out, it was too dangerous to come in; probably,\n    he added, laughing, the Regent will keep Perceval three months\n    as his father's Minister, and then 'fall so much in love with\n    him' (that was the expression) that he will continue him\n    as his own. He then entered much on the comparison between\n    him and Canning; the latter of whom, he said, spite of his\n    abilities, was discarded by all parties; that he could tell\n    me it was finally resolved not to admit him in the new\n    Government, into which some on account of those abilities\n    had wished to introduce him. I may say, he observed, that I\n    had some share in the rejection: I protested against such a\n    junction whenever it was talked of; I told my friends it would\n    ruin that without which they never could make a Government,\n    character; that the eyes of a great number whom they could by\n    no means command were upon them: I bade them look at the back\n    rows on the side of Opposition, and asked them if they could\n    count such men as Nicholson, Calvert, Halsey, Coke of Norfolk,\n    &c., &c., as their regular supporters, unless it was from\n    an esteem for their character--and if that character would\n    not sustain a deep wound in the outset--if, for the sake of\n    power, they allied themselves with a man who had deserted all\n    alliances he had ever made; that he had deserted them before,\n    after a treaty made, and had then deserted Perceval, after\n    endeavoring to undermine Castlereagh; his conduct to whom had\n    injured himself with the public in the most serious manner,\n    in having allowed him to retain his office and undertake that\n    melancholy expedition, five months after he had declared\n    him so incapable that he put his own resignation upon his\n    dismissal, that to ally with such a man could be only lowering\n    themselves in public esteem without gaining anything but a\n    hollow support. I would inform Canning myself, he added, that\n    this was my protest, if he asked me.\"\n\nThe heads of the \"great Whig families,\" however, were more sanguine,\nand hoped, or at least were occupied, to the last. Their treatment\nby the Prince was characteristic; and one can fancy the magnates at\nAdam's announcement in the following extract:\n\n    \"What most offended them was the manner in which the Prince\n    announced his resolution. They were in the very act of forming\n    the Administration, filling offices, &c., &c., when Adam came\n    in from the Prince. They said they could not be disturbed;\n    he said he must disturb them, for he had a message from the\n    Prince: they replied that it was for the Prince they were at\n    work, for they were making the Government; Adam told them to\n    spare all trouble, for no Government was to be made. This was\n    on Friday the 1st, in the evening; and what affronted them\n    was, that after having had such a task committed to them, the\n    Prince should have presumed to take a counter resolution by\n    himself without first consulting them.\"\n\nThis is a characteristic trait of the Duke of Wellington's way of\ngetting through, business.\n\n    \"He was fond of relating, that soon after the Duke's\n    appointment, he was leaving his office at the usual hour,\n    when, on coming out at the Park entrance, he perceived his new\n    chief just in the act of getting on horseback. He went up to\n    the Duke, and mentioned that there were some matters connected\n    with the department on which he would like to communicate\n    with him when he had time. 'No time like the present,' said\n    the Duke, and, at once dismissing his horse, returned with\n    Mr. Ward into the Ordnance Office. There, then, he remained\n    closeted with the Duke till past eight, listening to and\n    answering his pertinent queries upon manifold points connected\n    with the department. From that moment the Duke appeared to be\n    au fait of the business in hand, and ready to cope with the\n    details as they from time to time presented themselves.\"\n\nThe Duke seems to have been more alarmed at the state of the nation\nabout 1819 than the nature of the case justified; deceived, probably,\nby the official \"reports\" of Messrs. Castles and Co. The following\nremark, however, exhibits his penetration:\n\n    \"He said, if the rising broke out anywhere, it would be\n    at Glasgow and Paisley; where many rich merchants and all\n    they supported would be sure to suffer, while no one could\n    certainly foretell how soon it might be put down. This led\n    him to his favorite notion, that the loyal should be taught\n    to rely more upon themselves, and less upon the Government,\n    in their own defense against the disloyal. It was this, he\n    thought, that formed and kept up a national character: while\n    every one was accustomed to rely upon the Government, upon a\n    sort of commutation for what they paid to it, personal energy\n    went to sleep, and the end was lost: that in England, he\n    observed, every man who had the commonest independence, one,\n    two, five or six hundred, or a thousand a year, had his own\n    little plan of comfort--his favorite personal pursuit, whether\n    his library, his garden, his hunting, or his farm, which he\n    was unwilling to allow anything (even his own defense) to\n    disturb; he therefore deceived himself into a notion that if\n    there was a storm it would not reach him, and went on his own\n    train till it was actually broke in upon by force. This led\n    to supineness and apathy as to public exertion; which would in\n    the end ruin us: the disposition therefore must be changed,\n    by forcing them to exert themselves; which would not be if\n    Government did everything in civil war, they nothing: hence\n    his wish for a volunteer force. All this was exceedingly\n    sound, and showed the reach of his reflecting mind as an\n    observer of human nature, as well as a statesman and soldier,\n    more than anything I have yet seen.\"\n\nThere is a curious passage touching Pitt's dying moments.\n\n    \"At the time Mr. Ward accepted the post of Under-Secretary of\n    State, (resigning that of Welsh Judge,) it had been promised\n    him that the apparent risk of such a step to the future\n    prospects of his family should be guarded against by the grant\n    of a pension, to commence when he should cease to hold office.\n    He had been but a year in the post thus accepted, and amid\n    the pressure of other matters the contemplated arrangement\n    had never been completed. More than once in his last illness\n    did Pitt allude to his unfulfilled promise, and speak with\n    kindness of him to whom it had been made. Later on, when he\n    could no longer continuously articulate, he made the name\n    'Robert Ward' audible, and added signs for paper and ink.\n    His trembling hand having feebly traced a number of wandering\n    characters, and added what could be easily recognized as\n    his well-known signature, he sank back. The precious paper\n    (precious, whatever may have been its unknown import, as a\n    proof of remembrance at so solemn a moment) was afterward\n    handed over by the physician in attendance, Sir Walter\n    Farquhar, to Mr. Ward; and many a time did he declare, as he\n    displayed it to me, that he would give anything he valued most\n    in the world to be able to decipher its unformed characters.\"\n\nSome posthumous compositions of Mr. Ward are appended to the Memoirs.\nThey consist of \"characters,\" similar to those of Chesterfield and\nother writers, and of \"sketches\" and essays; these last being set in\na species of framework, intended to connect them into a series. They\nare not the best specimens of the author's composition; and perhaps\nwere hardly worth publication. Allowance is to be made, as Mr. Phipps\nremarks, for their unrevised state; and revision might have removed\ncrudities and imparted more closeness and strength. It would not,\nhowever, have altered their main defects; which may be summed up\nby saying that they belonged to another age, without reaching the\npeculiar force and finish which alone can give interest to an obsolete\nmode.\n\n[Footnote 3: Memoirs of the Political and Literary Life of Robert\nPlumer Ward, Esq., Author of \"The Law of Nations,\" \"Tremaine,\" \"De\nVere,\" &c. With Selections from his Correspondence, Diaries, and\nunpublished Literary Remains. By the Honorable Edmund Phipps. In two\nvolumes. Published by Murray.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE BAGPIPE.--In Gothic sculpture and tracery angels are sometimes\nportrayed practising on the bagpipe. It was occasionally used in\nchurches before the introduction of the organ, which occurred early\nin the fifteenth century. Written music came into use about the same\ntime, and both were loudly denounced by many of the old school-men as\nunnecessary and vain innovations.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTHE IVORY MINE:\n\nA TALE OF THE FROZEN SEA.\n\nI.--YAKOUTSK.\n\nYakoutsk is one of the principal cities of Siberia, a country the\nname of which excites exaggerated ideas of sterility and desolation.\nWatered by rivers, which in every direction do the work of railways,\nwith richly-wooded mountains and valleys, with green slopes,\ncultivated fields, soft meadows, gardens, and grassy islands in\nthe great streams, with all the common vegetables in pretty fair\nabundance, with an endless source of commerce in furs and ivory,\nSiberia, except in its extreme northern provinces, presents, like\nmost other lands, a very considerable amount of compensation for\nconsiderable rigor of climate. Yakoutsk is a completely northern town\non the great river Lena, with wide streets and miserable huts, all of\nwood, in many of which ice is still used in winter for panes of glass.