{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_23240/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_23240","id":"gutenberg_23240","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23240","summary":null,"tags":["Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Journals","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","England -- Periodicals","Scotland -- Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Brendan O'Connor, Jonathan Ingram, Sam W. and\nthe Online Distributed Proofreading Team at\nhttp://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images\ngenerously made available by The Internet Library of Early\nJournals.)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n                  BLACKWOOD'S\n              EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.\n\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     No. CCCXXXVI. OCTOBER, 1843. VOL. LIV.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n    MILL'S LOGIC.\n    MY COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS.\n    TRAVELS OF KERIM KHAN.\n    THE THIRTEENTH; A TALE OF DOOM.\n    REMINISCENCES OF SYRIA.\n    THE FATE OF POLYCRATES.\n    MODERN PAINTERS.\n    A ROYAL SALUTE.\n    PHYSICAL SCIENCE IN ENGLAND.\n    CHRONICLES OF PARIS. THE RUE ST DENIS.\n    THE LAST SESSION OF PARLIAMENT.\n\n\n\n\nMILL'S LOGIC.[1]\n\n    [1] A System of Logic, Ratiocinative and Inductive;\n    being a connected view of the Principles of Evidence,\n    and the Methods of Scientific Investigation. By John\n    Stuart Mill. In two volumes. London: Parker.\n\n\nThese are _not_ degenerate days. We have still strong thinkers amongst\nus; men of untiring perseverance, who flinch before no difficulties,\nwho never hide the knot which their readers are only too willing that\nthey should let alone; men who dare write what the ninety-nine out of\nevery hundred will pronounce a _dry_ book; who pledge themselves, not\nto the public, but to their subject, and will not desert it till their\ntask is completed. One of this order is Mr John Stuart Mill. The work\nhe has now presented to the public, we deem to be, after its kind, of\nthe very highest character, every where displaying powers of clear,\npatient, indefatigable thinking. Abstract enough it must be allowed to\nbe, calling for an unremitted attention, and yielding but little, even\nin the shape of illustration, of lighter and more amusing matter; he\nhas taken no pains to bestow upon it any other interest than what\nsearching thought and lucid views, aptly expressed, ought of\nthemselves to create. His subject, indeed--the laws by which human\nbelief and the inquisition of truth are to be governed and\ndirected--is both of that extensive and fundamental character, that it\nwould be treated with success only by one who knew how to resist the\ntemptations to digress, as well as how to apply himself with vigour to\nthe solution of the various questions that must rise before him.\n\n    \"This book,\" the author says in his preface, \"makes no\n    pretence of giving to the world a new theory of our\n    intellectual operations. Its claim to attention, if it\n    possess any, is grounded on the fact, that it is an\n    attempt not to supersede, but to embody and systematize,\n    the best ideas which have been either promulgated on its\n    subject by speculative writers, or conformed to by\n    accurate thinkers in their scientific enquiries.\n\n    \"To cement together the detached fragments of a subject,\n    never yet treated as a whole; to harmonize the true\n    portions of discordant theories, by supplying the links\n    of thought necessary to connect them, and by\n    disentangling them from the errors with which they are\n    always more or less interwoven--must necessarily require\n    a considerable amount of original speculation. To other\n    originality than this, the present work lays no claim.\n    In the existing state of the cultivation of the\n    sciences, there would be a very strong presumption\n    against any one who should imagine that he had effected\n    a revolution in the theory of the investigation of\n    truth, or added any fundamentally new process to the\n    practice of it. The improvement which remains to be\n    effected in the methods of philosophizing, [and the\n    author believes that they have much need of\n    improvement,] can only consist in performing, more\n    systematically and accurately, operations with which, at\n    least in their elementary form, the human intellect, in\n    some one or other of its employments, is already\n    familiar.\"\n\nSuch is the manly and modest estimate which the author makes of his\nown labours, and the work fully bears out the character here given of\nit. No one capable of receiving pleasure from the disentanglement of\nintricacies, or the clear exposition of an abstruse subject; no one\nseeking assistance in the acquisition of distinct and accurate views\non the various and difficult topics which these volumes embrace--can\nfail to read them with satisfaction and with benefit.\n\nTo give a full account--to give any account--of a work which traverses\nso wide a field of subject, would be here a futile attempt; we should,\nafter all our efforts, merely produce a laboured and imperfect\nsynopsis, which would in vain solicit the perusal of our readers. What\nwe purpose doing, is to take up, in the order in which they occur,\nsome of the topics on which Mr Mill has thrown a new light, or which\nhe has at least invested with a novel interest by the view he has\ngiven of them. And as, in this selection of topics, we are not bound\nto choose those which are most austere and repulsive, we hope that\nsuch of our readers as are not deterred by the very name of logic,\nwill follow us with some interest through the several points of view,\nand the various extracts we shall present to them.\n\n_The Syllogism._--The logic of _Induction_, as that to which attention\nhas been least devoted, which has been least reduced to systematic\nform, and which lies at the basis of all other modes of reasoning,\nconstitutes the prominent subject of these volumes. Nevertheless, the\nold topic of logic proper, or deductive reasoning, is not omitted, and\nthe first passage to which we feel bound, on many accounts, to give\nour attention, is the disquisition on the syllogism.\n\nFortunately for us it is not necessary, in order to convey the point\nof our author's observations upon this head, to afflict our readers\nwith any dissertation upon _mode_ or _figure_, or other logical\ntechnicalities. The first form or _figure_ of the syllogism (to which\nthose who have not utterly forgotten their scholastic discipline will\nremember that all others may be reduced) is familiar to every one, and\nto this alone we shall have occasion to refer.\n\n    \"All men are mortal.\n    A king is a man;\n    Therefore a king is mortal.\"\n\nWho has not met--what young lady even, though but in her teens, has\nnot encountered some such charming triplet as this, which looks so\nlike verse at a distance, but, like some other compositions,\napproximates nothing the more on this account to poetry? Who has not\nlearnt from such examples what is a _major_, what a _middle term_, and\nwhat the _minor_ or conclusion?\n\nAs no one, in the present day, advises the adoption, in our\ncontroversies, of the syllogistic forms of reasoning, it is evident\nthat the value of the syllogism must consist, not in its practical\nuse, but in the accurate type which it affords of the process of\nreasoning, and in the analysis of that process which a full\nunderstanding of it renders necessary. Such an analysis supplies, it\nis said, an excellent discipline to the mind, whilst an occasional\nreference to the form of the syllogism, as a type or model of\nreasoning, insures a steadiness and pertinency of argument. But is the\nsyllogism, it has been asked, this veritable type of our reasoning?\nHas the analysis which would explain it to be such, been accurately\nconducted?\n\nSeveral of our northern metaphysicians, it is well known--as, for\nexample, Dr Campbell and Dugald Stewart--have laid rude hands upon the\nsyllogism. They have pronounced it to be a vain invention. They have\nargued that no addition of knowledge, no advancement in the\nacquisition of truth, no new conviction, can possibly be obtained\nthrough its means, inasmuch as no syllogism can contain any thing in\nthe conclusion which was not admitted, at the outset, in the first or\nmajor proposition. The syllogism always, say they, involves a _petitio\nprincipii_. Admit the major, and the business is palpably at an end;\nthe rest is a mere circle, in which one cannot advance, but may get\ngiddy by the revolution. According to the exposition of logicians\nthemselves, we simply obtain by our syllogism, the privilege of saying\nthat, in the _minor_, of some individual of a class, which we had\nsaid, in the _major_, already of the whole class.\n\nArchbishop Whately, our most distinguished expositor and defender of\nthe Aristotelian logic, meets these antagonists with the resolute\nassertion, that their objection to the syllogism is equally valid\nagainst _all reasoning whatever_. He does not deny, but, on the\ncontrary, in common with every logician, distinctly states, that\nwhatever is concluded in the minor, must have been previously admitted\nin the major, for in this lies the very force and compulsion of the\nargument; but he maintains that the syllogism is the true type of all\nour reasoning, and that therefore to all our reasoning, the very same\nvice, the very same _petitio principii_, may be imputed. The\nsyllogism, he contends, (and apparently with complete success,) is but\na statement in full of what takes place mentally even in the most\nrapid acts of reasoning. We often suppress the major for the sake of\nbrevity, but it is understood though not expressed; just as in the\nsame manner as we sometimes content ourselves with merely implying the\nconclusion itself, because it is sufficiently evident without further\nwords. If any one should so far depart from common sense as to\nquestion the mortality of some great king, we should think it\nsufficient to say for all argument--the king is a man!--virtually\nimplying the whole triplet above mentioned:--\n\n    \"All men are mortal.\n    The king is a man;\n    Therefore the king is mortal.\"\n\n\"In pursuing the supposed investigation, (into the operation of\nreasoning,)\" says Archbishop Whately, \"it will be found that every\nconclusion is deduced, in reality, from two other propositions,\n(thence called _Premisses_;) for though one of these may be and\ncommonly is suppressed, it must nevertheless be understood as\nadmitted, as may easily be made evident by supposing the _denial_ of\nthe suppressed premiss, which will at once invalidate the argument;\n_e.g._ if any one, from perceiving that 'the world exhibits marks of\ndesign,' infers that 'it must have had an intelligent author,' though\nhe may not be aware in his own mind of the existence of any other\npremiss, he will readily understand, if it be _denied_ that 'whatever\nexhibits marks of design must have had an intelligent author,' that\nthe affirmative of that proposition is necessary to the solidity of\nthe argument. An argument thus stated regularly and at full length, is\ncalled a syllogism; which, therefore, is evidently not a peculiar\n_kind of argument_, but only a peculiar _form_ of expression, in which\nevery argument may be stated.\"--_Whately's Logic_, p. 27.\n\n\"It will be found,\" he continues, \"that all valid arguments whatever\nmay be easily reduced to such a form as that of the foregoing\nsyllogisms; and that consequently the principle on which they are\nconstructed is the UNIVERSAL PRINCIPLE of reasoning. So elliptical,\nindeed, is the ordinary mode of expression, even of those who are\nconsidered as prolix writers,--_i.e._ so much is implied and left to\nbe understood in the course of argument, in comparison of what is\nactually stated, (most men being impatient, even to excess, of any\nappearance of unnecessary and tedious formality of statement,) that a\nsingle sentence will often be found, though perhaps considered as a\nsingle argument, to contain, compressed into a short compass, a chain\nof several distinct arguments. But if each of these be fully\ndeveloped, and the whole of what the author intended to imply be\nstated expressly, it will be found that all the steps, even of the\nlongest and most complex train of reasoning, may be reduced into the\nabove form.\"--P. 32.\n\nThat it is not the office of the syllogism to discover _new_ truths,\nour logician fully admits, and takes some pains to establish. This is\nthe office of \"other operations of mind,\" not unaccompanied, however,\nwith acts of reasoning. Reasoning, argument, inference, (words which\nhe uses as synonymous,) have not for their object our advancement in\nknowledge, or the acquisition of new truths.\n\n\"Much has been said,\" says Archbishop Whately, in another portion of\nhis work, \"by some writers, of the superiority of the inductive to the\nsyllogistic methods of seeking truth, as if the two stood opposed to\neach other; and of the advantage of substituting the _Organon_ of\nBacon for that of Aristotle, &c. &c., which indicates a total\nmisconception of the nature of both. There is, however, the more\nexcuse for the confusion of thought which prevails on this subject,\nbecause eminent logical writers have treated, or at least have\nappeared to treat, of induction as a kind of argument distinct from\nthe syllogism; which, if it were, it certainly might be contrasted\nwith the syllogism: or rather the whole syllogistic theory would fall\nto the ground, since one of the very first principles it establishes,\nis that _all_ reasoning, on whatever subject, is one and the same\nprocess, which may be clearly exhibited in the form of syllogisms.\n\n\"This inaccuracy seems chiefly to have arisen from a vagueness in the\nuse of the word induction; which is sometimes employed to designate\nthe process of _investigation_ and of collecting facts, sometimes the\ndeducing an inference _from_ those facts. The former of these\nprocesses (_viz._ that of observation and experiment) is undoubtedly\n_distinct_ from that which takes place in the syllogism; but then it\nis not a process of _argumentation_: the latter again _is_ an\nargumentative process; but then it is, like all other arguments,\ncapable of being syllogistically expressed.\"--P. 263.\n\n\"To prove, then, this point demonstratively, (namely, that it is not\nby a process of reasoning that new truths are brought to light,)\nbecomes on these data perfectly easy; for since all reasoning (in the\nsense above defined) may be resolved into syllogisms; and since even\nthe objectors to logic make it a subject of complaint, that in a\nsyllogism the premises do virtually assert the conclusion, it follows\nat once that no new truth (as above defined) can be elicited by any\nprocess of reasoning.\n\n\"It is on this ground, indeed, that the justly celebrated author of\nthe _Philosophy of Rhetoric_ objects to the syllogism altogether, as\nnecessarily involving a _petitio principii_; an objection which, of\ncourse, he would not have been disposed to bring forward, had he\nperceived that, whether well or ill founded, _it lies against all\narguments whatever_. Had he been aware that the syllogism is no\ndistinct kind of argument otherwise than in form, but is, in fact,\n_any_ argument whatever stated regularly and at full length, he would\nhave obtained a more correct view of the object of all reasoning;\n_which is merely to expand and unfold the assertions wrapt up, as it\nwere, and implied in those with which we set out_, and to bring a\nperson to perceive and acknowledge the full force of that which he has\nadmitted; to contemplate it in various points of view; _to admit in\none shape what he has already admitted in another_, and to give up and\ndisallow whatever is inconsistent with it.\"--P. 273.\n\nNow, what the Archbishop here advances appears convincing; his\nposition looks impregnable. The syllogism is not a peculiar mode of\nreasoning, (how could it be?)--if any thing at all, it must be a\ngeneral formula for expressing the ordinary act of reasoning--and he\nshows that the objections made by those who would impugn it, may be\nlevelled with equal justice against all ratiocination whatever. But\nthen this method of defending the syllogism, (to those of us who have\nstood beside, in the character of modest enquirers, watching the\nencounter of keen wits,) does but aggravate the difficulty. Is it\ntrue, then, that in every act of reasoning, we do but conclude in one\nform, what, the moment before, we had stated in another? Are we to\nunderstand that such is the final result of the debate? If so, this\nact of reasoning appears very little deserving of that estimation in\nwhich it has been generally held. The great prerogative of intelligent\nbeings (as it has been deemed,) grants them this only--to \"admit in\none shape what they had already admitted in another.\"\n\nFrom the dilemma in which we are here placed, the Archbishop by no\nmeans releases, or attempts to release us: he seems (something too\nmuch after the manner and disposition generally attributed to masters\nin logic-fence,) to have rested satisfied with foiling his opponents\nin their attack upon the exact position he had bound himself to\ndefend. He saves the syllogism; what becomes, in the controversy, of\npoor human reason itself, is not his especial concern--it is as much\ntheir business as his. You do not, more than I, he virtually says to\nhis opponents, intend to resign all reasoning whatever as a mere\ninanity; I prove, for my part, that all reasoning is capable of being\nput into a syllogistic form, and that your objection, if valid against\nthe syllogism, is equally valid against all ratiocination. You must\ntherefore either withdraw your objection altogether, or advance it at\nyour peril; the difficulty is of your making, you must solve it as you\ncan. Gentlemen, you must muzzle your own dog.\n\nIn this posture of affairs the author of the present work comes to the\nrescue. He shall speak in his own words. But we must premise, that\nalthough we do not intend to stint him in our quotation--though we\nwish to give him all the sea-room possible; yet, for a _full_\ndevelopment of his views, we must refer the reader to his volumes\nthemselves. There are some disquisitions which precede the part we are\nabout to quote from, which, in order to do complete justice to the\nsubject, ought to find a place here, as well as in the author's\nwork--but it is impossible.\n\n    \"It is universally allowed, that a syllogism is vicious,\n    if there be any thing more in the conclusion than was\n    assumed in the premisses. But this is, in fact, to say,\n    that nothing ever was, or can be, proved by syllogism,\n    which was not known, or assumed to be known, before. Is\n    ratiocination, then, not a process of inference? And is\n    the syllogism, to which the word reasoning has so often\n    been represented to be exclusively appropriate, not\n    really entitled to be called reasoning at all? This\n    seems an inevitable consequence of the doctrine,\n    admitted by all writers on the subject, that a syllogism\n    can prove no more than is involved in the premisses. Yet\n    the acknowledgment so explicitly made, has not prevented\n    one set of writers from continuing to represent the\n    syllogism as the correct analysis of what the mind\n    actually performs in discovering and proving the larger\n    half of the truths, whether of science or of daily life,\n    which we believe; while those who have avoided this\n    inconsistency, and followed out the general theorem\n    respecting the logical value of the syllogism to its\n    legitimate corollary, have been led to impute\n    uselessness and frivolity to the syllogistic theory\n    itself, on the ground of the _petitio principii_ which\n    they allege to be inherent in every syllogism. As I\n    believe both these opinions to be fundamentally\n    erroneous, I must request the attention of the reader to\n    certain considerations, without which any just\n    appreciation of the true character of the syllogism, and\n    the functions it performs in philosophy, appears to me\n    impossible; but which seem to me to have been overlooked\n    or insufficiently adverted to, both by the defenders of\n    the syllogistic theory, and by its assailants.\n\n    \"It must be granted, that in every syllogism, considered\n    as an argument to prove the conclusion, there is a\n    _petitio principii_. When we say--\n\n        'All men are mortal.\n        Socrates is a man;\n            THEREFORE\n        Socrates is mortal'--\n\n    it is unanswerably urged by the adversaries of the\n    syllogistic theory, that the proposition, Socrates is\n    mortal, is presupposed in the more general assumption,\n    All men are mortal; that we cannot be assured of the\n    mortality of all men, unless we were previously certain\n    of the mortality of every individual man; that if it be\n    still doubtful whether Socrates, or any other individual\n    you choose to name, be mortal or not, the same degree of\n    uncertainty must hang over the assertion, All men are\n    mortal; that the general principle, instead of being\n    given as evidence of the particular case, cannot itself\n    be taken for true without exception, until every shadow\n    of doubt which could affect any case comprised with it,\n    is dispelled by evidence _aliunde_, and then what\n    remains for the syllogism to prove? that, in short, no\n    reasoning from generals to particulars can, as such,\n    prove any thing; since from a general principle you\n    cannot infer any particulars, but those which the\n    principle itself assumes as foreknown.\n\n    \"This doctrine is irrefragable; and if logicians, though\n    unable to dispute it, have usually exhibited a strong\n    disposition to explain it away, this was not because\n    they could discover any flaw in the argument itself, but\n    because the contrary opinion seemed to rest upon\n    arguments equally indisputable. In the syllogism last\n    referred to, for example, or in any of those which we\n    previously constructed, is it not evident that the\n    conclusion may, to the person to whom the syllogism is\n    presented, be actually and _bona fide_ a new truth? Is\n    it not matter of daily experience that truth previously\n    undreamt of, facts which have not been, and cannot be,\n    directly observed, are arrived at by way of general\n    reasoning? We believe that the Duke of Wellington is\n    mortal. We do not know this by direct observation, since\n    he is not yet dead. If we were asked how, this being the\n    case, we know the Duke to be mortal, we should probably\n    answer, because all men are so. Here, therefore, we\n    arrive at the knowledge of a truth not (as yet)\n    susceptible of observation, by a reasoning which admits\n    of being exhibited in the following syllogism--\n\n            'All men are mortal.\n        The Duke of Wellington is a man;\n                THEREFORE\n        The Duke of Wellington is mortal.'\n\n    \"And since a large portion of our knowledge is thus\n    acquired, logicians have persisted in representing the\n    syllogism as a process of inference or proof; although\n    none of them has cleared up the difficulty which arises\n    from the inconsistency between that assertion and the\n    principle, that if there be any thing in the conclusion\n    which was not already asserted in the premisses, the\n    argument is vicious. For it is impossible to attach any\n    serious scientific value to such a mere salvo, as the\n    distinction drawn between being involved _by\n    implication_ in the premisses, and being directly\n    asserted in them. When Archbishop Whately, for example,\n    says that the object of reasoning is 'merely to expand\n    and unfold the assertions wrapt up, as it were, and\n    implied in those with which we set out, and to bring a\n    person to perceive and acknowledge the full force of\n    that which he has admitted,' he does not, I think, meet\n    the real difficulty requiring to be explained; namely,\n    how it happens that a science like geometry _can_ be all\n    'wrapt up' in a few definitions and axioms. Nor does\n    this defence of the syllogism differ much from what its\n    assailants urge against it as an accusation, when they\n    charge it with being of no use except to those who seek\n    to press the consequence of an admission into which a\n    man has been entrapped, without having considered and\n    understood its full force. When you admitted the major\n    premiss, you asserted the conclusion, 'but,' says\n    Archbishop Whately, 'you asserted it by implication\n    merely; this, however, can here only mean that you\n    asserted it unconsciously--that you did not know you\n    were asserting it; but if so, the difficulty revives in\n    this shape. Ought you not to have known? Were you\n    warranted in asserting the general proposition without\n    having satisfied yourself of the truth of every thing\n    which it fairly includes? And if not, what, then, is the\n    syllogistic art but a contrivance for catching you in a\n    trap, and holding you fast in it?'\n\n    \"From this difficulty there appears to be but one issue.\n    The proposition, that the Duke of Wellington is mortal,\n    is evidently an inference, it is got at as a conclusion\n    from something else; but do we, in reality, conclude it\n    from the proposition--All men are mortal? I answer, No.\n\n    \"The error committed is, I conceive, that of overlooking\n    the distinction between the two parts of the process of\n    philosophizing--the inferring part and the registering\n    part; and ascribing to the latter the functions of the\n    former. The mistake is that of referring a man to his\n    own notes for the _origin_ of his knowledge. If a man is\n    asked a question, and is at the moment unable to answer\n    it, he may refresh his memory by turning to a memorandum\n    which he carries about with him. But if he were asked\n    how the fact came to his knowledge, he would scarcely\n    answer, because it was set down in his note-book.\n\n    \"Assuming that the proposition, The Duke of Wellington\n    is mortal, is immediately an inference from the\n    proposition, All men are mortal, whence do we derive our\n    knowledge of that general truth? No supernatural aid\n    being supposed, the answer must be, from observation.\n    Now, all which men can observe are individual cases.\n    From these all general truths must be drawn, and into\n    these they may be again resolved; for a general truth is\n    but an aggregate of particular truths--a comprehensive\n    expression, by which an indefinite number of individual\n    facts are affirmed or denied at once. But a general\n    proposition is not merely a compendious form for\n    recording and preserving in the memory a number of\n    particular facts, all of which have been observed.\n    Generalization is not a process of mere naming, it is\n    also a process of inference. From instances which we\n    have observed, we feel warranted in concluding, that\n    what we found true in those instances holds in all\n    similar ones--past, present, and future, however\n    numerous they may be. We, then, by that valuable\n    contrivance of language, which enables us to speak of\n    many as if they were one, record all that we have\n    observed, together with all that we infer from our\n    observations, in one concise expression; and have thus\n    only one proposition, instead of an endless number, to\n    remember or to communicate. The results of many\n    observations and inferences, and instructions for making\n    innumerable inferences in unforeseen cases, are\n    compressed into one short sentence.\n\n    \"When, therefore, we conclude, from the death of John\n    and Thomas, and every other person we ever heard of in\n    whose case the experiment had been fairly tried, that\n    the Duke of Wellington is mortal like the rest, we may,\n    indeed, pass through the generalization, All men are\n    mortal, as an intermediate stage; but it is not in the\n    latter half of the process--the descent from all men to\n    the Duke of Wellington--that the _inference_ resides.\n    The inference is finished when we have asserted that all\n    men are mortal. What remains to be performed afterwards\n    is merely deciphering our own notes.\n\n    \"Archbishop Whately has contended, that syllogizing, or\n    reasoning from generals to particulars, is not,\n    agreeably to the vulgar idea, a peculiar mode of\n    reasoning, but the philosophical analysis of the mode in\n    which all men reason, and must do so if they reason at\n    all. With the deference due to so high an authority, I\n    cannot help thinking that the vulgar notion is, in this\n    case, the more correct. If, from our experience of John,\n    Thomas, &c. who once were living, but are now dead, we\n    are entitled to conclude that all human beings are\n    mortal, we might surely, without any logical\n    inconsequence, have concluded at once, from those\n    instances, that the Duke Wellington is mortal. The\n    mortality of John, Thomas, and Company, is, after all,\n    the whole evidence we have for the mortality of the Duke\n    of Wellington. Not one iota is added to the proof by\n    interpolating a general proposition. Since the\n    individual cases are all the evidence we can possess;\n    evidence which no logical form into which we choose to\n    throw it can make greater than it is; and since that\n    evidence is either sufficient in itself, or, if\n    insufficient for one purpose, cannot be sufficient for\n    the other; I am unable to see why we should be forbidden\n    to take the shortest cut from these sufficient premisses\n    to the conclusion, and constrained to travel the 'high\n    _priori_ road' by the arbitrary fiat of logicians. I\n    cannot perceive why it should be impossible to journey\n    from one place to another, unless 'we march up a hill\n    and then march down again.' It may be the safest road,\n    and there may be a resting-place at the top of the hill,\n    affording a commanding view of the surrounding country;\n    but for the mere purpose of arriving at our journey's\n    end, our taking that road is perfectly optional: it is a\n    question of time, trouble, and danger.\n\n    \"Not only _may_ we reason from particulars to\n    particulars, without passing through generals, but we\n    perpetually do so reason. All our earliest inferences\n    are of this nature. From the first dawn of intelligence\n    we draw inferences; but years elapse before we learn the\n    use of general language. The child who, having burnt his\n    fingers, avoids to thrust them again into the fire, has\n    reasoned or inferred, though he has never thought of the\n    general maxim--fire burns. He knows from memory that he\n    has been burnt, and on this evidence believes, when he\n    sees a candle, that if he puts his finger into the flame\n    of it, he will be burnt again. He believes this in every\n    case which happens to arise; but without looking, in\n    each instance, beyond the present case. He is not\n    generalizing; he is inferring a particular from\n    particulars.--Vol. I. p. 244.\n\n    \"From the considerations now adduced, the following\n    conclusions seem to be established:--All inference is\n    from particulars to particulars: General propositions\n    are merely registers of such inferences already made,\n    and short formulae for making more: The major premiss of\n    a syllogism, consequently, is a formula of this\n    description; and the conclusion is not an inference\n    drawn _from_ the formula, but an inference drawn\n    _according to_ the formula: the real logical antecedent,\n    or premisses being _the particular facts from which the\n    general proposition was collected by induction_. * * *\n\n    \"In the above observations, it has, I think, been\n    clearly shown, that although there is always a process\n    of reasoning or inference where a syllogism is used, the\n    syllogism is not a correct analysis of that process of\n    reasoning or inference; which is, on the contrary, (when\n    not a mere inference from testimony,) an inference from\n    particulars to particulars; authorized by a previous\n    inference from particulars to generals, and\n    substantially the same with it: of the nature,\n    therefore, of Induction. But while these conclusions\n    appear to me undeniable, I must yet enter a protest, as\n    strong as that of Archbishop Whately himself, against\n    the doctrine that the syllogistic art is useless for the\n    purposes of reasoning. The reasoning lies in the act of\n    generalisation, not in interpreting the record of that\n    act; but the syllogistic form is all indispensable\n    collateral security for the correctness of the\n    generalisation itself.\"--P. 259.\n\nBy this explanation we are released from the dilemma into which the\nsyllogistic and non-syllogistic party had together thrown us. We can\nacknowledge that the process of reason can be always exhibited in the\nform of a syllogism, and yet not be driven to the strange and\nperplexing conclusion that our reasoning can never conduct us to a new\ntruth, never lead us further than to admit in one shape what we had\nalready admitted in another. We have, or may have, it is true, a\n_major_ in all our ratiocination, implied, if not expressed, and are\nso far syllogistic; but then the real premiss from which we reason is\nthe amount of experience on which that major was founded, to which\namount of experience we, in fact, made an addition in our _minor_, or\nconclusion.\n\nBut while we accept this explanation, and are grateful for the\ndeliverance it works for us, we must also admit, (and we are not aware\nthat Mr Mill would controvert this admission,) that there is a large\nclass of cases in which our reasoning betrays no reference to this\nanterior experience, and where the usual explanation given by teachers\nof logic is perfectly applicable; cases where our object is, not the\ndiscovery of truth for ourselves, but to convince another of his\nerror, by showing him that the proposition, which in his blindness or\nprejudice he has chosen to contradict, is part and parcel of some\nother proposition to which he has given, and is at all times ready to\ngive, his acquiescence. In such cases, we frequently content ourselves\nwith throwing before him this alternative--refuse your _major_, to\nwhich you have again and again assented, or accept, as involved in it,\nour _minor_ proposition, which you have persisted in controverting.\n\nIt will have been gathered from the foregoing train of observation,\nthat, in direct contradistinction to Archbishop Whately, who had\nrepresented induction (so far as it consisted of an act of\nratiocination) as resolvable into deductive and syllogistic reasoning,\nour author has resolved the syllogism, and indeed all deductive\nreasoning whatever, ultimately into examples of induction. In doing\nthis, he is encountered by a metaphysical notion very prevalent in the\npresent day, which lies across his path, and which he has to remove.\nWe allude to the distinction between contingent and necessary truths;\nit being held by many philosophical writers that all necessary and\nuniversal truths owe their origin, not to experience (except as\n_occasion_ of their development,) and not, consequently, to the\nordinary process of induction, but flow from higher sources--flow\nimmediately from some supreme faculty to which the name of reason has\nby some been exclusively appropriated, in order to distinguish it from\nthe understanding, the faculty judging according to sense. We will\npause a while upon this topic.\n\n\n_Contingent and Necessary Truths._--Those who have read Mr Whewell's\ntreatise on the _Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences_, will remember\nthat there is no topic which that author labours more sedulously to\ninculcate than this same distinction between contingent and necessary\ntruths; and it is against his statement of the doctrine in question,\nthat Mr Mill directs his observations. Perhaps the controverted tenets\nwould have sustained a more equal combat under the auspices of a more\npractised and more complete metaphysician than Mr Whewell; but a\ndifficulty was probably experienced in finding a statement in any\nother well-known English author full and explicit. Referring ourselves\nto Mr Whewell's volumes for an extract, in order to give the\ndistinction here contended against the advantage of an exposition in\nthe words of one who upholds it, we are embarrassed by the number\nwhich offer themselves. From many we select the following statement:--\n\n\"Experience,\" says Mr Whewell, \"must always consist of a limited\nnumber of observations. And, however numerous these may be, they can\nshow nothing with regard to the infinite number of cases in which the\nexperiment has not been made. Experience, being thus unable to prove a\nfact to be universal, is, as will readily be seen, still more\nincapable of proving a fact to be necessary. Experience cannot,\nindeed, offer the smallest ground for the necessity of a proposition.\nShe can observe and record what has happened; but she cannot find, in\nany case, or in any accumulation of cases, any reason for what _must_\nhappen. She may see objects side by side, but she cannot see a reason\nwhy they must be ever side by side. She finds certain events to occur\nin succession; but the succession supplies, in its occurrence, no\nreason for its recurrence. She contemplates external objects; but she\ncannot detect any internal bond which indissolubly connects the future\nwith the past, the possible with the real. To learn a proposition by\nexperience, and to see it to be necessarily true, are two altogether\ndifferent processes of thought.\n\n\"But it may be said, that we do learn, by means of observation and\nexperience, many universal truths; indeed, all the general truths of\nwhich science consists. Is not the doctrine of universal gravitation\nlearned by experience? Are not the laws of motion, the properties of\nlight, the general properties of chemistry, so learned? How, with\nthese examples before us, can we say that experience teaches no\nuniversal truths?\n\n\"To this we reply, that these truths can only be known to be\n_general_, not universal, if they depend upon experience alone.\nExperience cannot bestow that universality which she herself cannot\nhave, and that necessity of which she has no comprehension. If these\ndoctrines are universally true, this universality flows from the\n_ideas_ which we apply to our experience, and which are, as we have\nseen, the real sources of necessary truth. How far these ideas can\ncommunicate their universality and necessity to the results of\nexperience, it will hereafter be our business to consider. It will\nthen appear, that when the mind collects from observation truths of a\nwide and comprehensive kind, which approach to the simplicity and\nuniversality of the truths of pure science; she gives them this\ncharacter by throwing upon them the light of her own fundamental\nideas.\"--_Whewell_, Vol. I. p. 60.\n\nAccordingly, Mr Whewell no sooner arrives at any truth which admits of\nan unconditional positive statement--a statement defying all rational\ncontradiction--than he abstracts it from amongst the acquisitions of\nexperience, and throwing over it, we suppose, the light of these\nfundamental ideas, pronounces it enrolled in the higher class of\nuniversal and necessary truths. The first laws of motion, though\nestablished through great difficulties against the most obstinate\npreconceptions, and by the aid of repeated experiments, are, when\nsurveyed in their present perfect form, proclaimed to be, not\nacquisitions of experience, but truths emanating from a higher and\nmore mysterious origin.[2]\n\n    [2] Necessary truths multiply on us very fast. \"We\n    maintain,\" says Mr Whewell, \"that this equality of\n    _mechanical action and reaction_ is one of the\n    principles which do not flow from, but regulate, our\n    experience. A mechanical pressure, not accompanied by an\n    equal and opposite pressure, can no more be given by\n    experience than two unequal right angles. With the\n    supposition of such inequalities, space ceases to be\n    space, form ceases to be form, matter ceases to be\n    matter.\" And again he says, \"_That the parallelogram of\n    forces is a necessary truth_;\" a law of motion of which\n    we surely can _conceive_ its opposite to be true. In\n    some of these instances Mr Whewell appears, by a\n    confusion of thought, to have given to the _physical\n    fact_ the character of necessity which resides in the\n    mathematical formula employed for its expression.\n    Whether a moving body would communicate motion to\n    another body--whether it would lose its own motion by so\n    doing--or what would be the result if a body were struck\n    by two other bodies moving in different directions--are\n    questions which, if they could be asked us prior to\n    experience, we could give no answer whatever to--which\n    we can easily conceive to admit of a quite different\n    answer to that which experience has taught us to give.\n\nThis distinction, which assigns a different mental origin to truths,\nsimply because (from the nature of the subject-matter, as it seems to\nus) there is a difference with regard to the sort of certainty we feel\nof them, has always appeared to us most unphilosophical. It is\nadmitted that we arrive at a general proposition through experience;\nthere is no room, therefore, for quibbling as to the meaning of the\nterm experience--it is understood that when we speak of a truth being\nderived from experience, we imply the usual exercise of our mental\nfaculties; it is the step from a general to a universal proposition\nwhich alone occasions this perplexing distinction. The dogma is\nthis--that experience can only teach us by a limited number of\nexamples, and therefore can never establish a universal proposition.\nBut if _all_ experience is in favour of a proposition--if no\nexperience has occurred even to enable the imagination to conceive its\nopposite, what more can be required to convert the general into a\nuniversal proposition?\n\nStrange to say, the attribution of these characteristics of\nuniversality and necessity, becomes, amongst those who loudly insist\nupon the palpable nature of the distinction we are now examining, a\nmatter of controversy; and there are a class of scientific truths, of\nwhich it is debated whether they are contingent or necessary. The\nonly test that they belong to the latter order is, the impossibility\nof conceiving their opposites to be the truth; and it seems that men\nfind a great difference in their powers of conception, and that what\nis impossible with one is possible with another. But (wisely, too)\npassing this over, and admitting that there is a distinction (though\na very ill-defined one) between the several truths we entertain of\nthis nature; namely, that some we find it impossible, even in\nimagination, to contradict, whilst of others we can suppose it\npossible that they should cease to be truths--does it follow that\ndifferent faculties of the mind are engaged in the acquisition of\nthem? Does nothing depend on the nature of the subject itself? \"That\ntwo sides of a triangle,\" says Mr Whewell, \"are greater than the\nthird, is a universal and necessary geometrical truth; it is true of\nall triangles; it is true in such a way that the contrary cannot be\nconceived. _Experience could not prove such a proposition._\"\nExperience is allowed to prove it of this or that triangle, but not\nas an inseparable property of a triangle. We are at a loss to\nperceive why the same faculties of the mind that can judge, say of\nthe properties of animal life, of organized beings, cannot judge of\nthe properties of a figure--properties which must immediately be\nconceived to exist the moment the figure is presented to the\nimagination. We say, for instance, of any animal, not because it is\nthis or that animal, a sheep or an ox, but simply _as_ animal, that\nit must sustain itself by food, by the process of assimilation. This,\nhowever, is merely a contingent truth, because it is in our power to\nconceive of organized beings whose substance shall not wear away, and\nconsequently shall not need perpetual restoration. But what faculty\nof the mind is unemployed here that is engaged in perceiving the\nproperty of a triangle, that _as_ triangle, it must have two sides\ngreater than the third? The truths elicited in the two cases have a\ndifference, inasmuch as a triangle differs from an animal in this,\nthat it is impossible to conceive other triangles than those to which\nyour truth is applicable, and therefore the proposition relating to\nthe triangle is called a necessary truth. But surely this difference\nlies in the subject-matter, not in the nature of our mental\nfaculties.\n\nBut we had not intended to interpose our own lucubrations in the place\nof those of Mr Mill.\n\n    \"Although Mr Whewell,\" says our author, \"has naturally\n    and properly employed a variety of phrases to bring his\n    meaning more forcibly home, he will, I presume, allow\n    that they are all equivalent; and that what he means by\n    a necessary truth, would be sufficiently defined, a\n    proposition the negation of which is not only false, but\n    inconceivable. I am unable to find in any of Mr\n    Whewell's expressions, turn them what way you will, a\n    meaning beyond this, and I do not believe he would\n    contend that they mean any thing more.\n\n    \"This, therefore, is the principle asserted: that\n    propositions, the negation of which is inconceivable, or\n    in other words, which we cannot figure to ourselves as\n    being false, must rest upon evidence of higher and more\n    cogent description than any which experience can afford.\n    And we have next to consider whether there is any ground\n    for this assertion.\n\n    \"Now, I cannot but wonder that so much stress should be\n    laid upon the circumstance of inconceivableness, when\n    there is such ample experience to show that our capacity\n    or incapacity for conceiving a thing has very little to\n    do with the possibility of the thing in itself; but is\n    in truth very much an affair of accident, and depends\n    upon the past habits and history of our own minds. There\n    is no more generally acknowledged fact in human nature,\n    than the extreme difficulty at first felt in conceiving\n    any thing as possible, which is in contradiction to\n    long-established and familiar experience, or even to old\n    and familiar habits of thought. And this difficulty is a\n    necessary result of the fundamental laws of the human\n    mind. When we have often seen and thought of two things\n    together, and have never, in any one instance, either\n    seen or thought of them separately, there is by the\n    primary law of association an increasing difficulty,\n    which in the end becomes insuperable, of conceiving the\n    two things apart. This is most of all conspicuous in\n    uneducated persons, who are, in general, utterly unable\n    to separate any two ideas which have once become firmly\n    associated in their minds, and, if persons of cultivated\n    intellect have any advantage on the point, it is only\n    because, having seen and heard and read more, and being\n    more accustomed to exercise their imagination, they\n    have experienced their sensations and thoughts in more\n    varied combinations, and have been prevented from\n    forming many of these inseparable associations. But this\n    advantage has necessarily its limits. The man of the\n    most practised intellect is not exempt from the\n    universal laws of our conceptive faculty. If daily habit\n    presents to him for a long period two facts in\n    combination, and if he is not led, during that period,\n    either by accident or intention, to think of them apart,\n    he will in time become incapable of doing so, even by\n    the strongest effort; and the supposition, that the two\n    facts can be separated in nature, will at last present\n    itself to his mind with all the characters of an\n    inconceivable phenomenon. There are remarkable instances\n    of this in the history of science; instances in which\n    the wisest men rejected as impossible, because\n    inconceivable, things which their posterity, by earlier\n    practice, and longer perseverance in the attempt, found\n    it quite easy to conceive, and which every body now\n    knows to be true. There was a time when men of the most\n    cultivated intellects, and the most emancipated from the\n    dominion of early prejudice, could not credit the\n    existence of antipodes; were unable to conceive, in\n    opposition to old association, the force of gravity\n    acting upwards instead of downwards. The Cartesians long\n    rejected the Newtonian doctrine of the gravitation of\n    all bodies towards one another, on the faith of a\n    general proposition, the reverse of which seemed to them\n    to be inconceivable--the proposition, that a body cannot\n    act where it is not. All the cumbrous machinery of\n    imaginary vortices, assumed without the smallest\n    particle of evidence, appeared to these philosophers a\n    more rational mode of explaining the heavenly motions,\n    than one which involved what appeared to them so great\n    an absurdity. And they, no doubt, found it as impossible\n    to conceive that a body should act upon the earth at the\n    distance of the sun or moon, as we find it to conceive\n    an end to space or time, or two straight lines inclosing\n    a space. Newton himself had not been able to realize the\n    conception, or we should not have had his hypothesis of\n    a subtle ether, the occult cause of gravitation; and his\n    writings prove, that although he deemed the particular\n    nature of the intermediate agency a matter of\n    conjecture, the necessity of _some_ such agency appeared\n    to him indubitable. It would seem that, even now, the\n    majority of scientific men have not completely got over\n    this very difficulty; for though they have at last\n    learned to conceive the sun _attracting_ the earth\n    without any intervening fluid, they cannot yet conceive\n    the sun _illuminating_ the earth without some such\n    medium.\n\n    \"If, then, it be so natural to the human mind, even in\n    its highest state of culture, to be incapable of\n    conceiving, and on that ground to believe impossible,\n    what is afterwards not only found to be conceivable, but\n    proved to be true; what wonder if, in cases where the\n    association is still older, more confirmed, and more\n    familiar, and in which nothing even occurs to shake our\n    conviction, or even to suggest to us any conception at\n    variance with the association, the acquired incapacity\n    should continue, and be mistaken for a natural\n    incapacity? It is true our experience of the varieties\n    in nature enables us, within certain limits, to conceive\n    other varieties analogous to them. We can conceive the\n    sun or moon falling, for although we never saw them\n    fall, nor ever perhaps imagined them falling, we have\n    seen so many other things fall, that we have innumerable\n    familiar analogies to assist the conception; which,\n    after all, we should probably have some difficulty in\n    framing, were we not well accustomed to see the sun and\n    moon move, (or appear to move,) so that we are only\n    called upon to conceive a slight change in the direction\n    of motion, a circumstance familiar to our experience.\n    But when experience affords no model on which to shape\n    the new conception, how is it possible for us to form\n    it? How, for example, can we imagine an end to space and\n    time? We never saw any object without something beyond\n    it, nor experienced any feeling without something\n    following it. When, therefore, we attempt to conceive\n    the last point of space, we have the idea irresistibly\n    raised of other points beyond it. When we try to imagine\n    the last instant of time, we cannot help conceiving\n    another instant after it. Nor is there any necessity to\n    assume, as is done by the school to which Mr Whewell\n    belongs, a peculiar fundamental law of the mind to\n    account for the feeling of infinity inherent in our\n    conception of space and time; that apparent infinity is\n    sufficiently accounted for by simple and universally\n    acknowledged laws.\"--Vol. I. p. 313.\n\nMr Mill does not deny that there exists a distinction, as regards\nourselves, between certain truths (namely, that of some, we cannot\nconceive them to be other than truths,) but he sets no value on this\ndistinction, inasmuch as there is no proof that it has its counterpart\nin things themselves; the impossibility of a thing being by no means\nmeasured by our inability to conceive it. And we may observe, that Mr\nWhewell, in consistency with the metaphysical doctrine upon space and\ntime which he has borrowed from Kant, ought, under another shape, to\nentertain a similar doubt as to whether this distinction represent any\nreal distinction in the nature of things. He considers, with Kant,\nthat space is only that _form_ with which the human mind invests\nthings--that it has no other than this merely mental existence--is\npurely subjective. Presuming, therefore, that the mind is, from its\nconstitution, utterly and for ever unable to conceive the opposite of\ncertain truths, (those, for instance, of geometry;) yet as the\nexistence of space itself is but a subjective truth, it must follow\nthat all other truths relating to it are subjective also. The mind is\nnot conversant with things in themselves, in the truths even of\ngeometry; nor is there any positive objective truth in one department\nof science more than another. Mr Whewell, therefore, though he\nadvocates this distinction between necessary and contingent truth with\na zeal which would seem to imply that something momentous, or of\npeculiar interest, was connected with it, can advocate it only as a\nmatter of abstract metaphysical science. He cannot participate in that\nfeeling of exaltation and mystery which has led many to expatiate upon\na necessary and absolute truth which the Divine Power itself cannot\nalter, which is equally irresistible, equally binding and compulsory,\nwith God as with man. Of this spirit of philosophical enthusiasm Mr\nWhewell cannot partake. Space and Time, with all their properties and\nphenomena, are but recognized as the modes of thought of a human\nintelligence.\n\nWe have marked a number of passages for annotation and extract--a far\ngreater number than we can possibly find place for alluding to. One\nsubject, however, which lies at the very basis of all our science, and\nwhich has received a proportionate attention from Mr Mill, must not be\namongst those which are passed over. We mean the law of _Causation_.\nWhat should be described as the complete and adequate notion of a\ncause, we need not say is one of the moot points of philosophy.\nAccording to one school of metaphysicians, there is in our notion of\ncause an element not derived from experience, which, it is confessed\non all hands, can teach us only the _succession_ of events. Cause,\nwith them, is that invisible power, that mysterious bond, which this\nsuccession does but signify: with other philosophers this succession\nconstitutes the whole of any intelligible notion we have of cause. The\nlatter opinion is that of Mr Mill; at the same time the question is\none which lies beyond or beside the scope of his volumes. He is\nconcerned only with phenomena, not with the knowledge (if such there\nbe) of \"things in themselves;\" that part, therefore, of our idea of\ncause which, according to all systems of philosophy, is won from\nexperience, and concerns phenomena alone, is sufficient for his\npurpose. That every event has a cause, that is, a previous and\nuniformly previous event, and that whatever has happened will, in the\nlike circumstances, happen again--these are the assumptions necessary\nto science, and these no one will dispute.\n\nMr Mill has made a happy addition to the usual definition of cause\ngiven by that class of metaphysicians to which he himself belongs, and\nwhich obviates a plausible objection urged against it by Dr Reid and\nothers. These have argued, that if cause be nothing more than\ninvariable antecedence, then night may be said to be the cause of day,\nfor the one invariably precedes the other. Day does succeed to night,\nbut only on certain conditions--namely, that the sun rise. \"The\nsuccession,\" observes Mr Mill, \"which is equivalent and synonymous to\ncause, must be not only invariable but unconditional. We may define,\ntherefore,\" says our author, \"the cause of a phenomenon to be the\nantecedent, or the concurrence of antecedents, upon which it is\ninvariably and _unconditionally_ consequent.\"--Vol. I. p. 411.\n\nA dilemma may be raised of this kind. The universality of the law of\ncausation--in other words, the uniform course of nature--is the\nfundamental principle on which all induction proceeds, the great\npremise on which all our science is founded. But if this law itself be\nthe result only of experience, itself only a great instance of\ninduction, so long as nature presents cases requiring investigation,\nwhere the causes are unknown to us, so long the law itself is\nimperfectly established. How, then, can this law be a guide and a\npremiss in the investigations of science, when those investigations\nare necessary to complete the proof of the law itself? How can this\nprinciple accompany and authorise every step we take in science, which\nitself needs confirmation so long as a process of induction remains to\nbe performed? Or how can this law be established by a series of\ninductions, in making which it has been taken for granted?\n\nObjections which wear the air of a quibble have often this\nadvantage--they put our knowledge to the test. The obligation to find\na complete answer clears up our own conceptions. The observations\nwhich Mr Mill makes on this point, we shall quote at length. They are\ntaken from his chapter on the _Evidence of the Law of Universal\nCausation_; the views in which are as much distinguished for boldness\nas for precision.\n\nAfter having said, that in all the several methods of induction the\nuniversality of the law of causation is assumed, he continues:--\n\n    \"But is this assumption warranted? Doubtless (it may be\n    said) _most_ phenomena are connected as effects with\n    some antecedent or cause--that is, are never produced\n    unless some assignable fact has preceded them; but the\n    very circumstance, that complicated processes of\n    induction are sometimes necessary, shows that cases\n    exist in which this regular order of succession is not\n    apparent to our first and simplest apprehension. If,\n    then, the processes which bring these cases within the\n    same category with the rest, require that we should\n    assume the universality of the very law which they do\n    not at first sight appear to exemplify, is not this a\n    real _petitio principii_? Can we prove a proposition by\n    an argument which takes it for granted? And, if not so\n    proved, on what evidence does it rest?\n\n    \"For this difficulty, which I have purposely stated in\n    the strongest terms it would admit of, the school of\n    metaphysicians, who have long predominated in this\n    country, find a ready salvo. They affirm that the\n    universality of causation is a truth which we cannot\n    help believing; that the belief in it is an instinct,\n    one of the laws of our believing faculty. As the proof\n    of this they say, and they have nothing else to say,\n    that every body _does_ believe it; and they number it\n    among the propositions, rather numerous in their\n    catalogue, which may be logically argued against, and\n    perhaps cannot be logically proved, but which are of\n    higher authority than logic, and which even he who\n    denies in speculation, shows by his habitual practice\n    that his arguments make no impression on himself.\n\n    \"I have no intention of entering into the merits of this\n    question, as a problem of transcendental metaphysics.\n    But I must renew my protest against adducing, as\n    evidence of the truth of a fact in external nature, any\n    necessity which the human mind may be conceived to be\n    under of believing it. It is the business of human\n    intellect to adapt itself to the realities of things,\n    and not to measure those realities by its own capacities\n    of comprehension. The same quality which fits mankind\n    for the offices and purposes of their own little life,\n    the tendency of their belief to follow their experience,\n    incapacitates them for judging of what lies beyond. Not\n    only what man can know, but what he can conceive,\n    depends upon what he has experienced. Whatever forms a\n    part of all his experience, forms a part also of all his\n    conceptions, and appears to him universal and necessary,\n    though really, for aught he knows, having no existence\n    beyond certain narrow limits. The habit, however, of\n    philosophical analysis, of which it is the surest effect\n    to enable the mind to command, instead of being\n    commanded by, the laws of the merely passive part of its\n    own nature, and which, by showing to us that things are\n    not necessarily connected in fact because their ideas\n    are connected in our minds, is able to loosen\n    innumerable associations which reign despotically over\n    the undisciplined mind; this habit is not without power\n    even over those associations which the philosophical\n    school, of which I have been speaking, regard as connate\n    and instinctive. I am convinced that any one accustomed\n    to abstraction and analysis, who will fairly exert his\n    faculties for the purpose, will, when his imagination\n    has once learned to entertain the notion, find no\n    difficulty in conceiving that in some one, for instance,\n    of the many firmaments into which sidereal astronomy now\n    divides the universe, events may succeed one another at\n    random, without any fixed law; nor can any thing in our\n    experience, or in our mental nature, constitute a\n    sufficient, or indeed any, reason for believing that\n    this is nowhere the case. The grounds, therefore, which\n    warrant us in rejecting such a supposition with respect\n    to any of the phenomena of which we have experience,\n    must be sought elsewhere than in any supposed necessity\n    of our intellectual faculties.\n\n    \"As was observed in a former place, the belief we\n    entertain in the universality, throughout nature, of the\n    law of cause and effect, is itself an instance of\n    induction; and by no means one of the earliest which any\n    of us, or which mankind in general, can have made. We\n    arrive at this universal law by generalisation from many\n    laws of inferior generality. The generalising propensity\n    which, instinctive or not, is one of the most powerful\n    principles of our nature, does not indeed wait for the\n    period when such a generalisation becomes strictly\n    legitimate. The mere unreasoning propensity to expect\n    what has been often experienced, doubtless led men to\n    believe that every thing had a cause, before they could\n    have conclusive evidence of that truth. But even this\n    cannot be supposed to have happened until many cases of\n    causation, or, in other words, many partial uniformities\n    of sequence, had become familiar. The more obvious of\n    the particular uniformities suggest and prove the\n    general uniformity; and that general uniformity, once\n    established, enables us to prove the remainder of the\n    particular uniformities of which it is made up. * * *\n\n    \"With respect to the general law of causation, it does\n    appear that there must have been a time when the\n    universal prevalence of that law throughout nature could\n    not have been affirmed in the same confident and\n    unqualified manner as at present. There was a time when\n    many of the phenomena of nature must have appeared\n    altogether capricious and irregular, not governed by any\n    laws, nor steadily consequent upon any causes. Such\n    phenomena, indeed, were commonly, in that early stage of\n    human knowledge, ascribed to the direct intervention of\n    the will of some supernatural being, and therefore still\n    to a cause. This shows the strong tendency of the human\n    mind to ascribe every phenomenon to some cause or other;\n    but it shows also that experience had not, at that time,\n    pointed out any regular order in the occurrence of those\n    particular phenomena, nor proved them to be, as we now\n    know that they are, dependent upon prior phenomena as\n    their proximate causes. There have been sects of\n    philosophers who have admitted what they termed Chance\n    as one of the agents in the order of nature by which\n    certain classes of events were entirely regulated; which\n    could only mean that those events did not occur in any\n    fixed order, or depend upon uniform laws of causation.\n    * * *\n\n    \"The progress of experience, therefore, has dissipated\n    the doubt which must have rested upon the universality\n    of the law of causation, while there were phenomena\n    which seemed to be _sui generis_; not subject to the\n    same laws with any other class of phenomena, and not as\n    yet ascertained to have peculiar laws of their own. This\n    great generalisation, however, might reasonably have\n    been, as it in fact was by all great thinkers, acted\n    upon as a probability of the highest order, before there\n    were sufficient grounds for receiving it as a certainty.\n    For, whatever has been found true in innumerable\n    instances, and never found to be false after due\n    examination in any, we are safe in acting upon as\n    universal provisionally, until an undoubted exception\n    appears; provided the nature of the case be such that a\n    real exception could scarcely have escaped our notice.\n    When every phenomenon that we ever knew sufficiently\n    well to be able to answer the question, had a cause on\n    which it was invariably consequent, it was more rational\n    to suppose that our inability to assign the causes of\n    other phenomena arose from our ignorance, than that\n    there were phenomena which were uncaused, and which\n    happened accidentally to be exactly those which we had\n    hitherto had no sufficient opportunity of\n    studying.\"--Vol. II. p. 108.\n\n\n_Hypotheses._--Mr Mill's observations on the use of hypotheses in\nscientific investigation, except that they are characterized by his\npeculiar distinctness and accuracy of thought, do not differ from the\nviews generally entertained by writers on the subject. We are induced\nto refer to the topic, to point out what seems to us a harsh measure\ndealt out to the undulatory theory of light--harsh when compared with\nthe reception given to a theory of Laplace, having for its object to\naccount for the origin of the planetary system.\n\nWe had occasion to quote a passage from Mr Mill, in which he remarks\nthat the majority of scientific men seem not yet to have completely\ngot over the difficulty of conceiving matter to act (contrary to the\nold maxim) where it is not; \"for though,\" he says, \"they have at last\nlearned to conceive the sun _attracting_ the earth without any\nintervening fluid, they cannot yet conceive the sun _illuminating_ the\nearth without some such medium.\" But it is not only this difficulty\n(which doubtless, however, is felt) of conceiving the sun illuminating\nthe earth without any medium by which to communicate its influence,\nwhich leads to the construction of the hypothesis, either of an\nundulating ether, or of emitted particles. The analogy of the other\nsenses conducts us almost irresistibly to the imagination of some such\nmedium. The nerves of sense are, apparently, in all cases that we can\nsatisfactorily investigate, affected by contact, by impulse. The nerve\nof sight itself, we know, when touched or pressed upon, gives out the\nsensation of light. These reasons, in the first place, conduct us to\nthe supposition of some medium, having immediate communication with\nthe eye; which medium, though we are far from saying that its\nexistence is established, is rendered probable by the explanation it\naffords of optical phenomena. At the same time it is evident that the\nhypothesis of an undulating ether, assumes a fluid or some medium, the\nexistence of which cannot be directly ascertained. Thus stands the\nhypothesis of a luminiferous ether--in what must be allowed to be a\nvery unsatisfactory condition. But a condition, we think, very\nsuperior to the astronomical speculation of Laplace, which Mr Mill,\nafter scrutinizing the preceding hypothesis with the utmost\nstrictness, is disposed to treat with singular indulgence.\n\n    \"The speculation is,\" we may as well quote throughout Mr\n    Mill's words, \"that the atmosphere of the sun originally\n    extended to the present limits of the solar system: from\n    which, by the process of cooling, it has contracted to\n    its present dimensions; and since, by the general\n    principles of mechanics, the rotation of the sun and its\n    accompanying atmosphere must increase as rapidly as its\n    volume diminishes, the increased centrifugal force\n    generated by the more rapid rotation, overbalancing the\n    action of gravitation, would cause the sun to abandon\n    successive rings of vaporous matter, which are supposed\n    to have condensed by cooling, and to have become our\n    planets.\n\n    \"There is in this theory,\" Mr Mill proceeds, \"no unknown\n    substance introduced upon supposition, nor any unknown\n    property or law ascribed to a known substance. The known\n    laws of matter authorize us to suppose, that a body\n    which is constantly giving out so large an amount of\n    heat as the sun is, must be progressively cooling, and\n    that by the process of cooling it must contract; if,\n    therefore, we endeavour, from the present state of that\n    luminary, to infer its state in a time long past, we\n    must necessarily suppose that its atmosphere extended\n    much further than at present, and we are entitled to\n    suppose that it extended as far as we can trace those\n    effects which it would naturally leave behind it on\n    retiring; and such the planets are. These suppositions\n    being made, it follows from known laws that successive\n    zones of the solar atmosphere would be abandoned; that\n    these would continue to revolve round the sun with the\n    same velocity as when they formed part of his substance,\n    and that they would cool down, long before the sun\n    himself, to any given temperature, and consequently to\n    that at which the greater part of the vaporous matter of\n    which they consisted would become liquid or solid. The\n    known law of gravitation would then cause them to\n    agglomerate in masses, which would assume the shape our\n    planets actually exhibit; would acquire, each round its\n    own axis, a rotatory movement; and would in that state\n    revolve, as the planets actually do, about the sun, in\n    the same direction with the sun's rotation, but with\n    less velocity, and each of them in the same periodic\n    time which the sun's rotation occupied when his\n    atmosphere extended to that point; and this also M.\n    Comte has, by the necessary calculations, ascertained to\n    be true, within certain small limits of error. There is\n    thus in Laplace's theory nothing hypothetical; it is an\n    example of legitimate reasoning from a present effect to\n    its past cause, according to the known laws of that\n    case; it assumes nothing more than that objects which\n    really exist, obey the laws which are known to be obeyed\n    by all terrestrial objects resembling them.\"--Vol. II.\n    p. 27.\n\nNow, it seems to us that there is quite as much of hypothesis in this\nspeculation of Laplace as in the undulatory theory of light. This\natmosphere of the sun extending to the utmost limits of our planetary\nsystem! What proof have we that it ever existed? what possible\ngrounds have we for believing, what motive even for imagining such a\nthing, but the very same description of proof given and rejected for\nthe existence of a luminiferous ether--namely, that it enables us to\nexplain certain events supposed to result from it? Nor is the thing\nhere imagined any the less a novelty, because it bears the old name of\nan atmosphere. An atmosphere containing in itself all the various\nmaterials which compose our earth, and whatever else may enter into\nthe composition of the other planets, is as violent a supposition as\nan ether, not perceptible to the senses except by its influence on the\nnerves of sight. And this cooling down of the sun! What fact in our\nexperience enables us to advance such a supposition? We might as well\nsay that the sun was getting hotter every year, or harder or softer,\nor larger or smaller. Surely Mr Mill could not have been serious when\nhe says, that \"the known laws of matter authorize us to suppose, that\na body which is constantly _giving out so large an amount of heat_ as\nthe sun is, must be progressively cooling\"--knowing, as we do, as\nlittle how the sun occasions heat as how it produces light. Neither\ncan it be contended that because no absolutely new substance, or new\nproperty of matter, is introduced, but a fantastic conception is\nframed out of known substances and known properties, that therefore\nthere is less of rash conjecture in the supposition. In fine, it must\nbe felt by every one who reads the account of this speculation of\nLaplace, that the only evidence which produces the least effect upon\nhis mind, is the corroboration which it receives from the calculations\nof the mathematician--a species of proof which Mr Mill himself would\nnot estimate very highly.\n\nMany are the topics which are made to reflect a new light as Mr Mill\npasses along his lengthened course; we might quote as instances, his\nchapters on _Analogy_ and the _Calculation of Chances_: and many are\nthe grave and severe discussions that would await us were we to\nproceed to the close of his volumes, especially to that portion of his\nwork where he applies the canons of science to investigations which\nrelate to human nature and the characters of men. But enough for the\npresent. We repeat, in concluding, the same sentiment that we\nexpressed at the commencement, that such a work as this goes far to\nredeem the literature of our age from the charge of frivolity and\nsuperficiality. Those who have been trained in a different school of\nthinking, those who have adopted the metaphysics of the transcendental\nphilosophy, will find much in these volumes to dissent from; but no\nman, be his pretensions or his tenets what they may, who has been\naccustomed to the study of philosophy, can fail to recognize and\nadmire in this author that acute, patient, enlarged, and persevering\nthought, which gives to him who possesses it the claim and right to\nthe title of philosopher. There are few men who--applying it to his\nown species of excellence--might more safely repeat the _Io sono\nanche!