{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_29110/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_29110","id":"gutenberg_29110","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29110","summary":null,"tags":["Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Other","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","England -- Periodicals","Scotland -- Periodicals"],"text":"Produced by Brendan OConnor, Stephanie Eason, Jonathan\nIngram and the 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  No. CCCLX. OCTOBER, 1845. Vol. LVIII.\n\n\n  CONTENTS.\n\n  Montesquieu,                                           389\n  A Reminiscence of Boyhood. By Delta,                   408\n  De Burtin on Pictures,                                 413\n  Manner and Matter,                                     431\n  Marston; or, the Memoirs of a Statesman. Conclusion.   439\n  How we Got Up the Glenmutchkin Railway,                453\n  The Science of Languages. Kavanagh,                    467\n  Scrambles in Monmouthshire,                            474\n  Neapolitan Sketches,                                   486\n  A Meditation,                                          494\n  On the Old Year,                                       495\n  Corali,                                               _ib._\n  Biographical Sketch of Frank Abney Hastings,           496\n\n\n  EDINBURGH:\n  WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;\n  AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.\n\n  _To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed_.\n\n  SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.\n\n  PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n\nBLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.\n\nNo. CCCLX. OCTOBER, 1845. Vol. LVIII.\n\n\n\nMONTESQUIEU.\n\n\nMontesquieu is beyond all doubt the founder of the philosophy of\nhistory. In many of its most important branches, he has carried it to\na degree of perfection which has never since been surpassed. He first\nlooked on human affairs with the eye of philosophic observation; he\nfirst sought to discover the lasting causes which influence the fate\nof mankind; he first traced the general laws which in every age\ndetermine the rise or decline of nations. Some of his conclusions were\nhasty; many of his analogies fanciful; but he first turned the human\nmind in that direction. It is by repeatedly deviating into error that\nit can alone be discovered where truth really lies: there is an\nalchemy in the moral, not less than in the material world, in which a\nvast amount of genius must be lost before it is discovered that it has\ntaken the wrong direction. But in Montesquieu, besides such occasional\nand unavoidable aberrations, there is an invaluable treasure of\nprofound views and original thought--of luminous observation and deep\nreflection--of philosophic observation and just generalization. His\nfame has been long established; it has become European; his sayings\nare quoted and repeated from one end of the world to the other; but to\nthe greater part of English readers, his greatness is known rather\nfrom the distant echo of continental fame, than from any practical\nacquaintance with the writings from which it has arisen.\n\nThough Montesquieu, however, is the father of the philosophy of\nhistory, it is due to Tacitus and Machiavel to say, that he is not the\nauthor of political thought. In the first of these writers is to be\nfound the most profound observations on the working of the human mind,\nwhether in individuals or bodies of men, that ever were formed by\nhuman sagacity: in the latter, a series of remarks on Roman history,\nand the corresponding events in the republics of modern Italy, which,\nin point of deep political wisdom and penetration, never were\nsurpassed. Lord Bacon, too, had in his Essays put forth may maxims of\npolitical truth, with that profound sagacity and unerring wisdom by\nwhich his thoughts were so preeminently distinguished. But still these\nmen, great as they were, and much as they added to the materials of\nthe philosophy of history, can hardly be said to have mastered that\nphilosophy itself. It was not their object to do so; it did not belong\nto the age in which they lived to make any such attempt. They gave\nincomparable observations upon detached points in human annals, but\nthey did not take a general view of their tendency. They did not\nconsider whence the world had come, or whither it was going. They\nformed no connected system in regard to the march of human events.\nThey saw clearly the effects of particular measures or systems of\ngovernment at the time, but they did not reflect on the chain of\ncauses which first raised up, and afterwards undermined it. Aristotle,\nthe most powerful intellect of the ancient world, was of the same\ncalibre as a political observer. He considered only the effects of the\nvarious forms of government which he saw established around him. In\nthat survey he was admirable, but he never went beyond it. Bossuet's\n_Universal History_ is little more than a history of the Jews; he\nrefers every thing to the direct and immediate agency of Providence,\nirrespective of the freedom of the human will. Montesquieu first fixed\nhis eyes upon the rise, progress, and decay of nations, as worked out\nby the actions of free agents. The _Grandeur et Decadence des Romains_\nis as original as the _Principia_, and laid the foundation of a\nscience as sublime, and perhaps still more important to man than the\nlaws of the planetary bodies.\n\nCharles Secondat, Baron de la Brede and Montesquieu, was born at the\nchateau of La Brede, near Bourdeaux, on the 18th January 1689. The\nestate of La Brede had been long in his family, which was a very\nancient one; it had been erected into a barony in favour of Jacob de\nSecondat, his great-great-grandfather, by Henry IV. The office of\nPresident of the Parliament (or Local Court of Justice) of Bourdeaux,\nhad been acquired by his family in consequence of the marriage of his\nfather with the daughter of the first president of that tribunal. From\nhis earliest years young Montesquieu evinced remarkable readiness and\nvivacity of mind; a circumstance which determined his father to breed\nhim up to the \"magistracy,\" as it was termed in France--a profession\nmidway, as it were, between the career of arms peculiar to the noble,\nand the labours of the bar confined to persons of plebeian origin, and\nfrom which many of the greatest men, and nearly all the distinguished\nstatesmen of France took their rise. Montesquieu entered with the\ncharacteristic ardour of his disposition into the studies suited for\nthat destination; and at the age of twenty he had already collected\nthe materials of the _Esprit des Loix_, and evinced the characteristic\nturn of his mind for generalization, by an immense digest which he had\nmade of the civil law. But these dry, though important studies, did\nnot exclusively occupy his mind; he carried on, at the same time, a\ngreat variety of other pursuits. Like all men of an active and\nintellectual turn of mind, his recreation was found not in repose, but\nin change of occupation. Books of voyages and travels were collected,\nand read with avidity; he devoured rather than read the classical\nremains of Greece and Rome. \"That antiquity,\" said he, \"enchants me,\nand I am always ready to say with Pliny--You are going to Athens; show\nrespect to the gods.\"\n\nIt was under this feeling of devout gratitude to the master minds of\nthe ancient world, that he made his first essay in literature, which\ncame out in a small work in the form of letters, the object of which\nwas to show, that the idolatry of most Pagans did of itself not merit\neternal damnation. Probably there are few good Christians, from\nFenelon and Tillotson downwards, who will be of an opposite opinion.\nEven in that juvenile production are to be found traces of the sound\njudgment, correct taste, and general thought which characterised his\nlater works. But he was soon thrown into the proper labours of his\nprofession. On the 24th February 1714, he was admitted into the\nparliament of Bourdeaux as a councillor; and his paternal uncle, who\nheld the president's chair, having died two years after, young\nMontesquieu was, on the 13th July 1716, appointed to that important\noffice, though only twenty-seven years of age. Probably his being\nthrown thus early in life into the discharge of onerous and important\nduties, had an important effect in producing that firmness and\nmaturity of judgment by which his mind was subsequently distinguished.\nSome years afterwards, he gave a convincing proof of his fitness for\nthe situation, in the vigour with which he remonstrated against the\nimposition of a fresh tax on wine, which had the effect of procuring\nits removal at the time, though the necessities of government led to\nits being reimposed some years after. But his ardent mind was not\nconfined to professional pursuits. He concurred in the formation of an\nacademy of sciences at Bourdeaux, and read some papers in it on\nnatural history; and his attention being in this way turned to\nphysical science, he wrote and published in the journals, a project\nfor a \"Physical History of the Earth, Ancient and Modern.\"\n\nBut in no human being was more completely exemplified the famous\nline--\n\n    \"The proper study of mankind is man.\"\n\n\nMontesquieu's genius was essentially moral and political; it was on\nman himself, not the material world with which he was surrounded, that\nhis thoughts were fixed. This strong bent soon appeared in his\nwritings. He next read at the academy at Bourdeaux, a \"Life of the\nDuke of Berwick,\" and an \"Essay on the Policy of the Romans in\nReligion,\" which was the basis of the immortal work which he\nafterwards composed on the rise and fall of that extraordinary people.\nThese desultory essays gave no indication of the first considerable\nwork which he published, which was the famous _Lettres Persanes_. They\nappeared in 1721, when he was thirty-two years of age. Their success\nwas immediate and prodigious; a certain indication in matters of\nthought, that they were not destined to durable fame. They fell in\nwith the ideas and passions of the time; they were not before it;\nthence their early popularity and ultimate oblivion. The work was\npublished anonymously; for the keen but delicate satire on French\nmanners and vices which it contained, might have endangered the\nauthor, and as it was he had no small difficulty, when it was known he\nwas the writer, in escaping from its effects. It consists in a series\nof letters from an imaginary character, Usbeck, a Persian traveller,\ndetailing the vices, manners, and customs of the French metropolis.\nThe ingenuity, sarcasm, and truth, which that once celebrated\nproduction contains, must not make us shut our eyes to its glaring\ndefects; the vices of the age, as they mainly contributed to its early\npopularity, have been the chief cause of its subsequent decline. It\ncontains many passages improperly warm and voluptuous, and some which,\nunder the mask of attacks on the Jesuits, had the appearance, at\nleast, of being levelled at religion itself. No work, at that period,\ncould attract attention in France which was not disfigured by these\nblemishes. Even the great mind of Montesquieu, in its first essay\nbefore the public, did not escape the contagion of the age.\n\nBut, erelong, the genius of this profound thinker was devoted to more\ncongenial and worthy objects. In 1726, he sold his office of president\nof the parliament of Bourdeaux, partly in order to escape from the\ntoils of legal pursuit and judicial business, which, in that\nmercantile and rising community, was attended with great labour;\npartly in order to be enabled to travel, and study the institutions\nand character of different nations--a pursuit of which he was\npassionately fond, and which, without doubt, had a powerful effect in\ngiving him that vast command of detached facts in political science,\nand that liberal view of institutions, habits, and manners, differing\nin some degree from his own, by which his philosophical writings are\nso eminently distinguished. Here, as in the biography of almost all\nother really great men, it is found, that some circumstances\napparently trivial or accidental have given a permanent bent to their\nmind; have stored it with the appropriate knowledge, and turned it, as\nit were, into the allotted sphere, and contributed to form the\n_matrix_ in which original thought was formed, and new truth\ncommunicated by Providence to mankind. In the course of his travels,\nwhich lasted several years, he visited successively Austria, Hungary,\nItaly, Switzerland, the Rhine, Flanders, Holland, and England--in the\nlatter of which he lived two years. During these varied travels, he\nmade notes on all the countries which he visited, which contributed\nlargely to the great stock of political information which he\npossessed. These notes are still extant; but, unfortunately, not in\nsuch a state of maturity as to admit of publication.\n\nOn his return to France, which took place in 1732, he retired to his\nnative chateau of La Brede, and commenced in good earnest the great\nbusiness of his life. The fruit of his studies and reflections\nappeared in the _Considerations sur les Causes de la Grandeur et de\nla Decadence des Romains_, which was published in 1732. Great and\noriginal as this work--the most perfect of all his compositions--was,\nit did not give vent to the whole ideas which filled his capacious\nmind. Rome, great as it was, was but a single state; it was the\ncomparison with other states, the development of the general\nprinciples which run through the jurisprudence and institutions of all\nnations, which occupied his thoughts. The success which attended his\nessay on the institutions and progress of a single people, encouraged\nhim to enlarge his views and extend his labours. He came to embrace\nthe whole known world, civilized and uncivilized, in his plan; and\nafter fourteen years of assiduous labours and toil, the immortal\n\"Spirit of Laws\" appeared.\n\nThe history of Montesquieu's mind, during the progress of this great\nwork, is singularly curious and interesting. At times he wrote to his\nfriends that his great work advanced \"a pas de geant;\" at others, he\nwas depressed by the slow progress which it made, and overwhelmed by\nthe prodigious mass of materials which required to be worked into its\ncomposition. So distrustful was he of its success, even after the vast\nlabour he had employed in its composition, that he sent his manuscript\nbefore publication to a friend on whose judgment he could\nrely--Helvetius. That friend, notwithstanding all his penetration, was\nso mistaken in his reckoning, that he conceived the most serious\ndisquietude as to the ruin of Montesquieu's reputation by the\npublication of such a work. Such was his alarm that he did not venture\nto write to the author on the subject, but gave the manuscript to\nanother critic, Saurin, the author of a work entitled _Spartacus_,\nlong since extinct, who passed the same judgment upon it. Both\nconcurred in thinking that the reputation of Montesquieu would be\nentirely ruined by the publication of the new manuscript; the\nbrilliant author of the semi-voluptuous, semi-infidel _Lettres\nPersanes_, would sink into a mere Legist, a dull commentator on\npandects and statutes, if he published the _Esprit des Loix_, \"That,\"\nsaid Helvetius, \"is what afflicts me for him, and for humanity, which\nhe was so well qualified to have served.\" It was agreed between them\nthat Helvetius should write to Montesquieu to give him an account of\ntheir joint opinion, that he should not give the work to the world in\nits present state. Saurin, with some reason, was afraid that\nMontesquieu would be hurt at their communication; but Helvetius wrote\nto him--\"Be not uneasy; he is not hurt at our advice; he loves\nfrankness in his friends. He is willing to bear with discussions, but\nanswers only by sallies, and rarely changes his opinions. I have not\ngiven him ours from any idea that he would either change his conduct\nor modify his preconceived ideas, but from a sense of the duty of\nsincerity cost what it will, with friends. When the light of truth\nshall have dispelled the illusions of self-love, he will at least not\nbe able to reproach us with having been less indulgent than the\npublic.\"\n\nMontesquieu, however, was not discouraged. He sent his manuscript to\nthe press with hardly any alteration, and took for his motto, _Prolem\nsine matre creatam_;[1] in allusion to the originality of his\nconception, and the total want of any previous model on which it had\nbeen formed. The work appeared in the month of July 1748; and its\nsuccess, so far as the sale went, was prodigious. Before two years had\nelapsed, it had gone through twenty-two editions, and been translated\ninto most of the European languages. This early success, rare in works\nof profound and original thought, showed, that though it was in\nadvance of the age, it was but a little in advance; and that it had\nstruck a key which was ready to vibrate in the national mind. Like all\ndistinguished works, if it was much read and admired by some, it was\nas keenly criticized and cut to pieces by others. Madame de Deffand\nsaid it was not the _Esprit des Loix_ he had written, but _Esprit sur\nles Loix_. This expression made a great noise; it had a certain degree\nof truth, just enough, when coupled with epigrammatic brevity, to\nmake the fortune of the sayer. Encouraged by its success, the enemies\nof original genius, ever ready to assail it, united their forces, and\nMontesquieu was soon the object of repeated and envenomed attacks. It\nwas said, that to establish certain favourite theories, he availed\nhimself of the testimony of travellers obscure and of doubtful credit;\nthat he leapt too rapidly from particulars to general conclusions;\nthat he ascribed to the influence of climate and physical laws what\nwas in fact the result of moral or political causes; that he had split\nthe same subject into small chapters, so confusedly arranged that\nthere was no order or system in the work; that it was still\nincomplete, and wanted the master-hand which was to put it together;\nand that it resembled the detached pieces of a mosaic pavement, each\nof which is fair or brilliant in itself, but which have no meaning or\nexpression till disposed by the taste and skill of the artist. There\nwas some truth in all these criticisms; it is rare that it is\notherwise with the reproaches made against a work of original thought.\nEnvy generally discovers a blot to hit. Malignity is seldom at a loss\nfor some blemish to point out. It is by exaggerating slight defects,\nand preserving silence on great merits, that literary jealousy ever\ntries to work out its wretched spite. The wisdom of an author is not\nto resent or overlook, but in silence to profit by such sallies;\nconverting thus the industry and envy of his enemies into a source of\nadvantage to himself.\n\nMontesquieu, in pursuance of these principles, passed over in silence\nthe malignant attacks of a herd of critics, whose works are now buried\nin the charnel-house of time, but who strove with all the fury of envy\nand disappointment to extinguish his rising fame. When pressed by some\nof his friends to answer some of these attacks, he replied--\"It is\nunnecessary; I am sufficiently avenged on some by the neglect of the\npublic, on others by its indignation.\" The only instance in which he\ndeviated from this wise resolution was in replying to the attacks of\nan anonymous critic, who, in a Journal entitled the _Nouvelles\nEcclesiastiques_, had represented him as an atheist. In his _Lettres\nPersanes_, though he had never assailed the great principles of his\nreligion, he had, in his sallies against the Jesuits, gone far to\nwarrant the belief that he was inclined to do so; and had already done\nenough in the estimation of the tyrannical and bigoted ecclesiastics\nwho at that period ruled the Church of France, to warrant his being\nincluded in the class of infidel writers. But his mind, chastened by\nyears, enlightened by travelling and reflection, had come to cast off\nthese prejudices of his age and country, the necessary result of the\nRomish tyranny by which it had been oppressed, but unworthy of an\nintellect of such grasp and candour. In the Protestant countries of\nEurope, particularly Holland and England, he had seen the working of\nChristianity detached from the rigid despotism by which the Church of\nRome fetters belief, and the well-conceived appliances by which it\nstimulates imagination, and opens a refuge for frailty. Impressed with\nthe new ideas thus awakened in his mind, he had in his _Esprit des\nLoix_ pronounced a studious and sincere eulogium on Christianity;\nrecommending it, not only as the most perfect of all systems of\nreligious belief, but as the only secure basis of social order and\nimprovement. It was material to correct the impression, partly just,\npartly erroneous, which his earlier and more indiscreet writings had\nproduced; and with this view he wrote and published his _Defence de l'\nEsprit des Loix_. This little piece is a model of just and candid\nreasoning, accompanied with a refined and delicate vein of ridicule,\nwhich disarmed opposition without giving ground for resentment. He\ncongratulated himself on the fine satire with which he had overthrown\nhis enemies.--\"What pleases me in my Defence, is not so much,\" said\nhe, \"to have floored the Ecclesiastics, as to have let them fall so\ngently.\" Posterity will find a more valuable charm in this little\nproduction; it is, that the author in it has unconsciously painted\nhimself. His contemporaries have recorded, that in reading it they\ncould believe they heard the writer speak; and this proves that his\ntalents in conversation had been equal to those he displayed in\nwriting--a combination very rare in persons of the highest class in\nliterature.\n\nThe fame of Montesquieu, great as it was in his own country, was even\ngreater in foreign ones. In Great Britain in particular, the _Esprit\ndes Loix_ early acquired a prodigious reputation. It was read and\nadmired by all persons of thought and education. This was partly the\nconsequence of England being so much in advance of France in the\ncareer of liberty--alike in matters civil and ecclesiastical. The new\nideas, hardy thoughts, and original conceptions of the great work met\nwith a ready reception, and cordial admiration, in the land of freedom\nand the Reformation--in the country where meditation had so long been\nturned to political subjects, contemplation to religious truth. But\nanother cause of lasting influence also contributed to the same\neffect. Original genius is ever more readily and willingly admired in\nforeign states than its own: a prophet has no honour in his own\ncountry. He interferes too much with existing influences or\nreputations. To foreigners, he is more remote--more like a dead man.\nHuman vanity is less hurt by his elevation.\n\nThe latter years of Montesquieu's life were spent almost entirely in\nretirement at his paternal chateau of La Brede, varied occasionally by\nvisits to the great world at Paris. He was occupied in agriculture and\ngardening--tenacious of his seignorial rights, but indulgent to the\nlast degree to his tenantry, by whom he was adored. Never was\nexemplified in a more remarkable manner the soothing influence of the\nrecollections of a well-spent life on the felicity of its later years,\nor the fountains of happiness which may be opened in the breast itself\nfrom the calm serenity of conscious power and great achievement. He\nconversed much, with the farmers and peasants on his estate, whose\nhouses he frequently entered, and whose convivialities, on occasion of\na marriage or a birth, he seldom failed to attend. He often preferred\ntheir conversation to that of persons their superiors in rank or\ninformation--\"for,\" said he, \"they are not learned enough to enter\ninto argument; they only tell you what they know, which frequently you\ndo not know yourself.\" Though he lived with the great when in Paris,\npartly from necessity, partly from inclination, yet their society was\nnoways necessary to his happiness. He flew as soon as he could from\ntheir brilliant assemblies to the retirement of his estate, where he\nfound with joy, philosophy, books, and repose. Surrounded by the\npeople of the country in their hours of leisure, after having studied\nman in the intercourse of the world and the history of nations, he\nstudied it in those simple minds which nature alone had taught; and he\nfound something to learn there. He conversed cheerfully with them;\nlike Socrates, he drew out their talents and information; he appeared\nto take as much pleasure in their conversation as in that of the\nbrilliant circles by which he was courted in the capital; he\nterminated their disputes by his wisdom, assuaged their sufferings by\nhis beneficence.\n\nIn society he was uniformly affable, cheerful, and considerate. His\nconversation was light, agreeable, and instructive, abounding with\nanecdotes of the great number of eminent men with whom he had lived.