\nA very eminent traveler tells us that on his visit there were 4000\npeople living in 500 houses; with three stone churches, two wooden\nones, and a convent. It had once an antiquity to show--the ancient\nOstrog or fortress built in 1647 by the Cossacks; but which menaced\nruin more and more every day, being not of stone, but of wood, and\nat last disappeared. Even here progress is observable, and wretched\ncabins give way gradually to houses, some of which are even elegantly\narranged in the interior. It is a great commercial center: from the\nAnubra to Behring's Straits, from the banks of the Frozen Sea to Mount\nAldana, from Okhotsk and even Kamschatka, goods are brought hither,\nconsisting chiefly of furs, seals' teeth and mammoths' tusks, which\nafford excellent ivory, all of which are sold in the summer to\nitinerant traders, who give in return powerfully-flavored tobacco,\ncorn and flour, tea, sugar, strong drinks, Chinese silks and cottons,\ncloth, iron and copper utensils, and glass.\n\nThe inhabitants of the town are chiefly traders, who buy of the\nYakouta hunters their furs at a cheap rate, and then sell them in\na mysterious kind of fashion to the agents who come from Russia in\nsearch of them. During the annual fair they stow up their goods in\nprivate rooms; and here the Irkoutsk men must come and find them.\nThese traders are the Russian inhabitants, the native Yakoutas being\nthe only artisans. In this distant colony of the human race, the\nnew-born child of a Russian is given to a Yakouta woman to nurse, and\nwhen old enough, learns to read and write, after which he is brought\nup to the fur trade, and his education is finished.\n\nIvan Ivanovitch was a young man born and bred at Yakoutsk. His parents\nhad given him the usual amount of tuition, and then allowed him for\na time to follow the bent of his inclination. Ivan took to the chase.\nPassionately fond of this amusement, he had at an early age started\nwith the Yakouta trappers, and become learned in the search for\nsables, ermines, and lynxes; could pursue the reindeer and elk on\nskates; and had even gone to the north in quest of seals. He thus at\nthe age of twenty, knew the whole active part of his trade, and was\naware of all the good hunting-grounds on which the Siberians founded\ntheir prosperity. But when he was called on to follow the more quiet\nand sedentary part of his occupation, he was not one-half so quick.\nHis rough and rude life made town existence distasteful to him, and he\nevinced all that superb contempt for shop-keeping which characterizes\nthe nomadic man, whether Red Indian, Arab, Tartar, or Siberian.\n\nBut Ivan was told he must make his way in the world. His parents who\ndied before he attained to manhood, left him a small fortune in rubles\nand furs, which, if he chose to be industrious and persevering, might\npave the way to the highest position in his native town. Acting on the\npressing advice of his friends, he gave up his wanderings, and went\nto reside in the house of his fathers, piled up his skins and ivory,\nbought new ones, and prepared for the annual fair. The merchants from\nIrkoutsk, the capital, came, and Ivan, who was sharp and clever,\ndid a good trade. But when his furs and teeth were changed into\ntea, tobacco, brandy, cloth, &c., he did not feel a whit happier.\nIvan longed for the arid hills, and lofty mountains, and pellucid\nlakes--for the exciting hunt and the night bivouac, when gray-headed\nYakoutas would, with their _ganzis_--the Irish duddeen--in their\nmouths, tell terrible and wonderful stories of ancient days. When\neating town fare, his stomach yearned after frozen Yakouta butter,\ncut up with axes, and for _strouganina_ or frozen fish, with reindeer\nbrains, and other northern delicacies. And then his kind friends told\nhim that he wanted a wife--a possession without which, they assured\nhim, life was dull, adding that in her society he would cease to long\nfor communion with bears and savages.\n\nIvan believed them, and, following their advice, launched into\nsociety--that is, he went more than usual to the noisy festivities\nof the town, which form the occupation of the dull season. The good\npeople of Yakoutsk--like all people approaching to a savage state,\nespecially in northern climes--consider eating the great business of\nlife. Fabulous legends are told of the enormous capacity for food,\napproaching that of the Esquimaux; but however this may be, certain it\nis that a Yakoutsk festival was always commenced by several hours of\nlaborious eating and drinking of fat and oily food and strong brandy.\nWhen the utmost limits of repletion were reached, the patriarchs\nusually took to pipes, cards, and punch, while the ladies prepared\ntea, and ate roasted nuts, probably to facilitate digestion. The young\nmen conversed with them, or roasted their nuts for them, while perhaps\na dandy would perform a Siberian dance to the music of the violin\nor _gousli_, a kind of guitar. Ivan joined heartily in all this\ndissipation: he smoked with the old men; he drank their punch; he\nroasted nuts for the ladies, and told them wonderful stories which\nwere always readily listened to, except when some new fashion, which\nfor several years before had been forgotten in Paris--found its way\nvia St. Petersburgh, Moscow, and Irkoutsk, to the deserts of Siberia.\nThen he was silent; for the ladies had ample subject of discourse, not\nforgetting the great tea-table topic--scandal; causing the old men\nto shake their heads, and declare such things were not when they were\nyoung. Ivan, however, had one unfailing subject of popularity with\nthe ladies. Like most Russians who have had occasion to travel much in\ncold places, he relished a cup of tea even better than the punch, as\nhe had learned by experience that there was more genuine warmth in the\npot than in the bowl. Most Russian officers are known to share this\nopinion.\n\nIvan had several times had his attention directed to Maria Vorotinska,\na young and rich widow, who was the admiration of all Yakoutsk. Her\nhusband had left her a fortune in knowledge of the fur trade and in\nrubles, with a comfortable house nicely furnished, in Siberia the very\nheight of human felicity. It was commonly reported that Maria, young\nas she was, was the best bargainer in the land. She got her skins for\nless than anybody else, and sold them for a higher price. With these\nqualifications, she must, it was said, prove a jewel to Ivan, who was\nnot a close buyer nor a hard seller. But Ivan for some time remained\nperfectly insensible both to these social advantages and the great\nbeauty of the lady. He met her often, and even roasted her more nuts\nthan any one else, which was a strong case of preference; but he did\nnot seem caught in the fair one's toils. He neither ate, nor slept,\nnor amused himself one whit the less than when he first knew her. One\nevening, however, as Maria handed him his tea, with a hot cake, Ivan,\nwhether owing to some peculiar smile on her face, or to the domestic\nidea which the act suggested, seemed certainly very much struck, and\nnext day formally proposed. Maria laughed, and tossed her head, and\nspoke a few good-natured words; and then, without either accepting\nor rejecting him, hinted something about his youth, his want of\ndevotion to business, and his want of fortune. Ivan, a little warmly,\ndeclared himself to be the best hunter in Yakoutsk, and hence the\nmost practically-experienced of any in the trade, and then gave the\nsum-total of his possessions.\n\n\"Just one quarter of what good old Vorotinska left me!\" replied the\nprudent Maria.\n\n\"But if I liked,\" replied Ivan, \"I could be the richest merchant in\nSiberia.\"\n\n\"How?\" asked Maria a little curiously, for the mere mention of wealth\nwas to her like powder to the war-horse.\n\n\"Being almost the only Russian who has lived among the Yakoutas, I\nknow the secret of getting furs cheaper and easier than any one else.\nBeside, if I chose to take a long journey, I could find ivory in vast\nheaps. A tradition is current of an ivory mine in the north, which an\nold Yakouta told me to be truth.\"\n\n\"Very likely,\" said Maria, to whom the existence of the fossil ivory\nof the mammoth in large masses was well known; \"but the _promich\nlenicks_--trading companies--have long since stripped them.\"\n\n\"Not this,\" cried Ivan; \"it is a virgin mine. It is away, away in\nthe Frozen Sea, and requires courage and enduring energy to find. Two\nYakoutas once discovered it. One was killed by the natives; the other\nescaped, and is now an old man.\"\n\n\"If you could find that,\" said Maria, \"you would be the first man in\nSiberia, and the Czar himself would honor you.\"\n\n\"And you?\" asked Ivan humbly.\n\n\"Ivan Ivanovitch,\" replied Maria calmly, \"I like you better than any\nman in Yakoutsk, but I should adore the great ivory merchant.\"\n\nIvan was delighted. He was a little puzzled by the character of the\nlady, who, after marrying an old man for his fortune, seemed equally\ndesirous of reconciling her interest and her affections in a second\nmarriage. But very nice ideas are not those of the half-civilized, for\nwe owe every refinement both of mind and body to civilization, which\nmakes of the raw material man--full of undeveloped elements--what\ncooking makes of the potato root. Civilization is the hot water\nand fire which carry off the crudities, and bring forth the good\nqualities.