_ of the celebrated Florentine.\n\n\n\n\nMY COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS.\n\n\nPeople are fond of talking of the hereditary feuds of Italy--the\nfactions of the Capulets and Montagues, the Orsini and Colonne--and,\nmore especially, of the memorable _Vendette_ of Corsica--as if hatred\nand revenge were solely endemic in the regions of\n\n    \"The Pyrenean and the river Po!\"\n\nMere prejudice! There is as good hating going on in England as\nelsewhere. Independent of the personal antipathies generated by\npolitics, the envy, hatred, and malice arising out of every election\ncontest, not a country neighbourhood but has its raging factions; and\nBrowns and Smiths often cherish and maintain an antagonism every whit\nas bitter as that of the sanguinary progenitors of Romeo and Juliet.\n\nI, for instance, who am but a country gentleman in a small way--an\nobscure bachelor, abiding from year's end to year's end on my\ninsignificant farm--have witnessed things in my time, which, had they\nbeen said and done nearer the tropics, would have been cited far and\nnear in evidence of the turbulence of human passions, and that \"the\nheart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.\" Seeing\nthat they chanced in a homely parish in Cheshire, no one has been at\nthe trouble to note their strangeness; though, to own the truth, none\nbut the actors in the drama (besides myself, a solitary spectator) are\ncognizant of its incidents and catastrophe. I might boast, indeed,\nthat I alone am thoroughly in the secret; for it is the spectator only\nwho competently judges the effects of a scene; and merely changing the\nnames, for reasons easily conceivable, I ask leave to relate in the\nsimplest manner a few facts in evidence of my assertion, that England\nhas its Capuletti e Montecchi as well as Verona.\n\nIn the first place, let me premise that I am neither of a condition of\nlife, nor condition of mind, to mingle as a friend with those of whose\naffairs I am about to treat so familiarly, being far too crotchety a\nfellow not to prefer a saunter with my fishing-tackle on my back, or\nan evening tete-a-tete with my library of quaint old books, to all the\ngood men's feasts ever eaten at the cost of a formal country visit.\nNevertheless, I am not so cold of heart as to be utterly devoid of\ninterest in the destinies of those whose turrets I see peering over\nthe woods that encircle my corn-fields; and as the good old\nhousekeeper, who for these thirty years past has presided over my\nhousehold, happens to have grandchildren high in service in what are\ncalled the two great families in the neighbourhood, scarcely an event\nor incident passes within their walls that does not find an echo in\nmine. So much in attestation of my authority. But for such an\nintroduction behind the scenes, much of the stage business of this\ncurious drama would have escaped my notice, or remained\nincomprehensible.\n\nI am wrong to say the two great \"families;\" I should have said the two\ngreat \"houses.\" At the close of the last century, indeed, our parish\nof Lexley contained but one; one which had stood there since the days\nof the first James, nay, even earlier--a fine old manorial hall of\ngrand dimensions and stately architecture, of the species of mixed\nGothic so false in taste, but so ornamental in effect, which is\nconsidered as betraying the first symptoms of Italian innovation.\n\nThe gardens extending in the rear of the house were still more\ndecidedly in the Italian taste, having clipped evergreens and avenues\nof pyramidal yews, which, combined with the intervening statues,\nimparted to them something of the air of a cemetery. There were\nfountains, too, which, in the memory of man, had been never known to\nplay, the marble basins being, if possible, still greener than the\ngrim visages of the fauns and dryads standing forlorn on their\ndilapidated pedestals amid the neglected alleys.\n\nThe first thing I can remember of Lexley Hall, was peeping as a child\nthrough the stately iron gratings of the garden, that skirted a\nby-road leading from my grandfather's farm. The desolateness of the\nplace overawed my young heart. In summer time the parterres were\novergrown into a wilderness. The plants threw up their straggling arms\nso high, that the sunshine could hardly find its way to the quaint old\ndial that stood there telling its tale of time, though no man\nregarded; and the cordial fragrance of the strawberry-beds, mingling\nwith entangled masses of honeysuckle in their exuberance of midsummer\nblossom, seemed to mock me, as I loitered in the dusk near the old\ngateway, with the tantalizing illusions of a fairy-tale--the\nBarmecide's feast, or Prince Desire surveying his princess through the\nimpermeable walls of her crystal palace.\n\nBut if the enjoyment of the melancholy old gardens of Lexley Hall were\nwithheld from _me_, no one else seemed to find pleasure or profit\ntherein. Sir Laurence Altham, the lord of the manor and manor-house,\nwas seldom resident in the country. Though a man of mature years, (I\nspeak of the close of the last century,) he was still a man of\npleasure--the ruined hulk of the gallant vessel which, early in the\nreign of George III., had launched itself with unequalled brilliancy\non the sparkling current of London life.\n\nAt that time, I have heard my grandfather say there was not a mortgage\non the Lexley estate! The timber was notoriously the finest in the\ncounty. A whole navy was comprised in one of its coppices; and the\narching avenues were imposing as the aisles of our Gothic minsters.\nAlas! it needed the lapse of only half a dozen years to lay bare to\nthe eye of every casual traveller the ancient mansion, so long\n\n    \"Bosom'd high in tufted trees,\"\n\nand only guessed at till you approached the confines of the\ncourt-yard.\n\nIt was hazard that effected this. The dice-box swept those noble\navenues from the face of the estate. Soon after Sir Laurence's coming\nof age, almost before the church-bells had ceased to announce the\njoyous event of the attainment of his majority, he was off to the\nContinent--Paris--Italy--I know not where, and was thenceforward only\noccasionally heard of in Cheshire as the ornament of the Sardinian or\nAustrian courts. But these tidings were usually accompanied by a\nshaking of the head from the old family steward. The timber was to be\nthinned anew--the tenants to be again amerced. Sir Laurence evidently\nlooked upon the Lexley property as a mere hotbed for his vices. At\nlast the old steward turned surly to our enquiries, and would answer\nno further questions concerning his master. My grandfather's small\nfarm was the only plot of ground in the parish that did not belong to\nthe estate; and from him the faithful old servant was as careful to\nconceal the family disgraces, as to maintain the honour of Sir\nLaurence's name in the ears of his grumbling tenants.\n\nThe truth, however, could not long be withheld. Chaisefuls of\nsuspicious-looking men in black arrived at the hall; loungers,\nsurveyors, auctioneers--I know not what. There was talk in the parish\nabout foreclosing a mortgage, no one exactly understood why, or by\nwhom. But it was soon clear that Wightman, the old steward, was no\nlonger the great man at Lexley. These strangers bade him come here and\ngo there exactly as they chose, and, unhappily, they saw fit to make\nhis comings and goings so frequent and so humiliating, that before the\nclose of the summer the old servitor betook himself to his rest in a\nspot where all men cease from troubling. The leaves that dreary autumn\nfell upon his grave.\n\nAccording to my grandfather's account, however, few even of his\nvillage contemporaries grieved for old Wightman. They felt that\nProvidence knew best; that the old man was happily spared the\nmortification of all that was likely to ensue. For before another year\nwas out the ring fence, which had hitherto encircled the Lexley\nproperty, was divided within itself; a paltry distribution of about a\nhundred acres alone remaining attached to the old hall. The rest was\ngone! The rest was the property of the foreclosee of that hateful\nmortgage.\n\nWithin view of the battlements of the old manor-house, nearly a\nhundred workmen were soon employed in digging the foundations of a\nmodern mansion of the noblest proportions. The new owner of the\nestate, though only a manufacturer from Congleton, chose to dwell in a\npalace; and by the time his splendid Doric temple was complete, under\nthe name of Lexley Park, the vain-glorious proprietor, Mr Sparks, had\ntaken his seat in Parliament for a neighbouring borough.\n\nLittle was known of him in the neighbourhood beyond his name and\ncalling; yet already his new tenants were prepared to oppose and\ndislike him. Though they knew quite as little personally of the young\nbaronet by whom they had been sold into bondage to the unpopular\nclothier--him, with the caprice of ignorance, they chose to prefer.\nThey were proud of the old family--proud of the hereditary lords of\nthe soil--proud of a name connecting itself with the glories of the\nreign of Elizabeth, and the loyalty shining, like a sepulchral lamp,\nthrough the gloomy records of the House of Stuart. The banners and\nescutcheons of the Althams were appended in their parish church. The\nfamily vault sounded hollow under their head whenever they approached\nits altar. Where was the burial-place of the manufacturer? In what\nobscure churchyard existed the mouldering heap that covered the\nremains of the sires of Mr Jonas Sparks? Certainly not at Lexley!\nLexley knew not, and cared not to know, either him or his. It was no\nfault of the parish that its young baronet had proved a spendthrift\nand alienated the inheritance of his fathers; and, but that he had\npreserved the manor-house from desecration, they would perhaps have\nostracized him altogether, as having lent his aid to disgrace their\nmanor with so noble a structure as the porticoed facade of Lexley\nPark!\n\nMeanwhile the shrewd Jonas was fully aware of his unpopularity and its\norigin; and, during a period of three years, he allowed his\nill-advised subjects to chew, unmolested, the cud of their discontent.\nHaving a comfortable residence at the further extremity of the county,\nhe visited Lexley only to overlook the works, or notice the placing of\nthe costly new furniture; and the grumblers began to fancy they were\nto profit as little by their new masters as by their old. The steward\nwho replaced the trusty Wightman, and had been instructed to legislate\namong the cottages with a lighter hand, and distribute Christmas\nbenefaction in a double proportion, was careful to circulate in the\nparish an impression that Mr Sparks and his family did not care to\ninhabit the new house till the gardens were in perfect order, the\nsuccession houses in full bearing, and the mansion thoroughly\nseasoned. But the Lexleyans guessed the truth, that he had no mind to\nconfront the first outbreak of their ill-will.\n\nNearly four years elapsed before he took possession of the place; four\nyears, during which Sir Laurence Altham had never set foot in the\nhall, and was heard of only through his follies and excesses; and when\nMr Sparks at length made his appearance, with his handsome train of\nequipages, and surrounded by his still handsomer family, so far from\nmeeting him with sullen silence, the tenantry began to regret that\nthey had not erected a triumphal arch of evergreens for his entrance\ninto the park, as had been proposed by the less eager of the\nAlthamites.\n\nAfter all, their former prejudice in favour of the young baronet was\nbased on very shallow foundations. What had he ever done for them\nexcept raise their rents, and prosecute their trespasses? It was\nnothing that his forefathers had endowed almshouses for their support,\nor served up banquets for their delectation--Sir Laurence was an\nabsentee--Sir Laurence was as the son of the stranger. The fine old\nkennel stood cold and empty, reminding them that to preserve their\nfoxes was no longer an article of Lexley religion; and if any of the\nold October, brewed at the birth of the present baronet, still filled\nthe oaken hogsheads in the cellars of the hall, what mattered it to\nthem? No chance of their being broached, unless to grace the funeral\nfeast of the lord of the manor.\n\nTo Jonas Sparks, Esq. M.P., accordingly, they dedicated their\nallegiance. A few additional chaldrons of coals and pairs of blankets,\nthe first frosty winter, bound them his slaves for ever. Food, physic,\nand wine, were liberally distributed to the sick and aged whenever\nthey repaired for relief to the Doric portico; and, with the usual\nconvenient memory of the vulgar, the Lexleyans soon began to remember\nof the Altham family only their recent backslidings and ancient feudal\noppressions: while of the Sparkses they chose to know only what was\nevident to all eyes--viz., that their hands were open and faces\ncomely.\n\nInto their hearts--more especially into that of Jonas, the head of the\nhouse--they examined not at all; and were ill-qualified to surmise the\nintensity of bitterness with which, while contemplating the beauty and\nrichness of his new domain, he beheld the turrets of the old hall\nrising like a statue of scorn above the intervening woods. There stood\nthe everlasting monument of the ancient family--there the emblem of\ntheir pride, throwing its shadow, as it were, over his dawning\nprosperity! But for that force of contrast thus afforded, he would\nscarcely have perceived the newness of all the objects around him--the\nglare of the fresh freestone--the nakedness of the whited walls. A few\nstately old oaks and elms, apparently coeval with the ancient\nstructure, which a sort of religious feeling had preserved from the\naxe, that they might afford congenial shade to the successor of its\nfounder, seemed to impart meanness and vulgarity to the tapering\nverdure of _his_ plantations, his modern trees--his pert poplars and\nmean larches--his sycamores and planes. Even the incongruity between\nhis solid new paling and the decayed and sun-bleached wood of the\nvenerable fence to which it adjoined, with its hoary beard of silvery\nlichen, was an eyesore to him. Every passer-by might note the limit\nand circumscription dividing the new place from the ancient seat of\nthe lords of the manor.\n\nYet was the landscape of Lexley Park one of almost unequalled beauty.\nThe Dee formed noble ornament to its sweeping valleys; while the noble\nacclivities were clothed with promising woods, opening by rich vistas\nto a wide extent of champaign country. A fine bridge of granite,\nerected by the late Sir Windsor Altham, formed a noble object from the\nwindows of the new mansion; and but for the evidence of the venerable\npile, that stood like an abdicated monarch surveying its lost\ndominions, there existed no external demonstration that Lexley Park\nhad not from the beginning of time formed the estated seat of the\nSparkses.\n\nThe neighbouring families, if \"neighbouring\" could be called certain\nof the nobility and gentry who resided at ten miles' distance, were\ncourteously careful to inspire the new settler with a belief that they\nat least had forgotten any antecedent state of things at Lexley; for\nthey had even reason to congratulate themselves on the change. Jonas\nhad long been strenuously active in the House of Commons in promoting\ncounty improvements. Jonas was useful as a magistrate, and invaluable\nas a liberal contributor to the local charities. During the first five\nyears of his occupancy, he did more for Lexley and its inhabitants\nthan the half-dozen previous baronets of the House of Altham.\n\nOf the man he had superseded, meanwhile, it was observed that Mr\nSparks was judiciously careful to forbear all mention. It might have\nbeen supposed that he had purchased the estate of the Crown or the\nCourt of Chancery, so utterly ignorant did he appear of the age,\nhabits, and whereabout of his predecessor; and when informed by Sir\nJohn Wargrane, one of his wealthy neighbours, that young Altham was\ndisgracing himself again--that at the public gaming-tables at Toplitz\nhe had been a loser of thirty thousand pounds--the cunning _parvenu_\nlistened with an air of as vague indifference as if he were not\nwaiting with breathless anxiety the gradual dissipation of the funds,\nsecured to the young spendthrift by the transfer of his estate, to\ngrasp at the small remaining portion of his property. Unconsciously,\nwhen the tale of Sir Laurence's profligacy met his ear, he clenched\nhis griping hand, as though it already recognized its hold upon the\ndestined spoil, but not a word did he utter.\n\nMeanwhile, the family of the new squire of Lexley were winning golden\nopinions on all sides. \"The boys were brave--the girls were fair,\" the\nmother virtuous, pious, and unpretending. It would have been\nscandalous, indeed, to sneer to shame the modest cheerfulness of such\npeople, because their ancestors had not fought at the Crusades. By\ndegrees, they assumed an honourable and even eminent position in the\ncounty; and the first time Sir Laurence Altham condescended to visit\nthe county-palatine, he heard nothing but commendations and admiration\nof the charming family at Lexley Park.\n\n\"Charming family!--a Jonas Sparks, and charming!\" was his\nsupercilious reply. \"I rejoice to find that the _fumier_ I have been\nforced to fling on my worn-out ancestral estate is fertilizing its\nbarrenness. The village is probably the better for the change. But, as\nregards the society, I must be permitted to mistrust the attractions\nof the brood of a Congleton manufacturer.\"\n\nThe young baronet, who now, though still entitled to be called young,\nwas disfigured by the premature defeatures of a vicious life,\nmistrusted it all the more, when, on visiting the old hall, he was\nforced to recognize the improvements effected in the neighbouring\nproperty (that he should be forced to call it \"_neighbouring_!\") by\nthe judicious administration of the new owner. It was impossible to\ndeny that Mr Sparks had doubled its value, while enhancing its\nbeauties. The low grounds were drained, the high lands planted, the\nriver widened, the forestry systematically organized. The estate\nappeared to have attained new strength and vigour when dissevered from\nthe old manor-house; whose shadow might be supposed to have exercised\na baleful influence on the lands wherever it presided.\n\nBut it was not his recognition of this that was likely to animate the\nesteem of Sir Laurence Altham for Mr Jonas Sparks. On the contrary, he\nfelt every accession of value to the Lexley property as so much\nsubtracted from his belongings; and his detestation of the upstarts,\nwhose fine mansion was perceptible from his lordly towers--like a blot\nupon the fairness of the landscape--increased with the increase of\ntheir prosperity.\n\nWithout having expected to take delight in a sojourn at Lexley Hall--a\nspot where he had only resided for a few weeks now and then, from the\nperiod of his early boyhood--he was not prepared for the excess of\nirritation that arose in his heart on witnessing the total\nestrangement of the retainers of his family. For the mortification of\nseeing a fine new house, with gorgeous furniture, and a pompous\nestablishment, he came armed to the teeth. But no presentiments had\nforewarned him, that at Lexley the living Althams were already as much\nforgotten as those who were sleeping in the family vault. The sudden\nglow that pervaded his whole frame when he chanced to encounter on the\nhighroad the rich equipage of the Sparkses; or the imprecation that\nburst from his lips, when, on going to the window of a morning to\nexamine the state of the weather for the day, the first objects that\nstruck him was the fair mansion in the plain below, laughing as it\nwere in the sunshine, the deer grouped under its fine old trees, and\nthe river rippling past its lawns as if delighting in their\nverdure----Yes! there was decided animosity betwixt the hill and the\nvalley.\n\nEvery successive season served to quicken the pulses of this growing\nhatred. Whether on the spot or at a distance, a thousand aggravations\nsprang up betwixt the parties: disputes between gamekeepers, quarrels\nbetween labourers, encroachments by tenants. Every thing and nothing\nwas made the groundwork of ill-will. To Sir Laurence Altham's\nembittered feelings, the very rooks of Lexley Park seemed evermore to\ninfringe upon the privileges of the rookery at Lexley Hall; and when,\nin the parish church, the new squire (or rather his workmen, for he\nwas absent at the time attending his duties in Parliament)\ninadvertently broke off the foot of a marble cherub, weeping its\nalabaster tears, at the angle of a monument to the memory of a certain\nSir Wilfred Altham, of the time of James II., in raising the woodwork\nof a pew occupied by Mr Sparks's family, the rage of Sir Laurence was\nso excessive as to be almost deserving of a strait-waistcoat.\n\nThe enmity of the baronet was all the more painful to himself that he\nfelt it to be harmless against its object. In every way, Lexley Park\nhad the best of it. Jonas Sparks was not only rich in a noble income,\nbut in a charming wife and promising family. Every thing prospered\nwith him; and, as to mere inferiority of precedence, it was well known\nthat he had refused a baronetcy; and many people even surmised that,\nso soon as he was able to purchase another borough, and give a seat in\nParliament to his second son, as well as resign his own to the eldest,\nhe would be promoted to the Upper House.\n\nThe only means of vengeance, therefore, possessed by the vindictive\nman whose follies and vices had been the means of creating this\nperpetual scourge to his pride, was withholding from him the purchase\nof the remaining lands indispensable to the completion of his estate,\nmore especially as regarded the water-courses, which, at Lexley Park,\nwere commanded by the sluices of the higher grounds of the Hall; and\nmighty was the oath sworn by Sir Laurence, that come what might,\nhowever great his exigencies or threatening his poverty, nothing\nshould induce him to dispose of another acre to Jonas Sparks. He was\neven at the trouble of executing a will, in order to introduce a\nclause imposing the same reservation upon the man to whom he devised\nhis small remaining property--the heir-at-law, to whom, had he died\nintestate, it would have descended without conditions.\n\n\"The Congleton shopkeepers,\" muttered he, (whenever, in his solitary\nevening rides, he caught sight of the rich plate-glass windows of the\nnew mansion, burnished by the setting sun,) \"shall never, never lord\nit under the roof of my forefathers! Wherever else he may set his\nplebeian foot, Lexley Hall shall be sacred. Rather see the old place\nburned to the ground--rather set fire to it with my own hands--than\nconceive that, when I am in my grave, it could possibly be subjected\nto the rule of such a barbarian!\"\n\nFor it had reached the ears of Sir Laurence--of course, with all the\nexaggeration derived from passing through the medium of village\ngossip--that a thousand local legends concerning the venerable\nmansion, sanctified by their antiquity in the ears of the family,\nafforded a fertile source of jesting to Jonas Sparks. The Hall\nabounded in concealed staircases and iron hiding-places, connected\nwith a variety of marvellous traditions of the civil wars; besides a\nwalled-up suite of chambers, haunted, as becomes a walled-up suite of\nchambers; and justice-rooms and tapestried-rooms, to which the long\nabandonment of the house, and the heated imaginations of the few\nmenials left in charge of its desolate vastness, attributed romances\nlikely enough to have provoked the laughter of a matter-of-fact man\nlike the owner of Lexley Park. But neither Sir Laurence nor his old\nservants were likely to forgive this insult offered to the family\nlegends of a house which had little else left to boast of. Even the\nneighbouring families were displeased to hear them derided; and my\ngrandfather never liked to hear a joke on the subject of the\ncoach-and-four which was said to have driven into the court-yard of\nthe Hall on the eve of the execution of the rebel lords in 1745,\nhaving four headless inmates, who were duly welcomed as guests by old\nSir Robert Altham. Nay, as a child, I had so often thrilled on my\nnurse's knees during the relation of this spectral visitation, that I\nown I felt indignant if any one presumed to laugh at a tale which had\nmade me quake for fear.\n\nAmong those who were known to resent the familiar tone in which Mr\nSparks had been heard to criticise the pomps and vanities exhibited at\nLexley Hall by the Althams of the olden time, was a certain General\nStanley, who, inhabiting a fine seat of his own at about ten miles'\ndistance, was fond of bringing over his visitors to visit the old\nHall, as an interesting specimen of county antiquity. _He_ knew the\npeculiarities of the place, and could repeat the traditions connected\nwith the hiding-places better than the housekeeper herself; and I have\nheard her say it was a pleasure to hear him relating these historical\nanecdotes with all the fire of an old soldier, and see his venerable\ngrey hair blown about as he stood with his party on the battlements,\npointing out to the ladies the fine range of territory formerly\nbelonging to the Althams. The old lady protested that the general was\nnearly as much grieved as herself to behold the old mansion so shorn\nof its beams; and certain it is, that once when, on visiting the hall\nafter Sir Laurence had been some years an absentee, he found the grass\ngrowing among the disjointed stones of the cloisters and justice-hall,\nhe made a handsome present to one of the housekeeper's nephews, on\ncondition of his keeping the purlieus of the venerable mansion free\nfrom such disgraceful evidences of neglect.\n\nAll this eventually reached the ears of the baronet; but instead of\nmaking him angry, as might have been expected, from one so tetchy and\nsusceptible, he never encountered General Stanley, either in town or\ncountry, without demonstrations of respect. Though too reserved and\nmorose for conversation, Sir Laurence was observed to take off his hat\nto him with a respect he was never seen to show towards the king or\nqueen.\n\nAbout this time I began to take personal interest in the affairs of\nthe neighbourhood, though my own were now of a nature to engross my\nattention. By my grandfather's death, I had recently come into the\nenjoyment of the small inheritance which has sufficed to the happiness\nof my life; and, renouncing the profession for which I was educated,\nsettled myself permanently at Lexley.\n\nWell do I remember the melancholy face with which the good old rector,\nthe very first evening we spent together, related to me in confidence\nthat he had three years' dues in arrear to him from Lexley Hall; but\nthat so wretched was said to be the state of Sir Laurence's\nembarrassments, that, for more than a year, his dread of arrest had\nkept him a close prisoner in his house in London.\n\n\"We have not seen him here these six years!\" observed Dr Whittingham;\n\"and I doubt whether he will ever again set foot in the county. Since\nan execution was put into the Hall, he has never crossed the\nthreshold, and I suspect never will. Far better were he to dispose of\nthe property at once! Dismembered as it is, what pleasure can it\nafford him? And, since he is unlikely to marry and have heirs, there\nis less call upon him to retain this remaining relic of family pride;\nyet I am assured--nay, have good reason to know, that he has refused a\nvery liberal offer on the part of Mr Sparks. Malicious people do say,\nby the way, that it was by the advice of Sparks's favourite attorneys\nthe execution was enforced, and that no means have been left\nunattempted to disgust him with the place. Yet he is firm, you see,\nand persists in disappointing his creditors, and depriving himself of\nthe comforts of life, merely in order that he may die, as his fathers\ndid before him--the lord of Lexley Hall!\"\n\n\"I don't wonder!\" said I, with the dawning sentiments of a landed\nproprietor--\"'Tis a splendid old house, even in its present state of\ndegradation; and, by Jove! I honour his pertinacity.\"\n\nThus put upon the scent, I sometimes fancied I could detect wistful\nlooks on the part of my prosperous neighbour of the Park, when, in the\ncourse of Dr Whittingham's somewhat lengthy sermons, he directed his\neyes towards the carved old Gothic tribune, containing the family-pew\nof the Althams, in the parish church; and, whenever I happened to\nencounter him in the neighbourhood of the Hall, his face was so\npointedly averted from the house, as if the mere object were an\noffence. I could not but wonder at his vexation; being satisfied in my\nown mind, that sooner or later the remaining heritage of the\nspendthrift must fall to his share.\n\nJudge, therefore, of my surprise, when one fine morning, as I\nsauntered into the village, I found the whole population gathered in\ngroups on the little market-place, and discovered from the incoherent\nexclamations of the crowd, that \"the new proprietor of the Hall had\njust driven through in a chaise-and-four!\"\n\nYes--\"the new proprietor!\" The place was sold! The good doctor's\nprediction was verified. Sir Laurence was never more to return to\nLexley Hall!\n\nThe satisfaction of the villagers almost equalled their surprise on\nfinding that General Stanley was their new landlord. It suited them\nmuch better that there should be two families settled on the property\nthan one; and as it was pretty generally reported, that, in the event\nof Sparks becoming the purchaser, he intended to demolish the old\nhouse, and reconsolidate the estate around his own more commodious\nmansion, they were right glad to find it rescued from such a\nsentence--General Stanley, who was the father of a family, would\nprobably settle the hall on one of his daughters, after placing it in\nthe state of repair so much needed.\n\nWhen the chaise-and-four returned, therefore, a few hours afterwards,\nthrough the village, the General was loudly cheered by his subjects.\nHis partiality for the place was so well known at Lexley, that already\nthese people seemed to behold in him the guardian of a monument so\nlong the object of their pride.\n\nFor my own part, nothing surprised me so much in the business as that\nSparks should have allowed the purchase to slip through his fingers.\nIt was worth thrice as much to _him_ as to any body else. It was the\nkeystone of his property. It was the one thing needful to render\nLexley Park the most perfect seat in the county. But I was not slow in\nlearning (for every thing transpires in a small country neighbourhood)\nthat whatever _my_ surprise on finding that the old Hall had changed\nits master, that of Sparks was far more overwhelming; that he was\nliterally frantic on finding himself frustrated in expectations which\nformed the leading interest of his declining years. For the progress\nof time which had made _me_ a man and a landed proprietor, had\nconverted the stout active squire into an infirm old man; and it was\nhis absorbing wish to die sole owner of the whole property to which\nthe baronets of the Altham family were born.\n\nHe even indulged in expressions of irritation, which nearly proved the\nmeans of commencing this new neighbourship by a duel; accusing General\nStanley of having possessed himself by unfair means of Sir Laurence's\nconfidence, and employed agents, underhand, to effect the purchase. In\nconsequence of these groundless representations, it transpired in the\ncountry that the decayed baronet had actually volunteered the offer of\nthe estate to the veteran proprietor of Stanley Manor; that he had\n_solicited_ him to become the proprietor, and even accommodated him\nwith peculiar facilities of payment, on condition of his inserting in\nthe title-deeds an express undertaking, never to dispose of the old\nHall, or any portion of the property, to Jonas Sparks of Lexley Park,\nor his heirs for ever. The solicitor by whom, under Sir Laurence's\ndirection, the deeds had been prepared, saw fit to divulge this\nsingular specification, rather than that a hostile encounter should\nrun the risk of embruing in blood the hands of two grey haired men.\n\nExcepting as regarded the disappointment of our wealthy neighbour, all\nwas now established on the happiest footing at Lexley. The reparation\ninstantly commenced by the General, gave employment throughout the\nwinter to our workmen; and the evils arising from an absentee landlord\nbegan gradually to disappear. It was a great joy to me to perceive\nthat the new proprietor of the Hall had the good taste to preserve the\nantique character of the place in the minutest portion of his\nalterations; and though the old gardens were no longer a wilderness,\nnot a shrub was displaced--not a mutilated statue removed. The\nfurniture had been sold off at the time of the execution; and that\nwhich came down in cart-loads from town to replace it, was rigidly in\naccordance with the semi-Gothic architecture of the lofty chambers.\nPoor Sparks must have been doubly mortified; for not only did he find\nhis old eyesore converted into an irremediable evil by the restoration\nof the Hall, but the supremacy hitherto maintained in the\nneighbourhood by the modern elegance of his house and establishment,\nwas thrown into the shade by the rich and tasteful arrangements of the\nHall.\n\nFrom the contracted look of his forehead, and sudden alteration of his\nappearance, I have reason to think he was beginning to undergo all the\nmoral martyrdom sustained for thirty years past by the unfortunate Sir\nLaurence Altham; and were I not by nature the most contented of men,\nit would have sufficiently reconciled me to the mediocrity of my\nfortunes, to see that these two great people of my neighbourhood--the\nnobly-descended baronet and rich _parvenu_--were miserable men; that,\nso long as I could remember, one or other of them had been given over\nto surliness and discontent.\n\nBefore the close of the year the grand old Hall had become one of the\nnoblest seats in the county. There was talk about it in all the\ncountry round, and even the newspapers took notice of its renovation,\nand of General Stanley's removal thither from Stanley Manor. Many\npeople, of the species who love to detect spots in the sun, were\ncareful to point out the insufficiency of the estate, as at present\nconstituted, to maintain so fine a house. But, after all, what\nmattered this to General Stanley, who had a fine rent-roll elsewhere?\n\nThe first thing he did, on taking possession, was to give a grand ball\nto the neighbourhood; nor was it till the whole house was lighted up\nfor this festive occasion, that people were fully aware of the\ngrandeur of its proportions. He was good enough to send me an\ninvitation on so especial an occasion. But already I had imbibed the\ndistaste which has pursued me through life for what is called society;\nand I accordingly contented myself with surveying from a distance the\nfine effect produced by the light streaming from the multitude of\nwindows, and exhibiting to the whole country round the gorgeous nature\nof the decorations within. To own the truth, I could scarcely forbear\nregretting, as I surveyed them, the gloomy dilapidation of the\nvenerable mansion. This modernized antiquity was a very different\nthing from the massy grandeur of its neglected years; and I am afraid\nI loved the old house better with the weeds springing from its\ncrevices, than with all this carving and gilding, this ebony, and\niron, and light.\n\nThe people of Lexley imagined that nothing would induce the Sparks's\nfamily to be seen under General Stanley's roof. But we were mistaken.\nSo much the contrary, that the squire of Lexley Park made a particular\npoint of being the first and latest of the guests--not only because\nhis reconciliation with his new neighbour was so recent, but from not\nchoosing to authenticate, by his absence, the rumours of his grievous\ndisappointment.\n\nFor all the good he was likely to derive from his visit, the poor man\nhad better have stayed away; for that unlucky night laid foundations\nof evil for him and his, far greater than any he had incurred from the\nanimosity of Sir Laurence. Nay, when in the sequel these results\nbecame matter of public commentation, superstitious people were not\nwanting to hint that the evil spirit, traditionally said to haunt one\nof the wings of the old manor, and to have manifested itself on more\nthan one occasion to members of the Altham family, (and more\nespecially to the late worthless proprietor of the Hall,) had acquired\na fatal power over the two supplanters of the ruined family the moment\nthey crossed the threshold.\n\nGeneral Stanley, after marrying late in life, had been some years a\nwidower--a widower with two daughters, his co-heiresses. The elder of\nthese young ladies was a hopeless invalid, slightly deformed, and so\nlittle attractive in person, or desirous to attract, that there was\nevery prospect of the noble fortunes of the General centring in her\nsister. Yet this sister, this girl, had little need of such an\naccession to her charms; for she was one of those fortunate beings\nendowed not only with beauty and excellence, but with a power of\npleasing not always united with even a combination of merit and\nloveliness.\n\nEvery body agreed that Mary Stanley was charming. Old and young, rich\nand poor, all loved her, all delighted in her. It is true, the good\nrector's maiden sisters privately hinted to me their horror of the\nrecklessness with which--sometimes with her sister, oftener without,\nbut wholly unattended--she drove her little pony-chaise through the\nvillage, laughing like a madcap at pranks of a huge Newfoundland dog\nnamed Sergeant, the favourite of General Stanley, which, while\nescorting the young ladies, used to gambol into the cottages, overset\nfurniture and children, and scamper out again amid a general uproar.\nFor though Miss Mary was but sixteen, the starched spinsters decided\nthat she was much too old for such folly; and that, if the General\nintended to present her at court, it was high time for her to lay\naside the hoyden manners of childhood.\n\nBut, as every one argued against them, why should this joyous, bright,\nand beautiful creature lay aside what became her so strangely? Mary\nStanley was not made for the formalities of what is called\nhigh-breeding. Her light, easy, sinuous figure, did not lend itself to\nthe rigid deportment of a prude; and her gay laughing eyes, and\ndimpled mouth, were ill calculated to grace a dignified position. The\nlong ringlets of her profuse auburn hair were always out of\norder--either streaming in the wind, or straying over her white\nshoulders--her long lashes and beautifully defined eyebrows of the\nsame rich tint, alone preserving any thing like uniformity--a\nuniformity which, combined with her almost Grecian regularity of\nfeatures, gave her, on the rare occasions when her countenance and\nfigure were at rest, the air of some nymph or dryad of ancient\nsculpture. But to compare Mary Stanley to any thing of marble is\nstrangely out of place; for her real beauty consisted in the\never-varying play of her features, and a certain impetuosity of\nmovement, that would have been a little characteristic of the romp,\nbut that it was restrained by the spell of feminine sensibility. Heart\nwas evidently the impulse of every look and every gesture.\n\nFor a man of my years, methinks I am writing like a lover. And so I\nwas! From the first moment I saw that girl, at an humble and\nunaspiring distance, I could dream of nothing else. Every thing and\nevery body seemed fascinated by Mary Stanley. When she walked out into\nthe fields with the General, her two hands clasping, like those of a\nchild, her father's arm, his favourite colts used to come neighing\nplayfully towards them; and not the fiercest dog of his extensive\nkennel but, even when unmanageable by the keeper, would creep fawning\nto her feet.\n\nIt was strange enough, but still more fortunate, that all the\nadoration lavished upon this lovely creature by gentle and simple,\nChristian and brute, provoked no apparent jealousy on the part of her\nelder sister. Selina Stanley was afflicted with a cold, reserved,\nunhappy countenance, only too completely in unison with her\ndisastrous position. But her heart was perhaps as genuine as her face\nwas forbidding; for she loved the merry, laughing, handsome Mary,\nmore as a mother her child, than as a sister nearly of her own\nyears--that is, exultingly, but anxiously. Every one else foresaw\nnothing but prosperity, and joy, and love, in store for Mary. Selina\nprayed that it might prove so;--but she prayed with tears in her\neyes, and trembling in her soul! For where are the destinies of\npersons thus exquisitely organized--thus full of love and\nloveliness--thus readily swayed to joy or sorrow, by the trivial\nincidents of life--characterised by what the world calls\nhappiness--such happiness, I mean, as is enjoyed by the serene and\nthe prudent, the unexcitable, the unaspiring! Miss Stanley foresaw\nonly too truly, that the best days likely to be enjoyed by her\nsister, were those she was spending under her father's roof--a\ngeneral idol--an object of deference and delight to all around.\n\nAt the General's housewarming, though not previously introduced into\nsociety, Mary was the queen of the ball; and all present agreed, that\none of the most pleasing circumstances of the evening was to watch the\nanimated cordiality with which she flew from one to the other of those\nold neighbours of Stanley Manor, (whom she alone had managed to\npersuade that a dozen miles was no distance to prevent their accepting\nher father's invitation;) and not the most brilliant of her young\nfriends received a more eager welcome, or more sustained attention\nthroughout the evening, than the few homely elderly people, (such as\nmy friends the Whittinghams,) who happened to share the hospitality of\nGeneral Stanley. I daresay that even _I_, had I found courage to\naccept his invitation, should have received from the young beauty some\ngentle word, in addition to the kindly smiles with which she was sure\nto return my respectful obeisance whenever we met accidentally in the\nvillage.\n\nMary was dressed in white, with a few natural flowers in her hair,\nwhich, owing to the impetuosity of her movements, soon fell out,\nleaving only a stray leaf or two, that would have looked ridiculous\nany where but among her rich, but dishevelled locks; and the pleasant\nanxieties of the evening imparted such a glow to her usually somewhat\npale complexion, that her beauty is said to have been, that night,\nalmost supernatural. She was more like the creature of a dream than\none of those wooden puppets, who move mechanically through the world\nunder the name of well brought-up young ladies.\n\nIt will easily be conceived how much this ball, so rare an event in\nour quiet neighbourhood, was discussed, not only the following day,\nbut for days and weeks to come. Even at the rectory I heard of nothing\nelse; while by my good old housekeeper, who had a son in service at\nGeneral Stanley's, and a daughter waiting-maid to Miss Sparks, I was\nlet in to secrets concerning it of which even the rectory knew\nnothing.\n\nIn the first place, though Mr Sparks had peremptorily signified from\nthe first to his family, his desire that all should accompany him to\nLexley Hall on this trying occasion, (and it was only natural he\nshould wish to solace his wounded pride, by appearing before his noble\nneighbour surrounded by his handsome progeny,) two of his children\nhad risen up in rebellion against the decree--and for the first\ntime--for Sparks was happy in a dutiful and well-ordered family. But\nthe youngest daughter, Kezia, a girl of high spirits and intelligence,\nwho fancied she had been pointedly slighted by the Misses Stanley,\nwhen, in one of Mary's harum-scarum expeditions on her Shetland pony,\nshe had passed without recognition the better-mounted young lady of\nLexley Park; and the eldest son, who so positively refused to\naccompany his father to the house of a man by whom Mr Sparks had\ninconsiderately represented himself as aggrieved, that, for once, the\nkind parent was forced to play the tyrant, and insist on his\nobedience.\n\nIt was, accordingly, with a very ill grace that these two, the\nprettiest of the daughters, and by far the handsomest of his three\nhandsome sons, made their appearance at the _fete_. But no sooner were\nthey welcomed by General Stanley and his daughters, than the brother\nand sister, who had mutually encouraged each other's disputes,\nhastened to recant their opinions.\n\n\"How could you, dearest father, describe this courteous, high-bred old\ngentleman, as insolent and overbearing?\"--whispered Kezia.\n\n\"How could you possibly suppose that yonder lovely, gracious creature,\nintended to treat you with impertinence?\"--was the rejoinder of her\nbrother; and already the Stanleys had two enemies the less among their\nneighbours at Lexley Park.\n\nOn the other hand, the General had been forced to have recourse to\nsevere schooling to bring his daughters to a sense of what was due to\n_his guests_, as regarded the family of a man who was known to have\nspoken disparagingly of them all. Moreover, if the truth must be\nowned, Mary was not altogether free from the prejudices of her caste;\nand, proud of her father's noble extraction, was apt to pout her\npretty lip on mention of \"the people at Lexley Park;\" for the General,\nwho had no secrets from his girls, had foolishly permitted them to see\ncertain letters addressed to him by the eccentric Sir Laurence Altham,\njustifying himself concerning the peculiar clause introduced into his\ndeeds of conveyance of his Hall estate, on the grounds of the degraded\norigin of \"the upstart\" he was so malignantly intent on discomposing.\n\n\"They will spoil our ball, dear papa--I _know_ these vulgar people\nwill completely spoil our ball!\" said she. \"I think I hear them\nannounced:--'Mr Jonas Sparks, Miss Basiliza and Miss Kezia\nSparks!'--What names?\"\n\n\"The parents of Mr Sparks were dissenters,\" observed the General,\ntrying to look severe. \"Dissenters are apt to hold to scriptural\nnames. But _name_ is not _nature_, Mary; and, to judge by appearances,\nthis man's--this gentleman's--this Mr Sparks's daughters, have every\nqualification to be an ornament to society.\"\n\n\"With all my heart, papa, but I wish it were not ours!\" cried the\nwayward girl. \"On the present occasion, especially, I could spare such\nan accession to our circle; for I know that Mr Sparks has presumed to\nspeak of----\"\n\nShe was interrupted by a sterner reproof on the part of the General\nthan he had ever before administered to his favourite daughter; and\nthe consequence of this unusual severity was the distinguished\nreception bestowed, both by Selina and her sister, on the family from\nLexley Park.\n\nNext day, however, General Stanley found a totally different cause for\nrebuke in the conduct of his dear Mary.\n\n\"You talked to nobody last night, but those Sparks's!\" said he. \"Lord\nDudley informed me he had asked you to dance three times in vain; and\nLord Robert Stanley assured me _he_ could scarcely get a civil answer\nfrom you!--Yet you found time, Mary, to dance twice in the course of\nthe evening with that son of Sparks's!\"\n\n\"That son of Sparks's, as you so despisingly call him, dearest papa,\nis a most charming partner; while Lord Dudley, and my cousin Robert,\nare little better than boors. Everard Sparks can talk and dance, as\nwell as they ride across a country. Not but what he, too, passes for a\ntolerable sportsman; and do you know, papa, Mr Sparks is thinking\nseriously of setting up a pack of harriers at Lexley?\"\n\n\"At Lexley Park!\" insisted her father, who chose to enforce the\ndistinction instituted by Sir Laurence Altham. \"I fancy he will have\nto ask my permission first. My land lies somewhat inconveniently, in\ncase I choose to oppose his intentions.\"\n\n\"But you won't oppose them!--No, no, dear papa, you sha'n't oppose\nthem!\"--cried Mary Stanley, throwing her arms coaxingly round her\nfather's neck, and imprinting a kiss on his venerable forehead. \"_Why_\nshould we go on opposing and opposing, when it would be so much\nhappier for all of us to live together as friends and neighbours?\"\n\nThe General surveyed her in silence for some moments as she looked up\nlovingly into his face; then gravely, and in silence, unclasped her\narms from his neck. For the first time, he had gazed upon his\nfavourite child without discerning beauty in her countenance, or\nfinding favour for her supplications.\n\n\"_My_ opinion of Mr Sparks and his family is not altered since\nyesterday,\" said he coldly, perceiving that she was about to renew her\novertures for a pacification. \"Your father's prejudices, Mary, are\nseldom so slightly grounded, that the adulation of a few gross\ncompliments, such as were paid you last night by Mr Everard Sparks,\nmay suffice for their obliteration. For the future, remember the less\nI hear of Lexley Park the better. In a few weeks we shall be in\nLondon, where our sphere is sufficiently removed, I am happy to say,\nfrom that of Mr Jonas Sparks, to secure me against the annoyance of\nfamiliarity with him or his.\"\n\nThe partiality of his darling Mary for the handsomest and most\nagreeable young man who had ever sought to make himself agreeable to\nher, had sufficed to turn the arguments of General Stanley as\ndecidedly _against_ his _parvenu_ neighbours, as, two days before, his\neloquence had been exercised in their defence.\n\nAnd now commenced between the young people and their parents, one of\nthose covert warfares certain to arise from similar interdictions. Mr\nSparks--satisfied that he should have further insults to endure on the\npart of General Stanley, in the event of his son pretending to the\nhand of the proud old man's daughter--sought a serious explanation\nwith Everard, on finding that he neglected no opportunity of meeting\nMary Stanley in her drives, and walks, and errands of village\nbenevolence; and by the remonstrances of one father, and\nperemptoriness of the other, the young couple were soon tempted to\nseek comforts in mutual confidences. Residing almost within view of\neach other, there was no great difficulty in finding occasion for an\ninterview. They met, moreover, naturally, and without effort, in all\nthe country houses in the neighbourhood; and so frequently, that I\noften wondered they should consider it worth while to hazard the\nGeneral's displeasure by partaking a few moments' conversation, every\nnow and then, among the old thorns by the water-side, just where the\nbend of the river secured them from observation; or in the green lane\nleading from Lexley Park to my farm, while Miss Stanley took charge of\nthe pony-chaise during the hasty explanations of the imprudent couple.\nHaving little to occupy my leisure during the intervals of my\nagricultural pursuits, I was constantly running against them, with my\ngun on my shoulder or my fishing-rod in my hand. I almost feared young\nSparks might imagine that I was employed by the General as a spy upon\ntheir movements, so fierce a glance did he direct towards me one day\nwhen I was unlucky enough to vault over a hedge within a few yards of\nthe spot where they were standing together--Miss Mary sobbing like a\nchild. But, God knows! he was mistaken if he thought I was taking\nunfair heed of their proceedings, or likely to gossip indiscreetly\nconcerning what fell accidentally under my notice.\n\nNot that a single soul in the neighbourhood approved General Stanley's\nopposition to the attachment. On the contrary, from the moment of the\nliking between the young people becoming apparent, the whole country\ndecided that there could not be a more propitious mode of reuniting\nthe dismembered Lexley estates; for though the General was expressly\ndebarred from selling Lexley Hall to Sparks or his heirs, he could not\nbe prevented bequeathing it to his daughters--the heirs of Jonas\nSparks being the children of her body. And thus all objections would\nhave been remedied.\n\nBut such was not the proud old man's view of the case. He had set his\nheart on perpetuating his own name in his family. He had set his\nheart on the union of his dear Mary with her cousin Lord Robert\nStanley; and Everard Sparks might have been twice the handsome, manly\nyoung fellow he was--twice the gentleman, and twice the scholar--it\nwould have pleaded little in his favour against the predetermined\nprojects of the positive General. There was certainly some excuse for\nhis ambition on Miss Mary's account. Beauty, merit, fortune,\nconnexion, every advantage was hers calculated to do honour to a noble\nalliance; and as her father often exclaimed, with a bitter sneer, in\nanswer to the mild pleadings of Selina--\"Such a girl as that--a girl\nborn to be a duchess--to sacrifice herself to the son of a Congleton\nmanufacturer!\"\n\nTwo years did the struggle continue--during the greater part of which\nI was a constant eyewitness of the sorrows which so sobered the\nimpetuous deportment of the light-hearted Mary Stanley. Her father\ntook her to London, with the project of separation he had haughtily\nannounced; but only to find, to his amazement, that Eton and Oxford\nhad placed the son of Mr Sparks of Lexley Park, a member of\nParliament, on as good a footing as himself in nearly all the circles\nhe frequented. Even when, in the desperation of his fears, he removed\nhis family to the Continent, the young lover (as became the lover of\nso endearing and attractive a creature) followed her, at a distance,\nfrom place to place. At length, one angry day, the General provoked\nhim to a duel. But Everard would not lift his hand against the father\nof his beloved Mary. An insult from General Stanley was not as an\noffence from any other man. The only revenge taken by the\nhigh-spirited young man, was to urge the ungenerous conduct of the\nfather as an argument with the daughter to put an end, by an\nelopement, to a state of things too painful to be borne. After much\nhesitation, it seems, she most unhappily complied. They were\nmarried--at Naples I think, or Turin, or some other city of Italy,\nwhere we have a diplomatic resident; and after their marriage--poor,\nfoolish young people!--they went touring it about gaily in the\nArchipelago and Levant, waiting a favourable moment to propose a\nreconciliation with their respective fathers--as if the wrath and\nmalediction of parents was so mere a trifle to deal with.\n\nThe first step taken by General Stanley, on learning the ungrateful\nrebellion of his favourite child, was to return to England. He seemed\nto want to be at home again, the better to enjoy and cultivate his\nabhorrence of every thing bearing the despised name of Sparks; for now\nbegan the genuine hatred between the families. Nothing would satisfy\nthe obstinate old soldier, but that the elder Sparks had, from the\nfirst, secretly encouraged the views of his son upon the heiress of\nLexley Hall; while Mr Sparks naturally resented with enraged spirit\nthe overbearing tone assumed by his aristocratic neighbour towards\nthose so nearly his equals. Every day produced some new grounds for\noffence; and never had Sir Laurence Altham, in the extremity of his\npoverty, regarded the thriving mansion in the valley with half the\nloathing which the view of Lexley Park produced in the mind of General\nStanley. He was even at the trouble of trenching a plantation on the\nbrow of the hill, with the intention of shutting out the detested\nobject. But trees do not grow so hastily as antipathies; and the\nGeneral had to endure the certainty, that, for the remainder of _his_\nlife at least, that beautiful domain must be unrolled, map-like, at\nhis feet. Nor is it to be supposed that the battlements of the old\nhall found greater favour in the sight of the _parvenu_ squire, than\nwhen in Sir Laurence's time the very sight of them was wormwood to his\nsoul.\n\nUnhappily, while the Congleton manufacturer contented himself with\nangry words, the gentleman of thirty descents betook himself to\naction. General Stanley swore to be mightily revenged--and he was so.\n\nOn the very day following his return to England, before he even\nvisited his desolate country-house, he sent for Lord Robert Stanley,\nand made him the confidant of his indignation--avowed his former good\nintentions in his favour--betrayed all Mary's--all _Mr Everard\nSparks's_ disparaging opposition; and ended by enquiring whether,\nsince whichever of his daughters became Lady Robert Stanley would\nbecome sole heiress to his property, his lordship could make up his\nmind to accept Selina as a wife? Proud as he was, the General almost\ncondescended to plead the cause of his deformed daughter: enlarging\nupon her excellences of character, and, still more, upon her aversion\nto society, which would secure the self-love of her husband against\nany public remarks on her want of personal attractions.\n\nAlas! all these arguments were thoroughly thrown away. Lord Robert\nwas, as his cousin Mary had truly described him, little better than a\nboor. But he was also a spendthrift and a libertine; and had Miss\nStanley been as deformed in mind as she was in person, he would have\njoyfully taken to wife the heiress of ten thousand a-year, and two of\nthe finest seats in the county of Chester.\n\nTo herself, meanwhile, no hint of these family negotiations was\nvouchsafed; and Selina Stanley had every reason to suppose--when her\ncousin became on a sudden an assiduous visitor at the house, and very\nshortly a declared lover--that their intimacy from childhood had\naccustomed his eye to her want of personal charms--she had become\nendeared to him by her mild and submissive temper. So little was she\naware of her father's testamentary dispositions in her favour, that\nthe interested nature of Lord Robert's views did not occur to her\nmind; and, little accustomed to protestations of attachment, Selina's\nheart was not _very_ difficult to soften towards the only man who had\never pretended to love her, and whose apparent attachment promised\nsome consolation for the loss of her sister's society, as well as the\nchance of reunion with one whom her father had sworn should never,\nunder any possible circumstances, again cross his threshold.\n\nSix months after General Stanley's pride had been wounded to the quick\nby the newspaper account of a marriage between his favourite child and\n\"a man of the name of Sparks,\" balm was poured into the wound by\nanother and more pompous paragraph, announcing the union, by special\nlicense, of the Right Hon. Lord Robert Stanley and the eldest daughter\nand heiress of Lieut.-Gen. Stanley, of Stanley Manor, only son of the\nlate Lord Henry Stanley, followed by the usual list of noble relatives\ngracing the ceremony with their presence, and a flourishing account of\nthe departure of the happy couple, in a travelling carriage and four,\nfor their seat in Cheshire.\n\nThis announcement, by the way, probably served to convey the\nintelligence to Mr and Mrs Everard Sparks; for the General having\ncarefully intercepted every letter addressed by Mary to her sister,\nLady Robert had not the slightest idea in what direction to\ncommunicate with one who possessed an undiminished share in her\naffections.\n\nOn General Stanley's arrival in Cheshire, at the close of the\nhoneymoon, the most casual observer might have noticed the alteration\nwhich had taken place in his appearance. Instead of the sadness I had\nexpected to find in his countenance after so severe a stroke as the\ndisobedience of his darling girl, I never saw him so exulting. Yet his\nsmiles were not smiles of good-humour. There was bitterness at the\nbottom of every word he uttered; and a terrible sound of menace rung\nin his unnatural laughter. Consciousness never seemed a moment absent\nfrom his mind, that he had defeated the calculations of the designing\nfamily; that he had distanced them; that he was triumphing over them.\nAlas! none at present entertained the smallest suspicion to what\nextent!\n\nPreparatory to the settlements made by the General on Lord and Lady\nRobert Stanley, it had been found necessary to place in the hands of\nhis lordship's solicitors the deeds of the Lexley Hall estate; when,\nlo! to the consternation of all parties, it appeared that the\nGeneral's title was an unsound one; that by the general terms of this\nancient property, rights of heirship could only be evaded by the\npayment of a certain fine, after intimation of sale in a certain form\nto the nearest-of-kin of the heir in possession, which form had been\noverlooked or wantonly neglected by Sir Laurence Altham!\n\nThe discovery was indeed embarrassing. Fortunately, however, the sum\nof ten thousand pounds only had been paid by the General to satisfy\nthe immediate funds of the unthrifty baronet; the remainder of the\npurchase-money having been left in the form of mortgage on the\nproperty. There was consequently the less difficulty, though\nconsiderable expense, in cancelling the existing deeds, going through\nthe necessary forms, and, after paying the forfeiture to the heir, (to\nwhom the very existence of his claims was unknown,) renewing the\ncontract with Sir Laurence; to whom, so considerable a sum being still\nowing, it was as essential as to General Stanley that the covenant\nshould be completed without delay. But all this occurred at so\ncritical a moment, that the General had ample cause to be thankful for\nthe promptitude with which he decided Selina's marriage; for only four\ndays after the signature of the new deeds, Sir Laurence concluded his\nill-spent life--his death being, it was thought, accelerated by the\nexcitement consequent on this strange discovery, and the\ninvestigations on the part of the heir to which it was giving rise.\n\nFor the clause in the original grant of the Lexley estate (which dated\nfrom the Reformation) affected the property purchased by Jonas Sparks\nas fully as that which had been assigned to the General; and the\nbaronet being now deceased, there was no possibility of co-operation\nin rectifying the fatal error. It was more than probable, therefore,\nthat Lexley Park, with all its improvements, was now the property of\nJohn Julius Altham, Esq.!--the only dilemma still to be decided by the\nlaw, being the extent to which, his kinsman having died insolvent and\nintestate, he was liable to the suit of Jonas Sparks for the return of\nthe purchase money, amounting to L.145,000.\n\nAlready the fatal intelligence had been communicated by the attorneys\nof John Julius Altham to those of the astonished man, who, though\nstill convinced of the goodness of his cause, (which, on the strength\nof certain various statutes affecting such a case, he was advised to\ncontest to the utmost,) foresaw a long, vexatious, and expensive\nlawsuit, that would certainly last his life, and prevent the\npossibility of one moment's enjoyment of the estate, from which he had\nreceived the usual notice of ejection. Fortunately for him, the\npresent Mr Altham was not only a gentleman, and disposed to exercise\nhis rights in the most decorous manner; but, of course, unbiassed by\nthe personal prejudices so strongly felt by Sir Laurence, and so\nunfairly communicated by him to the General. Still, the question was\nproceeding at the snail's pace rate of Chancery suits at the\ncommencement of the present century, and the unfortunate Congleton\nmanufacturer had every reason to curse the day when he had become\nenamoured of the grassy glades and rich woodlands of Lexley; seeing\nthat, at the close of an honourable and well-spent life, he was\nuncertain whether the sons and daughters to whom he had laboured to\nbequeath a handsome independence, might not be reduced to utter\ndestitution.\n\nSuch was the intelligence that saluted the ill-starred Mary and her\nhusband on their return to England! Instead of the brilliant prospects\nin which she had been nurtured--disinheritance met her on the one\nside, and ruin on the other!\n\nHer vindictive father had even made it a condition of his bounties to\nLord and Lady Robert, that all intercourse should cease between them\nand their sister; a condition which the former, in revenge for the\nearly slights of his fairer cousin, took care should be punctually\nobeyed by his wife.\n\nTill the event of the trial, Mr Sparks retained, of course, possession\nof the Park; but so bitter was the mortification of the family, on\ndiscovering in the village precisely the same ungrateful feeling which\nhad so embittered the soul of Sir Laurence, that they preferred\nremaining in London--where no one has leisure to dwell upon the\nmischances of his neighbours, and where sympathy is as little expected\nas conceded. But when Mary arrived--_poor_ Mary! who had now the\nprospect of becoming a mother--and who, though affectionately beloved\nby her husband's family, saw they regarded her as the innocent origin\nof their present reverses--she soon persuaded her husband to accompany\nher to her old haunts.\n\n\"Do not imagine, dearest,\" said she, \"that I have any project of\ndebasing you and myself, by intruding into my father's presence. Had\nwe been still prosperous, Everard, I would have gone to him--knelt to\nhim--prayed to him--wept to him--_so_ earnestly, that his forgiveness\ncould not have been long withheld from the child he loved so dearly. I\nwould have described to him all you are to me--all your\nindulgences--all your devotion--and _you_, too, my own husband, would\nhave been forgiven. But as it is, believe me, I have too proud a sense\nof what is due to ourselves, to combat the unnatural hostility in\nwhich my sister and her husband appear to take their share. O Everard!\nto think of Selina becoming the wife of that coarse and heartless man,\nof whom, in former times, she thought even more contemptuously than I;\nand who, with his dissolute habits, can only have made my poor\nafflicted sister his wife from the most mercenary motives! I dread to\nthink of what may be her fate hereafter, when, having obtained at my\nfather's death all the advantages to which he looks forward, he will\nshow himself in his true colours.\"\n\nThus, even with such terrible prospects awaiting herself, the good,\ngenerous Mary trembled only to contemplate those of her regardless\nsister; and it was chiefly for the delight of revisiting the spots\nwhere they had played together in childhood--the fondly-remembered\nenvirons of Stanley Manor--that she persuaded her husband to take up\nhis abode in the deserted mansion at the Park, where, from prudential\nmotives, Mr Sparks had broken up his establishment, and sold off his\nhorses.\n\nAttended by a single servant, in addition to the old porter and his\nwife who were in charge of the house, Mary trusted that their arrival\nat Lexley would be unnoticed in the neighbourhood. Confining herself\nstrictly within the boundaries of the Park, which neither her father\nnor the bride and bridegroom were likely to enter, she conceived that\nshe might enjoy, on her husband's arm, those solitary rambles of which\nevery day circumscribed the extent; without affording reason to the\nGeneral to suppose, when, discerning every morning from his lofty\nterraces the mansion of his falling enemy, that, in place of the man\nhe loathed, it contained his discarded child.\n\nThe dispirited young woman, on the other hand, delighted in\ncontemplating from the windows of her dressing-room the towers\nbeneath, whose shelter she had abided in such perfect happiness with\nher doating father and apparently attached sister. They loved her no\nlonger, it is true. Perhaps it was her fault--(she would not allow\nherself to conceive it could be a fault of _theirs_)--but at all\nevents she loved _them_ dearly as ever; and it was comforting to her\npoor heart to catch a glimpse of their habitation, and know herself\nwithin reach, should sickness or evil betide.\n\n\"If I should not survive my approaching time,\" thought Mary, often\nsurveying for hours, through her tears, the heights of Lexley Hall,\nand fancying she could discern human figures moving from window to\nwindow, or from terrace to terrace; \"if I should be fated never to\nbehold this child, already loved--this child which is to be so dear a\nblessing to us both--in my last hours my father would not surely\nrefuse to give me his blessing; nor would Selina persist in her\npresent cruel alienation. It is, indeed, a comfort to be here.\"\n\nHer husband thought otherwise. To him nothing was more trying than\nthis compulsory sojourn at Lexley; not that he required other society\nthan that of his engaging and attached wife. At any other moment it\nwould have been delightful to him to enjoy the country pleasures\naround them, with no officious intrusive world to interpose between\ntheir affection. But in his present uncertainty as to his future\nprospects, to be mocked by this empty show of proprietorship, and have\nconstantly before his eyes the residence of the man who had heaped\nsuch contumely on his head, and inflicted such pain on the gentlest\nand sweetest of human hearts, was a state of moral torment.\n\nIn the course of my fishing excursions--(for, thanks to Mr Sparks's\nneighbourly liberality, I had a card of general access to his\nparks)--I frequently met the young couple; and having no clue to their\nsecret sentiments, noticed, with deep regret, the sadness of Mary's\ncountenance and sinister looks of her husband. I feared--I greatly\nfeared--that they were not happy together. The General's daughter\nrepined, perhaps, after her former fortunes. The young husband sighed,\ndoubtless, over the liberty he had renounced.\n\nIt was spring time, and Lord Robert having satisfied his cravings\nafter the pleasures of London, by occasional bachelor visits on\npretence of business, the family were to remain at the Hall till after\nthe Easter holidays, so that Mary had every expectation of the\naccomplishment of her hopes previous to their departure. Perhaps, in\nthe bottom of her heart, she flattered herself that, on hearing of her\nsafety, her obdurate relations might be moved, by a sudden burst of\npity and kindliness, to make overtures of reconciliation--at all\nevents to dispatch words of courteous enquiry; for she was ever\ndwelling on her good fortune that her father should, on this\nparticular year, have so retarded the usual period of his departure.\nYet when the report of these exulting exclamations on her part reached\nmy ear, I was ungenerous enough to attribute them to a very different\norigin, fancying that the poor submissive creature was thankful for\nbeing within reach of protection from conjugal misusage.\n\nMeanwhile, she was so far justified in one portion of her premises,\nthat no tidings of her residence at Lexley Park had as yet reached the\near of her father. The fact was, that not a soul had courage to do so\nmuch as mention, in his presence, the name of his once idolized child;\nand Lord Robert, having been apprized of the circumstance, instantly\nexacted a promise from his wife, that nothing should induce her to\nhazard her father's displeasure by communication with her sister, or\nby acquainting the General of the arrival of the offending pair. The\nconsequence was, that in the dread of encountering her sister, (whom\nshe felt ashamed to meet as the wife of the man they had so often\ndecried together,) Lady Robert rarely quitted the house; and these two\nsisters, so long the affectionate inmates of the same chamber--the\nsisters who had wept together over their mother's deathbed--abided\nwithin sight of each other's windows, yet estranged as with the\nestrangement of strangers.\n\nAnd then, we pretend to talk with horror of the family feuds of\nsouthern nations; and, priding ourselves on our calm and passionless\nnature, feel convinced that all the domestic virtues extant on earth,\nhave taken refuge in the British empire!\n\nEvery day, meanwhile, I noticed that the handsome countenance of\nEverard Sparks grew gloomier and gloomier; and how was I to know that\nevery day he received letters from his father, announcing the\nunfavourable aspect of their suit; and that (owing, as was supposed,\nto the suggestions of General Stanley's solicitors) even the conduct\nof the adverse party was becoming offensive. The elder Sparks wrote\nlike a man overwhelmed with mortification, and stung by a sense of\nundeserved injury; and his appeals to the sympathy and support of his\nson, were such as to place the spirited young man in a most painful\npredicament as regarded the family of his wife.\n\nUnwilling to utter in her presence an injurious word concerning those\nwho, persecute her as they might, were still her nearest and dearest\nby the indissoluble ties of nature, all he could do, in relief to his\novercharged feelings, was to rush forth into the Park, and curse the\nday that he was born to behold all he loved in the world overwhelmed\nin one common ruin.\n\nOn such occasions, while pretending to fix my attention on my float\nupon the river, I often watched him from afar, till I was terrified by\nthe frantic vehemence of his gestures. There was almost reason to\nfancy that the evil influences of the old Hall were extending their\npower over the valley; and that this distracted young man was falling\ninto the eccentricities of Sir Laurence Altham.\n\nAfter viewing with anxiety the wild deportment of poor Mary's husband,\nI happened one day to pass along the lane I have described as skirting\nthe garden of the manor-house, on my way homewards to my farm; and on\nplunging my eyes, as usual, into the verdant depths of the clipped\nyew-walks, visible through the iron-palisades, was struck by the\ncontrast afforded to the scene I had just witnessed, not only by its\naristocratic tranquillity, but by the grave and subdued deportment of\nLady Robert Stanley, who was sauntering in one of the alleys,\naccompanied by a favourite dog I had often seen following her sister\nin former days, and looking the very picture of contented egotism.\n\nI almost longed to call aloud to her, and confide all I knew and all\nthat I supposed. But what right had I to create alarms in her sister's\nbehalf? What right had I to incite her to disobedience against the\nfather on whom she and her husband were dependent? Better leave things\nas they were--the common philosophy of selfish, timid people, afraid\nof exposing their own heads to a portion of the storm their\ninterference may chance to bring down, while assisting the cause of\nthe weak against the strong.