\nLike his style in writing, it was brief, _tranchant_, and\nepigrammatic, full of wit and observation, but without a particle of\nbitterness or satire. In common with all men of the highest class of\nintellect, he was totally devoid of envy or jealousy. None more\nreadily applauded genius or merit in others, or was more desirous on\nall occasions to bring it forward, and give it the due reward. No one\nrecounted anecdotes with more vivacity, a happier effect, or less\ntedium. He knew that the close of all such narratives contains in\ngeneral all that is pleasing in them; and therefore he hastened to\narrive at it before the patience of his hearers could be exhausted. He\nhad a perfect horror at long stories. He was frequently absent, and\nremained in society for some time wrapt in thought, without speaking;\nbut never failed, on such occasions, to make amends by some unexpected\nremark or anecdote, which revived the languishing conversation. His\nmind was full: no subject could be mentioned on which he was not\ninformed; but he never brought his knowledge ostentatiously forward,\nand sought rather to draw out those around him, and lead the\nconversation so as to make others shine, than to do so himself.\n\nHe was regular and methodical in his life; and this arose not merely\nfrom his character and disposition, but the order he had prescribed to\nhimself in his studies. Though capable of long-continued effort and\nprofound meditation, he never exhausted his strength; he uniformly\nchanged the subject of his labour, or book, to some recreation, before\nfeeling the sensation of fatigue. Temperate in his habits, serene and\nunruffled in his mind, he enjoyed a much larger share of happiness\nthan falls to the lot of most men. He was fortunately married; had\naffectionate children, whose kindness and attentions solaced his\ndeclining years; and his remarkable prudence and economy not only\npreserved him from those pecuniary embarrassments so common to men of\ngenius, but enabled him frequently to indulge the benevolence of his\ndisposition by splendid acts of generosity. He frequently said that he\nhad never experienced a chagrin in life which an hour's reading did\nnot dissipate. In his later years, when his eyesight was affected he\ndepended chiefly on listening to reading aloud, which was done\nalternately by his secretary and one of his daughters. He had every\nthing which could make life happy; an ample fortune, affectionate\nfamily, fame never contested, the consciousness of great powers nobly\napplied--\"I have never through life,\" said he in his old age, \"had a\nchagrin, still less an hour of ennui. I waken in the morning with a\nsecret pleasure at beholding the light. I gaze upon it with species of\nravishment. All the day I am content. In the evening when I retire to\nrest, I fall into a sort of reverie which prevents the effort of\nthought, and I pass the night without once waking.\"\n\nNo man ever possessed a higher sense of the dignity of intellectual\npower, of its great and glorious mission, of its superiority to all\nthe world calls great, and of the consequent jealousy and aversion\nwith which it is sure to be regarded by the depositaries of political\nauthority. He was neglected by them; he knew it, and expected it; it\nnever gave him a moment's chagrin. \"He was not insensible,\" says\nD'Alembert, \"to glory; but he had no desire to win but by deserving\nit. Never did he attempt to enhance his reputation by the underhand\ndevices and secret machinations by which second-rate men so often\nstrive to sustain their literary fortunes. Worthy of every eloge and\nof every recompense, he asked nothing, and was noways surprised at\nbeing forgot. But he had courage enough in critical circumstances to\nsolicit the protection at court of men of letters persecuted and\nunfortunate, and he obtained their restoration to favour.\" What a\npicture of the first man of his age, living in retirement, asking\nnothing, noways surprised at being forgot! He knew human nature well\nwho acted thus after writing the _Esprit des Loix_. Power loves talent\nas long as it serves itself, when it is useful but manageable; it\nhates it when it becomes its instructor. Self-love is gratified by the\nsubservience of genius in the first case; it is mortified by its\nsuperiority in the last.\n\nBut this honoured and happy life was drawing to a close. Shortly after\nthe publication of the _Esprit des Loix_, the strength of Montesquieu\nrapidly declined; it seemed as if nature had been exhausted by that\ngreat production. \"I had intended,\" said he in his journal, \"to give\nmore extent and depth to some parts of the _Esprit des Loix_, but I\nhave become incapable of it. Reading has weakened my eyes; and it\nseems as if the little light that still remains to them, is but the\ndawn of the day when they will close for ever.\" His anticipations were\nnot long of being carried into effect. In February 1755, he was seized\nwith an inflammatory fever when on a visit at Paris. The utmost care\nand attention was bestowed on him by a number of friends especially\nthe Duc de Nivernois and the Duchesse d'Aiguillon, two of his oldest\nfriends; but he sunk under the malady at the end of thirteen days. The\nsweetness of his temper and serenity of his disposition never deserted\nhim during this illness. From the first he was aware of its dangerous\nnature, but not a groan, a complaint, or a murmur ever escaped his\nlips. The Jesuits made strenuous endeavours to get possession of him\nduring his last moments; but, though strongly impressed with\nreligions principle, he resisted all their efforts to extract from him\na declaration in favour of their peculiar tenets. \"I have always\nrespected religion,\" said he; \"the morality of the Gospel is the\nnoblest gift ever bestowed by God on man.\" The Jesuits strenuously\nurged him to put into their hands a corrected copy of the _Lettres\nPersanes_, in which he had expunged the passages having an irreligious\ntendency, but he refused to give it to them; but he gave the copy to\nthe Duchesse d'Aiguillon, and Madame Dupre de St Maur, who were in the\napartment, with instructions for its publication, saying, \"I will\nsacrifice every thing to religion, but nothing to the Jesuits.\"\nShortly after he received extreme unction from the hands of the cure\nof the parish. \"Sir,\" said the priest, \"you now feel how great is\nGod.\" \"Yes,\" he replied, \"and how little man.\" These were his last\nwords. He died on the 10th of February 1755.\n\nMontesquieu left a great number of manuscripts and notes; but they\nwere in so incomplete a state, that a few detached fragments only have\nbeen deemed fit for publication. He had written a journal of his\ntravels, and in particular a set of \"Notes on England,\" which would\nhave been of much value had they been worked up to a mature form; but\ndeath interrupted him when he was only in the commencement of that\ngreat undertaking. He had begun a history of France under Louis XI.,\nwhich is still extant, though very little progress was made in the\nwork. The introduction, containing a sketch of the state of Europe at\nthat period, is said to equal the most brilliant picture left by his\nimmortal hand. It is written in the terse, epigrammatic style which is\nso characteristic of its author; and a few striking expressions\npreserved by those who have had access to the manuscript, will convey\nan idea of what the work would have been. \"He saw only,\" said he, \"in\nthe commencement of his reign, the commencement of vengeance.\"\nTerminating a parallel of Louis XI. and Richelieu, which he drew much\nto the advantage of the latter, he observed, \"He made the monarch play\nthe second part in the monarchy, but the first in Europe--he lowered\nthe king, but he raised the Kingdom.\" These and similar expressions\nare in Montesquieu's peculiar and nervous style, and they prove that\nthe work would have contained, if completed, many brilliant passages;\nbut they do not warrant the conclusion that the history itself would\nhave been of much value. There is nothing more dangerous to an\nhistorian than great powers of epigrammatic expression; it almost\ninevitably leads to the sacrifice of truth and candour to point and\nantithesis. It is well for Tacitus that we have not the other side of\nhis story recounted by a writer of equal power, but less party spirit\nand force of expression. In truth, it is probable the world has not\nlost much by Montesquieu's numerous unpublished manuscripts having\nbeen left in an incomplete state. There is no end to the writing of\nromances, or the annals of human events, but there is a very early\nlimit to the production of original ideas, even to the greatest\nintellects; to Plato, Bacon, Newton, Smith, or Montesquieu, they are\ngiven only in a limited number. Hence their frequent repetition of the\nsame thoughts, when their writings become voluminous. Montesquieu has\ndone enough; his mission to man has been amply fulfilled.\n\nIn common with other men whose thoughts have made a great and\nwide-spread impression on mankind, the originality and value of\nMontesquieu's conceptions cannot be rightly appreciated by subsequent\nages. That is the consequence of their very originality and\nimportance. They have sunk so deep, and spread so far among mankind,\nthat they have become common and almost trite. Like the expressions of\nShakspeare, Gray, or Milton, they have become household words; on\nreading his works, we are astonished to find how vast a proportion of\nour habitual thoughts and expressions have sprung from that source.\nThis, however, far from being a reproach to an author, is his highest\ncommendation; it demonstrates at once the impression his thoughts have\nmade on mankind. If we would discover the step a great man has made,\nwe must recur to the authors in the same line who have preceded him,\nand then the change appears great indeed. The highest praise which can\nbe bestowed on an author of original thought, is to say, that his\nideas were unknown to the authors who preceded, trite with those who\nfollowed him.\n\nThe great characteristic of Montesquieu's thoughts, is the tracing the\noperation of general and lasting causes on human affairs. Before his\ntime, the march of political or social events was ascribed by divines\nto the immediate and direct agency of the Deity guiding human actions,\nas a general moves an army; by men of the world, to chance, or the\nmastering influence of individual energy and talent. Bossuet may be\nconsidered as the most eminent of the former class. Voltaire brought\nthe doctrines of the latter to their highest perfection. In opposition\nto both, Montesquieu strenuously asserted the operation of general\nlaws, emanating doubtless originally from the institutions of the\nDeity, and the adaptation of the human mind to the circumstances in\nwhich man is placed in society, but acting at subsequent periods\nthrough the instrumentality of free agents, and of permanent and\nlasting operation in all ages of the world. Machiavel had frequently\ngot sight of this sublime theory in his political writings; and in his\n_Discorsi_ on Roman History, many of the most profound observations\never made by man on the working of the human mind under free\ninstitutions, and of the corresponding effects of similar principles\nof action in the republics of antiquity, and of those of Italy in\nmodern times, are to be found. But it was Montesquieu who first\ncarried out the doctrine to its full extent, and traced its operation\nthrough an infinity of historical events and political institutions.\nIt is to the success with which he has done this, and the combined\nphilosophical depth and grasp of details which his writings exhibit,\nthat his colossal reputation has been owing. He had prodigious\nacquaintance with individual facts, united to the power of classifying\nthem under their proper heads, and deducing from them their general\nand common principles. Like the steam-engine, he could, by turns, turn\na thread round a spindle, and elevate a seventy-four in the air. He\nwas the Kepler of science; like the immortal German, he had made\neighty thousand observations in the social world; but, like him, he\ncould deduce the few laws of national advance or decline from the\nregular irregularity of their motion.\n\nThe expression, _Esprit des Loix_, selected as the title of\nMontesquieu's great work, was not happily chosen. What he meant was\nnot the _Spirit of Laws_, but the causes from which laws have arisen;\nthe \"_Leges Legum_,\" as Cicero said, to which they were owing, and\nfrom which they had sprung. He ascribed very little influence to human\ninstitutions in moulding the character or determining the felicity of\nman. On the contrary, he thought that these institutions were in\ngeneral an effect, not a cause. He conceived that they arose, in every\ncountry, from something peculiar in the race from which the nature\ndescended, or the climate, employments, or mode of earning subsistence\nto which it was chained in subsequent times by the physical\ncircumstance in which it was placed. A certain type or character was\nimprinted on every people, either by the ineradicable influence of\nblood, which descends to the remotest generations, or the not less\nirremovable effect of external and physical circumstances which\nattaches to them through all ages. It was this blood and those\ncircumstances which formed the national character, and through it, in\nthe course of generations, moulded the national customs and\ninstitutions. Such customs and institutions were those which, having\nbeen framed by necessity, or the dictates of expedience, according to\nthe circumstances in which each people were placed, were best adapted\nto their temper and situation. True wisdom consisted not in altering\nbut following out the spirit of existing laws and customs; and, in his\nown words--\"No nation ever yet rose to lasting greatness but from\ninstitutions in conformity to its spirit.\" No calamities were so great\nor irremediable as those which arose from disregarding the separate\ncharacters stamped on the different races and nations of men by the\nhand of the Almighty, or seeking to force upon one people or one race\nthe institutions which have arisen among, and are adapted to, another.\n\nSuch are the fundamental principles which run through Montesquieu's\nwritings, and to the elucidation of which he devoted the fifteen best\nyears of his life. It will readily be perceived that they are entirely\nat variance with the whole doctrines of the French philosophers of the\nlatter part of the eighteenth century, and which were practically\nenforced and carried into effect in their great Revolution. With them\ninstitutions were every thing; national character, descent,\nemployment, or physical circumstances, nothing. All mankind would be\nthe same if they only enjoyed the same liberty, laws, and\ninstitutions. The differences observable among them were entirely the\nresult of the different governments forced upon men, in various stages\nof their progress, by the tyranny of kings, the force of conquest, or\nthe machinations of priests. One frame of institutions, one code of\nlaws, one set of government maxims, were adapted for all the world,\nand if practically acted upon would every where produce the same pure\nand upright character in the people. Vice and wickedness were the\nhateful effect of aristocratic pride, kingly lusts, or sacerdotal\ndelusion; the human heart was naturally innocent, and bent only upon\nvirtue; when the debasing influence of these corrupters of men was\nremoved, it would universally resume its natural direction. Hence the\nmaxim of Robespierre--\"Le peuple est _toujours bon_, le magistrat\ntoujours corruptible.\" Hence the readiness with which the\nconstitution-mongers at Paris set themselves to prepare skeletons of\ngovernment for all nations, and their universal identity with that\noriginally cast during the fervour of the Revolution for the Great\nNation. Hence also, it may be added, their experienced evils, short\nduration, and universal sweeping away, within a few years, before the\naccumulated suffering and aroused indignation of mankind.\n\nIt was owing to this fundamental variance between the doctrines of\nMontesquieu and those of the greater part of his contemporaries, and\nnearly the whole generation which succeeded him, that the comparative\nobscurity of his fame after his death, and the neglect which his\nwritings for long experienced in France, are to be ascribed. When we\ncontemplate the profound nature of his thoughts, the happy terseness\nand epigrammatic force of his expressions, and the great early fame\nwhich his writings acquired, nothing appears more extraordinary than\nthe subsequent neglect into which, for above half a century after his\ndeath, he fell.[2] Voltaire, Rousseau, Helvetius, Condorcet, Turgot,\nand the Encyclopedists, were then at the acme of their reputation; and\ntheir doctrines as to the natural innocence of man, and the universal\nmoulding of human character by political institutions, not of\npolitical institutions by human character, were too much at variance\nwith Montesquieu's deductions and conclusions to admit of their\ncoexisting together. The experience of the Revolution, both abroad and\nat home, however, erelong spread a doubt among many thinking men,\nwhether these doctrines were in reality as well founded as they were\nuniversally represented to be by the philosophers of the preceding\nage. Napoleon, who was thoroughly convinced of their erroneous nature,\nhad a high admiration for Montesquieu, and frequently quoted his\nsentiments. But still the opposite set of opinions, diffused over the\nworld with the tricolor flag, maintain their ground with the great\nmajority even of well-informed men, at least in all republican states\nand constitutional monarchies. The policy of England in encouraging\nthe revolutions of Belgium, Portugal, Spain, and the South American\nrepublics, has, for the last thirty years, been mainly founded on the\nprinciple, that institutions similar to those of Britain may with\nsafety be transferred to other states, and that it is among them alone\nthat we are to look for durable alliances or cordial support. The\nwretched fate of all the countries, strangers to the Anglo-Saxon\nblood, who have been cursed with these alien constitutions, whether in\nthe Spanish or Italian Peninsulas, or the South American states--the\njealous spirit and frequent undisguised hostility of America--the\ntotal failure of English institutions in Ireland, have had no effect\nwith the great majority of men in this country, in rooting out these\nfatal errors. More than one generation, it is apparent, must descend\nto their graves before they are fairly expelled from general thought\nby experience and suffering. So obstinately do men cling to doctrines,\nwhich are flattering to human vanity, in opposition alike to the\ndictates of wisdom and the lessons of experience; and so true in all\nages is the doctrine of the Roman Catholic church, that pride is the\nlast sin which can be conquered in the human heart.\n\nOne remarkable instance will illustrate the manner in which\nMontesquieu supported the opposite principles, that institutions are\nmoulded by the character and circumstances of nations, not the\nmoulders of them. It is well known that primogeniture, though neither\nthe law of succession in the Roman empire, nor originally of the\nnations of Northern Europe, in whom the _allodial_ customs at first\ngenerally prevailed, came to be universally introduced with the feudal\nsystem, and the thorough establishment of a military aristocracy in\nevery country of Europe. But, strange to say, there are some places\nwhere the rule is just the reverse, and the _youngest_ son succeeds to\nthe whole movable estate of the father, as is still the custom of some\nboroughs in England.[3] Montesquieu ascribes, and apparently with\nreason, these opposite rules of succession to a similar feeling of\nexpedience and necessity in the different circumstances in which the\nsame race of Northmen were placed in different periods of their\nprogress. The succession of the youngest son to the father's estate\nwas the bequest of the patriarchal ages, when the youngest son\ngenerally remained last at home with his aged parent, his elder\nbrothers having previously hived off with their herds and flocks. He\ntherefore naturally succeeded to the movables of which he was alone in\npossession, jointly with his father, at the latter's death.\n\nOn the other hand, the descent of the whole landed estate to the\neldest son, to the exclusion of his younger brothers and sisters, was\nnaturally suggested by the settlement of a brave and martial race of\nconquerors in extensive districts gained by their valour, and which\ncould be maintained only in the lands they had won by the sword. To\ndivide the estate in such circumstances of peril, was to expose it to\ncertain destruction; unity of operation in all its forms, one head,\none castle, was as indispensable as one general to an army, or one\nsovereign to a kingdom. The old maxim, \"divide et impera,\" was\nuniversally felt to be of fearful application. Empires, duchies,\nprincipalities, earldoms, baronies, private estates, could alone be\npreserved entire, amidst the general hostility with which all were\nsurrounded, by descending to a single occupant. That occupant was\nnaturally the eldest son, the first-born of the family, the first who\narrived at man's estate, and the most capable on that account to\nrender the necessary protection to its various members and dependants.\nHence the general establishment of the law of primogeniture in all the\ncountries of Europe. And for a similar reason, when the necessity\nwhich at first occasioned this general deviation from the feelings of\nequal affection to offspring was removed by the establishment of\nregular government, and general security, and the spread of commerce,\nwith the necessity of capital to fit out sons and daughters, had been\ngenerally felt, this custom was silently abrogated at least in the\ncommercial and middle classes, and a division of the succession,\nwhether in land or money, into nearly equal parts, very generally took\nplace.\n\nIt may readily be inferred from these observations, that the doctrines\nof Montesquieu, as to the moulding of institutions by external\ncircumstances, and the character of nations, not of the character of\nnations by institutions and forms of government, is one of the very\nhighest importance, not merely to speculative philosophers, but\npractical statesmen. In truth, it is the question of questions; the\none thing needful to be understood both by the leaders of thought and\nthe rulers of men. Unless correct and rational views are entertained\non this subject, internal legislation will be perpetually at fault,\nexternal policy in a false direction. Reform will degenerate into\nrevolution, conquest into desolation. The greatest calamities, both\nsocial and foreign, recorded in the history of the last half century,\nhave arisen from a neglect of the maxims of Montesquieu, as to the\nindelible influence of race and external circumstances on human\ncharacter, and the adoption in their stead of the doctrines of\nVoltaire and Rousseau, on the paramount influence of political\ninstitutions and general education on human felicity. Our policy, both\nsocial and foreign, is still mainly founded on the latter basis. If\nMontesquieu's principles as to no nation ever arriving at durable\ngreatness but by institutions in harmony with its spirit and origin,\nhad been generally adopted, the French Revolution, which originated in\nthe Anglo and American mania, and the desire to transplant English\ninstitutions into the soil of France, would never have taken place.\nHad the same views prevailed in the British Cabinet, the iniquitous\nsupport of the revolt of the South American colonies in 1821 and 1822,\nand the insidious encouragement of the ruinous revolutions of Spain\nand Portugal during the Carlist war, would not have stained the honour\nof England, and ruined the prospects of the Peninsula. Had they\npervaded the British community, the two fatal mistakes of policy in\nour time, the sudden emancipation of the negro slaves in the West\nIndies, and the unloosing all the bonds of government in Ireland, by\nthe transplantation of Anglo-Saxon institutions, and the tempered\nfreedom of England, into the midst of the Celtic blood and\nsemi-barbarous passions of Ireland, would never have been committed.\nThe great question at issue, in short, between Montesquieu and the\nEncyclopedists, as to whether man is moulded by institutions, or\ninstitutions by man, is the fundamental question, not only\nspeculative, but practical, of the age; and without correct ideas on\nwhich, internal legislation and external policy are equally certain to\nbe precipitated into error, and benevolence itself to become the\nparent of unbounded calamities.