\n\nHowever this maybe, Ivan nursed his idea. Apart from the sudden\npassion which had invaded him, he had long allowed this fancy to\nferment in his brain. During his wandering evenings, a noted hunter\nnamed Sakalar, claiming descent from the supposed Tartar founder\nof the Yakoutas, had often narrated his perilous journey on sledges\nacross the Frozen Sea, his discovery of an ivory mine--that is, a vast\ndeposit of mammoths' tusks, generally found at considerable depth in\nthe earth, but here open to the grasp of all. He spoke of the thing\nas a folly of his youth, which had cost the life of his dearest\nfriend, and never hinted at a renewed visit. But Ivan was resolved to\nundertake the perilous adventure, and even to have Sakalar for his\nguide.\n\n\nII. THE YAKOUTA HUNTER.\n\nIvan slumbered not over his project. But a few days passed before\nhe was ready to start. He purchased the horses required, and packed\nup all the varied articles necessary for his journey, and likely to\nplease his Yakouta friend, consisting of tea, rum, brandy, tobacco,\ngunpowder, and other things of less moment. For himself he took a\ncouple of guns, a pair of pistols, some strong and warm clothes, an\niron pot for cooking, a kettle for his tea, with many minor articles\nabsolutely indispensable in the cold region he was about to visit. All\ntravelers in the north have found that ample food, and such drinks as\ntea, are the most effectual protection against the climate; while oily\nand fat meat is also an excellent preservative against cold. But Ivan\nhad no need to provide against this contingency. His Yakouta friend\nknew the value of train-oil and grease, which are the staple luxuries\nof Siberians, Kamschatkans, and Esquimaux alike.\n\nThe first part of Ivan's journey was necessarily to the _yourte_, or\nwigwam of Sakalar, without whom all hopes of reaching the goal of his\nwishes were vain. He had sufficient confidence in himself to venture\nwithout a guide toward the plain of Miour\u00e9, where his Yakouta friend\ndwelt. He started at early dawn, without warning of his departure any\none save Maria, and ventured courageously on the frozen plain which\nreaches from Yakoutsk to the Polar Sea. The country is here composed\nof marshes, vast downs, huge forests, and hills covered with snow in\nthe month of September, the time when he began his journey. He had\nfive horses, each tied to the tail of the one before him, while Ivan\nhimself was mounted on the first. He was compelled to ride slowly,\ncasting his eyes every now and then behind to see that all was right.\nAt night he stretched a bearskin under a bush, lit a huge fire, cooked\na savory mess, and piling clothes over himself, slept. At dawn he\nrose, crammed his kettle full of clean snow, put it over the embers,\nand made himself tea. With this warm beverage to rouse him, he again\narranged his little caravan, and proceeded on his way. Nothing more\npainful than this journey can be conceived. There are scarcely any\nmarks to denote the road, while lakes, formed by recent inundations,\narrest the traveler every half hour, compelling him to take prodigious\nrounds, equally annoying and perplexing.\n\nOn the morning of the third day Ivan felt a little puzzled about the\nroad. He knew the general direction from the distant mountains, and he\nwished to avoid a vast morass. Before him was a frozen stream, and on\nthe other side a hillock. Leaving the others to feed as well as they\ncould, he mounted his best horse, and rode across. The ice bent under\nhim as he went, and he accordingly rode gently; but just as he reached\nthe middle, it cracked violently right across, and sank visibly under\nhim. Ivan looked hurriedly round him. The ice was everywhere split,\nand the next minute his horse, plunging violently, fell through.\nInstead, however, of falling into a stream of cold water, Ivan found\nhimself in a vast and chilly vault, with a small trickling stream in\nthe middle, and at once recollected a not unfrequent phenomenon. The\nriver had been frozen over when high with floods, but presently the\nwater sinking to its ordinary level, the upper crust of ice alone\nremained. But Ivan had no desire to admire the gloomy, half-lit vault,\nextending up and down out of sight; but standing on his horse's\nback, clambered up as best he might upon the surface, leaving the\npoor animal below. This done, he ran to the shore, and used the\nwell-remembered Yakouta device for extracting his steed: he broke a\nhole in the ice near the bank, toward which the sagacious brute at\nonce hurried, and was drawn forth. Having thus fortunately escaped a\nserious peril, he resumed his search on foot, and about midday pursued\nhis journey.\n\nA few hours brought him to the curious plain of the Miour\u00e9, where he\nexpected to find the camp of his friend Sakalar. Leaving an almost\ndesert plain, he suddenly stood on the edge of a hollow, circular in\nform and six miles across, fertile in the extreme, and dotted with\nnumerous well-stocked fish-ponds. The whole, as may plainly be seen,\nwas once a lake. Scattered over the soil were the yourtes of the\nYakoutas, while cattle and horses crowded together in vast flocks.\nIvan, who knew the place well, rode straight to a yourte or cabin\napart from the rest, where usually dwelt Sakalar. It was larger and\ncleaner than most of them, thanks to the tuition of Ivan and the\nsubsequent care of a daughter, who, brought up by Ivan's mother while\nthe young man wandered, had acquired manners a little superior to\nthose of her tribe.\n\nThis was really needful, for the Yakoutas, a pastoral people of\nTartar origin, are singularly dirty, and even somewhat coarse and\nunintellectual--like all savage nations, in fact, when judged by any\none but the poet or the poetic philosopher, who, on examination,\nwill find that ignorance, poverty, misery, and want of civilization,\nproduce similar results in the prairies of America and the wilds\nof Siberia, in an Irish cabin, and in the wynds and closes of\nour populous cities. But the chief defect of the Yakouta is dirt.\nOtherwise he is rather a favorable specimen of a savage. Since his\nassiduous connection with the Russians he has become even rich, having\nflocks and herds, and at home plenty of koumise to drink and horse's\nflesh to eat. He has great endurance, and can bear tremendous cold. He\ntravels in the snow, with his saddle for a pillow, his horse-cloth for\na bed, his cloak for a covering, and so sleeps. His power of fasting\nis prodigious, and his eyesight is so keen that a Yakouta one day told\nan eminent Russian traveler that he had seen a great blue star eat a\nnumber of little stars, and then cast them up. The man had seen the\neclipses of Jupiter's satellites. Like the red Indian, he recollects\nevery bush, every stone, every hillock, every pond necessary to find\nhis way, and never loses himself, however great the distance he may\nhave to travel.\n\nHis food is boiled beef and horse's flesh, cow's and mare's milk. But\nhis chief delicacy is raw and melted fat, while quantity is always\nthe chief merit of a repast. He mixes likewise a mess of fish, flour,\nmilk, fat, and a kind of bark, the latter to augment the volume. Both\nmen and women smoke inordinately, swallowing the vapor, as do many\ndwellers in civilized lands--a most pernicious and terrible habit.\nBrandy is their most precious drink, their own koumise having not\nsufficient strength to satisfy them. In summer they wander about in\ntents collecting hay, in winter they dwell in the yourte or hut, which\nis a wooden frame, of beehive shape, covered with grass, turf, and\nclay, with windows of clear ice. The very poor dig three feet below\nthe soil; the rich have a wooden floor level with the adjacent ground,\nwhile rude benches all round serve as beds, divided one from the other\nby partitions. The fireplace is in the middle, inclining toward the\ndoor. A pipe carries away the smoke.\n\nIt was almost dark when Ivan halted before the yourte of Sakalar. It\nwas at once larger and cleaner to the eye than any of those around. It\nhad also numerous outhouses full of cows, and one or two men to tend\nthese animals were smoking their pipes at the door. Ivan gave his\nhorses to one of them, who knew him, and entered the hut. Sakalar, a\ntall, thin, hardy man of about fifty, was just about to commence his\nevening meal. A huge mass of boiled meat, stewed fish, and a sort of\nsoup, were ready; and a young girl about eighteen, neatly dressed,\nclean, and pretty--all owing to her Yakoutsk education--was serving\nthe hunter.\n\n\"Spirit of the woods protect me!\" shrieked the girl, spilling half of\nthe soup upon the floor.\n\n\"What wild horses have you seen, Kolina?\" cried the hunter, who had\nbeen a little scalded; and then seeing Ivan, added, \"A Yakouta welcome\nto you, my son! My old heart is glad, and I am warm enough to melt an\niceberg at the sight of you, Ivan. Kolina, quick! another platter, a\nfresh mug, the best bottle of brandy, and my red pipe from Moscow!\"\n\nNo need was there for the hunter to speak. Kolina, alert as a\nreindeer, had sprung up from the low bench, and quickly brought forth\nall their holiday ware, and even began to prepare a cake, such as Ivan\nhimself had taught her to make, knowing that be liked some sort of\nbread with his meals.\n\n\"And where are you going?\" cried Sakalar when the young man had\nsomewhat appeased his hunger.