\n\nI used often to go home and think of poor Mary till my heart ached.\nThat young and beautiful creature--that creature till lately so\nbeloved--to be thus cruelly abandoned, thus helpless, thus unhappy!\nPerhaps not a soul sympathizing with her but myself--an obscure,\nlow-born, uninfluential man, of no more value as a protector than a\nwillow-wand shivered from the Lexley plantations! Not so much as the\nmerest trifle in which I could demonstrate my good-will. I thought and\nthought it over, and there was nothing I could do--nothing I could\noffer. When I _did_ hit upon some pretext of kindness, I only did\namiss. The fruit season was not begun--nay, the orchards were only in\nblossom--and times were over for forcing-houses at Lexley Park!\nThinking, therefore, that the invalid might be pleased with a basket\nof Jersey pears, of which a very fine kind grew in my orchard, I\nventured to send some to her address. But the very next time I\nencountered Everard in the village, he cast a look at me as if he\nwould have killed me for my officiousness, or, perhaps, for taking the\nliberty to suppose that Lexley Park was less luxuriously provisioned\nthan in former years. Nor was it till long afterwards I discovered\nthat my old housekeeper (who had taken upon herself to carry my humble\noffering to the park) had not only seen the poor young lady, but been\nfoolish enough to talk of Lady Robert in a tone which appears to have\nexercised a cruel influence over her gentle heart; so that, when her\nhusband returned home from rabbit-shooting, an hour afterwards, he\nfound her recovering from a fainting fit, he visited upon _me_ the\nfolly of my servant; and such was the cause of his angry looks.\n\nA few days afterwards, however, he had far more to reproach his\nconscience withal than poor Barbara. Having no concealments from his\nwife, to whom he was in the habit of avowing every emotion of his\nheart, he was rash enough to mention of having met the travelling\ncarriage of Lord and Lady Robert on the London road. They had quitted\nthe Hall ten days previous to the epoch originally fixed for their\ndeparture.\n\n\"Gone--exactly gone!--already at two hundred miles' distance from me!\"\ncried poor Mary, nothing doubting that her father had, as usual,\naccompanied them, and feeling herself now, for the first time, alone\nin the dreary seclusion to which she had condemned herself, only that\nshe might breathe the same atmosphere with those she loved. \"Yet they\nhad certainly decided to remain at the Hall till after Easter! Perhaps\nthey discovered my being here, and the discovery hastened their\njourney. Unhappy creature that I am, to have become thus hateful to\nthose in whose veins my blood is flowing! Everard, Everard! O, what\nhave I done that God should thus abandon me?\"\n\nThe soothing and affectionate remonstrances now addressed to her by\nher husband, had so far a good effect, that they softened her despair\nto tears. Long and unrestrainedly did she weep upon his shoulder;\ntried to comfort him by the assurance that _she_ was comforted, or at\nleast that she would endeavour to _seek_ comfort from the protection\nand goodness whence it had been so often derived.\n\nA few minutes afterwards, having been persuaded by Everard to rest\nherself on the sofa, to recover the effects of the agitation his\nindiscreet communication had excited, she suddenly complained of cold,\nand begged him to close the windows. It was a balmy April day, with a\ngenial sun shining fresh into the room. The air was as the air of\nmidsummer--one of those days on which you almost see the small green\nleaves of spring bursting from their shelly covering, and the resinous\nbuds of the chestnut-trees expanding into maturity. Poor Everard saw\nat once that the chilliness of which his wife complained must be the\neffect of illness. More cautious, however, on this occasion than\nbefore, he enquired, as her shivering increased, what preparations she\nhad made for the events which still left her some weeks for execution.\n\"None. His sisters had kindly undertaken to supply her with all she\nmight require; and the services of the nurse accustomed to attend his\nmarried sister, were engaged on her behalf. At the end of the month\nthis woman was to arrive at Lexley, bringing with her the wardrobe of\nthe little treasure who was to accord renewed peace and happiness to\nits mother.\"\n\nThough careful to conceal his anxiety from his wife, Everard Sparks,\ndisappointed and distressed, quitted the room in haste to send for the\nmedical man who had long been the attendant of his family. But before\nhe arrived, the shivering fit of the poor sufferer had increased to an\nalarming degree. A calming potion was administered, and orders issued\nthat she was to be kept quiet; but in the consternation created in the\nlittle household by the communication Dr R. thought it necessary to\nmake of the possibility of a premature confinement, poor Mrs Sparks's\nmaid, a young inexperienced woman, dispatched a messenger to my house\nfor her old kinswoman, and it was through Barbara I became acquainted\nwith the melancholy incidents I am about to relate.\n\nThe sedatives administered failed in their effect. A fatal shock had\nbeen already given; and while struggling through that direful night\nwith the increasing pangs that verified the doctor's prognostications,\nthe sympathizing women around the sufferer could scarcely restrain\ntheir tears at the courage with which she supported her anguish,\nrejoicing in it, as it were, in the prospect of embracing her\nchild--when all present were aware that the compensation was about to\nbe denied her, that the child was already dead. Just as the day\ndawned, her anxious husband was congratulated on her safety, and then\nthe truth could no longer be concealed from Mary. She asked to see her\nbabe. Her husband was employed to persuade her to defer seeing it for\nan hour or two, \"till it was dressed--till she was more composed.\" But\nthe truth rushed into her mind, and she uttered not another word, in\nthe apprehension of increasing his disappointment and mortification.\n\nSo long did her silence continue, that, trusting she had fallen\nasleep, old Barbara's granddaughter entreated poor Everard to withdraw\nand leave her to her rest. But the moment he quitted the room, she\nspoke, spoke resolutely, and in a firmer voice than her previous\nsufferings had given them reason to suppose possible.\n\n\"Now, then, let me see my boy,\" said she. \"I know that he is dead. But\ndo not be afraid of shocking or distressing me. I have courage to look\nupon the poor little creature for whom I have suffered so much, and\nwho, I trusted, would reward me for all.\"\n\nThe women remonstrated, as it was their duty to remonstrate. But when\nthey saw that opposition on this point only excited her, dreading an\naccession of fever, they brought the poor babe and laid it on the\npillow beside its mother. That first embrace, to which she had looked\nforward with such intensity of delight, folded to her burning bosom\nonly a clay-cold child!\n\nEven thus it was fair to look on--every promise in its little form,\nthat its beauty would have equalled that of its handsome parents; and\nMary, as she pressed her lips to its icy forehead, fancied she could\ntrace on those tiny features a resemblance to its father. Old Barbara,\nperceiving how bitterly the tears of the sufferer were falling on the\ncheeks of her lost treasure, now interfered. But the mother had still\na last request to make. A few downy curls were perceptible on the\ntemples--in colour and fineness resembling her own. She wished to\nrescue from the grave this slight remembrance of her poor nameless\noffspring; and her wish having been complied with, she suffered the\nbabe to be taken from her relaxed and moveless grasp.\n\n\"Leave me the hair,\" said she, in a faint voice. \"Thanks--thanks! I am\nhappy now--I will try to sleep--I am happy--happy now!\"\n\nShe slept--and never woke again. At the close of an hour or two, her\nanxious husband, finding she had not stirred, gently and silently\napproached the bedside, and took into his own the fair hand lying on\nthe coverlid, to ascertain whether fever had ensued. _Fever?_ It was\nalready cold with the damps of death!\n\nImagine, if you can, the agony and self-reproach of that bereaved man!\nAgain and again did he revile himself as her murderer; accusing\n_himself_--her father--her _sister_--the whole world. At one moment,\nhe fancied that her condition had not been properly treated by her\nattendants; at another, that the medical man ought not to have left\nthe house. Nay, hours and hours after she was gone for ever--after\nthe undertakers had commenced their hideous preparations--even while\nshe lay stretched before him, white and cold as marble, he persisted\nthat life might be still recalled; and, but for the better\ndiscrimination of those around him, would have insisted on attempts at\nresuscitation, calculated only to disturb, almost sacrilegiously, the\nsound peace of the dead!\n\nI was one of the first to learn the heart-rending news of this beloved\nbeing's untimely end; for my old woman having asked permission to\nremain with her through the night, (explaining the exigency of the\ncase,) I could not forbear hurrying to the house as soon as it was\nday, in the hope of hearing she was a happy mother. Somehow or other,\nI had never contemplated an unfavourable result. The idea of death\nnever presented itself to me in common with any thing so young and\nfair; and as I walked through the park, and crossed the bridge, with\nthe white cheerful mansion before me, and the morning sun shining full\nupon its windows, I thought how gladsome it looked, but could not\nforbear feeling that, even with the prospect of losing it--even with\nthe certainty of beggary, Everard, as a husband and father, was the\nfellow most to be envied upon earth!\n\nI reached the house, and the old man who answered my ring at the\noffice entrance, was speechless from tears. Though usually hard as\niron, he sobbed as if his heart would break. I asked to speak with\nBarbara--with my housekeeper. He told me I could not--that she was\n\"busy laying out the body.\" I was answered. That dreadful word told me\nall--I had no more questions to ask. I cared not _who_ survived, or\nwhat became of the survivors. And as I turned sickening away, to bend\nmy steps homewards, I remember wondering how that fair spring morning\ncould shine so bright and auspiciously, when _she_ was gone from us.\nIt seemed to triumph in our loss! Alas! it shone to welcome a new\nangel to the kingdom of our Father who is in heaven!\n\nSuddenly it struck me, that I, too, had a duty to perform. In that\nscanty household there was no one to take thought of the common forms\nof life; so I hastened to the rectory, to suggest to our good pastor a\nvisit of consolation to the house of mourning, and acquaint his\nsisters with its forlorn condition. Like myself, they began\nexclaiming, \"Alas! alas! It was but the other day that\"----reverting\nto all the acts of charity and girlish graces of that dear departed\nMary Stanley, who had been among us as the shadow of a dream.\n\nBefore I left the rectory, Dr Whittingham had issued his orders; and\nlo! as I proceeded homewards, with a heavy step and a heavier heart,\nthe sound of the passing bell from Lexley church pursued me with its\nmeasured toll, till I could scarcely refrain from sitting me down by\nthe wayside, and weeping my very soul away.\n\nOn reaching the lane I have so often described as skirting the gardens\nof the old Hall, I noticed, through the palisades, a person, probably\none of the gardeners, sauntering along Lady Robert's favourite\nyew-walk. No! on a nearer approach, I saw, and almost shuddered to\nsee, that it was General Stanley himself (who, I fancied, had\naccompanied his son-in-law to town) taking an early walk, to enjoy the\nsweetness of that delicious morning.\n\nAs I drew nearer, I averted my head. At that moment I had not courage\nto look him in the face. I could scarcely suppose him ignorant of what\nhad occurred; and, if aware of the sad event, his obduracy was unmanly\nto a degree that filled me with disgust. But just as I came opposite\nthe iron gates, he hailed me by name--more familiarly and courteously\nthan he was wont--to ask whether I came from the village, and for\n_whose_ death they were tolling?\n\nIf worlds had depended on my answer, I could not have uttered a word!\nBut I conclude that, catching sight of my troubled face and swollen\neyelids, the General supposed I had lost some near and dear friend;\nfor, instead of renewing his question, he merely touched his hat, and\npassed on, leaving me to proceed in my turn. But the spectacle of my\nprofound affliction probably excited his curiosity; for I found\nafterwards, that, instead of pursuing his walk, he returned straight\nto the house, and addressed the enquiry which had so distressed _me_,\nto others having more courage to reveal the fatal truth. I believe it\nwas the old family butler, who abruptly answered--\"For my poor young\nlady, General--for the sweetest angel that ever trod the earth!\"\n\nFor my part, I wonder the announcement did not strike him to the\nearth! But he heard it without apparent emotion; like a man who,\nhaving already sustained the worst affliction this world can afford,\nhas no sensibility for further trials. Still the intelligence was not\nineffective. Without pausing an instant for reflection, or the\nindulgence of his feelings, he set forth on foot to Lexley Park. With\nhis hat pulled over his eyes, and a determined air, rather as if about\nto execute an act of vengeance than offer a tardy tribute of\ntenderness to his victim, he hurried to the house--commanded the\nstartled old servant to show him the way to _her_ room--entered\nit--and knelt down beside the bed on which she lay, with her dead\ninfant on her arm, asking her forgiveness, and the forgiveness of God,\nas humbly as though he were not the General Stanley proverbial for\nimplacability and pride.\n\nOld Barbara, who had not quitted the room, assured me it was a\nheart-breaking sight to behold that white head bowed down in agony\nupon the cold feet of his child. For he felt himself unworthy to press\nher helpless hand to his lips, or remove the cambric from her face,\nbut called, in broken accents, upon the name of Mary! his child! his\ndarling! addressing her rather with the fondling terms bestowed upon\ngirlhood than as a woman--a wife--a mother!\n\n\"But a more affecting story still,\" said the old woman, \"was to see\nthat Mr Everard took no more heed of the General's sudden entrance\nthan though it were a thing to be looked for. He seemed neither to\nhear his exclamations nor perceive his distress.\" Poor gentleman! His\nhaggard eyes were fixed, his mind bewildered, his hopes blasted for\never, his life a blank. He neither answered when spoken to, nor even\nspoke, when the good rector, according to his promise, came to\nannounce that he had dispatched the fatal intelligence by express to\nhis family, beseeching his instructions concerning the steps to be\ntaken for the burial of the dead.\n\nBut why afflict you and myself by recurring to these melancholy\ndetails! Suffice it, that this dreadful blow effected what nothing\nelse on earth could have effected in the mind of General Stanley.\nHumbled to the dust, even the arrival of the once despised owner of\nLexley Park did not drive him from the house. He asked his pity--he\nasked his pardon. Beside the coffin of his daughter he expressed all\nthe compunction a generous-hearted and broken-hearted man could\nexpress; and all he asked in return, was leave to lay her poor head in\nthe grave of her ancestors.\n\nNo one opposed his desire. The young widower had not as much\nconsciousness left as would have enabled him to utter the negative\nGeneral Stanley seemed prepared to expect; and as to his father, about\nto abandon Lexley for ever, to what purpose erect a family vault in a\nchurch which neither he nor his were ever likely to see again?\n\nTo the chapel at Stanley Manor, accordingly, were the mother and child\nremoved. The General wrote expressly to forbid his son-in-law and\nSelina returning to the Hall, on pretence of sustaining him in his\naffliction. He _chose_ to give way to it; he _chose_ to be alone with\nhis despair.\n\nNever shall I forget the day that mournful funeral procession passed\nthrough the village! Young and old came forth weeping to their doors\nto bid her a last farewell; even as they used to come and exchange\nsmiles with her, in those happy days when life lay before her,\nbright--hopeful--without a care--without a responsibility. I had\nintended to pay him the same respect. I meant, indeed, to have\nfollowed the hearse, at an humble distance, to its final destination.\nBut when I rose that morning a sudden weakness came upon me, and I was\nunable to quit my room. I, so strong, so hardy, who have passed\nthrough life without sickness or doctor, was as powerless that day as\nan infant.\n\nIt was from the good rector, therefore, I heard how the General (on\nwhom, in consequence of the precarious condition of the afflicted\nhusband, devolved the task of chief mourner) sustained his carriage to\nperform with dignity and propriety his duty to the dead. As he\nfollowed the coffin through the churchyard, crowded by his old\npensioners--many of them praying on their knees as it passed--his\nstep was as firm and his brow as erect as though at the head of his\nregiment. It was not till all was over--the mournful ceremony done,\nthe crowd dispersed, the funeral array departed--that having descended\ninto the vault, ere the stone was rolled to the door of the sepulchre,\nin order to point out the exact spot where he wished her remains to be\ndeposited, so that hereafter his own might rest by her side, he\nrenounced all self-restraint, and throwing himself upon the ground,\ngave himself up to his anguish, and refused to be comforted!\n\nThat summer was as dreary a season at Lexley as the dreariest winter!\nBoth the Park and the Hall were shut up; nor did General Stanley ever\nagain resume his tenancy of the old manor. When the result of the\nChancery suit left Mr Altham in possession of the former estate, the\nGeneral literally preferred forfeiting the moiety of the\npurchase-money he had paid, and giving up the place to be re-united\nwith the property, which the rigour of the law thus singularly\nrestored to the last heirs of the Althams; and such was the cause of\nmy neighbour, the present Sir Julius Altham, regaining possession of\nthe Hall.\n\nIt was not for many years, however, that the cause was ultimately\ndecided. There was an appeal against the Chancellor's decree; and even\nafter the decree was confirmed, came an endless number of legal forms,\nwhich so procrastinated the settlement, that not only the original\nunfortunate purchaser, but poor Everard himself, was in his grave when\nthe mansion, in which they had so prided themselves, was pulled down,\nand all trace of their occupancy effaced.\n\nI sometimes ask myself, indeed, whether the whole of this \"strange\neventful history,\" with which the earliest feelings of my heart were\npainfully interwoven, really occurred? whether the manor ever passed\nfor a time out of the possession of the ancient house of Altham?\nwhether the domain, now one and indivisible, were literally\npartitioned off--a park paling interposing only between the patrician\nand plebeian. Often, after spending hour after hour by the river side,\nwhen the fly is on the water and the old thorns in bloom, I recur to\nthe first day I came back into Lexley Park after the funeral had\npassed through, and recollect the soreness of heart with which I\nlifted my eyes towards the house, of which every trace has since\ndisappeared. At that moment there seemed to rise before me, sporting\namong the gnarled branches of the old thorn-trees, the graceful form\nof Mary Stanley, followed by old Sergeant, bounding and barking\nthrough the fern; and the General looking on from a distance,\npretending to be angry, and desiring her to come out of the covert and\nnot disturb the game. Exactly thus, and there, I beheld them for the\nfirst time. What would I not give to realize once more, if only for a\nday, that happy, happy vision!\n\nStanley Manor is let to strangers during the minority of Lord Robert's\nsickly son; the father being an absentee, the mother in an early\ngrave. She lived long enough, however, to be a repining wife; and my\nneighbour, Sir Julius Altham, has more than once hinted to me, that,\nof the whole family, the portion of Selina most deserved compassion.\n\nTo me, however, her callous conduct towards that gentle sister, always\nrendered her the least interesting of my COUNTRY NEIGHBOURS.\n\n\n\n\nTRAVELS OF KERIM KHAN.[3]\n\n    [3] Travels of Kerim Khan; being a narrative of his\n    Journey from Delhi to Calcutta, and thence by Sea to\n    England: containing his remarks upon the manners,\n    customs, laws, constitutions, literature, arts,\n    manufactures, &c., of the people of the British Isles.\n    Translated from the original Oordu--(MS.)\n\n\nAmong the various signs of the times which mark the changes of manners\nin these latter days of the world, not the least remarkable is the\nincreasing frequency of the visits paid by the natives of the East to\nthe regions of Europe. Time was, within the memory of most of the\npresent generation, when the sight of a genuine Oriental in a London\ndrawing-room, except in the angel visits, \"few and far between,\" of a\nPersian or Moorish ambassador, was a rarity beyond the reach of even\nthe most determined lion-hunters; and if by any fortunate chance a\nstray Persian khan, or a \"very magnificent three-tailed bashaw,\" was\nbrought within the circle of the quidnuncs of the day, the sayings and\ndoings of the illustrious stranger were chronicled with as much\nminuteness as if he had been the denizen of another planet. Every hair\nof his beard, every jewel in the hilt of his khanjar, was enumerated\nand criticised; while all oriental etiquette was violated by the\nconstant enquiries addressed to him relative to the number of his\nwives, and the economy of his domestic arrangements. \"_Mais a present\non a change tout cela._\" The reforms of Sultan Mahmood, the invention\nof steam, and the re-opening of the overland route to India, have\ncombined to effect a mighty revolution in all these points. Osmanlis,\nwith shaven chins and tight trousers,[4] have long been as plenty as\nblackberries in the saloons of the West, eating the flesh of the\nunclean beast, quaffing champagne, and even (if we have been rightly\ninformed) figuring in quadrilles with the moon-faced daughters of the\nFranks; and though the natives of the more distant regions of the East\nhave not yet appeared among us in such number, yet the lamb-skin cap\nof the Persian, the _pugree_, or small Indian turban, and even the\nqueer head-dress of the Parsee, is far from being a stranger in our\nassemblies. We doubt whether the name of Akhbar Khan himself,\nproclaimed at the foot of a staircase, would excite the same\n_sensation_ in the present day, as the announcement of the most\nundistinguished wearer of the turban some ten or twenty years ago; but\nof the \"Tours\" and \"Narratives\" which are usually the inevitable\nresult of such an influx of pilgrims, our Oriental visitors have as\nyet produced hardly their due proportion. For many years, the travels\nof Mirza Abu-Talib Khan, a Hindustani[5] Moslem of rank and education,\nwho visited Europe in the concluding years of the last century, stood\nalone as an example of the effect produced on an Asiatic by his\nobservation of the manners and customs of the West; and even of late\nour stock has not been much increased. The journal of the Persian\nprinces (a translation of which, by their Syrian mehmandar, Assaad\nYakoob Khayat, has been printed in England for private circulation) is\ncurious, as giving a picture of European ways and manners when viewed\nthrough a purely Asiatic medium; while the remarkably sensible and\nwell-written narrative of the two Parsees who lately visited this\ncountry for the purpose of instruction in naval architecture,[6]\ndiffers little from the description of the same objects which would be\ngiven by an intelligent and well-educated European, if they could be\npresented to him in the aspect of utter novelty. The latest of these\nOriental wanderers in the ungenial climes of Franguestan, is the one\nwhose name appears at the head of this article, and who, with a rare\nand commendable modesty, has preferred introducing himself to the\npublic under the protecting guidance of Maga, to venturing, alone and\nwithout a pilot, among the perilous rocks and shoals of the critics of\n_the Row_; him therefore we shall now introduce, without further\ncomment, to the favourable notice of our readers.\n\n    [4] _Shalwarlek_--\"tight trousers\"--was a phrase used,\n    under the old Turkish regime, as equivalent to a\n    blackguard.\n\n    [5] The Moslems, and other natives of India descended\n    from foreign races, are properly called _Hindustanis_,\n    while the aborigines are the _Hindus_--a distinction not\n    well understood in Europe. The former take their name\n    from the country, as _natives of Hindustan_, which has\n    derived its own name from the latter, as being the\n    _country of the Hindus_.\n\n    [6] Journal of a Residence of Two Years and a Half in\n    Great Britain, by Jehangeer Nowrojee and Hirjeebhoy\n    Merwanjee of Bombay, Naval Architects. London: 1841.\n\nOf Kerim Khan himself, the writer of his narrative, and of his motives\nfor daring the perils of the _kala-pani_, (or black water, the Hindi\nname for the ocean,) on a visit to Franguestan, we have little\ninformation beyond what can be gathered from the MS. itself. There can\nbe no doubt, however, that he was a Mussulman gentleman of rank and\nconsideration, and of information far superior to that of his\ncountrymen in general; nor does it appear that he was driven, like\nMirza Abu-Talib, by political misfortune, to seek in strange climes\nthe security which his native land denied him. His narrative commences\nabruptly:--\"On the 21st of Ramazan, in the year of the Hejra 1255,\"\n(Dec. 1, A.D. 1839,) \"between four and five in the afternoon, I took\nleave of the imperial city of Delhi, and proceeded to our boat, which\nwas at anchor near the Derya Ganj.\" The voyage down the Jumna, to its\njunction with the Ganges at Allahabad, a distance of not more than 550\nmiles by land, but which the endless windings of the stream increase\nto 2010 by water, presents few incidents worthy of notice: but our\ntraveller observes _par parenthese_, that \"though it is said that the\nsources of this river have not been discovered, I have heard from\nthose who have crossed the Himalaya from China, that it rises in that\ncountry on the other side of the mountains, and, forcing its way\nthrough them, arrives at Bighamber. They say that gold is found there\nin large quantities, and the reason they assign is this--the\nphilosopher's stone is found in that country, and whatever touches it\nbecomes gold, but the stone itself can never be found!\" Near Muttra he\nencountered the splendid cortege of Lord Auckland, then returning to\nCalcutta after his famous interview with Runjeet Singh at Lahore, with\nsuch a _suwarree_ as must have recalled the pomp and _sultanut_ for\nwhich the memory of Warren Hastings is even yet celebrated among the\nnatives of India: \"his staff and escort, with the civil and military\nofficers of government in attendance on him, amounted to about 4000\npersons, besides 300 elephants and 800 camels.\" The noble buildings of\nAkbarabad or Agra, the capital and residence of Akbar and Shalijehan,\nthe mightiest and most magnificent of the Mogul emperors, detained the\ntraveller for a day; and he notices with deserved eulogium the\nsplendid mausoleum of Shalijehan and his queen, known as the\nTaj-Mahal. There is nothing that can be compared with it, and those\nwho have visited the farthest parts of the globe, have seen nothing\nlike it.[7] At Allahabad he launched on the broad stream of the\nGanges; and after passing through part of the territory of _Awadh_ or\nOude, the insecurity of life and property in which is strongly\ncontrasted with the rigid police in the Company's dominions, arrived\nin due time at the holy city of Benares, the centre of Hindoo and\nBrahminical sanctity.\n\n    [7] Many of our readers must have seen the beautiful\n    ivory model of this far-famed edifice, lately exhibited\n    in Regent Street, and now, we believe, in the Cambridge\n    University museum. It is fortunate that so faithful a\n    miniature transcript of the beauties of the Taj is in\n    existence, since the original is doomed, as we are\n    informed, to inevitable ruin at no distant period, from\n    the ravages of the white ants on the woodwork.\n\nThe shrines of Benares, with their swarms of sacred monkeys and\nBrahminy bulls, were objects of little interest to our Moslem\nwayfarer, who on the contrary recounts with visible satisfaction the\ndestruction of several of these _But Khanas_, or idol-temples, by the\nintolerable bigotry of Aurungzib, and the erection of mosques on their\nsites. Among the objects of attraction in the environs of the city, he\nparticularly notices a famous footprint[8] upon stone, called the\n_Kadmsherif_, or holy mark, deposited in a mosque near the serai of\nAurungabad, and said to have been brought from Mekka by Sheik Mohammed\nAli Hazin, whom the translator of his interesting autobiography\n(published in 1830 by the Oriental Society) has made known to the\nBritish public, up to the period when the tyranny of Nadir Shah drove\nhim from Persia. \"Here, during his lifetime, he used to go sometimes\non a Thursday, and give alms to the poor in the name of God. He was a\nvery learned and accomplished man; and his writings, both in prose and\nverse, were equal to those of Zahiri and Naziri. When he first came to\nIndia, he resided for some years at Delhi; but having had some dispute\nwith the poet-laureate of the Emperor Mohammed Shah, he found himself\nunder the necessity of retiring to Benares, where he lived in great\nprivacy. As he was a stranger in the country, was engaged in no\ncalling or profession, and received no allowance from the Emperor, it\nwas never known whence, or how, he was supplied with the means of\nkeeping up the establishment he did, which consisted of some hundred\nservants, palanquins, horses, &c. It is said that when the Nawab\nShujah-ed-dowlah projected his attack on the English in Bengal, he\nconsulted the Sheik on the subject, who strongly dissuaded him from\nthe undertaking. He died shortly after the battle of Buxar in 1180,\"\n(A.D. 1766.) The battle of Buxar was fought Oct. 23, 1764; but that\nSheik Ali Hazin died somewhere about this time, seems more probable\nthan that his life was extended (as stated by Sir Gore Ouseley) till\n1779; since he describes himself at the conclusion of his memoirs in\n1742, when only in his 53d year, as \"leading the dullest course of\nexistence in the dullest of all dull countries, and disabled by his\nincreasing infirmities from any active exertion of either body or\nmind\"--a state of things scarcely promising a prolongation of life to\nthe age of ninety.\n\n    [8] These sacred footmarks are more numerous among the\n    Buddhists than the Moslems--the most celebrated is that\n    on the summit of Adam's Peak, in Ceylon.\n\nResuming his voyage from Benares, the Khan notices with wonder the\napparition of the steamers plying between Calcutta and Allahabad,\nseveral of which he met on his course, and regarded with the\nastonishment natural in one who had never before seen a ship impelled,\napparently by smoke, against wind and tide:--\"I need hardly say how\nintensely I watched every movement of this extraordinary, and to me\nincomprehensible machine, which in its passage created such a vast\ncommotion in the waters, that my poor little _budjrow_ (pinnace) felt\nits effects for the space of full two _hos_,\" (nearly four miles.) The\npicturesque situation of the city of Azimabad or Patna,[9] extending\nfor several miles along the right bank of the Ganges, with the villas\nand beautiful gardens of the resident English interspersed among the\nhouses, is described in terms of high admiration; and the mosques,\nsome of which were as old as the time of the Patan emperors, are not\nforgotten by our Moslem traveller in his enumeration of the marvels of\nthe city. A few days' more boating brought him to Rajmahal; \"on one\nside of which,\" says he, \"the country is called Bengal, and on the\nother _Poorb_, or the East\"--a name from which the independent dynasty\nof Moslem kings, who once ruled in Bengal, assumed the appellation of\n_Poorby-Shaby_. He was now among the rice-fields, the extent and\nluxuriance of which surprised him: \"There are a great variety of\nsorts, and if a man were to take a grain of each sort he might soon\nfill a _lota_ (water-pot) with them--so innumerable are the different\nkinds. The cultivators who have measured the largest species, have\ndeclared them to exceed the length of fifty cubits; but I have never\nseen any of this length, though others may have.\" He now entered the\nBhagirutti, or branch of the Ganges leading to Calcutta, and which\nbears in the lower part of its course the better known name of the\nHoogly--while the main stream to the left is again subdivided into\ninnumerable ramifications, the greater part of which lose themselves\namong the vast marshes of the Sunderbunds; but he complains, that\n\"though by this branch large vessels and steamers pass up and down to\nand from the Presidency, the route is very bad, from the extensive\njungles on both banks, which are haunted by Thugs and _Decoits_,\n(river pirates:)--indeed I have heard and read, that the shores of the\nGanges have been infested by freebooters, pirates, and thieves of all\nsorts, from time immemorial.\" He escaped unharmed, however, through\nthese manifold perils; and passing Murshidabad, the ancient capital of\nBengal, and other places of less note, his remarks upon which we shall\nnot stay to quote, reached the ghauts of Calcutta in safety.\n\n    [9] Most of the principal cities of India, in addition\n    to the ancient name by which they are popularly known,\n    have another imposed by the Moslems:--thus Agra is\n    Akbarabad, _the residence of Akbar_--Delhi,\n    Shahjehanabad; and Patna, Azimabad. In some instances,\n    as Dowlutabad in the Dekkan, the Hindu name of which is\n    Deogiri, the Mohammedan appellation has superseded the\n    ancient name; but, generally speaking, the latter is\n    that in common use.\n\nA place so often described as the \"City of Palaces,\" presents little\nthat is novel in the narrative of the khan; but he does full justice\nto the splendour of the architecture, which he says \"exceeds that of\n_China or Ispahan_--a superiority which arises from the immense sums\nwhich every governor-general has laid out upon public works, and in\nimproving and adorning the city: the Marquis Wellesley, in particular,\nexpended lakhs of rupees in this way.\" The account which he gives,\nhowever, from a Mahommedan writer, of the disputes with the Mogul\ngovernment which led to the transference of the British factory and\ncommerce from its original seat at Hoogly to _Kali-kata_,[10] or\nCalcutta, differs considerably from that given by the British\nhistorians, if we are to suppose the events here alluded to (the date\nof which the khan does not mention) to be those which occurred in 1686\nand 1687, when Charnock defended the factory at Hoogly against the\nImperial deputy, Shaista Khan. Our traveller's version of these\noccurrences is, that the factories of the English, which were then\nestablished on the Ghol Ghaut at Hoogly, having been overthrown by an\nearthquake, \"Mr Charnock, the head officer of the factory, purchasing\na garden called Banarasi, had the trees cut down, and commenced a new\nbuilding. But while it was in progress, the principal Mogul merchants\nand inhabitants laid a complaint before Meer Nasir, the _foujdar_,\n(chief of police,) that their houses and harems would be overlooked,\nand great scandal occasioned, if the strangers should be allowed to\nerect such lofty buildings in the midst of the city.[11] The complaint\nwas referred by the foujdar to the nawab, who forthwith issued orders\nfor the discontinuance of the works, which were accordingly abandoned.\nThe Company's agent, though highly offended at this arbitrary\nproceeding, was unable to resist it, having only one ship and a few\nsepoys; and, in spite of the efforts of the foujdar to dissuade him,\nhe embarked with all his goods, and set sail for the peninsula,\" (qu.\nIndjeli?) \"having first set fire to such houses as were near the\nriver. At this time, however, the Emperor Aurungzib was in the\nCarnatic, beleaguered by the Mahrattas, who had cut off all supplies\nfrom his camp; and the Company's agent in that country, hearing of\nthis, sent a large quantity of grain, which had been recently imported\nfor their own use, for the relief of the army. Having thus gained the\nfavour and protection of the Asylum of the World, the English were not\nonly permitted to build factories in various parts of the country, but\nwere exempted from the duties formerly laid on their goods. Charnock\nreturned to Bengal with the emperor's firman; and the nawab, seeing\nhow matters stood, withdrew his opposition to the erection of the\nfactory at Hoogly. The English, however, preferred another situation,\nand chose Calcutta, where a building was soon erected, the same which\nis now called the old fort.\" This account, which is in fact more\nfavourable to the English than that given by their own writers, is the\nonly notice of these transactions we have ever found from a Mahommedan\nauthor; for so small was the importance attached by the Moguls to\nthese obscure squabbles with a few Frank merchants, that even the\nhistorian Khafi-Khan, who acted as the emperor's representative for\nsettling the differences which broke out about the same time in\nBombay, makes no allusion to the simultaneous rupture in Bengal.\n\n    [10] \"So called from _Kali_, the Hindu goddess, and\n    _kata_, laughter; because human victims were formerly\n    here sacrificed to her.\"\n\n    [11] From the sanctity attached by Oriental ideas to the\n    privacy of the harem, it is a high crime and\n    misdemeanour, punishable by law in all Moslem countries,\n    to erect buildings overlooking the residence of a\n    neighbour. At Constantinople, there is an officer called\n    the Minar Aga, or superintendent of edifices, whose\n    especial duty it is to prevent this.\n\nOur author, like Bishop Heber,[12] and other travellers on the same\nroute, is struck by the contrast between the robust and well-fed\npeasantry of Hindustan Proper, and the puny rice-eaters of Bengal;\n\"who eat fish, boiled rice, bitter oil; and an infinite variety of\nvegetables; but of wheaten or barley bread, and of pulse, they know\nnot the taste, nor of mutton, fowl, or _ghee_, (clarified butter.) The\nauthor of the _Riaz-es-Selatin_, is indeed of opinion that such food\ndoes not suit their constitutions, and would make them ill if they\nwere to eat it\"--an invaluable doctrine to establish in dieting a\npauper population! \"As to their dress, they have barely enough to\ncover them--only a piece of cloth, called a _dhoti_, wrapped round\ntheir loins, while their head-dress consists of a dirty rag rolled two\nor three times round the temples, and leaving the crown bare. But the\nnatives of Hindustan, and even their descendants to the second and\nthird generation, always wear the _jamah_, or long muslin robe, out of\ndoors, though in the house they adopt the Bengali custom. The author\nof the _Kholasat-al Tow[=a]rikh_, (an historical work,) says that both\nmen and women formerly went naked; and no doubt he is right, for they\ncan hardly be said to do otherwise now.\" Such are the peasants of\nBengal--a race differing from the natives of Hindustan in language,\nmanners, food, dress, and personal appearance; but who, from their\nvicinity to the seat of the English Supreme Government, have served as\nmodels for the descriptions given by many superficial travellers, as\napplying to all the natives of British India, without distinction! The\nhorrible Hindu custom of immersing the sick, when considered past\nrecovery, in the Ganges, and holding their lower limbs under water\ntill they expire,[13] excites, as may be expected, the disgust of the\nkhan; but the reason which he assigns for it, \"the belief of these\npeople, that if a man die in his own house, he would cause the death\nof every member of the family by assuming the form of a _bhut_ or evil\nspirit,\" is new to us, and appears to be analogous to the\nsuperstitious dread entertained by the Greeks and Sclavonians, of a\ncorpse reanimated into a _Vroucolochas_, or vampire. \"But if a man\nescapes from their hands, and recovers after this treatment, he is\nshunned by every one; and there are many villages in Bengal, called\n_villages of the dead_, inhabited by men who have thus escaped death;\nthey are considered dead to society, and no other persons will dwell\nin the same villages.\"\n\n    [12] \"Almost immediately on leaving Allahabad,\" (on his\n    way from Calcutta to the Upper Provinces,) \"I was struck\n    with the appearance of the men, as tall and muscular as\n    the largest stature of Europeans; and with the fields of\n    _wheat_, almost the only cultivation.\"--Heber's Journal,\n    vol. iii. \"Some of our boatmen passing through a field\n    of Indian corn, plucked two or three ears, certainly not\n    enough to constitute a theft, or even a trespass. Two of\n    the men, however, who were watching, ran after them, not\n    as the Bengalis would have done, to complain with joined\n    hands, but with stout bamboos, prepared to do themselves\n    justice _par voye de faict_. The men saved themselves by\n    swimming off to the boat; but my servants called out to\n    them--'Ah! dandee folk, beware, you are now in\n    Hindustan; the people here know well how to fight, and\n    are not afraid.'\"\n\n    [13] \"I told his (Pertab Chund's) father, that it was\n    wrong to keep him where he then was, and he told me to\n    take him down to the river. He was lifted up on his\n    bedding; his speech was not very distinct at that time,\n    but sufficiently so to call on the name of his T'hakoor,\n    (spiritual guide,) which he did as desired; he then\n    began to shiver, and complained of being very cold. I\n    was one of those who went with the rajah to the river\n    side. Jago Mohun Dobee pressed his legs under the water,\n    and kept them so; and about 10 p.m. his soul quitted the\n    body. When he died, his knees were under water, but the\n    rest of his body above.\" Evidence of Radha Sircar and\n    Sham Chum Baboo, before the Mofussil Court of Hoogly,\n    September 1838, in the enquiry on the impostor\n    Kistololl, who personated the deceased Pertab.\n\nThe stay of the khan in Calcutta was prolonged for more than a month,\nduring which time he rented a house from a native proprietor in the\nquarter of Kolitolla. While removing his effects from his boat to\nthis residence, he became involved in a dispute with the police, in\nconsequence of the violation by his servants, through ignorance, of\nthe regulation which forbids persons from the Upper Provinces to enter\nthe city armed; but this unintentional infringement of orders was\neasily explained and arranged by the intervention of an European\nfriend, and the arms, of which the police had taken possession, were\nrestored. While engaged in preparing for his voyage, the khan made the\nbest use of his time in visiting the public buildings, and other\nobjects of interest, among which he particularly notices the _minar_\nor column erected in the _maidan_, (square,) near the viceregal palace\nof the Nawab Governor-General Bahadur, by a subscription among the\nofficers of the army, native as well as English, to the memory of the\nlate Sir David Ochterlony; but rates it, with truth, as greatly\ninferior, both in dimensions and beauty, to the famous pillar of the\nKootb-Minar near Delhi. The colossal fortifications of Fort-William\nare also duly commemorated; \"they resemble an embankment externally,\nbut when viewed from within are exceedingly high--no foe could\npenetrate within them, much less reach the treasures and magazines in\nthe interior.\" Our traveller also visited the English courts of\njustice, in the proceedings of which he seems to have taken great\ninterest, and was apparently treated with much hospitality by many of\nthe European functionaries and other residents, by whom he was\nfurnished with numerous letters of introduction, as well as receiving\nmuch information respecting the manners and customs of _Ingilistan_,\nor England. The choice of a ship, and the selection of sea-stock, were\nof course matters of grave consideration, and the more so from the\npeculiar unfitness of the habits and religious scruples of an Indian\nMoslem for the privations unavoidable at sea; but a passage was at\nlast taken for the khan and his two servants on board the Edinburgh of\n1400 tons, and it being agreed that he should find his own provisions,\nto obviate all mistakes on the score of forbidden food, and the\ncaptain promising moreover that his comforts should be carefully\nattended to, this weighty negotiation was at length concluded. It is\ndue to the khan to say, that whether from being better equipped, or\nfrom being endued with more philosophy and forbearance than his\ncompatriot, Mirza Abu-Talib Khan, (to whom we have above referred,) he\nseems to have reconciled himself to the hardships of the _kala-pani_,\nor ocean, with an exceedingly good grace; and we find none of the\ncomplaints which fill the pages of the Mirza against the impurity of\nhis food, the impossibility of performing his ablutions in appointed\ntime and manner, and sundry other abominations by which he was so\ngrievously afflicted, that at a time of danger to the vessel, \"though\nmany of the passengers were much alarmed, I, for my own part, was so\nweary of life that I was perfectly indifferent to my fate.\" Abu-Talib,\nhowever, sailed in an ill-regulated Danish ship; and in summing up the\nhorrors of the sea, he strongly recommends his countrymen, if\ncompelled to brave its miseries, to embark in none but an English\nvessel.\n\nDuring the last days of the khan's sojourn in Calcutta, he witnessed\nthe splendid celebration of the rites of the Mohurrum, when the\nslaughter of the brother Imams, Hassan and Hussein, the martyred\ngrandsons of the Prophet, is lamented by all sects of the faithful,\nbut more especially by the _Rafedhis_ or Sheahs, the followers of Ali,\n\"of whom there are many in Calcutta, though they are less numerous\nthan the orthodox sect or Sunnis, from whom they are distinguished, at\nthis season, by wearing black as mourning. At the _Baitak-Khana_ (a\nquarter of Calcutta) we witnessed the splendid procession of the\n_Taziya_,[14] with the banners and flags flying, and the wailers\nbeating their breasts.\"... \"It is the custom here, at this season, for\nall the natch-girls (dancers) to sit in the streets of the\nChandnibazar, under canopies decorated with wreaths and flowers in\nthe most fantastic manner, and sell sweetmeats, cardamums, betelnuts,\n&c., upon stalls, displaying their charms to the passers-by. I took a\nturn here one evening with five others, and found crowds of people\ncollected, both strangers and residents: nor do they ordinarily\ndisperse till long after midnight.\" On the second day after his visit\nto this scene of gaiety, he received notice that the ship was ready\nfor sea; and on the 8th of Mohurrum 1256, (March 13, 1840,) he\naccordingly embarked with his baggage and servants on board the\nEdinburgh, which was towed in seven days, by a steamer, down the river\nto Saugor; and the pilot quitting her the next day at the floating\nlight. \"I now found myself,\" (says the khan,) \"for the first time in\nmy life, in the great ocean, where nothing was to be seen around but\nsky and water.\"\n\n    [14] _Taziya_, literally _grief_, is an ornamental\n    shrine erected in Moslem houses during the Mohurrum, and\n    intended to represent the mausoleum of Hassan and\n    Hussein, at Kerbelah in Persia. On the 10th and last day\n    of the mourning, the taziyas are carried in procession\n    to the outside of the city, and finally deposited with\n    funeral rites in the burying-grounds.--See _Mrs Meer\n    Hassan Ali's_ Observations on the Mussulmans of India.\n    Letter I.\n\nThe account of a voyage at sea, as given by an Oriental, is usually\nthe most deplorable of narratives--filled with exaggerated fears, the\nhorrors of sea-sickness, and endless lamentations of the evil fate of\nthe writer, in being exposed to such a complication of miseries. Of\nthe wailing of Mirza Abu-Talib we have already given a specimen: and\nthe Persian princes, even in the luxurious comfort of an English\nMediterranean steamer, seem to have fared but little better, in their\nown estimation at least, than the Mirza in his dirty and disorderly\nDanish merchantman. \"Our bones cried, 'Alas! for this evil there is no\nremedy.' We were vomiting all the time, and thus afflicted with\nincurable evils, in the midst of a sea which appears without end, the\nstate of my health bad, the sufferings of my brothers very great, and\nno hope of being saved, we became most miserable.\" Such is the naive\nexposition of his woes, by H. R. H. Najaf Kooli Mirza; but Kerim Khan\nappears, both physically and morally, to have been made of different\nmetal. Ere he had been two days on board we find him remarking--\"I had\nby this time made some acquaintance among the passengers, and began to\nfind my situation less irksome and lonely;\" shortly afterwards\nadding--\"The annoyances inseparable from this situation were relieved,\nin some measure, by the music and dancing going on every day except\nSundays, owing to the numerous party of passengers, both gentlemen and\nladies, whom we had on board--seeing which, a man forgets his griefs\nand troubles in the general mirth around him.\" So popular, indeed,\ndoes the khan appear already to have become, that the captain, finding\nthat he had hitherto abstained from the use of his pipe, that great\ningredient in Oriental comfort, from an idea that smoking was\nprohibited on board, \"instantly sent for my hookah, had it properly\nprepared for me, and insisted on my not relinquishing this luxury, the\nprivation of which he knew would occasion me considerable\ninconvenience.\" In other respects, also, he seems to have been not\nless happily constituted; for though he says that \"the rolling and\nrocking of the ship, when it entered the _dark waters_ or open sea,\ncompletely upset my two companions, who became extremely sick\"--his\nremarks on the incidents of the voyage, and the novel phenomena which\npresented themselves to his view, are never interrupted by any of\nthose pathetic lamentations on the instability of the human stomach,\nwhich form so important and doleful an episode in the relations of\nmost landsmen, of whatever creed or nation.\n\nThe commencement of the voyage was prosperous; and the ship ran to the\nsouth before a fair wind, interrupted only by a few days of partial\ncalm, till it reached the latitude of Ceylon, where the appearance of\nthe flying fish excited the special wonder of the khan, who was by\nthis time beginning, under the tuition of his fellow passengers, to\nmake some progress in the English language, and had even attempted to\nfathom some of the mysteries of the science of navigation; \"but though\nI took the sextant which the captain handed me, and held it precisely\nas he had done, I could make nothing of it.\" The regular performance\nof the Church service on Sundays, and the cessation on that day from\nthe ordinary amusements, is specially noticed on several occasions,\nand probably made a deeper impression on the mind of our Moslem\nfriend, from the popular belief current in India that the _Feringhis_\nare men _of no caste_, without religious faith or ceremonies--a belief\nwhich the conduct and demeanour of the Anglo-Indians in past times\ntended, in too many instances, to confirm. Off the southern extremity\nof Ceylon, the ship was again becalmed for several days; but the\ntedium of this interval was relieved, not only by the ordinary sea\nincidents of the capture of a shark and the appearance of a whale,\n(the zoological distinctions between which and the true fishes are\nstated by the khan with great correctness,) but by the occurrence of a\nmutiny on board an English vessel in company, which was fortunately\nquelled by the exertions of the captain of the Edinburgh.\n\n\"The spicy gales of Ceylon,\" blowing off the coast to the distance, as\nstated, of fifty miles, (an extremely moderate range when compared\nwith the accounts of some other travellers,) at last brought on their\nwings the grateful announcement of the termination of the calm; but\nbefore quitting the vicinity of this famous island, (more celebrated\nin eastern story under the name of Serendib,) the khan gives some\nnotices of the legends connected with its history, which show a more\nextended acquaintance with Hindu literature than the Moslems in India\nin general take the trouble of acquiring. Among the rest he alludes to\nthe epic of the Ramayuna, and the bridge built by Rama (or as he calls\nhim, Rajah Ram Chunder) for the passage of the monkey army and their\nredoubled general, Huniman, from the Indian continent into the island,\nin order to deliver from captivity Seeta, the wife of the hero. The\nwind still continuing favourable, the ship quickly passed the equator,\nand the pole-star was no longer visible--\"a proof of the earth's\nsphericity which I was glad to have had an opportunity of seeing;\" and\nthey left, at a short distance to the right, the islands of Mauritius\nand Bourbon, \"which are not far from the great island of Madagascar,\nwhere the faithful turn their faces to the north when they pray, as\nthey turn them to the west in India,\" the _kiblah_, or point of\ndirection, being in both cases the kaaba, or temple of Mekka. They\nwere now approaching the latitude of the Cape; and our voyager was\nastonished by the countless multitudes of sea-birds which surrounded\nthe ship, and particularly by the giant bulk of the albatrosses,\n\"which I was told remained day and night on the ocean, repairing to\nthe coast of Africa only at the period of incubation.\" The Cape of\nStorms, however, as it was originally named by Vasco de Gama, did not\nfail on this occasion to keep up its established character for bad\nweather. A severe gale set in from the east, which speedily increased\nto a storm. A sailor fell from \"the third stage of the mainmast,\" (the\nmain topgallant yard,) and was killed on the deck; and as the\ninhospitable shores of Africa were close under their lee, the ship\nappears for some time to have been in considerable danger. But in this\n(to him) novel scene of peril, the khan manifests a degree of\nself-possession, strongly contrasting with the timidity of the royal\ngrandsons of Futteh Ali Shah, the expression of whose fears during a\ngale is absolutely ludicrous. \"We were so miserable that we gave up\nall hope; we gave up our souls, and began to beseech God for\nforgiveness; while the wind continued increasing, and all the waves of\nthe western sea rose up in mountains, with never-ceasing noise, till\nthey reached the planets.\" Even after the violence of the hurricane\nhad in some measure abated, the sea continued to run so high that the\nports were kept closed for several days. \"At last, however, they were\nopened for the purpose of ventilating the interior; and the band,\nwhich had been silent for some days, began to play again.\" The\nappearance of a water-spout on the same afternoon is thus\ndescribed:--\"An object became visible in the distance, in the form of\na minaret, and every one on board crowded on deck to look at it. On\nasking what it was, I was told that what appeared to be a minaret was\nonly water, which was drawn up towards the heavens by the force of the\nwind, and when this ceased would fall again into the sea, and was what\nwe should call a whirlwind. This is sometimes extremely dangerous to\nvessels, since, if it reaches them, it is so powerful as to draw them\nout of the sea in the same manner as it draws up the water; in\nconsequence of which many ships have been lost when they have been\novertaken by this wonderful phenomenon.\"\n\nThe storm was succeeded by a calm, which detained the ship for two\ndays within sight of the lofty mountains near the Cape. \"It was\nbitterly cold, for the seasons are here reversed, and instead of\nsummer, as we should have expected, it was now the depth of winter.\nAt length, however, (on the 69th day after our leaving Calcutta,) a\nstrong breeze sprung up, which enabled us to set all sail, and carried\nus away from this table-land.\" The run from the Cape to St Helena\nseems to have been barren of incident, except an accidental encounter\nwith a vessel in distress, which proved to be a slaver which had been\ncaptured by an English cruiser, and had sustained serious damage in\nthe late storm while proceeding to the Cape with a prize crew. On\napproaching St Helena, the captain \"gave orders for the ship to be\npainted, both inside and out, that the people of the island might not\nsay we came in a dirty ship; and as we neared the land, a white flag\nwas hoisted to apprise those on shore that there was no one ill on\nboard. In cases of sickness a yellow flag is displayed, and then no\none is permitted to land from the ship for fear of contagion. The\nisland is about twenty-six miles in circuit, and is constantly\nenveloped in fog and mist. It is said to have been formerly a volcano,\nbut has now ceased to smoke. The vegetation is luxuriant, but few of\nthe flowers are fragrant. I recognised some, however, both flowers and\nfruits, which seemed similar to those of India. I took the opportunity\nof landing with the captain to see the town, which is small, but\nextremely well fortified, the cannon being so numerous that one might\nsuppose the whole island one immense iron-foundery. It is populous,\nthe inhabitants being chiefly Jews and English; but as it was Sunday,\nand all the shops were shut, it had a dull appearance. After surveying\nthe town, I ascended a hill in the country, leading to the tomb of\nNapoleon Bonaparte, which is on an elevated spot, four miles from the\ntown.\n\n\"This celebrated personage was a native of Corsica; and enjoying a\nfortunate horoscope, he entered the French army, and speedily rose to\nthe rank of general; and afterwards, with the consent of the people\nand the soldiery, made himself emperor. After this he conquered\nseveral kingdoms, and the fame of his prowess and his victories filled\nall the European world. When he invaded Russia, he defeated the\nMuscovites in several great battles, and took their capital; but, in\nconsequence of the intensity of the cold, several thousands of his\narmy both men and horses, perished miserably. This catastrophe obliged\nhim to return to France, where he undertook the conquest of another\ncountry. At this time George III. reigned in England; and having\ncollected all the disposable forces of his kingdom, appointed Lord\nWellington (the same general who was employed in the war against\nTippoo Sultan in Mysore) to command them, and sent him to combat the\nFrench Emperor. He entered Spain, and forced the Emperor's brother,\nYusuf, (Joseph,) who was king of that country, to fly--till after a\nvariety of battles and incidents, too numerous to particularize, the\ntwo hostile armies met at a place called by the English Waterloo,\nwhere a bloody battle was fought, as famous as that of P[=a]sh[=a]n,\nbetween Sohrab and the hero Rustan: and Napoleon was overthrown and\nmade prisoner. He was then sent, though in a manner suitable to his\nrank, to this island of St Helena, where, after a few years, he\nfinished his earthly career. His tomb is much visited by all who touch\nat the island, and has become a _durgah_ (shrine) for innumerable\nvisitors from Europe. There are persons appointed to take care of it,\nwho give to strangers, in consideration of a small present, the leaves\nand flowers of the trees which grow round the tomb. No other Emperor\nof the Europeans was ever so honoured as to have had his tomb made a\nshrine and place of pilgrimage: nor was ever one so great a conqueror,\nor so renowned for his valour and victories.\"\n\nThe remainder of the voyage from St Helena to England was apparently\nmarked by no incident worthy of mention, as the khan notices only the\nreappearance of the pole-star on their crossing the line, and\nre-entering the northern hemisphere, and their reaching once more the\nlatitude of Delhi, \"which we now passed many thousand miles to our\nright; after which nothing of importance occurred till we reached the\nBritish Channel, when we saw the Scilly Isles in the distance, and\nabout noon caught a glimpse of the Lizard Point, and the south coast\nof England, together with the lighthouse: the country of the French\nlay on our right at the distance of about eighty miles. I was given\nto understand that the whole distance from St Helena to London, by the\nship's reckoning, was 6328 miles, and 16,528 from Calcutta.\" In the\nDowns the pilot came on board, from whom they received the news of the\nattempt recently made by Oxford on the life of the Queen; and here the\ncaptain, anxious to lose no time in reaching London, quitted the\nvessel as it entered the Thames, \"the sources of which famous river, I\nwas informed, were near a place called Cirencester, eighty-eight miles\nfrom London, in the _zillah_ (county) of Gloucester.\" The ship was now\ntaken in tow by a couple of steam-tugs, and passing Woolwich, \"where\nare the war-ships and _top-khana_ (arsenal) of the English Padishah,\nat length reached Blackwall, where we anchored.\"\n\n\"I now (continues the khan) returned thanks to God for having\nbrought me safe through the wide ocean to this extraordinary\ncountry--bethinking myself of the answer once made by a man who had\nundertaken a voyage, on being asked by his friends what he had seen\nmost wonderful--'The greatest wonder I have seen is seeing myself\nalive on land!'\" The troubles of the khan, however, were far from\nbeing ended by his arrival on _terra firma_: for apparently from\nsome mistake or inadvertence, (the cause of which does not very\nclearly appear,) on the part of the friends whom he had expected to\nmeet him, he found himself, on landing at Blackwall and proceeding\nby the railway to London, left alone by the person who had thus far\nbeen his guide, in apartments near Cornhill, almost wholly\nunacquainted with the English language, separated from his baggage\nand servants, who were still on board the Edinburgh, and with no one\nin his company but another Hindustani, as little versed as himself\nin the ways and speech of Franguestan. In this \"considerable\nunhandsome fix,\" as it would be called on the other side of the\nAtlantic, the perplexities of the khan are related with such\ninimitable naivete and good-humour, that we cannot do better than\ngive the account of them in his own words. \"As I could neither ask\nfor any thing, nor answer any question put to me, I passed the whole\nnight without a morsel of food or a drop of water: till in the\nmorning, feeling hungry, I requested my companion to go to some\nbazar and buy some fruit. He replied that it would be impossible for\nhim either to find his way to a bazar through the crowds of people,\nor to find his way back again--as all the houses were so much alike.\nI then told him to go straight on in the street we were in, turning\nneither to the right nor the left till he met with some shop where\nwe might get what we wanted: and, in order to direct him to the\nplace on his return, I agreed to lean half out of the window, so\nthat he could not fail to see me. No sooner, however, did he sally\nforth, than the people, men, women, and children, began to stare at\nhim on all sides, as if he had dropped from the moon; some stopped\nand gazed, and numbers followed him as if he had been a criminal\nabout being led to execution. Nor was I in a more enviable position:\nthe people soon caught sight of me with my head and shoulders out of\nthe window; and in a few minutes a mob had collected opposite the\ndoor. What was I to do? If I withdrew myself, my friend on returning\nwould have no mark to find the house, while, if I remained where I\nwas, the curiosity of the crowd would certainly increase. I kept my\npost, however, while every one that passed stopped and gazed like\nthe rest, till there was actually no room for vehicles to pass; and\nin this unpleasant situation I remained fully an hour, when seeing\nmy friend returning, I went down and opened the door for him. He\ntold me he had gone straight on, till he came to a fruit-shop, at\nthe corner of another street, when he went in, and laying two\nshillings on the counter, said in Oordu, (the polished dialect of\nHindustani,) 'Give me some fruit.' The shopman, not understanding\nhim, spoke to him in English; to which he replied again in Oordu, 'I\nwant some fruit!' pointing at the same time to the money, to signify\nthat he wanted two shillings' worth of fruit. The man, however,\ncontinued confounded; and my friend at last, not knowing of what\nsort the fruits were, whether sour or sweet, bitter or otherwise,\nventured, after much hesitation and fruitless attempts to\ncommunicate with the shopman by signs and gestures, to take up four\napples, and then made his retreat in the best manner he could,\nfollowed, as here, by the rabble. I at last caught a glimpse of him,\nas I have mentioned, and let him in; and we sat down together, and\nbreakfasted on these four apples, my friend taking two of them, and\nI the others.\"\n\nIt must be admitted that our khan's first meal in England, and the\nconcomitant circumstances, were not calculated to impress him with a\nvery high idea, either of the comforts of the country or the\npoliteness of the inhabitants; but the unruffled philosophy with which\nhe submitted to these untoward privations was, ere-long, rewarded by\nthe arrival of the East India agent to whose care he had been\nrecommended, and who, after putting him in the way of getting his\nservants and luggage on shore from the vessel, took him out in a\ncarriage to show him the metropolis. \"It was, indeed, wonderful in\nevery point of view, whether I regarded the immense population, the\ndresses and faces of the men and women, the multitudes of houses,\nchurches, &c., and the innumerable carriages running in streets paved\nwith stone and wood, (the width and openness of which seem to expand\nthe heart,) and confining themselves to the middle of the road,\nwithout overturning any of the foot-passengers.\" The cathedral of St\nPaul's is described with great minuteness of detail, and the expense\nof its erection stated at seventy-three lakhs of rupees, (about\nL.750,000;) \"but I have heard that if a similar edifice were erected\nin the present day, it would cost four times as much, as the cost of\nevery thing has increased in at least that proportion.\"\n\nThe difficulties of the khan, from his ignorance of the language, and\nMoslem scruples at partaking of food not dressed by his own people,\nwere not yet, however, at an end. For though, on returning to his\nlodging in the evening, he found that his friend had succeeded in\nprocuring from the ship a dish of _kichiri_, (an Indian mess, composed\nof rice and _ghee_, or clarified butter,) his inability to communicate\nwith his landlady still occasioned him considerable perplexity.\n\"Having ventured to take some pickles, which I saw on the sideboard,\nand finding them palatable, I sent for the landlady, and tried to\nexplain to her by signs, pointing to the bottles, that I wanted\nsomething like what they contained. Alas, for my ignorance! She\nthought I wished them taken out of the room, and so walked off with\nthem, leaving me in the utmost astonishment. How was I to get it back\nagain? it was the only thing I had to relish my _kichiri_. I had,\ntherefore, recourse to this expedient--I got an apple and pared it,\nputting the parings in a bottle with water; and showing this to the\nlandlady, intimated, by signs, that I wanted something like it to eat\nwith my rice. She asked many questions in English, and talked a great\ndeal, from which I inferred that she had at last discovered my\nmeaning, but five minutes had hardly elapsed when she re-appeared,\nbearing in her hand a bottle of water, filled with apple-parings cut\nin the nicest manner imaginable! This she placed on the table in the\nmost respectful manner, and then retired!\"\n\nThe good lady, however, conceiving that her guest was in danger of\nperishing with hunger, was benevolently importunate with him to\npartake of some nourishment, or at least of some tea and toast, \"since\nit is the custom in this country for every one to eat five times\na-day, and some among the wealthy are not satisfied even with this!\"\nThe arrival of an English acquaintance, who explained to the landlady\nthe religious prejudices of her lodger, in some measure relieved him\nfrom his embarrassment; but he was again totally disconcerted, by\nfinding it impossible, after a long search, to procure any _ghee_--an\ningredient indispensable in the composition of every national dish of\nIndia, whether Moslem or Hindu. \"How shall I express my astonishment\nat this extraordinary ignorance? What! do they not know what _ghee_\nis? Wonderful! This was a piece of news I never expected--that what\nabounds in every little wretched village in India, could not be\npurchased in this great city!\" How this unforeseen deficiency was\nsupplied does not appear; but probably the khan's never-failing\nphilosophy enabled him to bear even this unparalleled privation with\nequanimity, as we hear no further complaints on the subject. He did\nnot remain, however, many days in those quarters, finding that the\nincessant noise of the vehicles passing day and night deprived him of\nsleep; and, by the advice of his friends, he took a small house in St\nJohn's Wood, where he was at once at a distance from the intolerable\nclamour of the streets, and at liberty to live after the fashion of\nhis own country.\n\nThe first place of public resort to which he directed his steps,\nappears to have been the Pantheon bazar in Oxford Street, whither the\nfamiliar name perhaps attracted him--\"for the term _bazar_ is in use\nalso among the people of this country;\" but he does not appear to have\nbeen particularly struck by any thing he saw there, except the\nrichness and variety of the wares. On the contrary, he complains of\nthe want of fragrance in the flowers in the conservatory, particularly\nthe roses, as compared with those of his native land--\"there was _one_\nplantain-tree which seemed to be regarded as a sort of wonder, though\nthousands grow in our gardens without any sort of culture.\" The\npresence of the female attendants at the stalls, a sight completely at\nvariance with Asiatic ideas, is also noticed with marked\ndisapprobation--\"Most of them were young and handsome, and seemed\nperfect adepts in the art of selling their various wares; but I could\nnot help reflecting, on seeing so many fine young women engaged in\nthis degrading occupation, on the ease and comfort enjoyed by our\nfemales, compared to the drudgery and servile employment to which the\nsex are subjected in this country. Notwithstanding all the English say\nof the superior condition of their women, it is quite evident, from\nall I have seen since my arrival, that their social state is far below\nthat of our females.\" This sentiment is often repeated in the course\nof the narrative, and any one who has read, in the curious work of Mrs\nMeer Hassan Ali, quoted above, an account of the strict domestic\nseclusion in which Moslem females having any pretensions to rank, or\neven respectability, are constantly retained in India, will not be\nsurprised at the frequent expression of repugnance, whenever the\nwriter sees women engaged in any public or out-of-doors occupation--a\ncustom so abhorrent to Oriental, and, above all, to Indian ideas.\n\nWe next find the khan in the Zoological Gardens, his matter-of-fact\ndescription of which affords an amusing contrast with that of those\nveracious scions of Persian royalty, who luxuriate in \"elephant birds\njust like an elephant, but without the proboscis, and with wings\nfifteen yards long\"--\"an elephant twenty-four feet high, with a trunk\nforty feet long;\" and who assure us that \"the monkeys act like human\nbeings, and play at chess with those who visit the gardens. On this\nday a Jew happened to be at this place, and went to play a game with\nthe monkey. The monkey beat, and began to laugh loudly, all the people\nstanding round him; and the Jew, exceedingly abashed, was obliged to\nleave the place.\" The khan, in common with ourselves, and the\ngenerality of visitors to the Regent's Park, was not fortunate enough\nto witness any of the wondrous feats which gladdened the royal eyes of\nthe Shahzadehs--though he saw some of the apes, meaning the\norang-outan, \"drink tea and coffee, sit on chairs, and eat their food\nlike human beings.\" * * *\n\n\"There is no island or kingdom,\" (he continues,) \"which has not\ncontributed its specimens of the animal kingdom to these gardens: from\nthe elephant and rhinoceros, to the fly and the mosquito, all are to\nbe seen here\"--but not even the giraffes, strange as their appearance\nmust have been to him, attract any particular notice; though the sight\nof the exotics in the garden draws from him a repetition of his old\ncomplaint, relative to the want of fragrance in the flowers as\ncompared with those produced under the genial sun of India. The\nceremony of the prorogation of Parliament by the Queen in person was\nnow at hand, and the khan determined to be present at this imposing\nscene. But as he takes this opportunity to introduce his observations\nand opinions on the laws and customs of this country, we shall\npostpone to our next Number the discussion of these weighty subjects.\n\n\n\n\nTHE THIRTEENTH.\n\nA TALE OF DOOM.\n\n\nIt was on a sultry July evening that a joyous party of young men were\nassembled in the principal room of a wine house, outside the Potsdam\ngate of Berlin. One of their number, a Saxon painter, by name Carl\nSolling, was about to take his departure for Italy. His place was\ntaken in the Halle mail, his luggage sent to the office, and the coach\nwas to call for him at midnight at the tavern, whither a number of his\nmost intimate friends had accompanied him, to drink a parting glass of\nRhenish wine to his prosperous journey.