\n\nAnd yet, if the matter be considered dispassionately, and without the\ndisturbing influence of human pride and democratic ambition, which\nhave obscured the visions of three generations of the ablest men in\nEurope, it seems extraordinary how any doubt could ever have been\nentertained on the subject. What are laws and institutions but the\nwork of men, the concentration of the national will in times past, or\nat the present moment? If so, how _could_ they have arisen but from\nthe will of the people? It is only removing the difficulty a step\nfurther back to say, as has so often been done, that they were\nimposed, not by the will of the nation, but by the power of the\ntyrants who had oppressed, or the priests who had deluded it. For who\nwere these tyrants or these priests? Not one in twenty thousand to the\nwhole community. If they were empowered and enabled to impose\narbitrary or debasing institutions, it must have been because the\nimmense majority devolved to them the task; because, conscious of\ninability to govern themselves, or wanting the inclination to do so,\nthey willingly resigned themselves to the guidance and direction of\nothers. The Czar at St. Petersburg, the Sultaun at Constantinople, the\nEmperor at Pekin, reign just as much by the national will, and in a\nmanner just as conformable to the national wish, as the Consuls of\nRome, the Committee of Public Salvation at Paris, or the present\nconstitutional Monarchs of France or England. The proof of this is,\nthat when the people are dissatisfied with their administration, or\ndispleased with the sovereign, they have no difficulty in dispatching\nhim. The twisting of a sash round the neck in Russia, the bowstring in\nConstantinople or Ispahan, are very effectual monitors--fully as much\nso as a hostile Parliamentary majority in the house of Commons or\nChamber of Deputies. In a word, government in every country being\nconducted by the few over the many by the hundreds over the hundred\nthousands, it is altogether impossible that the administration or\ninstitutions can be, for any length of time, at variance with the\ngeneral will; because, if it was, it would not be submitted to. It may\nbe, indeed, despotic and tyrannical in the highest degree, but that is\nno indication that it is contrary to the general will; it is only an\nindication that the general will is to be slaves--no unusual\noccurrence among men.\n\nThis fundamental principle of Montesquieu as to the perpetual and\nineradicable influence of race, climate, and physical circumstances,\nin forming national character, and moulding national institutions, is\nunquestionably the true doctrine on the subject, though probably\nseveral generations must pass away, and an incalculable amount of\nsuffering be endured by mankind, before it is generally admitted.\nCoupled with the cardinal point of the Christian faith, the inherent\nand _universal_ corruption of the human heart, it forms the only\nfoundation of a salutary or durable government. Decisive proof of this\nmay be found in the fact, that the revolutionary party, all the world\nover, maintain directly the reverse; viz. that free political\ninstitutions, and general education, are all in all; and that, if\nestablished, the native virtue of the human heart affords a sufficient\nguarantee for general happiness. Montesquieu's principles lead to the\nconclusion that all reform and amelioration of existing institutions,\nto be either durable or beneficial, must be moulded on the old\nprecedents, and deviate as little as may be, and that only from\nobvious necessity or expedience, from them. They utterly repudiate all\ntransplantation of constitutions, or forcing upon one people the\ninstitutions or privileges of another. They point to experience as the\ngreat and only sure guide in social or political change, and for the\nobvious reason, that it alone can tell what has been found to be\nsuitable to the circumstances, and adapted to the character and wants,\nof the nation among whom it has taken place. It is not that our\nancestors were in the least wiser than we are; doubtless they did many\nfoolish things, as we do. It is that time has consigned their foolish\nthings, whether laws or measures, to the grave; and nothing has\ndescended to our time but those institutions which have been found to\nbe beneficial in their tendency. The portions of our present\nlegislation which are suitable to the country, will in like manner\ndescend to posterity, and the folly and absurdity will in a few\ngenerations be heard of no more.\n\nIt has been already remarked, that the _Grandeur et Decadence des\nRomains_ is a more complete, and in some respects profound work, than\nthe _Esprit des Loix_. A few quotations will justify, it is thought,\nthis high eulogium--\n\n     \"The circumstance of all others which contributed most to the\n     _ultimate_ greatness of Rome, was the long-continued wars in\n     which its people were early involved. The Italian people had no\n     machines for conducting sieges; and in addition to this, as the\n     soldiers every where served without pay, it was impossible to\n     retain them long before a fortified town; thus few of their wars\n     were decisive. They fought for the pillage of a camp, or the\n     booty of the fields, after which victors and vanquished retired\n     alike into their respective cities. It was this circumstance\n     which occasioned the long resistance of the Italian cities, and,\n     at the same time, the obstinacy of the Romans in their endeavours\n     to subjugate them; it was that which gave them victories which\n     did not enervate, and conquests which left them their poverty.\n     Had they rapidly conquered the neighbouring cities, they would\n     have arrived at their decline before the days of Pyrrhus, of the\n     Gauls, and of Hannibal; and, following the destiny of all the\n     nations in the world, they would _too quickly_ have gone through\n     the transition from poverty to riches, and from riches to\n     corruption.\"--C. 1.\n\n\nWhat a subject for reflection is presented in this single paragraph!\nRome, without any knowledge of siege equipage, thrown in the midst of\nthe Italian states bristling with strongholds; and slowly learning,\nduring centuries of indecisive, and often calamitous contests, that\nmilitary art by which she was afterwards to subdue the world! It was\nin like manner, in the long, bloody, and nearly balanced contests of\nthe Grecian republics with each other, that the discipline was\nlearned which gave Alexander and the Macedonian phalanx the empire of\nAsia; and in the protracted struggles of the Anglo-Saxons, first with\neach other in the Heptarchy, and then with the Danes and Normans in\ndefence of their coasts, that the foundation was laid of the energy\nand perseverance which have given the British race their present\neminence and dominion among men.\n\n     \"It has been often observed,\" says Montesquieu, \"that our armies\n     generally melt away under the fatigue of the soldiers, while\n     those of the Romans never failed to preserve their health by it.\n     The reason is, that their fatigues were _continued_; whereas our\n     soldiers are destroyed by passing from a life of almost total\n     inactivity to one of vehement exertion--the thing of all others\n     most destructive to health. Not only were the Roman soldiers\n     accustomed, during war, to incessant marching, and fortifying of\n     the camps, but in peace they were daily trained to the same\n     active habits. They were all habituated to the military step,\n     that is, to go twenty miles, and sometimes twenty-four, in five\n     hours. They did this bearing burdens of sixty pounds. They were\n     daily trained to run and leap with their whole equipment on; in\n     their ordinary drills the swords, javelins, and arrows were of a\n     weight double of that used in war, and the exercises were\n     continued.\"--C. 2.\n\n\nThere can be no doubt that this passage both explains much of the\nastonishing conquests of the Roman legions, and furnishes ample\nsubject for reflection to a modern observer. The constant employment\nof these troops in the construction of great public works, as\nhighways, bridges, harbours, or the like, was at once the best\nsecurity for the health of the soldiers and the circumstance, of all\nothers, which rendered their maintenance tolerable to the people. If\nwe examine the inscriptions found in all parts of the world, where\nRoman remains are to be met with, we shall find that they were raised\nby the hands of the legions. It was their persevering and incessant\ntoil which formed the magnificent highways, which, emanating from the\nRoman Forum, extended to the furthest extremity of the empire. The\nprodigious labour required for these great undertakings; the vast\nbridges and viaducts which required to be constructed; the mountains\nto be levelled; morasses and valleys to be filled up, habituated the\nlegionary soldiers to such an amount of daily labour, that their\nengaging in the fatigues of a campaign was felt rather as a recreation\nthan a burden. Hence, the dreadful sickness which in modern armies\ninvariably attends the commencement of a campaign, and in general\nhalves its numerical strength before a sword has been drawn, was for\nthe most part unknown, and hence, too, the extraordinary achievements\nperformed by small bodies of these iron veterans. How great the\ndifference in modern times, where the naval and military forces are\nevery where kept up during peace in almost total idleness; and the\nconsequence is, that they are at once an eyesore to the citizens whose\nsubstance they consume in what is deemed useless ostentation, and are\ndeprived of half their numerical strength, and more than half their\nefficiency, on first engaging in the fatigues of real warfare.\n\nNo province hails the arrival of a modern division of troops, no\nseaport longs for the presence of a man-of-war, as the signal for the\ncommencement of great and beneficent pacific undertakings, as was the\ncase in the Roman empire. Of what incalculable use might the British\nnavy be, if even a part of it was employed in transporting the hundred\nthousand colonists who annually seek in our distant possessions, or in\nthe American States, that profitable market for their industry, which\nthey cannot find amidst our crowded manufactories at home? And this is\nan instance of the manner in which the reflections of Montesquieu,\nthough made in reference only to the Roman empire, are in truth\napplicable to all ages and countries; as the parables in the Gospels,\nthough delivered only to the fishermen of Judea, contain the rules of\nconduct for the human race to the end of the world.\n\nRegarding the comparative causes of corruption in a military and\ncommercial state, Montesquieu makes the following observation. Let him\nthat feels it not applicable to this nation and ourselves, throw the\nfirst stone:--\n\n     \"Carthage having become richer than Rome, was also more\n     corrupted. For this reason, while at Rome public employments\n     were chiefly awarded to ability and virtue, and conferred no\n     advantage, but a greater share of fatigues to be endured, and\n     dangers incurred, every thing which the public had to bestow was\n     sold at Carthage, and every service rendered by individuals was\n     paid by the state. The tyranny of a prince does not bring a\n     despotic state nearer its ruin than indifference to the public\n     good does a republic. The advantage of a free state consists in\n     this, that its revenues are in general better administered; and\n     even where this is not the case, it has at first the advantage of\n     not being governed by court favourites. But, on the other hand,\n     the corrupting power in a democracy, when once brought into\n     action, erelong becomes more dissolving than in a despotism; for\n     instead of paying court merely to the friends and relations of\n     the prince, it becomes necessary to provide for the friends and\n     relations of the multitude who have a share in political power.\n     All is then lost. The laws are eluded in a more dangerous manner\n     than by the violence of a despot; for they are so by the\n     interests of the changing many, not the passions of one, whose\n     position at the head of the state being fixed and unchangeable,\n     gives him a lasting interest in its preservation.\"--C. 4.\n\n\nHow many reflections does this passage, written in France above a\ncentury ago, awaken in the breast of a British citizen at this\ntime!--\"Si monumentum quaeris, circumspice!\" So true it is, that real\npolitical truth belongs to no age or locality--\"non alia Romae, alia\nAthenis;\" it is of eternal application, and is destined to receive\nconfirmation from the experience of men, and the lessons of history,\nto the end of the world.\n\n     \"Powers,\" says Montesquieu, \"which owe their greatness to\n     commerce, may exist long in mediocrity, but their grandeur can\n     never be of long duration. The reason is, that they rise to\n     greatness by little and little, without any one being aware of\n     their growth, as they have done nothing which attracts attention,\n     awakens alarm, or indicates their power. But when it has risen to\n     that point, that no one can avoid seeing it, all the surrounding\n     nations secretly endeavour to deprive the great commercial state\n     of advantages which they all envy, and which have taken them, as\n     it were, by surprise.\"--C. 4.\n\n\nFew persons who contemplate the present state of the British empire,\nits astonishing rise to greatness in the space of less than a\ncentury--the general, it may be said universal jealousy with which it\nis regarded, and the perilous pinnacle on which it now stands, will\ndeny the justice of this observation. May the remark, as to the short\nduration of power founded on such a basis, not receive an additional,\nand even more memorable confirmation in ourselves! But one thing is\nperfectly clear. This remark indicates the impossibility of\nconciliating the adjoining and poorer states while our commercial\nsuperiority continues, and thus strikes at the very foundation of the\nreciprocity system, on which our whole commercial policy for the last\nquarter of a century has been founded. That system proceeds on the\nprinciple, that by opening to the adjoining states a fair\ncommunication of advantages, it is in the power of a great commercial\nstate, not only to conciliate their good-will, but obtain with them a\ngreat and mutually beneficial mercantile intercourse. Montesquieu's\nobservation points to the undying and universal jealousy by its\nneighbours with which such a power is ever surrounded, and the\nfutility of all attempts, while its superiority exists, to avert their\nmercantile hostility, or preserve with them any considerable\ncommercial traffic. Which is the better option, let the hedge of\nhostile tariffs with which, after boundless concessions to purchase\ncommercial good-will, we are surrounded in every direction, give the\nanswer.\n\nOn the comparative value of infantry and cavalry in war, Montesquieu,\nthough no professional soldier, makes the following observation, on\nwhich those who are so, would do well to ponder:--\n\n     \"The Carthaginian cavalry was superior to that of the Romans, for\n     two reasons. One was, that the Numidian and Spanish horses were\n     better than those of Italy; the other, that the Roman cavalry was\n     ill armed; for Polybius tells us, that it was not till they had\n     carried on war in Greece, that they changed their manner of\n     equipping that limb of military strength. In the first Punic\n     war, Regulus was beat as soon as the Carthaginians made choice of\n     plains for combat, where their cavalry could act to advantage; in\n     the second, Hannibal owed to the Numidian horse his principal\n     victories. It was not till whole corps of them began to go over\n     to the Romans in Italy, that the latter began to breathe. Scipio\n     having conquered Spain, and contracted an alliance with\n     Masinissa, deprived the Carthaginians of that advantage. He did\n     more, he gained it for himself. It was the Numidian cavalry which\n     gained the battle of Zama, and terminated the war in favour of\n     the Romans.\"--C. 4.\n\n\nIt is impossible to read the admirable account of Hannibal's campaign\nin the last volume of Arnold's _History of Rome_, without perceiving\nthat this observation, as to the decisive effect of the Numidian\ncavalry upon the fortunes of the war, in first giving victory to the\nCarthaginians when they were entirely on their side, and gradually,\nand at length decisively restoring it to that of the Romans, when they\nwere won over to their eagles, is entirely well-founded. Napoleon was\nof the same opinion, and has repeatedly expressed it in various parts\nof his works. \"Give me,\" said that great man, \"the French infantry and\nthe Mameluke horse, and I will conquer the world.\" It was his constant\naffirmation that cavalry, equally brave and skillfully led, should\nalways, other things being equal, overthrow infantry; and that the\ncontrary opinion which generally prevails, was owing to horse,\nconsidered as the sole strength of war during the feudal ages, having\nbeen unduly decried since the invention of fire-arms. All the world\nknows the immense use he made of his heavy cavalry in all his\ncampaigns; how often, in circumstances the most critical, it chained\nvictory to his standards; how nearly it re-established his affairs,\nand replaced the imperial crown upon his head on the field of\nWaterloo. How striking a proof of human sagacity that the philosophic\nsage, in the early part of the seventeenth century, should have\ndivined a truth which the researches of the historian and the exploits\nof the conqueror were to confirm in the middle of the eighteenth!\n\n     \"Those who are governed by a king,\" says Montesquieu, \"are less\n     tormented by envy and jealousy, than those who live under an\n     hereditary aristocracy. The prince is so far distant from his\n     subjects, that he is rarely seen by them; he is so far above them\n     that nothing in his situation can mortify his self-love. But the\n     nobles who govern in an aristocracy are under the eyes of all,\n     and they are not so elevated, but that odious comparisons are\n     made without ceasing. Thus in all ages we have seen the people\n     detest their senators, though they frequently love their king.\n     Republics, where birth confers no title to power, are in that\n     respect in a better situation than aristocracies; for the people\n     feel less jealousy of an authority which they give to whom they\n     please, and take from whom they incline.\"--C. 8.\n\n\nHow many confirmations of this remark have the history of France\nduring the Revolution, and of England during the Reform mania\nafforded! And this affords an illustration of a truth, which, the more\nhistory is studied, will be rendered more apparent, viz., that the\nprinciples which lie at the bottom of the greatest changes in the\npolitical world, and produce the most devastating evils to society,\nare in reality the same which we see acting every day around us in\ncommon life. In the jealousies of the tea-table, the animosities of\nthe market-place, the envy of trade, we may see the passions working,\nwhich, infused into a whole people, tear society in pieces. It is only\nsupposing the same malevolent or selfish desires working in every\nbreast, directed against one object, and rendered irresistible from\nthat very multiplication, and we have the envy of the coterie\ntransformed into the fury of revolution. Whoever will closely observe\nthe working of that mainspring of human actions--selfishness--on the\nsociety, whether in a village, a city, a country, or a metropolis in\nwhich he resides, will have no difficulty in discerning the real but\nsecret, and therefore unobserved spring of the greatest changes that\never occur in the political and social world. Voltaire said the\nfactions at Geneva were storms in a teacup; if any man will study the\nmotion of water in a teacup, he will be at no loss to understand the\nhurricanes of the Atlantic.\n\nOn the division of the Roman people into centuries and tribes, which\nwas the cardinal point of their constitution, Montesquieu makes the\nfollowing important observation:--\n\n     \"Servius Tullius was the author of the famous division of the\n     people into centuries, which Livy and Dionysius Halicarnassus\n     have so well described. He distributed an hundred and\n     ninety-three centuries into six classes, and put the whole lower\n     people into the last century, which singly formed the sixth\n     class. It is easy to see that that arrangement virtually excluded\n     the lower classes from the suffrage, not _de jure_, but _de\n     facto_. Subsequently it was agreed, that except in some\n     particular cases they should, in voting, follow the division into\n     tribes. There were thirty-five of these tribes who gave each\n     their vote: _four were from the city, thirty-one from the\n     country_. The principal citizens, being all rural proprietors,\n     were naturally classed in the country tribes: the lower people\n     were all massed together in the four urban ones. This\n     circumstance was regarded, and with reason, as the salvation of\n     the republic. Appius Claudius had distributed the lower people\n     among the whole tribes, but Fabius classed then again in the four\n     urban ones, and thence acquired the surname of 'Maximus.' The\n     Censors very five years took a survey of the citizens, and\n     distributed the people in the tribes to which they legally\n     belonged; so that the ambitious could not render themselves\n     masters of their suffrages, nor the people abuse their own\n     power.\"--C. 8.\n\n\nThe Romans had good reason for styling Fabius \"Maximus,\" who\ndiscovered this way of preventing the lower classes, by their number,\nfrom acquiring an overwhelming superiority in the government of the\nstate. He achieved as great a good for his country by so doing, as by\nbaffling Hannibal after the battle of Cannae. But for that circumstance\nthe Roman constitution would have become, after the change of Appius\nClaudius, a mere prototype of the American democracy; a government\nconstantly swayed by a numerical majority of the lowest class of\ncitizens. There can be no doubt that the matter at issue, in this\nquestion, is the most material which can engage the attention of\npolitical philosophers and statesmen in a free country, and that, on\nits determination, its ultimate fate is entirely dependant. So great\nis the number of the working-classes in every old and opulent\ncommunity, compared to those who possess the advantages of property\nand superior education, that nothing is more certain than that, if the\nelective franchise be widely diffused, and no mode of classifying the\nvotes, as at Rome, has been discovered, the sway of a numerical\nmajority of incompetent electors will, erelong, become irresistible.\nCertain ruin then awaits the state. It was that which ruined Athens in\nancient, which has destroyed Poland in modern times, and is fast\nundermining the foundations of the social union in America. The Roman\nmethod of giving every citizen a vote, but classifying them in such a\nway that the paramount influence of a mere numerical majority was\nprevented, and the practical direction of affairs was thrown into the\nhands of the better class of citizens, though not free from objection,\nis the most perfect method of combining universal suffrage in the\ncitizens, with the real direction of affairs by those fitted to\nconduct them, which the wit of man has ever divined.\n\nIn truth, it deserves consideration by those who think on human\naffairs, and the probable form of government which may be expected to\nprevail in future among men, whether _universal_ suffrage is the real\nevil to be dreaded; and whether _equality_ of suffrage is not the real\npoison which destroys society. Abstractly considered, there is much\njustice in the plea so constantly advanced by the working-classes,\nthat being members of the community, and contributing to its support\nor opulence by their labour, they are entitled to a certain voice in\nthe direction of its affairs. If no one has a voice at all but the\nsovereign, as in a despotism, or no one except a few magnates, as in\nan aristocracy, the humbler classes cannot complain at least of\ninconsistency, whatever they may of injustice, if they are excluded.\nBut if a vast body of electors, as in Great Britain, are admitted, and\nstill the great bulk of the working-classes are excluded, it is not\neasy to see on what principle the exclusion of some can be rendered\nconsistent with the admission of others. It deserves consideration\nwhether the true principle would not be to give every able-bodied\nworking man, major and not receiving parochial relief, a vote, but a\n_vote of much less weight than his superiors in intelligence,\nproperty, or station_. This might be done either as the Romans did, by\nmaking the votes be taken by centuries, and classing all the votes of\nthe poorer electors in a limited number of centuries, or giving each\nman a _personal_ vote, and giving the holders of property, in\naddition, more votes for their property; as one for every pound of\ndirect taxes paid. Louis XVI. proposed a plan of this sort to Turgot\nbefore the Revolution; but that minister, deeply embued with the\nprinciples of democracy, rejected it; and Neckar, following out his\nviews, practically established universal suffrage. Possibly the plan,\nif adopted and honestly carried into execution, might have prevented\nthe whole calamities of the Revolution.