\n\n\"To the North Sea, in search of the great ivory mine!\" said Ivan,\nabruptly.\n\nKolina started back in terror and surprise, while Sakalar fixed\nhis keen eye on the youth with sorrow and curiosity, and almost\nunequivocally, testified his belief that his favorite pupil in the\nchase was mad. But Ivan rose and bade the serving-man of the rich\nYacouta bring in his boxes, and opened up his store of treasures.\nThere was tea for Kolina; and for Sakalar, rum, brandy, powder,\nguns, tobacco, knives--all that could tempt a Yakouta. The father\nand daughter examined them with pleasure for some time, but presently\nKolina shook her head.\n\n\"Ivan,\" said Sakalar, \"all this is to tempt the poor Yakouta to cross\nthe wilderness of ice. It is much riches, but not enough to make\nSakalar mad. The mine is guarded by evil beings. But speak, lad, why\nwould you go there?\"\n\n\"Let Kolina give me a pipe and I will tell my story,\" said Ivan; and\nfilling his glass, the young fur-trader told the story of his love,\nand his bargain with the prudent widow.\n\n\"And this cold-hearted woman,\" exclaimed Kolina with emotion, \"has\nsent you to risk life on the horrible Frozen Sea. A Yakouta girl would\nhave been less selfish. She would have said, 'Stay at home--let me\nhave Ivan: the mammoth teeth may lie forever on the Frozen Sea!'\"\n\n\"But the lad will go, and he will be drowned like a dog,\" said\nSakalar, more slowly, after this ebullition of feminine indignation.\n\n\"You must go with him, father,\" continued Kolina, with a compassionate\nlook at Ivan; \"and as your child cannot remain alone, Kolina will go\ntoo!\"\n\n\"We will start when the horses have had five days' hay,\" said Sakalar\ngravely--the animals alluded to being only fed when about to go a\njourney--\"and Kolina shall go too, for Ivan will be two years on his\nway.\"\n\nIvan listened in amazement: in the first place, at the sudden decision\nand warmth of his attached friends, with whom he had dwelt twelve\nyears; then at the time required. He felt considerable doubts as to\nthe widow remaining unmarried such a time; but the explanation of\nSakalar satisfied him that it was impossible to perform the journey\neven in two years. The hunter told him that they must first join the\ntribes dwelling round Nijnei-Kolimsk (New-Kolimsk), where alone he\ncould get dogs and sledges for his journey across the Frozen Sea.\nThis, with the arrangements, would consume the winter. In the summer\nnothing could be done. When the winter returned he must start toward\nthe north pole--a month's journey at least--and if he hit on the\nplace, must encamp there for the rest of the winter. That summer would\nbe spent in getting out the ivory, fattening up the dogs, and packing.\nThe third winter would be occupied by the journey home. On hearing\nthis, Ivan hesitated; but in describing the journey the spirit of the\nold hunter got roused, and before night he was warm in his desire\nto see over again the scenes of his youthful perils. Kolina solemnly\ndeclared she must be of the party; and thus these experienced savages,\nused to sudden and daring resolves, decided in one night on a journey\nwhich would perhaps have been talked of half a century elsewhere\nbefore it was undertaken.\n\nKolina slept little that night. In a compartment near her was one who\nhad since childhood been the ideal of her future. She had loved Ivan\nas a playmate--she loved him as a man; and here, he whom she had\nlonged for all the winter, and he whom she had hoped to see once more\nthe next summer, had suddenly come, starting on a perilous journey\nof years, to win the hand of an avaricious, but young and beautiful\nwidow. Kolina saw all her fairest dreams vanish, and the idol of her\nheart crumble into dust. And yet she felt no ill-will to Ivan, and\nnever changed her resolve to be the faithful companion and attendant\nof her father and his friend in their wild journey to the supposed\nislands in the Frozen Sea.\n\n\nIII.--NIJNEI-KOLIMSK.\n\nThe five days fixed by Sakalar for preparing for the journey were\nwholly devoted to the necessary arrangements. There was much to be\ndone, and much to be talked of. They had to travel a long way before\nthey reached even the real starting-point of their adventurous voyage.\nSakalar, duly to impress Ivan with the dangers and perils of the\nsearch, narrated once more in minute detail all his former sufferings.\nBut nothing daunted the young trader. He was one of those men, who,\nunder more favorable circumstances, would have been a Cook, a Parry,\nor a Franklin, periling everything to make farther discovery in the\nscience of geography.\n\nThe five horses of Ivan were exchanged for others more inured to the\nkind of journey they were about to undertake. There was one for each\nof the adventurers and four to carry the luggage, consisting chiefly\nof articles with which to pay for the hire of dogs and sledges. All\nwere well armed, while the dress of all was the same--Kolina adopting\nfor the time the habits and appearance of the man. Over their usual\nclothes they put a jacket of foxes' skins and a fur-breast cover; the\nlegs being covered by hare-skin wrappers. Over these were stockings of\nsoft reindeer leather, and high strong boots of the same material. The\nknees were protected by knee-caps of fur, and then, above all, was a\ncoat with loose sleeves and hood of double deerskin. This was not all.\nAfter the chin, nose, ears, and mouth had been guarded by appropriate\npieces, forming together a mask, they had received the additional\nweight of a pointed fur cap. Our three travelers when they took their\ndeparture looked precisely like three animated bundles of old clothes.\n\nAll were well armed with gun, pistol, hatchet, and hunting-knife,\nwhile the girdle further supported a pipe and tobacco-pouch. They had\nnot explained whither they were going, but the whole village knew that\nthey must be about to undertake some perilous journey, and accordingly\nturned out to cheer them as they went, while several ardent admirers\nof Kolina were loud in their murmurs at her accompanying the\nexpedition. But the wanderers soon left the plain of Miour\u00e9 behind\nthem, and entered on the delectable roads leading to the Frozen Sea.\nHalf-frozen marshes and quagmires met them at every step; but Sakalar\nrode first, and the others followed one by one, and the experienced\nold hunter, by advancing steadily without hurry, avoided these\ndangers. They soon reached a vast plain three hundred miles across,\nutterly deserted by the human race; a desert composed half of barren\nrock and half of swampy quagmire, soft above, but at a foot deep\nsolid and perpetual ice. Fortunately, it was now frozen hard, and the\nsurface was fit to bear the horses. But for this the party must have\nhalted and waited for a severe frost. The rivers were not frozen\nwhen large in volume, and the Aldana had to be crossed in the usual\nflat-bottomed boat kept for travelers. At night they halted, and with\na bush and some deer-skins made a tent. Kolina cooked the supper, and\nthe men searched for some fields of stunted half-frozen grass to let\nthe horses graze. This was the last place where even this kind of food\nwould be found, and for some days their steeds would have to live on a\nstinted portion of hay.\n\nOn they went over the arid plain, which, however, affords nourishment\nfor some trees, fording rivers, floundering through marshes, and still\nmeeting some wretched apology for grass, when, on the third day, down\ncame the snow in a pelting cloud, and the whole desert changed in an\ninstant from somber gray to white. The real winter was come. Now all\nSakalar's intelligence was required. Almost every obvious sign by\nwhich to find his way had disappeared, and he traversed the plain\nwholly guided by distant hills, and by observing the stars at night.\nThis Sakalar did assiduously, and when he had once started under the\nguidance of the twinkling lights of the heavens, rarely was he many\nyards out at the next halt. He always chose the side of a hillock\nto camp, where there was a tree or two, and half-rotten trunks with\nbushes to make a huge fire.\n\nIt was nearly dawn on the fifth morning after entering the plain,\nand Ivan and Kolina yet slept. But Sakalar slept not. They had\nnearly reached the extremity of the horrible desert, but a new danger\noccupied the thoughts of the hunter. They were now in the track of\nthe wild and savage Tchouktchas, and their fire might have betrayed\nthem. Had Sakalar been alone, he would have slept in the snow without\nfire; for he knew the peril of an encounter with the independent\nTchouktchas, who have only recently been nominally brought into\nsubjection to Russia.\n\nThe heavy fall of snow of the two previous days rendered the danger\ngreater. Sakalar sat gravely upon a fallen tree--a pipe in his mouth,\nand his eye fixed on the distant horizon. For some time nothing\nremarkable caught his gaze; but at last he saw a number of dark\nobjects on the snow, galloping directly toward the camp. Sakalar at\nonce recognized a number of reindeer. It was the Tchouktchas on their\nsledges, bounding with lightning speed along the frozen surface!\n\n\"Up!\" cried the hunter. And when his companions were on their feet,\n\"Quick with your guns! The enemy are on us! But show a bold front, and\nlet them feel the weight of lead!