\n\nSupper was over, and some magnificent melons, and peaches, and plates\nof caviare, and other incentives to drinking, placed upon the table; a\nrow of empty bottles already graced the sideboard, while full ones of\nthat venerable cobweb-mantle appearance, so dear to the toper, were\nforthcoming as rapidly as the thirstiest throats could desire. The\nconviviality was at its height, and numerous toasts had been given,\namong which the health of the traveller, the prosperity of the art\nwhich he cultivated, and of the land of poetry and song to which he\nwas proceeding, had not been forgotten. Indeed, it was becoming\ndifficult to find any thing to toast, but the thirst of the party was\nstill unquenched, and apparently unquenchable.\n\nSuddenly a young man started up, in dress and appearance the very\nmodel of a German student--in short frock coat and loose sacklike\ntrousers, long curling hair hanging over his shoulders, pointed beard\nand mustache, and the scars of one or two sabre cuts on his handsome\nanimated countenance.\n\n\"You want a toast, my friends!\" cried he. \"An excuse to drink, as\nthough drinking needed an excuse when the wine is good. I will give\nyou one, and a right worthy one too. Our noble selves here assembled;\nall, so many as we are!\" And he glanced round the table, counting the\nnumber of the guests. \"One, two, three, four--thirteen. We are\nThirteen. _Es lebe die Dreizehn!_\"\n\nHe raised his glass, in which the golden liquor flashed and sparkled,\nand set it down, drained to the last drop.\n\n\"_Thirteen!_\" exclaimed a pale-faced, dark-eyed youth named Raphael,\nstarting from his seat, and in his turn counting the company. \"'Tis\ntrue. My friends, ill luck will attend us. We are Thirteen, seated at\na round table.\"\n\nThere was evidently an unpleasant impression made upon the guests by\nthis announcement. The toast-giver threw a scornful glance around\nhim--\n\n\"What!\" cried he, \"are we believers in such nursery tales and old\nwives' superstitions? Pshaw! The charm shall soon be broken. Halls!\nFranz! Winebutt! Thieving innkeeper! Rascally corkdrawer! where are\nyou hidden? Come forth! Appear!\"\n\nThus invoked, there toddled into the room the master of the tavern--a\nround-bellied, short-legged individual, whose rosy gills and\nBacchus-like appearance proved his devotion to the jolly god whose\nhigh-priest he was.\n\n\"Sit down here!\" cried the mad student, forcing him into a chair; \"and\nnow, Raphael and gentlemen all, be pleased to shorten your faces\nagain, and drink your wine as if one with a three after it were an\nunknown combination of numerals.\"\n\nThe conversation now took a direction naturally given to it by what\nhad just occurred, and the origin and causes of the popular prejudice\nagainst the number Thirteen were discussed.\n\n\"It cannot be denied that there is something mysterious in the\nconnection and combination of numbers,\" observed a student in\nphilosophy; \"and Pythagoras was right enough when he sought the\nfoundation of all human knowledge in the even and uneven. All over the\nworld the idea of something complete and perfect is associated with\neven numbers, and of something imperfect and defective with uneven\nones. The ancients, too, considered even numbers of good omen, and\nuneven ones as unpropitious.\"\n\n\"It is really a pity,\" cried the mad student, \"that you philosophers\nshould not be allowed to invert and re-arrange history in the manner\nyou deem fitting. You would soon torture the crooked stream of time\ninto a straight line. I should like to know from what authors you\nderive your very original ideas in favour of even numbers. As far as\nmy reading goes, I find that number three was considered a sacred and\na fortunate number by nearly all the sects of antiquity, not excepting\nthe Pythagoreans. And the early Romans had such a respect for the\nuneven numbers, that they never allowed a flock of sheep to be of any\nnumber divisible by two.\"\n\nThe philosopher did not seem immediately prepared with a reply to this\nattack.\n\n\"You are all of you looking too far back for the origin of the curse\nthat attends the number Thirteen,\" interposed Raphael. \"Think only of\nthe Lord's Supper, which is rather nearer to our time than Pythagoras\nand the Roman shepherds. It is since then that Thirteen has been a\nstigmatized and fatal number. Judas Iscariot was the Thirteenth at\nthat sacred table and believe me it is no childish superstition that\nmakes men shun so unblest a number.\"\n\n\"Here is Solling, who has not given his opinion yet,\" cried another of\nthe party, \"and yet I am sure he has something to say on the subject.\nHow now, Carl, what ails thee, man? Why so sad and silent?\"\n\nThe painter who, at the commencement of the evening, had entered\nfrankly and willingly into the joyous humour of his friends, had\nbecome totally changed since the commencement of this discussion on\nthe number _Thirteen_. He sat silent and thoughtful in his chair, and\nleft his glass untasted before him, while his thoughts were evidently\noccupied by some unpleasant subject. His companions pressed him for\nthe cause of this change, and after for some time evading their\nquestions, he at last confessed that the turn the conversation had\ntaken had brought painful recollections to his mind.\n\n\"It is a matter I love not to speak about,\" said he; \"but it is no\nsecret, and least of all could I have any wish to conceal it from you,\nmy good and kind friends. We have yet an hour before the arrival of\nthe mail, and if you are disposed to listen, I will relate to you the\nstrange incidents, the recollection of which has saddened me.\"\n\nThe painter's offer was eagerly accepted; the young men drew their\nchairs round the table, and Solling commenced as follows:--\n\n\"I am a native of the small town of Geyer, in Saxony, of the tin mines\nof which place my father was inspector. I was the twelfth child of my\nparents and half an hour after I saw the light my mother give birth to\na Thirteenth, also a boy. Death, however, was busy in this numerous\nfamily. Several had died while yet infants, and there now survive only\nthree besides myself, and perhaps my twin brother.\n\n\"The latter, who was christened Bernard, gave indications at a very\nearly age of an eccentric and violent disposition. Precocious in\ngrowth and strength, wild as a young foal, headstrong and passionate,\nfull of spiteful tricks and breakneck pranks, he was the terror of the\nfamily and the neighbours. In spite of his unamiable qualities, he was\nthe pet of his father, who pardoned or laughed at all his mischief,\nand the consequence was, that he became an object of fear and hatred\nto his brothers and sisters. Our hatred, however, was unjust; for\nBernard's heart was good, and he would have gone through fire and\nwater for any of us. But he was rough and violent in whatever he did,\nand we dreaded the fits of affection he sometimes took for us, almost\nas much as his less amiable humours.\n\n\"As far back as I can remember, Bernard received not only from his\nbrothers, but also from all our playfellows, the nickname of the\nThirteenth, in allusion, of course, to his being my mother's\nthirteenth child. At first this offended him grievously, and many were\nthe sound thrashings he inflicted in his endeavours to get rid of the\nobnoxious title. Finally he succeeded, but scarcely had he done so\nwhen, from some strange perversity of character, he adopted as an\nhonourable distinction the very name he had taken such pains to\nsuppress.\n\n\"We were playing one Sunday afternoon in the large court of our house;\nseveral of the neighbours' children were there, and it chanced that we\nwere exactly twelve in number. We had wooden swords, and were having\na sort of tournament, from which, however, we had managed to exclude\nBernard, who, in such games, was accustomed to hit rather too hard.\nSuddenly he bounded over a wall, and fell amongst us like a\nthunderbolt. He had painted his face in red and black stripes, and\nmade himself a pair of wings out of an old leathern apron; and thus\nequipped and armed with the largest broomstick he had been able to\nfind, he showered his blows around him, driving us right and left, and\nshouting out, 'Room, room for the mad Thirteenth!'\n\n\"Soon after this incident my father died. Bernard, who had been his\nfavourite, was as violent in his grief as he had already shown himself\nto be in every thing else. He wept and screamed like a mad creature,\ntore his hair, bit his hands till they bled, and struck his head\nagainst the wall; raved and flew at every body who came near him, and\nwas obliged to be shut up when his father's coffin was carried out of\nthe house, or he would inevitably have done himself or somebody else a\nmischief.\n\n\"My mother had an unmarried brother in the town of Marienberg, a\nwealthy man, and who was Bernard's godfather. On learning my father's\ndeath he came to Geyer, and invited his sister and her children to go\nand take up their abode with him. But the worthy man little knew the\nplague he was receiving into his house in the person of his godson.\nHimself of a mild, quiet disposition, he was greatly scandalized by\nthe wild pranks of his nephew, and made vain attempts to restrain him\nwithin some bounds; but by so doing he became the aversion of my\nbrother, who showed his dislike in every possible way. He gave him\nnicknames, broke his china cups and saucers, by which the old\ngentleman set great store, splashed his white silk stockings with mud\nas he went to church, put the house clock an hour forward or back, and\ntormented his kind godfather in every way he could devise.\n\n\"Bernard had not forgotten his title of the Thirteenth; but it was\nprobable he would soon have got tired of it, for it was not his custom\nto adhere long to any thing, had not my uncle, who was a little\nsuperstitious, strictly forbidden him to adopt it. This opposition was\nall that was wanting to make my brother bring forward the unlucky\nnumber upon every possible occasion. When any body mentioned the\nnumber twelve before him, or called any thing the twelfth, Bernard\nwould immediately cry out, 'And I am the Thirteenth!'\n\n\"No matter when it was, or before whom; time, place, and persons were\nto him alike indifferent. For instance, one Sunday in church, when the\nclergyman in the course of the service said, 'Let us sing a portion of\nsuch a psalm, beginning at the twelfth verse,' Bernard immediately\nscreamed out, 'And I am the Thirteenth!'\n\n\"This was a grievous scandal to my uncle, and Bernard was called that\nevening before a tribunal, composed of his godfather, my mother, and\nthe old clergyman whom he had so gracelessly interrupted, and who was\nalso teacher of Latin and theology at the school to which Bernard and\nI went. But all their reproaches and remonstrances were lost upon my\nbrother, who had evidently much difficulty to keep himself from\nlaughing in their faces. My mother wept, my uncle paced the room in\ngreat perplexity, and the worthy old dominie clasped his hands\ntogether, and exclaimed, 'My child! I fear me, God's chastisement will\nbe needed to amend you.' The event proved that he was right.\n\n\"It was on the Friday before Christmas-day, and we were assembled in\nschool. The near approach of the holidays had made the boys somewhat\nturbulent, and the poor old dominie had had much to suffer during the\nwhole day from their tricks and unruliness. My brother, of course, had\ncontributed largely to the disorder, much to the delight of his bosom\nfriend and companion, the only son of the master. This boy, whose name\nwas Albert, was a blue-eyed, fair haired lad, gentle as a girl.\nBernard had conceived a violent friendship for him, and had taken him\nunder his protection. Albert's father, as may be supposed, was little\npleased at this intimacy, but yet, out of consideration for my uncle,\nhe did not entirely forbid it; and the more so as he perceived that\nhis son in no respect imitated his wild playmate, but contented\nhimself with admiring him beyond all created beings, and repaying with\nthe warmest affection Bernard's watchful and jealous guardianship.\n\n\"On the afternoon in question, my brother surpassed himself in wayward\nconceits and mischievous tricks, to the infinite delight of Albert,\nwho rocked with laughter at each new prank. The good dominie, who was\nindulgence itself, was instructing us in Bible history, and had to\ninterrupt himself every moment to repress the unruliness of his\npupils, and especially of Bernard.\n\n\"It seemed pre-ordained that the lesson should be an unlucky one.\nEvery thing concurred to make it so. Our instructor had occasion to\nspeak of the twelve tribes of Israel, of the twelve patriarchs, of the\ntwelve gates of the holy city. Each of these served as a cue to my\nbrother, who immediately shouted out, 'And I am the Thirteenth!' and\neach time Albert threw himself back shrieking with laughter, thus\nencouraging Bernard to give full scope to his mad humour. The poor\ndominie remonstrated, menaced, supplicated, but all in vain. I saw the\nblood rising into his pale face, and at last his bald head, in spite\nof the powder which sprinkled it, became red all over. He contained\nhimself, however, and proceeded to the account of the Lord's Supper.\nHe began, 'And when the hour was come, he sat down, and the twelve\napostles with him.'\n\n\"'And I am the Thirteenth!' yelled Bernard.\n\n\"Scarcely were the words uttered, when a Bible flew across the school,\nthe noise of a blow, and a cry of anguish followed, and the old man\nfell senseless to the ground. The heavy Bible, the corners of which\nwere bound with silver, and that he had hurled in a moment of\nuncontrollable passion at my brother, had missed its mark, and struck\nhis own son on the head. Albert lay bleeding on the floor, while\nBernard hung over him like one beside himself, weeping, and kissing\nhis wounds.\n\n\"The boys ran, one and all, out of the school-room, shrieking for\nassistance. Our cries soon brought the servants to the spot, who, on\nlearning what had happened, hastened with us back to the school, and\nlifted up the old master, who was still lying on the ground near his\ndesk. He had been struck with apoplexy, and survived but a few hours.\nAlbert was wounded in two places, one of the sharp corners of the\nBible having cut open his forehead, while another had injured his left\neye. After much suffering he recovered, but the sight of the eye was\ngone.\n\n\"Bernard, however, had disappeared. When we re-entered the\nschool-room, a window which looked into the playground was open, and\nthere were marks of footsteps on the snow without. A short distance\nfurther were traces of blood, where the fugitive had apparently washed\nhis face and hands in the snow. We have never seen him since that\nday.\"\n\nThe painter paused, and his friends remained some moments silent,\nmusing on the tragical history they had heard.\n\n\"And do you know nothing whatever of your brother's fate?\" enquired\nRaphael at last.\n\n\"Next to nothing. My uncle caused enquiries to be made in every\ndirection, but without success. Once only a neighbour at Marienberg,\nwho had been travelling on the Bohemian frontier, told us that he had\nmet at a village inn a wandering clarinet-player, who bore so strong a\nresemblance to my brother that he accosted him by his name. The\nmusician seemed confused, and muttering some unintelligible reply,\nleft the house in haste. What renders it probable that this was\nBernard is, that he had a great natural talent for music, and at the\ntime he left home, had already attained considerable proficiency on\nthe clarinet.\"\n\n\"How old was your brother when he so strangely disappeared?\" asked one\nof the party.\n\n\"Fifteen, but he looked at least two years older, for he was stout and\nmanly in person beyond his age.\"\n\nAt this moment the rattling of wheels, and sound of a postilion's\nhorn, was heard. The Halle mail drove up to the door, the guard\nbawling out for his passenger. The young painter took a hasty leave of\nhis friends, and sprang into the vehicle, which the next instant\ndisappeared in the darkness.\n\nThere was an overplus of travellers by the mail that night, and the\ncarriage in which Solling had got, was not the mail itself, but a\ncaleche, holding four persons, which was used as a sort of\nsupplement, and followed close to the other carriage. Two of the\nplaces were occupied by a Jew horse-dealer and a sergeant of hussars,\nwho were engaged in an animated, and to them most interesting\nconversation, on the subject of horse-flesh, to which the painter paid\nlittle attention; but leaning back in his corner, remained absorbed in\nthe painful reflections which the incidents he had been narrating had\ncalled up in his mind. In spite of his brother's eccentricities, he\nwas truly attached to him; and although eight years had elapsed since\nhis disappearance, he had not yet given up hopes of finding him, if\nstill alive. The enquiries that he and his uncle had unceasingly made\nafter their lost relative, had put them, about three years previous to\nthis time, upon the trace of a clarinet-player who had been seen at\nVenice and Trieste, and went by the name of Voltojo. This might have\nbeen a name adopted by Bernard, as being nearly the Italian equivalent\nof Geyer, or hawk, the name of his native town; and Solling was not\nwithout a faint hope, that in the course of his journey to Rome he\nmight obtain some tidings of his brother.\n\nHe was roused from his reverie by the postilion shouting out to the\nguard of the mail, which was just before them on the road, to know\nwhen they were to take up the passenger who was to occupy the\nremaining seat in the caleche.\n\n\"Where will the Thirteenth meet us?\" asked the man.\n\n\"At the inn at Schoneber,\" replied the guard.\n\n_The Thirteenth!_ The word made the painter's blood run cold. The\nhorse-dealer and the sergeant, who had begun to doze in their\nrespective corners, were also disturbed by the ill-omened sound.\n\n\"The Thirteenth! The Thirteenth!\" muttered the Jew in his beard, still\nhalf asleep. \"God forbid! Let's have no thirteenth!\"\n\nA company of travelling comedians, who occupied the mail, took up the\nword. \"The Thirteenth is coming,\" said one.\n\n\"Somebody will die,\" cried another.\n\n\"Or we shall be upset and break our necks,\" exclaimed a third.\n\n\"No Thirteenth!\" cried they all in chorus. \"Drive on! drive on! he\nsha'n't get in!\"\n\nThis was addressed to the postilion, who just then pulled up at the\ndoor of a village inn, and giving a blast with his horn, shouted\nloudly for his remaining passenger to appear.\n\nThe door of the public-house opened, and a tall figure, with a small\nknap-sack on his shoulder and a knotty stick in his hand, stepped out\nand approached the mail. But when he heard the cries of the comedians,\nwho were still protesting against the admission of a Thirteenth\ntraveller, he started suddenly back, swinging his cudgel in the air.\n\n\"To the devil with you all, vagabonds that ye are!\" vociferated he.\n\"Drive on, postilion, with your cage of monkeys. I shall walk.\"\n\nAt the sound of the stranger's voice, Solling sprang up in the\ncarriage and seized the handle of the door. But as he did so, a strong\narm grasped him by the collar, and pulled him back into his seat. At\nthe same moment the carriage drove on.\n\n\"The man is drunk,\" said the sergeant, who had misinterpreted his\nfellow-passenger's intentions. \"It is not worth while dirtying your\nhands, and perhaps getting an ugly blow, in a scuffle with such a\nfellow.\"\n\n\"Stop, postilion, stop!\" shouted Solling. But the postilion either did\nnot or would not hear, and some time elapsed before the painter could\npersuade his well-meaning companion of his peaceable intentions. At\nlength he did so, and the carriage, which had meanwhile been going at\nfull speed, was stopped.\n\n\"You will leave my luggage at the first post-house,\" said Solling,\njumping out and beginning to retrace his steps to the village, which\nthey had now left some distance behind them.\n\nThe night was pitch-dark, so dark that the painter was compelled to\nfeel his way, and guide himself by the line of trees that bordered the\nroad. He reached the village without meeting a living creature, and\nstrode down the narrow street amid the baying of the dogs, disturbed\nby his footfall at that silent hour of the night. The inn door was\nshut, but there was a light glimmering in one of the casements. He\nknocked several times without any body answering. At length a woman's\nhead was put out of an upper window.\n\n\"Go your ways,\" cried a shrill voice, \"and don't come disturbing\nhonest folk at this time o' night. Do you think we have nought to do\nbut to open the door for such raff as you? Be off with you, you\nvagabond, and blow your clarinet elsewhere.\"\n\n\"You are mistaken, madam,\" said Solling; \"I am no vagabond, but a\npassenger by the Halle mail, and\"--\n\n\"What brings you here, then?\" interrupted the virago; \"the Halle mail\nis far enough off by this.\"\n\n\"My good madam,\" replied the painter in his softest tone, \"for God's\nsake tell me who and where is the person who was waiting for the mail\nat your hotel.\"\n\n\"Ha! ha!\" laughed the hostess, considerably mollified by the _madam_\nand the _hotel_. \"The mad Italian musician, the clarinet fellow? Why,\nI took you for him at first, and wondered what brought him back, for\nhe started as soon as the mail left the door. He'd have done better to\nhave got into it, with a dark night and a long road before him. Ha!\nha! He's mad, to be sure.\"\n\n\"His name! His name!\" cried Solling, impatiently.\n\n\"His name? How can I recollect his outlandish name? Fol--Vol----\"\n\n\"Voltojo!\" cried the painter.\n\n\"Voltojo! yes, that's it. Ha! ha! What a name!\"\n\n\"It is he!\" cried Solling, and without another word dashed off full\nspeed along the road he had just come. He kept in the middle of the\ncauseway, straining his eyes to see into the darkness on either side\nof him, and wondering how it was he had not met the object of his\nsearch as he came to the village. He ran on, occasionally taking trees\nand fingerposts for men, and cursing his ill luck when he saw his\nmistake. The sweat poured down his face in streams, and his knees\nbegan to knock together with fatigue. Suddenly he struck his foot\nagainst a stone lying in the road, and fell, cutting his forehead\nseverely upon some pebbles. The sharp pain drew a cry from him, and a\nman who had been lying on the grass at the roadside, sprang up and\nhastened to his assistance. At that moment a flash of summer lightning\nlit up the road.\n\n\"Bernard! Bernard!\" cried the painter, throwing his arms round the\nstranger's neck. It was his brother.\n\nBernard started back with a cry of horror.\n\n\"Albert!\" he exclaimed in a hollow voice, \"Cannot your spirit rest? Do\nyou rise from the grave to persecute me?\"\n\n\"In God's name, my dear brother, what mean you? I am Carl--Carl, your\ntwin brother.\"\n\n\"Carl? No! Albert! I see that horrid wound on your brow. It still\nbleeds!\"\n\nThe painter grasped his brother's hand.\n\n\"I am flesh and blood,\" said he, \"and no spirit. Albert still lives.\"\n\n\"He lives!\" exclaimed Bernard, and clasped his brother in his arms.\n\nExplanations followed, and the brothers took the road to Berlin. When\nthe painter had replied to Bernard's questions concerning their\nfamily, he in his turn begged his brother to relate his adventures\nsince they parted, and above all to give his reasons for remaining so\nlong severed from his friends and home.\n\n\"Although I fully believed Albert killed by the blow he received,\"\nreplied Bernard, \"it was no fear of punishment for my indirect share\nin his death, that induced me to fly. But when I saw the father\nsenseless on the ground, and the son expiring before my eyes, I felt\nas if I was accursed, as if the brand of Cain were on my brow, and\nthat it was my fate to roam through the world an isolated and\nwretched being. When you all ran out of the school to fetch\nassistance, it seemed to me as though each chair and bench and table\nin the room received the power of speech, and yelled and bellowed in\nmy ears the fatal number which has been the cause of all my\nmisfortunes--'Thirteen! Thirteen! Thou art the Thirteenth, the\nAccursed One!'\n\n\"I fled, and since that day no rest or peace has been mine. Like my\nshadow has this unholy number clung to me. Wherever I went, in all the\nmany lands I have wandered through, I carried with me the curse of my\nbirth. At every turn it met me, aggravating my numerous hardships,\nembittering my rare moments of joy. If I entered a room where a\ncheerful party was assembled, all rose and shrunk from me as from one\nplague-tainted. They were twelve--I was the Thirteenth. If I sat down\nat a dinner-table, my neighbour left his chair, and the others would\nsay, 'He fears to sit by you. You are the Thirteenth.' If I slept at\nan inn--there were sure to be twelve persons sleeping there; my bed\nwas the Thirteenth, or my room would be number Thirteen, and I was\ntold that the former landlord had shot or hung himself in it.\n\n\"At length I left Germany, in the vain hope that the spell would not\nextend beyond the land of my birth. I took ship at Trieste for Venice.\nScarcely were we out of port when a violent storm arose, and we were\ndriven rapidly towards a rocky and dangerous coast. The steersman\ncounted the seamen and passengers, and crossed himself. We were\n_thirteen_.\n\n\"Lots were drawn who should be sacrificed for the salvation of the\nothers. I drew number thirteen, and they put me ashore on a barren\nrock, where I passed a day and night half dead with cold and drenched\nwith sea water. At length an Illyrian fisherman espied me, and took me\noff in his boat.\n\n\"It is unnecessary to relate to you in detail my wanderings during the\nlast eight years, or if I do, it shall be at some future time. My\nclarinet enables me to live in the humble manner I have always done.\nYou remember, probably, that I had some skill in it, which I have\nsince much improved. When travelling, my music was generally taken as\npayment for my bed and supper at the petty hostelries at which I put\nup; and when I came to a large town, I remained a few days, and\nusually gained more than my expenses.\n\n\"About a year since, I made some stay at Copenhagen, and at last,\ngetting wearied of that city, I put myself on board a ship, without\nenquiring whither it was bound. It took me to Stralsund.\n\n\"The day of my arrival, there was a shooting-match in the suburb\nbeyond the Knieper, and I hastened thither with my clarinet. It was a\nsort of fair, and I wandered from one booth to the other, playing the\njoyous mountain melodies which I had not once played since my\ndeparture from Marienberg. God knows what brought them into my head\nagain; but it did my heart good to play them, and a feeling came over\nme, that I should like once more to have a home, and to leave the\nweary rambling life I had so long led.\n\n\"I had great success that day, and the people thronged to hear the\nwandering Italian musician. Many were the jugs of beer and glasses of\nwine offered to me, and my plate was soon full of shillings. As I left\noff playing, an old greyheaded man pressed through the crowd, and\ngazed earnestly at me. His eyes filled with tears, and he was\nevidently much moved.\n\n\"'What a likeness!' he exclaimed. 'He is the very picture of my\nAmadeus. I could fancy he had risen out of the sea. The same features,\nthe sane voice and manner.'\n\n\"He came up to me and took my hand. 'If you do not fear a high\nstaircase,' said he with a kindly smile, 'come and visit me. I live on\nthe tower of St Nicholas's Church. Your clarinet will sound well in\nthe free fresh air, and you will find those there who will gladly\nlisten.' So saying, he left me.\n\n\"The old man's name was Elias Kranhelm, better known in Stralsund as\nthe old Swede; he was the town musician, and had the care of the bells\nof St Nicholas. The next day was Sunday, and I hastened to visit him.\nHis kind manner had touched me, unaccustomed as I was to kindness or\nsympathy from the strangers amongst whom I always lived. When I was\nhalfway up the stairs leading to the tower, the organ began to play\nbelow me, and I recognised a psalm tune which we used often to sing\nfor our old schoolmaster at Marienberg. I stopped a moment to listen,\nand thoughts of rest and home again came over me.\n\n\"I was met at the tower door by old Kranhelm, in his Sunday suit of\nblack; large silver buckles at his knees and shoes, and a round black\nvelvet cap over his long white hair. His clear grey eyes smiled so\nkindly upon me, his voice was so mild, and his greeting so cordial,\nthat I thought I had never seen a more pleasing old man. He welcomed\nme as though I had been an old friend, and without further preface,\nasked me if I should like to become his substitute, and perform the\nduties for which his great age had begun to unfit him. His only son,\non whom he had reckoned to take his place, had left him some time\npreviously, to become a sailor on board a Norwegian ship, and had been\ndrowned in his very first voyage. It was my extraordinary likeness to\nthis son that had made him notice me; and the good, simple-hearted old\nman seemed to think that resemblance a sufficient guarantee against\nany risk in admitting a perfect stranger into his house and intimacy.\n\n\"'My post is a profitable one,' said he; 'and, in consideration of my\nlong services, the worshipful burgomaster has given me leave to seek\nan assistant, now that I am getting too old for my office. Consider\nthen, my son, if the offer suits you. You please me, and I mean you\nwell. But here comes my Elizabeth, who will soon learn to like you if\nyou are a good lad.'\n\n\"As he spoke, a young girl entered the room, with a psalm-book in her\nhand, and attired in an old-fashioned dress, which was not able,\nhowever, to conceal the elegance of her figure, and the charms of her\nblooming countenance.\n\n\"'How think you, Elizabeth?' said her father. 'Is he not as like our\npoor Amadeus as one egg is to another?'\n\n\"'I do not see the likeness, my dear father,' replied Elizabeth,\nlooking timidly at me, and then casting down her eyes, and blushing.\n\n\"I accepted the old man's offer with joy, and took up my dwelling in\nthe other turret of the church tower. My occupation was to keep the\nclock wound up, to play the evening hymn on the balcony of the tower,\nand to strike the hours upon the great bell with a heavy hammer.\n\n\"I soon felt the good effect of repose, and of the happy, tranquil\nlife I now led; my spirits improved, and I began to forget the curse\nwhich hung over me--to forget, in short, that I was the unlucky\nThirteenth. Old Kranhelm's liking for me increased rapidly, and, in\nless than three months, I was Elizabeth's accepted lover. Time flew\non; the wedding-day was fixed, and the bridal-chamber prepared.\n\n\"It was on Friday evening, exactly eight days ago, that I went out\nwith Elizabeth, and walked down to the port to look at a large Swedish\nship that had just arrived. The passengers were landing, and one\namongst them immediately attracted our attention.\n\n\"This was a tall, lean, raw-boned woman, apparently about forty years\nof age, who held in her hand a long, smooth staff, which she waved\nabout her, nodding her head, and muttering, as she went, in some\nstrange, unintelligible dialect. Her dress consisted of a huge black\nfur cloak, and a cape of the same colour fringed with red. Her whole\nmanner and appearance were so strange, that a crowd assembled round\nher as soon as she set foot on shore.\n\n\"'Hallo! comrade,' cried one of the sailors of the vessel that had\nbrought her, to a boatman who was passing. 'Hallo! comrade, do you\nwant a job? Here's a witch to take to Hiddensee.'\n\n\"We asked the sailor what he meant; and he told us that this strange\nwoman was a Lapland witch, who every year, in the dog-days, made a\njourney to the island of Hiddensee, to gather an herb which only grew\nthere, and was essential in her incantations.\n\n\"Meantime, the witch was calling for a boat, but no one understood her\nlanguage, or else they did not choose to come. My unfortunate\npropensity to all that is supernatural or fantastic impelled me, with\nirresistible force, towards her. In vain Elizabeth held me back. I\npushed my way through the crowd, until we found ourselves close to the\nLapland woman, who measured us from head to foot with her bright and\nglittering eyes. Slipping a florin into her hand, I gave her to\nunderstand, as well as I could, that we wished to have our fortunes\ntold. She took my hand, and, after examining it, made a sign that she\neither could or would tell me nothing. She then took the hand of\nElizabeth, who hung upon my arm, trembling like an aspen leaf, and\ngazing intently upon it, muttered a few words in broken Swedish. I did\nnot understand them, but Elizabeth did, and, starting back, drew me\nhastily out of the crowd.\n\n\"'What did she say?' enquired I, as soon as we were clear of the\nthrong.\n\n\"Elizabeth seemed much agitated, and had evidently to make a strong\neffort before she could reply.\n\n\"'Nothing,' answered she, at last; 'nothing, at least, worth\nrepeating. And yet 'tis strange; it tallies exactly with a prediction\nmade to my mother when I was an infant, that I should one day be in\nperil from the number Thirteen. This strange woman cautioned me\nagainst the same number, and bade me beware of you, for that you were\nthe Thirteenth!'\n\n\"Had the earth opened under my feet, or the lightning from heaven\nfallen on my head, I could not have felt a greater shock than was\ncommunicated to me by these words. I know not what I said in reply, or\nhow I got home. Elizabeth, doubtless, observed my agitation, but she\nmade no remark on it. I felt her arm tremble upon mine as we walked\nalong, and by a furtive glance at her face saw that she was pale as\ndeath. Not a word passed between us during our walk back to the tower,\non reaching which she shut herself up in her room. I pleaded a severe\nheadach and wish to lie down; and, begging the old man to strike the\nhours for me, retired to my chamber.\n\n\"It would be impossible to give an idea of the agony of mind I\nsuffered during that evening. I thought at times I was going mad, and\nthere were moments when I felt disposed to put an end to my existence\nby a leap from the tower window. Again, then, this curse that hung\nover me was in full force. Again had that fatal number raised itself\nbefore me like an iron wall, interposed between me and all earthly\nhappiness. Wearied out at length by the storm within me, I fell\nasleep.\n\n\"As may be supposed, I was followed in my troubled slumbers by the\nrecollection of my misery. Each hour that struck awoke me out of the\nmost hideous dreams to a scarce less hideous reality. When midnight\ncame, and the hammer clanged upon the great bell, a strange fancy took\npossession of my mind that it would this night strike Thirteen, and\nthat at the thirteenth stroke the clock, the tower, the city, and the\nwhole world, would crumble into atoms. Again I fell asleep and dreamt.\nI thought that my head was changed into a mighty bronze bell, and that\nI hung in the tower and heard the clock beside me strike Thirteen.\nThen came the old schoolmaster, who yet, at the same time, had the\nfeatures of Elizabeth's father; and, as he drew near me, I saw that\nthe hammer he held in his hand was no hammer, but a large silver-bound\nBible. In my despair I made frightful efforts to cry out and to tell\nhim that I was no bell, but a man, and that he should not strike me;\nbut my voice refused its service and my tongue clove to my palate. The\ngreyhaired old man came up to me, and struck thirteen times on my\nforehead, till my brains gushed out at my eyes.\n\n\"By daybreak the next morning I was two leagues from Stralsund, having\nleft a few hurried ill-written lines in my room, pleading I know not\nwhat urgent family affairs, and a dislike to leave-taking, as excuses\nfor my sudden departure. Over field and meadow, through rivers and\nforests, on I went, as though hell were at my heels, flying from my\ndestiny. But the further I got from Stralsund the more did I regret\nall I left there--my beautiful and affectionate mistress, her\nkind-hearted father, the peaceful happy life I led on the top of the\nold tower. The vow I had made to fly from the haunts of men, and seek\nin some desert the repose which my evil fate denied me among my\nfellows, that vow became daily more difficult to keep. And yet I went\non, dreading to depart from my determination, lest I should encounter\nsome of those bitter deceptions and cruel disappointments that had\nhitherto been my lot in life. Shame, too, at the manner in which I had\nleft the tower, withheld me, or else I think I should already be on my\nroad back to Stralsund. But now I have met you, brother, and that my\nmind is relieved by the knowledge that I have not, even indirectly,\nAlbert's death to reproach myself with, I must hasten to my Elizabeth\nto relieve her anxiety, and dry the tears which I am well assured each\nmoment of my absence causes her to shed. Come with me, dearest Carl,\nand you shall see her, my beautiful Elizabeth, and her good old\nfather, and the tower and the bell. Ho! the bell, the jolly old bell!\"\n\nThe painter looked kindly but anxiously in his brother's face. There\nwas a mildness in his manner that startled him, accustomed as he had\nbeen to his eccentricities when a boy.\n\n\"You are tired, brother,\" said he. \"You need repose after the emotions\nand fatigues of the last week. I, too, shall not be sorry to sleep.\nLet us to bed for a few hours, and then we will have post-horses and\nbe off to Stralsund.\"\n\n\"I have no need of rest,\" replied Bernard, \"and each moment seems to\nme an eternity till I can again clasp my Elizabeth to my heart. Let us\ndelay, then, as little as may be.\"\n\nAs he spoke they entered the gates of Berlin. The sun was risen, and\nthe hotels and taverns were beginning to open their doors. Seeing\nBernard's anxiety to depart, the painter abandoned his intention of\ntaking some repose, and after hasty breakfast, a post-chaise was\nbrought to the door, and the brothers stepping in, were whirled off on\ntheir road northwards.\n\nThe sun was about to set when the travellers came in sight of the\nspires of Stralsund, among which the church of St Nicholas reared its\ndouble-headed tower. Bernard had enlivened the journey by his wild\nsallies, and merry but extravagant humour. Now, however, that the goal\nwas almost reached, he became silent and anxious. The hours appeared\nto go too slowly for him, and his restlessness was extreme.\n\n\"Faster! postilion,\" cried Carl, observing his brother's impatience.\n\"Faster! You shall be paid double.\"\n\nThe man flogged his horses till they flew rather than galloped over\nthe broad level road. Suddenly, however, a strap broke, and the\npostilion got off his seat to tie it up. Through the stillness of the\nevening, no longer broken by the rattle of the wheels and clatter of\nthe horses' feet, a clock was heard striking the hour. Another\nrepeated it, and a third, of deeper tone than the two preceding ones,\ntook up the chime. Bernard started to his feet, and leaned so far out\nof the carriage that his brother seized hold of him, expecting him to\nlose his balance and fall out.\n\n\"It is she!\" exclaimed Bernard. \"'Tis the bell of St Nicholas. Listen,\nCarl--my Elizabeth calls me. She strikes the bell. I come, dearest, I\ncome!\"\n\nAnd with these words he sprang out of the carriage, and set off at\nfull speed towards the town, leaving his brother thunderstruck at his\nmad impatience and vehemence.\n\nRunning at the top of his speed, Bernard soon reached the city gate,\nand proceeded rapidly through the streets in the direction of St\nNicholas's church. It seemed to him as though he had been absent for\nyears instead of a few days, and he felt quite surprised at finding no\nchange in the city since his departure. All was as he had left it; all\nconspired to lull him into security. An old fruitwoman, of whom he had\nbought cherries the very day of his last walk with Elizabeth, was in\nher usual place, and, as he passed, extolled the beauty of her fruit,\nand asked him to buy. A large rose-tree, at the door of a\nsilversmith's shop, which Elizabeth had often admired, was still in\nfull bloom; through the window of a house in the market-place, he saw\na young girl, Elizabeth's dearest friend, dressing her hair at a\nlooking-glass, and as he passed the churchyard, the old dumb sexton,\nwho appeared to be hunting about for a place for a grave, nodded his\nhead in mute recognition.\n\nBernard opened the tower door, and darted up the staircase. He was not\nfar from the top when he heard the voices of two men above him. They\nwere resting on one of the landing-places of the ladderlike stairs.\n\n\"It is a singular case, doctor,\" said one; \"a strange and\nincomprehensible case. It is evidently a disease more of the mind than\nthe body.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" replied the other, by his voice apparently an old man. \"If we\ncould only get a clue to the cause, any thing to go upon, something\nmight be done, but at present it is a perfect riddle.\"\n\nBernard heard no more, for the men continued their ascent.\n\n\"The old father must be ill,\" said he to himself; but as he said it a\nfeeling of dread and anxiety, a presentiment of evil, came over him,\nand he stood for a few moments unable to proceed. The door at the top\nof the stairs was now opened, and shut with evident care to avoid\nnoise. \"The old man must be very ill,\" said Bernard, as if trying to\npersuade himself of it. He reached the door, and his hand shook as he\nlaid it upon the latch. At length he lifted it, and entered the room.\nIt was empty; but, just then, the door of Elizabeth's chamber opened,\nand old Kranhelm stepped out. On beholding Bernard, he started back as\nthough he had seen a ghost. He said a word or two in a low voice to\nsomebody in the inner room, and then shutting the door, bolted it,\nand placed his back against it, as if to prevent Bernard from going\nin.\n\n\"Begone!\" cried he in a tremulous voice; \"in the name of God, begone!\nthou evil spirit of my house;\" and he stretched out his arms towards\nBernard as though to prohibit his approach. No longer master of\nhimself, the young man sprang towards him, and, grasping his arm,\nthundered in his ear the question--\n\n\"Where is my Elizabeth?\"\n\nThe words rang through the old tower, and the confused murmuring of\nvoices in the inner room was heard. Bernard listened, and thought he\ndistinguished the voice of Elizabeth repeating, in tones of agony, the\nfatal number.\n\nOne of the physicians knocked, and begged to be let out. The old\ntower-keeper opened the door cautiously, and, when the doctor had\npassed through, carefully shut and barred it. But during the moment\nthat it had remained open, Bernard heard too plainly what his ears had\nat first been unwilling to believe.\n\n\"Is that the man?\" demanded the physician hastily. \"In God's name, be\nsilent. You will kill the patient. She recognized your voice, and fell\nimmediately into the most fearful paroxysm. She has got back again to\nthe infernal number with which her delirium began, and she shrieks it\nout perpetually. It is a frightful relapse. Begone! young man; yet\nstay--I will go with you. You can, doubtless, give us a key to this\nmystery.\"\n\nThe old physician took Bernard's arm to lead him away; but at that\nvery moment there was a shrill scream from the next room, and\nElizabeth's voice was heard calling upon Bernard by name. The\nunfortunate young man could not restrain himself. Shaking off the\ngrasp of the physician, he pushed old Kranhelm aside, tore back the\nbolts, and flung open the door. There lay Elizabeth on her deathbed,\nher arms stretched out towards him, her mild countenance ashy pale and\nfrightfully distorted, her soft blue eyes straining from their orbits.\nShe made a violent effort to speak, but death was too near at hand;\nthe sound died away upon her lips, and her uplifted arms dropped\npowerless upon the bed; her head fell back--a convulsive shudder came\nover her: she was dead. Her unhappy lover fell senseless to the\nground.\n\nWhen Bernard awoke out of a long and deathlike swoon, it was night,\nand all around him was still and dark. He was lying on the stone floor\noutside Kranhelm's dwelling. The physicians had removed him thither;\nand, being occupied with the old tower-keeper and his daughter, they\nhad thought no more about him. On first recovering sensation, he had\nbut an indistinct idea of where he was, or what had happened. By\ndegrees his senses returned to a certain extent--he knew that\nsomething horrible had occurred, but without remembering exactly what\nit was.\n\nHe felt about him, and touched a railing. It was the balustrade round\nthe open turret where hung the great bell. He was lying under the bell\nitself, and, as he gazed up into its brazen throat, the recollection\nof the frightful dream which had persecuted him the night before his\nflight from Stralsund came vividly to his mind; he appeared to himself\nto be still dreaming, and yet his visions were mixed up with the\nrealities of his everyday occupations.\n\nHe had just stepped out, he thought, to strike the hour on the bell,\nand rising with some difficulty from the hard couch which had\nstiffened his limbs, he sought about for the hammer. He made no effort\nto shake off the sort of dreaming semi-consciousness which seemed to\nprevent him from feeling the horror and anguish of reality.\n\n\"Thirteen strokes,\" thought he; \"thirteen strokes, and at the\nThirteenth the tower will fall, the city crumble to dust, the world be\nat an end.\" Such had been his dream, and the moment of its\naccomplishment was come.\n\nHe found the hammer, and struck with all his force upon the bell. He\nrepeated the blow; twelve times he struck, and each stroke rang with\ndeafening violence through his brain; but at the Thirteenth, as he\nraised his arms high above his head, and leaning back against the\nrailing, threw his whole strength and energy into the blow, the frail\nbalustrade gave way under his weight, and he fell headlong from the\ntower. The last stroke tolled out, sad and hollow as a funereal knell,\nand the sound mingled with the death-cry of the luckless Thirteenth!\n\n\n\n\nREMINISCENCES OF SYRIA.[15]\n\n    [15] Reminiscences of Syria. By Colonel E. Napier.\n\n\nGalloping, gossiping, flirting and fighting, feasting and starving,\nbut always in high spirits and the best possible humour, Colonel\nNapier might answer an advertisement for \"A Pleasant Companion in a\nPost-chaise,\" without the slightest chance of rejection. But it is\ndifficult to imagine so dashing a traveller, boxed up in a civilized\nconveyance, rolling quietly along a macadamized road, with a diversity\nof milestones and an occasional turnpike gate, the only incidents by\nthe way--no wild Maronite glimpsing at him over the hedge; no\nblack-eyed houri peeping over the balustrades of the caravanserai,\n(called by vulgar men the Bricklayers' Arms)--no Saices to help John\nHostler to change horses; but dulness, uniformity, and most tiresome\nand unromantic safety. England, we are sorry to confess it, is not the\nland of stirring adventures or hair-breadth 'scapes--a railway coach\noccasionally blows up; a blind leader occasionally bolts into a ditch;\na wheel comes occasionally into dangerous collision with one of\nPickford's vans; but these are the utmost that can be hoped for in the\nway of peril, and other excitement there is positively none. We have\ntreated life as the mathematician did Paradise Lost--we have struck\nout all its similes--obliterated its flights--expunged its glorious\nvisions--we have made it prose. But fortunately for us--for Colonel\nNapier--for the reading public--there is a land where mathematicians\nare unknown, and where poetry continues to flourish in the full vigour\nof cimeters and turbans--the region of the sun--\n\n    \"The first of Eastern lands he shines upon.\"\n\nIt was in this very beautiful, but rather overdone portion of earth's\nsurface, that the adventures occurred of which we are now to give some\naccount; and as probably most of our readers have heard the name of\nSyria pretty often of late, we need not display much geographical\nerudition in pointing out where it lies. It would be pleasant to us if\nwe could atone for brevity in this respect, by illuminating the reader\non the causes that have brought Syria so prominently forward; but on\nthis point we confess, with shame and confusion of face, that we know\nno more than Lord Ponsonby or M. Thiers. The truth seems to be, that\nsome time, about two or three years ago, five or six people in\ninfluential stations went mad, and our Secretary for Foreign Affairs\ntook the infection. He showed his teeth and raised his \"birse,\" and\nbarked in a most audacious manner, till the French kennel answered the\nchallenge; an old dog in Egypt cocked his tail at the same time, and\nthe world began to be afraid that hydrophobia would be universal. All\nparties were delighted to let the rival yelpers fight it out on so\ndistant a field as Syria; and in that country of heat and dryness, of\npoverty, anarchy, cruelty, and superstition, there was a skrimmage\nthat kept all Christendom on the tenter-hooks for half-a-year; and\nthis we believe to be the policy of the Syrian campaign. Better for\nall parties concerned, that a few thousand turbaned and malignant\nTurks or Egyptians should bite the dust, than that there should be\nanother Austerlitz or Waterloo. So the signal was accordingly given,\nand the work began.\n\nWherever there is any fighting it is not to be doubted that the\nEnglish hurra will be heard--and an apparition had been seen in the\nsmoke of battle, which had sorely puzzled the wisest of the\nsoothsayers of Egypt to explain. It was of a being apparently human,\nbut dressed as if to represent Mars and Neptune at the same time,\ncharging along the tops of houses, with the jolly cocked-hat of a\ncaptain of a British man-of-war on the point of his sword, and a\nvariety of exclamations in his mouth, more complimentary to the\nenemy's speed than his courage. The muftis, we have said, were sorely\npuzzled, and at last set it down as an infallible truth that he must\nbe none other than Old Harry, whereas there was not a sailor in the\nfleet that did not know that it was none other than Old Charley. And\nthis identical Old Charley, in a style of communication almost as\nrapid as his military evolutions, had indited the following epistle to\nthe author of the volumes before us:--\n\n    \"Headquarters of the Army of Lebanon.--Djouni,\n        Sept. 1840.\n\n    \"My dear Edward--I have hoisted my broad pendant on\n    Mount Lebanon, and mean to advance against the Egyptians\n    with a considerable force under my command; you may be\n    of use here; therefore go to Sir John M'Donald, and ask\n    him to get leave for you to join me without delay.\n\n        \"Your affectionate father,\n            CHARLES NAPIER.\"\n\nAnd the dutiful son, who seems to have no inconsiderable portion of\nthe paternal penchant for broken heads and other similar\ndivertisements, in three weeks from the receipt of the letter found\nhimself on board the Hydra, and rapidly approaching the classic shores\nof Sidon, Tyre, Ptolemais; the scenes of scriptural records and deeds\nof chivalry--Palestine--the Holy Land. But the broad pendant in the\nmean time had been pulled down on Mount Lebanon, and once more\nfluttered to the sea breezes on board the Powerful. Sir Charles Smith\nhad assumed the command of the land forces, and whether from\nill-humour at finding half the work done during his absence by the\namphibious commodore, or from some other cause, his reception of the\nauthor was, at first, far from cordial. Instead of being useful, as he\nhad hoped, he found the sturdy old general blind to the value of his\naccession; and when the Powerful sailed he found himself without\nquarters appointed him, or even an invitation to join the officers'\nmess. But with the usual good-luck of people who bear disappointments\nwell, all turned out for the best, as will be seen by the following\nextract:\n\n    \"I had, on board the Powerful, a few days before, formed\n    the acquaintance of a young Syrian of the name of\n    Assaade el Khyat, who, brought up at one of our\n    universities, was at heart a true Englishman, spoke\n    fluently our own and several other European and Eastern\n    languages, and whom I found, on the whole, a sensible,\n    well-informed young man, and a most agreeable companion.\n    As I was sitting alone, after a solitary dinner, (in the\n    miserable hotel at Beyrout,) musing in a brown study\n    over a bottle of red Cyprus wine, my new acquaintance\n    was ushered into the apartment; I made no secret to him\n    of my extremely uncomfortable position, when he, with\n    great kindness and liberality, overcoming the usual\n    prejudices of his country, offered me an asylum in his\n    own family, which offer I most gladly accepted, and was\n    accordingly the next morning comfortably installed in my\n    new quarters, whereof I will endeavour to give the\n    reader a slight description.\n\n    \"The house of which I had just so unexpectedly become an\n    inmate, was situated in one of the most retired and out\n    of the way parts of the town, (and it was not before\n    considerable time had elapsed, and then with difficulty,\n    that I became acquainted with the labyrinth of narrow\n    lanes, alleys, and dark passages which it was requisite\n    to thread in order to arrive at this desired haven,) the\n    property of a young man of the name of Giorgio Habbit\n    Jummal--brother-in-law of my friend Assaade, to whom one\n    of his sisters was married, and whom, as he spoke\n    Italian with fluency and ease, I at once engaged as my\n    dragoman or interpreter.\n\n    \"By a strange coincidence, I, under the roof of Giorgio,\n    for the first time became acquainted with Mr Hunter, the\n    author of the _Expedition to Syria_, who, placed in\n    similar circumstances with myself, was likewise an\n    inmate of the same house, and of whom, as we were\n    subsequently much known together during our residence in\n    this country, I shall after have occasion to mention: at\n    present I will take the liberty of borrowing from his\n    amusing narrative the following account of the inmates\n    of our new domicile. 'We lived in the house of a\n    respectable Syrian family, that of Habbit Jummal, or\n    interpreted, the esteemed camel-driver. Our landlord,\n    Giorgius, the head of this family, was a young man\n    hardly out of his teens; and having some competency, and\n    being moreover _un beau garcon_, did not follow either\n    his ancestral, or any other avocation. The harem, or\n    woman's portion of the house, was composed of his\n    mother, a fair widow of forty, and her two daughters,\n    both Eastern beauties of their kind, Sarah and Nasarah\n    (meaning Victory or Victoria;) the first, a laughing\n    black eyed houri, with mischief in every dimple in her\n    pretty face; the other, a more portly damsel, of a\n    melancholy but not less pleasing expression. There were\n    besides these, three younger children with equally\n    poetic names, (Nassif, Iskunder, and Furkha,) and\n    included in the _coterie_ was a good-humoured negress,\n    the general handmaid, whose original cognomen of Saade,\n    was lost in the apposite soubriquet of\n    Snowball.'--Although the greater part of the\n    inhabitants of Beyrout are Christians, generally\n    speaking, of the Greek Church, to which persuasion\n    likewise belonged the family of our host Giorgio; still\n    in this land of bigotry and oppression--to such an\n    extent is carried suspicion and jealousy, and so far\n    have Mahommedan prejudices in this respect been adopted,\n    that all the women (those of the peasantry alone\n    excepted) lead nearly as secluded a life as the Osmanli\n    ladies of Constantinople or Smyrna. On venturing abroad,\n    which they seldom do, unless when the knessi or humaum\n    (church or bath) are the limits of their excursions,\n    they are so closely shrouded in the izar, or long white\n    garment, which, coming over the head and hiding the\n    face, falls in numerous folds to the ground, as to be\n    scarcely recognizable by their nearest friends or\n    relations. To allow, therefore, two unknown and\n    friendless strangers to become familiar inmates of an\n    Eastern family, exposing wives, daughters, and sisters,\n    to their unhallowed gaze, was a favour and mark of\n    confidence on the part of Assaade which we duly\n    appreciated, nor ever abused; it was, however, a\n    privilege to which no other stranger in the place was\n    admitted, and affording, as it did, such opportunities\n    of acquiring the Arabic language, I eagerly embraced it\n    without any feeling of regret at the inhospitality to\n    which I was originally indebted for my admission behind\n    the scenes of Oriental life.\n\n    \"The bare, gloomy, and massive stone walls of the\n    exterior of our habitation had not prepared us for the\n    comforts we found inside; and as for the first time we\n    followed Giorgio and his brother-in-law up the rude and\n    narrow stone staircase, which appeared to be scarped out\n    of the very thickness of the wall--an open sesame from\n    the former causing a strong iron studded door to fly\n    back on its hinges, disclosed a handsome patis or court\n    paved with black and white marble, along the sides of\n    which were luxuriantly growing, and imparting a cooling\n    freshness to the scene, the perfumed orange-tree,\n    bearing at the same time both fruit and blossoms, and\n    flanked by green myrtles and flowering geraniums; whilst\n    an apartment opening on this garden terrace, and which\n    appeared from the carpets and cushions scattered around\n    the still smoking narghilis, (or water-pipe, in which is\n    smoked the tumbic or Persian tobacco,) and other sundry\n    traces of female industry, to be appropriated as the\n    common sitting-room of the family, was on our entrance\n    precipitately deserted by all its occupants, save one\n    fine-looking matronly lady, whom Giorgio introduced as\n    his mother; and while she was welcoming us with many\n    'F[=a]dd[=a]lls,' and politely repeating, _Anna mugsond\n    shoufuk_, (be seated, I am delighted to see you,) with\n    innumerable other euphonious phrases, as we afterwards\n    found high-flown Eastern compliments, but which at the\n    time were sadly wasted on our Frankish ignorance, he,\n    following the fair fugitives, soon brought back in each\n    hand the blushing deserters, who have already been\n    introduced to the reader as Mesdemoiselles Sarah and\n    Nasarah. Pipes, narghilis, sherbet, and coffee followed\n    in quick succession; the young negress, Saade, acting as\n    Hebe on the occasion; and the ladies, at first timid as\n    gazelles of the desert, soon, like those pretty\n    creatures when reclaimed from the wilderness, became\n    quite domesticated, acquired confidence, and freely\n    joined in the conversation, which was with volubility\n    carried on through the medium of Giorgio and Assaade;\n    and ere an hour had elapsed, we were all on the friendly\n    and easy footing of old acquaintances; when, taking\n    leave for the time, we hastened to make the necessary\n    arrangements for the conveyance of our goods and\n    chattels to the capital billets we had had the good\n    fortune to stumble on.\"\n\nThe colonel made good use of his opportunity, and, by a diligent\nperusal of Miss Sarah's eyes, and an attentive study of Miss Nasarah's\ndimple, managed to acquire a smattering of Arabic in a far shorter\ntime than would have been required in the most assiduous turning over\nof dictionaries and grammars. But our school-boy days can't last for\never--and, ere a fortnight elapsed, an order arrived from England for\nthe hopeful scholar to be placed on the returns of the Syrian army,\nand to draw his field allowance, rations, and forage, as assistant\nadjutant-general of the British force. Dictionaries and eyes, grammars\nand dimples, were now exchanged for less pleasing pursuits. Fifteen\nthousand troops were by this time assembled at Beyrout, and rumour\nkept perpetually blowing the charge against Ibrahim Pasha, who was\nstill encamped at Zachli, with an army much superior to that of the\nallies. Booted and spurred--with a long sword, saddle, bridle, and all\nthe other paraphernalia so captivating to an ancient fair, as recorded\nin one of the lays of Old England by some forgotten Macaulay of former\ntimes--the colonel is intent on some doughty deed, and already in\nimagination sees captive Egyptians following his triumphal car. When\nall of a sudden, the sad news gets spread abroad that the old\ncommodore has concluded a convention with Mehemet Ali, and that all\nthe pomp and circumstance of glorious war is at an end. One only\nchance remained, and that was, that as all the big-wigs protested with\nall their might against the convention; and the fleet, in the midst of\nprotestation and repudiations of all sorts and kinds, was forced by a\nsevere gale to up anchor and run for Marmorice Bay, Ibrahim Pasha\nmight perhaps be tempted to protest also in a still more unpleasant\nmanner, and pay a visit to Beyrout in the absence of the navy. The\nvery thoughts of it, however the English auxiliaries may have felt on\nthe subject, gave an attack of fever to the unfortunate inhabitants,\nwho devoutly prayed for a speedy fall of _tubbish_, (or snow,) by\nwhich his dreaded approach might be impeded. \"Had such a movement on\nhis part taken place at this critical moment, it is not improbable\nthat it might have proved successful; as amid the variety of religious\nand conflicting interests, by which the people of Beyrout were\ninfluenced, Ibrahim had no doubt many friends in the town; and it is\ncertain that he was moreover regularly made acquainted with every\noccurrence which took place, through the medium, as was supposed, of\nFrench agency and espionage.\"\n\nIbrahim, however, had had enough of red coats and blue jackets, and\nleft the people of Beyrout to themselves--an example which was\nfollowed by the author, who, being foiled in his expectations of\nriding down the Egyptians on the noble Arab left to him by the\ncommodore, determined to put that fiery animal (the Arab) to its paces\nin scouring the country in all directions. It is not often that an\nassistant adjutant-general sets out on a tour in search of the\npicturesque; but in this instance the search was completely\nsuccessful. Rock, ravine, precipice, and dell--running waters and\nwaving woods, come as naturally to his pen as returns of effective\nforce and other professional details; and, whatever the writing of\nthem may be, we are prepared to contend that the reading of them is\ninfinitely pleasanter. But as travellers and poets have of late left\nfew mountains or molehills unsung in Palestine, we prefer extracting a\npicturesque account of a venerable abbess, who threw the light of\nChristian goodness over that benighted land about a century ago, and\nmust have impressed the heathens in the neighbourhood with an exalted\nnotion of the virtues of a nunnery:--\n\n    \"Hendia was a Maronite girl, possessing extraordinary\n    personal charms, who, in 1755, first brought herself\n    into notice by her pretended piety and attention to her\n    religious duties, till at last she was by this simple\n    and credulous people considered almost in the light of a\n    saint or prophetess. When she had thus established a\n    reputation for sanctity, she next thought of becoming\n    the head and chief of an extensive establishment of\n    monks and nuns, to receive whom, with the aid of large\n    contributions raised among her credulous admirers and\n    followers, she erected two spacious stone buildings,\n    which soon became filled with proselytes of both sexes.\n    The patriarch of Lebanon was named the director of this\n    establishment, and for twenty years Hendia reigned with\n    unbounded sway over the little community--performing\n    miracles, uttering prophecies, and giving other tokens\n    of being in the performance of a divine mission; and\n    though it was remarked that many deaths yearly occurred\n    among the nuns, the circumstance was generally\n    attributed to disease incident to the insalubrity of the\n    situation. At last, chance brought to light the cause of\n    this very great mortality, and disclosed all the secret\n    horrors which had so long remained covered by the veil\n    of mystery in this abode of monastic abominations. A\n    traveller, on his way from Damascus to the coast,\n    happened to arrive one fine summer night at a late hour\n    before the convent gates, which he found closed, and not\n    wishing to disturb its inmates, who had apparently\n    retired to rest, he spread his travelling rug under some\n    neighbouring trees, and laid himself down to sleep. His\n    slumbers were, however, shortly disturbed by a number of\n    persons, who, issuing from the convent, appeared to be\n    clandestinely bearing away what seemed to be a heavy\n    bundle. Prompted by curiosity, he cautiously followed\n    the party, who, after going a short distance, deposited\n    their burden, and commenced digging a deep hole, into\n    which having placed and covered with earth what was\n    evidently a dead body, they immediately took their\n    departure. Astonished, and rather dismayed, at an\n    occurrence of so mysterious a nature, the traveller lost\n    no time in mounting his mule, and on arriving at Beyrout\n    made known the extraordinary occurrence to which he had\n    been witness the night before. This account reached the\n    ears of a merchant who happened to have two daughters\n    undergoing their noviciate at El Kourket, and reports\n    had lately reached him of the illness of one of his\n    children; this, together with the numerous deaths which\n    had lately taken place at the convent, coupled with the\n    traveller's narrative, excited in his mind the most\n    serious apprehensions. He gave information on the\n    subject, and laid a complaint before the Grand Prince at\n    Dahr-el-Kamar, and, accompanied by his informant and a\n    troop of horsemen furnished by the Emir, hastened to the\n    spot of the alleged mysterious burial, when to his\n    horror, on opening the newly made grave, he discovered\n    it to contain the corpse of his youngest daughter!\n    Frantic at this sight, he desired instant admission, in\n    order to ascertain the safety of her sister. On this\n    being refused, the gates were forced open, and the\n    unfortunate girl was found closely confined in a\n    dungeon, on the point of death, but retaining still\n    strength enough to disclose horrors which led to an\n    investigation, implicating the patriarch, the abbess,\n    and several priests. This transaction, which happened in\n    1776, was submitted for the decision of the Papal See;\n    when it appeared that the pretended prophetess had, by\n    means of many ingenious mechanical devices, thus long\n    imposed on public credulity, whilst in the retirement of\n    the cloister the most licentious and profligate\n    occurrences nightly took place; and that when any\n    unfortunate nun gave offence, either by refusing to be\n    sacrificed at the shrine of infamy, or that it became\n    desirable to get rid of her, in order to appropriate for\n    the convent the amount of her property, she was immured\n    in a dungeon, left to perish by a lingering and\n    miserable death, and then privately buried in the night.\n    In consequence of these shocking discoveries, the\n    patriarch was deposed--the priests, his accomplices,\n    were severely punished, and the high priestess of this\n    temple of cruelty and debauchery was immured in\n    confinement, and survived for many years to repent of\n    all the atrocities she had previously committed.\"\n\nWe should like to know the colonel's authority for this circumstantial\naccount. It bears at present a startling resemblance to the confession\nof Maria Monk, and the villanies recorded of the nunnery at Montreal;\nand we will hope in the mean time, that the devil, even in the shape\nof a lady abbess, is not quite so black as he is painted. The present\nabbess of El Kourket is already as black as need be, for we are told\nshe is an Ethiopian negress.\n\nThe war carried on in Syria after the decisive battle of Boharsef,\nseems to have been on the model of those recorded by Major Sturgeon,\nand to have consisted of marching and counter-marching, without any\ndefinite object, except, perhaps, the somewhat Universal-Peace-Society\none of getting out of the enemy's way. General Jochmus, we guess from\nhis name, was a Scotch schoolmaster, with a Latin termination--there\nbeing no mistaking the Jock--and in his religious tenets we feel sure\nhe was a Quaker. The English officers attached to the staff had\nimmense difficulty in bringing the troops (if they deserve to be\ncalled so) to the scratch; and we trust that, in all future\ncommentaries on the Art of War, the method adopted by Commodore\nNapier, of throwing stones at his gallant army to force them forward,\nwill not be forgotten. The author before us had no sinecure, and after\nthe news of Ibrahim's retreat, galloped hither and thither, like the\nwild huntsman of a German story, to discover by what route the\nvanquished lion was growling his way to his den. With a hundred\nirregular horse, furnished him by Osman Aga, he set out on a foray\nbeyond Jordan; and we do not wonder his two friends, Captain Lane, a\nPrussian edition of Don Quixote, and Mr Hunter, who has written an\nexcellent account of his expedition to Syria, besides his old Beyrout\nfriend Giorgio, volunteered to accompany him.\n\n    \"My motley troop, apparently composed of every tribe\n    from the Caspian to the Red Sea, displayed no less\n    variety in arms and accoutrements than in their personal\n    appearance, varying from the sturdy-looking Kourd,\n    mounted on his strong powerful steed, to the swarthy,\n    spare, and sinewy Arab, with his long reed-like spear,\n    his head encircled with the Kefiah, or thick rope of\n    twisted camels' hair; whilst the flowing 'abbage' waved\n    gracefully down the shining flanks of the high-mettled\n    steed of the desert. In short, such an assemblage of\n    cut-throat looking ruffians was probably never before\n    seen; and whilst the Prussian military eye of old Lane\n    glanced down our wide-spread and irregular line, I could\n    see a curl of contempt on his grey mustaches, though his\n    weather-beaten countenance maintained all the gravity of\n    Frederick the Great. The troop appeared to be divided\n    into two distinct parties--one Arab, the other Turkish;\n    and, on directing the two chiefs to call the 'roll' of\n    their respective forces, I found that many were absent\n    without leave, and the party which should have amounted\n    to a hundred cavaliers only mustered between seventy and\n    eighty. However, on the assurance that the rest would\n    speedily follow--as there was no time to spare, after\n    making them a short harangue, in which I promised\n    abundance of _nehub_ (plunder) whenever we came across\n    the enemy, to which they responded by a wild yell of\n    approbation--I gave the signal to move off, which was\n    instantly obeyed, amidst joyous shouts, the brandishing\n    of spears, and promiscuous discharge of fire-arms.\n    Having thus got them under weigh, the next difficulty I\n    experienced was to keep them together. I tried to form a\n    rearguard to bring up the stragglers, but the guard\n    would not remain behind, nor the stragglers keep up with\n    the main body; and I soon, finding that something more\n    persuasive than mere words was requisite to maintain\n    them in order, took the first opportunity of getting a\n    stout cudgel, with which I soundly belaboured all those\n    whom I found guilty of thus disobeying my commands. The\n    Eastern does not understand the _suaviter in\n    modo_;--behave to him like a human being, he fancies you\n    fear him, and he sets you at defiance--kick him and cuff\n    him, treat him like a dog, and he crouches at your feet,\n    the humble slave of your slightest wishes.\"\n\nDiscipline of so perfect a nature must have inspired the gallant\ncolonel with the strongest hopes of success in case of an onslaught on\nthe forces of Ibrahim Pasha, and in all probability his efforts, with\nthose of Captain Lane, Hunter, and Giorgio, might have produced\nsomething like a skrimmage when they came near the tents of the\nEgyptians; but it would seem that the cudgels wielded by the Musree\ncommanders were either not so strong or not so well applied, for on\nthe first appearance of the hostile squadron, the heroes of Nezib\nevaporated as if by magic, but not before a similar feat of\nlegerdemain had been performed by the rabble rout of Turks and Arabs;\nand on looking round, to inspire his followers with a speech after the\nmanner of Thucydides, the colonel discovered the last of his escort\ndisappearing at full speed on the other side of the plain, and the\nEuropeans were left alone in their glory. As they had nobody to\nattack, (the enemy continuing still in a state of evaporation,) every\nthing ended well; and, if the trumpeter had not been among the\nfugitives, there might have been a triumphal blow performed although\nno blow had been struck. We do not believe in the courage of the\nArabs. No amount of kicking and cuffing could cow a nation's spirit\nthat had once been brave; and we therefore consider it the greatest\nmarvel in history how the Arabians managed at one time to conquer half\nthe world. They must have been very different fellows from the\nchicken-hearted children of the desert recorded in these volumes. One\nthing only is certain, that they have left their anti-fighting\npropensities to their mongrel descendants in Spain; for a series of\n_actions_--that is, jinking and skulking, and running up and down,\nhiding themselves as if they were the personages of a writ--more\ndistinctly Arabian than the late campaign which ended in the overthrow\nof Espartero, could not have been performed under the shadows of Mount\nEbal. All the nobility that we are so fond of picturing to ourselves\nin the deeds and thoughts of Saladin, has gone over to the horse. The\nwild steed retains its fire, though the miserable horseman would do\nfor a Madrileno _aide-de-camp_. And yet this is the way they are\ntreated:--\n\n    \"It was a matter of surprise to us, how our horses stood\n    without injury all the exposure, severe work, and often\n    short commons, to which they were constantly subjected.