\n\nOf the dangers of such a multiplication of votes, without any\nrestriction, Roman history affords a memorable example.\n\n     \"Rome,\" says Montesquieu, \"had conquered the world with the aid\n     of the Italian cities, and, in return, she had communicated to\n     them a great variety of privileges. At first they cared little\n     for these advantages; but when the rights of Roman citizenship\n     was that of universal empire, when no one was any thing in the\n     world if he was not a Roman citizen, and with that little he was\n     every thing, the Italian people resolved to perish or acquire\n     that envied distinction. Being unable to attain this object by\n     prayers and remonstrances, they had recourse to arms: the whole\n     allies on the Eastern coast of the Peninsula revolted, those on\n     the Western side were about to follow their example. Rome,\n     obliged to combat as it were the hands by which it had conquered\n     the world, was lost; it was about to be reduced to its walls,\n     when it extricated itself from the difficulty by extending the\n     privilege to the allies who had remained faithful, and shortly\n     after to the whole.\n\n     \"From that moment Rome ceased to be a city of which the people\n     had the same spirit, the same interest, the same love of freedom,\n     the same reverence for the Senate. The people of Italy having\n     become citizens, every town brought thither its dispositions, its\n     separate interests, its dependence on some neighbouring\n     protector. The city, torn with divisions, formed no longer a\n     whole; and as the vast majority of the citizens were so only by a\n     species of fiction, had neither the same magistrates, the same\n     walls, the same temples, the same gods, nor the same places of\n     sepulture, Rome was no longer seen with the same eyes; the\n     undivided love of country was gone; Rome was no more. The\n     inhabitants of whole provinces and cities were brought up to the\n     capital to give their suffrages, or compel others to give them;\n     the popular assemblies degenerated into vast conspiracies, a\n     troop or seditious band usurped the sacred name of Comitia; the\n     authority of the people, their laws, even themselves, became a\n     mere chimera; and the anarchy rose to such a point that it became\n     impossible to tell whether the people had made an ordinance, or\n     had not. Writers are never tired of descanting on the divisions\n     which ruined Rome; but they have not seen that those divisions\n     always existed, and ever must exist in a free community. It was\n     solely the greatness of the republic which was the cause of the\n     evil, by changing popular tumults into civil wars. Faction was\n     unavoidable in Rome; its warriors, so fierce, so proud, so\n     terrible abroad, would not be moderate at home. To expect in a\n     free state men at once bold in war, and timid in peace, is to\n     look for an impossibility. It may be assumed as a fixed\n     principle, that wherever you see every one tranquil in a state\n     which bears the name of a republic, liberty there has been long\n     since extinct.\"--C. 9.\n\n\nThe representative system has saved Great Britain and America from\nthese terrible popular _comitia_, in which, as Montesquieu has truly\nsaid, the mobs of the people became the convulsions of an empire; and\nwhich tore in pieces Poland in modern, as it had done Rome in ancient\ntimes. But does not the real evil exist, despite this liberation from\nthe actual tumult, in the representative government of a great empire,\nas much as in the stormy _comitia_ of an overgrown republic? It is\nnot the mere strife in the streets, and shedding of blood in civil\nwarfare, bad as it is, and truly as the \"bellum plusquam civile\"\nexceeds all others in horror, which is the only evil. The separation\nof interests, the disregard of common objects in the struggle for\nindividual elevation, the tyranny of one class by another class, is\nthe thing which really dissolves the national bonds in every\nwide-spread and free community. We see this source of discord\noperating with as much force in the divided representation of great\npopular states, as in the bloody contests of the Roman forum or the\nplain of Volo in Poland. The nullification of South Carolina, the\nobnoxious tariff of America, the fierce demands for the repeal of the\nunion in Ireland, the sacrifice of agricultural and producing, to\ncommercial and monied interests in Great Britain, prove that these\nevils are in full operation among ourselves, as well as our\ndescendants on the other side of the Atlantic. There is a confusion of\ntongues, and separation of mankind from the undue amalgamation of\ninterests, as well as individuals. Providence has a sure way to punish\nthe selfishness and presumption of men who seek to build up a Babel of\nhuman construction; and that is to leave them to the consequences of\ntheir own extravagance.\n\nThe style of Montesquieu may be judged from the extracts, few and\nimperfect as they are, given in the preceding pages. It is not\nvehement, eloquent, or forcible; but condensed, nervous, and\nepigrammatic. No writer has furnished to succeeding times so many\nbrilliant passages to quote; but there are many who can be read _en\nsuite_ with more satisfaction. This is not unfrequently the case with\nwriters on philosophical subjects of the highest class of intellect;\nand it arises from the variety and originality of their ideas. The\nmind of the reader is fatigued by following out the multitude of\nthoughts which their works engender. At the close of every paragraph\nalmost, you involuntarily close the book, to reflect on the subjects\nof meditation which it has presented. The same peculiarity may be\nremarked in the annals of Tacitus, the essays of Bacon, the poetry of\nMilton, the _Inferno_ of Dante, the _Discorsi_ of Machiavel. In the\nhabit of expansion which has arisen in more recent times from the\nmultiplication of books, the profits made by writing, and the\nnecessity of satisfying the craving of a voracious public for\nsomething new, is to be found the cause of the remarkable difference\nin the modes of composition which has since become prevalent. When men\nwrite for the monthly or quarterly press, there is no time to be\ncondensed or profound. What has been gained, however, in animation and\nfervour, has too often been lost in thought; and it may be doubted\nwhether, among the many writers of the present day, whether in Great\nBritain or the Continent, there is one whose works, a century hence,\nwill be deemed to contain as much of original and valuable ideas as\neven the preceding sketch, imperfect as it is, has presented in\nMontesquieu.\n\n\n\n\nA REMINISCENCE OF BOYHOOD.\n\nBy Delta.\n\n    \"Life is a dream, whose seeming truth\n    Is moralized in age and youth;\n    When all the comforts man can share\n    As wandering as his fancies are:\n    Till in a mist of dark decay\n    The dreamer vanish quite away.\"\n\n                       Bishop King.\n\n\n                        I.\n\n    'Twas a blithe morning in the aureate month\n    Of July, when, in pride of summer power,\n    The sun enliven'd nature: dew-besprent,\n    A wilderness of flowers their scent exhaled\n    Into the soft, warm zephyr; early a-foot,\n    On public roads, and by each hedge-way path,\n    From the far North, and from Hybernia's strand,\n    With vestures many-hued, and ceaseless chat,\n    The reapers to the coming harvest plied--\n    Father and mother, stripling and young child,\n    On back or shoulder borne. I trode again\n    A scene of youth, bright in its natural lines\n    Even to a stranger's eyes when first time seen,\n    But sanctified to mine by many a fond\n    And faithful recognition. O'er the Esk,\n    Swoln by nocturnal showers, the hawthorn hung\n    Its garland of green berries, and the bramble\n    Trail'd 'mid the camomile its ripening fruit.\n    Most lovely was the verdure of the hills--\n    A rich luxuriant green, o'er which the sky\n    Of blue, translucent, clear without a cloud,\n    Outspread its arching amplitude serene.\n    With many a gush of music, from each brake\n    Sang forth the choral linnets; and the lark,\n    Ascending from the clover field, by fits\n    Soar'd as it sang, and dwindled from the sight.\n    'Mid the tall meadow grass the ox reclined,\n    Or bent his knee, or from beneath the shade\n    Of the broad beech, with ruminant mouth, gazed forth.\n    Rustling with wealth, a tissue of fair fields,\n    Outstretch'd to left and right in luxury;\n    And the fir forests on the upland slopes\n    Contrasted darkly with the golden grain.\n\n\n                    II.\n\n      Pensively by the river's bank I stray'd--\n    Now gazing on the corn-fields ripe and rich;\n    Now listening to the carol of the birds\n    From bush and brake, that with mellifluous notes\n    Fill'd the wide air; and now in mournful thought--\n    That yet was full of pleasure--running through\n    The mazy past. I know not how it was,\n    But from the sounds--the season--and the scene--\n    Soften'd my heart; and, as the swallow wings\n    In autumn back to softer sunnier climes--\n    When summer, like a bright fallacious dream,\n    Hath with its flowers and fragrance pass'd away--\n    So, from the turmoil of maturer years,\n    In boyish thoughts my spirit sought relief.\n\n\n                    III.\n\n      Embathed in beauty pass'd before my sight,\n    Like blossoms that with sunlight shut and ope,\n    The half-lost dreams of many a holiday,\n    In boyhood spent on that blue river side\n    With those whose names, even now, as alien sounds\n    Ring in the ear, though then our cordial arms\n    Enwreathed each other's necks, while on we roam'd,\n    Singing or silent, pranksome, never at rest,\n    As life were but a jocund pilgrimage,\n    Whose pleasant wanderings found a goal in heaven.\n    But when I reach'd a winding of the stream,\n    By hazels overarch'd, whose swollen nuts\n    Hung in rich clusters, from his marginal bank\n    Of yellow sand, ribb'd by receding waves,\n    I scared the ousel, that, like elfin sprite,\n    Amid the water-lilies lithe and green,\n    Zig-zagg'd from stone to stone; and, turning round\n    The sudden jut, reveal'd before me stood,\n    Silent, within that solitary place--\n    In that green solitude so calm and deep--\n    An aged angler, plying wistfully,\n    Amid o'erhanging banks and shelvy rocks,\n    Far from the bustle and the din of men,\n    His sinless pastime. Silver were his locks,\n    His figure lank; his dark eye, like a hawk's,\n    Glisten'd beneath his hat of whitest straw,\n    Lightsome of wear, with flies and gut begirt:\n    The osier creel, athwart his shoulders slung,\n    Became full well his coat of velveteen,\n    Square-tail'd, four-pocket'd, and worn for years,\n    As told by weather stains. His quarter-boots,\n    Lash'd with stout leather thongs, and ankles bare,\n    Spoke the adept--and of full many a day,\n    Through many a changeable and checquer'd year,\n    By mountain torrent, or smooth meadow stream,\n    To that calm sport devoted. O'er him spread\n    A tall, broad sycamore; and, at his feet,\n    Amid the yellow ragwort, rough and high,\n    An undisturbing spaniel lay, whose lids,\n    Half-opening, told his master my approach.\n\n\n                    IV.\n\n      I turn'd away, I could not bear to gaze\n    On that grey angler with his rod and line;\n    I turn'd away--for to my heart the sight\n    Brought back, from out the twilight labyrinth\n    Of bypast things, the memory of a day,\n    So sever'd from the present by the lapse\n    Of many a motley'd, life-destroying year,\n    That on my thoughts the recognition came\n    Faintly at first--as breaks the timid dawn\n    Above the sea, or evening's earliest star\n    Through the pavilion of the twilight dim--\n    Faintly at first--then kindling to the glow\n    Of that refulgent sunshine, only known\n    To boyhood's careless and unclouded hours.\n\n\n                    V.\n\n      Even yet I feel around my heart the flush\n    Of that calm, windless morning, glorified\n    With summer sunshine brilliant and intense!\n    A tiny boy, scarcely ten summers old,\n    Along blue Esk, under the whispering trees,\n    And by the crumbling banks, daisy-o'ergrown,\n    A cloudless, livelong day I trode with one\n    Whose soul was in his pastime, and whose skill\n    Upon its shores that day no equal saw:--\n    O'er my small shoulders was the wicker creel\n    Slung proudly, and the net whose meshes held\n    The minnow, from the shallows deftly raised.\n    Hour after hour augmenting our success,\n    Turn'd what was pleasure first, to pleasant toil,\n    Lent languor to my loitering steps, and gave\n    Red to the cheek, and dew-damp to the brow:\n    It was a day that cannot be forgot--\n    A jubilee in childhood's calendar--\n    A green hill-top seen o'er the billowy waste\n    Of dim oblivion's flood:--and so it is,\n    That on my morning couch--what time the sun\n    Tinges the honeysuckle flowers with gold,\n    That cluster round the porch--and in the calm\n    Of evening meditation, when the past\n    Spontaneously unfolds the treasuries\n    Of half-forgotten and fragmental things,\n    To memory's ceaseless roamings--it comes back,\n    Fragrant and fresh, as if 'twere yesterday.\n    From morn till noon, his light assiduous toil\n    The angler plied; and when the mid-day sun\n    Was high in heaven, under a spreading tree,\n    (Methinks I hear the hum amid its leaves!)\n    Upon a couch of wild-flowers, down we sat\n    With healthful palates to our slight repast\n    Of biscuits, and of cheese, and bottled milk;\n    The sward our table, and the boughs our roof:\n    And oh! in banquet hall, where richest cates\n    Luxurious woo the pamper'd appetite,\n    Never did viands proffer such delight,\n    To Sybarite upon his silken couch,\n    As did to us our simple fair that day.\n\n\n                        VI.\n\n      Bright shone the afternoon, say rather burn'd,\n    In floods of molten gold, with all its rich\n    Array of blossoms by that river's side--\n    Wild camomile, and lychnis in whose cups\n    The bee delights to murmur, harebells blue,\n    And violets breathing fragrance; nor remote\n    The aureate furze, that to the west-winds sigh,\n    Lent its peculiar perfume blandly soft.\n    At times we near'd the wild-duck and her brood\n    In the far angle of some dim-seen pool,\n    Silent and sable, underneath the boughs\n    Of low hung willow; and, at times, the bleat\n    Of a stray lamb would bid us raise our eyes\n    To where it stood above us on the rock,\n    Knee-deep amid the broom--a sportive elf.\n    Enshrined in recollection--sleep those hours\n    So brilliant and so beautiful--the scene\n    So full of pastoral loveliness--the heart\n    With pleasure overflowing--and the sky\n    Pavilion'd over all, an arch of peace--\n    God with his fair creation reconciled:\n    And oh! to be forgotten only with\n    The last fond thoughts of memory, I behold\n    That grand and gorgeous evening, in whose blaze\n    Homeward with laden paniers we return'd.\n    Through the green woods outshot the level rays\n    Of flooding sunlight, tinging the hoar bark\n    Of the old pine-trees, and in crimson dyes\n    Bathing the waste of flowers that sprang beneath;\n    It was an hour of Paradise restored--\n    Eden forth mirror'd to the view again,\n    As yet ere Happiness forsook its bowers,\n    Or sinless creatures own'd the sway of death.\n    All was repose--and peace--and harmony;\n    The flocks upon the soft knolls resting lay,\n    Or straying nibbled at the pastures green;\n    Up from its clovery lurking-place, the hare\n    Arose; the pheasant from the coppice stray'd;\n    The cony from its hole disporting leapt;\n    The cattle in the bloomy meadows lay\n    Ruminant; the shy foal scarcely swerved aside\n    At our approach from under the tall tree\n    Of his delight, shaking his forelocks long\n    In wanton play; while, overhead, his hymn,\n    As 'twere to herald the approach of night,\n    With all her gathering stars, the blackbird sang\n    Melodiously, mellifluously, and Earth\n    Look'd up, reflecting back the smiles of Heaven!\n    For Innocence, o'er hill and dale again\n    Seem'd to have spread her mantle, and the voice\n    Of all but joy in grove and glade was hush'd.\n\n\n                    VII.\n\n      Thro' the deep glen of Roslin--where arise\n    Proud castle and chapelle of high St Clair,\n    And Scotland's prowess speaking--we had traced\n    The mazy Esk by cavern'd Hawthornden,\n    Perch'd like an eagle's nest upon the cliffs,\n    And eloquent for aye with Drummond's song--\n    Through Melville's flowery glades--and down the park\n    Of fair Dalkeith, scaring the antler'd deer\n    'Neath the huge oaks of Morton and of Monk,\n    Whispering, as stir their boughs the midnight winds.\n    These left behind, with purpling evening, now\n    We stood beside St Michael's holy fane,\n    With its nine centuries of gravestones girt;\n    And, from the slopes of Inveresk, gazed down\n    Upon the Frith of Forth, whose waveless tide\n    Glow'd like a plain of fire. In majesty,\n    O'ercanopied with many-vestured clouds,\n    The mighty sun, low in the farthest west,\n    With orb dilated, o'er the Grampian chain,\n    Mountain up-piled on mountain, huge and blue,\n    Was shedding his last rays, adorn'd the shores\n    Of Fife, with all its towns, and woods, and fields,\n    And bathing Ben-Ean and Ben-Ledi's peaks\n    In hues of amethyst. Ray after ray,\n    From the twin Lomond's conic heights declined,\n    And died away the glory; and, at length,\n    As sank the last, low horizontal beams,\n    And Twilight drew her azure curtains round,\n    From out the south, twinkled the Evening star!\n\n\n                    VIII.\n\n      Since then full often hath the snow-drop shown\n    Its early flower--hath summer waved its corn--\n    Hath autumn shed its leaves--and Arctic gales\n    Brought wintry desolation on their wings!\n    When Memory ponders on that boyish scene,\n    Broken seems almost every tie that links\n    That day to this--and to the child the man:\n    The world is alter'd quite in all its thoughts--\n    In all its works and ways--its sights and sounds--\n    With the same name it is another sphere,\n    And by another race inhabited.\n    The old familiar dwellings, with their trees\n    Coeval, mouldering wall, and dovecot rent--\n    The old familiar faces from the streets,\n    One after one, have now all disappear'd,\n    And sober sires are they who then were sons,\n    Giddy and gay:--a generation new\n    Dwells where they dwelt--whose tongues are silent quite--\n    Whose bodily forms are reminiscences\n    Fading:--the leaden talisman of Truth\n    Hath disenchanted of its rainbow hues\n    The sky, and robb'd the fields of half their bloom.\n    I start, to conjure from the gulf of death\n    The myriads that have gone to come no more:--\n    And where is he, the Angler, by whose side\n    That livelong day delightedly I roam'd,\n    While life to both a sunny pastime seem'd?\n    Ask of the winds that from the Atlantic blow,\n    When last they stirr'd the wild-flowers on his grave!\n\n\n\n\nDE BURTIN ON PICTURES.\n\n\nThe writings of enthusiasts, however dry the subjects upon which they\nemploy their pens, have always some power of fascination. Many a one\nwho has never hooked a fish, has found delight in Isaac Walton. He is\nstill the pleasant companion by river and brooklet, and the cause why,\n\n    \"He that has fishing loved should fish the more,\n    And he should fish who never fish'd before.\"\n\nBut then the subject is the loveliest of arts, Painting--embracing as\nit does the beautiful, the great, and the pathetic, whatever charms\nthe eye and moves the heart--we are sensible of more than common\npleasure, and become soothed into dreams and visions of our own, even\nby the gentle garrulity of a connoisseur. Is there any one who\npretends to acquaintance with literature, however uninitiated he may\nbe in the mysteries of the arts, who has not read the _Discourses_ of\nSir Joshua Reynolds, and who has not wished, after reading them, to be\nenabled to say, \"anche io son pittore?\" When we are told of picture\ngalleries with their thousand works of art, and are warmed by the\ndescriptions, feeble though they must be, of many of them, we seem to\nbe suddenly led by a lamp of more magical power than Aladdin's; for\nwhat was his gallery of fruit-trees bearing, precious stones, to a\ngallery rich in pictures, the still brighter fruits of genius,\npresenting endless variety, each one almost a world in itself, and\nall, enticing the imagination into regions unbounded, of charm and\nloveliness, suggested, though not made visible, but to the mind's eye?\nWe remember in our school days giving Virgil credit for much tact in\nendeavouring to make a gentleman of AEneas, and succeeding too for a\nwhile in raising the more than equivocal character of his hero, by\nplacing him in the picture-gallery of the Queen of Carthage, and\ngiving him leisure to contemplate and to criticise, and poetically to\ndescribe to his silent and spiritless lounger-friend many noble and\nmany touching works. In this passage we also obtain the great Latin\npoet's opinion of the ameliorating effect of \"collections.\" The hero\nof the AEneid knew immediately he was among an amiable people. The\npicture-gallery was the \"nova res oblata\" which \"timorem leniit\"--\n\n    \"Hic primum AEneas sperare salutem\n    Ausus, et afflictis melius confidere rebus;\n    Namque\"----\n\nIt is singular that all the courts of Europe have, for more than two\ncenturies, been earnestly engaged in forming public galleries, a\nnational benefit and honour which England had neglected with her great\nwealth, and with opportunities singularly favourable, until within a\nfew years; and even now we are making but very slow progress, and\nworks of art of the olden and golden time are becoming more rare, and\nimmensely rising in value. Had we, as a nation, collected even fifty\nyears ago--speaking of the transactions as a money speculation, in\nwhich view, according to the taste of the day, we must look at every\nthing--our purchases would now have been worth treble the first cost\nin money. The unhappy fate of Charles I. was most adverse to the arts\nhere. It not only scattered the collection made by him, but, by the\ntriumph of Puritanism, plunged the country first into a dislike of,\nand, for long subsequent periods, into an indifference for art. We\neven doubt if this gross feeling has altogether subsided. We do not\nyet take a national pride in works of genius, unless they immediately\nbear upon the art of living. No country is so rich as ours in private,\nand none so poor in public collections. And if we progress so slowly\nin our National Gallery, we can scarcely wonder that public\ninstitutions of the kind have not been dreamed of in the provinces. We\nsincerely hope that the movement Mr Ewart is making will be crowned\nwith success, and that in time \"collections\" in our cities and towns\nwill be the result.\n\nThe Musee of Paris, in 1844, contained upwards of fifteen hundred\npictures. According to the catalogue compiled in 1781, the Imperial\nGallery of Vienna then contained twelve hundred and thirty-four.\nAccording to the catalogue of 1839, the Dresden gallery contained\neighteen hundred and fifty-seven. At Munich, the present king has\nerected a spacious building, into which he has draughted a selection,\nfrom among several thousands, of about fifteen hundred. And what have\nwe done to improve the national taste? And strange, indeed, does it\nappear, that whenever such a subject is brought before the public mind\nin Parliament, it is solely with a view to the connexion of art with\nmanufactures. There must be in the nature of things a certain\nconnexion; but unnecessarily to bind them in union is to bind then\nunnaturally, and to put the shackles upon the higher, which cannot\nbear them without degradation. We hail with great pleasure every\npublication whose object is to promote a love for the fine arts; and\nmore particularly those which show a due reverence for the old\nmasters; for, however unwilling we may be to limit the power of\ngenius, no one who has any pretensions to taste, and is of a\ncultivated mind, will deny that, if their works are not perfection,\nthey are at least in a right direction. The novelties which more\nmodern art has sought will pass away, we are persuaded, as not founded\nupon true principles, and we shall best advance by properly\nappreciating what has been done before us. We will not here enter into\nthe subject of the _decadence_ of art, nor its causes. We believe that\nif adequate national and provincial galleries were formed, more\nespecially at our universities, the improved public taste would create\na demand which this country would not lack genius to supply. We are\nnot in the exact condition of Italy at the sudden rise of art there.