\"\n\nIvan and Kolina quietly took up their post, and awaited the orders\nof Sakalar. No time was lost, and fortunately, for the savages were\nalready near, and were the next minute alighting from their sledges:\nhand in hand they advanced along the snow, with their long ice\nshoes, to the number of a dozen. A simultaneous discharge of the\nheavy-metalled guns of the camp--one of which, that of Sakalar,\nwounded the foremost man--checked their career, and they fell back\nto hold a conference. It became evident at once that they had no\nfirearms, which removed almost all idea of danger. Ivan and Kolina\nnow proceeded to load the horses, and when all was ready, the whole\nparty mounted, and rode off, followed at a respectful distance by the\nSiberian Arabs.\n\nThe travelers, however, received no further annoyance from them, and\ncamped the next night on the borders of the Toukyulane, at the foot of\nthe mountains of Verkho-Yansk. After the usual repose, they began the\nseverest part of the journey. Rugged rocks, deep ravines, avalanches,\nsnow, and ice, all were in their way. Now they rode along the edge\nof frightful precipices, on a path so narrow, that one false step was\ndeath; now they forced their way through gulleys full of snow, where\ntheir horses were buried to their girths, and they had to drag them\nout by main force. Fortunately the Siberian horse, though small, is\nsturdy and indefatigable, living during a three months' journey on\nfaded grass and half-rotten herbage. That evening they camped on\nthe loftiest part of the road, where it winds through still elevated\nrocks.\n\nThe middle of the next day brought them to another plain not much\nsuperior to that they had passed through, but yet less miserable\nlooking, and with the additional advantage of having yourtes here\nand there to shelter the traveler. The cold was now intense; and glad\nindeed was Ivan of the comforts of his Siberian dress, which had at\nfirst appeared so heavy. The odd figures which Kolina and Sakalar\npresented under it made him smile at the notion which Maria Vorotinska\nwould have formed of her lover under a garb that doubled his natural\nvolume. Several halts took place, and caused great delay, from the\nslippery state of the ice on the rivers. The unshod horses could not\nstand. A fire had to be lit; and when sufficient ashes were procured,\nit had to be spread across in a narrow pathway, and the nags led\ncarefully along on this track--one of the many artifices required to\ncombat the rigorous character of the climate. And thus, suffering\ncold and short commons, and making their way for days through frosty\nplains over ice and snow, amid deep ravines and over lofty hills, they\nat length reached Nijnei-Kolimsk, though not without being almost\nwholly knocked up, especially Kolina, who was totally unused to such\nfatigues.\n\nThey had now almost reached the borders of the great Frozen Sea. The\nvillage is situated about eighteen degrees farther north than London,\nand is nearly as far north as Boothia Felix, the scene of Captain\nRoss's four years' sojourn in the ice. It was founded two hundred\nyears ago by a wandering Cossack; though what could have induced\npeople to settle in a place which the sun lights, but never warms, is\na mystery; where there is a day that lasts fifty-two English days,\nand a night that lasts thirty-eight; where there is no spring and no\nautumn, but a faint semblance of summer for three months, and then\nwinter; where a few dwarf willows and stunted grass form all the\nvegetation; and where, at a certain distance below the surface, there\nis frost as old as the \"current epoch\" of the geologist. But by way\nof compensation, reindeer and elks, brown and black bears, foxes and\nsquirrels, abound; there are also wolves, and the isatis or polar fox;\nthere are swans, and geese, and ducks, partridges and snipes, and in\nthe rivers abundance of fish. And yet, though the population be now\nso scanty, and the date of the peopling of Kolimsk is known, there was\nonce a numerous race in these regions, the ruins of whose forts and\nvillages are yet found. The population is about 5000, including the\nwhole district, of whom about 300 are Russians, the descendants of\nSiberian exiles. They dwell in houses made of wood thrown up on the\nshore, and collected by years of patience, and of moss and clay.\nThe panes of the windows in winter are of ice, six inches thick; in\nsummer, of skins. The better class are neatly and even tastefully\ndressed, and are clean, which is the very highest praise that can be\ngiven to half-civilized as well as to civilized people.\n\nThey are a bold, energetic, and industrious race. Every hour of\nweather fit for out-door work is spent in fishing and hunting, and\npreparing food for the winter. In the light sledge, or on skates,\nwith nets and spears, they labored at each of these employments in\nits season. Toward the end of the long winter, just as famine and\nstarvation threaten the whole population, a perfect cloud of swans,\nand geese, and ducks, and snipes, pour in; and man and woman, boy and\ngirl, all rush forth to the hunt. The fish come in next, as the ice\nbreaks; and presently the time for the reindeer hunt comes round.\nEvery minute of the summer season is consumed in laying in a stock of\nall these aliments for a long and dreary season, when nothing can be\ncaught. The women collect herbs and roots. As the summer is just about\nto end, the herrings appear in shoals, and a new source of subsistence\nis opened up, Later still, they fish by opening holes in the\nnewly-formed ice. Nor is Kolimsk without its trade. The chief traffic\nof the region is at the fair of Ostrovnoye, but Nijnei-Kolimsk has\nits share. The merchants who come to collect the furs which the\nadventurous Tchouktchas have acquired, even on the opposite side of\nBehring's Straits, from the North American Indians, halt here, and\nsell tea, tobacco, brandy, and other articles.\n\nThe long night had set in when Ivan and his companions entered\nKolimsk. Well it was they had come, for the cold was becoming\nfrightful in its intensity, and the people of the village were\nmuch surprised at the arrival of travelers. But they found ready\naccommodation, a Cossack widower giving them half his house.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM DICKENS'S HOUSEHOLD WORDS.]\n\nTHE BELGIAN LACE-MAKERS.\n\nThe indefatigable, patient, invincible, inquisitive, sometimes\ntedious, but almost always amusing German traveler, Herr Kohl, has\nrecently been pursuing his earnest investigations in Belgium. His book\non the Netherlands has just been issued, and we shall translate, with\nabridgments, one of its most instructive and agreeable chapters;--that\nrelating to Lace-making.\n\nThe practical acquaintance of our female readers with that elegant\nornament, lace, is chiefly confined to wearing it, and their\nresearches into its quality and price. A few minutes' attention to\nMr. Kohl will enlighten them on other subjects connected with what\nis to them a most interesting topic, for lace is associated with\nrecollections of medi\u00e6val history, and with the palmy days of the\nFlemish school of painting. More than one of the celebrated masters of\nthat school have selected, from among his laborious countrywomen, the\nlace-makers (or, as they are called in Flanders, _Speldewerksters_),\npleasing subjects for the exercise of his pencil. The plump,\nfair-haired Flemish girl, bending earnestly over her lace-work, whilst\nher fingers nimbly ply the intricately winding bobbins, figure in many\nof those highly esteemed representations of homely life and manners\nwhich have found their way from the Netherlands into all the principal\npicture-galleries of Europe.\n\nOur German friend makes it his practice, whether he is treating of\nthe geology of the earth, or of the manufacture of Swedish bodkins,\nto begin at the very beginning. He therefore commences the history\nof lace-making, which, he says, is, like embroidery, an art of very\nancient origin, lost, like a multitude of other origins, \"in the\ndarkness of by-gone ages.\" It may, with truth, be said that it is\nthe national occupation of the women of the Low Countries, and one to\nwhich they have steadily adhered from very remote times. During the\nlong civil and foreign wars waged by the people of the Netherlands,\nwhile subject to Spanish dominion, other branches of Belgic industry\neither dwindled to decay, or were transplanted to foreign countries;\nbut lace-making remained faithful to the land which had fostered and\nbrought it to perfection, though it received tempting offers from\nabroad, and had to struggle with many difficulties at home. This Mr.\nKohl explains by the fact that lace-making is a branch of industry\nchiefly confined to female hands, and, as women are less disposed\nto travel than men, all arts and handicrafts exclusively pursued by\nwomen, have a local and enduring character.\n\nNotwithstanding the overwhelming supply of imitations which modern\ningenuity has created, _real Brussels lace_ has maintained its value,\nlike the precious metals and the precious stones. In the patterns of\nthe best bone lace, the changeful influence of fashion is less marked\nthan in most other branches of industry; indeed, she has adhered with\nwonderful pertinacity to the quaint old patterns of former times.\nThese are copied and reproduced with that scrupulous uniformity which\ncharacterizes the figures in the Persian and Indian shawls. Frequent\nexperiments have been tried to improve these old patterns, by\nthe introduction of slight and tasteful modifications, but these\ninnovations have not succeeded, and a very skillful and experienced\nlace-worker assured Mr. Kohl, that the antiquated designs, with all\ntheir formality, are preferred to those in which the most elegant\nchanges have been effected.