\n    When we came to a place where barley was to be procured,\n    the grooms carried away as much as they could; when none\n    was to be had, we gave our nags peas and _tibbin_,\n    (chopped straw, the only forage used in the East,) or\n    any thing we could lay hands on; they had little or no\n    grooming, and frequently the saddles were not even\n    removed from their backs. But I believe that nothing\n    save the high mettle of the desert blood would carry an\n    animal through all this toil and privation; and as to\n    the much-extolled kindness of the Arab towards his\n    horse, although it may be the case in the far deserts of\n    the Hedged and Hedjar, I can avow that I never saw these\n    noble animals treated with more inhuman neglect than I\n    witnessed in the whole of my wanderings through Syria.\"\n\nThe dreariness of a ride through the desolate plains and rugged rocks\nof Palestine, was diversified with startling adventures; and the fact\nof several of the powers of Europe and many of the tribes of Asia\nhaving chosen that sterile region for their battle-place, gave rise to\nsome very odd coincidences. People from all the ends of the earth, who\nwere lounging away their existence some three or four months before,\nwithout any anticipation of treading in the footsteps of the\ncrusaders--some smoking strong tobacco in the coffeehouses of Berlin,\nor leaning gracefully (like the Chinese Admiral Kwang) against the\npillars of the Junior United Service Club in London--or driving a\nheavy curricle in the Prado at Vienna--or reading powerfully for\nhonours at the Great Go at Oxford--or climbing Albanian hills--or\nreclining in the silken recesses of a harem at Constantinople--all\nwere thrown together in such unexpected groups, and found themselves\nso curiously banded together, that the tame realities of an ordinary\ncampaign were thrown completely into the shade. The following\nintroduces us to another member of the foray, whose character seems to\nhave been such a combination of the gallant soldier and light-hearted\ntroubadour, that we read of his after fate, in dying of the plague at\nDamascus, with great regret:--\n\n    \"My troop had not yet cleared a difficult pass close to\n    the khan, running between an abrupt face of the hill and\n    the river, when the advanced guard came back at full\n    speed with the announcement that a body of the enemy's\n    infantry was near at hand. Closely jammed in a narrow\n    defile, between inaccessible cliffs and the precipitous\n    banks of the Jordan, with nothing but cavalry at my\n    disposal, I was placed in rather a disagreeable\n    position. There remained, however, no alternative but to\n    put spurs to our horses, push forward through the pass,\n    deploy on the level ground beyond it, and then trust to\n    the chances of war. Having explained these intentions to\n    the Sheikh and Aga, we lost no time in carrying them\n    into effect; and on taking extended order after clearing\n    the pass, saw immediately in front of us what we took to\n    be an advanced guard of the enemy, consisting of some\n    twenty or thirty soldiers, whom their white\n    foustanellis\" (the foustanellis is that part of the\n    Albanian costume corresponding with the highland kilt)\n    \"and tall active forms immediately marked as Arnouts, or\n    Albanians. Seeing, probably, that we had now the\n    advantage of the ground, they hastily retired,\n    recrossing a ravine which intersected the path, and\n    extending in capital light infantry style, were soon\n    sheltered behind the stones and rocks on the opposite\n    bank, over the brow of which nought was to be seen but\n    the protruding muzzles and long shining barrels of their\n    firelocks. All this was the work of a few seconds, and\n    passed in a much briefer space of time than it has taken\n    to relate. I had now the greatest difficulty in keeping\n    Mahommed Aga and his men from charging up to enemies\n    who, from their present position, could have picked them\n    easily off with perfect safety to themselves; and riding\n    rapidly forward with Captain Lane, to see if we could by\n    some means turn their flank, a few horsemen at this\n    moment suddenly appeared over the swell on the opposite\n    side of the ravine, the foremost of whom, whilst making\n    many friendly signals, galloped across the intervening\n    space, hailing us a friend, and at the same time waving\n    his hand, to prevent his own people from opening their\n    fire. Lane and myself were not backward in returning\n    this greeting; and on approaching we beheld a handsome\n    young man, dressed in the showy Austrian uniform, with a\n    black Tartar sheepskin cap on his head, who, coming up,\n    accosted us in French, and with all the frankness of a\n    soldier, introduced himself as Count Szechinge, a\n    captain of Austrian dragoons, then on his way from\n    Tiberias with a party composed of one or two Turkish\n    lancers, about twenty-five Albanian deserters, his\n    German servant, dragoman, and suite, to raise troops in\n    the Adjelloun hills--a mission very similar to the one I\n    was myself employed on at Naplouse.\"\n\nAn acquaintance begun under such circumstances grows into friendship\nwith amazing rapidity; and many are the joyous hours the foragers\nspend together, in spite of intolerable weather and storms of sleet\nand snow, which bear a far greater resemblance to the climate of\nLochaber than to that of Syria, \"land of roses.\" Reinforced with the\ncount and his companions, Colonel Napier pushes on--gets into the\nvicinity of Ibrahim--his rabble rout turn tail, in case of being\nswallowed alive by the ferocious pasha, whose reputation for cruelty\nand all manner of iniquities seems well deserved, and having\nascertained the movements of that formidable ruffian, he returned to\nNaplouse to take the command of 1500 half-tamed, undisciplined\nsavages, with whom to oppose his retreat. Luckily, the ratification of\nthe convention come in the nick of time; for it is very evident that\nthe best cudgels that were ever cut in \"the classic woods of\nHawthornden,\" could not have awakened a spark of military ardour in\nthe wretched riff-raff assemblage appointed for this service--and of\nall the abortive efforts at generalship we have ever read of, the\nattempt of the Turkish commanders was infinitely the worse--no\nforesight in providing for difficulties--no valour in fighting their\nway out of them; but, to compensate for these trifling deficiencies, a\nplentiful supply of pride and cruelty, with a due admixture of\ndishonesty. We heartily join, with Colonel Napier, in wondering where\nthe deuce the \"integrity of the Ottoman empire\" is to be found, as,\nbeyond all doubt, not a particle of it exists in any of its subjects.\nThe pashas of Egypt, bad as they undoubtedly are, have redeeming\npoints about them, which the Hassans, and Izzets, and Reschids of the\nTurks have no conception of; and, lively and sparkling as the gallant\ncolonel's narrative is, we confess it leaves a sadder impression on\nour minds of the hopelessness and the degeneracy of the Moslems, than\nany book we have met with. Turk and Egyptian should equally be whipped\nback into the desert, and the fairest portions of the world be won\nover to civilization, wealth, and happiness. The present volumes close\nat the end of January 1841, and perhaps they are among the best\nresults of the campaign. We shall be glad to see the proceedings at\nAlexandria sketched off in the same pleasant style.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FATE OF POLYCRATES.--_Herod._ iii. 124-126.\n\n\n    \"Oh! go not forth, my father dear--oh! I go not forth to-day,\n    And trust not thou that Satrap dark, for he fawns but to betray;\n    His courteous smiles are treacherous wiles, his foul designs to hide;\n    Then go not forth, my father dear--in thy own fair towers abide.\"\n\n    \"Now, say not so, dear daughter mine--I pray thee, say not so!\n    Where glory calls, a monarch's feet should never fear to go;\n    And safe to-day will be my way through proud Magnesia's halls,\n    As if I stood 'mid my bowmen good beneath my Samian walls.\n\n    \"The Satrap is my friend, sweet child--my trusty friend is he--\n    The ruddy gold his coffers hold he shares it all with me;\n    No more amid these clustering isles alone shall be my sway,\n    But Hellas wide, from side to side, thy empire shall obey!\n\n    \"And of all the maids of Hellas, though they be rich and fair,\n    With the daughter of Polycrates, oh! who shall then compare?\n    Then dry thy tears--no idle fears should damp our joy to-day--\n    And let me see thee smile once more before I haste away!\"\n\n    \"Oh! false would be the smile, my sire, that I should wear this morn,\n    For of all my country's daughters I shall soon be most forlorn;\n    I know, I know,--ah, thought of woe!--I ne'er shall see again\n    My father's ship come sailing home across the Icarian main.\n\n    \"Each gifted seer, with words of fear, forbids thee to depart,\n    And their warning strains an echo find in every faithful heart;\n    A maiden weak, e'en I must speak--ye gods, assist me now!\n    The characters of doom and death are graven on thy brow!\n\n    \"Last night, my sire, a vision dire thy daughter's eyes did see,\n    Suspended in mid air there hung a form resembling thee;\n    Nay, frown not thus, my father dear; my tale will soon be done--\n    Methought that form was bathed by Jove, and anointed by the sun!\"\n\n    \"My child, my child, thy fancies wild I may not stay to hear.\n    A friend goes forth to meet a friend--then wherefore should'st\n        thou fear?\n    Though moonstruck seers with idle fears beguile a maiden weak,\n    They cannot stay thy father's hand, or blanch thy father's cheek.\n\n    \"Let cowards keep within their holds, and on peril fear to run!\n    Such shame,\" quoth he, \"is not for me, fair Fortune's favourite son!\"\n    Yet still the maiden did repeat her melancholy strain--\n    \"I ne'er shall see my father's fleet come sailing home again!\"\n\n    The monarch call'd his seamen good, they muster'd on the shore,\n    Waved in the gale the snow-white sail, and dash'd the sparkling oar;\n    But by the flood that maiden stood--loud rose her piteous cry--\n    \"Oh! go not forth, my dear, dear sire--oh, go not forth to die!\"\n\n    A frown was on that monarch's brow, and he said as he turn'd away,\n    \"Full soon shall Samos' lord return to Samos' lovely bay;\n    But thou shalt aye a maiden lone within my courts abide--\n    No chief of fame shall ever claim my daughter for his bride!\n\n    \"A long, long maidenhood to thee thy prophet tongue hath given--\"\n    \"Oh would, my sire,\" that maid replied, \"such were the will of Heaven!\n    Though I a loveless maiden lone must evermore remain,\n    Still let me hear that voice so dear in my native isle again!\"\n\n    'Twas all in vain that warning strain--the king has crost the tide--\n    But never more off Samos shore his bark was seen to ride!\n    The Satrap false his life has ta'en, that monarch bold and free,\n    And his limbs are black'ning in the blast, nail'd to the gallows-tree!\n\n    That night the rain came down apace, and wash'd each gory stain,\n    But the sun's bright ray, the next noonday, glared fiercely on the\n        slain;\n    And the oozing gore began once more from his wounded sides to run;\n    Good-sooth, that form was bathed by Jove, and anointed by the Sun!\n\n\n\n\nMODERN PAINTERS.[16]\n\n    [16] Modern Painters--their Superiority in the Art of\n    Landscape Painting to all the Ancient Masters, &c. &c.\n    By a Graduate of Oxford.\n\n\nWe read this title with some pain, not doubting but that our modern\nlandscape painters were severely handled in an ironical satire; and we\ndetermined to defend them. \"Their superiority to _all_ the ancient\nmasters\"--that was too hard a hit to come from any but an enemy! We\nmust measure our man--a graduate of Oxford! The \"scholar armed,\"\nwithout doubt. He comes, too, vauntingly up to us, with his contempt\nfor us and all critics that ever were, or will be; we are all little\nDavids in the eye of this Goliath. Nevertheless, we will put a pebble\nin our sling. We saw this contempt of us, in dipping at hap-hazard\ninto the volume. But what was our astonishment to find, upon looking\nfurther, that we had altogether mistaken the intent of the author, and\nthat we should probably have not one Goliath, but many, to encounter;\nwhile our own particular friends, to whom we might look for help,\nwere, alas! all dead men. We found that there were not \"giants\" in\nthose days, but in these days--that the author, in his most\nsuperlative praise, is not ironical at all, but a most serious\npanegyrist, who never laughs, but does sometimes make his readers\nlaugh, when they see his very unbecoming, mocking grimaces against the\n\"old masters\"--not that it can be fairly asserted that it is a\nlaughable book. It has much conceit, and but little merriment; there\nis nothing really funny after you have got over, (vide page 6,) that\nhe \"looks with contempt on Claude, Salvator, and Gaspar Poussin.\" This\ncontempt, however, being too limited for the \"graduate of Oxford,\" in\nthe next page he enlarges the scope of his enmity; \"speaking generally\nof the old masters, I refer only to Claude, Gaspar Poussin, Salvator\nRosa, Cuyp, Berghem, Both, Ruysdael, Hobbima, Teniers (in his\nlandscapes,) P. Potter, Canaletti, and the various Van Somethings and\nBack Somethings, more especially and malignantly those who have\nlibelled the sea.\" Self-convicted of malice, he has not the slightest\nsuspicion of his ignorance; whereas he _knows_ nothing of these\nmasters whom he maligns. Still is he ready to be their general\naccuser--has not the slightest respect for the accumulated opinions of\nthe best judges for these two or three hundred years--he puts them by\nwith the wave of his hand, very like the unfortunate gentleman in an\nestablishment of \"unsound opinions,\" who gravely said--\"The world and\nI differed in opinion--I was right, the world wrong; but they were too\nmany for me, and put me here.\" We daresay that, in such establishments\nmay be found many similar opinions to those our author promulgates,\nthough, as yet, none of our respectable publishers have been convicted\nof a congenial folly. We said, that he suspects not his ignorance of\nthe masters he maligns. Let it not hence be inferred that it is the\nwork of an ignorant man. He is only ignorant with a prejudice. We will\nnot say that it is not the work of a man who thinks, who has been\nhabituated to a sort of scholastic reasoning, which he brings to bear,\nwith no little parade and display, upon technicalities and\ndistinctions. He can tutor _secundum artem_, lacking only, in the\nfirst point, that he has not tutored himself. With all his\narrangements and distinctions laid down, as the very grammar of art,\nhe confuses himself with his \"truths,\" forgetting that, in matters of\nart, truths of fact must be referable to truths of mind. It is not\nwhat things in all respects really are, but what they appear, and how\nthey are convertible by the mind into what they are not in many ways,\nrespects, and degrees, that we have to consider, before we can venture\nto draw rules from any truths whatever. For art is something besides\nnature; and taste and feeling are first--precede practical art; and\nthough greatly enhanced by that practical cultivation, might exist\nwithout it--nay, often do; and true taste always walks a step in\nadvance of what has been done, and ever desires to do, and from\nitself, more than it sees. We discover, therefore, a fallacy in the\nvery proposal of his undertaking, when he says that he is prepared \"to\nadvance nothing which does not, at least in his own conviction, _rest\non surer ground than mere feeling or taste_.\" Notwithstanding,\nhowever, that our graduate of Oxford puts his \"demonstrations\" upon an\nequality with \"the demonstrations of Euclid,\" and \"thinks it proper\nfor the public to know, that the writer is no mere theorist, but has\nbeen devoted from his youth to the laborious study of practical art,\"\nand that he is \"a graduate of Oxford;\" we do not look upon him as a\nbit the better judge for all that, seeing that many have practised it\ntoo fondly and too ignorantly all their lives, and that Claude, and\nSalvator, and Gaspar Poussin must, according to him, have been in this\npredicament, and more especially do we decline from bowing down at his\ndictation, when we find him advocating _any_ \"_surer ground than\nfeeling or taste_.\" Now, considering that thus, _in initio_, he sets\naside feeling and taste, the reader will not be astonished to find a\nvery substantial reason given for his contempt of the afore-mentioned\nold masters; it is, he says, \"because I look with the most devoted\nveneration upon Michael Angelo, Raffaelle, and Da Vinci, that I do not\ndistrust the principles which induce me to look with contempt,\" &c. We\ndo not exactly see how these great men, who were not landscape\npainters, can very well be compared with those who were, but from some\ngeneral principles of art, in which the world have not as yet found\nany very extraordinary difference. But we do humbly suggest, that\nMichael Angelo, Raffaelle, and Da Vinci, are in their practice, and\nprinciples, if you please, quite as unlike Messrs David Cox, Copley\nFielding, J. D. Harding, Clarkson Stanfield, and Turner--the very men\nwhom our author brings forward as the excellent of the earth, in\nopposition _to all_ old masters whatever, excepting only Michael\nAngelo, Raffaelle, and Da Vinci, to whom nevertheless, by a perverse\npertinacity of their respective geniuses, they bear no resemblance\nwhatever--as they are to Claude, Salvator, and Gaspar Poussin. We do\nnot by any means intend to speak disrespectfully of these our English\nartists, but we must either mistrust those principles which cause them\nto stand in opposition to the great Italians, or to conceive that our\nauthor has really discovered no such differing principles, and which\npossibly may not exist at all. Nor will we think so meanly of the\ntaste, the good feeling, and the good sense of these men, as to\nbelieve that they think themselves at all flattered by any admiration\nfounded on such an irrational contempt. They well know that Michael\nAngelo, Raffaelle, and Da Vinci, have been admired, together with\nClaude, Salvator, and Gaspar Poussin, and they do not themselves\ndesire to be put upon a separate list. The author concludes his\nintroduction with a very bad reason for his partiality to modern\nmasters, and it is put in most ambitious language, very readily\nlearned in the \"Fudge School,\"--a style of language with which our\nauthor is very apt to indulge himself; but the argument it so\nostentatiously clothes, and which we hesitate not to call a bad one,\nis nothing more than this, (if we understand it,)--that the dead are\ndead, and cannot hear our praise; that the living are living, and\ntherefore our love is not lost; in short, as a _non-sequitur_, \"that\nif honour be for the dead, gratitude can only be for the living.\" This\nmight have been simply said; but we are taken to the grave--with \"He\nwho has once stood beside the grave,\" &c. &c.; we have \"wild\nlove--keen sorrow--pleasure to pulseless hearts--debt to the heart--to\nbe discharged to the dust--the garland--the tombstone--the crowned\nbrow--the ashes and the spirit--heaven-toned voices and heaven-lighted\nlamps--the learning--sweetness by silence--and light by decay;\" all\nwhich, we conceive, might have been very excusable in a young curate's\nsermon during his first year of probation, and might have won for him\nmore nosegays and favours than golden opinions, but which we here feel\ninclined to put our pen across, as so we remember many similarly\nambitious passages to have been served, before we were graduate of\nOxford, with the insignificant signification from the pen of our\ninformator of _nihil ad rem_. As the author threatens the public with\nanother, or more volumes, we venture to throw out a recommendation,\nthat at least one volume may serve the purpose and do the real work of\ntwo, if he will check this propensity to unnecessary redundancy. His\nnumerous passages of this kind are for the most part extremely\nunintelligible; and when we have unraveled the several coatings, we\ntoo often find the ribs of the mummy are not human. We think it right\nto object, in this place, to an affectation in phraseology offensive\nto those who think seriously of breaking the third commandment--he\nscarcely speaks of mountains without taking the sacred name in vain;\nthere is likewise a constant repetition of expressions of very\ndoubtful meaning in the first use, for the most part quite devoid of\nmeaning in their application. One of these is \"palpitating.\" Light is\n\"palpitating,\" darkness is \"palpitating\"--every conceivable thing is\n\"palpitating.\" We must, however, in justice say, that by far the best\npart of the book, the laying down rules and the elucidating\nprinciples, is clearly and expressively written. In this part of the\nwork there is greater expansion than the student will generally find\nin books on art. Not that we are aware of the advancement of any thing\nnew; but the admitted maxims of art are, as it were, grammatically\nanalysed, and in a manner to assist the beginner in thinking upon art.\nTo those who have already _thought_, this very studied analysis and\narrangement will be tedious enough.\n\nIn the \"Definition of Greatness in Art,\" we find--\"If I say that the\ngreatest picture is that which conveys to the mind of the spectator\nthe greatest number of the greatest ideas, I have a definition which\nwill include as subjects of comparison every pleasure which art is\ncapable of conveying.\" Now, there are great ideas which are so\nconflicting as to annul the force of each other. This is not enough;\nthere must be a congruity of great ideas--nay, in some instances, we\ncan conceive one idea to be so great, as in a work of art not to admit\nof the juxtaposition of others. This is the principle upon which the\nsonnet is built, and the sonnet illustrates the picture not unaptly.\n\"Ideas of Power\" are great ideas--not always are ideas of beauty\ngreat; yet is there a tempering the one with the other, which it is\nthe special province of art to attain, and that for its highest and\nmost moral purposes. In his \"Ideas of Power,\" he distinguishes the\nterm \"excellent\" from the terms \"beautiful,\" \"useful,\" \"good,\" &c.;\nthus--\"And we shall always, in future, use the word excellent, as\nsignifying that the thing to which it is applied required a great\npower for its production.\" Is not this doubtful? Does it not limit the\nperception of excellence to artists who can alone from their practice,\nand, as it were, measurement of powers with their difficulties, learn\nand feel its existence in the sense to which it is limited. The\ninference would be, that none but artists can be critics, as none but\nartists can perceive excellence, and we think in more than one place\nsome such assertion is made. This is startling--\"Power is never\nwasted; whatever power has been employed, produces excellence in\nproportion to its own dignity and exertion; and the faculty of\nperceiving this exertion, and approaching this dignity, is the faculty\nof perceiving excellence.\" \"It is this faculty in which men, even of\nthe most cultivated taste, must always be wanting, unless they have\nadded practice to reflection; because none can estimate the power\nmanifested in victory, unless they have personally measured the\nstrength to be overcome.\" For the word strength use difficulty, and we\nshould say that, to the unpractised, the difficulties must always\nappear greatest. He gives, as illustration, \"Titian's flesh tint;\" it\nmay be possible that, by some felicitous invention, some new\ntechnicality of his art, Titian might have produced this excellence,\nand to him there would have been no such great measurement of the\ndifficulty or strength to be overcome; while the admirer of the work,\nignorant of the happy means, fancies the exertion of powers which were\nnot exerted. In his chapter on \"Ideas of Imitation,\" he imagines that\nFuseli and Coleridge falsely apply the term imitation, making \"a\ndistinction between imitation and copying, representing the first as\nthe legitimate function of art--the latter as its corruption.\" Yet we\nthink he comes pretty much to the same conclusion. In like manner, he\nseems to disagree with Burke in a passage which he quotes, but in\nreality he agrees with him; for surely the \"power of the imitation\" is\nbut a power of the \"jugglery,\" to be sensible of which, if we\nunderstand him, is necessary to our sense of imitation. \"When the\nobject,\" says Burke, \"represented in poetry or painting is such as we\ncould have no desire of seeing in the reality, then we may be sure\nthat its power in poetry or painting is owing to the power of\n_imitation_.\" \"We may,\" says our author, \"be sure of the contrary; for\nif the object be undesirable in itself, the closer the imitation the\nless will be the pleasure.\" Certainly not; for Burke of course\nimplied, and included in his sense of imitation, that it should be\nconsistent with a knowledge in the spectator, that a certain trick of\nart was put upon him. And our author says the same--\"Whenever the work\nis seen to resemble something which we know it is not, we receive what\nI call an idea of imitation.\" Again--\"Now, two things are requisite to\nour complete and most pleasurable perception of this: first, that the\nresemblance be so perfect as to amount to deception; secondly, that\nthere be some means of proving at the same moment that it _is_ a\ndeception.\" He justly considers \"the pleasures resulting from\nimitation the most contemptible that can be received from art.\" He\nthus happily illustrates his meaning--\"We may consider tears as a\nresult of agony or of art, whichever we please, but not of both at the\nsame moment. If we are surprised by them as an attainment of the one,\nit is impossible we can be moved by them as a sign of the other.\" This\nwill explain why we are pleased with the exact imitation of the\ndewdrop on the peach, and why we are disgusted with the Magdalen's\ntears by Vanderwerf; and we further draw this inevitable conclusion,\nof very important consequence to artists, who have very erroneous\nnotions upon the subject, that this sort of imitation, which, by the\ndeception of its name, should be most like, is actually less like\nnature, because it takes from nature its impression by substituting a\nsense of the jugglery. This chapter on ideas of imitation is good and\nuseful. We think, in the after part of his work, wherein is much\ncriticism on pictures by the old masters and by moderns, our author\nmust have lost the remembrance of what he has so well said on his\nideas of imitation; and in the following chapter on \"Ideas of Truth.\"\n\"The word truth, as applied to art, signifies the faithful statement,\neither to the mind or senses, of any fact of nature.\" The reader will\nreadily see how \"ideas of truth\" differ from \"ideas of imitation.\" The\nlatter relating only to material objects, the former taking in the\nconceptions of the mind--may be conveyed by signs or symbols,\n\"themselves no image nor likeness of any thing.\" \"An idea of truth\nexists in the statement of _one_ attribute of any thing; but an idea\nof imitation only in the resemblance of as many attributes as we are\nusually cognizant of in its real presence.\" Hence it follows that\nideas of truth are inconsistent with ideas of imitation; for, as we\nbefore said, ideas of imitation remove the impression by an\never-present sense of the deception or falsehood. This is put very\nconclusively--\"so that the moment ideas of truth are grouped together,\nso as to give rise to an idea of imitation, they change their very\nnature--lose their essence as ideas of truth--and are corrupted and\ndegraded, so as to share in the treachery of what they have produced.\nHence, finally, ideas of truth are the foundation, and ideas of\nimitation the distinction, of all art. We shall be better able to\nappreciate their relative dignity after the investigation which we\npropose of functions of the former; but we may as well now express the\nconclusion to which we shall then be led--that no picture can be good\nwhich deceives by its imitation; for the very reason that nothing can\nbe beautiful which is not true.\" This is perhaps rather too\nindiscriminate. It has been shown that ideas of imitation do give\npleasure; by them, too, objects of beauty may be represented. We\nshould not say that a picture by Gerard Dow or Van Eyck; even with the\ndown on the peach and the dew on the leaf, were not good pictures.\nThey are good if they please. It is true, they ought to do more, and\neven that in a higher degree; they cannot be works of greatness--and\ngreatness was probably meant in the word good. In his chapter on\n\"Ideas of Beauty,\" he considers that we derive, naturally and\ninstinctively, pleasure from the contemplation of certain material\nobjects; for which no other reason can be given than that it is our\ninstinct--the will of our Maker--we enjoy them \"instinctively and\nnecessarily, as we derive sensual pleasure from the scent of a rose.\"\nBut we have instinctively aversion as well as desire; though he admits\nthis, he seems to lose sight of it in the following--\"And it would\nappear that we are intended by the Deity to be constantly under their\ninfluence, (ideas of beauty;) because there is not one single object\nin nature which is not capable of conveying them,\" &c. We are not\nsatisfied; if the instinctive desire be the index to what is\nbeautiful, so must the instinctive aversion be the index to its\nopposite. We have an instinctive dislike to many reptiles, to many\nbeasts--as apes. These _may_ have in them some beauty; we only object\nto the author's want of clearness. If there be no ugliness there is no\nbeauty, for every thing has its opposite; so that we think he has not\nyet discovered and clearly put before us what beauty consists in. He\nshows how it happens that we do admire it instinctively; but that does\nnot tell us what it is, and possibly, after all that has been said\nabout it, it yet remains to be told. Nor are we satisfied with his\ndefinition of taste--\"Perfect taste is the faculty of receiving the\ngreatest possible pleasure from those material sources which are\nattractive to our moral nature in its purity and perfection.\" This\nwill not do; for taste will take material sources, unattractive in\nthemselves, and by combination, or for their contrast, receive\npleasure from them. All literature and all art show this. That taste,\nlike life itself, is instinctive in its origin and first motion, we\ndoubt not; but what it is by and in its cultivation, and in its\napplication to art, is a thing not to be altogether so cursorily\ndiscussed and dismissed. The distinction is laid down between taste\nand judgment--judgment being the action of the intellect; taste \"the\ninstinctive and instant preferring of one material object to another\nwithout any obvious reason,\" except that it is proper to human nature\nin its perfection so to do. But leaving this discussion of this\noriginal taste, taste in art is surely, as it is a thing cultivated,\nthat for which a reason can be given, and in some measure, therefore,\nthe result of judgment. For by the cultivation of taste we are\nactually led to love, admire, and desire many things of which we have\nno instinctive love at all; so that the taste for them arises from the\nintellect and the moral sense--our judgment. He proceeds to \"Ideas of\nRelation,\" by which he means \"to express all those sources of\npleasure, which involve and require at the instant of their\nperception, active exertion of the intellectual powers.\" As this is to\nbe more easily comprehended by an illustration, we have one in an\nincident of one of Turner's pictures, and, considering the object, it\nis surprising the author did not find one more important; but he\nherein shows that, in his eyes, every stroke of the brush by Mr Turner\nis important--indeed, is a considerable addition to our national\nwealth. In the picture of the \"Building of Carthage,\" the foreground\nis occupied by a group of children sailing toy-boats, which he thinks\nto be an \"exquisite choice of incident expressive of the ruling\npassion.\" He, with a whimsical extravagance in praise of Turner,\nwhich, commencing here, runs throughout all the rest of the volume,\nsays--\"Such a thought as this is something far above all art; it is\nepic poetry of the highest order.\" Epic poetry of the highest order!\nUngrateful will be our future epic poets if they do not learn from\nthis--if such is done by boys sailing toy-boats, surely boys flying a\nkite will illustrate far better the great astronomical knowledge of\nour days. But he is rather unfortunate in this bit of criticism; for\nhe compares this incident with one of Claude's, which we, however,\nthink a far better and more poetical incident. \"Claude, in subjects of\n_the same kind_,\" (not, by the by, a very fair statement,) \"commonly\nintroduces people carrying red trunks with iron locks about, and\ndwells, with infantine delight, on the lustre of the leather and the\nornaments of the iron. The intellect can have no occupation here, we\nmust look to the imitation or to nothing.\" As to the \"_infantine\ndelight_,\" we presume it is rather with the boys and their toy-boats;\nbut let us look a little into these trunks--no, we may not--there is\nsomething more in them than our graduate imagines--the very iron\nlocks and precious leather mean to tell you there is something still\nmore precious within, worth all the cost of freightage; and you see, a\nlittle off, the great argosie that has brought the riches; and we\nhumbly think that the ruling passion of a people whose \"princes were\nmerchants, and whose merchants princes,\" as happily expressed by the\nsaid \"red trunks\" as the rise of Carthage by the boys and boats; and\nin the fervour of this bit of \"exquisite\" epic choice, probably Claude\ndid look with delight on the locks and the leather; and, whenever we\nlook upon that picture again, we shall be ready to join in the\ndelight, and say, in spite of our graduate's \"contempt,\" there is\nnothing like leather. If the boys and boats express the beginning, the\nred trunks express the thing done--merchandise \"brought home to every\nman's door;\" so that the one serves for an \"idea of relation,\" quite\nas well as the other. And here ends section the first.\n\nThe study of ideas of imitation are thrown out of the consideration of\nideas of power, as unworthy the pursuit of an artist, whose purpose is\nnot to deceive, and because they are only the result of a particular\nassociation of ideas of truth. \"There are two modes in which we receive\nthe conception of power; one, the most just, when by a perfect\nknowledge of the difficulty to be overcome, and the means employed, we\nform a right estimate of the faculties exerted; the other, when without\npossessing such intimate and accurate knowledge, we are impressed by a\nsensation of power in visible action. If these two modes of receiving\nthe impression agree in the result, and if the sensation be equal to\nthe estimate, we receive the utmost possible idea of power. But this is\nthe case perhaps with the works of only one man out of the whole circle\nof the fathers of art, of him to whom we have just referred--Michael\nAngelo. In others the estimate and the sensation are constantly\nunequal, and often contradictory.\" There is a distinction between the\nsensation of power and the intellectual perception of it. A slight\nsketch will give the sensation; the greater power is in the completion,\nnot so manifest, but of which there is a more intellectual cognizance.\nHe instances the drawings of Frederick Tayler for sensations of power,\nconsidering the apparent means; and those of John Lewis for more\ncomplete ideas of power, in reference to the greater difficulties\novercome, and the more complicated means employed. We think him\nunfortunate in his selection, as the subjects of these artists are not\nsuch as, of themselves, justly to receive ideas of power, therefore not\nthe best to illustrate them. He proceeds to \"ideas of power, as they\nare dependent on execution.\" There are six legitimate sources of\npleasure in execution--truth, simplicity, mystery, inadequacy,\ndecision, velocity. \"Decision\" we should think involved in \"truth;\" as\nso involved, not necessarily different from velocity. Mystery and\ninadequacy require explanation. \"Nature is always mysterious and secret\nin her use of means; and art is always likest her when it is most\ninexplicable.\" Execution, therefore, should be \"incomprehensible.\"\n\"Inadequacy\" can hardly, we think, be said to be a quality of\nexecution, as it has only reference to means employed. Insufficient\nmeans, according to him, give ideas of power. We otherwise\nconclude--namely, that if the inadequacy of the means is shown, we\nreceive ideas of weakness. \"Ars est celare artem\"--so is it to conceal\nthe means. Strangeness in execution, not a legitimate source of\npleasure, is illustrated by the execution of a bull's head by Rubens,\nand of the same by Berghem. Of the six qualities of execution, the\nthree first are the greatest, the three last the most attractive. He\nconsiders Berghem and Salvator to have carried their fondness for these\nlowest qualities to a vice. We can scarcely agree with him, as their\nexecution seems most appropriate to the character of their subjects--to\narise, in fact, out of their \"ideas of truth.\" There is appended a good\nnote on the execution of the \"drawing-master,\" that, under the title of\nboldness, will admit of no touch less than the tenth of an inch broad,\nand on the tricks of engravers' handling.\n\nOur graduate dismisses the \"sublime\" in about two pages; in fact, he\nconsiders sublimity not to be a specific term, nor \"descriptive of the\neffect of a particular class of ideas;\" but as he immediately asserts\nthat it is \"greatness of any kind,\" and \"the effect of greatness upon\nthe feelings,\" we should have expected to have heard a little more\nabout what constitutes this \"greatness,\" this \"sublime,\" which\n\"elevates the mind,\" something more than that \"Burke's theory of the\nnature of the sublime is incorrect.\" The sublime not being \"distinct\nfrom what is beautiful,\" he confines his subject to \"ideas of truth,\nbeauty, and relation,\" and by these he proposes to test all artists.\nTruth of facts and truth of thoughts are here considered; the first\nnecessary, but the latter the highest: we should say that it is the\nlatter which alone constitutes art, and that here art begins where\nnature ends. Facts are the foundation necessary to the superstructure;\nthe foundation of which must be there, though unseen, unnoticed in\ncontemplation of the noble edifice. Very great stress is laid upon\n\"the exceeding importance of truth;\" which none will question,\nreminding us of the commencement of Bacon's essay, \"What is truth?\nsaid laughing Pilate, and would not wait for an answer.\" \"Nothing,\"\nsays our author, \"can atone for the want of truth, not the most\nbrilliant imagination, the most playful fancy, the most pure feeling\n(supposing that feeling _could_ be pure and false at the same time,)\nnot the most exalted conception, nor the most comprehensive grasp of\nintellect, can make amends for the want of truth.\" Now, there is much\nparade in all this, surely truth, as such in reference to art, is _in_\nthe brilliancy of imagination, _in_ the playfulness, without which is\nno fancy, _in_ the feeling, and _in_ the very exaltation of a\nconception; and intellect has no _grasp_ that does not grasp a truth.\nWhen he speaks of nature as \"immeasurably superior to all that the\nhuman mind can conceive,\" and professes to \"pay no regard whatsoever\nto what may be thought beautiful, or sublime, or imaginative,\" and to\n\"look only for truth, bare, clear downright statement of facts,\" he\nseems to forget what nature is, as adopted by, as taken into art; it\nis not only external nature, but external nature in conjunction with\nthe human mind. Nor does he, in fact, adhere in the subsequent part of\nhis work to this his declaration; for he loses it in his \"fervour of\nimagination,\" when he actually examines the works of \"the great living\npainter, who is, I believe, imagined by the majority of the public to\npaint more falsehood and less fact than any other known master.\" Here\nour author jumps at once into his monomania--his adoration of the\nworks of Turner, which he examines largely and microscopically, as it\nsuits his whim, and imagines all the while he is describing and\nexamining nature; and not unfrequently he tells you, that nature and\nTurner are the same, and that he \"invites the same ceaseless study as\nthe works of nature herself.\" This is \"coming it pretty strong.\" We\nconfess we are with the majority--not that we wish to depreciate\nTurner. He is, or has been, unquestionably, a man of genius, and that\nis a great admission. He has, perhaps, done in art what never has been\ndone before. He has illuminated \"Views,\" if not with local, with a\nsplendid truth. His views of towns are the finest; he led the way to\nthis walk of art, and is far superior to all in it. We speak of his\nworks collectively. Some of his earlier, more imaginative, were\nunquestionably poetical, though not, perhaps, of a very high\ncharacter. We believe he has been better acquainted with many of the\ntruths of nature, particularly those which came within the compass of\nhis line of views, than any other artist, ancient or modern; but we\nbelieve he has neglected others, and some important ones too, and to\nwhich the old masters paid the greatest attention, and devoted the\nutmost study. We have spoken frequently, unhesitatingly, of the late\nextraordinary productions of his pencil, as altogether unworthy his\nreal genius; it is in these we see, with the majority of the public,\n\"more falsehood and less fact\" than in any other known master--a\ndefiance of the \"known truths\" in drawing, colour, and composition,\nfor which we can only account upon the supposition, that his eye\nmisrepresents to him the work of his hands. We see, in the almost\nadoration of his few admirers, that if it be difficult, and not always\ndependent, on merit to attain to eminence in the world's estimation,\nit is nearly as difficult altogether to fall from it; and that nothing\nthe artist can do, though they be the veriest \"aegri somnia,\" will\nseparate from him habitual followers, who, with a zeal in proportion\nto the extravagances he may perpetrate, will lose their relish for,\nand depreciate the great masters, whose very principles he seems\ncapriciously in his age to set aside, and they will from followers\nbecome his worshippers, and in pertinacity exact entire compliance,\nand assent to every, the silliest, dictation of their monomania. We\nsubjoin a specimen of this kind of worship, which will be found fully\nto justify our observations, and which, considering it speaks of\nmortal man, is somewhat blaspheming Divine attributes; we know not\nreally whether we should pity the condition of the author, or\nreprehend the passage. After speaking of other modern painters, who\nare so superior to the old, he says: \"and Turner--glorious in\nconception--unfathomable in knowledge--solitary in power--with the\nelements waiting upon his will, and the night and the morning obedient\nto his call, sent as a prophet of God to reveal to men the mysteries\nof his universe, standing, like the great angel of the Apocalypse,\nclothed with a cloud, and with a rainbow upon his head, and with the\nsun and stars given into his hand.\" Little as we are disposed to laugh\nat any such aberrations, we must, to remove from our minds the\ngreater, the more serious offence, indulge in a small degree of\njustifiable ridicule; and ask what will sculptor or painter make of\nthis description, should the reluctant public be convinced by the\n\"graduate,\" and in their penitential reverence order statue or\npainting of Mr Turner for the Temple of Fame, which it is presumed\nParliament, in their artistic zeal, mean to erect? How will they\nventure to represent Mr Turner looking like an angel--in that dress\nwhich would make any man look like a fool--his cloud nightcap tied\nwith rainbow riband round his head, calling to night and morning, and\nlittle caring which comes, making \"ducks and drakes\" of the sun and\nthe stars, put into his hand for that purpose? We will only suggest\none addition, as it completes the grand idea, and is in some degree\ncharacteristic of Mr Turner's peculiar execution, that, with the sun\nand stars, there should be delivered into his hand a comet, whose tail\nshould serve him for a brush, and supply itself with colour. We do not\nsee, however, why the moon should have been omitted; sun, moon, and\nstars, generally go together. Is the author as jealous as the\n\"majority of the public\" may be suspicious of her influence? And let\nnot the reader believe that Mr Turner is thus called a prophet in mere\njoke, or a fashion of words--his prophetic power is advanced in\nanother passage, wherein it is asserted that Mr Turner not only tells\nus in his works what nature has done in hers, but what she will do.\n\"In fact,\" says our author, \"the great quality about Mr Turner's\ndrawings, which more especially proves their transcendant truth, is\nthe capability they afford us of reasoning on past and future\nphenomena.\" The book teems with extravagant bombastic praise like\nthis. Mr Turner is more than the Magnus Apollo. Yet other English\nartists are brought forward, immediately preceding the above\npanegyric; we know not if we do them justice, by noticing what is said\nof them. There is a curious description of David Cos lying on the\nground \"to possess his spirit in humility and peace,\" of Copley\nFielding, as an aeronaut, \"casting his whole soul into space.\" We\nreally cannot follow him, \"exulting like the wild deer in the motion\nof the swift mists,\" and \"flying with the wild wind and sifted spray\nalong the white driving desolate sea, with the passion for nature's\nfreedom burning in his heart;\" for such a chase and such a heart-burn\nmust have a frightful termination, unless it be mere nightmare. We see\n\"J. D. Harding, brilliant and vigorous,\" &c., \"following with his\nquick, keen dash the sunlight into the crannies of the rocks, and the\nwind into the tangling of the grass, and the bright colour into the\nfall of the sea-foam--various, universal in his aim;\" after which very\nfatiguing pursuit, we are happy to find him \"under the shade of some\nspreading elm;\" yet his heart is oak--and he is \"English, all English\nat his heart.\" But Mr Clarkson Stanfield is a man of men--\"firm, and\nfearless, and unerring in his knowledge--stern and decisive in his\ntruth--perfect and certain in composition--shunning nothing,\nconcealing nothing, and falsifying nothing--never affected, never\nmorbid, never failing--conscious of his strength, but never\nostentatious of it--acquainted with every line and hue of the deep\nsea--chiseling his waves with unhesitating knowledge of every curve of\ntheir anatomy, and every moment of their motion--building his\nmountains rock by rock, with wind in every fissure, and weight in\nevery stone--and modeling the masses of his sky with the strength of\ntempest in their every fold.\" It is curious--yet a searcher after\nnature's truths ought to know, as he is here told, that waves may be\nanatomized, and must be _chiseled_, and that mountains are and ought\nto be _built_ up rock by rock, as a wall brick by brick; no easy task\nconsidering that there is a disagreeable \"wind in every fissure, and\nweight in every stone\"--and that the aerial sky, incapable to touch,\nmust be \"modeled in masses.\" All this is given after an equally\nextravagant abuse of Claude, of Salvator Rosa, and Poussin. He finds\nfault with Claude, because his sea does not \"upset the flower-pots on\nthe wall,\" forgetting that they are put there because the sea could\nnot--with Salvator, for his \"contemptible fragment of splintery crag,\nwhich an Alpine snow-wreath\" (which would have no business there)\n\"would smother in its first swell, with a stunted bush or two growing\nout of it, and a Dudley or Halifax-like volume of smoke for a\nsky\"--with Poussin, for that he treats foliage (whereof \"every bough\nis a revelation!\") as \"a black round mass of impenetrable paint,\ndiverging into feathers instead of leaves, and supported on a stick\ninstead of a trunk.\" A page or two from this, our author sadly abuses\npoor Canaletti, as far as we can see, for not painting a tumbled-down\nwall, which perhaps, in his day, was not in a ruinous state at all; it\nis a curious passage--and shows how much may be made out of a wall.\nPyramus's chink was nothing to this--behold a specimen of \"fine\nwriting!\" \"Well: take the next house. We remember that too; it was\nmouldering inch by inch into the canal, and the bricks had fallen away\nfrom its shattered marble shafts, and left them white and\nskeleton-like, yet with their fretwork of cold flowers wreathed about\nthem still, untouched by time; and through the rents of the wall\nbehind them there used to come long sunbeams gleamed by the weeds\nthrough which they pierced, which flitted, and fell one by one round\nthose grey and quiet shafts, catching here a leaf and there a leaf,\nand gliding over the illumined edges and delicate fissures until they\nsank into the deep dark hollow between the marble blocks of the sunk\nfoundation, lighting every other moment one isolated emerald lamp on\nthe crest of the intermittent waves, when the wild sea-weeds and\ncrimson lichens drifted and crawled with their thousand colours and\nfine branches over its decay, and the black, clogging, accumulated\nlimpets hung in ropy clusters from the dripping and tinkling stone.\nWhat has Canaletti given us for this?\" Alas, neither a _crawling_\nlichen, nor _clogging_ limpets, nor a _tinkling_ stone, but \"one\nsquare, red mass, composed of--let me count--five-and-fifty--no,\nsix-and-fifty--no, I was right at first, five-and-fifty bricks,\" &c.\nThe picture, if it be painted by the graduate, must be a curiosity--we\ncan make neither head nor tail of his words. But let us find another\nstrange specimen--where he compares his own observations of nature\nwith Poussin and Turner. Every one must remember a very pretty little\npicture of no great consequence by Gaspar Poussin--a view of some\nbuildings of a town said to be Aricia, the modern La Riccia--just take\nit for what it is intended to be, a quiet, modest, agreeable\nscene--very true and sweetly painted. How unfit to be compared with an\nambitious description of a combination of views from Rome to the Alban\nMount, for that is the range of the description, though, perhaps, the\ndescription is taken from a poetical view of one of Turner's\nincomprehensibles, which may account for the conclusion, \"Tell me who\nis likest this, Poussin or Turner?\" Now, though Poussin never intended\nto be like this, let us see the graduate's description of it. We know\nthe little town; it received us as well as our author, having left\nRome to visit it.\n\n    \"Egressum magna me accepit Aricia Roma.\"\n\nOur author, however, doubts if it be the place, though he\nunhesitatingly abuses Poussin, as if he had fully intended to have\npainted nothing else than what was seen by the travelling graduate.\n\"At any rate, it is a town on a hill, wooded with two-and-thirty\nbushes, of very uniform size, and possessing about the same number of\nleaves each. These bushes are all painted in with one dull opaque\nbrown, becoming very slightly greenish towards the lights, and\ndiscover in one place a bit of rock, which of course would in nature\nhave been cool and grey beside the lustrous hues of foliage, and\nwhich, therefore, being moreover completely in shade, is consistently\nand scientifically painted of a very clear, pretty, and positive brick\nred, the only thing like colour in the picture. The foreground is a\npiece of road, which, in order to make allowance for its greater\nnearness, for its being completely in light, and, it may be presumed,\nfor the quantity of vegetation usually present on carriage roads, is\ngiven in a very cool green-grey, and the truthful colouring of the\npicture is completed by a number of dots in the sky on the right, with\na stalk to them, of a sober and similar brown.\" We need not say how\nunlike is this description of the picture. We pass on to--\"Not long\nago, I was slowly _descending_ this very bit of carriage road, the\nfirst turn after you leave Albano;--it had been wild weather when I\nleft Rome, and all across the Campagna the clouds were sweeping in\nsulphurous blue, with a clap of thunder or two, and breaking gleams of\nsun along the Claudian aqueduct, lighting up the infinity of its\narches like the bridge of Chaos. But as I _climbed_ the long slope of\nthe Alban mount, the storm swept finally to the north, and the noble\noutline of the domes of Albano, and graceful darkness of its ilex\ngrove rose against pure streaks of alternate blue and amber, the upper\nsky gradually flushing through the last fragments of rain-cloud in\ndeep, palpitating azure, half aether half dew. The noonday sun came\nslanting down the rocky slopes of La Riccia, and its masses of\nentangled and tall foliage, whose autumnal tints were mixed with the\nwet verdure of a thousand evergreens, were penetrated with it as with\nrain. I cannot call it colour, it was conflagration. Purple, and\ncrimson, and scarlet, like the curtains of God's tabernacle, the\nrejoicing trees sank into the valley in showers of light, every\nseparate leaf quivering with buoyant and burning life; each, as it\nturned to reflect or to transmit the sunbeam, first a torch and then\nan emerald. Far up into the recesses of the valley, the green vistas\narched like the hollows of mighty waves of some crystalline sea, with\nthe arbutus flowers dashed along their flanks for foam, and _silver_\nflakes of _orange_ spray tossed into the air around them, breaking\nover the grey walls of rock into a thousand separate stars, fading and\nkindling alternately as the weak wind lifted and let them fall. Every\nglade of grass burned like the golden floor of heaven, opening in\nsudden gleams as the foliage broke and closed above it, as sheet\nlightning opens in a cloud at sunset; the motionless masses of dark\nrock--dark though flushed with scarlet lichen--casting their quiet\nshadows across its restless radiance, the fountain underneath them\nfilling its marble hollow with blue mist and fitful sound, and over\nall--the multitudinous bars of amber and rose, the _sacred_ clouds\nthat have no _darkness_, and only exist to illumine, were seen in\nfathomless intervals between the solemn and _orbed_ repose of the\nstone pines, passing to lose themselves in the last, white, blinding\nlustre of the measureless line where the Campagna melted into the\nblaze of the sea.\" In verity, this is no \"Campana Supellex.\" It is a\nriddle! Is he going up or down hill--or both at once? No human being\ncan tell. He did not like the \"sulphur and treacle\" of \"our Scotch\nconnoisseurs;\" but what colours has he not added here to his\nsulphur--colours, too, that we fear for the \"idea of truth\" cannot\ncoexist! And how, in the name of optics, could it be possible for any\npainter to take in all this, with the \"_fathomless intervals_,\" into\nan angle of vision of forty-five degrees? It is quite superfluous to\nask \"who is likest this, Turner or Poussin?\" There immediately follows\na remark upon another picture in the National Gallery, the \"Mercury\nand Woodman,\" by Salvator Rosa, than which nothing can be more untrue\nto the original. He asserts that Salvator painted the distant\nmountains, \"throughout, without one instant of variation. But what is\nits colour? _Pure_ sky-blue, without one grain of grey, or any\nmodifying hue whatsoever;--the same brush which had just given the\nbluest parts of the sky, has been more loaded at the same part of the\npallette, and the whole mountain throw in with unmitigated\nultramarine.\" Now the fact is, that the picture has, in this part,\nbeen so injured, that it is hard to say what colour is under the dirty\nbrown-asphaltum hue and texture that covers it. It is certainly not\nblue now, not \"pure blue\"--unless pictures change like the cameleon.\nWe know the picture well, and have seen another of the same subject,\nwhere the mountains have variety, and yet are blue. We believe a great\nsum was given for this picture--far more than its condition justifies.\nWe must return--we left the graduate discussing ideas of truth. There\nis a chapter to show that the truth of nature is not to be discerned\nby the uneducated senses. As we do not perceive all sounds that enter\nthe ear, so do we not perceive all that is cognizable by the eye--we\nhave, that is, a power of nullifying an impression; that this habit is\nso common, that from the abstraction of their minds to other subjects,\nthere are probably persons who never saw any thing beautiful.\nSensibility to the power of beauty is required--and to see rightly,\nthere should be a perfect state of moral feeling. Even when we think\nwe see with our eyes, our perception is often the result of memory, of\nprevious knowledge; and it is in this way he accounts for the mistake\npainters and others make with respect to Italian skies. What will Mr\nUwin and his followers in blue say to this, alas--Italian skies are\nnot blue? \"How many people are misled by what has been said and sung\nof the serenity of Italian skies, to suppose they must be more blue\nthan the skies of the north, and think that they see them so; whereas\nthe sky of Italy is far more dull and grey in colour than the skies of\nthe north, and is distinguished only by its intense repose of light.\"\nBenevenuto Cellini speaks of the mist of Italy. \"Repose of light\" is\nrather a novelty--he is fond of it. But then Turner paints with pure\nwhite--for ourselves we are with the generality of mankind who prefer\nthe \"repose\" of shade. \"Ask a connoisseur, who has scampered over all\nEurope, the shape of the leaf of an elm, and the chances are ninety to\none that he cannot tell you; and yet he will be voluble of criticism\non every painted landscape from Dresden to Madrid\"--and why not? The\nchances are ninety to one that the merits of not a single picture\nshall depend upon this knowledge, and yet the pictures shall be good\nand the connoisseur right. One man sees what another does not see in\nportraits. Undoubtedly; but how any one is to find in a portrait the\nfollowing, we are at a loss to conceive. \"The third has caught the\ntrace of all that was most hidden and most mighty, when all hypocrisy\nand all habit, and all petty and passing emotion--the _ice, and the\nbank, and the foam of the immortal river--were shivered and broken,\nand swallowed up in the awakening of its inward strength_,\" _&c._ How\ncan a man with a pen in his hand let such stuff as this drop from his\nfingers' ends?\n\nIn the chapter \"on the relative importance of truths,\" there is a\nlittle needless display of logic--needless, for we find, after all, he\ndoes not dispute \"the kind of truths proper to be represented by the\npainter or sculptor,\" though he combats the maxim that general truths\nare preferable to particular. His examples are quite out of art,\nwhether one be spoken of as a man or as Sir Isaac Newton. Even\nlogically speaking, Sir Isaac Newton may be the _whole_ of the\nsubject, and as such a whole might require a generality. There may be\nmany particulars that are best sunk. So, in a picture made up of many\nparts, it should have a generality totally independent of the\nparticularities of the parts, which must be so represented as not to\ninterfere with that general idea, and which may be altogether in the\nmind of the artist. This little discussion seems to arise from a sort\nof quibble on the word important. Sir Joshua and others, who abet the\ngenerality maxim, mean no more than that it is of importance to a\npicture that it contain, fully expressed, one general idea, with which\nno parts are to interfere, but that the parts will interfere if each\npart be represented with its most particular truth--and that,\ntherefore, drapery should be drapery merely, not silk or satin, where\nhigh truths of the subject are to be impressed.\n\n\"Colour is a secondary truth, therefore less important than form.\"\n\"He, therefore, who has neglected a truth of form for a truth of\ncolour, has neglected a greater truth for a less one.\" It is true\nwith regard to any individual object--but we doubt if it be always so\nin picture. The character of the picture may not at all depend upon\nform--nay, it is possible that the painter may wish to draw away the\nmind altogether from the beauty, and even correctness of form, his\nsubject being effect and colour, that shall be predominant, and to\nwhich form shall be quite subservient, and little more of it than\nsuch as chiaro-scuro shall give; and in such a case colour is the\nmore important truth, because in it lies the sentiment of the\npicture. The mystery of Rembrandt would vanish were beauty of form\nintroduced in many of his pictures. We remember a picture, the most\nimpressive picture perhaps ever painted, and that by a modern too,\nDanby's \"Opening of the Sixth Seal.\" Now, though there are fine parts\nin this picture, the real power of the picture is in its colour--it\nis awful. We are no enemy to modern painters; we think this a work of\nthe highest genius--and as such, should be most proud to see it\ndeposited in our National Gallery. We further say, that in some\nrespects it carries the art beyond the old practice. But, then, we\nmay say it is a new subject. \"It is not certain whether any two\npeople see the same colours in things.\" Though that does not affect\nthe question of the importance of colour, for it must imply a defect\nin the individuals, for undoubtedly there is such a thing as nature's\nharmony of colour; yet it may be admitted, that things are not always\nknown by their colour; nay, that the actual local colour of objects\nis mainly altered by effects of light, and we are accustomed to see\nthe same things, _quoad_ colour, variously presented to us--and the\ninference that we think artists may draw from this fact is, that\nthere will be allowed them a great licence in all cases of colour,\nand that naturalness may be preserved without exactness--and here\nwill lie the value of a true theory of the harmony of colours, and\nthe application of colouring to pictures, most suitable to the\nintended impression, not the most appropriate to the objects. We have\noften laid some stress upon this in the pages of _Maga_--and we think\nit has been too much omitted in the consideration of artists. Every\none knows what is called a Claude glass. We see nature through a\ncoloured medium--yet we do not doubt that we are looking at\nnature--at trees, at water, at skies--nay, we admire the colour--see\nits harmony and many beauties--yet we know them to be, if we may use\nthe term, misrepresented. While speaking of the Claude glass, it will\nnot be amiss to notice a peculiarity. It shows a picture--when the\nunaided eye will not; it heightens illumination--brings out the most\ndelicate lights, scarcely perceptible to the naked eye, and gives\ngreater power to the shades, yet preserves their delicacy. It seems\nto annihilate all those rays of light, which, as it were, intercept\nthe picture--that come between the eye and the object. But to return\nto colour--we say that it must, in the midst of its license, preserve\nits naturalness--which it will do if it have a meaning in itself. But\nwhen we are called upon to question what is the meaning of this or\nthat colour, how does its effect agree with the subject? why is it\noutrageously yellow or white, or blue or red, or a jumble of all\nthese?--which are questions, we confess, that we and the public have\noften asked, with regard to Turner's late pictures--we do not\nacknowledge a naturalness--the license has been abused--not \"sumpta\npudenter.\" It is not because the vividness of \"a blade of grass or a\nscarlet flower\" shall be beyond the power of pigment, that a general\nglare and obtrusion of such colours throughout a picture can be\njustified. We are astonished that any man with eyes should see the\nunnaturalness in colour of Salvator and Titian, and not see it in\nTurner's recent pictures, where it is offensive because more glaring.\nThose masters sacrificed, if it be a sacrifice, something to\nrepose--repose is _the_ thing to be sacrificed according to the\nnotions of too many of our modern schools. It is likewise singular,\nafter all the falsehoods which he asserts the old masters to have\npainted, that he should speak of \"imitation\"--as their whole aim,\ntheir sole intention to deceive; and yet he describes their pictures\nas unlike nature in the detail and in the general as can be,\nstrangely missing their object--deception. We fear the truths,\nparticulars of which occupy the remainder of the volume--of earth,\nwater, skies, &c.--are very minute truths, which, whether true or\nfalse, are of very little importance to art, unless it be to those\nbranches of art which may treat the whole of each particular truth\nas the whole of a subject, a line of art that may produce a multitude\nof works, like certain scenes of dramatic effect, surprising to see\nonce, but are soon powerless--can we hope to say of such, \"decies\nrepetita placebunt?\" They will be the fascinations of the view\nschools, nay, may even delight the geologist and the herbalist, but\nutterly disgust the imaginative. This kind of \"knowledge\" is not\n\"power\" in art. We want not to see water anatomized; the Alps may be\ntomahawked and scalped by geologists, yet may they be sorry painters.\nAnd we can point to the general admiration of the world, learned and\nunlearned, that a \"contemptible fragment of a splintery crag\" has\nbeen found to answer all the purposes of an impression of the\ngreatness of nature, her free, great, and awful forms, and that\ndepth, shades, power of chiaro-scuro, are found in nature to be\nstrongest in objects of no very great magnitude; for our vision\nrequires nearness, and we want not the knowledge that a mountain is\n20,000 feet high, to be convinced that it is quite large enough to\ncrush man and all his works; and that they, who, in their terror of a\ngreater pressure, would call upon the mountains to cover them, and\nthe holes of rocks to hide them, would think very little of the\nmeasurement of the mountains, or how the caverns of the earth are\nmade. Greatness and sublimity are quite other things.\n\nWe shall not very systematically carry our views, therefore, into the\ndetail of these truths, but shall just pick here and there a passage\nor so, that may strike us either for its utility or its absurdity.\n\nWith regard to truth of tone, he observes--that \"the finely-toned\npictures of the old masters are some of the notes of nature played two\nor three octaves below her key, the dark objects in the middle\ndistance having precisely the same relation to the light of the sky\nwhich they have in nature, but the light being necessarily infinitely\nlowered, and the mass of the shadow deepened in the same degree. I\nhave often been struck, when looking at a camera-obscura on a dark\nday, with the exact resemblance the image bore to one of the finest\npictures of the old masters.\" We only ask if, when looking at the\npicture in the camera, he did not still recognize nature--and then, if\nit was beautiful, we might ask him if it was not _true_; and then when\nhe asserts our highest light being white paper, and that not white\nenough for the light of nature--we would ask if, in the camera, he did\nnot see the picture on white paper--and if the whiteness of paper be\nnot the exact whiteness of nature, or white as ordinary nature? But\nthere is a quality in the light of nature that mere whiteness will not\ngive, and which, in fact, is scarcely ever seen in nature merely in\nwhat is quite white; we mean brilliancy--that glaze, as it were,\nbetween the object and the eye which makes it not so much light as\nbright. Now this quality of light was thought by the old masters to be\nthe most important one of light, extending to the half tones and even\nin the shadows, where there is still light; and this by art and\nlowering the tone they were able to give, so that we see not the value\nof the praise when he says--\n\n\"Turner starts from the beginning with a totally different principle.\nHe boldly takes pure white--and justly, for it is the sign of the most\nintense sunbeams--for his highest light, and lamp-black for his\ndeepest shade,\" &c. Now, if white be the sign of the most intense\nsunbeams, it is as we never wish to see them; what under a tropical\nsun may be white is not quite white with us; and we always find it\ndisagreeable in proportion as it approaches to pure white. We never\nsaw yet in nature a sky or a cloud pure white; so that here certainly\nis one of the \"fallacies,\" we will not call them falsehoods. But as\nfar as we can judge of nature's ideas of light and colour, it is her\nobject to tone them down, and to give us very little, if any, of this\nraw white, and we would not say that the old masters did not follow\nher method of doing it. But we will say, that the object of art, at\nany rate, is to make all things look agreeable; and that human eyes\ncannot bear without pain those raw whites and too searching lights;\nand that nature has given to them an ever present power of glazing\ndown and reducing them, when she added to the eye the sieve, our\neyelashes, through which we look, which we employ for this purpose,\nand desire not to be dragged at any time--\"Sub curru nimium propinqui\nsolis.\"\n\nAfter this praise of white, one does not expect--\"I think nature\nmixes yellow with almost every one of her hues;\" but this is said\nmerely in aversion to purple. \"I think the first approach to\nviciousness of colour in any master, is commonly indicated chiefly by\na prevalence of purple and an absence of yellow.\" \"I am equally\ncertain that Turner is distinguished from all the vicious colourists\nof the present day, by the foundation of all his tones being black,\nyellow, and intermediate greys, while the tendency of our common\nglare-seekers is invariably to pure, cold, impossible purples.\"\n\n    \"Silent nymph, with curious eye,\n    Who the _purple_ evening lie,\"\n\nsaith Dyer, in his landscape of \"Grongar Hill.\" The \"glare-seekers\" is\ncurious enough, when we remember the graduate's description of\nlandscapes, (of course Turner's,) and his excursions; but we think we\nhave seen many purples in Turner, and that opposed to his flaming red\nin sunsets. He prefers warmth where most people feel cold--this is not\nsurprising; but as to picture \"is it true?\" \"My own feelings would\nguide me rather to the warm greys of such pictures as the\n'Snow-Storm,' or the glowing scarlet and gold of the 'Napoleon' and\nthe 'Slave Ship.'\" The two latter must be well remembered by all\nExhibition visitors; they were the strangest things imaginable in\ncolour as in every particle that should be art or nature. There is a\nwhimsical quotation from Wordsworth, the \"keenest-eyed,\" page 145. His\nobject is to show the strength of shadow--how \"the shadows on the\ntrunk of the tree become darker and more conspicuous than any part of\nthe boughs or limbs;\" so, for this strength and blackness, we have--\n\n                      \"At the root\n    Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare\n    And slender stem, while here I sit at eve,\n    Oft stretches tow'rds me, like a long straight path,\n    Traced _faintly_ in the greensward.\"\n\n\"Of the truth of space,\" he says that \"in a real landscape, we can see\nthe whole of what would be called the middle distance and distance\ntogether, with facility and clearness; but while we do so, we can see\nnothing in the foreground beyond a vague and indistinct arrangement of\nlines and colours; and that if, on the contrary, we look at any\nforeground object, so as to receive a distinct impression of it, the\ndistance and middle distance become all disorder and mystery. And\ntherefore, if in a painting our foreground is any thing, our distance\nmust be nothing, and _vice versa_.\" \"Now, to this fact and principle,\nno landscape painter of the old school, as far as I remember, ever\npaid the slightest attention. Finishing their foregrounds clearly and\nsharply, and with vigorous impression on the eye, giving even the\nleaves of their bushes and grass with perfect edge and shape, they\nproceeded into the distance with equal attention to what they could\nsee of its details,\" &c. But he had blamed Claude for not having given\nthe exactness and distinct shape and colour of leaves in foreground.\nThe fact is, the picture should be as a piece of nature framed in.\nWithin that frame, we should not see distinctly the foreground and\ndistance at the same instant: but, as we have stated, the eye and mind\nare rapid, the one to see, the other to combine; and as a horse let\nloose into a field, runs to the extremity of it and around it, the\nfirst thing he does--so do we range over every part of the picture,\nbut with wondrous rapidity, before our impression of the whole is\nperfect. We must not, therefore, slur over any thing; the difficulty\nin art is to give the necessary, and so made necessary, detail of\nforeground unostentatiously--to paint nothing, that which is to tell\nas nothing, but so as it shall satisfy upon examination; and we think\nso the old masters did paint the foregrounds, particularly Gaspar\nPoussin--so Titian, so Domenichino, and all of any merit. But this is\nmerely an introduction, not to a palliation of, but the approbation\nand praise of a glaring defect in Turner. \"Turner introduced a new era\nin landscape art, by showing that the foreground might be sunk for the\ndistance, and that it was possible to express immediate proximity to\nthe spectator, without giving any thing like completeness to the forms\nof the near objects.\" We are now, therefore, prepared for an absurd\n\"justification of the want of drawing in Turner's figures,\" thus\ncontemptuously, with regard to all but himself, accounted for. \"And\nnow we see the reason for the singular, and, to the ignorant in art,\nthe offensive execution of Turner's figures. I do not mean to assert\nthat there is any reason whatsoever for _bad_ drawing, (though in\nlandscape it matters exceedingly little;) but there is both reason and\nnecessity for that want of drawing which gives even the nearest\nfigures round balls with four pink spots in them instead of faces, and\nfour dashes of the brush instead of hands and feet; for it is totally\nimpossible that if the eye be adapted to receive the rays proceeding\nfrom the utmost distance, and some partial impression from all the\ndistances, it should be capable of perceiving more of the forms and\nfeatures of near figures than Turner gives.