\nThe public, in the days of Raffaelle and Michael Angelo, had nothing,\nor but little _to unlearn_; the previous aim had fortunately not been\nvery multifarious; the sentiment of art was right, and the direction\ntrue. It remained only to enlarge the sphere; the principles were in\nbeing; they required but confirmation. Grace and power naturally\narose; for there was no counteracting education, nothing positively\nbad altogether to lay aside, though there was something to correct.\nNow with us, on the contrary, art has run into very strange vagaries;\nthe enlargement of the boundaries has been unlimited, but it has been\nin regions far below the Parnassian Mount. We have talked of the High\nIdeal, and practised and encouraged _ad infinitum_ the Low Natural,\nand too often have descended to the worse, the Low Unnatural; so that,\nupon the whole, we have to unlearn very much before we can be said to\nbe in the rudiments of Real Art. Let us suppose one born with every\nnatural endowment, with imagination, and a power of imitation. The\nmind, after all, is fed with _realities_; there is in it also process\nof digestion, which converts the real into the imaginative. Now, in\nearly years, how rare it is that the naturally endowed artist is not\nill fed--unhealthy diet of the mind entices him every where. If in the\ncountry, he is sparingly fed--sees little or nothing of Art, little\nperhaps beyond the Sign of an Inn--and is scarcely, from other sources\nof education, taught to look with the mind's eye, through the\nundignified appearance, to the actual dignity even of the nature he\nsees:--if he has lived in the city, the Print shops are inevitable\nlures to cheat him by little and little out of his natural taste, if\nthere be one; for at first it can be but a mere germ. The works of\ngreatness, of goodness, will be the last things that he will see; for\nseldom indeed will they be presented to his sight. For the pure, the\nsweet, the graceful, the dignified, he will have thrust before his\neyes gaudy, tawdry caricature and grimace; and, worse still, perhaps\nwholly vulgar obscenities. Were he in his boyhood given a present in\nthe pictorial line, it would be of an Opera-dancer or a race-course,\nor an abomination of London low life. What \"slang\" is to the ear, so\nwould it be to the eye; and such is in nine cases out of ten the first\neducation of those aspirants in art, who, ere they have unlearned any\nthing, set up for themselves--and abuse the old masters. Generally\nspeaking, they are brought up in an anti-ideal school; the powers,\ntherefore, that nature has given them, are not only uncultivated, but\nled astray; and similar education and similar tastes in the public,\nfind them a market for very low, very worthless commodities. We have,\nin fact, a great deal to unlearn. The first step with us all, is, to\nunlearn. Could we see nothing bad it would not be so. That which\nwould, at first view, be thought the greatest benefit to art,\nengraving, has but spread the wider the pestilence of false taste. It\nis from all this the earlier and greater painters were free. The evil,\nhowever, having once so spread, is not to be easily corrected. Bad\ntaste has claimed a perpetuity of copyright. Good taste must proceed\nfrom an opposite source, and work in spite of the bad. It must come\nfrom publications, just criticisms, lives of painters,[4] familiar\ntreatises on the principles of art; and more especially from national\nand other public galleries, to direct attention, and indeed to create\na demand for those other auxiliary works. People will seek to\nunderstand and feel that which is continually put before them. Could\nthey never see any but fine productions, they would soon have a relish\nfor them that now is impossible; but by little and little, the sight\nof what is good will create a liking, and the liking will soon reach\nan adoration, and the unlearning process is imperceptibly going on.\nCorrupted as our eyes now are, we would venture to assert, that were\nyou to offer, either in prints or originals, to boys of fourth and\nfifth forms at our public schools, in one hand a vile and gaudy horse\nand jockey, and in the other a pure and lovely picture by Raffaelle,\nthe former would be taken. Here is a lamentable neglect in education;\nthe ear must suffer the probing and the torture of metres and\nverse-making, but the eye is left unguarded, unprotected, to shift for\nitself, or to yield to the fascinations the first pander of evil\nchooses to offer. The school-boy might be improved at the\nuniversities; but there, too, is the same neglect. In our time, it was\na rare thing to see a \"man's\" room without many engravings; and that\nsufficiently shows how much a school of art is wanted in those places,\nand what a hold they would have upon youth. But we cannot say much for\nthe taste of the productions, that generally we will not say _graced_\nthe walls. We had hoped that the Taylor bequest would have established\nat Oxford, not only a picture gallery, but a professorship of Painting\nand Sculpture. A large Building has been erected; and we have heard of\nan intention to remove to it some rubbish called pictures. If that\nthreat be accomplished, we shall despair of seeing them removed to\ngive place to better things. The majority will be satisfied with\nseeing walls covered, and look no further. We have heard likewise that\nsome very valuable pictures have been offered upon very favourable\nterms to the university. If there be amongst any an intention of\nforming a gallery, we would urge them to use their best endeavours to\nmake as soon as may be a beginning. For every succeeding year not only\nincreases the difficulty in obtaining the concurrence of influential\npersons, but the annually rising value of pictures makes delay an\nimprudence. Besides, if a beginning were once made--were it once shown\nthat the universities are in earnest--valuable bequests might greatly\npromote the great object. And this is an advantage that admits not of\nbeing put off to the morrow.\n\nWe have digressed from our purpose, which was to acknowledge the\npleasure we have received from the pages of M. de Burtin's work; or we\nshould rather say, from Mr White's translation. We have been some\nyears acquainted with the original work in French. Its value in its\npresent form is not lessened by the number of years that have passed\nbetween the original French edition and the translation; for general\nremarks on art are of all times, and there is much in the particular\ninformation the volume contains, such as lists of prices, and some\nother matters, from which useful comparisons may be now made.\n\nThe author very modestly, in his introduction, professes not to write\n\"for artists nor accomplished connoisseurs;\" yet to such, we believe,\nthe volume, in its compressed form, will be of most value. He has the\nhonesty to confess that he has learned his connoisseurship at some\ncost--that he has been victimized into a knowledge of art. And as this\nis generally the case with most collectors in the beginning, and not\nunfrequently in the end too, he thinks he may be of some use to others\nin showing \"how to judge pictures well\"--\"what is a good picture;\" and\nnot of the least value, how to use it when you have it. His\nqualification as teacher cannot be denied; for he has not only\ncollected, but travelled much, visited all the important collections,\nand by comparing picture with picture, and style with style, he has\nbeen enabled to speak with accuracy upon the distinguishing marks of\nschools and masters. A universal admiration, a love that will embrace\nall schools and all styles, is of very rare attainment, and perhaps\nhardly to be desired; for every man of any strength, of any fixed tone\nof character, must necessarily have a bias. And besides, one man\nnaturally receives more powerfully impressions through form, another\nthrough colour. It is not inconsistent that a perfect connoisseur\nshould be equally affected by both; but the mind is not allowed the\nsame latitude with regard to subject; the passion will ever be for\nthat which is congenial; whatever is foreign to it will receive but a\ncold and passing admiration. We should collect from the whole contents\nof this volume, that the author was never an enthusiastic admirer of\nwhat is termed high Italian art. He seldom dwells upon \"the sublime\nand beautiful.\" Gifted rather with a complacent acquiescence in what\nis great, than stirred by it to any heat of rapture, it is probable\nthat at least the sphere of his pleasures was enlarged; and his nice\nsense of the beauty, touch, and colour, rendered pictures, of subjects\nof little interest, more pleasing to him, than they could be to the\nconnoisseur of more exclusive taste. His predilection is, however, for\nColour; and we agree with him, \"that without the science of colouring,\nthat so difficult science, about which the exclusive partisans of\nideal beauty trouble themselves so little, their antiques and their\nideal perfection may produce designs, but never can pictures.\"\n\nTwo definitions are laid down, which, as frequent reference is made to\nthem, we copy. Definition of painting--\"The art of applying colours,\nwithout relief, upon a plain surface, so as to imitate any object in\nthe manner in which it is seen, or may be conceived visible in\nnature.\" \"A good picture\" he defines to be, \"a good choice of subject\nwell represented.\" If we knew precisely what is here meant by\n\"nature,\" a word used by all writers on art in very various senses,\nand commonly very vaguely, we might not find fault with the\ndefinition; but genius, which has\n\n    \"Exhausted worlds, and then imagined new,\"\n\nis not too strictly to be limited to the actualities of external\nnature. It is the nature of the mind, under certain impulses and\nimpressions, to exaggerate, to combine from memory, not from sight,\neven to the verge of the impossible; for even this extravagance is the\nproduct of human passion, which by its nature disdains common\nboundaries; and this, in painting, is especially the province of\nColour, which may be said to be the poetical language of art, and\nadmits differences of the same kind as exist between common speech and\npoetical and figurative diction.\n\nThe painter as well as poet may colour somewhat highly,\n\n    \"And breathe a browner horror o'er the woods.\"\n\nCritics too often write of art as if it had only to do with what\nactually exists; whereas it is given to it as to poetry \"to make,\" to\ncreate--all that is required is a certain connexion with the real,\nsometimes exceedingly slight, which shall be sufficiently delusive\nfor present purpose. The agile mind can pass over a deep and\nformidable chasm upon a slender thread; and when over, is too much\noccupied in the new region to turn back and measure the means of\npassage. We suspect our author's view of nature is too limited.\n\nUpon _\"a good choice of subject\"_ are some good remarks. Disgusting\nsubjects are justly condemned. \"It is evident that an animal, flayed\nor embowelled, entrails, meat raw or mangled, blood, excrements,\ndeath's-heads, carcasses, and similar objects, if they strike upon the\nview too much, will be as disgusting in a picture as they are in\nnature; and that grimaces, hideous or monstrous deformities, whether\nmoral or physical, will be as shocking in the one as the other. Events\nwhich are sufficiently unnatural, barbarous, and cruel, to shake\nviolently the soul, and cause it to tremble with insurmountable\nhorror, create an agitation too frightful for it to resist, much less\nto be pleased with. Subjects of so bad a choice, (which Horace\nseverely prohibits from being introduced upon the scene,) do little\nhonour to the painter. They become even more insupportable in\nproportion as they approach nearer to reality by the perfection of\ntheir execution.\" The translator thinks his \"author has stated this\ntoo broadly;\" and instances, as pictures of this kind to be admired\nfor their truth, _The Lesson of Anatomy_, by Rembrandt; _Prometheus\nDevoured by the Vulture_, by Salvator Rosa; _Raising of Lazarus_, by\nSebastian del Piombo. Of the two first subjects, we think they are to\nbe condemned, if, in the _Prometheus_, the enduring mind of Prometheus\nbe not the subject. But surely the grand picture of Piombo, though it\nis all awful, has in it nothing disgusting, or that comes within the\ncondemned list. The question to be asked in all these cases is, what\nis the object, as well as what is the subject. Is it to teach, to\nimprove, to soften the mind by human love and sympathy, or to excite\nit to a just and _hopeful_ indignation, for therein is a source of\npleasure? The rule of tragedy should be applicable here. Undoubtedly,\nwe receive pleasure from tragic representations. Isolated, barbarism,\ncruelty would be intolerably disgusting. But in every good tragedy,\nthere are always good and lovely characters with whom we can\nsympathise. We are bettered by thus uniting ourselves with what is\nlovely; and are content to take at second-hand, and thus feel only in\na safe degree, the distresses to which, as human nature ourselves, we\nare liable. In pictured representation, however, we have to guard\nagainst the too vivid, and at the same time too permanent, as being a\nfixed expression, which, by the art and power of language, we are not\nallowed to dwell upon too exclusively; and relief is offered in change\nand diversity. There are some very judicious remarks upon disgusting\nsubjects in \"An Essay on the Choice of Subjects in Painting,\" read, we\nbelieve, some years ago, by Mr Duncan, at the Institution at Bath. We\nremember an account in the Essay of a very ridiculous burlesque (it is\nnot intended so to be) of some of the horrific legends of the Italian\nschools. The picture was exhibited in the chapel of Johanna Southcote,\nat Newington Butts, near London. St Johanna was represented in a\nsky-blue dress, leading the devil with a long chain, like a\ndancing-bear, surrounded by adoring angels. Is not this doubtful? \"I\nadd, that, excepting man, that King of Nature, whose head presents to\na painter the subject that is most interesting for character, grace,\ndignity, and expression of the whole mind, of which it is the mirror,\nno animal, dead or alive, affords, in any one part of its frame,\nwhatever care may be taken in the execution, more than a subject for a\nstudy, or will by any means form what can be called a picture.\" This\nsurely is not quite true. There is a very fine picture of a lioness,\ndimly seen at the mouth of her den, in grim repose, that is very\ngrand. One colour pervades the whole--there is nothing forced; but the\nvery colour is of the stealthiness of the animal's nature; it is so\ndim, that the animal is not strikingly discoverable, but grows out\nupon the sight, and we feel the sense of danger with the knowledge of\nsecurity. And surely this is the sublime of art. Had the author seen\nsome of the noble animals, gifted with noble characters by nature, and\nby the hand of our Landseer, he would have hesitated ere he\npronounced thus strongly.\n\nThe choice of a subject is considered as belonging solely to\ninvention, irrespective of composition or disposition. \"The honour of\ninventing truly belongs to him whose imagination creates all, or\nalmost all, of new.\" A distinction is made between composition and\ndesign: indeed, according to our author, there are three parts of\ninvention--composition, disposition, and design. There is a repetition\nof the charge of disproportion in objects, brought against Raffaelle,\nto which we do not implicitly bow. He is considered as having\n\"committed two striking faults against nature and lineal perspective,\nin his famous picture of the _Transfiguration_, by the ridiculous\nsmallness of his Mount Tabor, and by the disproportionable size of the\nChrist and of the two Prophets.\" But we question if the mind, in that\nstate of feeling in which it beholds a miraculous and altogether\noverwhelming subject, is not necessarily in a condition to overstep\nthe actual rules of nature, and to receive a type of things for the\nreality, admitting the small to stand for the great. Were it conscious\nof very exact formal truth, the power of the subject would be reduced.\nActual perspective would have, in Raffaelle's case, ruined the\npicture. There was that boldness of genius which Shakspeare, when the\nnature of the subject required it, adopted, which made the one, leap\nover time, and the other, space and proportion.\n\nUnder the head \"disposition of the subject,\" there is a somewhat\nunsatisfactory sentence. \"It contributes to the 'goodness' of the\npicture,\" \"if it avoid uniformity and positions that are too\nsymmetrical; if it distribute the light well; if by means of it the\ngroups _pyramid_ and unite well; and if it give value to all the parts\nof the picture by means of each other, in such a manner as that the\nresult shall be a satisfactory whole.\" There is much here that is\ntrue; but there is something false. And that which is false in it, has\noften strangely misled artists in their arrangement and grouping.\nThere are some subjects of a perfectly symmetrical character; however\nrare they may be, there are some. Raffaelle, in his cartoon of\ndelivering the keys to Peter, paints, as nearly as may be, all the\napostles' heads in one line. Is not the _character_ of Gothic\narchitecture symmetrical? Painters of architectural subjects very\ncommonly overlook this, and by perspective difference destroy this\norderly character. Few make the centre the point of sight; which is,\nhowever, the proper one for representation, as it alone shows the\nexact conformity and order, the idea of which it was the purpose of\nthe architect to present, and which constitutes _the_ beauty. The\n\"pyramid\" rule is manifestly absurd, and seldom has even a tolerably\ngood effect. It was the quackery of a day.[5] The good masters did not\nwork upon it. It is, in fact, a little truth taken out of a greater,\nand misapplied--a part of that circular character of composition, as\nit were a principle of reflection, by which lines close in upon or\nrecede from each other. We have, in a former paper in this Magazine,\ntreated of this principle--to dwell on it now would take us far from\nour purpose. As to the ability of all persons to judge of the\nnaturalness of a picture, the translator doubts the correctness of the\naffirmative opinion of his author. He remarks, that \"it requires\nconsiderable practice and experience to enable one to judge how much\nart can do; what is the exact medium between feebleness and\nexaggeration, which constitutes the all-surpassing quality of truth,\nof which he declares himself a partisan; and in what manner one\npainter differs from or excels another in the representation of it.\"\nIt may also be observed, that people in general have uncultivated\neyes, and see not the whole beauties of any one object; they are\ncommonly quite ignorant of ideal and sentimental beauty, almost\nwholly arising out of the _power of art_--the representing the\nimagination. It is when such persons are called upon to see nature in\na picture, that they show how imperfect their sight has been. Seeing\nthe representation in a frame, they know it to be a work of art, and\ngenerally object to shadow; whereas, could they see the picture placed\nat an open window or some deceiving position, they would be deceived.\nMany, knowing the intention is to deceive them, are ready armed with\nobjections, which, however, they make because they have sought them,\nnot because they have felt them. What we term local colour, is termed\nby M. de Burtin _proper_ colour; local colour he considers as the\ncolour made variable by space, by locality, air, light, and\nsurrounding bodies. The distinction may be useful; but _proper_ colour\nwill itself be difficult to discover, for we never can see it entirely\nseparated from some foreign influence. In a picture it would be\nperhaps best to consider that the _proper_ colour which would be\nproper to the half-tone, whether modified by aerial perspective or\nnot. He considers that _proper_ colour is not shown mostly in objects\nin the foreground, for there the light which destroys it is most\npowerful; light destroys proper colour, and substitutes its own. \"It\nis the perfect understanding of this interesting principle, which\nrenders the works of Rubens, and of his best scholars, so superior for\ntheir magic truth of colour. It is this which explains why they make\nthe colour of the blood to appear through the fine and transparent\nskin of their Flemings, particularly of the women, only in proportion\nas the effect of the light is lost in the retiring parts; and why the\nred prevails more in these parts in general, which are illuminated\nonly by a reflected light too feeble to change the natural colour. The\nlatter may often be even strengthened by the colour of the object from\nwhich the reflected light proceeds, which happens when one flesh part\nis reflected upon another, as may be remarked more particularly\ntowards the extremities.\"\n\nThe following quotation is well worth considering--the observation it\ncontains is new. \"As to the influence of light upon the local colours,\none of the plainest proofs of it is, that the colour of objects seen\nin broad day, diminishes in force the more that the sun enlightens the\ndistant plain on which they are placed. This observation, and many\nother analogous ones, convince me that the light in a picture in\ngeneral exerts a greater influence upon the local colours than even\nthe air, although those who have written upon the art seem to\nattribute the local colours exclusively to the interposition of the\nair and the vapours with which it is charged. The above remark, though\nuseful to all painters, becomes the more indispensable to those who\nhave to do with landscape, seeing that without attention to it, the\naerial perspective would render useless, by a false and mannered\nrepresentation, the just proportions and the exact contours dictated\nby linear perspective. Another remark, not less interesting, is, that\nthe colour of cast shadows depends, beyond every thing, on that of the\nlight, and consequently on the state of the atmosphere and the time of\nthe day, as well as the season of the year.\" Hence is it that the\nbrown shadows of art, which are adopted for the sake of warm, are, in\ngood painters such as Vandyke, always blended with the silvery grey.\n\n\"Of the general tone of colour.\"--This part of the subject is treated\nrather with regard to strict observation of nature, than its poetical\napplicability to art. For surely there is a distinction; there should\nbe a tone of colour belonging to the subject, irrespective of the\nactual colour of place or time of day, properly belonging to the\naction represented. It is well observed, that the argentine or silvery\ntone so much admired and sought after by amateurs, \"is nothing but the\nfaithful imitation of the tone assumed by nature in countries where\nthe rays of the sun are not too perpendicular, every time that the air\nis in that state of transparency required to temper to the necessary\ndegree the too brilliant blue of a pure sky, and itself to receive and\ntransmit this desirable silvery tone which delights the spectator.\" By\nthis it would appear that our artists' dreams of countries, _alio sub\nsole_, are not likely to bring beauty of colour to their\npictures--that the fables of Eastern skies are, with regard to art,\nfables; and though there is now always an attempt, and that by no mean\npowers, to drag the spectators at our exhibitions under the very\nchariot of the sun, \"sub curru nimium propinqui solis,\" real beauty of\ncolour will be found much nearer home.\n\nWe are somewhat surprised by, as it would appear from the general\nobservations of De Burtin, an accidental truth which he has not\nelsewhere followed to its consequences. \"If pictures offend against\nnature, and become cold by the employment of cold colours upon them,\nsuch as black, white, blue, and green, either pure or bluish, and by\nthe omission of the glazings which the tone of the light requires, or\nif they become so from the natural coldness of night and of snow, _not\nremedied by art_, the painter ought to correct the fault in the manner\nI have previously hinted at.\" In the following remark, we can see the\ngreat defect in the colouring of Murillo's pictures, especially in his\nbackgrounds, who appears always to have painted on a wet and dingy\nday. \"But nothing can correct the cold of a sky concealed by the kind\nof clouds last mentioned, or _rendered totally invisible by mist_.\" He\nrescues the clear-obscure from the meaning commonly attached to it as\nlight and shade. \"In the literal sense, this word means nothing but\nthe obscure which is at the same time clear.\" It should rather be\ndefined to be light in shadow; but it will be difficult to establish\nany other sense for it than the disposition of the light and shade in\na picture. The inventor of it, for practical use, was Leonardo da\nVinci. Of this _chiaroscuro_ he says: \"It is this, in fine, against\nwhich so many renowned Italian masters have sinned, but in which the\nimmortal Correggio is so eminently distinguished, and which proves\nhow they err who have named Titian the prince of colourists. For how\nmuch soever he may possess in a supreme degree very many other parts\nof colouring, he has so misunderstood this one in his general harmony,\nthat his grounds are rarely in agreement with the rest of his picture,\nand are often all black. His _Venus_, in the Dresden gallery, and his\n_Ecce Homo_, in that of Vienna, two of his most renowned pictures but\nespecially the latter, present striking proofs, among very many\nothers, of the correctness of my opinion on this great colourist.