\n\nEach of the lace-making towns of Belgium excels in the production of\none particular description of lace: in other words, each has what\nis technically called its own _point_. The French word _point_, in\nthe ordinary language of needlework, signifies _stitch_; but in the\nterminology of lace-making, the word is sometimes used to designate\nthe pattern of the lace, and sometimes the ground of the lace itself.\nHence the terms _point de Bruxelles, point de Malines, point de\nValenciennes_, &c. In England we distinguish by the name Point, a\npeculiarly rich and curiously wrought lace formerly very fashionable,\nbut now scarcely ever worn except in Court costume. In this sort of\nlace the pattern is, we believe, worked with the needle, after the\nground has been made with the bobbins. In each town there prevail\ncertain modes of working, and certain patterns which have been\ntransmitted from mother to daughter successively, for several\ngenerations. Many of the lace-workers live and die in the same houses\nin which they were born, and most of them understand and practice only\nthe stitches which their mothers and grandmothers worked before them.\nThe consequence has been, that certain points have become unchangeably\nfixed in particular towns or districts. Fashion has assigned to\neach its particular place and purpose; for example:--the _point de\nMalines_ (Mechlin lace) is used chiefly for trimming night-dresses,\npillow-cases, coverlets, &c.; the _point de Valenciennes_\n(Valenciennes lace) is employed for ordinary wear or neglige; but the\nmore rich and costly _point de Bruxelles_ (Brussels lace) is reserved\nfor bridal and ball dresses, and for the robes of queens and courtly\nladies.\n\nAs the different sorts of lace, from the narrowest and plainest to the\nbroadest and richest, are innumerable; so the division of labor among\nthe lace-workers is infinite. In the towns of Belgium there are as\nmany different kinds of lace-workers as there are varieties of spiders\nin Nature. It is not, therefore, surprising that in the several\ndepartments of this branch of industry there are as many technical\nterms and phrases as would make up a small dictionary. In their\norigin, these expressions were all Flemish; but French being the\nlanguage now spoken in Belgium, they have been translated into French,\nand the designations applied to some of the principal classifications\nof the work-women. Those who make only the ground, are called\n_Drocheleuses_. The design or pattern, which adorns this ground, is\ndistinguished by the general term \"the Flowers;\" though it would\nbe difficult to guess what flowers are intended to be portrayed by\nthe fantastic arabesque of these lace-patterns. In Brussels the\nornaments or flowers are made separately, and afterward worked into\nthe lace-ground; in other places the ground and the patterns are\nworked conjointly. The _Platteuses_ are those who work the flowers\nseparately; and the _Faiseuses de point \u00e0 l'aiguille_ work the figures\nand the ground together. The _Striquese_ is the worker who attaches\nthe flowers to the ground. The _Faneuse_ works her figures by piercing\nholes or cutting out pieces of the ground.\n\nThe spinning of the fine thread used for lace-making in the\nNetherlands, is an operation demanding so high a degree of minute care\nand vigilant attention, that it is impossible it can ever be taken\nfrom human hands by machinery. None but Belgian fingers are skilled\nin this art. The very finest sort of this thread is made in Brussels,\nin damp underground cellars; for it is so extremely delicate, that\nit is liable to break by contact with the dry air above ground;\nand it is obtained in good condition only, when made and kept in a\nhumid subterraneous atmosphere. There are numbers of old Belgian\nthread-makers who, like spiders, have passed the best part of their\nlives spinning in cellars. This sort of occupation naturally has an\ninjurious effect on the health, and, therefore, to induce people to\nfollow it, they are highly paid.\n\nTo form an accurate idea of this operation, it is necessary to see\na Brabant Thread-spinner at her work. She carefully examines every\nthread, watching it closely as she draws it off the distaff; and that\nshe may see it the more distinctly, a piece of dark blue paper is used\nas a background for the flax. Whenever the spinner notices the least\nunevenness, she stops the evolution of her wheel, breaks off the\nfaulty piece of flax, and then resumes her spinning. This fine flax\nbeing as costly as gold, the pieces thus broken off are carefully\nlaid aside to be used in other ways. All this could never be done by\nmachinery. It is different in the spinning of cotton, silk, or wool,\nin which the original threads are almost all of uniform thickness. The\ninvention of the English flax-spinning machine, therefore, can never\nsupersede the work of the Belgian fine thread spinners, any more\nthan the bobbinnet machine can rival the fingers of the Brussels\nlace-makers, or render their delicate work superfluous.\n\nThe prices current of the Brabant spinners usually include a list of\nvarious sorts of thread suited to lace-making, varying from 60 francs\nto 1800 francs per pound. Instances have occurred, in which as much as\n10,000 francs have been paid for a pound of this fine yarn. So high a\nprice has never been attained by the best spun silk; though a pound of\nsilk, in its raw condition, is incomparably more valuable than a pound\nof flax. In like manner, a pound of iron may, by dint of human labor\nand ingenuity, be rendered more valuable than a pound of gold.\n\nLace-making, in regard to the health of the operatives, has one great\nadvantage. It is a business which is carried on without the necessity\nof assembling great numbers of workpeople in one place, or taking\nwomen from their homes, and thereby breaking the bonds of family\nunion. It is, moreover, an occupation which affords those employed\nin it a great degree of freedom. The spinning-wheel and lace-pillows\nare easily carried from place to place, and the work may be done with\nequal convenience in the house, in the garden, or at the street-door.\nIn every Belgian town in which lace-making is the staple business,\nthe eye of the traveler is continually greeted with pictures of\nhappy industry attended by all its train of concomitant virtues. The\ncostliness of the material employed in the work, viz., the fine flax\nthread, fosters the observance of order and economy, which, as well\nas habits of cleanliness, are firmly engrafted among the people. Much\nmanual dexterity, quickness of eye, and judgment, are demanded in\nlace-making; and the work is a stimulator of ingenuity and taste;\nso that, unlike other occupations merely manual, it tends to rouse\nrather than to dull the mind. It is, moreover, unaccompanied by any\nunpleasant and harassing noise; for the humming of the spinning-wheel,\nand the regular tapping of the little bobbins, are sounds not in\nthemselves disagreeable, or sufficiently loud to disturb conversation,\nor to interrupt the social song.\n\nIn Belgium, female industry presents itself under aspects alike\ninteresting to the painter, the poet, and the philanthropist. Here\nand there may be seen a happy-looking girl, seated at an open window,\nturning her spinning-wheel or working at her lace-pillow, whilst at\nintervals she indulges in the relaxation of a curious gaze at the\npassers-by in the street. Another young _Speldewerkster_, more\nsentimentally disposed, will retire into the garden, seating herself\nin an umbrageous arbor, or under a spreading tree, her eyes intent\non her work, but her thoughts apparently divided between it and\nsome object nearer to her heart. At a doorway sits a young mother,\nsurrounded by two or three children playing round the little table or\nwooden settle on which her lace-pillow rests. Whilst the mother's busy\nfingers are thus profitably employed, her eyes keep watch over the\nmovements of her little ones, and she can at the same time spare an\nattentive thought for some one of her humble household duties.\n\nDressmakers, milliners, and other females employed in the various\noccupations which minister to the exigencies of fashion, are confined\nto close rooms, surrounded by masses of silk, muslin, &c. They are\ndebarred the healthful practice of working in the open air, and can\nscarcely venture even to sit at an open window, because a drop of\nrain or a puff of wind may be fatal to their work and its materials.\nThe lace-maker, on the contrary, whose work requires only her thread\nand her fingers, is not disturbed by a refreshing breeze or a light\nshower; and even when the weather is not particularly fine, she\nprefers sitting at her street-door or in her garden, where she enjoys\na brighter light than within doors.\n\nIn most of the principal towns of the Netherlands there is one\nparticular locality which is the focus of lace-making industry; and\nthere, in fine weather, the streets are animated by the presence of\nthe busy work-women. In each of these districts there is usually one\nwide open street which the _Speldewerkers_ prefer to all others, and\nin which they assemble and form themselves into the most picturesque\ngroups imaginable. It is curious to observe them, pouring out\nof narrow lanes and alleys, carrying with them their chairs and\nlace-pillows, to take their places in the wide open street, where they\ncan enjoy more of bright light and fresh air than in their own places\nof abode.