\" Yet what wonderful detail\nhas he required from Canaletti and others?--But is there any reason\nwhy we should have \"_pink_ spots?\"--is there any reason why Turner's\nforeground figures should resemble penny German dolls?--and for the\nreason we have above given, there ought to be reason why the figures\nshould be made out, at least as they are in a camera-obscura. We here\nspeak of nature, of \"truth,\" and with him ask, it may be all very\nwell--but \"is it true?\" But we have another fault to find with\nTurner's figures; they are often bad in intention. What can be more\nabsurd and incongruous, for instance, than in a picture of \"elemental\nwar\"--a sea-coast--than to put a child and its nurse in foreground,\nthe child crying because it has lost its hoop, or some such thing? It\nis according to his truth of space, that distances should have every\n\"hair's-breadth\" filled up, all its \"infinity,\" with infinities of\nobjects, but that whatever is near, if figures, may be \"pink spots,\"\nand \"four dashes of the brush.\" While with Poussin--\"masses which\nresult from the eclipse of details are contemptible and painful;\" and\nhe thinks Poussin has but \"meaningless tricks of clever\nexecution\"--forgetting that all art is but a trick--yet one of those\ntricks worth knowing, and yet which how few have acquired! Surely our\nauthor is not well acquainted with Hobbima's works; that painter had\nnot a niggling execution. \"A single dusty roll of Turner's brush is\nmore truly expressive of the infinity of foliage, than the niggling of\nHobbima could have rendered his canvass, if he had worked on it till\ndoomsday.\" Our author seems to have studied skies, such as they are in\nTurner or in nature. He talks of them with no inconsiderable swagger\nof observation, while the old masters had no observation at\nall;--\"their blunt and feelingless eyes never perceived it in nature;\nand their untaught imaginations were not likely to originate it in\nstudy.\" What is the _it_, will be asked--we believe it to be a\n\"cirrus,\" and that a cirrus is the subject of a chapter to itself.\nThis beard of the sky, however, instead of growing below, is quite\nabove, \"never formed below an elevation of at least 15,000 feet, are\nmotionless, multitudinous lines of delicate vapour, with which the\nblue of the open sky is commonly streaked or speckled after several\ndays of fine weather. They are more commonly known as 'mare's tails.'\"\nHaving found this \"mare's nest,\" he delights in it. It is the glory of\nmodern masters. He becomes inflated, and lifts himself 15,000 feet\nabove the level of the understanding of all old masters, and, as we\nthink, of most modern readers, as thus:--\"One alone has taken notice\nof the neglected upper sky; it is his peculiar and favourite field; he\nhas watched its every modification, and given its every phase and\nfeature; at all hours, in all seasons, he has followed its passions\nand its changes, and has brought down and laid open to the world\nanother apocalypse of heaven.\" Very well, considering that the cirrus\nnever touches even the highest mountains of Europe, to follow its\nphase (query faces) and feature 15,000 feet high, and given pink dots,\nfour pink dots for the faces and features of human beings within\nfifteen feet of his brush. We will not say whether the old masters\npainted this cirrus or not. We believe they painted what they and we\nsee, at least so much as suited their pictures--but as they were not,\ngenerally speaking, exclusively sky-painters, but painters of subjects\nto which the skies were subordinate, they may be fairly held excused\nfor this their lack of ballooning after the \"cirrus;\" and we thank\nthem that they were not \"glare-seekers,\" \"threading\" their way, with\nit before them, \"among the then transparent clouds, while all around\nthe sun is unshadowed fire.\" We lose him altogether in the \"central\ncloud region,\" where he helps nature pretty considerably as she \"melts\neven the unoccupied azure into palpitating shades,\" and hopelessly\nturns the corner of common observation, and escapes among the \"fifty\naisles penetrating through angelic chapels to the shechinah of the\nblue.\" We must expect him to descend a little vain of his exploit, and\nso he does--and wonders not that the form and colour of Turner should\nbe misunderstood, for \"they require for the full perception of their\nmeaning and truth, such knowledge and such time as not one in a\nthousand possesses, or can bestow.\" The inference is, that the\ngraduate has graduated a successful phaeton, driving Mr Turner's\nchariot through all the signs of the zodiac. So he sends all artists,\nancient and modern, to Mr Turner's country, as \"a magnificent\nstatement, all truth\"--that is, \"impetuous clouds, twisted rain,\nflickering sunshine, fleeting shadow, gushing water, and oppressed\ncattle\"--yes, more, it wants repose, and there it is--\"High and far\nabove the dark volumes of the swift rain-cloud, are seen on the left,\nthrough their opening, the quiet, horizontal, silent flakes of the\nhighest cirrus, resting in the repose of the deep sky;\" and there they\nare, \"delicate, soft, passing vapours,\" and there is \"the exquisite\ndepth and _palpitating_ tenderness of the blue with which they are\nislanded.\" Thus _islanded in tenderness_, what wonder is it if Ixion\nembraced a cloud? Let not the modern lover of nature entertain such a\nthought; \"Bright Ph[oe]bus\" is no minor canon to smile complacently on\nthe matter; he has a jealousy in him, and won't let any be in a\nmelting mood with the clouds but himself; he tears aside your\ncurtains, and steam-like rags of capricious vapour--\"the mouldering\nsun, seeming not far away, but burning like a red-hot ball beside you,\nand as if you could reach it, plunges through the rushing wind and\nrolling cloud with headlong fall, as if it meant to rise no more,\ndyeing all the air about it with blood.\" This is no fanciful\ndescription, but among the comparative views of nature's and of\nTurner's skies, as seen, and verified upon his affidavit, by a\ngraduate of Oxford; who may have an indisposition to boast of his\nexclusive privilege.\n\n    \"+Aerobato kai periphrono ton helion.+\"\n\nAccordingly, in \"the effects of light rendered by modern art,\" our\nauthor is very particular indeed. His extraordinary knowledge of the\nsun's position, to a hair's-breadth in Mr Turner's pictures, and\nminute of the day, is quite surprising. He gives a table of two pages\nand a-half, of position and moment, \"morning, noon, and afternoon,\"\n\"evening and night.\" In more than one instance, he is so close, as\n\"five minutes before sunset.\"\n\nHaving settled the matter of the sky, our author takes the earth in\nhand, and tosses it about like a Titan. \"The spirit of the hills is\naction, that of the lowlands, repose; and between these there is to be\nfound every variety of motion and of rest, from the inactive plain,\nsleeping like the firmament, with cities for stars, to the fiery peaks\nwhich, with heaving bosoms and exulting limbs, with clouds drifting\nlike hair from their bright foreheads, lift up their Titan hands to\nheaven saying, 'I live for ever.'\" We learn, too, a wonderful power in\nthe excited earth, far beyond that which other \"naturalists\" describe\nof the lobster, who only, _ad libitum_, casts off a claw or so. \"But\nthere is this difference between the action of the earth and that of a\nliving creature, that while the exerted limb marks its bones and\ntendons through the flesh, the excited earth casts off the flesh\naltogether, and its bones come out from beneath. Mountains are the\nbones of the earth, their highest peaks are invariably those parts of\nits anatomy, which in the plains lie buried under five-and-twenty\nthousand feet of solid thickness of superincumbent soil, and which\nspring up in the mountain ranges in vast pyramids or wedges, flinging\ntheir garment of earth away from them on each side.\" If the gentle\nsketcher should happily escape a cuff from these cast-off clothes\nflung by excited earth from her extremities, he may be satisfied with\nrepose in the lap of mother earth, who must be considerably fat and\ncushioned, though some may entertain a fear of being overlaid. What is\nthe artist to do with an earth like this, body and bones? When he sits\ndown to sketch some placid landscape, is he to think of poor nature\nwith her bones sticking out from twenty-five thousand feet of her\nsolid flesh! Mother of Gargantia--thou wert but a dwarf! Salvator Rosa\ncould not paint rock; Gaspar Poussin could not paint rock. A rock, in\nshort, is such a thing as nobody ought to paint, or can paint but\nTurner; and all that, after his description of rock, we believe; but\nwere not prepared to learn that \"the foreground of the 'Napoleon' in\nlast year's Academy,\" is \"one of the most exquisite pieces of rock\ntruth ever put on canvass.\" In fact, we really, in ignorance to be\nashamed of, did not know there was any rock there at all. We only\nremember Napoleon and his cocked-hat--now, this is extraordinary; for\nas _we_ only or chiefly remember the cocked-hat, so he sees the said\ncocked-hat in Salvator's rocks, where we never saw such a thing,\nthough \"he has succeeded in covering his foregrounds with forms which\napproximate to those of drapery, of ribands, of _crushed cocked-hats_,\nof locks of hair, of waves, of leaves, or any thing, in short,\nflexible or tough, but which, of course, are not only unlike, but\ndirectly contrary to the forms which nature has impressed on rocks.\"\nAnd the nature of rocks he must know, having the \"Napoleon\" before\nhim. \"In the 'Napoleon' I can illustrate by no better example, for I\ncan reason as well from this as I could with my foot on the native\nrock.\" What rocks of Salvator's, besides the No. 220 of the Dulwich\ngallery, he has seen, we cannot pretend to say; we have, within these\nfew days, seen one, and could not discover the \"commas,\" the \"Chinese\nfor rocks,\" nor Sanscrit for rocks, but did read the language of\nnature, without the necessity of any writing under--\"This is a rock.\"\nPoor Claude, he knew nothing of perspective, and his efforts\n\"invariably ended in reducing his pond to the form of a round O, and\nmaking it look perpendicular;\" but in one instance Claude luckily hits\nupon \"a little bit of accidental truth;\" he is circumstantial in its\nlocality--\"the little piece of ground above the cattle, between the\nhead of the brown cow and the tail of the white one, is well\narticulated, just where it turns into shade.\"\n\nAfter the entire failure of all artists that ever lived before Turner\nin land and skies, we are prepared to find that they had not the least\nidea of water. When they thought they painted water, in fact, they\nwere like \"those happier children, sliding on dry ground,\" and had not\nthe chance of wetting a foot. Water, too, is a thing to be anatomized,\na sort of rib-fluidity. The moving, transparent water, in shallow and\nin depth, of Vandervelde and Backhuysen, is not the least like water;\nthey are men who \"libelled the sea.\" Many of our moderns--Stanfield in\nparticular--seem naturally web-footed; but the real Triton of the sea,\nas he was Titan of the earth, is Turner. To our own eyes, in this\nrespect, he stands indebted to the engraver; for we do not remember a\nsingle sea-piece by Turner, in water-colour or oil, in which the water\nis _liquid_. What it is like, in the picture of the Slave-ship, which\nis considered one of his very finest productions, we defy any one to\ntell. We are led to guess it is meant for water, by the strange fish\nthat take their pastime. A year or two ago were exhibited two\nsea-pieces, of nearly equal size, at the British Institution, by\nVandervelde and Turner. It was certainly one of Turner's best; but how\ninferior was the water and the sky to the water and sky in\nVandervelde! In Turner they were both rocky. We say not this to the\ndisparagement of Turner's genius. He had not studied these elements as\ndid Vandervelde. The two painters ought not to be compared together;\nand we humbly think that any man who should pronounce of Vandervelde\nand Backhuysen, that they \"libelled the sea,\" convicts himself of a\nwondrous lack of taste and feeling. Of their works he thus speaks--\"As\nit is, I believe there is scarcely such another instance to be found\nin the history of man, of the epidemic aberration of mind into which\nmultitudes fall by infection, as is furnished by the value set upon\nthe works of these men.\" Of water, he says--\"Nothing can hinder water\nfrom being a reflecting medium but dry dust or filth of some kind on\nits surface. Dirty water, if the foul matter be dissolved or suspended\nin the liquid, reflects just as clearly and sharply as pure water,\nonly the image is coloured by the hue of the mixed matter, and becomes\ncomparatively brown or dark.\" We entirely deny this, from constant\nobservation. Within this week we have been studying a stream, which\nhas alternated in its clearness and muddiness. We found the\nreflection not only less clear in the latter case, but instead of\nbrown and dark, to have lost its brownness, and to have become\nlighter. To understand the \"curves\" of water being beyond the reach of\nmost who are not graduates of Oxford; and painters and admirers of old\nmasters being people without sense, at least in comparison with the\ngraduate, he thus disposes of his learned difficulty:--\"This is a\npoint, however, on which it is impossible to argue without going into\nhigh mathematics, and even then the nature of particular curves, as\ngiven by the brush, would be scarcely demonstrable; and I am the less\ndisposed to take much trouble about it, because I think that the\npersons who are really fond of these works are almost beyond the reach\nof argument.\" The celebrated Mrs Partington once endeavoured, at\nSidmouth, to dispose of these \"curves,\" and failed; and we suspect a\nstronger reason than the incapacity of his readers for our author's\nthus disposing of the subject. We believe the world would not give a\npin's head for all the seas that ever might be painted upon these\nmathematical curves; and that, in painting, even a graduate's \"high\nmathematics\" are but a very low affair. But let us enliven the reader\nwith something really high--and here is, in very high-flown prose,\npart of a description of a waterfall; and it will tell him a secret,\nthat in the midst of these fine falls, nature keeps a furnace and\nsteam-engine continually at work, and having the fire at hand, sends\nup rockets--if you doubt--read:--\"And how all the hollows of that foam\nburn with green fire, like so much _shattering chrysoprase_; and how,\never and anon, startling you with its white flash, a jet of spray\nleaps hissing out of the fall, like a rocket, bursting in the wind,\nand driven away in dust, filling the air with light; and how, through\nthe curdling wreaths of the restless, crashing abyss below, the blue\nof the water, paled by the foam in its body, shows purer than the sky\nthrough white rain-cloud, while the shuddering iris stoops in\ntremulous stillness over all, fading and flashing alternately through\nthe choking spray and shattered sunshine, hiding itself at last among\nthe thick golden leaves, which toss to and fro in sympathy with the\nwild water, their dripping masses lifted at intervals, like sheaves of\nloaded corn, by some stronger gush from the cataract, and bowed again\nupon the mossy rocks as its roar dies away.\" \"Satque superque\nsatis\"--we cannot go on. There is nothing like calling things by their\ncontraries--it is truly startling. Whenever you speak of water, treat\nit as fire--of fire, _vice versa_, as water; and be sure to send them\nall shattering out of reach and discrimination of all sense; and look\ninto a dictionary for some such word as \"chrysoprase,\" which we find\nto come from +chrysos+ gold, and +prason+ a leek, and means a precious\nstone; it is capable of being shattered, together with \"sunshine\"--the\nreader will think the whole passage a \"flash\" of moonshine. But there\nis a discovery--\"I believe, when you have stood by this for half an\nhour, you will have discovered that there is something more in nature\nthan has been given by Ruysdael.\" You will indeed--if this be nature!\nBut, alas, what have we not to undergo--to discover what water is, and\nto become capable of judging of Turner! It is a comfort, however, that\nhe is likely to have but few judges. Graduate has courage to undergo\nany thing. Ariel was nothing in his ubiquity to him, though he put a\nspan about the world in forty minutes; \"but there was some apology for\nthe public's not understanding this, for few people have had the\nopportunity of seeing the sea at such a time, and when they have,\ncannot face it. To hold by a mast or rock, and watch it, is a\nprolonged endurance of drowning, which few people have courage to go\nthrough. To those who have, it is one of the noblest lessons in\nnature.\" Very few people, indeed, and those few \"involuntary\nexperimentalists.\"\n\nWe are glad to get on dry land again, \"brown furze or any thing\"--and\nhere we must question one of his truths of vegetation: he asserts,\nthat the stems of all trees, the \"ordinary trees of Europe, do not\ntaper, but grow up or out, in undiminished thickness, till they throw\nout branch and bud, and then go off again to the next of equal\nthickness.\" We have carefully examined many trees this last week, and\nfind it is not the case; in almost all, the bulging at the bottom,\nnearest the root, is manifest. There is an early association in our\nminds, that the birch for instance is remarkably tapering in its\ntwigs. We would rather refer our \"sworn measurer\" to the factor than\nthe painter, and we very much question whether his \"top and top\" will\nmeet the market. We are satisfied the fact is not as he states it, and\nsurely nature works not by such measure rule. We suspect, for nature\nwe should here read Turner, for his trees, certainly, are strange\nthings; it is true, he generally shirks them. We do not remember one\npicture that has a good, true, _bona fide_, conspicuous tree in it.\nThe reader will not be surprised to learn that the worst painter of\ntrees was Gaspar Poussin! and that the perfection of trees is to be\nfound in Turner's \"Marley,\" where most people will think the trees\nlook more like brooms than trees. The chapter on \"the Truth of Turner\"\nconcludes with a quotation--we presume the extract from a letter from\nMr Turner to the author. If so, Mr Turner has somewhat caught the\nauthor's style, and tells very simple truths in a very fine manner,\nthus:--\"I cannot gather the sunbeams out of the east, or I would make\n_them_ tell you what I have seen; but read this, and interpret this,\nand let us remember together. I cannot gather the gloom out of the\nnight-sky, or I would make that teach you what I have seen; but read\nthis, and interpret this, and let us feel together.\" We must pause.\nReally we do not see the slightest necessity of an interpretation\nhere. It is a simple fact. He cannot extract \"sunbeams\" from\ncucumbers--from the east, we should say. The only riddle seems to be,\nthat they should, in one instance, remember together, and in the\nother, feel together; only we guess that, being night-gloom, people\nnaturally feel about them in the dark. But he proceeds--\"And if you\nhave not that within you which I can summon to my aid, if you have not\nthe sun in your spirit, and the passion in your heart, which my words\nmay awaken, though they be indistinct and swift, leave me.\" We must\npause again; here _is_ a riddle: what can be the meaning of having the\nsun in one's spirit?--is it any thing like having the moon in one's\nhead? We give it up. The passion in the heart we suppose to be dead\nasleep, and the words and voice harsh and grating, and so it is\nawakened. But what that if, or if not, has to do with \"leave me,\" we\ncannot conjecture; but this we do venture to conjecture, that to\nexpect our graduate ever to _leave_ Mr Turner is one of the most\nhopeless of all Mr Turner's \"Fallacies of Hope.\" But the writer\nproceeds with a _for_--that appears, nevertheless, a pretty\nconsiderable _non-sequitur_. \"For I will give you no patient mockery,\nno laborious insult of that glorious nature, whose I am and whom I\nserve.\" Here the graduate is treated as a servant, and the writer of\nthe letter assumes the Pythian, the truly oracular vein. \"Let other\nservants imitate the voice and the gesture of their master while they\nforget his message. Hear that message from me, but remember that the\nteaching of Divine Truth must still be a mystery.\" \"Like master like\nman.\" Both are in the \"Cambyses' vein.\"\n\nWe do not think that landscape painters will either gain or lose much\nby the publication of this volume, unless it be some mortification to\nbe so sillily lauded as some of our very respectable painters are. We\ndo not think that the pictorial world, either in taste or practice,\nwill be Turnerized by this palpably fulsome, nonsensical praise. In\nthis our graduate is _semper idem_, and to keep up his idolatry to the\nsticking-point, terminates the volume with a prayer, and begs all the\npeople of England to join in it--a prayer to Mr Turner!\n\n\n\n\nA ROYAL SALUTE.\n\n\n\"Should you like to be a queen, Christina?\"\n\nThis question was addressed by an old man, whose head was bent\ncarefully over a chess-board, to a young lady who was apparently\nrather tired of the lesson she had taken in that interesting game.\n\n\"Queen of hearts, do you mean?\" answered the girl, patting with the\ngreatest appearance of fondness a dreadfully ugly little dog that lay\nin her lap.\n\n\"Queen of hearts,\" replied the minister, with a smile; \"you are that\nalready, my dear. But have you no other ambition?\" he added, tapping\nsagaciously the lid of a magnificently ornamented snuff-box, on which\nwas depicted one of the ugliest monarchs that ever puzzled a\ncourt-painter to make him human.\n\n\"Why should my ambition go further?\" said Christina. \"I have more\nsubjects already than I know how to govern.\"\n\n\"No doubt--no doubt--I knew very well that you could not avoid having\nsubjects; but I hope and trust you have had too much sense to receive\ntheir allegiance.\"\n\nThe old man was proud of carrying on the metaphor so well, and of\nasking the question so delicately. It was quite evident he had been in\nthe diplomatic line.\n\n\"How can I help it?\" enquired the young beauty, passing her hand over\nthe back of the disgusting little pet, which showed its teeth in a\nvery uncouth fashion whenever the paternal voice was raised a little\ntoo high. \"But, I assure you, I pay no attention to allegiance, which\nI consider my right. There is but one person's homage I care for\"----\n\nThe brow of the Prime Minister of Sweden grew very black, and his face\nhad something of the benign expression of the growling pug on his\ndaughter's knee.\n\n\"Who is that person, Christina?\"\n\nBut Christina looked at her father with an alarmed glance, which she\nshortly after converted into a smile, and went on in her pleasing\noccupation of smoothing the raven down of her favourite, but did not\nsay a word.\n\nThe father, who seemed to be no great judge of pantomime, repeated his\nquestion.\n\n\"Who is that person, Christina?\"\n\nChristina disdained hypocrisy, and, moreover, was immensely spoiled.\n\n\"Who _should_ it be, but your gallant nephew, Adolphus Hesse, dear\nfather?\"\n\n\"You haven't had the impudence, I hope, to engage yourself to that\nboy?\"\n\n\"Boy--why he is twenty-one! He is my oldest friend--we learned all our\nlessons together. I can't recollect the time we were not engaged, it\nis so long since we loved each other!\"\n\n\"Nonsense! You were brought up together by his mother; it is nothing\nbut sisterly affection.\"\n\n\"Not at all--not at all!\" cried Christina; \"it would make me quite\nmiserable if Adolphus were my brother.\"\n\n\"It is all you must think him, nevertheless. He has no fortune; he has\nnothing but his commission; and my generosity is\"----\n\n\"Immense, my dear father; inexhaustible! And then Adolphus is so\nbrave--so magnanimous; and, upon my word, when I saw how much he liked\nme, and heard him speak so much more delightfully than any body else,\nI never thought of asking if he was rich; and you know you love him\nyourself, dear father.\"\n\nChristina neglected the pug in her lap for a moment, and laid her hand\ncoaxingly on the old man's shoulder.\n\n\"But not enough to make him my heir,\" said the Count, gruffly.\nChristina renewed her attentions to the dog.\n\n\"He would be your heir notwithstanding,\" she said, \"if I were to die.\"\n\nThere was something in the tone of her voice, or the idea suggested of\nher death, that softened the old man. He looked for a long time at the\nyoung and beautiful face of his child; and the shade of uneasiness her\nwords had raised, disappeared from his brow.\n\n\"There is nothing but life there,\" he said, gently tapping her on the\nforehead; \"and therefore I must marry you, my girl!\"\n\n\"And you will make us the happiest couple in the world. Adolphus will\nbe so grateful,\" said Christina, her bright eyes sparkling through\ntears.\n\n\"Who the devil said a word about Adolphus?\" said the father, looking\nangrily at Christina; but he added immediately in a softer tone, when\nhe saw the real emotion of his daughter--\"Poor girl, you have been\nsadly spoiled! You have had too much of your own way, and now you ask\nme to do what is impossible. Be a reasonable girl, there's a darling!\nand your aunt will present you at court. You will see such grand\nthings--you will know our gallant young King--only be reasonable!\"\n\n\"The rude monster!\" cried Christina, starting up as if tired of the\nconversation. \"I have no wish to know him. They say he hates women.\"\n\n\"A calumny, my dear girl; he is very fond of _one_ at all events.\"\n\n\"Is she pretty?\"\n\n\"And mischievous as yourself.\"\n\n\"As I?\" enquired Christina, and fell into a long reverie, while the\nCount smiled as if he had made an excellent hit.\n\n\"But I have never seen him, papa,\" she said, awakening all of a\nsudden.\n\n\"He may have seen you though; and he says\"----\n\n\"Oh, what does he say? Do tell me what the King says?\"\n\n\"Poh! What do you want to know about what a rude monster says--that\nhates women?\" answered the father with another smile of satisfaction.\n\n\"But he is a king, papa! What does he say? I am quite anxious to\nknow.\"\n\nBut the minister of state had gained his object; he had excited\ncuriosity, and determined not to gratify it. At last he said, as he\nrose to quit the apartment--\"Let us turn the conversation, Christina;\nwe have nothing to do with kings, and must content ourselves with\nhumbler subjects. An officer will sup with us to-night, whom I wish\nyou very much to please. He has influence with the King; and if you\nhave any regard for my interest you will receive him well. I intend\nhim for your husband.\"\n\n\"I won't have him!\" cried Christina, running after her father as he\nleft the room. \"I won't have him! If I don't marry Adolphus, I won't\nmarry at all!\"\n\n\"Heaven grant it, sweet cousin!\" said Adolphus Hesse in _propria\npersona_, emerging from behind the window-curtains, where, by some\nmiraculous concatenation of events, he had found himself ensconced for\nthe last hour. \"'Tis delightful to act the spy, and hear an advocate\nso persuasive as you have been, Christina--but the cause is\ndesperate.\"\n\n\"Who told you, sir, the cause was desperate?\" said Christina,\npretending to look offended. \"The battle is half gained--my father's\nanger disappears in a moment. Now, dear Adolphus, don't sigh--don't\ncross your arms--don't look up to the sky with that heroic frown--I\ncan't bear to groan and be dismal--I want to be gay--to have a\nball--to----We shall have _such_ a ball the day of our wedding,\nAdolphus!\"\n\n\"Your hopes deceive you, dearest Christina. I know your father better\nthan you do. Ah!\" he added, gazing sadly on the beautiful features of\nthe young girl who looked on him so brightly, \"you will never be able\nto resist the brilliant offer that will be made you in exchange for\none faithful, loving heart.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied Christina, feeling her eyes filling with tears, but\nendeavouring at the same time to conceal her emotion under an\naffectation of anger, \"your opinion of me is not very flattering; and\nit is not in very good taste, methinks, to play the despairing lover,\nespecially after the conversation you so honourably overheard.\"\n\n\"Dry that tear, dear girl!\" said Adolphus, \"I will believe any thing\nyou like.\"\n\n\"Why do you make me cry then? Is it only to have the pleasure of\ntelling me to dry my tears? Or did you think you had some rival; some\nsplendid cavalier that it was impossible to resist--Count Ericson, for\ninstance?\"\n\n\"Oh! as to Ericson I am not at all uneasy. I know you hate him; and\nbesides he is not much richer than myself; but, dear Christina\"----\n\n\"Well--go on,\" said the girl, mocking the lugubrious tone of her\ncousin--\"what are you sighing again for?\"\n\n\"Your father is going to bring you a new lover this evening, and poor\nAdolphus will be forgotten.\"\n\n\"You deserve it for all your ridiculous suspicions: but you are my\ncousin, and I forgive you this once.\" She looked at him with so sunny\na smile, and so clear and open-hearted a countenance, that it was\nimpossible to entertain a doubt.\n\n\"You love me really, then?\" he said--\"truly--faithfully?\"\n\n\"I have told you so a hundred times,\" replied his cousin. \"I am\nastonished you are not tired of hearing the same thing over and over\nagain.\"\n\n\"'Tis so sweet, so new a thing for me,\" said Adolphus, \"and I could\nlisten to it for ever.\"\n\n\"Well, then, we love each other--that's very clear,\" said Christina,\nwith the solemnity of the foreman of a jury delivering a verdict on\nthe clearest evidence; \"but since my father won't let us marry, we\nmust wait--that is almost as clear as the other.\"\n\n\"And if he never consents?\" enquired Adolphus.\n\n\"Never!\" exclaimed Christina, to whom such an idea seemed never to\nhave occurred, \"can it be possible he will _never_ consent?\"\n\n\"I fear it is too possible,\" replied Adolphus, and the shadow fell on\nhis face again.\n\n\"Well,\" said Christina, after a minute's pause, as if she had come to\na resolution, \"we must always stay as we are. Happiness is never\nincreased by an act of disobedience.\"\n\n\"I think as you do,\" said the young soldier, admiring her all the more\nfor the death-blow to his hopes; \"and are you happy, quite happy,\nChristina?\"\n\n\"What a question! Don't I see you every day? Isn't every body kind to\nme? Is there any thing I want?\"\n\nA different answer would have pleased the lover more. He looked at her\nfor some time in silence--at last, in an altered tone, he said--\n\n\"I congratulate you on your prudence, Christina.\"\n\n\"I cannot break my father's heart.\"\n\n\"No, but mine, Christina!\"\n\n\"Adolphus,\" said the young beauty solemnly, \"if I cannot be your wife\nwith the consent of my father, I never will marry another. This is all\nyou can ask; all I can promise.\"\n\nFilial affection was not quite so strong in Adolphus as in his cousin,\nand his face was by no means brightened on hearing this declaration.\nIt was so uncommonly proper that it seemed nearly bordering on the\ncold and heartless. He tried to hate her; he walked up and down the\nroom at a tremendous pace, stopping every now and then to take another\nglance at the tyrant who had pronounced his doom, and looked as\nbeautiful as ever. He found it impossible to hate _her_, though we\nshall not enquire what were his sentiments towards her worthy\nprogenitor, Count Ericson, the unknown lover, and even the young\nheroic King; for the sagacious reader must now be informed that this\nwonderful lovers' quarrel took place in the reign of Charles XII. Our\nfear is that he disliked all four. Christina found it very difficult\nto preserve the gravity essential to a heroine's appearance when she\nsaw the long strides and bent brows of her lover. A smile was ready,\non the slightest provocation, to make a dimple in her beautiful cheek,\nand all the biting she bestowed on her lips only made them redder and\nrosier. Adolphus had no inclination to smile, and could not believe\nthat any body could see the least temptation to indulge in such a\nridiculous occupation on such a momentous occasion. He was a regular\nlover, as Mr Weller would say, and no mistake. He saw in his fair\ncousin only a treasure of inestimable price, guarded by two monsters\nthat made his approaches hopeless--avarice and ambition. How\ndifferently those two young people viewed the same event! Christina,\nknowing her power over her father, and unluckily not knowing that\nfathers (even though they are prime ministers, and are as\ncourtier-like as Polonius) have flinty hearts when their interests are\nconcerned, saw nothing in the present state of affairs to despair\nabout; and in fact, as we have said already, was nearly committing the\nunpardonable crime of laughing at the grimaces of her cousin. He, poor\nfellow, knew the world a little better, and perceived in a moment that\nthe new lover whom the ambitious father was going to present to his\ndaughter, was some favourite of the king; and he was well aware, that\nany one backed by that impetuous monarch, was in a fair way to\nsuccess. The king had seen Christina too--and though despising love\nhimself, was in the habit of rewarding his favourite officers with the\nhand of the beauties or heiresses of his court; and when, as in this\ninstance, the lady chosen was both--how could he doubt that the king\nhad already resolved that she should be the bride of some lucky rival,\nagainst whose claims it would be impossible to contend? And Christina\nstanding all the while before him, scarcely able to restrain a laugh!\nHe was only twenty-one--and not half so steady as his grandfather\nwould probably have shown himself in the same circumstances, and being\nunable to vent his rage on any body else, he poured it all forth upon\nhimself.\n\n\"What a fool I have been!--an ass--a dolt--to have been so blinded!\nBut I see now--I deserve all I have got! To have been so deceived by\nan absurd fit of love--that has lasted all my life, too! But no!--I\nshall not repay my uncle's kindness to me by robbing him of his only\nchild. I shall go at once to my regiment--I may be lucky enough to get\ninto the way of a cannon--you will think kindly of me when I am gone,\nthough you are so unk\"----\n\nThe word died away upon his lips. Large tears filled Christina's eyes,\nand all her inclination to smile had disappeared. There was something\neither in his looks or the tone of his voice, or the thought of his\nbeing killed, that banished all her gaiety; and in a few minutes the\nquarrel was made up--the tears dried in the usual manner--vows\nmade--hands joined--and resolutions passed and carried with the utmost\nunanimity, that no power on earth should keep them from being married.\nAnd a very good resolution it was. The only pity was, that it was not\nvery likely to be carried into effect. A father, an unknown lover, and\na king, all joined against a poor boy and girl. The odds are very much\nagainst Adolphus and Christina.\n\nNow let us examine the real state of affairs as dispassionately as we\ncan. The Count Gyllenborg was ambitious, as became a courtier with an\nonly daughter who was acknowledged on all sides to be the most\nbeautiful girl in Sweden; and as he was aware of the full value of red\nlips and sparkling eyes in the commerce of life, he was determined to\nmake the most of these perishable commodities while they were at their\nbest, and the particular make and colour of them were in fashion. The\nCount was rich--and with amply sufficient brains, according to the\ndictum of one of his predecessors, to govern a kingdom; but he was not\nwarlike; and Charles, who had lately taken the power into his own\nhands, knew nothing of mankind further than that they were made to be\ndrawn up in opposite lines, and make holes in each other as\nscientifically as they could. Count Gyllenborg had a decided objection\nto being made a receptacle for lead bullets or steel swords; and was\nby no means anxious to murder a single Russian or German, for the sake\nof the honour of the thing, or for the good of his country. His power\nresting only on his adroitness in civil affairs, was therefore not on\nthe surest foundation; and a prop to it was accordingly wanted. Such a\nprop had never been seen before, with such sunny looks, and such a\nhappy musical laugh. The looks and the laugh between them, converted\nthe atmosphere of Stockholm into the climate of Italy; and the\npolitician, almost without knowing it, began to be thawed into a\nfather. But the fear of a rival in the King's favour--some gallant\nsoldier--and dozens of them were reported every week--made him resolve\nonce more to bring his daughter's beauties into play. The king had\nseen her, and, in his boorish way, had expressed his admiration; and\nGyllenborg felt assured, that if he should marry his daughter\naccording to the King's wishes, his influence would be greater than\never; and, in fact, that the premiership would be his for life.\n\nGreat preparations accordingly were made for the reception of the\npowerful stranger, the announcement of whose appearance at supper had\nspread such dismay in the hearts of the two lovers. Christina knew\nalmost instinctively her father's plan, and determined to counteract\nit. She felt sure that the officer for whom she was destined, and whom\nshe had been ordered to receive so particularly, was one of the new\nfavourites of the warlike king; some leader of a forlorn-hope, created\ncolonel on the field of battle; some young general fresh from some\nheroic achievement, that had endeared him to his chief; but whoever it\nwas, she was resolved to show him that the crown of Sweden was a very\nlimited monarchy in regard to its female subjects, and that she would\nhave nobody for her husband--neither count, nor colonel, nor\ngeneral--but only her cousin Adolphus, lieutenant in the Dalecarlian\nhussars. Notwithstanding this resolution, it is astonishing what a\ntime she stayed before the glass--how often she tried different\ncoloured roses in her hair--how carefully she fitted on her new\nParisian robes, and, in short, did every thing in her power to look\nher very best. What did all this arise from? She wished to show this\nyoung favourite, whoever he might be, that she was really as beautiful\nas people had told him; she wished to convince him that her smile was\nas sweet, her teeth as white, her eyes as captivating, her figure as\nsuperb, as he had heard them described--and then she wished to show\nhim that all these--smiles--eyes--teeth--figure, were given, along\nwith the heart that made them truly valuable, to another! and that\nother no favourite of a king--nor even of a minister, but only of a\nyoung girl of eighteen.\n\nRadiant with beauty, and conscious of the sensation she was certain to\ncreate, she entered the magnificent apartment where supper was\nprepared--a supper splendid and costly enough to have satisfied a\nwhole army of epicures, though only intended for her father, the\nstranger, and herself; and if you, oh reader! had been there, you\nwould have thought Christina lovely enough to have excited the\nadmiration of a whole court instead of an old man--and that, too, her\nfather--and a young one, and that none other, to Christina's infinite\ndisgust, than the very Count Ericson whose acquaintance she had\nalready made, and whom she infinitely and unappeasably disliked. He\nwas the most awkward, stupid-looking young man she ever saw, and had\nfurnished her with a butt for her malicious pleasantries ever since\nshe had known him. He rose to lead her to her seat. \"How different\nfrom Adolphus! If he is no better performer in the battle-field than\nat the supper-table, the King must be very ill off for soldiers. What\ncan papa mean by asking such a horrid being to his house? I am certain\nI shall laugh outright if I look again at his silly grey eyes and long\nyellow hair, as ragged as a pony's mane.\"\n\nSuch were Christina's thoughts, while she bit her lips to hide if\npossible her inclination to be angry, and to laugh at the same time. And\nin truth her dislike of the Count did not exaggerate the ridiculousness\nof the appearance of the tall ungainly figure--large-boned and\nstiff-backed--that now stood before her--with a nose so absurdly\naquiline that it would have done for a caricature--coarse-skinned\ncheeks, and a stare of military impudence that shocked and nearly\nfrightened the high-bred, elegant-looking beauty on whom it was fixed.\nAnd yet this individual, such as we have described, had been fixed on by\nthe higher powers for her husband--was this night to be treated as her\naccepted lover, and, in short, had been closeted for hours every day\nwith her father--settling all the preliminaries of course--for the last\nsix weeks. Christina looked once more at the insolent stare of the\ntriumphant soldier, and made a vow to die rather than speak to him--that\nis, in the affirmative.\n\nBut thoughts of affirmatives and negatives did not seem to enter\nCount Ericson's head--his grammatical education having probably been\nneglected. He stood gaping at his prey as a tiger may be supposed to\ncast insinuating looks upon a lamb, and made every now and then an\nattempt to conceal either his awkwardness, or satisfaction, or both,\nin immense fits of laughter, which formed the accompaniment of all\nthe remarks--and they were nearly as heavy as himself--with which he\nfavoured the company. Christina, on her part, if she had given way\nto the dictates of her indignation, would have also favoured the\ncompany with a few remarks, that in all probability would have put a\nstop to the laughter of the lover, and choked her old father by\nmaking a fish-bone stick in his throat. She was angry for twenty\nreasons, one of them was having wasted a moment over her toilette to\nreceive such a visitor as Count Ericson; another was her father\nhaving dared to offer her hand to such an uncouth wooer and\nintolerable bore; and the principal one of all, was his having\nrejected his own nephew--undoubtedly the handsomest of Dalecarlian\nhussars--in favour of such a vulgar, ugly individual. The subject of\nthese flattering considerations seemed to feel at last that he ought\nto say something to the young beauty, on whose pouting lip had\ngathered something which was very different indeed from a smile, and\nyet nearly as captivating. He accordingly turned his large light\neyes from his plate for a moment, and with a mouth still filled with\na leg and wing of a capercailzie, enquired--\n\n\"What do you think of Alexander the Great, madam?\"\n\nThis was too much. Even her rage disappeared, and she burst into a\nloud laugh at the serious face of the querist.\n\n\"I never think of Alexander the Great at all,\" she said. \"I only\nrecollect, that when I was reading his history, I could hardly make\nout whether he was most of a fool or a madman.\"\n\nEricson swallowed the leg and the wing of the capercailzie without any\nfurther mastication, and launched out in a torrent of admiration of\nthe most prodigious courage the world had ever seen.\n\n\"If he had been as prodigiously wise,\" replied Christina, \"as he was\nprodigiously courageous, he would have learned to govern himself\nbefore he attempted to govern the world.\"\n\nEricson blushed from chin to forehead with vexation, and answered in\nan offended tone--\n\n\"How can a woman enter into the fever of noble thoughts that impels a\nbrave man to rush into the midst of dangers, and leads him to despise\nlife and all its petty enjoyments to gain undying fame?\"\n\n\"No, indeed,\" she replied, \"I have no fever, and have no sympathy with\ndestroyers. Oh, if I wished for fame, I should try to gain it by\ngathering round me the blessings of all who saw me! Yes, father,\" she\nwent on, paying no regard to the signs and winks of the agonized Count\nGyllenborg, \"I would rather that countless thousands should live to\nbless me, than that they should die in heaping curses on my name!\nMen-killers--though you dignify them with the name of heroes--are\natrocious. Let us speak of them, my lord, no more, unless to pray\nheaven to rid the earth of such monsters.\"\n\nA feather of the smallest of birds would have knocked down the Prime\nMinister of Sweden; and Count Ericson appeared, from his stupefied\nlook, to have gone through the process already--the difficulty was to\nlift him up again.\n\n\"Come, Count,\" cried the Minister, filling up Ericson's glass with\nchampagne, \"to Alexander's glory!\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" cried Ericson, moistening his rage with the\ndelicious sparkler. \"Come, fair savage,\" he added, addressing\nChristina, and touching her glass with such force that it fell in a\nthousand pieces on the table--\"to Alexander's glory!\"\n\n\"I have no wish to drink to such a toast,\" replied Christina, more\noffended than ever; \"I can't endure those scourges of human kind who\nhide the skin of the tiger beneath the royal robe.\"\n\n\"The girl is mad!\" exclaimed the astonished father, who seemed to\nbegin to be slightly alarmed at the flashes of indignation that burst\nfrom Count Ericson's wild-looking eyes. \"Don't mind what such a silly\nthing says; she does it only to show her cleverness. What does she\nknow of war or warriors? She cares for nothing yet but her puppy-dog.\nShe pats it all day, and lets it bite her pretty little hand. Such a\nhand it is to refuse a pledge to Alexander!\"\n\nThe politician was on the right track; for such a pretty hand was not\nin Sweden--nor probably in Denmark either--and the cunning old\nminister took it between his finger and thumb, and placed it almost on\nthe lip of the irate young worshipper of glory; if it did not actually\ntouch the lip it went very near it, and distinctly moved one or two of\nthe most prominent tufts of the stout yellow mustache. \"The little\ngoose,\" pursued the respectable sire, \"to pretend to have an opinion\non any subject except the colour of a riband. Upon my honour, I\nbelieve she presumes to be a critic of warriors, because she plays a\ngood game of chess. It is one of her accomplishments, Count; and if\nyou will take a little of the conceit out of her, you will confer an\ninfinite obligation on both of us.\"\n\nSaying this, he lifted with his own ministerial fingers a small table\nfrom a corner of the room, and placed it in front of the youthful\ncouple, with the men all ready laid out. Ericson's eyes sparkled at\nthe sight of his favourite game; and he determined to display his\nutmost skill, and teach his antagonist a few secrets of the art of\n(mimic) war. But determinations, as has been remarked by several\nsages, past and present, are sometimes vain. Nothing, one would think,\ncould be so likely to restore a man's self-possession as a quiet game\nof chess--an occupation as efficacious in soothing the savage breast\nas music itself. But Ericson seemed still agitated from the\ncontradictions he had encountered from the free-spoken Christina, and\nthrew a little more politeness into his manner than he had hitherto\nvouchsafed to show, when he invited her to be his adversary in a game.\n\n\"But, if I beat you?\" she said ominously, holding up one of the fair\nfingers to which his attention had been so particularly called, and\nimplying by the question, if you get angry when I only refuse your\ntoast, won't you eat me if I am the winner at chess? \"But, if I beat\nyou?\" she said.\n\n\"That will not be the only occasion on which you will have triumphed\nover me, you--you\"----He seemed greatly at a loss for a word, and\nconcluded his speech with--\"beauty!\" This expression, which was, no\ndoubt, intended for the most complimentary he could find, was\naccompanied with a look of admiration so long, so broad, and so\nimpudent, that she blushed, and a squeeze of her hand so hard, so\nrough, and so continued, that she screamed. She threw a glance of\ninexpressible disdain on the insolent wooer, and looked for protection\nto her father; but that venerable individual was at that moment so\nsound asleep on one of the sofas at the other end of the room, that no\nnoise whatever could have awakened him. Ericson seemed totally unmoved\nby all the contempt she could express in her looks, and probably\nthought he was in a thriving condition, from the fact (somewhat\nunusual) of his being looked at at all. She lost her temper\naltogether. She covered her cheek, which was flushed with anger, with\nthe little hand that was reddened with pain, and resolved to play her\nworst to spite her ill-mannered antagonist. But all her attempts at\nbad play were useless. The board shook beneath the immense hands of\nEricson, who was in a tremendous state of agitation, and hardly knew\nthe pieces. He pushed then hither and thither--made his knights slide\nalong with the episcopal propriety of bishops, and made his bishops\ncaracole across the squares with the unseemly elasticity of knights.\nHis game got into such confusion, that Christina could not avoid\nwinning, and at last--enjoying the victory she had determined not to\nwin--she cried out, with a voice of triumph, \"Check to the king by the\nqueen.\"\n\n\"Cruel girl!\" exclaimed the Count, dashing his hand among the pieces\nwith an energy that scattered them all upon the floor. \"Haven't you\nbeen anxious to make the king your prisoner?\"\n\n\"But there is nothing to hinder him from saving himself,\" answered\nChristina, looking round once more to her father, who, however,\npursued his slumber with the utmost assiduity and had apparently a\nvery agreeable dream, for a smile was evident at the corners of his\nmouth. \"It is impossible to place the board as it was,\" she continued,\ntrying to gather up the pieces, and place castles, knights, and pawns\nin their proper position again.\n\n\"Don't try it--don't try it,\" cried Ericson, losing all command of\nhimself, and pushing the board away from him, till it spun over with\nall its men on the carpet. \"The game is over--you have given me check,\nand mated me!\" And in a moment, as if ashamed of the influence\nexercised over him by so very unwarlike an individual as a little girl\nof eighteen, he hurried from the room, stumbling over his enormous\nsword, which got, somehow or other, between his legs, and cursing his\nawkwardness and the absurd excess of admiration which caused it.\n\n\"That man will surely never come here again,\" said Christina to her\nfather, as he entered the room an hour after the incidents of the\nchess-board; for the obsequious minister had followed Ericson in his\nrapid retreat, and now returned radiant with joy, as if his guest had\nbeen the most fascinating of men.\n\n\"Not come here again!\" chuckled the father. \"That's all you know about\nit. He is dying with impatience to return, and is angry with himself\nfor having wasted the two precious hours of your society in the way he\ndid. He never had two such happy hours in his life.\"\n\n\"Happy! is that what he calls happiness?\" answered Christina, opening\nher eyes in amazement. \"I don't know what his notions may be--but\nmine----oh, father!\" she cried, emboldened by the smile she saw on the\nold man's countenance, \"you are only trying me; say you are only\nproving my constancy, by persuading me that such a being as that has\nany wish to please me. He is more in love with Alexander the Great\nthan with me; and he is quite right, for he has a far better chance of\na return.\"\n\n\"An enthusiasm excusable, my dear, in a young warrior of twenty years\nof age, whose savage ambition it will be your delightful task to tame.\nHe is in a terrible state of agitation--a most flattering thing, let\nme tell you, to a young gipsy like you--and you must humour him a\nlittle, and not break out quite so fiercely, you minx; and yet you\nmanaged very well, too. A fine fellow, Ericson, though a little wild;\nrich, powerful, nobly born--what can you wish for better?\"\n\n\"My cousin,\" answered Christina, with a bluntness that astonished the\nadvocate of Ericson's claims; \"my cousin Adolphus, and no other. He is\nbraver than this savage; and as to nobility, he is as nobly born as my\nown right honourable papa, and that is high enough for me.\"\n\n\"Go, go,\" said the courtier, a little puzzled by the openness of his\ndaughter's confession, and kissing her forehead at the same time; \"go\nto bed, my girl, and pray for your father's advancement.\"\n\nChristina, like a dutiful child, prayed as she was told for her\nfather's success and happiness, and then added a petition of her own,\nshorter, perhaps, but quite as sincere, for her cousin Adolphus. If\nshe added one for herself, it was a work of supererogation, for she\nfelt that in praying for the happiness of her lover, she was not\nunmindful of her own.\n\nFor some days after the supper recorded above, she was too happy\ntormenting the very object of all these aspirations, to trouble her\nhead about the awkward and ill-mannered protege of her father, whom\nshe hated with as much cordiality as the most jealous of rivals could\ndesire. But of course she was extremely careful to let no glimpse of\nthis unchristian feeling towards Count Ericson be perceptible to the\nperson who would have rejoiced in it so much. In fact, she carried her\nphilanthropy to such a pitch, that she never mentioned any of the bad\nqualities of her new admirer, and Adolphus very naturally concluded\nthat she felt as she spoke on the interesting subject. So, all of a\nsudden, Adolphus, who was prouder than Christina, perhaps because he\nwas poorer, would not condescend to be made a fool of, as he\nmagnanimously thought it, any longer. He had the immense satisfaction\nof staying away from the house for nearly half a week, and then, when\nhe did pay a visit, he was almost as cold as the formal piece of\ndiplomacy in the bag-wig and ruffles whom he called his uncle; and a\ngreat deal stiffer than the beautiful piece of pique, in silk gown and\nwhite satin corset, whom he called his cousin. Christina was dismayed\nat the sudden change--Adolphus never spoke to her, seldom looked at\nher, and evidently left the coast clear--so she thought--for the rich\nand powerful rival her father had so strongly supported. After much\nthinking, some sulkiness, and a good many fits of crying, Christina\nresolved, as the best way of recovering her own peace of mind, and the\nlove of her cousin Adolphus, to put an end in a very decided manner to\nthe pretensions of the Count. One day, accordingly, she watched her\nopportunity, and followed with anxious eyes her father's retreat from\nthe room, under pretence of some important despatches to be sent off.\nShe found herself alone with the object of her dislike--and only\nwaited for a beginning to the conversation, that she might astonish\nhis weak mind with the severity of her invectives. In fact, she had\ndetermined, according to the vulgar phrase, to tell him a bit of her\nmind--and a very small bit of it, she was well aware, would be\nsufficient to satisfy Count Ericson of the condition of all the rest.\nBut the lover was in a contemplative mood, and stood as silent as a\nmilestone, and looking almost as animated and profound. She sighed,\nshe coughed, she drops her handkerchief. All wouldn't do--the\nmilestone took no notice--Christina at last grew angry, and could\ncontain herself no longer.\n\n\"I dreamt of you last night,\" she said by way of a beginning. \"I hope\nin future you will leave my sleep undisturbed by your presumptuous\npresence. It is bad enough to be forced to see you when one is awake.\"\n\n\"And I, also, had a dream,\" replied Ericson, starting from his\nreverie, confused and only having heard the first part of the somewhat\nfierce attack. \"I dreamt that you looked at me with a smile, a long,\nlong look, so sweet, so winning. It was a happy dream!\"\n\n\"It was a false one,\" she said, with tremendous bitterness. \"I know\nbetter where to direct my smiles, whether I am awake or asleep.\"\n\n\"And how did I appear to you?\" asked the Count, presenting a splendid\nspecimen in his astonished look of the state of mind called \"the\ndumfoundered\" by some learned philosophers, and by others \"the\nflabbergasted.\"\n\n\"You appeared to me like the nightmare! frightful and unsupportable as\nyou do to me now,\" was the answer, accompanied with the look and\nmanner that showed she was a judge of nightmares, and thought him a\nvery unfavourable specimen of the animal.\n\n\"Ill-natured little tyrant!\" cried Ericson, rushing to her, \"teach me\nhow you would have me love you, and I will do everything you ask!\" In\na moment he had seized her in his arms, and imprinted a kiss of\nprodigious violence on her cheek, which was redder than fire with rage\nand surprise!\n\nBut the assault did not go unpunished. The might of Samson woke in\nthat insulted bosom, and lent such incredible weight to the blow that\nfell on the aggressor's ear, that it took him a long time to believe\nthat the thump proceeded from the beautiful little hand he had so\noften admired; or, in short, from any thing but a twenty-four pounder.\nHe rubbed the wounded organ with astonishing assiduity for some time.\nAt last he said, in a very calm and measured voice,\n\n\"Your father has deceived me, young lady. He led me to believe you did\nnot receive my visits with indifference.\"\n\n\"My father knows nothing about things of that kind,\" replied\nChristina, still flaming with indignation, \"or he never would have let\nsuch an ill-mannered monster into his house. But he was right in\nsaying I did not receive your visits with indifference; your visits,\nCount Ericson, can never be indifferent to me, and\"----\n\nWhat more she would have said, it is impossible to discover, for she\nwas interrupted by the sudden entrance of her cousin, who only heard\nher last words, and started back at what he considered so open a\ndeclaration of her attachment.\n\n\"Who are you, sir?\" asked Ericson in an angry tone, and with such an\nassumption of superiority, that Christina's hand tingled to give him a\nmark of regard on his other ear.\n\n\"A soldier,\" answered Adolphus, drawing his sword from its sheath and\ninstead of directing it against his rival, laying it haughtily on the\ntable. \"A soldier who has bled for his country, and would be happy,\"\nhe added, \"to die for it.\"\n\n\"Say you so?\" said Ericson, \"then we are friends.\" He held out his\nhand.\n\n\"We are rivals,\" replied Adolphus, drawing back.\n\n\"Christina loves you, then?\" enquired the Count.\n\n\"She has told me so; and I was foolish enough to believe her. It is\nnow your turn to trust to the truth of a heartless woman.--She has\ntold you you are not an object of indifference to her, and I resign my\npretensions in your favour.\"\n\n\"In whose favour?\" cried Christina, trembling; while tears sprang to\nher eyes.\n\n\"The King's!\" replied Adolphus, retiring sorrowfully.\n\nChristina sank on a seat, and covered her face with her hands.\n\n\"Stay,\" cried Charles the Twelfth in a voice of thunder; \"stay, I\ncommand you.\"\n\nThe young man obeyed; biting his lip to conceal his emotion, till the\nblood came.\n\n\"I have seen you,\" said the King, \"but not in this house.\"\n\n\"It was shut against me by my uncle when you were expected,\" said\nAdolphus.\n\n\"And yet I have seen you somewhere. What is your name?\"\n\n\"Adolphus Hesse; the son of a brave officer who died fighting for you,\nand leaving me his misfortunes and the tears of his widow.\"\n\n\"Who told you I was not Count Ericson?\"\n\n\"My eyes. I know you well.\"\n\n\"And I recollect you also,\" said Charles, advancing to the young man\nwith a manner very different from that which characterized him in his\nintercourse with the softer sex. \"Where did you get that scar on the\nleft temple?\"\n\n\"At Nerva, sire, where we tamed the pride of the Russians.\"\n\n\"True, true!\" cried Charles, his nostrils dilated as if he snuffed up\nthe carnage of the battle. \"You need but this as your passport,\" he\ncontinued, placing his finger on the wound, \"to ask me any favour, ay,\neven to measure swords with you, as I daresay you would be delighted\nto do in so noble a quarrel as the present; for on the day of that\nglorious fight, I learned, like you, the duty of a soldier, and the\ntrue dignity of a brave man. By the balls that rattled about our heads\nso playfully, give me your hand, brother, for we were baptized\ntogether in fire!\"\n\nCharles appeared to Christina, at this time, quite a different man\naddressing his fellow soldier, from what he had done upsetting the\nchess-board. Curiosity had dried her eyes, and she lost not a word of\nthe conversation. The King turned to her with a smile.\n\n\"By my sword, Christina! I am but a poor wooer; one movement of your\nhand,\" and he touched his ear playfully as he spoke, \"has banished all\nthe silly thoughts that in a most traitorous manner had taken my heart\nprisoner. Speak, then, as forcibly as you act. Do you love this brave\nsoldier?\"\n\n\"Yes, sire.\"\n\n\"Who hinders the marriage?\"\n\n\"The courtship of Count Ericson, with which my father perpetually\nthreatens me.\"\n\n\"O ho!\" thought Charles, \"I see how it is. The King must console\nhimself with the kiss, and pass the blow on the ear to the minister.\nChristina,\" he added aloud, \"your father refuses to give you to the\nman you love; but he'll do it now, for _it is my will_. You'll\nconfess, I am sure that if I was your nightmare as a lover, I am not\nyour enemy as king.\"\n\n\"I confess it on my knees;\" replied the humble beauty, taking her\nplace beside her cousin, who knelt to his sovereign. While Charles\njoined the hands of the youthful pair, he imprinted a kiss on the fair\nbrow of Christina; the last he ever bestowed on woman.\n\n\"Your Majesty pardons me then?\" enquired the trembling girl. \"If I had\nknown it was the King, I would not have hit so hard.\"\n\nThat same evening Count Gyllenborg signed a contract of marriage, to\nwhich the name of Count Ericson was not appended, though it was\nwitnessed by Charles the Twelfth; and in a few days afterwards, the\nold politician presided at the wedding dinner, and, by royal command,\ndid the honours so nobly, and appeared so well pleased on the\noccasion, that nobody suspected that he had ever had higher dreams of\nambition than to see his daughter happy; and if such had been his\nobject, all Sweden knew that in bestowing her on her cousin he was\neminently successful.\n\n\n\n\nPHYSICAL SCIENCE IN ENGLAND.\n\n\nIf Alexander and Archimedes, evoked from their long sleep, were to\ncontemplate, with minds calmed by removal from contemporaneous\ninterests, the state of mankind in the present year, with what\ndifferent feelings would they regard the influence of their respective\nlives upon the existing human world of 1843! The Macedonian would find\nthe empire which it was the labour of his life to aggrandize,\nfrittered into parcels, modeled, remodeled, subjected to various\ndynasties; Turks, Greeks, Russians, still contending for portions of\nthe territory which he had conjoined only to be dismembered; he would\nfind in these little or no trace of his ever having existed; he would\nfind that the unity of his vast political power had been severed\nbefore his body was yet entombed, and his prediction, that his funeral\nobsequies would be performed with bloody hands, verily fulfilled. In\nparts of the world which his living grasp had not seized, he would\nalso see little to remind him of his past existence. Would not\nmortification darken the brow of the resuscitated conqueror on\ndiscovering, that when his name was mentioned in historic annals, it\nwas less as a polar star to guide, than as a beacon to be avoided?\n\nWhat would the Syracusan see in this present epoch to remind him of\nhimself? Would he see the man of 212 B.C., at all connected with the\nmen of 1843 A.D.? Yes. In Prussia, Austria, France, England, America,\nin every city of every civilized nation, he would find the lever, the\npulley, the mirror, the specific gravimeter, the geometric\ndemonstration; he would trace the influence of his mind in the\npower-loom, the steam-engine, in the building of the Royal Exchange,\nin the Great Britain steam-ship; he would find an application of his\nwell-known invention, the subject of a patent, an important auxiliary\nto navigation. Alexander _was_ a hero; Archimedes _is_ one.\n\nAre we guilty of exaggeration in this contrast of the hero of War with\nhim of Science? We think not. It may undoubtedly be argued that\nAlexander's life was productive of ultimate good, that he did much to\nopen Asia to European civilization; but would that consideration serve\nto soothe the gloomy Shade? To what does it amount but to the\nassertion that out of evil cometh good? It was through no aim of his\nmind that this resulted, nor are mankind indebted to him personally\nfor a collateral effect of his existence.\n\nAs an instance of men of a more modern era, let us take Napoleon\nBuonaparte, Emperor of France, and James Watt of Greenock, civil\nengineer.\n\nThe former applied the energies of a sagacious and comprehensive\nintellect to his own political aggrandizement; the latter devoted his\nmore modest talents to the improvement of a mechanical engine. The\nformer was and is, _par excellence_, a hero of history--we should\nscarcely find in the works of the most voluminous annalists the name\nof the latter. What has Napoleon done to entitle his name to occupy so\nprominent a position? He has been the cause, mediate or immediate, of\nsacrificing the lives of two millions of men.[17]\n\n    [17] From a rough calculation taken from the returns of\n    those left dead on the fields of battle in which\n    Napoleon commanded, from Montenotte to Waterloo, we make\n    the amount 1,811,500; and if we add those who died\n    subsequently of their wounds in the petty skirmishes,\n    the losses in which are not reported, and in the naval\n    fights, of which, though Napoleon was not present, he\n    was the cause, the number given in the text will be far\n    under the mark. A picture of the fathers, mothers,\n    wives, children, and relatives of these victims,\n    receiving the news of their death, would give a lively\n    idea of the benefits conferred upon the world by\n    Napoleon.\n\nHas the obscure Watt done nothing to merit a page in the records of\nmankind? Walk ten miles in any manufacturing district, enter any\ncoal-mine, examine the bank of England, travel by the Great Western\nrailway, or navigate the Danube, the Mediterranean, the Indian or the\nAtlantic Ocean--in each and all of these, that giant slave, the\nsteam-engine, will be seen, an ever-living testimony to the services\nrendered to mankind by its subjugator.\n\nAttachment to a favourite pursuit is undoubtedly calculated to bias\nthe judgment; but, however liable may be the obscure votary of science\nto override his hobby, Francis Bacon, Lord High Chancellor of England,\nin ascribing to scientific discoverers a higher merit than to\nlegislators, emperors, or patriots, cannot be open to the charge of\negoistic partiality. What, then, says this illustrious witness?--\"The\nintroduction of noble inventions seems to hold by far the most\nexcellent place among all human actions. And this was the judgment of\nantiquity, which attributed divine honours to inventors, but conferred\nonly heroical honours upon those who deserve well in civil affairs,\nsuch as the founders of empires, legislators, and deliverers of their\ncountry. And whoever rightly considers it, will find this a judicious\ncustom in former ages, since the benefits of inventors may extend to\nall mankind, but civil benefits only to particular countries or seats\nof men; and these civil benefits seldom descend to more than a few\nages, whereas inventions are perpetuated through the course of time.\nBesides, a state is seldom amended in its civil affairs without force\nand perturbation; whilst inventions spread their advantage without\ndoing injury or causing disturbance.\"[18]\n\n    [18] Nov. Org. Aph. 29.\n\nThe opinion of a man who had reached the highest point to which a\ncivilian could aspire, cannot, when he estimates the honours of the\nChancellor as inferior to those of the natural philosopher, be\nascribed to misjudging enthusiasm or personal disappointment. Without,\nhowever, seeking, for the sake of antithetic contrast, to underrate\nthe importance of political services, civil or military, or to\nexaggerate those of the man of science, few, we think, will be\ndisposed to deny that, although the one may be temporarily more urgent\nand necessary to the well-being of an existing race, yet that the\nbenefits of the other are more lasting and universal. If, then, the\ninfluence on mankind of the secluded inventor be more extensive and\ndurable than that of the active politician--if there be any truth in\nthe opinion of Bacon, that the greatest political changes are wrought\nby the peaceful under-current of science; why is it that those who\noccupy the highest place as permanent benefactors of mankind, are,\nduring their lifetime, neglected and comparatively unknown;--that they\nobtain neither the tangible advantages of pecuniary emolument, nor the\nmore suitable, but less lucrative, honours of grateful homage? It is\nthe common cry to exclaim against the neglect of science in the\npresent day. Alas! history does not show us that our predecessors were\nmore just to their scientific contemporaries. The evil is to a great\nextent remediless, the complaint to some extent irrational, and\nunworthy the dignity of the cause. The labourer in the field of\nscience works not for the present, but for succeeding generations; he\nplants oaks for posterity, and must not look for the gratitude of\ncontemporaries. Men will remunerate less, and be less grateful for,\nprospective than for present good--for benefits secured to their\nposterity than to themselves; the realization of the advantages is so\ndistant, that the amount of discount is coextensive with the debt: it\nis only as the applications of science become more immediate, that the\ncultivators of science can reasonably expect an adequate reward or\nappreciation.\n\nEven when practically applied, we too frequently see that the original\ndiscoveries of the physical philosopher are but little valued by those\nwho make a daily, a most extensive, and a most lucrative use of their\nresults. Men _talk_ of \"a million;\" how few have ever _counted_ one!\nMen walk along the Strand, Fleet Street, Ludgate Hill; how few think\nof the multiplied passions and powers which flit by them on their\nway--of the separate world which surrounds each passer-by--of the\nseparate history, external and internal, of each--each possessing\nfeelings, motives of action, characters, differing from the others, as\nthe stamp of nature on his brow differs from his fellows! Thus, also,\nmen's ears ring with the advancement of science, men's beards wag\nwith repetition of the novel powers which have been educed from\nmaterial nature; and if, in our daily traffic, we traverse without\nattention countless sands of thought, how much more, in our hackneyed\ntalk of science, do we neglect the debt we owe to thought--thought,\nnot the mere normal impulse of humanity, but the carefully elaborated\nlucubration of minds, of which the term _thinking_ is emphatically\npredicable! Names which are met with but once in the annals of\nscience, and there, dimly seen as a star of the least magnitude, have\nperhaps earned that remote and obscure corner by painful self-denial,\nby unwearied toil! And yet not only these, but others who have added\nto diligence high mental acumen or profundity, whose wells of thought\nare, compared with those of the general mass, unfathomable, earn but a\ncareless, occasional notice--are known but to few of those who daily\nreap the harvest which they have sown, and who even boast of seeing\nfurther than they did, as the dwarf on the shoulders of a giant can\nsee further than the giant. The first step of the unthinking is to\ndeny the possibility of a given discovery, the next is to assert that\nany one could have foreseen such discovery.\n\nThere are, however, points of higher import than gain or glory to\nwhich the philosopher must ever look, and the absence of which must be\na source of bitter disappointment and ground of just complaint. The\nmost important of these is, that, by national neglect, the _cause_ of\nscience is injured, her progress retarded. Not only is she not\nhonoured, she is dishonoured; and in no civilized nation is this\ncontempt of physical science carried to a greater extent than in\nEngland, the country of commerce and of manufactures.\n\nIn this country, should a father observe in his gifted son a tendency\nto physical philosophy, he anxiously endeavours to dissuade him from\nthis career, knowing that not only will it tend to no worldly\naggrandizement, but that it will have the inevitable effect of\nlowering his position in what is called, and justly called, good\nsociety--the society of the most highly educated classes. At one of\nour universities, physical science is utterly neglected; at the other,\nonly certain branches of it are cultivated. There are, it is true,\nuniversity professors of each branch of physics, some of whom are able\nto collect a moderate number of pupils; others are obliged to carry\nwith them an assistant, to whom alone they lecture, as Dean Swift\npreached to his clerk. But what part of the regular academic education\ndoes the study of Natural Philosophy occupy? It forms no necessary\npart of the examinations for degrees; no credit is attached to those\nwho excel in its pursuit; no prizes, no fellowships, no university\ndistinction, conferred upon its most successful votaries. On the\ncontrary, physical, or at all events experimental, science is tabooed;\nit is written down \"snobbish,\" and its being so considered has much\ninfluence in making it so: the necessity of manipulation is a sad\ndrawback to the gentlemanliness of a pursuit. Bacon rebuked this\nfastidiousness, but in vain. \"We will, moreover, show those who, in\nlove with contemplation, regard our frequent mention of experiments as\nsomething harsh, unworthy, and mechanical, how they oppose the\nattainment of their own wishes, since abstract contemplation, and the\nconstruction and invention of experiments, rest upon the same\nprinciples, and are brought to perfection in a similar manner.\"[19]\n\n    [19] Impetus Philosophici, p. 681.