\"\n\nThose who object, as some venture to do, to Titian's colour,\nespecially in his backgrounds, we believe overlook his intention, and\nare not aware how much what they consider defects affect the whole.\nObjections have been made to the background of the _Peter Martyr_,\nwithout considering how appropriate the colouring is to the subject.\nThere are some just observations on the necessity of transparency,\nwhich should not be confined to shadows and demi-tints, \"which cannot\ndo without it.\" It has been said that Titian and Correggio glazed over\nevery part of the picture, thereby giving even the lights a sort of\ntransparency. Of harmony of colour, he says, \"Under the pencil of an\nintelligent artist, local colours, even the least agreeable, and those\nwhich have the least affinity among themselves, may become very\nagreeable to the eye, and contribute powerfully to the harmony of the\npicture through the interposition of some other colour, as in music\ndiscordant tones are happily united by means of intermediate ones.\"\nThe translator appends to this a note in which he quotes from Mengs,\nthat \"The three primary colours being red, blue, and yellow, when any\none of them is prominently used, it should be accompanied by one which\nunites the _other two_. Thus, if pure red be used, it should be\naccompanied by green, which is a compound of blue and yellow. This\ncompound colour is called the contrasting colour, and is always used\nsparingly. But the harmonizing colour is said to be the compound made\nby any one colour itself, along with the next adjoining to it on\neither side of the spectrum. Thus red will be harmonized by purple,\nthe colour produced by compounding it with blue on the one side of it,\nand it will also be harmonized by orange, which is the colour produced\nby compounding it with the yellow, next to it on the other side of the\nspectrum.\" In treating \"of the effect\" of a picture, although the\nauthor with a kind of reluctance admits, or \"will not condemn\nabsolutely\" factitious effects, he has no predilection for them, and\nblames for the extravagant use of them Carravagio and others of the\nItalian schools. Unquestionably they afford a power which should be\nused with judgment, then most applicable when the supernatural of the\nsubject overpowers the familiarity of more natural effects. Of the\n\"_empasto_,\" so much spoken of by connoisseurs, he is an admirer. He\ndirects that the \"colours which compose the _empasto_\" should be\nperfectly well ground, and the ground perfectly smoothed. Yet this was\nnot always the case in the _empasto_ of Paul Veronese, whose _empasto_\nwas often of a broken and mortary surface; and it would appear, from\nan examination of such parts of his pictures, as if he had purposely\nused water with his oil-paint, which would have the effect of slightly\nseparating the particles, and thereby giving brilliancy from the\nbroken surface of refracting particles. This seems to have escaped the\nnotice of M. de Burtin in this place. It has been said of Michael\nAngelo, that he never painted more than one picture in oil. Like the\nrelics of saints, that one has wonderfully multiplied. Our author\nspeaks of one in his own possession, which is certainly not described\nas according to the manner we should expect on that great master. \"A\ntruly unique picture, by the great Michael Angelo Buonarroti, in my\npossession, proves to what an astonishing degree art can imitate gold,\nsilver, and stones, without using the originals, by the magic illusion\nwith which the rare genius has painted them as ornaments. They look as\nif _relieved_ on the armour of the two cavaliers, insomuch that one\nwould believe them to be truly the work of an actual chisel.\" He\nadmires the smooth _empasto_; and among the painters who practised it,\nlaudably mentions Vander Werff. But he blames others less known for\ncarrying it out to an extreme finish. To our taste, the smooth\n_empasto_ of Vander Werff is most displeasing; rendering flesh ivory,\nand, in that master, ivory without its true and pleasing colour. This\nbranch of the subject ends with remarks on touch, which completes the\nlist of the parts that contribute \"to make a good picture.\" The manner\nof a painter is in nothing so distinguished as in his touch. There\nmust, then, be great variety in the touch of painters. To be a judge\nof masters, it is necessary, as the first step to connoisseurship, to\nbe acquainted with this executive part of their art. \"Since it is\ncorrect to say that without a good touch there cannot be a good\npicture, one may say likewise, that he is not a good master who has\nnot a good touch, and _who does not know how to avoid using it too\nmuch_.\" It is a mark of a defective mind, when the painter is too much\npleased with the dexterity of his hand. Many however, require this\nhint; their pictures are so overlaid with touch, that the autographs\nsupersede the subject.\n\nThe incipient connoisseur will do well to read the chapter in this\nvolume which will tell him \"how to judge pictures well.\" It will tell\nhim even in what position to see a picture. He disapproves of the use\nof the mirror, in which the picture is reflected as giving a softness\nand harmony not genuine; but as it was the practice of Giorgione and\nCorreggio, \"in order to learn the effect of the colours, of the\nmasses, and of the work as a whole,\" he recommends it to _the\npainter_. He expects, however, from the amateur an impartiality almost\nimpossible to attain, when it is expected to reach such a point that\n\"all schools, all masters, all manners, and all classes of pictures\nwill be a matter of indifference to him.\" We fear that an amateur who\ncould reach this indifference, would be rather a general admirer than\na good lover. The amateur thus advanced, \"will soon be able to weigh\nimpartially the grounds of the dispute between the partisans of ideal\nbeauty on the one hand, and the beauty which exists in nature on the\nother.\" But here is a mistake _in initio_; for is not the Ideal, too,\nNature? We should have rather expected a disquisition to elucidate\nthis point; but our author prefers passing away from the real question\nto indulge in a little severity on the admirers of the Ideal, which\nIdeal we are persuaded he never understood; for he considers evidently\nthat the \"ideal beauties,\" with the \"magic truth\" of the Dutch school\nin execution, would be perfection. He would view a work painted under\nthis union as perfection. To us it would, we feel quite sure, be an\nintolerable performance. For this little bit of bad taste he is called\nto account by his translator. The author's taste was, after all, we\nsuspect, rather incomplete; rather the product of an educated eye than\nof a mind educated to embrace the Ideal. The fact is, the Ideal in\npractice must be the reach of a something which the eye, however\neducated, does not altogether find in external nature; but which, from\nthe data of external nature, the mind creates, partly by combination,\nand partly from a power of its own invention altogether. The external\nsenses in educated man are obedient to this inventive direction of the\nmind, and at length receive their greater, perhaps often only,\npleasures from it. It is easy to imagine how the _more evident_ and\nreal beauties of the inferior schools, for we do not hesitate to speak\nof the Italian as the higher, more easily captivate, especially, the\nincipient lovers of art. They begin by collecting the Dutch; but as\nthey advance in taste and knowledge, and acquire the legitimate\nfeeling for art, they are sure to end with the Italian. The\nuninitiated may wonder to be told there is any difficulty in judging\n\"whether a picture is in good preservation or not.\" Yet here is a\nchapter to teach this \"useful knowledge.\" The \"perils that flesh is\nheir to,\" are nothing if compared to the perils that environ the\nsimilitudes of flesh. \"_Nos nostraque morti debemur._\" Men and\npictures suffer from the doctors as well as from time. Pictures, too,\nare often in the \"hand of the spoiler,\" and are subject, with their\nowners, to a not very dissimilar quackery of potion and lotion,\nundergo as many purifications, nor do they escape the knife and\nscarification; are laid upon their backs, rubbed and scrubbed,\nskinned, and oftentimes reduced to the very ribs and dead colouring of\nwhat they were. It is surprising how great a number of pictures are\nruined by the cleaners. We are sorry to read this account of\nCorreggio's celebrated _Notte_. \"Even when they do not destroy the\npicture entirely, they, at all events, leave the most injurious traces\nbehind, depriving it of its transparency and harmony, and much of the\neffect, rendering it hard, cold, and weak. Of this the admirable\n'Night' of Correggio at Dresden presents a very sad example.\"\n\nWe look upon the audacious man who dares to repaint upon an old\npicture unnecessarily, and by wholesale, as guilty of a crime. It is\nthe murder of another man's offspring, and of his name and fame at the\nsame time. We have heard of a man half a century ago going about the\ncountry to paint new wigs upon the Vandykes. We would have such a\nperpetrator bastinadoed on the soles of his feet. \"I was present,\"\nsays our author, \"at Amsterdam during a dispute between one who had\njust sold a landscape for several thousand florins, and the agent who\nhad made the purchase on commission. The latter required an important\nchange to be made towards the centre of the picture, which he\ncontended would be very much improved thereby. It was in vain that the\nseller, with whom I agreed in opinion upon the point, persisted in\nrefusing to repaint a work in such good preservation, and by so great\na master; for the broker closed his lips by protesting, that unless\nthe demand were complied with, he was instructed to throw up the\nbargain.\" We look with equal horror on buyer and seller. Would not the\nlatter have sold his father, mother, brothers, sisters, aunts, and\ncousins? It has been said that, in compliment to William III., many of\nthe portraits of the ancestors of the courtiers of the day were\nre-painted with aquiline noses. M. de Burtin very justly observes,\nthat the new touches on old pictures do not preserve their tone, but\nhe does not give the true reason. He seems to entertain no notion that\npictures were painted with any other vehicle than common oil; and, in\na short discussion upon Van Eyck's discovery, he only shows that he\ntakes up what others have said, and never himself could have read what\nthe monk Theophilus really wrote; for, like M. Merimee, he supposes\nthe monk to say what he never did say. It is only surprising that, in\nhis numerous cleanings, he did not discover the difference between the\nold paint of one date and of another, and how they require different\nsolvents. There is a chapter upon \"the manner of knowing and\nappreciating copies,\" from which the beginner, in collecting, may take\nsome useful hints. He repeats the well-known anecdote of the copy from\nRaffaelle by Andrea del Sarto, which Julio Romano, who had worked upon\nthe picture, believed to be the original, though assured beforehand by\nVasari that it was a copy. With regard to Rubens, by far the greater\nnumber of pictures said to be by him, are by the hands of his\nscholars, to whom he gave the design and outline merely, sometimes\ntouching up the pictures with his own hand. This has been a common and\na justifiable practice with great painters, both ancient and modern,\nor it would have been impossible for any one pair of hands to have\ndone the works which bear the names of some well-employed painters.\nThe few pictures entirely by the hand of Rubens confirm the suspicion\nas to others, by their superiority. Contemporary copies he considers\nin a very different light from more modern, because the modern being\nfrom the old after they had deepened, deepen still more, and in a few\nyears scarcely resemble in tone the originals. It is from such copies\nthat an ill name has been given to all copies. We have very little\nfeeling for amateurs in their annoyances and embarrassments, who\ndiscover that they have only purchased a copy; for they did not judge\naccording to the merits of the picture, but the name under which it\nwas admitted.\n\nThe sixth chapter, upon \"The manner of analysing and describing\npictures,\" furnishes some good hints to catalogue-makers and\nauctioneers. The examples are ingeniously worded, and with no little\nprecision. The number given is but a selection from about 240 pages.\nWhoever will try his hand at a descriptive catalogue, will find it not\nso easy a task as he imagined. We should have perhaps entertained a\nhigher opinion of the author's judgment, though not a higher of his\ndescriptive power, supposing it to have been exercised as a disciple\nof the noted Mr Puff, who took a double first in those arts, had the\ntranslator kindly omitted an outline of a picture by Poelemburg--_The\nAdoration of the Shepherds_. It is certainly well described in\ngenerality and detail; but never was any thing more like Mr Puff's\nstyle than the following:--\"Poelemburg has here surpassed himself by\nthe exactness of the design, and the fine form of the figures. He has\ncarried to the highest degree their gracious and simple expression.\nThe picture is not less distinguished for the attractive effect of\nlight well distributed, for harmony and the clear obscure, for the\nagreeable and sweet tone of the proper colours, and for that truth,\"\n&c. &c. &c.--but alas! the outline! \"Look on this picture and on\nthis.\" It may have been a pretty picture, though the subject is much\nabove Poelemburg; but--shall we pronounce it?--the design is\nwretched--we cannot help it, and would spare it if we could. Strange\nare the blunders made in descriptive catalogues. An instance is\ngiven--an amusing specimen from a well-established manufactory. \"The\nfamous picture of Raffaelle, painted for the church of St John at\nBologna, representing St Cecilia holding a musical instrument in her\nhands, with others at her feet, affords an example of the errors\nalluded to. She listens with rapt attention to a choir of angels borne\non the clouds, and singing. On her right hand are St Paul and St John\nthe Evangelist, strongly characterized; the one by his sword, the\nother by his eagle, and both by the airs of the heads. On her left are\nSt Magdalene with her cup, and St Augustine with his cross and\npontifical garments.\" Hitherto all the world had been agreed upon the\njustness of the description; but the author of the _Manual of the\nFrench Museum_, printed in 1803, judged it proper to make one of his\nown, of which behold the title and the substance--_The Martyrdom of St\nCecilia_.\n\n\"Raffaelle would not represent the martyrdom of a young virgin like\nthe execution of a malefactor. Here Cecilia advances towards the place\nwhere the palm of martyrdom awaits her. Her feet only still belong to\nthis earth. Her upraised eyes tell that her thoughts are already in\nheaven. The man who bears the sword is not an executioner whose stern\nferocity augments that of the spectacle. Here the headsman has an air\nof compassion. Behind the saint walks a priest who assists her. His\nphysiognomy is common, but sweet. He applauds the tranquil resignation\nof the victim, who seems already to hear the celestial concert that is\ngoing on above. The angels celebrate her coming before hand! One of\nthe companions of Cecilia points them out to her with his finger, and\nseems to do so as an encouragement to her. A young man follows the\nsaint. His action is too expressive to suppose it that of a parent or\nconvert.\" This is indeed a very fine specimen, both for what is said\nand what is unsaid--the surmise is perfectly French, and the pitying\ntender familiarity of Cecilia, for commiseration's sake robbed of her\nsaintship, would be enough to melt an auction-room to tears, were the\npicture to be sold and thus described.\n\nThe very best auction description of a picture we remember ever to\nhave heard, was one most fluently given, and with a most winning and\ngentlemanly manner, by Mr Christie, the father of the present justly\nappreciated Mr Christie, as true and honourable as unerring in his\njudgment of pictures. It was many years ago. The picture to be sold\nwas the celebrated one of the three goddesses, _The Judgment of\nParis_, a large picture. Now the difficulty of the case lay in this,\nthat it was well known that there were three pictures of the subject,\nall claiming to be originals. This was well known and talked about.\nThere were in fact three pictures of the judgment of Paris. After\nminutely and most ably describing the picture, Mr Christie came to\nthis delicate acknowledgment. He admitted there were three; the great\npainter, delighted with his subject, enamoured of the beauties he had\ncreated, had, as it were, thrice thrown himself at the feet of each\ngoddess. The three pictures were an offering and homage to each. None\ncould determine which was best. The subject was the Judgment of\nParis--it was an enviable opportunity for a happy purchaser \"to throw\nthe golden apple.\" We do not pretend to give, with any exactness, the\neloquent wording of this address; nor can we describe the perfect\ngrace with which it was delivered. Every one in the room seemed to\nknow that he was listening to a scholar and a gentleman, and felt a\nconfidence. But to return to De Burtin. The chapter on \"the general\nschools of painting,\" contains both useful information and judicious\nremarks. He mentions the embarrassment the amateur must feel, seeing\nthat authors are not agreed among themselves in the number and\nclassification of schools. Some reckon three, some five, some eight,\nsome extend the number to twelve. Lanzi even makes fourteen of the\nItalian schools alone. \"In order that the school of a particular city\nor country may take its place among the general schools, it is\nnecessary, in my opinion, that it shall have produced a great many\nmasters celebrated for their merit, and that these shall have in their\nstyle and manner something common to them all, which particularly\ncharacterizes them, and which is sufficiently remarkable to\ndistinguish their school from all others. Upon this principle, I\nreckon eight schools in all; and these are, the Florentine or Tuscan,\nthe Roman, the Lombard, the Venetian, the Flemish, the Dutch, the\nFrench, and the German. If it were sufficient to have given to the\nworld artists renowned for their merit, the Spanish might likewise\nclaim a place among the general schools, were it only from having\npossessed a Morales, a Velasquez, and a Murillo. Naples, too, might\nenjoy the same privilege, from the names of Spagnoletto, Calabrese,\nSalvator Rosa, and Luca Giordano. Genoa, likewise, from Castiglione,\nStrozzi, Castelli, and Cambiasi. But the want of a general distinctive\ncharacter prevents their being ranked under the general schools, and\nthe masters are, for the most part, placed separately in that one or\nother of the acknowledged schools to which their manner approaches\nmost nearly, or to which their master belonged.\" The distinguishing\nmarks of the schools are ably laid down. The author confesses that he\nfeels a difficulty in generalizing the characteristics of the\nFlorentine school. He adopts the somewhat exaggerated (as he allows)\naccount of M. Levesque. His characteristics are--fine movement, a\ncertain sombre austerity, an expression of vigour, which excludes\nperhaps that of grace, a character of design, the grandeur of which is\nin some sort gigantic. They may be reproached with a kind of\nexaggeration; but it cannot be denied that there is in this\nexaggeration an ideal majesty, which elevates human nature above the\nweak and perishing nature of reality. The Tuscan artists, satisfied\nwith commanding admiration, seem to disdain seeking to please. The\ndescription of the Roman school we conceive to be not so fortunate.\nIts excellence is attributed to the antique, distinguished \"by great\nbeauty in the forms, a composition elegant, although often singular,\nand by expressions ideal rather than natural, of which a part is often\nsacrificed to the preservation of beauty.\" If we receive as models of\nthese two most celebrated schools, Michael Angelo Buonarroti, and\nRaffaelle, (though it should be observed, if we look to the actual\ngenius of these great men, we must not forget the early age at which\nRaffaelle died,) such distinction as this may be drawn. That the\nFlorentine school had for its object the personal, the absolute bodily\npower and dignity of man, and such strong intellect and energy as\nwould be considered in necessary agreement with that perfect condition\nof the human form. That there is therefore, in their vigorous\ndelineations, a great and simple, and, as it were, gigantic rudeness\nvery perceptible. On the contrary, in the Roman, the subordination of\nthe person to the cultivated mind is decidedly marked. It is the\ndelineation of man further off from his ruder state, showing in\naspect, and even in bodily movements, the mental cultivation. The one\nschool is of an Antediluvian, the other of a Christian race. Hence, in\nthe latter, under the prerogative of love, grace and a nicer beauty\nare assumed; and a delicacy and purity arising from minds educated to\nbear, to forbear, chastened by trial, endowed with a new greatness not\ninconsistent with gentleness. Yet was simplicity strongly marked in\nthe Roman school; nor do we think the blame thrown upon their\ncolouring justly thrown, as it was most consistent with the\ncharacteristic dignified simplicity; nor do we agree with those who\nthink it inharmonious in itself. Baroccio is praised, in that he added\nsomewhat of the colouring of Correggio to the study of the antique and\nthe works of Raffaelle; but it is more than doubtful if the innovation\nupon the Roman simplicity be not a deterioration of the school. The\ncolouring, the chief characteristic of the Venetian school, represents\nmankind in a still further onward (we use not the word advanced,\nbecause it may be misunderstood) state, in the state of more\nconvention, of manners, and of luxury. Hence even most refined\nsubjects of the Venetian are, with regard to purity, and moral and\nintellectual beauty, in a grade of inferiority to the Roman and\nFlorentine. They are of the age of a civil government rather than of a\nreligious influence. The countenances indicate the _business_ of the\nworld; the more varied costume, the more rich covering of the figures,\nwith less of the _nude_, are marks of merchandise and traffic. This is\nperceptible, and possibly somewhat to the disparagement of the full\ndisplay of the subject, in the grand picture of Del Piombo, the\n_Raising of Lazarus_, though perhaps that picture, bearing such\nevidence of the design if not the hand of Michael Angelo, may by some\nnot be admitted as belonging to the Venetian school. We mean not to\nsay that the Venetian school did not advance the art by the new power\nof colour, the invention of that school; it opened the way to a new\nclass of subjects, which still admitted much of the grand and the\npathetic. It certainly did more; it showed that there was a grand and\na pathetic in colour alone, a principle of art which, though first\nshown, and not in its perfect degree by the Venetians, has never yet\nbeen carried out as a principle. We hear much of its beauty, its\nharmony, in a limited sense of its power, but seldom of its sentiment.\n\nThe remarks of M. de Burtin upon the _Peter Martyr_ of Titian are\nvery strange. He must have been much deceived when he saw this\nwonderful picture, either by its position or the state of his own\nvision. We saw the picture out of its frame, and down against the\nwall, and saw no factitious unnatural effect, nor any black and white.\n\"This picture,\" he says, \"so full of merit in other respects, presents\na striking example of the factitious and unnatural effect produced by\nthe extraordinary opposition of black and white. I am well aware that\ngay and brilliant colouring would not be appropriate to a cruel\naction; but a measure is to be observed in every thing, and I cannot\nbe convinced that there could occur, in broad day, and in the open\nair, a scene in which all was obscure and black except the figures.\"\nObscurity and blackness in Titian's _Peter Martyr_! Our author has\nattached the school of Bologne to that of Lombardy, as others have\ndone, in consideration that the Caracci in forming their school\ngreatly studied Correggio. Yet undoubtedly Correggio stands quite\napart from the Caracci. The Bologna was in fact a \"Composite\" school.\nIf the Venetian school was indicative of business, of the activities\nof society as a mass, the Lombard school, as first distinguished by\nCorreggio, assumed more homely grace, it was domestic, of the\nhearth--the cherished love, the sweet familiar grace. This was its\ncharacteristic; it bore a kind of garden luxuriance and richer\nembellishment of colour, not the embellishment of civic pomp as seen\nin the Venetian, but a coloured richness as of the fruit and flower of\na new Eden. The _Holy Families_ of Correggio are in fragrant repose.