\n\n\"I could not help contrasting,\" says Kohl, \"the pleasing aspect of\nthese streets with the close and noisy workrooms in woolen and cotton\nmanufactories. There the workpeople are all separated and classified\naccording to age and sex, and marshaled like soldiers. Their domestic\nand family ties are rudely broken. There chance or exigency separates\nthe young factory girl from her favorite companions, and dooms her to\nassociation with strangers. There social conversation and the merry\nsong are drowned in that stunning din of machinery, which in the end\nparalyzes even the power of thought.\"\n\nOur German friend is a little hard upon factory life. Though not\nso picturesque, it does not, if candidly viewed, offer so very\nunfavorable a contrast to that passed by the Belgian Lace Workers.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n[FROM BENTLEY'S MISCELLANY.]\n\nTHE TOMB OF LADY BLESSINGTON.\n\nBY MRS. ROMER.\n\n  \"[Greek: Eudeis all ou seio lelasmenoi esmen]!\"\n  \"Thou sleepest, but we do not forget thee!\"\n\nIt is too much the way of the world in this our civilized Europe\nto neglect the receptacles of the dead. Those loved ones even,\nwhose dwellings, while living, were thronged by admiring friends,\nare deserted when laid in their last narrow home. The breath once\ngone,--the last sad offices performed,--the funeral pomp over,--and\nthe sepulchre closed,--all the requisites of affection and respect\nappear to have been fulfilled, and the spot that holds the dust once\nso doted upon, is forever abandoned! Witness the damp graves overgrown\nwith rank nettles and thorns, the degraded tombstones, the illegible\nmoss-covered epitaphs of our church-yards! Witness the dreary oblivion\nof our over-crowded vaults, where the eye of affection has never\nshed a tear, the hand of friendship never scattered a flower over\nthe mouldering relics they inclose! It is not that the dead are\nforgotten--it is not that their memory has ceased to be dear and\nsacred to their friends--but it is that the gay and the worldly-minded\nshrink from the dark images called forth by the aspect of the grave;\nthey recoil from the idea of familiarizing themselves with the\ninevitable spot where they must one day lie in \"cold obstruction's\napathy;\" they deem it fond folly to nourish grief by keeping before\ntheir eyes that which perpetually reminds them of the loss they have\nsustained, and thus they fly from the dwellings of the dead, and\nabandon what was once dearest to them to darkness and the worm.\n\nA tenderer and more reverent spirit prevails in the East. There the\nCities of the Dead are the constant resort of the living. The tombs of\nfriends and kindred are as carefully tended, as regularly visited as\ntheir habitations were while yet they were dwellers upon earth. The\ngrave of a departed relative is a spot consecrated to sweet and solemn\nrecollections, where the followers of Mohammed love to meditate and to\npray. In the mausoleum of the Viceroys of Egypt carpets and cushions\nare spread around the various tombs it contains, and once in every\nweek the wives and daughters of the dead repair thither and pass the\ngreater part of the day in contemplation and self-communion. In the\npublic cemeteries alms are distributed at the graves of the pious:\neven the winged wanderers of the air find refreshment there, for on\neach sepulchral stone a small receptacle is hollowed out to collect\nthe dews of heaven, where the birds, as they flutter past, may slake\ntheir thirst. On each succeeding Sabbath fresh green branches adorn\nthe headstones, and vailed mourners, seated by them, keep silent\nwatch, in the fond belief that the lifeless occupant of the tomb is\nconscious of their presence there.[4]\n\nThe loftier, purer character of our faith leads us to reject such\nfancies as gross superstitions; and yet there is something touching\nin them! We treasure a lock of hair--a glove--a ribbon--a flower, once\nworn by an absent loved one; why should we not more tenderly treasure\nthe dust that has once been ennobled by enshrining the immortal\nspirit of a departed friend, or deem it weakness to watch over these\nmouldering relics as fondly as though they were still conscious of\nour care? And surely if the enfranchised spirit is permitted to be\ncognisant of that which passes upon earth--if, from those blessed\nabodes whither it has winged its course, a care can be bestowed upon\nthe earthly coil it has thrown off, or upon the creatures of clay\nwho still toil and grovel here below, may we not suppose that it\ncontemplates with pitying complacency the clinging tenderness which\nbinds the hearts of the living to the ashes of the dead, the desperate\naffection with which we look our last upon the lifeless form which\nnever more can respond to all our love and all our sorrow, and the\nfond fidelity which leads us to hover round the tomb that has forever\nshut it from our view?\n\nI love to think that such may be the case; nor can I separate the\nidea, weak and idle though it may be, that the souls of the departed\nmourn over the neglect and abandonment of their earthly remains, _as\nthe first step toward forgetfulness of their memory._ To me, the\ngrave of a friend possesses an attraction, which, although tinged with\ndeepest sadness, is wholly distinct from the horror with which the\nimagination so often invests it. My heart yearns to look upon the last\nresting-place of those I have loved.\n\nI would shelter those sacred spots from the beating rain, screen them\nfrom the wintry winds, plant around them the flowers that were once\npreferred by their unconscious tenants, and inscribe over the entrance\nof every cemetery the beautiful line of K\u00f6rner's\n\n  \"Vergiss die treuen Todten nicht!\"\n  \"Forget not the faithful dead!\"\n\nIt was in this spirit that, one day during my recent visit to Paris,\nI escaped from the busy idleness of that gay and ever-bustling city,\nto make a pilgrimage to the tomb of one whose surpassing qualities\nof mind, and heart, and person, had endeared her to all who knew\nher--whose brilliant career had been closed with awful suddenness--and\nwhose lamented death has left a void in the circle over which she\npresided with such graceful urbanity, which no other can hope to\nfill. By a strange coincidence, it was precisely on that day, the year\nbefore, that she had paid me her farewell visit in London; little did\neither of us then foresee how and where that visit would be returned\nby me! The regret of parting was then softened by our mutual\nconviction that many meetings were in store for us in the new home she\nhad chosen for herself in a foreign land. Alas! before many weeks had\nelapsed she was suddenly summoned to her eternal home! In the midst of\nhealth, and hope, and enjoyment, Death insidiously laid his icy grasp\nupon her; but so gently was the blow dealt, that neither sigh nor\nstruggle marked her passage from life to immortality; and before her\nstunned friends could bring themselves to believe that her warm heart\nhad indeed grown cold, the vaults of the Madeleine had received all\nthat was left on earth of the once beautiful and gifted Marguerite\nBlessington.\n\nBut not to remain there. A tomb was constructed for her, far from\nthe crowded cemeteries of the capital, in a spot which she herself\nwould have selected, could her wishes have been consulted. On\nthe confines of the quiet village of Chambourey, a league beyond\nSt. Germain-en-Laye, a green eminence, crowned with luxuriant\nchestnut-trees, divides the village church-yard from the grounds\nof the Duke de Gramont. On that breezy height, overlooking the\nmagnificent plain that stretches between St. Germain and Paris, a\nmausoleum has been erected worthy of containing the mortal remains of\nher whom genius and talent had delighted to honor--\n\n  \"Whom Lawrence painted and whom Byron sung!\"\n\nA pyramid composed of large blocks of white stone, and similar in\nform to the ancient monuments of Egypt, rises from a platform of solid\nblack granite, which has been completely isolated from the surrounding\nsurface by a deep dry moat, whose precipitous slopes are clothed with\nsoftest greenest turf. A bronze railing incloses the whole, within\nwhich has been planted a broad belt of beautiful evergreens and\nflowering shrubs; and beyond these the lofty chestnut trees \"wave in\ntender gloom,\" and form a leafy canopy to shelter that lonely tomb\nfrom the winds of heaven. Solid, simple, and severe, it combines every\nrequisite in harmony with its solemn destination; no meretricious\nornaments, no false sentiment, mar the purity of its design. The\ngenius which devised it has succeeded in cheating the tomb of its\nhorrors, without depriving it of its imposing gravity. The simple\nportal is surmounted by a plain massive cross of stone, and a door,\nsecured by an open work of bronze, leads into a sepulchral chamber,\nthe key of which had been confided to me.\n\nAll within breathes the holy calm of eternal repose; no gloom, no\nmouldering damp, nothing to recall the dreadful images of decay. An\natmosphere of peace appears to pervade the place, and I could almost\nfancy that a voice from the tomb whispered, in the words of Dante's\nBeatrice--\n\n  \"Io sono in pace!\"\n\nThe light of the sun, streaming through a glazed aperture above\nthe door, fell like a ray of heavenly hope upon the symbol of man's\nredemption--a beautiful copy, in bronze, of Michael Angelo's crucified\nSavior--which is affixed to the wall facing the entrance. A simple\nstone sarcophagus is placed on either side of the chamber, each one\nsurmounted by two white marble tablets, incrusted in the sloping\nwalls. That to the left incloses the coffin of Lady Blessington--that\nto the right is still untenanted; long may it remain so!