\n\nUnfortunately, the fact of experimental science being rejected by the\neducated classes and thrown in a great measure upon the artizans of a\ncountry, has conducted, among other evils, to one of a most\ndetrimental character; viz. the want of accuracy in scientific\nlanguage, and consequently the want of accuracy in ideas. Perfection\nin language, as in every thing else, is not to be attained, and\ndoubtless there are few of the most highly educated who would not, in\nmany cases, assign different meanings to the same word; but if some\nconfusion on this subject is unavoidable, how much is that confusion\nincreased, as regards scientific subjects, by the mass of memoirs\nwritten by parties, who, however acute their mental perceptions may\nbe, yet, from want of early education, do not assign to words that\naccuracy of signification, and do not possess that perspicuity of\nstyle, which is absolutely necessary for the communication of ideas!\nThose, therefore, who, with different notions of language, read the\nwritings of such as we are alluding to, either fail to attach to them\nany definite meaning, or attach one different from that which the\nauthors intended to convey; whence arises a want of reciprocal\nintelligence, a want of unity of thought and purpose. Another defect\narising from the circumstance that persons of a high order of\neducation have not been generally the cultivators of experimental\nscience in this country, is, that the path is thereby rendered more\naccessible to empiricism. Science, beautiful in herself, has thence a\nclass of deformed disciples, who succeed in entangling their false\npretensions with the claims of true merit. So much dust is puffed into\nthe eyes of the public, that it can hardly distinguish between works\nof durable importance and the ephemeral productions of empirics; and\nthose who would otherwise disdain the notoriety acquired by\nadvertisement, end in adopting the system as the only means to avoid\nthe mortification of seeing their own ideas appropriated and uttered\nin another form and in another's name.[20]\n\n    [20] In any thing we have above said, we trust it is\n    unnecessary to disclaim the slightest intention of\n    discouraging those whose want of conventional advantages\n    only renders their merit more conspicuous; we find fault\n    not with the uneducated for cultivating science, but\n    with the educated for neglecting it.\n\nWhile the evils to which science is exposed by the necessarily\nunfashionable character of experimental manipulation are neither few\nnor trivial, there are still evils which arise from the directly\nopposite cause--from excess of intellectual cultivation; as is shown\nin the exclusive love of mathematics by a great number of\nphilosophers. Minds which, left to themselves, might have eliminated\nthe most valuable results, have, dazzled by the lustre cast by fashion\nupon abstract mathematical speculations, lost themselves in a mazy\nlabyrinth of transcendentals. The fashion of mathematics has ruined\nmany who might be most useful experimentalists; but who, wishing to\ntake a higher flight, seek to attain distinction in mathematical\nanalysis, and having acquired a certain celebrity for experimental\nresearch, dissipate, in simple equations, the fame they had acquired\nin a field equally productive, but not so select. Like Claude, who in\nhis later years said, \"Buy my figures, and I will give you my\nlandscapes for nothing;\" they fall in love with their own weakness,\nand estimate their merit by the labour they have undergone, not by the\nresults they have deduced. M. Comte expresses himself well on this\nsubject. \"Mathematicians, too frequently taking the means for the end,\nhave embarrassed Natural Philosophy with a crowd of analytical\nlabours, founded upon hypotheses extremely hazardous, or even upon\nconceptions purely visionary; and consequently sober-minded people can\nsee in them really nothing more than simple mathematical exercises, of\nwhich the abstract value is sometimes very striking, without their\ninfluence, in the slightest degree, accelerating the natural progress\nof Physics.\"[21]\n\n    [21] Cours de Philosophie Positive, vol. ii. p. 409.\n\nThe cultivators of science, despite the want of encouragement, have,\nlike every other branch of the population, increased rapidly in\nnumber, and, being thrown upon their own resources, have organized\nSOCIETIES, the number of which is daily increasing, which do much\ngood, which do much harm. They do good, in so far as they carry out\ntheir professed objects of facilitating intercourse between votaries\nof similar branches of study--they do good by the more attainable\ncommunication of the researches of those who cannot afford, or will\nnot dare, the ordinary channels of publication; but who, sanctioned by\nthe judgment of a select tribunal, are glad to work and to impart to\nthe public the fruits of their labour--they give an _esprit de corps_,\nwhich forms a bond of union to each section, and induces a moral\ndiscipline in its ranks. The investment of their funds in the\ncollection of libraries or of apparatus, the use of which becomes thus\naccessible to individuals, to whom otherwise such acquisitions would\nhave been hopeless, is another meritorious object of their\ninstitution; an object in many cases successfully carried out. On the\nother hand, they do harm, by becoming the channels of selfish\nspeculation, their honorary offices being used as stepping-stones to\nlucrative ones, thereby causing their influential members to please\nthe givers of \"situations,\" and to publish the trash of the\nimpertinently ambitious, the _Titmice of the Credulous Societies_! The\nultra-ridiculous parade with which they have decked fair science,\ngiving her a vest of unmeaning hieroglyphics, and thereby exposing her\nto the finger of scorn, is another prominent and unsightly feature of\nsuch societies; they do harm by the cliquerie which they generate,\ncollecting little knots of little men, no individual of whom can stand\nhis own ground, but a group of whom, by leaning hard together, can,\nand do, exercise a most pernicious influence; seeking petty gain and\nclass celebrity, they exert their joint-stock brains to convert\nscience into pounds, shillings, and pence; and, when they have managed\nto poke one foot upon the ladder of notoriety, use the other to kick\nfuriously at the poor aspirants who attempt to follow them.\n\nIt has been frequently and strenuously urged, that these societies, or\nsome of them, should be supported by government, and not dependent\nupon the subscriptions of their members. The arguments in favour of\nsuch a measure are, that by thus being accessible only to merit, and\nnot depending upon money, their position would be more honourable and\nadvantageous to the progress of science. With regard to such societies\ngenerally, this proposition is incapable of realization; every year\nsees a new society of this description; to annex many of these to\ngovernment, would involve difficulties which, in the present state of\npolitics, would be insurmountable. Who, for instance, would pay taxes\nfor them? Another, and more reasonable, proposition is, that the\ngovernment should establish and support one academy as a head and\nfront of the others, accessible only to men of high distinction, who\nwould be thus constituted the oligarchs of science. Of the advantage\nof this we have some doubts. Politics are already too much mixed up\nwith all government appointments in England: their influence is at\npresent scarcely felt in science, and we would not willingly risk an\nintroduction so fraught with danger. The want of such an academy\ncertainly lessens the English in the eyes of the continental _savans_;\nbut could not such a one be organized, and perhaps endowed, by\ngovernment, without any permanent connexion with it?\n\nIf we compare the proceedings, undoubtedly dignified and decorous, of\nour Royal Society with those of the French Academy, we fear the\nbalance will be found to be in favour of the latter. At Somerset\nHouse, after the list of donations and abstract of former proceedings,\na paper, or a portion of a paper, is read upon some abstruse\nscientific subject, and the meeting is adjourned in solemn silence, no\nobservation can be made upon it, no question asked, or explanation\ngiven. The public is excluded,[22] and the greater part of the members\ngenerally exclude themselves, very few having resolution enough to\nleave a comfortable dinner-table to bear the solemn formalities of\nsuch an evening. The paper is next committed, it is not known to whom,\nreported on in private, and either published, or deposited in the\n_archives of the Society_, according to the judgment of the unknown\nirresponsible parties to whom it is committed. Let us now look at the\nproceedings of the French Academy; it is open to the public, and the\npublic take so great an interest in it, that to secure a seat an early\nattendance is always requisite. Every scientific point of daily and\npassing interest is brought before it--comments, such as occur at the\ntime, are made upon various points by the secretary, or any other\nmember who likes to make an observation--the more elaborate memoirs\nare read by the authors themselves, and if any _quaere_ or suggestion\noccurs to a member present, he has an opportunity of being answered.\nThe memoir is then committed to parties whose names are publicly\nmentioned, who bring out their report in public, which report is read\nin public, and may be answered by the author if he object to it.\nLastly, the whole proceedings are printed and published verbatim, and\ncirculated at the next weekly meeting, while, in the mean time, the\npublic press notices them freely. That, with all these advantages, the\nFrench Academy is not free from faults, we are far from asserting;\nthat there is as much unseen man[oe]uvring and petty tyranny in this\nas in most other institutions, is far from improbable;[23] but the\neffect upon the public, and the zest and vitality which its\nproceedings give to science, are undeniable, and it is also undeniable\nthat we have no scientific institution approaching to it in interest\nor value.\n\n    [22] Each Fellow can, indeed, by express permission of\n    the Society, take with him two friends.\n\n    [23] An anonymous author, who has attracted some\n    attention in France, in commenting on the rejection of\n    Victor Hugo, and the election of a physician, says--that\n    nothing could be more natural or proper, as the senility\n    and feebleness of the Academie made it more in want of a\n    physician than a poet.\n\nThe present perpetual secretary of the Academy, Arago, with much of\nprejudice, much of egotism, has talents most plastic, an energy of\ncharacter, an indomitable will, a force and perspicuity of expression,\nwhich alone give to the sittings of the French Academy a peculiar and\nsurpassing interest, but which, in the English Society, would be\nentirely lost.\n\nIn quitting, for the present, the subject of scientific societies, we\nmust advert to a consequence of the increased number of candidates for\nscientific distinction of late years; of which increase the number of\nthese societies may be regarded as an exponent. This increase,\nalthough on the whole both a cause and a consequence of the\nadvancement of science, yet has in some respects lowered the high\ncharacter of her cultivators by the competition it has necessarily\nengendered. Books tell us that the cultivation of science must elevate\nand expand the mind, by keeping it apart from the jangling of worldly\ninterests. This dogma has its false as well as its true side, more\nespecially when in this, as in every other field of human activity,\nthe number of competitors is rapidly increasing; great watchfulness is\nrequisite to resist temptations which beset the aspirant to success on\nthis arena, more perhaps than in any other. The difficulty which the\nmost honest find to avoid treading in the footsteps of others--the\ndifferent aspect in which the same phenomena present themselves to\ndifferent minds--the unwillingness which the mind experiences in\nrenouncing published but erroneous opinions--are points of human\nweakness which, not to mislead, must be watched with assiduous care.\nAgain, the ease with which plagiarism is committed from the number of\nroads by which the same point may be reached, is a great temptation to\nthe waverer, and a great trial of temper to the victim. The disputants\non the arenae of law, politics, or other pursuits, the ostensible aim\nof which is worldly aggrandizement, however animated in debate,\nunsparing in satire, reckless in their invective and recrimination,\nseldom fail in their private intercourse to throw off the armour of\nprofessional antagonism, and to extend to each other the ungloved hand\nof social cordiality. On the other hand, it is too frequent a\nspectacle in scientific circles to behold a careful wording of public\ncontroversy, a gentle, apologetic phraseology, a correspondence never\ngoing beyond the \"retort courteous,\" or \"quip modest,\" while there\nexists an under-current of the bitterest personal jealousy, the\noutward philosopher being strangely at variance with the inward man.\n\nAmong the various circumstances which influence the progress of\nphysical science in this country, one of the most prominent is the\n_Patent_ law--a law in its intention beneficent; but whether the\npractical working of it be useful, either to science or its\ncultivators, is a matter of grave doubt. Of the greater number of\npatents enrolled in that depot of practical science, Chancery Lane, by\nfar the majority are beneficial only to the revenue; and on the\nquestion of public economy, whether or not the price paid by\nmiscalculating ingenuity is a fair and politic source of revenue, we\nshall not enter; but on the reasons which lead so many to be dupes of\ntheir own self-esteem, a few words may not be misspent. The chief\nreason why a vast number of patents are unsuccessful, is, that it\ntakes a long time (longer generally than fourteen years, the\nstatutable limit of patent grants) to make the workmen of a country\nfamiliar with a new manufacture. A party, therefore, who proposes\npatenting an invention, and who sits down and calculates the value of\nthe material, the time necessary for its manufacture, and other\nessential data; comparing these with the price at which it can be sold\nto obtain a remunerative profit, seldom takes into consideration the\ntime necessary, first, to accustom the journeymen workers to its\nconstruction, and secondly, to make known to the public its real\nvalue. In the present universal competition, puffing is carried on to\nsuch an extent, that, to give a fair chance of success, not only must\nthe first expense of a patent be incurred--no inconsiderable one\neither, even supposing the patentee fortunate enough to escape\nlitigation--but a large sum of money must be invested in\nadvertisements, with little immediate return; hence it is that the\nmost valuable patents, viewed in relation to their scientific\nimportance, their ultimate public benefit, and the merits of their\ninventors, are seldom the most lucrative, while a patent inkstand, a\nboot-heel, a shaving case, or a button, become rapidly a source of no\ninconsiderable profit. Is this beneficial to inventors? Is it an\nencouragement of science, or a proper object of legislative provision,\nthat the improver of the most trivial mechanical application should be\ncarefully protected, while those who open the hidden sources of\nmyriads of patents, are unrewarded, and incapable of remunerating\nthemselves? We seriously incline to think that, as the matter at\npresent stands, an entire erasure from the statute-books of patent\nprovision would be of service to science, and perhaps to the\ncommunity; each tradesman would depend for success upon his own\nactivity, and the perfection he could give his manufacture, and the\nscientific searcher after experimental truths would not find his path\nbarred by prohibitions from speculative empirics.\n\nAccording to the present patent laws, it is more than questionable\nwhether the discoverer of a great scientific principle could pursue\nhis own discovery, or whether he would not be arrested on the\nthreshold by a subsequent patentee; if Jacobi lived in constitutional\nEngland instead of despotic Russia, it is doubtful if he could work\nout his discovery of the electrotype--we say _doubtful_; for, as far\nas we can learn, it seems hitherto judicially undecided whether the\nmere use of a patent, not for sale or a lucrative object, is such a\nuse within the statute of James as would be an infringement of a\npatentee's rights. It appears to be settled, that a previous\nexperimental and unpublished use by one party, does not prevent\nanother subsequent inventor of the same process from patenting it;\nand, by parity of reasoning, we should say, that if a party have the\nadvantage of patenting an invention which can be found to have been\npreviously used, but not for sale, he should not have the additional\nprivilege of prohibiting the same party, or others, from proceeding\nwith their experiments. There are, however, not wanting arguments for\nthe other view. The practice of a patented invention, for one's own\nbenefit or pleasure, deprives the patentee of a possible source of\nprofit; for it cannot be said that the party experimenting, if\nprohibited, might not apply for a license to the patentee. Take, for\ninstance, the notorious and justly censured patent of Daguerre.\nSupposing, for argument's sake, this patent to be valid, can a private\nindividual, under the existing patent laws, take photographic views or\nportraits for his own amusement, or in pursuance of scientific\ninvestigations? If he cannot, then is an exquisitely beautiful path of\nphysics to be shut up for fourteen years; or if he can, then is the\nlicensee, a purchaser for value, to be excluded from very many sources\nof pecuniary emolument? To us, the injury to the public, in this and\nsimilar cases, appears of incomparably greater consequence than that\nto the individual; but what the authorities at Westminster Hall may\nsay is another question. Even could the patent laws be so modified,\nthat the benefits derived from them could fall upon those scientific\ndiscoverers most justly entitled, we are still doubtful as to their\nutility, or whether they would contribute to the advancement of\nscience, which is the point of view in which we here principally\nregard them. It would scarcely add to the dignity of philosophy, or\nto the reverence due to its votaries, to see them running with their\nvarious inventions to the patent office, and afterwards spending their\ntime in the courts of law, defending their several claims. They would\nthus entirely lose the respect due to them from their contemporaries\nand posterity, and waste, in pecuniary speculation, time which might\nbe more advantageously, and without doubt more agreeably, employed. If\nparties look to money as their reward, they have no right to look for\nfame; to those who sell the produce of their brains, the public owes\nno debt.\n\nWe have observed recently a strong tendency in men of no mean\nscientific pretensions to patent the results of their labours. We\nblame them not: it is a matter of free election on their part, but we\ncannot praise them. A writer in a recent number of the _Edinburgh\nReview_, has the following remarks on the subject of Mr Talbot's\npatented invention of the Calotype. \"Nor does the fate of the Calotype\nredeem the treatment of her sister art, (the Daguerreotype.) The Royal\nSociety, the philosophical organ of the nation, has refused to publish\nits processes in her transactions. * * * No representatives of the\npeople unanimously recommended a national reward. * * * It gives us\ngreat pleasure to learn, that though none of his (Mr Talbot's)\nphotographical discoveries adorn the transactions of the Royal\nSociety, yet the president and the council have adjudged him the\nRumford medals for the last biennial period.\"[24]\n\n    [24] _Edin. Rev._ No. 159.\n\nThe notion of a \"national reward\" for the Calotype scarcely requires a\nremark. If, after a discovery is once made and published, every\nsubsequent new process in the same art is to be nationally rewarded,\nthe income-tax must be at least quadrupled. The complaint, however,\nagainst the Royal Society, is not altogether groundless. True it is\nthat the first paper of Mr Talbot did not contain an account of the\nprocesses employed by him, and therefore should not have been even\nread to the Society; but the paper on the Calotype did contain such\ndescription, and we see no reason why a society for the advancement of\nknowledge should not give publicity to a valuable process, though made\nthe subject of a patent--but it certainly should not bestow an\nhonorary reward upon an inventor who has withheld from the Royal\nSociety and the public the practice of the invention whose processes\nhe communicates. Mr Talbot had a perfect right to patent his\ninvention, but has on that account no claim in respect of the same\ninvention to an honorary reward. The Royal Society did not publish his\npaper, but awarded him a medal. In our opinion, they should have\npublished his paper and not awarded him a medal.\n\nRegarded as to her national encouragement of science, there are some\nfeatures in which England differs not from other countries; there are\nothers in which she may be strikingly contrasted with them; and, with\nall our love for her, we fear she will suffer by the contrast. A\nlearned writer of the present day, has the following passage in\nreference to the state of science in England as contrasted with other\ncountries:--\"When the proud science of England pines in obscurity,\nblighted by the absence of the royal favour and the nation's sympathy;\nwhen her chivalry fall unwept and unhonoured, how can it sustain the\nconflict against the honoured and marshalled genius of foreign\nlands?\"[25]\n\n    [25] Brewster's Life of Newton, p. 35.\n\nThis, to be sure, is somewhat \"_tumultuous_.\" We do not, however, cite\nit as a specimen of composition, but as an expression of a very\nprevalent feeling; the opinion involved in the concluding _quaere_ is\nopen to doubt--England does sustain the conflict, if any conflict\nthere be to sustain; but we are bound to admit, that in no country are\nthe soldiers of _science militant_ less honoured or rewarded. It is no\nuncommon remark, that despotic governments are the most favourable to\nthe cultivation of the arts and sciences. There is, perhaps, a general\ntruth in this, and the causes are not difficult of recognition. In a\nrepublican or constitutional government, politics are the\nall-engrossing topics of a people's thought, the never-ending theme\nof conversation;--in purely despotic states, such discussions are\nprohibited, and the contemplation of such subjects confined to a few\nrestless or patriotic spirits. It must also be ever the policy of\nabsolute monarchs to open channels for the public mind, which may\ndivert it from political considerations. Take America and Austria as\nexisting instances of this contrast: in the former, the universality\nof political conversation is an object of remark to all travellers; in\nthe latter, even books which touch at all on political matters are\nrigidly excluded. These are among the causes which strike us as most\nprominent, but whose effects obtain only when despotism is not so\ngross as to be an incubus upon the whole moral and intellectual\nenergies of a people.\n\nWe should lose sight of the objects proposed in these pages, and also\ntransgress our assigned limits, were we to enter into detail upon the\npresent state of science in Europe, or trace the causes which have\ninfluenced her progress in each state. This would form a sufficient\nthesis for a separate essay; but we will not pass over this branch of\nour subject, without venturing to express an opinion on the delicate\nand embarrassing question as to what rank each nation holds as a\npromoter of physical science.\n\nIn experimental and theoretical Physics, we should be inclined to\nplace the German nations in the first rank; in pure and applied\nmathematics, France. The former nations far excel all others in the\nindependence and impartiality with which they view scientific results;\nresearches of any value, from whatever part of the world they emanate,\ninstantly find a place in their periodicals; and they generally\nestimate more justly the relative value of different discoveries than\nany other European nation; the aesthetical power which enables them to\nseize and appreciate what is beautiful in art, gives them perception\nand discrimination in science; but they are not great as originators.\nThe French, notwithstanding the high pitch at which they have\nundoubtedly arrived in mathematical investigation, not withstanding\nthe general accuracy of their experimental researches, have more of\nthe pedantry of science; their papers are too professional--too much\n_selon les regles_; there are too many minutiae; the reader is tempted\nto exclaim with Jacques--\"I think of as many matters as he; but I give\nHeaven thanks, and make no boast of them.\" Their accuracy frequently\ndegenerates into affectation and parade. We have now before us a paper\nin the _Annales de Chimie_, containing some chemical researches, in\nwhich, though the difference of each experiment in a small number, put\ntogether for average, amounts to several units, the weights are given\nto the fifth place of decimals. England, which we should place next,\nis by no means exempt from these trappings of science. Many English\nscientific papers seem written as if with the resolute purpose of\nfilling a certain number of pages, and many of their writers seem to\nthink a _paper per annum_, good or bad, necessary to indicate their\nphilosophical existence. They write, not because they have made a\ndiscovery, but because their period of hybernation has expired. Still,\nin England, there is a strong vein of original thought. Competition,\nif it lead to puffing and quackery, yet stimulates the perceptions;\nand, in England, competition has done its worst and its best; in\noriginal chemical discovery, England has latterly been unrivalled.\n\nNext to England we should place Sweden and Denmark--for their\npopulation they have done much, and done it well; then Italy--in Italy\nscience is well organized, and the rulers of her petty states seem to\nfeel a proper emulation in promoting scientific merit--in which\nlaudable rivalry the Archduke of Tuscany deserves honourable mention;\nAmerica and Russia come next--the former state is zealous, ready at\npractical application, and promises much for the future, but as yet\nhas not done enough in original research to entitle her to be placed\nin the van. Russia at present possesses few, if any, native\nphilosophers--her discoverers and discoveries are all imported; but\nthe emperor's zeal and _patronage_ (a word which we scarcely like to\napply to science) is doing much to organize her forces, and the\nmercenary troops may impart vigour, and induce discipline into the\nnational body. In this short enumeration, we have considered each\ncountry, not according to the number of its very eminent men; for\nthough far from denying the right which each undoubtedly possesses to\nshine by the reflected lustre of her stars, yet in looking, as it\nwere, from an external point, it is more just to regard the general\ncharacter of each people than to classify them according as they may\nhappen to be the birthplace of those\n\n    \"To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.\"\n\nA misunderstanding of the proper use of theory is among the prevalent\nscientific errors of the present day. Among one set of men of\nconsiderable intelligence, but who are not habitually conversant with\nphysical science, there is a general tendency to despise theory. This\ncontempt appears to rest on somewhat plausible grounds; as an instance\nof it, we may take the following passage from the fitful writings of\nMr Carlyle:--\"Hardened round us, encasing wholly every notion we form,\nis a wrappage of traditions, hearsays, mere words: we call that fire\nof the black thunder-cloud electricity, and lecture learnedly about\nit, and grind the like of it out of glass and silk, but what is it?\nWhence comes it? Where goes it?\"[26]\n\n    [26] Carlyle on Hero Worship.\n\nHowever the experienced philosopher may be convinced that _in\nthemselves_ theories are nothing--that they are but collations of\nphenomena under a generic formula, which is useful only inasmuch as it\ngroups these phenomena; yet it is difficult to see how, without these\nimperfect generalizations, any mind can retain the endless variety of\nfacts and relations which every branch of science presents; still\nless, how these can be taught, learned, reasoned upon, or used. How\ncould the facts of geology be recollected, or how, indeed, could they\nconstitute a science without reference to some real or supposed bond\nof union, some aqueous or igneous theory? How could two chemists\nconverse on chemistry without the use of the term affinity, and the\ntheoretical conception it involves? How could a name be applied, or a\nnomenclature adopted, without that imperfect, or more or less perfect\ngrouping of facts, which involves theory? As far as we can recollect,\nall the alterations of nomenclature which have been introduced, or\nattempted, proceed upon some alteration of theory.\n\nIf not theory but hypothesis be objected to--not the imperfect\ngeneralization of phenomena, but a gratuitous assumption for the sake\nof collating them, this, although ground which should be trodden more\ncautiously, appears in certain cases unavoidable; in fact, is scarcely\nseparable from theory. Had men not \"lectured learnedly\" about the two\n_fluids_ of electricity, we should not now possess many of the\ndiscoveries with which this science is enriched, although we do not,\nand probably never shall, know what electricity is.\n\nOn the other hand, among professed physical philosophers, the great\nabuse of theories and hypotheses is, that their promulgators soon\nregard them, not as aids to science, to be changed if occasion should\nrequire, but as absolute natural truths; they look to that as an end,\nwhich is in fact but a means; their theories become part of their\nmental constitution, idiosyncrasies; and they themselves become\npartizans of a faction, and cease to be inductive philosophers.\n\nAnother injury to science, in a great measure peculiar to the present\nday, arises from the number of speculations which are ushered into the\nworld to account for the same phenomena; every one, like Sir Andrew\nAguecheek, when he wished to cudgel a Puritan, has for his opinion \"no\nexquisite reasons, but reasons good enough.\" In the periods of science\nimmediately subsequent to the time of Bacon, men commenced their\ncareer by successful experiment; and having convinced the world of\ntheir aptitude for perceiving the relations of natural phenomena,\nenounced theories which they believed the most efficient to give a\ncomprehensive generality to the whole. Men now, however, commence with\ntheories, though, alas! the converse does not hold good--they do not\nalways end with experiment.\n\nAs, in the promulgation of theories, every aspirant is anxious to\npropound different news, so, in nomenclature, there is a strong\ntendency to promiscuous coining. The great commentator on the laws of\nEngland, Sir William Blackstone, observes, \"As to the impression, the\nstamping of coin is the unquestionable prerogative of the crown, * * *\nthe king may also, by his proclamation, legitimate foreign coin, and\nmake it current here.\"[27]\n\n    [27] Commentaries, vol. i. p. 277.\n\nAs coinage of money is the undoubted prerogative of the crown; so\ngenerally coinage of words has been the undoubted prerogative of the\nkings of science--those to whom mankind have bent as to unquestionable\nauthority. But even these royal dignitaries have generally been\nsparing in the exercise of this prerogative, and used it only on rare\noccasions and when absolutely necessary, either from the discovery of\nnew things requiring new names, or upon entire revolutions of theory.\n\n                        \"Si forte necesse est\n    Indiciis monstrare recentibus abdita rerum,\n    Fingere cinctutis non exaudita cethegis\n    Continget, labiturque licentia sumpta pudenter.\"\n\nBut now there is no \"pudor\" in the matter. Every man has his own mint;\nand although their several coins do not pass current very generally,\nyet they are taken here and there by a few disciples, and throw some\nstandard money out of the market. The want of consideration evinced in\nthese novel vocabularies is remarkable. Whewell, whose scientific\nposition and dialectic turn of mind may fairly qualify him to be a\nword-maker, seems peculiarly deficient in ear. Take, as an instance,\n\"_idiopts_,\" an uncomfortable word, barely necessary, as the persons\nto whom it applies are comparatively rare, and will scarcely thank the\nMaster of Trinity College for approximating them in name to a more\nnumerous and more unfortunate class--the word _physicists_, where four\nsibilant consonants fizz like a squib. In these, and we might add many\nfrom other sources, euphony is wantonly disregarded; by other authors\nof smaller calibre, classical associations are curiously violated. We\nmay take, as an instance, _platinode_, Spanish-American joined to\nancient Greek. In chemistry there is a profusion of new coin. Sulphate\nof ammonia--oxi-sulphion of ammonium--sulphat-oxide of ammonium--three\nnames for one substance. This mania is by no means common to England.\nIn Liebig's Chemistry, Vol. ii. p. 313, we have the following\npassage:--\"It should be remarked that some chemists designate\nartificial camphor by the name of hydrochlorate of camphor. Deville\ncalls it bihydrochlorate of terebene, and Souberaine and Capelaine\ncall it hydrochlorate of pencylene.\"\n\nSo generally does this prevail, that in chemical treatises the names\nof substances are frequently given with a tail of synonymes. Numerous\nwords might be cited which are names for non-existences--mere\nhypothetic groupings; and yet so rapidly are these increasing, that it\nseems not impossible, in process of time, there will be more names for\nthings that are not than for things that are. If this work go on, the\nscientific public must elect a censor whose fiat shall be final;\notherwise, as every small philosopher is encouraged or tolerated in\nframing _ad libitum_ a nomenclature of his own, the inevitable effect\nwill be, that no man will be able to understand his brother, and a\nconfusion of tongues will ensue, to be likened only to that which\noccasioned the memorable dispersion at Babel.\n\nMany of the defects to which we have alluded in the course of this\npaper, time alone can remedy. In spite of all drawbacks, the progress\nof science has been vast and rapidly increasing; the very rapidity of\nits progress brings with it difficulties. So many points, once\nconsidered impossible, have been proved possible, that to some minds\nthe suggestion of impossibility seems an argument in favour of\npossibility. Because steam-travelling was once laughed at as visionary,\naerial navigation is to be regarded as practicable--perhaps, indeed, it\n_will_ be so, give but the time _proportionably_ requisite to master\nits difficulties, as there was given to steam. What proportion this\nshould be we will not venture to predict. There can be little doubt\nthat the most effectual way to induce a more accurate public\ndiscrimination of scientific efforts is to turn somewhat more in that\ndirection the current of national education. Prizes at the universities\nfor efficiency in the physics of light, heat, electricity, magnetism,\nor chemistry, could, we conceive, do no harm. Why should not similar\nhonours be conferred on those students who advance the progress of an\ninfant science, as on those who work out with facility the formulae of\nan exact one; and why should not acquirements in either, rank equally\nhigh with the critical knowledge of the _digamma_ or the _a priori_\nphilosophy of Aristotle? Is not Bacon's Novum Organon as much entitled\nto be made a standard book for the schools as Aldrich's logic?\nVenerating English universities, we approve not the inconsiderate\noutcries against systematic and time-honoured educational discipline;\nbut it would increase our love for these seminaries of sound learning,\ncould we more frequently see such men as Davy emanate from Oxford,\ninstead of from the pneumatic institution of Bristol.\n\nProvided science be kept separate from political excitement, we should\nlike to see an English Academy, constituted of men having fair claims\nto scientific distinction, and not \"deserving of that honour because\nthey are attached to science.\"\n\nIt is unnecessary here to touch upon the details of such an Academy.\nThe proposition is by no means new. On the contrary, we believe a wish\nfor some such change pretty generally exists. Iteration is sometimes\nmore useful than originality. The more frequently the point is brought\nbefore the public, the more probable is it that steps will be taken by\nthose who are qualified to move in such a matter. The more the present\ndefective state of our scientific organization is commented on, the\nmore likely is it to be remedied; for the patency of error is ever a\nsure prelude to its extirpation.\n\n\n\n\nCHRONICLES OF PARIS.\n\nTHE RUE ST DENIS.\n\n\nOne of the longest, the narrowest, the highest, the darkest, and the\ndirtiest streets of Paris, was, and is, and probably will long be, the\nRue St Denis. Beginning at the bank of the Seine, and running due north,\nit spins out its length like a tape-worm, with every now and then a\ngentle wriggle, right across the capital, till it reaches the furthest\nbarrier, and thence has a kind of suburban tail prolonged into the wide,\nstraight road, a league in length, that stretches to the town of\nSainct-Denys-en-France. This was, from time immemorial, the state-road\nfor the monarchs of France to make their formal entries into, and exits\nfrom, their capital--whether they came from their coronation at Rheims,\nor went to their last resting-place beneath the tall spire of St Denis.\nThis has always been the line by which travellers from the northern\nprovinces have entered the good city of Paris; and for many a long year\nits echoes have never had rest from the cracking of the postilion's\nwhip, the roll of the heavy diligence, and the perpetual jumbling of\ncarts and waggons. It is, as it has ever been, one of the main arteries\nof the capital; and nowhere does the restless tide of Parisian life run\nmore rapidly or more constantly than over its well-worn stones. In the\npages of the venerable historians of the French capital, and in ancient\nmaps, it is always called \"_La Grande Rue de Sainct Denys_,\" being, no\ndoubt, at one time the _ne plus ultra_ of all that was considered wide\nand commodious. Now its appellation is curtailed into the _Rue St\nD'nis_, and it is avoided by the polite inhabitants of Paris as\ncontaining nothing but the _bourgeoisie_ and the _canaille_. Once it was\nthe Regent Street of Paris--a sort of Rue de la Paix--lounged along by\nthe gallants of the days of Henri IV., and not unvisited by the\nred-heeled marquises of the Regent d'Orleans's time; now it sees nothing\nmore _recherche_ than the cap of the grisette or the poissarde, as the\ncase may be, nor any thing more august than the casquette of the\n_commis-voyageur_, or the indescribable shako and equipments of the\nNational Guard. As its frequenters have been changed in character, so\nhave its houses and public buildings; they have lost much of the\npicturesque appearance they possessed a hundred years ago--they are\nforced every year more and more into line, like a regiment of stone and\nmortar. Instead of showing their projecting, high-peaked gables to the\nstreet, they have now turned their fronts, as more polite; the roofs are\naccommodated with the luxury of pipes, and the midnight sound of \"_Gare\nl'eau!_\" which used to make the late-returning passenger start with all\nagility from beneath the opened window to avoid the odoriferous shower,\nis now but seldom heard. A Liliputian footway, some two feet wide, is\nlaid down in flags at either side; the oscillating lamp, that used to\nhang on a rotten cord thrown across the roadway from house to house, and\nmade darkness visible, has given place to the genius of gas--_enfin, la\nRevolution a passe par la_; and the Rue de St Denis is now a ghost only\nof what it was. Still it retains sufficient peculiarities of dimensions\nand outline to show that it is a child of the middle ages; and, like so\nmany other children of the same kind, it contributes to make its mother\nParis, as compared with the modern-built capitals of Europe, a town of\nformer days. Long may it retain these oddities of appearance--long may\nit remain narrow, dark, and dirty; we rejoice that such streets still\nexist--they do one's eye good, if not one's nose. There is more of\ncolour, of light and shade, of picturesque, fantastic outline, in a\nhundred yards of the Rue St Denis, than in all the line from Piccadilly\nto Whitechapel; a painter can pick up more food for his easel in this\nqueer, old street--an antiquarian can find there more tales and crusts\nfor his noddle, than in all Regent Street and Portland Place. We love a\nramshackle place like this; it does one good to get out of the\nassociations of the present century, and to retrograde a bit; it is\npleasant to see how people used to pig together in ancient days, without\nany of the mathematical formalities of the present day; it keeps one's\neye in tone to look back at works of the middle ages; and we may learn\nthe more justly to criticize what we see arising about us, by refreshing\nour recollections of the mouldering past. Paris is a glorious place for\nthings of this kind. Thank the stars, it never got burned out of its old\nclothes, as London did. Newfangled streets and quarters of every age\nhave been added to it, but there still remains a mediaeval nucleus--there\nis still an \"old Paris\"--a gloomy, filthy, old town, irregular and\ninconvenient as any town ever was yet; and a walk of twenty minutes will\ntake you from the elegant uniformity of the Rue de Rivoli into the\noriginal chaos of buildings--into the Quartier des Halles and into the\nRue St Denis. How often have we hurried down them on a cold winter's\nday--say the 31st of December--to buy bons-bons in the Rue des Lombards,\nonce the abode of bankers, now the paradise of _confiseurs_, against the\ncoming morrow--the grand day of visits and cadeaux--braving the snow\nsome three feet deep in the midst of the street--or, if there happened\nto be no snow, the mud a foot and a half, splashing through it with our\nlast new pair of boots from Legrand's, and the last _pantalon_ from\nBlondel's--for cabriolet or omnibus, none might pass that way; and\nthere, amid onion-smelling crowds, in a long, low shop, with lamps\nlighted at two o'clock, have consummated our purchase, and floundered\nback triumphant! Away, ye gay, seducing vanities of the Palais Royal or\nthe Boulevards; your light is too garish for our sober eyes--the sugar\nof your comfitures is too chalky for our discriminating tooth! Our\nappropriate latitude is that of the Quartier St Denis! One thing,\nhowever, we must confess, we never did in the Rue St Denis--we never\ndined there! _Oh non! il ne faut pas faire ca!_ 'Tis the headquarters of\nall the sausage-dealers, the _charcutiers_, and the _rotisseurs_ of\nParis. Genuine meat and drink there is none; cats hold the murderous\nneighbourhood in traditional abhorrence, and the ruddiest wine of\nBurgundy would turn pale were the aqueous reputation of the street\nwhispered near its cellar-door. Thank Heaven, we have a gastronomic\ninstinct that saved us from acts of suicidal rashness! When in Paris,\ngentle reader, we always dine at the Trois Freres Provencaux; the little\nroom in blue, remember--time, six P.M.; potage a la Julienne--bifteck au\nvin de Champagne--poulet a la Marengo--Chambertin, and St Peray rose.\nThe next time you visit the Palais-Royal, turn in there, and dine with\nus--we shall be delighted to see you!\n\nThere are few gaping Englishmen who have been on the other side of the\nChannel but have found their way along the Boulevards to the Porte St\nDenis, and have stared first of all at that dingy monument of\nLudovican pride, and then have stared down the Rue St Denis, and then\nhave stared up the Rue du Faubourg St Denis; but very few are ever\ntempted to turn either to the right hand or to the left, and so they\ngenerally poke on to the Porte St Martin, or stroll back to the\nMadeleine, and rarely make acquaintance with the Dionysian mysteries\nof Paris. For the benefit, therefore, of such travellers as go to the\nFrench capital with their eyes in their pockets, and of such as stay\nat home and travel by their fireside, but still can relish the\nrecollections and associations of olden times, we are going to rake\ntogether some of the many odd notes that pertain to the history of\nthis street and its immediate vicinity.\n\nThe readiest way into the Rue St Denis from the Isle de la Cite, the\ncentre of Paris, has always been over the Pont-au-Change. This bridge,\nnow the widest over the Seine, was once a narrow, ill-contrived\nstructure of wood, covered with a row of houses on either side, that\nformed a dark and dirty street, so that you might pass through it a\nhundred times without once suspecting that you were crossing a river.\nThese houses, built of stone and wood, overhung the edges of the\nbridge, and afforded their inhabitants an unsafe abode between the sky\nand the water. At times the river would rise in one of its periodical\nfuries, and sweep away a pier or two with the superincumbent houses;\nat others the wooden supporters of the structure would catch fire by\nsome untoward event, and the inhabitants had the choice of being fried\nor drowned, along with their penates and their supellectile property.\nSuch a catastrophe happened in the reign of Louis XIII., when this and\nanother wooden bridge, situated, oddly enough, close by its side, were\nset on fire by a squib, which some _gamins de Paris_ were letting off\non his Majesty's highway; and in less than three hours 140 houses had\ndisappeared. It was Louis VII., in the twelfth century, who gave it\nthe name it has since borne; for he ordered all the money-changers of\nParis to come and live on this bridge--no very secure place for\nkeeping the precious metals; and about two hundred years ago the\nmoney-changers, fifty-four in number, occupied the houses on one side,\nwhile fifty goldsmiths lived in those on the other. In the open\nroadway between, was held a kind of market or fair for bird-sellers,\nwho were allowed to keep their standings on the curious tenure of\nletting off two hundred dozens of small birds whenever a new king\nshould pass over this bridge, on his solemn entry into the capital.\nThe birds fluttered and whistled on these occasions, the _gamins_\nclapped their hands and shouted, the good citizens cried \"Noel!\" and\n\"Vive le Roy!\" and the courtiers were delighted at the joyous\nspectacle. Whether the birds flew away ready roasted to the royal\ntable, history is silent; but it would have been a sensible\nimprovement of this part of the triumphal ceremony, and we recommend\nit to the serious notice of all occupiers of the French throne.\n\nOn arriving at the northern end of the bridge, the passenger had on\nhis right a covered gallery of shops, stretching up the river side to\nthe Pont Notre Dame, and called the Quai de Gesvres; here was a\nfashionable promenade for the beaux of Paris, for it was filled with\nthe stalls of pretty milliners, like one of our bazars, and boasted of\nan occasional bookseller's shop or two, where the tender ballads of\nRonsard, or the broad jokes of Rabelais, might be purchased and read\nfor a few livres. To the left was a narrow street, known by the\ncurious appellation of _Trop-va-qui-dure_, the etymology of which has\npuzzled the brains of all Parisian antiquaries; while just beyond it,\nand still by the river side, was the _Vieille Vallee de Misere_--words\nindicative of the opinion entertained of so _ineligible_ a residence.\nIn front frowned, in all the grim stiffness of a feudal fortress, the\n_Grand Chastelet_, once the northern defence of Paris against the\nNormans and the English, but at last changed into the headquarters of\nthe police--the Bow Street of the French capital. Two large towers,\nwith conical tops over a portcullised gateway, admitted the prisoners\ninto a small square court, round which were ranged the offices of the\nlieutenant of police, and the chambers of the law-officers of the\ncrown. Part of the building served as a prison for the vulgar crew of\noffenders--a kind of Newgate, or Tolbooth; another was used as, and\nwas called, the Morgue, where the dead bodies found in the Seine were\noften carried; there was a room in it called Caesar's chamber, where\nthe good citizens of Paris firmly believed that the great Julius once\nsat as provost of Paris, in a red robe and flowing wig; and there was\nmany an out-of-the-way nook and corner full of dust and parchments,\nand rats and spiders. The lawyers of the Chastelet thought no small\nbeer of themselves, it seems; for they claimed the right of walking in\nprocessions before the members of the Parliament, and immediately\nafter the corporation of the capital. The unlucky wight who might\nchance to be put in durance vile within these walls, was commonly well\ntrounced and fined ere he was allowed to depart; and next to the\ndreaded Bastile, the Grand Chastelet used to be looked on with\npeculiar horror. At the Revolution it was one of the first feudal\nbuildings demolished--not a stone of the old pile remains; the\nPont-au-Change had long before had its wooden piers changed for noble\nstone ones, and on the site where this fortress stood is now the Place\nde Chatelet, with a Napoleonic monument in the midst--a column\ninscribed with names of bloody battle-fields, on its summit a golden\nwing-expanding Victory, and at its base four little impudent dolphins,\nsnorting out water into the buckets of the Porteurs d'Eau.\n\nBehind the Chastelet stood the _Grande Boucherie_--the Leadenhall\nmarket of Paris an hundred years ago; and near it, up a dirty street\nor two, was one of the finest churches of the capital, dedicated to St\nJacques. The lofty tower of this latter edifice (its body perished\nwhen the Boucherie and the Chastelet disappeared) still rises in\ngloomy majesty above all the surrounding buildings. It is as high as\nthose of Notre Dame; and from its upper corners, enormous\n_gargouilles_--those fantastic water-spouts of the middle ages--gape\nwith wide-stretched jaws, but no longer send down the washings of the\nroof on the innocent passengers. Hereabouts lived Nicholas Flamel, the\nold usurer, who made money so fast that it was said he used to sup\nnightly with his Satanic majesty, and who thereupon built part of the\nchurch to save his bacon. He was of opinion that it was well to have\nthe \"_mens sana in corpore sano_\"--that it was no joke to be burnt;\nand so he stuck close to the church, taking care that himself and his\nwife, Pernelle, should have a comfortable resting-place for their\nbones within the walls of St Jacques. When this was a fashionable\nquarter of Paris, the court doctor and accoucheur did not disdain to\nreside in it; for Jean Fernel, the medical attendant of Catharine de\nMedicis, lived and died within the shade of this old tower. He was a\nfortunate fellow, a sort of Astley Cooper or Clarke in his way, and\nCatharine used to give him 10,000 crowns, or something like L.6000,\nevery time she favoured France with an addition to the royal family.\nHe and numerous other worthies mouldered into dust within the\nprecincts of St Jacques; but their remains have long since been\nscattered to the winds; and where the church once stood is now an\nignoble market for old clothes; the abode of Jews and thieves.\n\nAfter passing round the Grand Chastelet, and crossing the\nmarket-place, you might enter the Rue St Denis, the great street of\nParis in the time of the good King Henry, and you might walk along\nunder shelter of its houses, projecting story above story, till they\nnearly met at top, for more than a mile. Before it was paved, the\nroadway was an intolerable quagmire, winter and summer; and, after\nstones had been put down, there murmured along the middle a black\ngurgling stream, charged with all the outpourings and filth of\nunnumbered houses. Over, or through this, according as the fluid was\nlow or high, you had to make your way, if you wanted to cross the\nstreet and greet a friend; if you lived in the street and wished to\nconverse with your opposite neighbour, you had only to mount to the\ngarret story, open the lattice window, and literally shake hands with\nhim, so near did the gables approach. The fronts of the houses were\nornamented with every device which the skilful carpenters of former\ntimes could invent: the beam-ends were sculptured into queer little\ncrouching figures of monkeys or angels, and all sorts of _diableries_\ndecorated the cornices that ran beneath the windows; there were no\npanes of glass, such as we boast of in these degenerate times, but\nnarrow latticed lights to let in the day, and the wind, and the cold;\nwhile the roofs were covered commonly with shingles, or, in the houses\nof the wealthy, with sheets of lead. Between each gable came forth a\nlong water-spout, and poured down a deluge into the gutter beneath;\neach gable-top was peaked into a fantastic spiry point or flower, and\nthe chimneys congregated into goodly companies amidst the roofs,\nremoved from the vulgar gaze or fastidious jests of the people below.\nSo large were the fireplaces in those rooms that could own them, and\nso ample were the chimney flues, that smoky houses were unheard of:\nthe staircases, it is true, enjoyed only a dubious ray, that served to\nprevent you from breaking your neck in a rapid descent; but the\napartments were generally of commodious dimensions, and the tenements\npossessed many substantial comforts.\n\nOnce out of doors, you might proceed in all weather fearless of rain;\nthe projecting upper stories sheltered completely the sides of the\nstreet, and a stout cloth cloak was all that was needed to save either\nsex from the inclemency of the seasons. At frequent intervals there\nopened into the main street, side streets, and _ruelles_ or alleys,\nwhich showed in comparison like Gulliver in Brobdignag: up some of\nthese ways a single horseman might be able to go; but along\nothers--and some of them remain to the present day--two stout citizens\ncould never have walked arm-in-arm. They looked like enormous cracks\nbetween a couple of buildings, rather than as ways made for the\nconvenience of locomotion: they were pervious, perhaps, to donkeys,\nbut not to the loaded packhorse--the great street was intended for\nthat animal--coaches did not exist, and the long narrow carts of the\nFrench peasantry, whenever they came into the city, did not occupy\nmuch more space than the bags or packs of the universal carrier. To\nmany of these streets the most eccentric appellations were given;\nthere was the _Rue des Mauvaises Paroles_--people of ears polite had\nno business to go near it; the _Rue Tire Chappe_--a spot where those\nwho objected to be plucked by the vests, or to have their clothes\npulled off their backs by importunate accosters, need not present\nthemselves; another in this quarter was called the _Rue Tire-boudin_.\nMarie Stuart, when Queen of France, was riding, it is said, through it\none day, and struck, perhaps, by the looks of its inhabitants, asked\nwhat the street was called. The original appellation was so indecent\nthat an officer of her guards, with courtly presence of mind, veiled\nit under its present title. One was known as the _Rue Brise-miche_,\nand the cleanliness of its inhabitants might instantly be judged of: a\nfifth was the _Rue Trousse-vache_, and one of the shops in it was\nadorned with an enormous sign of a red cow, with her tail sticking up\nin the air and her head reared in rampant sauciness. A notorious\ngambler, Thibault-au-de, well known for his skill in loading dice,\ngave his name to one of these narrow veins of the town: Aubry, a\nwealthy butcher, is still immortalized in another: and the _Rue du\nPetit Hurleur_ probably commemorated some wicked youngster, whose\nshouts were a greater nuisance to the neighbours than those of any of\nhis companions.\n\nA wider kind of street was the _Rue de la Ferronerie_, opening into\nthe Rue St Denis, below the Church of the Innocents: it was the abode\nof all the tinkers and smiths of Paris, and had not Henri IV. been in\na particular hurry that day, when he was posting off to old Sully in\nthe Rue St Antoine, he had never gone this way, and Ravaillac,\nprobably, had never been able to lean into the carriage and stab the\nking. Just over the spot where the murder was committed, the placid\nbust of the king still gazes on the busy scene beneath. The _Rue de la\nGrande Truanderie_, which was above the Innocents, must have been the\nrendez-vous of all the thieves and beggars of Paris, if there be any\nthing in a name: the old chronicles of the city relate, indeed, that\nit took a long time to respectabilize its neighbourhood; and they add\nthat the herds of rogues and impostors who once lived in it took\nrefuge, after their ejection, in the famous _Cour des Miracles_, a\nlittle higher up the Rue St Denis. We must not venture into this, the\nchoicest preserve of Victor Hugo, whose graphic description of its\nwonders in his _Notre Dame_ needs hardly to be alluded to; but we may\nadd, that there were several abodes of the same kind, all\ncommunicating with the Rue St Denis, and all equally infamous in their\nday, though now tenanted only by quiet button-makers and\nfurniture-dealers. The real _Puits d'Amour_ stood at the corner of the\nRue de la Grande Truanderie, and took its name in sad truth from a\ncrossing of true love. In the days of Philip Augustus, more than six\nhundred years ago, a beautiful young lady of the court, Agnes\nHellebik, whose father held an important post under the king, was\ninveigled into the toils of love. The object of her affections,\nwhether of noble birth or not, made her but a sorry return for her\nconfidence: he loved her a while, and her dreams of happiness were\nrealized; but by degrees his passion cooled, and at length he\nabandoned her. Stung with indignation, and broken-hearted at this\nthwarting of her soul's desire, the unfortunate young creature fled\nfrom her father's house, and betaking herself on a dark and stormy\nnight to the brink of the well, commended her spirit to her Maker, and\nended her troubles beneath its waters. The name of the _Puits d'Amour_\nwas then given to the well; and no young maiden ever dared to draw\nwater from it after sunset, for fear of the spirit that dwelt\nunquietly within. The tradition was always current in people's mouths;\nand three centuries after, a young man of the neighbourhood, who had\nbeen jilted and mocked by an inconstant mistress, determined to bear\nhis ills no longer, so he rushed to the _Puits_, and took the fatal\nleap. The result was not what he anticipated: he did not, it is true,\njump into a courtly assembly of knights and gallants, but he could not\nfind water enough in it to drown him; while his mistress, on hearing\nof the mishap, hastened to the well with a cord, and promising to\ncompensate him for his former woes, drew him with her fair hands\nsafely into the upper regions. An inscription, in Gothic letters, was\nthen placed over the well:--\n\n    \"L'amour m'a refaict\n    En 1525 tout-a-faict.\"\n\nThe fate of Agnes Hellebik was far preferable to that of another young\ngirl who lived in this quarter, indeed in the Rue Thibault-au-de.\nAgnes du Rochier was the only daughter of one of the wealthiest\nmerchants of Paris, and was admired by all the neighbourhood for her\nbeauty and virtue. In 1403 her father died, leaving her the sole\npossessor of his wealth, and rumour immediately disposed of her hand\nto all the young gallants of the quarter; but whether it was that\ngrief for the loss of her parent had turned her head, or that the\ngloomy fanaticism of that time had worked with too fatal effect on her\npure and inexperienced imagination, she took not only marriage and the\nmale sex into utter abomination, but resolved to quit the world for\never, and to make herself a perpetual prisoner for religion's sake.\nShe determined, in short, to become what was then called a recluse,\nand as such to pass the remainder of her days in a narrow cell built\nwithin the wall of a church. On the 5th of October, accordingly, when\nthe cell, only a few feet square, was finished in the wall of the\nchurch of St Opportune, Agnes entered her final abode, and the\nceremony of her reclusion began. The walls and pillars of the sacred\nedifice had been hung with tapestry and costly cloths, tapers burned\non every altar, the clergy of the capital and the several religious\ncommunities thronged the church. The Bishop of Paris, attended by his\nchaplains and the canons of Notre Dame, entered the choir, and\ncelebrated a pontifical mass: he then approached the opening of the\ncell, sprinkled it with holy water, and after the poor young thing had\nbidden adieu to her friends and relations, ordered the masons to fill\nup the aperture. This was done as strongly as stone and mortar could\nmake it; nor was any opening left, save only a small loophole through\nwhich Agnes might hear the offices of the church, and receive the\naliments given her by the charitable. She was eighteen years old when\nshe entered this living tomb, and she continued within it _eighty_\nyears, till death terminated her sufferings! Alas, for mistaken piety!\nHer wealth, which she gave to the church, and her own personal\nexertions during so long a life, might have made her a blessing to all\nthat quarter of the city, instead of remaining an useless object of\ncompassion to the few, and of idle wonder to the many.\n\nAnother entombment, almost as bad, occurred in the Rue St Denis, only\nfive or six years ago. The cess-pools of modern Parisian houses are\ngenerally deep chambers, and sometimes wells, cut in the limestone\nrock on which the city stands: and in the absence of a good method of\ndrainage, are cleaned out only once in every two or three years,\naccording to their size. Meanwhile, they continue to receive all the\nfilth of the building. One night, a large cess-pool had been emptied,\nand the aperture, which was in the common passage of the house on the\nground floor, had been left open till the inspector appointed by the\npolice should come round and see that the work had been properly\nexecuted. He came early in the morning, enquired carelessly of the\nporter if all was right, and ordered the stone covering to be fastened\ndown. This was done amid the usual noise and talking of the workmen;\nand they went their way. That same afternoon, one of the lodgers in\nthe house, a young man, was missed: days after days elapsed, and\nnothing was heard of him: his friends conjectured that he had drowned\nhimself, but the tables of the Morgue never bore his body: and their\ndespair was only equalled by their astonishment at the absence of\nevery clue to his fate. On a particular evening, however, about three\nweeks after his disappearance, the porter was sitting at the door of\nhis lodge, and the house as well as the street was unusually quiet,\nwhen he heard a faint groan somewhere beneath his feet. After a short\ninterval he heard another; and being superstitious, got up, put his\nchair within the lodge, shut the door, and set about his work. At\nnight he mentioned the circumstance to his wife, and going out with\nher into the passage, they had not stood there long before again a\ngroan was heard. The good woman crossed herself and fell on her knees;\nbut her husband, suspecting now that all was not right, and thinking\nthat an attempt at infanticide had been made, by throwing a child's\nbody down one of the passages leading to the cess-pool, (no uncommon\noccurrence in Paris,) resolved to call in the police. He did so\nwithout loss of time, the heavy stone covering was removed, and one of\nthe attendants stooping down and lowering a lantern, as long as the\nstench would permit him, saw at the bottom, and at a considerable\ndepth, something like a human form leaning against the side of the\nreceptacle. Ropes and ladders were now immediately procured; two men\nwent down, and in a few minutes brought up a body--it was that of the\nunfortunate young man who had been so long missing! Life was not quite\nextinct, for some motion of the limbs was perceptible, there was even\none last low groan, but then all animation ceased for ever. The\nappearance of the body was most dreadful; the face was a livid green\ncolour, the trunk looked like that of a man drowned, and kept long\nbeneath the water, all brown and green--one of the feet had completely\ndisappeared--the other was nearly half decomposed and gone; the hands\nwere dreadfully lacerated, and told of a desperate struggle to escape:\nworms were crawling about; all was putrid and loathsome. How did this\nunfortunate young man come into so dreadful a position? was the\nquestion that immediately occurred; and the only answer that could be\ngiven was, that on the night of the cess-pool being emptied, the\nporter remembered this young man coming home very late, or rather\nearly in the morning. He himself had forgotten to warn him of the\naperture being uncovered, indeed he supposed that it would have been\nsufficiently seen by the lights left burning at its edge;--these had\nprobably been blown out by the wind, and the young man had thus fallen\nin. That life should have been supported so long under such\ncircumstances, seems almost incredible: but it is no less curious than\ntrue; for the porter was tried before the Correctional Tribunal for\ninadvertent homicide, the facts were adduced in evidence, and\ncarelessness having been proved, he was sentenced to imprisonment for\nseveral weeks, and to a heavy fine.\n\nOf churches and religious establishments, there were plenty in and\nabout the Rue St Denis. Besides the great church of St Jacques,\nmentioned before, there were in the street itself the churches of the\nHoly Sepulchre, of St Leu, and St Gilles; of the Innocents; of the\nSaviour; and of St Jacques de l'Hopital: while of conventual\ninstitutions, there were the Hospitals of St Catharine; of the Holy\nTrinity; of the Filles de St Magloire; of the Filles Dieu; of the\nCommunity of St Chaumont; of the S[oe]urs de Charite; and of the great\nmonastery of St Lazare. The fronts, or other considerable portions of\nthose buildings, were all visible in the street, and added greatly to\nits antiquated appearance. The long irregular lines of gable roofs on\neither side, converging from points high above the spectator's head,\nuntil they met or crossed in a dim perspective, near the horizon, were\nbroken here and there by the pointed front, or the tapering spire of a\nchurch or convent. A solemn gateway protruded itself at intervals into\nthe street, and, with its flanking turrets and buttresses, gave broad\nmasses of shade in perpendicular lines, strongly contrasted with the\nhorizontal or diagonal patches of dark colour caused by the houses. At\nearly morn and eve, a shrill tinkling of bells warned the neighbours\nof the sacred duties of many a secluded penitent, or admonished them\nthat it was time to send up their own orisons to God. Before mid-day\nhad arrived, and soon after it had passed, the deeper tones of a\n_bourdon_, from some of the parochial churches, invited the citizens\nto the sacrifice of the mass or the canticles of vespers. Not seldom\nthe throngs of busy wordlings were forced to separate and give room to\nsome holy procession, which, with glittering cross at the head, with\noften tossed and sweetly smelling censers at the side, with\nwhite-robed chanting acolyths, and reverend priests, in long line\nbehind, came forth to take its way to some holy edifice. The zealous\ncitizens would suspend their avocations for a while, would repeat a\nreverential prayer as the holy men went by, and then return to the\nabsorbing calls of business, not unbenefited by the recollections just\nawakened in their minds. On the eves and on the mornings of holy\nfestivals, business was totally suspended; the bells, great and small,\nrang forth their silvery sounds; the churches were crowded, the\nchapels glittered with blazing lights; the prayers of the priests and\npeople rose with the incense before the high altar; the solemn organ\nswelled its full tones responsive to the loud-voiced choir; the\ncurates thundered from the pulpits, to the edification of charitable\ncongregations; and after all had been prostrated in solemn adoration\nof the Divine presence, the citizens would pour out into the street,\nand repair, some to their homes, some to the Palace of the Tournelles,\nwith its towers and gardens guarded by the Bastille; others to the\nLouvre or to the Pre-aux-clercs, and the fields by the river side;\nothers would stroll up the hill of Montmartre; and some in boats would\nbrave the dangers of the Seine! On other and sadder occasions, the\ninhabitants of the Rue St Denis would quit their houses in earnestly\ntalking groups, and would adjourn to the open space in front of the\nHalles. Here, on the top of an octagonal tower, some twenty feet high,\nand covered with a conical spire, between the openings of pointed\narches, might be seen criminals with their heads and hands protruding\nthrough the wooden collar of the pillory. The guard of the provost, or\nthe lieutenant of police, would keep off the noisy throng below, and\nthe goodwives would discuss among themselves the enormities of the\ncoin-clipper, the cut-purse, the incendiary, or the unjust dealer, who\nwere exposed on those occasions for their delinquencies; while the\noffenders themselves, would--a few of them--hang down their heads, and\nclose their eyes in the unsufferable agony of shame; but by far the\ngreater number would shout forth words of bold defiance or indecent\nribaldry, would protrude the mocking tongue, or spit forth curses with\ndire volubility. Then would rise the shouts of _gamins_, then would\ncome the thick volley of eggs, fish-heads, butcher's-offal, and all\nthe garbage of the market, aimed unerringly by many a strenuous arm at\nthe heads of the culprits; and then the soldiers with their\npertuisanes would make quick work among the legs of the retreating\ncrowd, and the jailers would apply the ready lash to the backs of the\nhardened criminals aloft; and thus, the hour's exhibition ended, and\nthe \"king's justice\" satisfied, away would the criminals be led, some\non a hurdle to Montfaucon, and there hung on its ample gibbet, amid\nthe rattling bones of other wretches; some would be hurried back to\nthe Chastelet, or other prisons; and others would be sent off to work,\nchained to the oars of the royal galleys.\n\nThis was a common amusement of the idlers of this quarter: but the\npassions of the mob, if they needed stronger excitement, had to find a\nscene of horrid gratification on the Place de Greve, opposite the\nHotel de Ville, where at rare intervals a heretic would be burnt, a\nmurderer hung, or a traitor quartered; but this spot of bloody memory\nlies far from the Rue St Denis, and we are not now called upon to\nreveal its terrible recollections: let us turn back to our good old\nstreet.\n\nOne of the most curious objects in it was the Church of the Innocents,\nwith its adjoining cemetery, once the main place of interment for all\nthe capital. The church lay at the north-eastern end of what is now\nthe Marche des Innocents, and against it was erected the fountain\nwhich now adorns the middle of the market, and which was the work of\nthe celebrated sculptor, Jean Goujon, and his colleague, the\narchitect, Pierre Lescot. The former is said to have been seated at\nit, giving some last touches to one of the tall and graceful nymphs\nthat adorn its high arched sides, on the day of the Massacre of St\nBartholomew, when he was killed by a random shot from a Catholic\nzealot. The simple inscription which it still bears, FONTIUM NYMPHIS,\nis in better taste than that of any other among the numerous fountains\nof the French capital. The church itself (of which not the slightest\nvestige now remains) was not a good specimen of mediaeval architecture,\nalthough it was large and richly endowed. It was founded by Philip\nAugustus, when he ordered the Jews to be expelled from his dominions,\nand seized on their estates--one of the most nefarious actions\ncommitted by a monarch of France. The absurd accusation, that the Jews\nused periodically to crucify and torture Christian children, was one\nof the most plausible pretexts employed by the rapacious king on this\noccasion; and, as a kind of testimonial that such had been his excuse,\nhe founded this church; dedicated it to the Holy Innocents; and\ntransferred hither the remains of a boy, named Richard, said to have\nbeen sacrificed at Pontoise by some unfortunate Jews, who expiated the\npretended crime by the most horrible torments. St Richard's remains,\n(for he was canonized,) worked numerous miracles in the Church of the\nInnocents, or rather in the churchyard, where a tomb was erected over\nthem; and so great was their reputation, that tradition says, the\nEnglish, on evacuating Paris in the 15th century, carried off with\nthem all but the little saint's head. Certain it is, that nothing but\nthe head remained amongst the relics of this parish; and equally\ncertain is it, that no Christian innocents have been sacrificed by\nthose \"circumcised dogs\" either before or since, whether in France or\nEngland, or any other part of the world. It remained for the dishonest\ncredulity of the present century, to witness the disgraceful spectacle\nof a French consul at Damascus, assisting at the torturing of some\nJewish merchants under a similar accusation, and assuring his\ngovernment of his belief in the confessions extorted by these inhuman\nmeans; and of many a party journal in Paris accrediting and re-echoing\nthe tale. Had not British humanity intervened in aid of British\npolicy, France had made this visionary accusation the ground of an\narmed intervention in Syria. The false accusers of the Jews of\nDamascus have indeed been punished; but the French consul, the Count\nde Ratti-Menton, has since been rewarded by his government with a high\npromotion in the diplomatic department!