\nThe earth pays the homage of her profusion, and, as conscious of the\npresence of him that shall remove her curse, puts on her gorgeous\napparel. The next descent from this grade of art would be to the\npastoral. M. de Burtin objects to the airs of the heads, \"graceful and\nsmiling felt not to be altogether appropriate when the action is sad\nor violent.\" We can imagine that he alludes to the picture of the\n_Martyrdom of St Placidus and Flavia_ at Parma. The smiling saint\nreceiving the sword in her bosom, as a boon in thankfulness or that\ncoming bliss which is already hers in vision, is perhaps as touching\nas any expression ever painted by Correggio. Did our author miss the\nmeaning of that devotional and more than hopeful smile? This picture,\nlike some others of Correggio, is very grey, and has probably had much\nof its glazing removed. In M. de Burtin's notice of the Flemish\nschool, we entirely pass over the discussion respecting Van Eyck and\nhis discovery; enough has been said upon that subject. The partiality\nof our author for Rubens is very perceptible. The characteristics of\nthe Flemish school are confined to Historical painting, and even in\nthat class there is scarcely more than one example, Rubens. Between\nRubens and Vandyke there is certainly affinity beyond that of\ncolouring, though in colouring to a limited degree. Between Rubens and\nTeniers there is surely a gap of many classes. If there be any\ncharacteristic mark common to both, it must lie in the silvery\nlightness of colouring, distinctness and freedom of touch, as if both\nhad used the same vehicle, and in the same manner, allowance being\nmade for the size and subjects of their pictures. We are not disposed\nto detract from the reputation of Rubens as a colourist; no painter\nperhaps better understood theoretically and practically the science of\nthe harmony of colours, and their application to natural\nrepresentation. But he was entirely careless as to sentiment of\ncolouring. Action even to its utmost superiority was his _forte_, and\nfor this one expression his colouring, by its vivid power and\ncontrasts, was certainly very admirable.\n\nThe Dutch school is so blended with the Flemish, separating from both\nRubens and Vandyke, and their immediate scholars, that it is difficult\nto speak of them as distinct schools. Fascinating as they undoubtedly\nare, they utterly abandon the power to teach for the art of pleasing.\nThey are not for the public; have little to do with _events_ of any\ngreat interest. There is a manifest descent from the high pretensions\nof art; the aim is to gratify the mere love of exact imitation, and to\ninterest by portraiture of manners. \"If, then,\" says our author,\n\"truth of imitation is the first business of works of art; if,\nwithout that, no picture is in a situation to please; if all that is\nvisible over the whole face of nature be included in the domain of\npainting, how is it that among the exclusive partisans of historical\nsubjects, there are persons so blind as not to see that the marvellous\nproductions of this school, and of the Flemish, have filled with\nadmirable success the immense gaps which their vaunted Italian schools\nhave left in different parts of art?\"\n\nThe very first sentence of this passage is of very undefined sense; we\ncan guess at what is meant by the sneer upon the \"_vaunted Italian\nschools_.\" There are not only immense gaps, but great gulfs, over\nwhich there is no legitimate passage. If these schools have \"done so\nmuch honour to the art of painting,\" as M. de Burtin asserts that they\nhave, it has rather been in their perpetuating it as a practical art,\nthan by adding to its dignity or importance. If, however, it be\nallowable to separate Rubens from the Flemish school, we may with\nstill greater propriety set apart by himself that extraordinary man\nRembrandt, who, if any, had some insight of the sentiment of colour.\n\nVery little compliment is paid to the French school by De Burtin. He\nconsiders that it has no characteristic but that of the imitation of\nall schools. It should be observed in justice to more modern French\npainters, that this was written in 1808. The very opposite opinions of\nM. Levesque against, and Lairesse in favour of Simon Vouet, the\nfounder of the school, are quoted. The opinions of neither will weigh\nmuch with modern critics, even though it were certain that those\nascribed to Lairesse were his. Neither Claude nor Nicolas Poussin are\nallowed to belong to the French school. We presume De Burtin had but\nlittle taste for landscape, for he does not mention, we believe, in\nthis whole work, Gaspar Poussin--nor does he dwell much upon Claude.\nIt is extraordinary that in mentioning the one, he should take no\nnotice of his great contemporary.\n\nAnd here we may observe, that writers on art have ever been neglectful\nin the extreme with regard to this part of art--we should add, this\ndelightful part, and so capable of sentiment. They take a vast jump\nfrom the high Italian Historic (of Figures) to the low Flemish and\nDutch, not even in those latter schools discriminating the better\nportion of the landscape from the lower.\n\nThere is wanting a new classification, one not so much of schools, nor\nof styles _per se_, as of subjects--in which the School of Landscape\nwould require an ample treatment. It is a school which, by the neglect\nof critics, has been allowed to descend to its lowest depth; yet is it\none which is daily becoming more the public taste--a taste,\nnevertheless, which has as yet given to it but little of its former\nelevation, which it had entirely lost before it reached us through the\ndeterioration of the Dutch and Flemish schools.\n\nThe German school, the first in antiquity, was extinguished with its\nmasters. It was founded by Albert Durer, whose genius was acknowledged\nand admired by Raffaelle himself. The modern German school was not in\nexistence at the date of this publication in 1808.\n\nAn entire chapter is given upon \"the causes of the characteristics\nwhich distinguish the different schools from each other.\" There is,\nhowever, nothing new said upon this subject. Undoubtedly there is much\ntruth in the following passage: \"So much did the liberty which the\nDutch had just recovered from the Spaniards, by unheard-of efforts,\nbecome fatal among them to the same class of art, the foundations of\nwhich they sapped by their resolution to banish their priests, and to\nsubstitute a religion that suffers neither pictures nor statues of\nsaints in their churches. From that time all the views of their\npainters were necessarily turned to the other classes of art, more\nsusceptible of a small form, and therefore more suitable to the\nprivate houses of the Dutch, which, though neat and commodious, are\nnot sufficiently large for pictures of great size.\" If the dignity of\nart is to be recovered, it will be by national galleries, and we might\nyet perhaps hope, by re-opening our churches for the admission of\nscriptural pictures.\n\nThe chapter upon the division of pictures into classes, is by no means\nsatisfactory. It is admitted by the translator to be incomplete. At\nits conclusion is a quotation from Pliny, which, as it is intended to\njustify De Burtin's taste for the low Flemish and Dutch schools, does\nnot indicate a very high taste in either Pliny or himself. Pliny says\nof Pyreicus, that \"few artists deserve to be preferred to him. That he\npainted, in small, barbers' and shoemakers' stalls, asses, bears, and\nsuch things.\" He further adds, that his works obtained _larger_ prices\nthan other artists of nobler subjects obtained, and that he was not\ndegraded by choosing such low subjects. We beg pardon of Pliny, but we\nwould not give three farthings for his pictorial judgment. Indeed, had\nnot Lucian given us some most vivid descriptions of some of the\nancient pictures, we should have had no very high opinion of them. For\nthe well-known anecdotes speak only in favour of mechanical\nexcellence. Our author, in his chapter on the art of describing\npictures, might have taken Lucian for his model with great propriety.\nThere is in this chapter on division into classes, much nonsense about\nbeauty, Ideal and Physical. De Burtin thinks we have not any\ninstinctive feeling for physical beauty as of moral beauty; that a\nfixed proportion of parts neither in men nor animals, any more than in\narchitecture, is the foundation of beauty--which is perfectly\nridiculous, and not worth an argument. Ideal beauty he here treats\nwith great contempt, and points out two truths on this matter\ndemonstrated by comparative anatomy; \"the one of which is, that the\nbeauty of the antique heads depends chiefly on the facial line in\nthem, making an angle of 100 degrees with the horizontal line; the\nother is, that it is certain that such a head is never found in\nnature.\"\n\nIn the tenth chapter he treats of \"the causes of the superiority of\nthe pictures of the 16th and 17th centuries over those of the past\ncentury.\" He looks upon Rome and the Antique as the chief cause, and\nthat artists go there before they have established principles of art.\nIt is not, he asserts, in difference of colours; for \"Giorgione and\nTitian neither made this themselves, nor brought them from afar, but\nbought then uniformly in the shops at Venice.\" He appears to entertain\nno suspicion of loss or deterioration of vehicle; on the contrary,\nthinks some artists have been very successful in copies, here rather\ncontradicting his former remarks upon the difference between old\ncopies and new; but, above all, he attributes this _decadence_ of art\nto the neglect of colour. That, however, is evidently only one part of\nthe art. We are almost induced to smile either at his flattery or his\nsimplicity in naming certain exceptions of modern times, whose names\nwill be little known to, and those known not much in the admiration\nof, the English collector, \"all of whom have carried their art to a\nvery high degree of perfection.\" In his chapter on the \"different\nmanners of the masters,\" it is observable how little he has to say of\nthe Italian schools; almost all the subsequent remarks in the volume\nare confined to the Flemish and Dutch. He greatly praises Dietrici for\nhis manner, which to us is not pleasing, and which we should term an\nimitating flippancy. He tells an anecdote of Titian, which, if it rest\nupon any good authority, tends to prove that Titian's medium must have\nbeen one which admitted the mixture of water with oil. Of Titian he\nsays, that at the end of his life \"he used to daub his best works anew\nwith red paint, because he thought the colour too feeble. But happily\nhis pupils had the address to prevent the fatal effects of his\nfoolishness, _by making up his colours with water only_, or with an\noil that was not of a drying nature.\" With colours ground, Titian\ncould not have mixed his pencil in oil alone and unmixed--and he would\nhimself have immediately discovered the cheat, for it would have dried\nas distemper dead, and crumbled away under his hand. He might have so\npainted, if oil and water had been combined, and the vehicle rendered\nsaponaceous, which it probably was. Many artists have been led, he\nobserves, to change the manner from good to bad. We have a remarkable\ninstance in our Gainsborough, whose latter scratchy, slovenly manner\nis most displeasing; nor had he at any time an imagination to justify\nit, or rather to qualify it by the power of his compositions.\n\nIt is strange that he attributes slovenliness of manner to Rembrandt,\n\"from Avarice.\" Documents have recently been produced showing that\nRembrandt's goods were seized for payment of no very large debt. But\nis not M. de Burtin altogether mistaken in this manner of Rembrandt?\nAny of his pictures that show this slovenliness, are, we should\nsuspect, in those parts merely sketched in--a method agreeable to his\npractice, which was to work upon and upon, glazing, and heaping\ncolour--a method which required, in the first instance, a loose and\nundefined sketchy manner. Some few years ago there was a picture by\nhim exhibited at the Institution, Pall-Mall--dead game, wonderfully\npainted, and evidently unfinished; a boy in the background was, as we\nmight term it, daubed in in a very slovenly manner, and with a\ngreenish colour, evidently for the sake of that colour as an\nunderground. Under the head \"Historical\" in this chapter, it is\nstrange to find but seven names, Rubens, Vandyke, Rembrandt, Lairesse,\nPoelemburg, Albert Durer, and Hans Holbein. Even with some of these\nnames it is too much honour to place Lairesse and Poelemburg.\n\nIn reference to the lower classes of subjects, we think justice is\nhardly done to Jan Steen, of whom, considering him even as a\ncolourist, more should have been said, than that he \"is distinguished\nby the drollery of his subjects, and by the most true and ingeniously\nsimple expression of the feelings of common life.\" All this might be\nsaid of many others; the characteristic of Jan Steen is still wanting.\nSo we think as to Philip Wouverman; no notice is taken of his too\ngreat softness, the evident fault of his manner. Nor are we satisfied\nwith the description of Backhuysen. It should have been noticed in\nwhat he is distinguished from Vandervelde. His defect in composition\nis so striking, as frequently to show a want of perspective in design,\nand often he has no principal object in his picture. His vessels are\neither too large or too small for the scene; and his execution was\nlikewise too softened. He winds up this part of the subject with a\nquotation from Diderot, that \"he cannot be manner'd, either in design\nor colouring, who imitates nature scrupulously, and that mannerism\ncomes of the master of the academy, of the school, and of the\nAntique,\" which we very much doubt, for the mannerism is often in the\nmind, the peculiar, the autographic character of the painter, which he\nstamps even upon nature. Were a Wynantz, and a Claude or Poussin, put\ndown before the same scene, how different would be their pictures, how\ndifferent the vision in the eye of the three! A Claude would see the\ndistances, a Gaspar Poussin the middle distances and flowing lines,\nand Wynantz the docks and thistles. The chapter \"on the signatures of\nthe Masters,\" will be found useful to collectors. He says that where\nthere is a false signature it is removed by spirits of wine, and that\nis the proof that it is false. He does not draw the inference, that as\nspirits of wine destroy the one vehicle and not the other, the old and\noriginal, they must differ.\n\nAnother chapter is devoted to \"The famous balance composed by De Piles\nfor estimating the different degrees of merit in the principal\nhistorical painters.\" This famous balance is a piece of critical\ncoxcombry with which we never could have tolerable patience. It is an\nabsurd assumption of superiority in the critic over all the masters\nthat ever were; as if he alone were able to conceive perfection, to\nwhich no painter has ever been able to advance; that perfection on\nwhich the critic, or rather De Piles, had his eye, is Number 20; that\nno Painter has approached it nearer than nineteen. It commences with a\nfalsehood in supposition, that the critic is above the Painter, or\nArt, or the only one really cognisant of it. The fact being quite the\nreverse, for _we know nothing that we have not been absolutely taught\nby genius_. It is genius that precedes; it is the maker, the worker,\nthe inventor, who alone sees the step beyond. Did the critic see this\nstep he would cease to be the critic, and become the maker. He would\nbecome the genius. In the arts, whether of poetry, painting, or music,\nwe know nothing but what practical genius tells us, shows us, teaches\nus; seldom is it, indeed, that the scholar critic comprehends fully\nthe lessons taught; but to pretend to go before the _masters_, and to\nset up a post with his Number 20 marked upon it, and to bid his master\nreach it if he can, is the puerile play of an infantine intellect, or\nvery conceited mind! And so we give M. De Piles, and all his\nfollowers, a slap in the face, and bid them go packing with Number 20.\nWe will not condescend to pull to pieces this fantastic scheme, which\nis in its distinctions, and weighings and calculations, appreciations\nand depreciations, as false as it must necessarily be, arising from a\nmind capable of laying down any such scheme at all. The chapter on\nprices, and the lists contained, will be consulted with advantage by\ncollectors. It contains valuable documents, showing the fluctuations\nof public taste. There is much useful information upon cleaning\npictures, and on varnishes. Something has been recently said to bring\ninto practice again the varnishing with white of egg. M. de Burtin is\ndecidedly against the practice. \"As to the varnishes of water,\nisinglass, and white of egg, every prudent amateur will attack them\nthe instant that he discovers such dangerous enemies, and will use\nevery effort to free his pictures from them.\" We think him utterly\nmistaken in the following passage. \"In operating upon a work of art,\nwhether to clean it or to raise the varnish, it ought to be\nremembered, that the colours grow hard only by the lapse of time.\" If\nso, surely a hundred years would be time enough to harden--but the\nchemical tests which touch the hard paint, if it be hard, of a century\nold, will not be applicable to those of still older date, and of\nbetter time. He had shown this unconsciously in what he had said of\nspirits of wine. We have taken some pains in the pages of Maga to\ndisabuse the public with regard to the imaginary benefit of painting\nin varnish--a most pernicious practice; and that it is so, we have\nelsewhere given both proof and authorities. We are glad to find our\nauthor on our side. \"Besides, no one at the present day (1808) is\nignorant of their absurd method of painting in varnish, which corrupts\nthe colours, and prevents them ever attaining the requisite hardness.\"\nThere is much useful matter upon varnishing, which it will be well\nthat collectors and keepers of public galleries should read with\nattention. We do not say follow, but read; for it is indeed a very\nserious matter to recommend a varnish, seeing how many pictures are\ntotally ruined by bad applications. We have been told that drying oil\nmixed with mastic varnish has been, though not very recently, used in\nour National Gallery. We hope it is a mistake, and that there has been\nno such practice. The effect must be to make them dull and horny, and\nto destroy all brilliancy in time. We say no more upon that subject,\nbelieving that our National Gallery is intrusted to good hands, and\nthat whatever is done, will be done with judgment, and not without\nmuch reflection. A new varnish has appeared, \"Bentley's.\" We believe\nit is copal, but rendered removable as mastic. It is certainly very\nbrilliant, not, or but slightly, subject to chill, and is more\npermanent, as well as almost colourless. De Burtin not only denounces\nthe use of oil in varnishes, but speaks of a more disgusting practice,\ncommon in Italy, of rubbing pictures \"with fat, oil, or lard, or other\nanimal grease.... So destructive a practice comes in process of time\nto rot the picture, so that it will not hold together.\" We should\nscarcely have thought it worth while to notice this, had we not seen\npictures so treated in this country. Behold a specimen of folly and\nhazardous experiment:--\"At that time, I frequented the Dresden gallery\nevery morning, and got from M. Riedal all the details of his practice.\nHe informed me that, amongst others, the chief works of Correggio,\nRaffaelle, Titian, and Procaccini, after having undergone his\npreparatory operations, had got a coat of his 'oil of flowers,' which\nhe would repeat, until every part became 'perfectly bright.' And on my\nremarking, that in the admirable 'Venus' of Titian, the carnations\nalone were bright, and all the rest flat, he told me with perfect\ncoolness, that 'having only as yet given it three coats of his oil,\nthat it was not astonishing, but that he would put it all in unison by\nmultiplying the coats.'\" The man should have been suffocated in his\n\"oil of flowers,\" preserved in them, and hung up in the gallery _in\nterrorem_. Could ghosts walk and punish, we would not have been in his\nskin, though perfumed with his preservative oil of flowers, under the\nvisitations of the ghosts of Correggio, Raffaelle, Titian, and\nProcaccini. \"Such,\" adds M. de Burtin, \"was his threat at the very\nmoment that I felt overpowered with chagrin, to see the superb\ncarnations of Titian acquiring a yellowish, sad, and monotonous tone,\nthrough the coats that he had already given to it.\"\n\nWe have noticed, at considerable length, this work, and have been led\non by the interest of the subject. The perusal of this translation\nwill repay the connoisseur, and we think the artist. The former, in\nthis country, will be surprised to find names of artists, whose works\nwill not be found in our collections, at least with their titles. The\nartist will find some useful information, and will always find his\nflame of enthusiasm fed by reading works upon the subject of art,\nthough they should be very inferior to the present useful volume. We\nrecommend it as not unamusing to all who wish to think upon art, and\nto acquire the now almost necessary accomplishment of a taste for\npictures.\n\n\n\n\nMANNER AND MATTER.\n\nA TALE.\n\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nAlong the dusty highway, and underneath a July sun, a man about fifty,\ntending somewhat to the corpulent, and dressed in heavy parsonic\nblack, might have been seen treading slowly--treading with all that\nquiet caution which one uses who, conscious of fat, trusts his person\nto the influence of a summer sky. Mr Simpson, such was the name of\nthis worthy pedestrian, passed under the denomination of a\nmathematical tutor, though it was now some time since he had been\nknown to have any pupil. He was now bent from the village of ------ to\nthe country-seat of Sir John Steventon, which lay in its\nneighbourhood. He had received the unusual honour of an invitation to\ndinner at the great man's house, and it was evidently necessary that\nhe should present himself, both his visage and his toilet, in a state\nof as much composure as possible. The dust upon his very shining boot,\nthis a touch from his pocket-handkerchief, before entering the house,\ncould remove, and so far all traces of the road would be obliterated;\nbut should this wicked perspiration once fairly break its bounds, he\nwell knew that nothing but the lapse of time, and the fall of night,\nwould recover him from this palpable disorder. Therefore it was that\nhe walked with wonderful placidity, making no one movement of body or\nmind that was not absolutely necessary to the task of progression, and\nholding himself up, so to speak, _within_ his habiliments as if he and\nthey, though unavoidably companions on the same journey, were by no\nmeans intimate or willing associates. There was a narrow strip of\nshade from the hedge that ran beside the road, and although the shadow\nstill left the nobler half of his person exposed to the rays of the\nsun, he kept carefully within such shelter as it afforded. If he\nencountered any one, he stood still and examined the foliage of the\nhedge. To dispute the path in any other manner, with the merest urchin\nhe might meet, was out of the question. It would have caused\nexcitement. Moreover he was a meek man, and in all doubtful points\nyielded to the claim of others. Grocery-boys and barrow-women always\nhad the wall of him. Our traveller proceeded so tranquilly, that a\nsparrow boldly hopped down upon the ground before him; he was so\nresolved to enter into conflict with no living creature, that he\npaused till it had hopped off again.\n\nMr Simpson's toilet, though it had been that day a subject of great\nanxiety with him, presented, we fear, to the eyes of the world nothing\nremarkable. A careless observer, if questioned on the apparition he\nhad met with, would have replied very briefly, that it was the figure\nof an old pedant dressed in a suit of rusty black. Suit of rusty\nblack! And so he would dismiss the aggregate of all that was choice,\nreserved, and precious in the wardrobe of Mr Simpson. Rusty black,\nindeed! Why, that dress coat, which had been set apart for years for\nhigh and solemn occasions, had contracted a fresh dignity and\nimportance from every solemnity with which it had been associated. And\nthose respectable nether-garments, had they not always been dismissed\nfrom service the moment he re-entered his own dusty apartment? Had\nthey not been religiously preserved from all abrasion of the surface,\nwhether from cane-bottomed chair, or that under portion of the library\ntable which, to students who cross their legs, is found to be so\npeculiarly pernicious to the nap of cloth? What _could_ have made them\nworse for wear? Would a thoughtless world confound the influence of\nthe all-embracing atmosphere, with the wear and tear proper to cloth\nhabiliments? And then his linen--would a careless public refuse to\ntake notice that not a single button was missing from the shirt,\nwhich, in general, had but one solitary button remaining--just one at\nthe neck, probably fastened by his own hand? Above all, was it not\nnoticeable that he was not to-day under the necessity of hiding one\nhand behind him under the lappets of his coat, and slipping the other\ndown his half-open umbrella, to conceal the dilapidated gloves, but\ncould display both hands with perfect candour to public scrutiny? Were\nall these singular merits to pass unacknowledged, to be seen by no\none, or seen only by himself?