\n\nThe affection she most valued, the genius and talent she most admired,\nhave contributed to do honor to the memory of that gifted woman. Her\nsepulchre is the creation of Alfred d'Orsay, her epitaphs are the\ncomposition of Barry Cornwall and Walter Savage Landor. Upon the two\ntablets placed over her tomb, are inscribed the following tributary\nlines:--\n\n    \"In Memory of Marguerite Countess of Blessington, who died\n    on the 4th of June, 1849. In her lifetime she was loved and\n    admired for her many graceful writings, her gentle manners,\n    her kind and generous heart. Men famous for art and science,\n    in distant lands, sought her friendship; and the historians\n    and scholars, the poets, and wits, and painters of her own\n    country, found an unfailing welcome in her ever hospitable\n    home. She gave cheerfully, to all who were in need, help and\n    sympathy, and useful counsel; and she died lamented by many\n    friends. They who loved her best in life, and now lament her\n    most, have reared this tributary marble over her place of\n    rest. BARRY CORNWALL.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n  \"Infra sepultum est\n  Id omne quod sepeliri potest,\n  Mulieris quondam pulcherrim\u00e6.\n  Ingenium suum summo studio coluit,\n  Aliorum pari adjuvit.\n  Benefacta sua celare novit, ingenium non ita.\n  Erga omnes erat larg\u00e2 bonitate,\n  Peregrinis eleganter hospitalis.\n  Venit Lutetiam Parisiorum Aprili mense,\n  Quarto Junii die supremum suum obiit.\"\n\n      \"WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n_Her_ last resting-place will not be neglected. The eye of faithful\naffection watches over it as vigilantly as though the dust that sleeps\nwithin were conscious of his care. But lately a sentiment of exquisite\ntenderness suggested the addition of its most touching and appropriate\nembellishment. A gentleman in the County Tipperary[5] had been\ncommissioned to send over to Chambourcy a root of ivy from Lady\nBlessington's birthplace to plant near her grave. He succeeded in\nobtaining an off-shoot from the parent stem that grows over the house\nin which she was born. It has been transplanted to the foot of the\nrailing that surrounds her monument--it has taken root and spread--and\nthus the same ivy that sheltered her cradle will overshadow her tomb!\n\n[Footnote 4: The Egyptian Mahommedans believe that for some time\nafter death the body is conscious of its actual state, and of what is\npassing immediately around it. In this persuasion, mothers will remain\ndays and nights near the graves of their recently buried children, _in\norder that they may not feel terrified at being left alone._]\n\n[Footnote 5: R. Bernal Osborne, Esq., M.P.]\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA British Meteorological Society is projected, with Mr. Whitbread as\nPresident. Its objects will be the observation and collection of all\nmeteorological phenomena, and the encouragement of the science in\nevery branch. This sort of subdivision of literary and philosophical\npursuits is very injurious, for it tends to starve a number instead of\nsupporting one with sufficient resources.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGOLDEN RULES OF LIFE.--All the air and the exercise in the universe,\nand the most generous and liberal table, but poorly suffice to\nmaintain human stamina if we neglect other co-operatives--namely\nthe obedience to the laws of abstinence, and those of ordinary\ngratification. We rise with a headache, and we set about puzzling\nourselves to know the cause. We then recollect that we had a hard\nday's fag, or that we feasted over-bounteously, or that we stayed up\nvery late: at all events we incline to find out the fault, and then we\ncall ourselves fools for falling into it. Now, this is an occurrence\nhappening almost every day; and these are the points that run away\nwith the best portion of our life, before we find out what is for\ngood or evil. Let any single individual review his past life: how\ninstantaneously the blush will cover his cheek, when he thinks of\nthe egregious errors he has unknowingly committed--say unknowingly,\nbecause it never occurred to him that they were errors until the\neffects followed that betrayed the cause. All our sickness and\nailments, and a brief life, mainly depend upon ourselves. There are\nthousands who practice errors day after day, and whose pervading\nthought is, that everything which is agreeable and pleasing cannot be\nhurtful. The slothful man loves his bed; the toper his drink, because\nit throws him into an exhilarative and exquisite mood; the gourmand\nmakes his stomach his god; and the sensualist thinks his delights\nimperishable. So we go on, and at last we stumble and break down. We\nthen begin to reflect, and the truth stares us in the face how much\nwe are to blame.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nPROGRESS OF MILTON'S BLINDNESS.--It is now, I think, about ten years\n(1654) since I perceived my vision to grow weak and dull; and, at\nthe same time I was troubled with pain in my kidneys and bowels,\naccompanied with flatulency. In the morning, as I began to read, as\nwas my custom, my eyes instantly ached intensely, but were refreshed\nafter a little corporeal exercise. The candle which I looked at seemed\nas if it were encircled by a rainbow. Not long after the sight of the\nleft part of the left eye (which I lost some years before the other)\nbecame quite obscured, and prevented me from discerning any object\non that side. The sight in my other eye has now been gradually and\nsensibly vanishing away for about three years; some months before it\nhad entirely perished, though I stood motionless, every thing which\nI looked at seemed in motion to and fro. A stiff cloudy vapor seemed\nto have settled on my forehead and temples, which usually occasions a\nsort of somnolent pressure upon my eyes, and particularly from dinner\ntill evening. So that I often recollect what is said of the poet\nPhineas in the Argonautics:\n\n  \"A stupor deep his cloudy temples bound,\n  And when he waked he seemed as whirling round,\n  Or in a feeble trance he speechless lay.\"\n\nI ought not to omit that, while I had any sight left, as soon as I\nlay down on my bed, and turned on either side, a flood of light used\nto gush from my closed eyelids. Then, as my sight became daily more\nimpaired, the colors became more faint, and were emitted with a\ncertain crackling sound; but at present every species of illumination\nbeing, as it were, extinguished, there is diffused around me nothing\nbut darkness, or darkness mingled and streaked with an ashy brown. Yet\nthe darkness in which I am perpetually immersed seems always, both by\nnight and day, to approach nearer to a white than black; and when the\neye is rolling in its socket, it admits a little particle of light\nas through a chink. And though your physician may kindle a small ray\nof hope, yet I make up my mind to the malady as quite incurable; and\nI often reflect, that as the wise man admonishes, days of darkness\nare destined to each of us. The darkness which I experience, less\noppressive than that of the tomb, is owing to the singular goodness\nof the Deity, passed amid the pursuits of literature and the cheering\nsalutations of friendship. But if, as it is written, man shall not\nlive by bread alone, but by every word that proceedeth from the mouth\nof God, why may not any one acquiesce in the privation of his sight,\nwhen God has so amply furnished his mind and his conscience with\neyes?--_Milton's Prose Works_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"ONCE CAUGHT, TWICE SHY.\"--\"Many years ago,\" says Mr. A. Smee, \"I\ncaught a common mouse in a trap, and instead of consigning it to the\nusual watery grave or to the unmerciful claws of the cat, I determined\nto keep it a prisoner. After a short time, the little mouse made its\nescape in a room attached to my father's residence in the Bank of\nEngland. I did not desire the presence of a wild mouse in this room,\nand therefore adopted means to secure him. The room was paved with\nstone, and inclosed with solid walls. There was no hope for him that\nhe would ultimately escape, although there were abundant opportunities\nfor hiding. I set the trap, and baited it with a savory morsel, but\nday after day no mouse entered. The poor little thing gave unequivocal\nsigns of extreme hunger by gnawing the bladder from one of my chemical\nbottles. I gradually removed everything from the room that he could\npossibly eat, but still the old proverb of \"Once caught, twice shy,\"\nso far applied that he would not enter my trap. After many days,\nvisiting the apartment one morning, the trap was down, the mouse was\ncaught; the pangs of hunger were more intolerable than the terrors of\nimprisonment. He did not, however, will the unpleasant alternative of\nentering the trap until he was so nearly starved that his bones almost\nprotruded through his skin; and he freely took bits of food from my\nfingers through the wires of the cage.\"--_Instinct and Reason_, just\npublished.","title":"International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art, and Science \u2014 Volume 1, No. 4, July 22, 1850","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":32016}