\n\nOnce more, \"a truce to digression,\" let us see what the ancient\ncemetery of the Innocents was like. Round an irregular four-sided\nspace, about five hundred feet by two, ran a low cloister-like\nbuilding, called Les Charniers, or the Charnel Houses. It had\noriginally been a cloister surrounding the churchyard; but, so\nconvenient had this place of sepulture been found, from its situation\nin the heart of Paris, that the remains of mortality increased in most\nrapid proportion within its precincts, and it was continually found\nnecessary to transfer the bones of long-interred, and long-forgotten\nbodies, to the shelter of the cloisters. Here, then, they were piled\nup in close order--the bones below and the skulls above; they reached\nin later times to the very rafters of these spacious cloisters all\nround, and heaps of skulls and bones lay in unseemly groups on the\ngrass in the midst of the graveyard. At one corner of the church was a\nsmall grated window, where a recluse, like her of St Opportune, had\nworn away forty-six years of her life, after one year's confinement as\na preparatory experiment; and within the church was a splendid brass\ntomb, commemorating this refinement of the monastic virtues. At\nvarious spots about the cemetery, were erected obelisks and crosses of\ndifferent dates, while against the walls of the church and cloister\nwere affixed, in motley and untidy confusion, unnumbered tablets and\nother memorials of the dead. The suppression of this cemetery, just at\nthe commencement of the Revolution, was a real benefit to the capital;\nand when the contents of the yard and its charnel-houses were removed\nto the catacombs south of the city, it was calculated that the remains\nof two millions of human beings rattled down the deep shafts of the\nstone pits to their second interment. In place of the cemetery, we now\nfind the wooden stalls of the Covent Garden of Paris; low, dirty,\nunpainted, ill-built, badly-drained, stinking, and noisy; and their\ntenants are not better than themselves. Like their neighbours, the\nfamous Poissardes, the Dames de la Halle as they are styled, are the\nquintessence of all that is disgusting in Paris. Covent Garden is\nworth a thousand of such markets, and Pere la Chaise is an admirable\nsubstitute for the Cemetery of the Innocents.\n\nHigh up in the Rue de Faubourg St Denis, which is only a continuation\nof the main street, just as Knightsbridge is of Piccadilly, stand the\nremains of the great convent and _maladrerie_ of St Lazarus. In this\nreligious house, all persons attacked with leprosy were received in\nformer days, and either kept for life, if incurable, or else\nmaintained until they were freed from that loathsome disease. From\nwhat cause we know not, (except that the House of St Lazarus was the\nnearest of any religious establishment to the walls of the capital,)\nthe kings of France always made a stay of three days within its walls\non their solemn inauguratory entrance into Paris, and their bodies\nalways lay in state here before they were conveyed to the Abbey Church\nof St Denis. There was no lack of stiff ceremonial on these occasions;\nand, doubtless, the good fathers of the convent did not receive all\nthe court within their walls without rubbing a little gold off the\nrich habits of the nobles. The king, on arriving at the Convent of St\nLazare, proceeded to a part of the house allotted for this purpose,\nand called _Le Logis du Roy_, where, in a chamber of state, he took\nhis seat beneath a canopy, surrounded by the princes of the\nblood-royal. The chancellor of France stood behind his majesty, to\nfurnish him with replies to the different deputations that used to\ncome with congratulatory addresses, and the receptions then commenced.\nThey used to last from seven in the morning, without intermission,\ntill four or five in the afternoon; there were the lawyers of the\nChastelet, the Court of Aids, the Court of Accounts, and the\nParliament, to say nothing of the city authorities and other\nconstituted bodies. The addresses were no short unmeaning things, like\nthose uttered in our poor cold times, but good long-winded harangues,\nsome in French, some in Latin, and they went on, one after the other,\nfor three days consecutively. On the third day, when the royal\npatience must have been wellnigh exhausted, and the chancellor's\ntalents at reply worn tolerably threadbare, the king would rise, and\nmounting on horseback, would proceed to the cathedral church of Notre\nDame, down the Rue St Denis. One of the best recorded of these royal\nentries is that of Louis XI. On this occasion, the king, setting out\nfrom a suburban residence in the Faubourg St Honore, got along the\nnorthern side of Paris to the Convent of St Lazare; and thence, after\nthe delay and the harangues of the three days--the real original\nglorious three days of the French monarchy--proceeded to the Porte St\nDenis. Here a herald met the monarch, and after the keys of the city\nhad been presented by the provost, with long speeches and replies, the\nformer officer introduced to his majesty five young ladies, all richly\nclad, and mounted on horses richly caparisoned, their housings bearing\nthe arms of the city of Paris. Each young damsel represented an\nallegorical personage, and the initials of the names of their\ncharacters made up the word _Paris_. They each harangued the king, and\ntheir speeches, says an old chronicle, seemed \"very agreeable\" to the\nroyal ears. Around the king, as he rode through the gateway, were the\nprinces and highest nobles of the land--the Dukes of Orleans,\nBurgundy, Bourbon, and Cleves: the Count of Charolois, eldest son of\nthe Duke of Burgundy; the Counts of Angoulesme, St Paul, Dunois, and\nothers; with, as a chronicle of the time relates, \"autres comtes,\nbarons, chevaliers, capitaines, et force noblesse, en tres bel ordre\net posture.\" All of these were mounted on horses of price, richly\ncaparisoned, and covered with the finest housings; some were of cloth\nof gold furred with sable, others were of velvet or damask furred with\nermine; all were enriched with precious stones, and to many were\nattached bells of silver gilt, with other \"enjolivements.\" Over the\ngateway was a large ship, the armorial bearing of the city, and within\nit were a number of allegorical personages, with one who represented\nLouis XI. himself; in the street immediately within the gate was a\nparty of savages and satyrs, who executed a mock-fight in honour of\nthe approach of royalty. A little lower down came forth a troop of\nyoung women representing syrens; an old chronicle calls them,\n\"Plusieurs belles filles accoustrees en syrenes, nues, lesquelles, en\nfaisant voir leur beau sein, chantoient de petits motets de bergeres\nfort doux et charmans.\" Near where these damsels stood was a fountain\nwhich had pipes running with milk, wine, and hypocras; at the side of\nthe Church of the Holy Trinity was a _tableau-vivant_ of the Passion\nof our Saviour, including a crucified Christ and two thieves,\nrepresented, as the chronicle states, \"par personnages sans parler.\" A\nlittle further on was a hunting party, with dogs and a hind, making a\ntremendous noise with hautboys and _cors-de-chasse_. The butchers on\nthe open place near the Chastelet, had raised some lofty scaffolds,\nand on them had erected a representation of the Bastille or Chateau of\nDieppe. Just as the king passed by, a desperate combat was going on\nbetween the French besieging this chateau and the English holding\ngarrison within; \"the latter,\" adds the chronicle, \"having been taken\nprisoners, had all their throats cut.\" Before the gate of the\nChastelet, there were the personifications of several illustrious\nheroes; and on the Pont-au-Change, which was carpeted below, hung with\narms at the sides, and canopied above for the occasion, stood the\nfowlers with their two hundred dozens of birds, ready to fly them as\nsoon as the royal charger should stamp on the first stone. Such was a\nroyal entry in those days of iron rule.\n\nBefore Louis XI.'s father, Charles VII., had any reasonable prospect\nof reigning in Paris as king, the English troops had to be driven out\nof the capital; and when the French forces had scaled the walls, and\nentered the city, A.D. 1436, the 1500 Englishmen who defended the\nplace, had but little mercy shown them. Seeing that the game was lost,\nSir H. Willoughby, captain of Paris, shut himself up with a part of\nthe troops in the Bastille, accompanied by the Bishop of Therouenne,\nand Morhier, the provost of the city. The people rose to the cry of\n\"Sainct Denys, Vive le noble Roy de France!\" The constable of France,\nthe Duke de Richemont, and the Bastard of Orleans, led them on; those\ntroops that had been shut out of the Bastille, tried to make their way\nup the Rue St Denis, to the northern gateway, and so to escape on the\nroad to Beauvais and England but the inhabitants stretched chains\nacross the street, and men, women, and children, showered down upon\nthem from the windows, chairs, tables, logs of wood, stones, and even\nboiling water; while others rushed in from behind and from the side\nstreets, with arms in their hands, and the massacre of all the English\nfugitives ensued. A short time after, Sir H. Willoughby, and the\ngarrison of the Bastille, not receiving succours from the commanders\nof the English forces, surrendered the fortress, and were allowed to\nretire to Rouen. As they marched out of Paris, the Bishop of\nTherouenne accompanied them, and the populace followed the troops,\nshouting out at the Bishop--\"The fox! the fox!\"--and at the English,\n\"The tail! the tail!\"\n\nAnother departure of a foreign garrison from Paris, took place in\n1594, and this time in peaceable array, by the Rue St Denis. When\nHenry IV. had obtained possession of his capital, there remained in it\na considerable body of Spanish troops, who had been sent into France\nto aid the chiefs of the League, and they were under the command of\nthe Duke de Feria. The reaction in the minds of the Parisians, after\nthe misery of their siege, had been too sudden and too complete, to\ngive the Spaniards any hope of holding out against the king; a\ncapitulation was therefore agreed upon, the foreign forces were\nallowed to march out with the honours of war, and they were escorted\nwith their baggage as far as the frontier. The king and his principal\nofficers took post within the rooms over the Porte St Denis--then a\nsquare turreted building, with a pointed and portcullised gate and\ndrawbridge beneath--to see the troops march out, and he stationed\nhimself at the window looking down the street. First came some\ncompanies of Neapolitan infantry, with drums beating, standards\nflying, arms on their shoulders, but without having their matches\nlighted. Then came the Spanish Guards, in the midst of whom were the\nDuke de Feria, Don Diego d'Ibara, and Don Juan Baptista Taxis, all\nmounted on spirited Spanish chargers; while behind them marched the\nbattalions of the Lansquenets, and the Walloons. As each company came\nup to the gateway, the soldiers, marching by fours, raised their eyes\nto the king, took off their headpieces, and bowed; the officers did\nthe same, and Henry returned the salutation with the greatest\ncourtesy. He was particular in showing this politeness, in the most\nmarked manner, to the Duke de Feria and his noble companions, and when\nthey were within hearing, cried out aloud, \"Recommend me to your\nmaster, but never show your faces here again!\" Some of the more\nobnoxious members of the League were allowed to retire with the\nSpaniards; and in the evening, bonfires were lighted in all the\nstreets, and the _Te Deum_ was sung on all the public places. The\nmediaeval glory of the Porte St Denis vanished in the time of Louis\nXIV., where he unfortified the city, which one of his successors has\ntaken such pains again to imprison within stone walls, and the present\ntriumphal arch was erected upon its site. This modern edifice, it is\nwell known, served for the entrance of Charles X. from Rheims, and,\nshortly after, for a post whence the trumpery patriots of 1830\ncontrived to annoy some of the cavalry who were fighting in the cause\nof the legitimacy and the true liberties of France. Many a barricade\nand many a skirmish has the Rue St Denis since witnessed!\n\nAll the churches have disappeared from the Rue St Denis except that of\nSt Leu and St Gilles, a small building of the thirteenth and\nfourteenth centuries: all the convents have been rased to the ground\nexcept that of St Lazare. To this a far different destination has been\ngiven from what it formerly enjoyed: it is now the great female prison\nof the capital; and within its walls all the bread required for the\nprisons of Paris is baked, all the linen is made and mended. The\nprison consists of three distinct portions: one allotted for carrying\non the bread and linen departments: a second for the detention of\nfemale criminals before conviction, or for short terms of\nimprisonment; and in this various light manufactures, such as the\nmaking of baskets, straw-plait, and the red phosphorus-match boxes,\nare carried on: the third is an hospital and house of detention for\nthe prostitutes of the capital. We were once taken all through this\nimmense establishment by the governor, who had the kindness to\naccompany us, and to explain every thing in person--a favour not often\ngranted to foreigners--and a strong impression did the scenes we then\nsaw leave. In the first two departments every thing was gloomy,\norderly, and quiet: the prisoners were much fewer than we had\nexpected--not above two hundred--many of them, however, were mere\nchildren; but the matrons were good kind of women and the work of\nreformation was going on rapidly to counteract the effects of early\ncrime. In the third, though equal strictness of conduct on the part of\nthe superiors prevailed, the behaviour of the inmates subjected to\ncontrol was far different. The great majority had been confined there\nas hospital patients, not as offenders against the law, and they were\ndivided into wards, according to their sanatory condition. Here they\nwere very numerous; and a melancholy thing it was to see hundreds of\nwretched creatures wandering about their spacious rooms, or sitting up\nin their beds, with haggard looks, dishevelled hair, hardly any\nclothing, and a sort of reckless gaiety in their manner that spoke\nvolumes as to their real condition. The _regime_ of this\nprison-hospital is found, however, to be on the whole most salutary:\nthe seeds of good are sown with a few; the public health, as well as\nthe public morals, has been notably improved; and from the time when a\nyoung painter employed in the prison was decoyed into this portion of\nit and killed within a few hours, the occurrence of deeds of violence\nwithin its walls has been very rare.\n\nFrom the top of the Faubourg St Denis, all through the suburb of La\nChapelle, the long line of modern habitations extends, without\noffering any points of historical interest. It is, indeed, a very\ncommonplace, everyday kind of road, which hardly any Englishman that\nhas jumbled along in the Messageries Royales can fail of recollecting.\nNothing poetical, nothing romantic, was ever known to take place\nbetween the Barriere de St Denis and the town where the abbey stands.\nWe know, however, of an odd occurrence upon this ground, towards the\nend of the thirteenth century, (we were not alive then, gentle\nreader,) strikingly illustrative of the superstition of the times. In\n1274, the church of St Gervais, in Paris, was broken into one night by\nsome sacrilegious dog, who ran off with the golden pix, containing the\nconsecrated wafer or host. Not thinking himself safe within the city,\naway he went for St Denis--got without the city walls in safety, and\nmade off as fast as he could for the abbatial town. Before arriving\nthere, he thought he would have a look at the contents of the precious\nvessel, when, on his opening the lid, out jumped the holy wafer, up it\nflew into the air over his head, and there it kept dodging about, and\nbobbing up and down, behind the affrightened thief, and following him\nwherever he went. He rushed into the town of St Denis, but there was\nthe wafer coming after him, and just above his head; whichever way he\nturned, there was the flying wafer. It was now broad daylight, and\nsome of the inhabitants perceived the miracle. This was immediately\nreported by them to the abbot of the monastery. The holy father and\nhis monks sallied forth; all saw the wafer as plain as they saw each\nothers' shaven crowns. The man was immediately arrested; the pix was\nfound on him, and the abbot, as a feudal seigneur, having the right of\nlife and death within his own fief, had him hung up to the nearest\ntree within five minutes. The abbot then sent word to the Bishop of\nParis of what had occurred; and the prelate, attended by the curates\nand clergy of the capital, went to St Denis to witness the miracle.\nBut wonders were not to cease; there they found the abbot and monks\nlooking up into the air; there was the wafer sticking up somewhere\nunder the sun, and none of them could devise how they were to get it\ndown again. The monks began singing canticles and litanies; the\nParisian clergy did the same; still the wafer would not move a hair's\nbreadth. At last they resolved to adjourn to the Abbey Church; and so\nthey formed themselves into procession, and stepped forwards. The\nmonks had reached the abbey door, the bishop and his clergy were\nfollowing behind, and the clergy of St Gervais were just under the\nspot where the wafer was suspended, when, _presto_, down it popped\ninto the hands of the little red-nosed curate. \"Its mine!\" cried the\ncurate: \"I'll have it!\" shouted the bishop: \"I wish you may get it,\"\nroared the abbot--and a regular scramble took place. But the little\ncurate held his prize fast; his vicars stuck to him like good men and\ntrue; and they carried off their prize triumphant. The bishop and the\nabbot drew up a solemn memorial and covenant on the spot, whereby the\nwafer was legally consigned to its original consecrator and owner, the\ncurate of St Gervais; and it was agreed that every 1st of September,\nthe day of the miracle, a solemn office and procession of the Holy\nSacrament should be celebrated within his church. The reverend father\nDu Breul, the grave historian of Paris, adds: \"L'histoire du dit\nmiracle est naifvement depeinte en une vitre de la chapelle Sainct\nPierre d'icelle eglise, ou sont aussi quelques vers Francois,\ncontenans partie d'icelle histoire.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LAST SESSION OF PARLIAMENT.\n\n\nIn days of old it was the remark of more than one philosopher, that,\nif it were possible to exhibit virtue in a personal form, and clothed\nwith attributes of sense, all men would unite in homage to her\nsupremacy. The same thing is true of other abstractions, and\nespecially of the powers which work by social change. Could these\npowers be revealed to us in any symbolic incarnation--were it possible\nthat, but for one hour, the steadfast march of their tendencies, their\npromises, and their shadowy menaces, could be made apprehensible to\nthe bodily eye--we should be startled, and oftentimes appalled, at the\ngrandeur of the apparition. In particular, we may say that the advance\nof civilization, as it is carried forward for ever on the movement\ncontinually accelerated of England and France, were it less stealthy\nand inaudible than it is, would fix, in every stage, the attention of\nthe inattentive and the anxieties of the careless. Like the fabulous\nmusic of the spheres, once allowed to break sonorously upon the human\near, it would render us deaf to all other sounds. Heard or not heard,\nhowever, marked or not marked, the rate of our advance is more and\nmore portentous. Old things are passing away. Every year carries us\nround some obstructing angle, laying open suddenly before us vast\nreaches of fresh prospect, and bringing within our horizon new\nagencies by which civilization is henceforth to work, and new\ndifficulties against which it is to work; other forces for\nco-operation, other resistances for trial. Meantime the velocity of\nthese silent changes is incredibly aided by the revolutions, both\nmoral and scientific, in the machinery of nations; revolutions by\nwhich knowledge is interchanged, power propagated, and the methods of\ncommunication multiplied. And the vast aerial arches by which these\nrevolutions mount continually to the common zenith of Christendom, so\nas to force themselves equally upon the greatest of nations and the\nhumblest, express the aspiring destiny by which, already and\nirresistibly, they are coming round upon all other tribes and families\nof men, however distant in position, or alien by system and\norganization. The nations of the planet, like ships of war\nman[oe]uvring prelusively to some great engagement, are silently\ntaking up their positions, as it were, for future action and reaction,\nreciprocally for doing and suffering. And, in this ceaseless work of\npreparation or of noiseless combination, France and England are seen\nfor ever in the van. Whether for evil or for good, they _must_ be in\nadvance. And if it were possible to see the relative positions of all\nChristendom, its several divisions, expressed as if on the monuments\nof Persepolis by endless evolutions of cities in procession or of\narmies advancing, we should be awakened to the full solemnity of our\nduties by seeing two symbols flying aloft for ever in the head of\nnations--two recognizances for hope or for fear--the roses of England\nand the lilies of France.\n\nReflections such as these furnish matter for triumphal gratulation,\nbut also for great depression: and in the enormity of our joint\nresponsibilities, we French and English have reason to forget the\ngrandeur of our separate stations. It is fit that we should keep alive\nthese feelings, and continually refresh them, by watching the\neverlasting motions of society, by sweeping the moral heavens for ever\nwith our glasses in vigilant detection of new phenomena, and by\ncalling to a solemn audit, from time to time, the national acts which\nare undertaken, or the counsels which in high places are avowed.\n\nAmongst these acts and these counsels none justify a more anxious\nattention than such as come forward in the senate. It is true that\ngreat revolutions may brood over us for a long period without\nawakening any murmur or echo in Parliament; of which we have an\ninstance in Puseyism, which is a power of more ominous capacities than\nthe gentleness of its motions would lead men to suspect, and is well\nfitted (as hereafter we may show) to effect a volcanic explosion--such\nas may rend the Church of England by schisms more extensive and\nshattering than those which have recently afflicted the Church of\nScotland. Generally, however, Parliament becomes, sooner or later, a\nmirror to the leading phenomena of the times. These phenomena, to be\nvalued thoroughly, must be viewed, indeed, from different stations and\nangles. But one of these aspects is that which they assume under the\nlegislative revision of the people. It is more than ever requisite\nthat each session of Parliament should be searched and reviewed in the\ncapital features of its legislation. Hereafter we may attempt this\nduty more elaborately. For the present we shall confine ourselves to a\nhasty survey of some few principal measures in the late session which\nseem important to our social progress.\n\nWe shall commence our review by the fewest possible words on the\nparamount nuisance of the day--viz. the corn-law agitation. This is\nthat question which all men have ceased to think sufferable. This is\nthat \"mammoth\" nuisance of our times by which \"the gaiety of nations\nis eclipsed.\" We are thankful that its \"damnable iterations\" have now\nplaced it beyond the limits of public toleration. No man hearkens to\nsuch debates any longer--no man reads the reports of such debates: it\nis become criminal to quote them; and recent examples of torpor beyond\nall torpor, on occasion of Cobden meetings amongst the inflammable\nsections of our population, have shown--that not the poorest of the\npoor are any longer to be duped, or to be roused out of apathy, by\nthis intolerable fraud. Full of \"gifts and lies\" is the false fleeting\nAssociation of these Lancashire Cottoneers. But its gifts are too\nwindy, and its lies are too ponderous. To the Association is \"given a\nmouth speaking great things and blasphemies;\" and out of this mouth\nissues \"fire,\" it is true, against all that is excellent in the land,\nbut also \"smoke\"--as the consummation of its overtures. During many\nreigns of the Caesars, a race of swindlers infested the Roman court,\ntechnically known as \"sellers of smoke,\" and often punished under that\nname. They sold, for weighty considerations of gold, castles in the\nair, imaginary benefices, ideal reversions; and, in short, contracted\nwholesale or retail for the punctual delivery of unadulterated\nmoonshine. Such a dealer, such a contractor, is the Anti-Corn-Law\nAssociation; and for such it has always been known amongst intelligent\nmen. But its character has now diffused itself among the illiterate:\nand we believe it to be the simple truth at this moment, that every\nworking man, whose attention has at any time been drawn to the\nquestion, is now ready to take his stand upon the following\nanswer:--\"We, that is our order, Mr Cobden, are not very strong in\nfaith. Our faith in the Association is limited. So much, however, by\nall that reaches us, we are disposed to believe--viz. that ultimately\nyou might succeed in reducing the price of a loaf, by three parts in\nforty-eight, which is one sixteenth; with what loss to our own landed\norder, and with what risk to the national security in times of war or\nfamine, is no separate concern of ours. On the other hand, Mr Cobden,\nin _your_ order there are said to be knaves in ambush; and we take it,\nthat the upshot of the change will be this: We shall save three\nfarthings in a shilling's worth of flour; and the _honest_ men of your\norder--whom candour forbid that we should reckon at only twenty-five\nper cent on the whole--will diminish our wages simply by that same\nthree farthings in a shilling; but the knaves (we are given to\nunderstand) will take an excuse out of that trivial change to deduct\nfour, five, or six farthings; they will improve the occasion in\nevangelical proportions--some sixty-fold, some seventy, and some a\nhundred.\"\n\nThis is the settled _practical_ faith of those hard-working men, who\ncare not to waste their little leisure upon the theory of the\ncorn-laws. It is this practical result only which concerns _us_; for\nas to the speculative logic of the case, as a question for economists,\nwe, who have so often discussed it in this journal, (which journal, we\ntake it upon us to say, has, from time to time, put forward or\nreviewed every conceivable argument on the corn question,) must really\ndecline to re-enter the arena, and _actum agere_, upon any occasion\nministered by Mr Cobden. Very frankly, we disdain to do so; and now,\nupon quitting the subject, we will briefly state why.\n\nMr Cobden, as we hear and believe, is a decent man--that is to say,\nupon any ground not connected with politics; equal to six out of any\nten manufacturers you will meet in the Queen's high road--whilst of\nthe other four not more than three will be found conspicuously his\nsuperiors. He is certainly, in the senate, not what Lancashire rustics\nmean by a _hammil sconce_;[28] or, according to a saying often in the\nmouth of our French emigrant friends in former times, he \"could not\nhave invented the gun-powder, though perhaps he might have invented\nthe hair-powder.\" Still, upon the whole, we repeat, that Mr Cobden is\na decent man, wherever he is not very indecent. Is he therefore a\ndecent man on this question of the corn-laws? So far from it, that we\nnow challenge attention to one remarkable fact. All the world knows\nhow much he has talked upon this particular topic; how he has\nitinerated on its behalf; how he has perspired under its business. Is\nthere a fortunate county in England which has yet escaped his\nharangues? Does that happy province exist which has not reverberated\nhis yells? Doubtless, not--and yet mark this: Not yet, not up to the\npresent hour, (September 20, 1843,) has Mr Cobden delivered one\nargument properly and specially applicable to the corn question. He\nhas uttered many things offensively upon the aristocracy; he has\nlibelled the lawgivers; he has insulted the farmers; he has exhausted\nthe artillery of _political_ abuse: but where is the _economic_\nartillery which he promised us, and which, (strange to say!) from the\nvery dulness of his theme making it a natural impossibility to read\nhim, most people are willing to suppose that he has, after one fashion\nor other, actually discharged. The Corn-League benefits by its own\nstupidity. Not being read, every leaguer has credit for having uttered\nthe objections which, as yet, he never did utter. Hence comes the\npopular impression, that from Mr Cobden have emanated arguments, of\nsome quality or other, against the existing system. True, there are\narguments in plenty on the other side, and pretty notorious arguments;\nbut, _pendente lite_, and until these opposite pleas are brought\nforward, it is supposed that the Cobden pleas have a brief provisional\nexistence--they are good for the moment. Not at all. We repeat that,\nas to economic pleas, none of any kind, good or bad, have been placed\non the record by any orator of that faction; whilst all other pleas,\nkeen and personal as they may appear, are wholly irrelevant to any\nreal point at issue. In illustration of what we say, one (and very\nmuch the most searching) of Mr Cobden's questions to the farmers, was\nthis--\"Was not the object,\" he demanded, \"was not the very purpose of\nall corn-laws alike--simply to keep up the price of grain? Well; had\nthe English corn-laws accomplished that object? Had they succeeded in\nthat purpose? Notoriously they had not; confessedly they had failed;\nand every farmer in the corn districts would avouch that often he had\nbeen brought to the brink of ruin by prices ruinously low.\" Now, we\npause not to ask, why, if the law already makes the prices of corn\nruinously low, any association can be needed to make it lower? What we\nwish to fix attention upon, is this assumption of Mr Cobden's, many\ntimes repeated, that the known object and office of our corn-law,\nunder all its modifications, has been to elevate the price of our\ncorn; to sustain it at a price to which naturally it could not have\nascended. Many sound speculators on this question we know to have been\nseriously perplexed by this assertion of Mr Cobden's; and others, we\nhave heard, not generally disposed to view that gentleman's doctrines\nwith favour, who insist upon it, that, in mere candour, we must grant\nthis particular postulate. \"Really,\" say they, \"_that_ cannot be\nrefused him; the law _was_ for the purpose he assigns; its final cause\n_was_, as he tells us, to keep up artificially the price of our\ndomestic corn-markets. So far he is right. But his error commences in\ntreating this design as an unfair one, and, secondly, in denying that\nit has been successful. It _has_ succeeded; and it ought to have\nsucceeded. The protection sought for our agriculture was no more than\nit merited; and that protection has been faithfully realized.\"\n\n    [28] A _hammil sconce_, or light of the hamlet, is the\n    picturesque expression in secluded parts of Lancashire\n    for the local wise man, or village counsellor.\n\nWe, however, vehemently deny Mr Cobden's postulate _in toto_. He is\nwrong, not merely as others are wrong in the principle of refusing\nthis protection, not merely on the question of fact as to the reality\nof this protection, (to enter upon which points would be to adopt that\nhateful discussion which we have abjured;) but, above all, he is wrong\nin assigning to corn-laws, as their end and purpose, an absolute\ndesign of sustaining prices. To raise prices is an occasional means of\nthe corn-laws, and no end at all. In one word, what _is_ the end of\nthe corn-laws? It is, and ever has been, to equalize the prospects of\nthe farmer from year to year, with the view, and generally with the\neffect, of drawing into the agricultural service of the nation, as\nnearly as possible, the same amount of land at one time as at another.\nThis is the end; and this end is paramount. But the means to that end\nmust lie, according to the accidents of the case, alternately through\nmoderate increase of price, or moderate diminution of price. The\nbesetting oversight, in this instance, is the neglect of the one great\npeculiarity affecting the manufacture of corn--viz. its inevitable\noscillation as to quantity, consequently as to price, under the\nvariations of the seasons. People talk, and encourage mobs to think,\nthat Parliaments cause, and that Parliaments could heal if they\npleased, the evil of fluctuation in grain. Alas! the evil is as\nancient as the weather, and, like the disease of poverty, will cleave\nto society for ever. And the way in which a corn-law--that is, a\nrestraint upon the free importation of corn--affects the case, is\nthis:--Relieving the domestic farmer from that part of his anxiety\nwhich points to the competition of foreigners, it confines it to the\none natural and indefeasible uncertainty lying in the contingencies of\nthe weather. Releasing him from all jealousy of man, it throws him, in\nsingleness of purpose, upon an effort which cannot be disappointed,\nexcept by a power to which, habitually, he bows and resigns himself.\nSecure, therefore, from all superfluous anxieties, the farmer enjoys,\nfrom year to year, a pretty equal encouragement in distributing the\nemployments of his land. If, through the dispensations of Providence,\nthe quantity of his return falls short, he knows that some rude\nindemnification will arise in the higher price. If, in the opposite\ndirection, he fears a low price, it comforts him to know that this\ncannot arise for any length of time but through some commensurate\nexcess in quantity. This, like other severities of a natural or\ngeneral system, will not, and cannot, go beyond a bearable limit. The\nhigh price compensates grossly the defect of quantity; the overflowing\nquantity in turn compensates grossly the low price. And thus it\nhappens that, upon any cycle of ten years, taken when you will, the\nmanufacture of grain will turn out to have been moderately profitable.\nNow, on the other hand, under a system of free importation, whenever a\nredundant crop in England coincides (as often it does) with a similar\nredundancy in Poland, the discouragement cannot but become immoderate.\nAn excess of one-seventh will cause a fall of price by three-sevenths.\nBut the simultaneous excess on the Continent may raise the one-seventh\nto two-sevenths, and in a much greater proportion will these depress\nthe price. The evil will then be enormous; the discouragement will be\nruinous; much capital, much land, will be withdrawn from the culture\nof grain; and, supposing a two years' succession of such excessive\ncrops, (which effect is more common than a single year's excess,) the\nresult, for the third year, will be seen in a preternatural\ndeficiency; for, by the supposition, the number of acres applied to\ncorn is now very much less than usual, under the unusual\ndiscouragement; and according to the common oscillations of the season\naccording to those irregularities that, in effect, are often found to\nbe regular--this third year succeeding to redundant years may be\nexpected to turn out a year of scarcity. Here, then, in the absence of\na corn-law, comes a double deficiency--a deficiency of acres applied,\nfrom jealousy of foreign competition, and upon each separate acre a\ndeficiency of crop, from the nature of the weather. What will be the\nconsequence? A price ruinously high; higher beyond comparison than\ncould ever have arisen under a temperate restriction of competition;\nthat is, in other words, under a British corn-law.\n\nMany other cases might be presented to the reader, and especially\nunder the action of a doctrine repeatedly pressed in this journal,\nbut steadily neglected elsewhere--viz. the \"_devolution_\" of foreign\nagriculture upon lower qualities of land, (and consequently its\n_permanent_ exaltation in price,) in case of any certain demand on\naccount of England. But this one illustration is sufficient. Here we\nsee that, under a free trade in corn, and _in consequence_ of a free\ntrade, ruinous enhancements of price would arise--such in magnitude as\nnever could have arisen under a wise limitation of foreign\ncompetition. And further, we see that under our present system no\nenhancement is, or could be, _absolutely_ injurious; it might be so\n_relatively_--it might be so in relation to the poor consumer; but in\nthe mean time, that guinea which might be lost to the consumer would\nbe gained to the farmer. Now, in the case supposed, under a free corn\ntrade the rise is commensurate to the previous injury sustained by the\nfarmer; and much of the extra bonus reaped goes to a foreign interest.\nWhat we insist upon, however, is this one fact, that alternately the\nBritish corn-laws have raised the price of grain and have sunk it;\nthey have raised the price in the case where else there would have\nbeen a ruinous depreciation--ruinous to the prospects of succeeding\nyears; they have sunk it under the natural and usual oscillations of\nweather to be looked for in these succeeding years. And each way their\naction has been most moderate. For let not the reader forget, that on\nthe system of a sliding-scale, this action cannot be otherwise than\nmoderate. Does the price rise? Does it threaten to rise higher?\nInstantly the very evil redresses itself. As the evil, _i.e._ the\nprice, increases, in that exact proportion does it open the gate to\nrelief; for exactly so does the duty fall. Does the price fall\nruinously?--(in which case it is true that the _instant_ sufferer is\nthe farmer; but through him, as all but the short-sighted must see,\nthe consumer will become the reversionary sufferer)--immediately the\nduty rises, and forbids an accessary evil from abroad to aggravate the\nevil at home. So gentle and so equable is the play of those weights\nwhich regulate our whole machinery, whilst the late correction applied\neven here by Sir Robert Peel, has made this gentle action still\ngentler; so that neither of the two parties--consumers who to live\nmust buy, growers who to live must sell--can, by possibility, feel an\nincipient pressure before it is already tending to relieve itself. It\nis the very perfection of art to make a malady produce its own\nmedicine--an evil its own relief. But that which here we insist on,\nis, that it never _was_ the object of our own corn-laws to increase\nthe price of corn; secondly, that the real object was a condition of\nequipoise which abstractedly is quite unconnected with either rise of\nprice or fall of price; and thirdly, that, as a matter of fact, our\ncorn-laws have as often reacted to lower the price, as directly they\nhave operated to raise it; whilst eventually, and traced through\nsucceeding years, equally the raising and the lowering have\nco-operated to that steady temperature (or nearest approximation to it\nallowed by nature) which is best suited to a _comprehensive_ system of\ninterests. Accursed is that man who, in speaking upon so great a\nquestion, will seek, or will consent, to detach the economic\nconsiderations of that question from the higher political\nconsiderations at issue. Accursed is that man who will forget the\nnoble yeomanry we have formed through an agriculture chiefly domestic,\nwere it even true that so mighty a benefit had been purchased by some\npecuniary loss. But this it is which we are now denying. We affirm\nperemptorily, and as a fact kept out of sight only by the neglect of\npursuing the case through a succession of years under the _natural_\nfluctuation of seasons, that, upon the series of the last seventy\nyears, viewed as a whole, we have paid less for our corn by means of\nthe corn-laws, than we should have done in the absence of such laws.\nIt was, says Mr Cobden, the purpose of such laws to make corn dear; it\nis, says he, the effect, to make it cheap. Yes, in the last clause his\nvery malice drove him into the truth. Speaking to farmers, he found it\nrequisite to assert that they had been injured; and as he knew of no\ninjury to them other than a low price, _that_ he postulated at the\ncost of his own logic, and quite forgetting that if the farmer had\nlost, the consumer must have gained in that very ratio. Rather than\nnot assert a failure _quoad_ the intention of the corn-laws, he\nactually asserts a national benefit _quoad_ the result. And, in a\nrapture of malice to the lawgivers, he throws away for ever, at one\nvictorious sling, the total principles of an opposition to the\nlaw.[29]\n\n    [29] Those who fancy a possible evasion of the case\n    supposed above, by saying, that if a failure, extensive\n    as to England, should coincide with a failure extensive\n    as to Poland, remedies might be found in importing from\n    many other countries combined, forget one objection,\n    which is decisive--these supplementary countries must be\n    many, and they must be distant. For no country could\n    singly supply a defect of great extent, unless it were a\n    defect annually and regularly anticipated. A surplus\n    never designed as a fixed surplus for England, but\n    called for only now and then, could never be more than\n    small. Therefore the surplus, which could not be yielded\n    by one country, must be yielded by many. In that\n    proportion increase the probabilities that a number will\n    have no surplus. And, secondly, from the widening\n    distances, in that proportion increases the extent of\n    shipping required. But now, even from Mr Porter, a most\n    prejudiced writer on this question, and not capable of\n    impartiality in speaking upon any measure which he\n    supposes hostile to the principle of free trade, the\n    reader may learn how certainly any great _hiatus_ in our\n    domestic growth of corn is placed beyond all hope of\n    relief. For how is this grain, this relief, to be\n    brought? In ships, you reply. Ay, but in what ships? Do\n    you imagine that an extra navy can lie rotting in docks,\n    and an extra fifty thousand of sailors can be held in\n    reserve, and borne upon the books of some colossal\n    establishment, waiting for the casual seventh, ninth, or\n    twelfth year in which they may be wanted--kept and paid\n    against an \"_in case_,\" like the extra supper, so called\n    by Louis XIV., which waited all night on the chance that\n    it might be wanted? _That_, you say, is impossible. It\n    is so; and yet without such a reserve, all the navies of\n    Europe would not suffice to make up such a failure of\n    our home crops as is likely enough to follow redundant\n    years under the system of unlimited competition.--See\n    PORTER.\n\nBut enough, and more than enough, of THE nuisance. It will be\nexpected, however, that we should notice two collateral points, both\nwearing an air of the marvellous, which have grown out of the nuisance\nduring the recent session. One is the relaxation of our laws with\nrespect to Canadian corn; a matter of no great importance in itself,\nbut furnishing some reasons for astonishment in regard to the\ndisproportioned opposition which it has excited. Undoubtedly the\nastonishment is well justified, if we view the measure for what it was\nreally designed by the minister--viz. as a momentary measure, suited\nmerely to the _current_ circumstances of our relation to Canada. Long\nbefore any evil can arise from it, through changes in these\ncircumstances, the law will have been modified. Else, and having,\nregard to the remote contingencies of the case (possible or probable)\nrather than to its instant certainties, we are disposed to think, that\nthe irritation which this little anomalous law has roused amongst some\nof the landholders, is not quite so unaccountable, or so\ndisproportionate, as the public have been taught to imagine. True it\nis, that for the present, _lis est de paupere regno_. Any surplus of\ngrain which, at this moment, Canada could furnish, must be quite as\npowerless upon our home markets, as the cattle, living or salted which\nhave been imported under the tariff in 1842 and 1843. But the fears of\nCanada potentially, were not therefore unreasonable, because the\nactual Canada is not in a condition for instantly using her new\nprivileges. Corn, that hitherto had not been grown, both may be grown,\nand certainly will be grown, as soon as the new motive for growing it,\nthe new encouragement, becomes operatively known. Corn, again, that\nfrom local difficulties did not find its way to eastern markets, will\ndo so by continual accessions, swelling gradually into a powerful\nstream, as the many improvements of the land and water communication,\nnow contemplated, or already undertaken, come into play. Another fear\nconnects itself with possible evasions of the law by the United\nStates. Cross an imaginary frontier line, and _that_ will become\nCanadian which was not Canadian by its origin. We are told, indeed,\nthat merely by its bulk, grain will always present an obstacle to any\nextensive system of smuggling. But obstacles are not impossibilities.\nAnd these obstacles, it must be remembered, are not founded in the\nvigilance of revenue officers, but simply in the cost; an element of\ndifficulty which is continually liable to change. So that upon the\nwhole, and as applying to the reversions of the case, rather than to\nits present phenomena, undoubtedly there _are_ dangers a-head to our\nown landed interest from that quarter of the horizon. For the present,\nit should be enough to say, that these dangers are yet remote. And\nperhaps it _would_ have been enough under other circumstances. But it\nis the tendency of the bill which suggests alarm. All changes in our\nday tend to the consummation of free trade: and this measure,\ntravelling in that direction, reasonably becomes suspicious by its\nprinciple, though innocent enough by its immediate operation.\n\nThe other point connected with the corn question is personal. Among\nthe many motions and notices growing out of the dispute, which we hold\nit a matter of duty to neglect, was one brought forward by Lord John\nRussell. Upon what principle, or with what object? Strange to say, he\nrefused to explain. That it must be some modification applied to a\nfixed duty, every body knew; but of what nature Lord John declined to\ntell us, until he should reach a committee which he had no chance of\nobtaining. This affair, which surprised every body, is of little\nimportance as regards the particular subject of the motion. But in a\nmore general relation, it is worthy of attention. No man interested in\nthe character and efficiency of Parliament, can fail to wish that\nthere may always exist a strong opposition, vigilant, bold,\nunflinching, full of partizanship, if you will, but uniformly\nsuspending the partizanship at the summons of paramount national\ninterests, and acting harmoniously upon some systematic plan. How\nlittle the present unorganized opposition answers to this description,\nit is unnecessary to say. The nation is ashamed of a body so\ndeterminately below its functions. But Lord John Russell is\nindividually superior to his party. He is a man of sense, of\ninformation, and of known official experience. Now, if he, so\nnotoriously the wise man of \"her Majesty's Opposition,\" is capable of\ndescending to harlequin caprices of this extreme order, the nation\nsees with pain, that a constitutional function of control is extinct\nin our present senate, and that her Majesty's Ministers must now be\nlooked to as their own controllers. With the levity of a child, Lord\nJohn makes a motion, which, if adopted, would have landed him in\ndefeat; but through utter want of judgment and concert with his party,\nhe does not get far enough to be defeated: he does not succeed in\nobtaining the prostration for which he man[oe]uvres; but is saved from\na final exposure of his little statesmanship by universal mockery of\nhis miserable partizanship. Alas for the times in which Burke and Fox\nwielded the forces of Parliamentary opposition, and redoubled the\nenergies of Government by the energies of their enlightened\nresistance!\n\nIn quitting the subject of the corn agitation, (obstinately pursued\nthrough the session,) we may remark--and we do so with pain--that all\nlaws whatsoever, strong or lax, upon this question are to be regarded\nas provisional. The temper of society being what it is, some small\ngang of cotton-dealers, moved by the rankest self-interest, finding\nthemselves suffered to agitate almost without opposition, and the\nancient landed interest of the country, if not silenced, being silent,\nit is felt by all parties that no law, in whatever direction, upon\nthis great problem, can have a chance of permanence. The natural\nrevenge which we may promise ourselves is--that the lunacies of the\nfree-trader, when acted upon, as too surely they will be, may prove\nequally fugitive. Meantime, it is not by provisional acts, or acts of\nsudden emergency, that we estimate the service of a senate. It is the\nsolemn and deliberate laws, those which are calculated for the wear\nand tear of centuries, which hold up a mirror to the legislative\nspirit of the times.\n\nOf laws bearing this character, if we except the inaugural essays at\nimproving the law of libel, and at founding a system of national\neducation, of which the latter has failed for the present in a way\nfitted to cause some despondency, the last session offers us no\nconspicuous example, beyond the one act of Lord Aberdeen for healing\nand tranquillizing the wounds of the Scottish church. Self-inflicted\nthese wounds undeniably were; but they were not the less severe on\nthat account, nor was the contagion of spontaneous martyrdom on that\naccount the less likely to spread. In reality, the late astonishing\nschism in the Scottish church (astonishing because abrupt) is, in one\nrespect, without precedent. Every body has heard of persecutions that\nwere courted; but in such a case, at least, the spirit of persecution\nmust have had a local existence, and to some extent must have uttered\nmenaces--or how should those menaces have been defied? Now, the\n\"persecutions,\" before which a large section of the Scottish church\nhas fallen by an act of spontaneous martyrdom, were not merely\nneedlessly defied, but were originally self-created; they were evoked,\nlike phantoms and shadows, by the martyrs themselves, out of blank\nnegations. Without provocation _ab extra_, without warning on their\nown part, suddenly they place themselves in an attitude of desperate\ndefiance to the known law of the land. The law firmly and tranquilly\nvindicates itself; the whole series of appeals is threaded; the\noriginal judgment, as a matter of course, is finally re-affirmed--and\nthis is the persecution insinuated; whilst the necessity of complying\nwith that decision, which does not express any novelty even to the\nextent of a new law, but simply the ordinary enforcement of an old\none, is the kind of martyrdom resulting. The least evil of this\nfantastic martyrdom, is the exit from the pastoral office of so many\npersons trained, by education and habit, to the effectual performance\nof the pastoral duties. That loss--though not without signal\ndifficulty, from the abruptness of the summons--will be supplied. But\nthere is a greater evil which cannot be healed--the breach of unity in\nthe church. The scandal, the offence, the occasion of unhappy\nconstructions upon the doctrinal soundness of the church, which have\nbeen thus ministered to the fickle amongst her own children--to the\nmalicious amongst her enemies, are such as centuries do not easily\nfurnish, and centuries do not remove. In all Christian churches alike,\nthe conscientiousness which is the earliest product of heartfelt\nreligion, has suggested this principle, that schism, for any cause, is\na perilous approach to sin; and that, unless in behalf of the\nweightiest interests or of capital truths, it is inevitably criminal.\nAnd in connexion with this consideration, there arise two scruples to\nall intelligent men upon this crisis in the Scottish church, and they\nare scruples which at this moment, we are satisfied, must harass the\nminds of the best men amongst the seceders--viz. First, whether the\nnew points contended for, waiving all controversy upon their abstract\ndoctrinal truth, are really such, in _practical_ virtue, that it could\nbe worth purchasing them at the cost of schism? Secondly, supposing a\ngood man to have decided this question in the affirmative for a young\nsociety of Christians, for a church in its infancy, which, as yet,\nmight not have much to lose in credit or authentic influence--whether\nthe same free license of rupture and final secession _could_ belong to\nan ancient church, which had received eminent proofs of Divine favour\nthrough a long course of spiritual prosperity almost unexampled?\nIndeed, this last question might suggest another paramount to the\nother two--viz. not whether the points at issue were weighty enough to\njustify schism and hostile separation, but whether those points could\neven be safe as mere speculative _credenda_, which, through so long a\nperiod of trial, and by so memorable a harvest of national services,\nhad been shown to be unnecessary?\n\nVery sure we are, that no eminent servant of the Scottish church could\nabandon, without anguish of mind, the multitude of means and channels,\nthat great machinery for dispensing living truths, which the power and\npiety of the Scottish nation have matured through three centuries of\npure Christianity militant. Solemn must have been the appeal, and\nsearching, which would force its way to the conscience on occasion of\ntaking the last step in so sad an _exodus_ from the Jerusalem of his\nfathers. Anger and irritation can do much to harden the obduracy of\nany party conviction, especially whilst in the centre of fiery\npartisans. But sorrow, in such a case, is a sentiment of deeper\nvitality than anger; and this sorrow for the result will co-operate\nwith the original scruples on the casuistry of the questions, to\nreproduce the demur and the struggle many times over, in consciences\nof tender sensibility.\n\nExactly for men in this state of painful collision with their own\nhigher nature, is Lord Aberdeen's bill likely to furnish the bias\nwhich can give rest to their agitations, and firmness to their\nresolutions. The bill, according to some, is too early, and, according\nto others, too late. Why too early? Because, say they, it makes\nconcessions to the church, which as yet are not proved to be called\nfor. These concessions travel on the very line pursued by the\nseceders, and must give encouragement to that spirit of religious\nmovement which it has been found absolutely requisite to rebuke by\nacts of the legislature. Why, on the other hand, is Lord Aberdeen's\nbill too late? Because, three years ago, it would, or it might, have\nprevented the secession. But is this true? Could this bill have\nprevented the secession? We believe not. Lord Aberdeen, undoubtedly,\nhimself supposes that it might. But, granting that this were true,\nwhose fault is it that a three years' delay has intercepted so happy a\nresult? Lord Aberdeen assures us that the earlier success of the bill\nwas defeated entirely by the resistance of the Government at that\nperiod, and chiefly by the personal resistance of Lord Melbourne. Let\nthat minister be held responsible, if any ground has been lost that\ncould have been peacefully pre-occupied against the schism. This,\nhowever, seems to us a chimera. For what is it that the bill concedes?\nUndoubtedly it restrains and modifies the right of patronage. It\ngrants a larger discretion to the ecclesiastical courts than had\nformerly been exercised by the usage. Some contend, that in doing so\nthe bill absolutely alters the law as it stood heretofore, and ought,\ntherefore, to be viewed as enactory; whilst others maintain that is\nsimply a declaratory bill, not altering the law at all, but merely\nexpressing, in fuller or in clearer terms, what had always been law,\nthough silently departed from by the usage, which, from the time of\nQueen Anne, had allowed a determinate preponderance to the rights of\nproperty in the person of the patron. Those, indeed, who take the\nformer view, contending that it enacts a new principle of law, very\nmuch circumscribing the old right of patronage, insist upon it that\nthe bill virtually revokes the decision of the Lords in the\nAuchterarder case. Technically and formally speaking, this is not\ntrue; for the presbytery, or other church court, is now tied up to a\ncourse of proceeding which at Auchterarder was violently evaded. The\ncourt cannot now peremptorily challenge the nominee in the arbitrary\nmode adopted in that instance. An examination must be instituted\nwithin certain prescribed limits. But undoubtedly the contingent power\nof the church court, in the case of the nominee not meeting the\nexamination satisfactorily, is much larger now, under the new bill,\nthan it was under the old practice; so that either this practice must\nformerly have swerved from the letter of the law, or else the new law,\ndiffering from the old, is really more than declaratory. Yet, however\nthis may be, it is clear that the jurisdiction of the church in the\nmatter of patronage, however ample it may seem as finally ascertained\nor created by the new bill, falls far within the extravagant outline\nmarked out by the seceders. We argue, therefore, that it could not\nhave prevented their secession even as regards that part of their\npretensions; whilst, as regards the monstrous claim to decide in the\nlast resort what shall be civil and what spiritual--that is, in a\nquestion of clashing jurisdiction, to settle on their own behalf where\nshall fall the boundary line--it may be supposed that Lord Aberdeen\nwould no more countenance their claim in any point of practice, than\nall rational legislators would countenance it as a theory. How,\ntherefore, could this bill have prevented the rent in the church, so\nfar as it has yet extended? On the other hand, though apparently\npowerless for that effect, it is well calculated to prevent a second\nsecession. Those who are at all disposed to follow the first seceders,\nstand in this situation. By the very act of adhering to the\nEstablishment when the _ultra_ party went out, they made it abundantly\nmanifest that they do not go to the same extreme in their\nrequisitions. But, upon any principle which falls short of that\nextreme being at all applicable to this church question, it is certain\nthat Lord Aberdeen's measure will be found to satisfy their wishes;\nfor that measure, if it errs at all, errs by conceding too much rather\nthan too little. It sustains all objections to a candidate on their\nown merit, without reference to the quarter from which they arise, so\nlong as they are relevant to the proper qualifications of a parish\nclergyman. It gives effect to every argument that can reasonably be\nurged against a nominee--either generally, on the ground of his moral\nconduct, his orthodoxy, and his intellectual attainments; or\nspecially, in relation to his fitness for any local varieties of the\nsituation. A Presbyterian church has always been regarded as, in some\ndegree, leaning to a republican character, but a republic may be\neither aristocratic or democratic: now, Lord Aberdeen has favoured the\ndemocratic tendency of the age by making the probationary examination\nof the candidate as much of a popular examination, and as open to the\nimpression of objections arising with the body of the people, as could\nbe done with any decent regard either to the rights yet recognised in\nthe patron, or, still more, to the professional dignity of the\nclerical order.\n\nUpon the whole, therefore, we look upon Lord Aberdeen as a national\nbenefactor, who has not only turned aside a current running headlong\ninto a revolution, but in doing this exemplary service, has contrived\nto adjust the temperament very equitably between, 1st, the individual\nnominee, having often his livelihood at stake; 2dly, the patron,\nexercising a right of property interwoven with our social system, and\nnot liable to any usurpation which would not speedily extend itself to\nother modes of property; 3dly, the church, considered as the trustee\nor responsible guardian of orthodoxy and sound learning; 4thly, the\nsame church considered as a professional body, and, therefore, as\ninterested in upholding the dignity of each individual clergyman, and\nhis immunity from frivolous cavils, however much against him they are\ninterested in detecting his insufficiency; and, 5thly, the body of the\ncongregation, as undoubtedly entitled to have the qualifications of\ntheir future pastor rigorously investigated. All these separate\nclaims, embodied in five distinct parties, Lord Aberdeen has\ndelicately balanced and fixed in a temperate equipoise by the\nmachinery of his bill. Whilst, if we enquire for the probable effects\nof this bill upon the interests of pure and spiritual religion, the\npromise seems every way satisfactory. The Jacobinical and precipitous\nassaults of the Non-intrusionists upon the rights of property are\nsummarily put down. A great danger is surmounted. For if the rights of\npatrons were to be arbitrarily trampled under foot on a pretence of\nconsulting for the service of religion; on the next day, with the same\nunprincipled levity, another party might have trampled on the\npatrimonial rights of hereditary descent, on primogeniture, or any\ninstitution whatever, opposed to the democratic fanaticism of our age.\nNo patron can now thrust an incompetent or a vicious person upon the\nreligious ministrations of the land. It must be through their own\ndefect of energy, if any parish is henceforth burdened with an\nincumbent reasonably obnoxious. It must be the fault of the presbytery\nor other church court, if the orthodox standards of the church are not\nmaintained in their purity. It must be through his own fault, or his\nown grievous defects, if any qualified candidate for the church\nministry is henceforth vexatiously rejected. It must be through some\nscandalous oversight in the selection of presentees, if any patron is\ndefeated of his right to present.\n\nContrast with these great services the menaces and the tendencies of\nthe Non-Intrusionists, on the assumption that they had kept their\nfooting in the church. It may be that, during this generation, from\nthe soundness of the individual partisans, the orthodox standards of\nthe church would have been maintained as to doctrine. But all the\nother parties interested in the church, except the church herself, as\na depositary of truth, would have been crushed at one blow. This is\napparent, except only with regard to the congregation of each parish.\nThat body, it may be thought, could not but have benefited by the\nchange; for the very motive and the pretence of the movement arose on\ntheir behalf. But mark how names disguise facts, and to what extent a\nvirtual hostility may lurk under an apparent protection. Lord\nAberdeen, because he limits the right of the congregation, is supposed\nto destroy it; but in the mean time he secures to every parish in\nScotland a true and effectual influence, so far as that body ought to\nhave it, (that is, _negatively_,) upon the choice of its pastor. On\nthe other hand, the whole storm of the Non-intrusionists was pointed\nat those who refused to make the choice of a pastor altogether\npopular. It was the people, considered as a congregation, who ought\nto appoint the teacher by whom they were to be edified. So far, the\nparty of seceders come forward as martyrs to their democratic\nprinciples. And they drew a colourable sanction to their democracy\nfrom the great names of Calvin, Zuinglius, and John Knox. Unhappily\nfor them, Sir William Hamilton has shown, by quotations the most\nexpress and absolute from these great authorities, that no such\ndemocratic appeal as the Non-intrusionists have presumed, was ever\ncontemplated for an instant by any one amongst the founders of the\nReformed churches. That Calvin, whose jealousy was so inexorable\ntowards princes and the sons of princes--that John Knox, who never\n\"feared the face of man that was born of woman\"--were these great\nChristian champions likely to have flinched from installing a popular\ntribunal, had they believed it eligible for modern times, or warranted\nby ancient times? In the learning of the question, therefore,\nNon-intrusionists showed themselves grossly wrong. Meantime it is\nfancied that at least they were generously democratic, and that they\nmanifested their disinterested love of justice by creating a popular\ncontrol that must have operated chiefly against their own clerical\norder. What! is that indeed so? Now, finally, take another instance\nhow names belie facts. The people _were_ to choose their ministers;\nthe council for election of the pastor _was_ to be a popular council\nabstracted from the congregation: but how? but under what conditions?\nbut by whom abstracted? Behold the subtle design:--This pretended\ncongregation was a small faction; this counterfeit \"people\" was the\npetty gathering of COMMUNICANTS; and the communicants were in effect\nwithin the appointment of the clergyman. They formed indirectly a\nsecret committee of the clergy. So that briefly, Lord Aberdeen, whilst\nrestraining the popular courts, gives to them a true popular\nauthority; and the Non-intrusionists, whilst seeming to set up a\ndemocratic idol, do in fact, by dexterous ventriloquism, throw their\nown all-potential voice into its passive organs.\n\nWe may seem to owe some apology to our readers for the space which we\nhave allowed to this great moral _emeute_ in Scotland. But we hardly\nthink so ourselves. For in our own island, and in our own times,\nnothing has been witnessed so nearly bordering on a revolution.\nIndeed, it is painful to hear Dr Chalmers, since the secession,\nspeaking of the Scottish aristocracy in a tone of scornful hatred, not\nsurpassed by the most Jacobinical language of the French Revolution in\nthe year 1792. And, if this movement had not been checked by\nParliament, and subsequently by the executive Government, in its\ncomprehensive provision for the future, by the measure we have been\nreviewing, we cannot doubt that the contagion of the shock would have\nspread immediately to England, which part of the island has been long\nprepared and manured, as we might say, for corresponding struggles, by\nthe continued conspiracy against church-rates. In both cases, an\nattack on church property, once allowed to prosper or to gain any\nstationary footing, would have led to a final breach in the life and\nserviceable integrity of the church.\n\nOf the Factory bill, we are sorry that we are hardly entitled to\nspeak. In the loss of the educational clauses, that bill lost all\nwhich could entitle it to a separate notice; and, where the Government\nitself desponds as to any future hope of succeeding, private parties\nmay have leave to despair. One gleam of comfort, however, has shone\nout since the adjournment of Parliament. The only party to the bitter\nresistance under which this measure failed, whom we can sincerely\ncompliment with full honesty of purpose--viz. the Wesleyan\nMethodists--have since expressed (about the middle of September)\nsentiments very like compunction and deep sorrow for the course they\nfelt it right to pursue. They are fully aware of the malignity towards\nthe Church of England, which governed all other parties to the\nopposition excepting themselves; and in the sorrowful result of that\nopposition, which has terminated in denying all extension of education\nto the labouring youth of the nation, they have learned (like the\nconscientious men that they are) to suspect the wisdom and the\nultimate principle of the opposition itself. Fortunately, they are a\nmost powerful body; to express regret for what they have done, and\nhesitation at the casuistry of those motives which reconciled them to\ntheir act at the moment is possibly but the next step to some change\nin their counsels; in which case this single body, in alliance with\nthe Church of England, would be able to carry the great measure which\nhas been crushed for the present by so unexampled a resistance. Much\nremains to be said, both upon the introductory statements of Lord\nAshley, with which (in spite of our respect for that nobleman) we do\nnot coincide, and still more upon the extensive changes, and the\n_principles_ of change, which must be brought to bear upon a national\nsystem of education, before it can operate with that large effect of\nbenefit which so many anticipate from its adoption. But this is ample\nmatter for a separate discussion.\n\nLastly, let us notice the Irish Arms' bill; which, amongst the\nmeasures framed to meet the momentary exigence of the times, stands\nforemost in importance. This is one of those fugitive and casual\nprecautions, which, by intense seasonableness, takes its rank amongst\nthe permanent means of pacification. Bridling the instant spirit of\nuproar, carrying the Irish nation over that transitional state of\ntemptation, which, being once gone by, cannot, we believe, be renewed\nfor generations, this, with other acts in the same temper, will face\nwhatever peril still lingers in the sullen rear of Mr O'Connell's\ndying efforts. For that gentleman, personally, we believe him to be\nnearly extinct. Two months ago we expressed our conviction, so much\nthe stronger in itself for having been adopted after some hesitation,\nthat Sir Robert Peel had taken the true course for eventually and\nfinally disarming him. We are thankful that we have now nothing to\nrecant. Progress has been made in that interval towards that\nconsummation, quite equal to any thing we could have expected in so\nshort a lapse of weeks. Mr O'Connell is now showing the strongest\nsymptoms of distress, and of conscious approach to the condition of\n\"check to the king.\" Of these symptoms we will indicate one or two. In\nJanuary 1843, he declared solemnly that an Irish Parliament should\ninstal itself at Dublin before the year closed. Early in May, he\npromised that on the anniversary of that day the great change should\nbe solemnized. On a later day in May, he proclaimed that the event\nwould come off (according to a known nautical mode of advertising the\ntime of sailing) not upon a settled day of that month but \"in all May\"\nof 1844. Here the matter rested until August 12, when again he shifted\nhis day to the corresponding day of 1844. But September arrived, and\nthen \"before those shoes were old\" in which he had made his promise,\nhe declares by letter, to some correspondent, that he must have\n_forty-three months_ for working out his plan. Anther symptom, yet\nmore significant, is this: and strange to say it has been overlooked\nby the daily press. Originally he had advertised some pretended\nParliament of 300 Irishmen, to which admission was to be had for each\nmember by a fee of L.100. And several journals are now telling him\nthat, under the Convention Act, he and his Parliament will be arrested\non the day of assembling. Not at all. They do not attend to his\nharlequin motions. Already he has declared that this assembly, which\nwas to have been a Parliament, is only to be a conciliatory committee,\nan old association under some new name, for deliberating on means\n_tending to_ a Parliament in some future year, as yet not even\nsuggested.\n\nMay we not say, after such facts, that the game is up? The agitation\nmay continue, and it may propagate itself. But for any interest of Mr\nO'Connell's, it is now passing out of his hands.\n\nIn the joy with which we survey that winding up of the affair, we can\nafford to forget the infamous display of faction during the discussion\nof the Arms' bill. Any thing like it, in pettiness of malignity, has\nnot been witnessed during this century: any thing like it, in\nimpotence of effect, probably will not be witnessed again during our\ntimes. Thirteen divisions in one night--all without hope, and without\neven a verbal gain! This conduct the nation will not forget at the\nnext election. But in the mean time the peaceful friends of this yet\npeaceful empire rejoice to know, that without war, without rigour,\nwithout an effort that could disturb or agitate--by mere silent\nprecautions, and the sublime magnanimity of simply fixing upon the\nguilty conspirator one steadfast eye of vigilant preparation, the\nconspiracy itself is melting into air, and the relics of it which\nremain will soon become fearful only to him who has evoked it.\n\nThe game, therefore, is up, if we speak of the purposes originally\ncontemplated. This appears equally from the circumstances of the case\nwithout needing the commentary of Mr O'Connell, and from the acts no\nless than the words of that conspirator. True it is--and this is the\none thing to be feared--that the agitation, though extinct for the\nends of its author, may propagate itself through the maddening\npassions of the people, now perhaps uncontrollably excited. Tumults\nmay arise, at the moment when further excitement is impossible, simply\nthrough that which is already in operation. But that stage of\nrebellion is open at every turn to the coercion of the law: and it is\nnot such a phasis of conspiracy that Mr O'Connell wishes to face, or\n_can_ face. Speaking, therefore, of the _real_ objects pursued in this\nmemorable agitation, we cannot but think that as the roll of possible\nmeetings is drawing nearer to exhaustion, as all other arts fail, and\nmere _written_ addresses are renewed, (wanting the inflammatory\ncontagion of personal meetings, and not accessible to a scattered\npeasantry;) but above all, as the day of instant action is once again\nadjourned to a period both remote and indefinite, the agitation must\nbe drooping, and virtually we may repeat that the game is up. But the\nlast moves have been unusually interesting. Not unlike the fascination\nexercised over birds by the eye of the rattlesnake, has been the\nimpression upon Mr O'Connell from the fixed attention turned upon him\nby Government. What they _did_ was silent and unostentatious; more,\nhowever, than perhaps the public is aware of in the way of preparation\nfor an outbreak. But the capital resource of their policy was, to make\nMr O'Connell deeply sensible that they were watching him. The eye that\nwatched over Waterloo was upon him: for six months that eagle glance\nhas searched him and nailed him: and the result, as it is now\nrevealing itself, may at length be expressed in the two lines of\nWordsworth otherwise applied--\n\n    \"The vacillating bondsman of the Pope\n    Shrinks from the verdict of that steadfast eye.\"\n\n\n_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work._\n\n\nTranscriber's Note\n\nMinor typographic errors have been corrected. Please note there is\nsome archaic spelling, which has been retained as printed. There are a\nfew snippets of Greek; this has been transliterated and is surrounded\nby + signs. There are also a few instances of the letter a with macron\n(straight line) over it. These are indicated by [=a]. The few oe\nligatures have not been retained in this version.","title":"Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCXXXVI. October, 1843. Vol. LIV.","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":101299}