\n\nIt was an excellent wish of Burns'--\n\n    \"Oh, would some power the giftie gie us,\n    To see ourselves as others see us!\"\n\n\nBut it would be a still more convenient thing if some power would give\nthe rest of the world the faculty of seeing us as we see ourselves. It\nwould produce a most comfortable state of public opinion; and on no\nsubject would it operate more favourably than on that of dress. Could\nwe spread over beholders the same happy delusion that rests on\nourselves, what a magical change would take place in the external\nappearance of society! Mr Simpson is not the only person who might\ncomplain that the world will not regard his several articles of attire\nfrom the same _point of view_ as himself. We know a very charming\nlady, who, when she examines her kid gloves, doubles her little fist,\nand then pronounces--they will do--forgetful that she is not in the\nhabit of doubling her pretty fist in the face of every one that she\nspeaks to--and that, therefore, others will not take exactly the same\npoint of view as herself.\n\nNotwithstanding the heat of the sun, our mathematician contrived to\ndeliver himself in a tolerable state of preservation at the mansion of\nSir John Steventon. We pass over the ceremony of dinner, and draw up\nthe curtain just at that time when the ladies and gentlemen have\nre-assembled in the drawing-room.\n\nWe look round the well-dressed circle, and it is some time before we\ncan discover our worthy friend. At length, after a minute research, we\nfind him standing alone in the remotest corner of the room. He is\napparently engaged in examining the bust of the proprietor of the\nmansion, which stands there upon its marble pedestal. He has almost\nturned his back upon the company. Any one, from his attitude, might\ntake him for a connoisseur, perhaps an artist, absorbed in his\ncritical survey. But so far is he from being at the present moment\ndrawn away by his admiration of the fine arts, that we question\nwhether he even _sees_ the bust that is standing upright, face to\nface, before him. He has got into that corner, and knows not how to\nmove from it. He knows not where else to put himself, or what else to\nbe looking at. The scene in which he finds himself has, from the\nsolitude of his later years, become strange and embarrassing. The\nlonger he stands there, the more impossible does it seem for him to\nget away, or even to turn round and face the company. The position of\nthe valorous Schmelzle, who having read upon a board the notice \"that\nspring guns were set upon the premises,\" trembled as much to retreat\nas to advance, to move a foot backwards or forwards, or in any\ndirection, but stood gazing at the formidable announcement, was\nscarcely more painful than that of Simpson. Although probably not a\nsingle person in the room was taking the least notice of his\nmovements, he _felt_ that every eye was upon him. The colour was\nmounting in his cheek. Every moment his situation was becoming more\nintolerable. We are afraid that he would soon have committed something\nvery absurd--have broken from his moorings with a shout--or dispelled\nthe sort of nightmare that was stifling him by some violent gesture,\nperhaps by dealing a blow at that bust which stood there so placidly\nbefore him, just as the poor youth did at the British Museum, who\nthrew a stone at the Portland vase, to prove that he also was a man,\nand had volition, and was not to be looked into stone by the Gorgon of\nsociety. Fortunately, however, Sir John Steventon himself came to the\nrescue.\n\n\"Well, Mr Simpson,\" said the baronet pointing to the bust, \"do you\ntrace a resemblance?\"\n\nMr Simpson was so overjoyed to have at length some one at hand to whom\nhe might speak, or seem to be speaking, and so connect himself with\nthe society around him, that to the simple question he made not one\nonly, but several answers, and very dissimilar ones too. In the same\nbreath he found it a likeness, yet not very like, and ended with\nasking for whom it was intended.\n\nSir John Steventon smiled, and after one or two indifferent\nobservations, led Mr Simpson apart into a little study or _sanctum_ of\nhis own, which communicated with the drawing-room. It will be\nnaturally concluded that there existed some peculiar reason for the\ninvitation passed on our humble mathematician, who was not altogether\nthe person, under ordinary circumstances, to find himself a guest at\nrich men's tables. The following conversation will explain this\ndeparture from the usual course of things, and the respectable\nconventions of society.\n\n\"You were some years,\" said Sir John, \"a tutor in the family of the\nlate Mr Scott?\"\n\n\"I was,\" responded Mr Simpson, \"and prepared his son for Cambridge.\nHad the young man lived\"----\n\n\"He would, I am sure,\" politely interrupted Sir John, \"have borne\ntestimony to the value of your instruction. I am, as you may be aware,\nthe executor of Mr Scott. That gentleman was so well satisfied with\nthe exertions you made, and the interest you took in his son, that, on\nyour quitting him, he presented you, I believe, with an annuity of\nfifty pounds, to be enjoyed during your life. This is, if I may be\nallowed to say so, the chief source of your income.\"\n\n\"The only one,\" answered Mr Simpson. \"For although I willingly\nproclaim myself tutor of mathematics, because a title, no matter what,\nis a protection from the idle curiosity of neighbours; yet, if I may\nventure to say so, my life is, indeed, devoted to science for the love\nof science itself, and with the hope of enrolling my name, although\nthe very last and humblest, amongst those who have perfected our\nknowledge of the mathematics, and extended their application. I have\nalready conceived, and in part executed a work.\"\n\nMr Simpson was launching on the full tide of his favourite subject. He\nthought, as good simple creatures always do, that he could not make a\nbetter return for the hospitalities of the rich man, than by pouring\nout his whole heart before him. Sad mistake which these simple people\nfall into! The rich man cares nothing for their heart, and is very\nsusceptible to ennui.\n\n\"Very good,\" interrupted Sir John, \"very good; but with regard to this\nannuity. I have not yet looked over the papers relating to it, and I\nhope, for your sake, I shall find it properly secured.\"\n\n\"I have a deed formally drawn up.\"\n\n\"True, true; and I hope all will be found straightforward in this,\nand in other affairs of the testator, and that nothing will compel me\nto call in the assistance or sanction of the Court of Chancery in\nadministering the estate. In that case, although your claim might be\nultimately substantiated, yet the payment of your annuity might, for\nsome years, be suspended.\"\n\n\"I pray God not!\" exclaimed our man of science with some trepidation.\n\"I have lived so much alone, so entirely amongst my figures and\ndiagrams, that I have not a friend in the world of whom I could borrow\nsixpence.\"\n\n\"Well, I trust,\" resumed Sir John, after a short pause, \"that there\nwill be no occasion for applying to a Court of Chancery. There ought\nto be none. There is but one child, Mrs Vincent, whom you have seen\nthis evening in the drawing-room. The great essential is to keep\nprying and meddlesome attorneys from thrusting themselves into the\nbusiness. You acted as confidential secretary as well as tutor, while\nyou were domiciled with Mr Scott.\"\n\n\"I did.\"\n\n\"There was a pecuniary transaction between myself and Mr Scott, to\nwhich I think you were privy.\"\n\n\"A loan of ten thousand pounds, for which you gave your bond.\"\n\n\"Exactly. I see you are informed of that circumstance. You are not,\nperhaps, equally well informed that that bond was cancelled; that the\ndebt, in short, was paid. This happened after you had left Mr Scott.\nBut although, as I tell you, this debt no longer exists, yet it might\ncreate a great embarrassment to me, and to every person interested in\nthe estate of the testator, if it were known that such a debt ever had\nexisted. Mrs Vincent has just returned from India, expecting a very\nconsiderable fortune from her late father. To her, in general terms,\nthe whole property is left. She will be disappointed. There is much\nless than she anticipates. However, not to make a long story of this\nmatter, all I have to request of you is this, if any one should\nquestion you as to the property of your late patron, and especially as\nto this transaction, be you silent--know nothing. You have ever been a\nman of books, buried in abstractions, the answer will appear quite\nnatural. This will save you, be assured, from much vexation,\ndisquietude, and grievous interruption to your studies, and I shall\nrest your debtor for your considerate behaviour. A contrary course\nwill create embarrassment to all parties, and put in jeopardy your own\nannuity, on which, as you say, you depend for subsistence, and the\ncarrying out of your scientific projects.\"\n\nAs Mr Simpson sat silent during this communication, Sir John continued\nsome time longer in the same strain. He made no doubt that the simple\nmathematician before him was quite under his influence--was completely\nin his power. That simple person, however, who lived in obscurity,\nalmost in penury--to society an object of its wisely directed\nridicule--was a man of honour. Little had he to do with the world;\neven its good opinion was scarcely of any importance to him. What to\nhim was the fastidiousness of virtue--to him whom poverty excluded\nfrom the refined portion of society, and knowledge and education from\nthe vulgar and illiterate? What could he profit by it? Nothing,\nabsolutely nothing. And yet there was no power on earth could have\nmade this man false to his honour. Partly, perhaps, from his very\nestrangement from the business of the world, his sense of virtue had\nretained its fresh and youthful susceptibility. As is the case with\nall such men, he was slow to attribute villany to others. This it was\nhad kept him silent; he waited to be quite convinced that he\nunderstood Sir John. When the truth stood plainly revealed, when it\nbecame evident to him that this debt of ten thousand pounds was _not_\npaid, and that he was brought there to be bribed or intimidated into a\nguilty secrecy, his whole soul fired up with indignation.\n\nHe had listened, as we say, in silence. When satisfied that he\nperfectly comprehended Sir John, he rose from his seat, and briefly\nintimating that he should not leave him long in doubt as to the manner\nin which he should act, turned, and abruptly left the apartment. Sir\nJohn had no time to arrest him, and could only follow, and be a\nwitness to his movements. He re-entered the drawing-room. Where were\nnow all the terrors of that scene? Where the awe which its easy\nelegant ceremonial inspired? Gone, utterly gone. He had now a duty to\nfulfil. You would have said it was another man. Had he been the\nproprietor of the mansion, he could not have entered with a more\nassured and unembarrassed air. There was a perfect freedom and dignity\nin his demeanour as he stepped across the room. In the centre of the\nroom, throned, as it were, upon the sofa, sat two ladies, remarkable\nabove all the others, for the finished elegance of their manner, and\nthe splendour of their toilet. The one was Lady Steventon, the other\nMrs Vincent. Some minutes ago, not for all the world would he have\nstood alone upon that piece of carpet in front of this sofa. No\ncourtier, assured of the most smiling reception, could have drawn his\nchair with more ease to the vacant spot beside Mrs Vincent, than did\nnow Mr Simpson. He immediately entered into conversation on the\nsubject that at the moment engrossed all his thoughts; he reminded her\nof the confidential intimacy which had subsisted between himself and\nher late father; proffered his assistance to aid her in the\narrangement of her affairs; and, in particular, gave a succinct\naccount of the transaction which Sir John had manifested so great\nanxiety to conceal.\n\nThe manner in which all this was said, so entirely took Sir John\nSteventon by surprise, that he was unable to interfere with a single\nword. Mrs Vincent, to whom the information was evidently quite new,\nconcealed the embarrassment she felt in some general expressions of\nthanks to Mr Simpson. He, when he had fulfilled his object, rose, and\nmaking a profound bow to his host and hostess, quitted the house. His\ndemeanour was such, that his host involuntarily returned his\nsalutation with one of marked deference and respect.\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nA year had rolled round, and Mrs Vincent was established in all her\nrights. Sir John Steventon had been disappointed in the fraudulent\nscheme he had devised; not disappointed, however, as he deemed, in the\nrevenge he had taken on the man who had frustrated it. Payment of Mr\nSimpson's annuity was resisted, and the poor mathematician was in\ngreat straits for those necessaries of life, which, necessary as they\nmay be, are often with a great portion of the human family very\nfortuitous. Ask not on what legal pretexts Sir John had been\nsuccessful in inflicting this revenge. Such pretexts are \"thick as\nblackberries.\" _Facilis est descensus_--No rich suitor ever sought\nlong for admission into the Court of Chancery, however difficult even\nhe may have found the escape from it. Neither, do we apprehend, is\nthere any remedy for this abuse of law, in the legal reforms usually\ncontemplated by our legislators. The only effective remedy, if we may\nbe here permitted to give a remark, would be this--that the state\nadminister civil justice at its own expense to rich and poor\nalike--that, as it protects each man's life and limb, so it should\nprotect each man's property, which is the means of life, which is\noften as essential to him as the limbs by which he moves. This is the\nonly mode of realizing that \"equal justice\" which at present is the\nvain boast of every system of jurisprudence, when the suitor has to\npay for protection to his property.\n\nPoor Simpson, who had lived for some years on his scanty annuity, and\nhad lived content, for his wants were few, and his mind utterly\nabsorbed in his science, now found himself without the simplest means\nof subsistence. He had escaped, as he thought, for ever, from the\nnecessity of applying his science to satisfy mere animal wants; he\nbegan to think he should be very fortunate if all his science would\nprocure for him the commonest \"board and lodging!\" When a man has\nceased to cultivate his relationship with society, and wishes, after a\ntime, to return to them, he will find that a blank wall has been built\nup between him and the world. There is not even a door to knock at,\nlet alone the chance of its opening when he knocks. Our mathematician\nknew not where to look for a pupil, nor for a friend who would\nrecommend him. Some unavailing attempts he made to obtain his rights\nthrough litigation; but he soon found, that to the loss of his money\nhe was adding only the loss of all tranquillity of mind. The lawyer he\nemployed neglected (and very naturally) a suit which would have\nrequired on his part large advances, the repayment of which was very\nprecarious.\n\nIn this predicament he bethought himself of making an appeal to Mrs\nVincent, the lady whom he had benefited by his simple and\nstraightforward honesty; not that he held her under any peculiar\nobligation to him; what he had done was by no means to oblige her; it\nwas strictly a self-obligation; he could not have acted otherwise, let\nthe consequences have been what they might. But he reasoned with\nhimself, that the annuity of which he was deprived would fall into the\ngeneral residue of the estate, and be in fact paid to her; and as he\ncould not believe that she would wish to profit by the villany of Sir\nJohn, he thought there could be nothing derogatory to him, nor\nexacting upon her, if he proposed to relinquish entirely his legal\nclaim upon the estate, and receive the annuity from her hands. She\nmust surely be desirous, he thought, to fulfil the solemn engagements\nof her deceased parent. Full of these cogitations, he betook himself\nto London, where Mrs Vincent had established herself.\n\nThe reader must imagine himself introduced into an elegantly furnished\ndrawing-room, in one of the most fashionable quarters of the\nmetropolis. Had we any talent for the description of the miracles of\nupholstery, it would be a sin to pass over so superb and tasteful a\nscene without a word. But the little descriptive power we possess must\nbe reserved for the lady who was sitting in the midst of one of those\ndomestic miniature palaces, of which the \"interiors\" of London could\npresent so great a number. Mrs Vincent had lately become a widow, at\nthe opening of our narrative, and was therefore still dressed in\nblack. But though in black, or rather perhaps on that very account,\nher attire was peculiarly costly. In black only can magnificence of\napparel be perfectly allied with purity of taste. And certainly\nnothing could harmonize better than the rich satin dress, and the\nsuperb scarf of lace which fell over it with such a gorgeous levity. A\npope in his highest day of festival might have coveted that lace.\nBetween the black satin and the light folds of the scarf, relieved by\nthe one, and tempered, and sometimes half hidden by the other, played\na diamond cross, which might have been the ransom of a Great Mogul.\nThe features of Mrs Vincent were remarkably delicate, and her pale\nbeauty was of that order which especially interests the imagination.\nShe wore her hair plainly parted upon either side, revealing the\ncharming contour of her well-shaped head. A patriarch would have\ngloried in his age if it gave him the privilege to take that dear head\nbetween his hands, and imprint his holy kiss upon the forehead. Her\nlittle girl, her sole companion and chief treasure in the world, stood\nprattling before her; and the beauty of the young mother was tenfold\nincreased by the utter forgetfulness of herself, which she manifested\nas she bent over her child, absorbed in the beauty of that dear little\nimage which she was never weary of caressing.\n\nMrs Vincent was even more fascinating in manner than in appearance.\nShe was one of those charming little personages whom every one\nidolizes, whom men and women alike consent to _pet_. It was impossible\nto be in the same room with her half an hour without being perfectly\nready to do every thing, reasonable or unreasonable, that she could\nrequest of you. The charm of her conversation, or rather of her\nsociety, was irresistible; there was a sweet subdued gaiety in her\nspeech, accent, and gestures which made you happy, you knew not why;\nand though by no means a wit, nor laying the least claim to be a\nclever person, there was a sprightly music in her tones, and a\nspontaneous vivacity in her language, which left a far more delightful\nimpression than the most decided wit.\n\nWhere shall we find a more beautiful picture than that of a young\nmother, and that mother a widow, bending over the glossy tresses of\nher child? Never is woman so attractive, so subduing; never does she\nso tenderly claim our protection; never is she so completely\nprotected, so unassailable, so predominant. Poor Simpson felt his\nheart penetrated with the holiest love and veneration when he entered\nthe room.\n\nNothing could exceed the graceful and benevolent manner in which Mrs\nVincent received him. He had been the tried friend of her father, the\nbeloved tutor of her brother; he had lately been of signal service to\nherself. Mr Simpson was overpowered with his reception. The object of\nhis visit seemed already accomplished. Hardly did it appear necessary\nto proceed with any verbal statement; surely she knew his position,\nand this was enough. She had been restored to her rights; she would\nnot, she could not, allow him to suffer by an act which led to that\nrestoration; still less would she consent to reap herself the benefit\nof an injustice perpetrated upon him.\n\nSome explanation, however, of the object of his visit he found it\nnecessary to make. When he had concluded the brief statement which he\nthought sufficient, the lady answered in the softest voice in the\nworld--that she was sorry she could not enter upon that subject, as\nshe had promised Sir John Steventon not to interfere between him and\nMr Simpson--that Sir John had exacted this promise, and she had given\nit, as necessary to facilitate the arrangement of her affairs. What\ncould she do, an unprotected woman, with the interests of her child\ndepending upon her? She was bound, therefore, she regretted to say,\nnot to intermeddle in the business. But then Mr Simpson could proceed\nwith his legal remedies. She did not presume to pass an opinion upon\nthe justice of his claim, or to advise him not to prosecute it.\n\nIn brief, she had given up the brave and honourable man, who had\nbefriended her at the peril of his fortune, to the revenge of the\nwealthy, unscrupulous baronet, who had intended to defraud her. It was\nso agreeable to be on amicable terms with her father's executor.\n\nOur mathematician doubted his ears. Yet so it was. And it was all\nrepeated to him in the blandest manner in the world. She seemed to\nthink that a duty to any one else but her child was out of the\nquestion. We believe that many interesting and beautiful mothers have\nthe same idea.\n\nMr Simpson gasped for breath. Some quite general remark was the only\none that rose to his lip. \"You are angels--to look upon,\" he\nhalf-murmured to himself.\n\nIt was not in his disposition to play the petitioner, and still less\nto give vent to feelings of indignation, which would be thought to\nhave their origin only in his own personal injuries. It was still\nsurprise that was predominant in him, as at length he exclaimed--\"But\nsurely, madam, you do not understand this matter. This annuity was\nhonestly won by long services rendered to your father, and to his son.\nInstead of receiving other payments, I had preferred to be finally\nremunerated in this form--it was my desire to obtain what in my humble\nideas was an independence, that I might devote my life to science.\nWell, this annuity, it is my all--it stands between me and absolute\npenury--it is the plank on which I sail over the waters of life. I\nhave, too, an object for my existence, which this alone renders\npossible. I have studies to pursue, discoveries to make. This sum of\nmoney is more than my life, it is my license to study and to think.\"\n\n\"Oh, but, Mr Simpson,\" interrupted the lady with a smile, \"I\nunderstand nothing of mathematics.\"\n\nMr Simpson checked himself. No, she did _not_ understand him. What was\nhis love of science or his hope of fame to her? What to her was any\none of the pains and pleasures that constituted _his_ existence?\n\n\"Besides,\" added the lady, \"you are a bachelor, Mr Simpson. You have\nno children. It can matter little\"----\n\nA grim smile played upon the features of the mathematician. He was\nprobably about to prove to her, that as children are destined to\nbecome men, the interests of a man may not be an unworthy subject of\nanxiety. However important a person a child may be, a man is something\nmore. But at this moment a servant entered, and announced Sir John\nSteventon!\n\nOn perceiving Mr Simpson, that gentleman was about to retreat, and\nwith a look of something like distrust at Mrs Vincent, he said that\nhe would call again. \"Nay, come in!\" exclaimed the mathematician with\na clear voice. \"Come in! The lady has not broken her word, nor by me\nshall she be petitioned to do so. It is I who will quit this place.\nYou have succeeded, Sir John, in your revenge--you have succeeded, and\nyet perhaps it is an imperfect success. You shall not rack the heart,\nthough you should starve the body. You think, perhaps, I shall pursue\nyou with objurgation or entreaty. You are mistaken. I leave you to the\nenjoyment of your triumph, and to the peace which a blunted conscience\nwill, I know, bestow upon you.\"\n\nSir John muttered, in reply, that he could not debate matters of\nbusiness, but must refer him to his solicitor.\n\n\"Neither personally,\" continued Mr Simpson, \"nor by your solicitor,\nwill you hear more of me. I shall forget you, Sir John. Whatever\nsufferings you may inflict, you shall not fill my heart with\nbitterness. Your memory shall not call forth a single curse from me.\nApproach. Be friendly to this lady. Be mutually courteous, bland, and\naffable--what other virtues do you know?\"\n\nHe strode out of the room. His parting word was no idle boast. Sir\nJohn heard of him and of his just claims no more; and the\nbrave-hearted man swept the memory of the villain from his soul. He\nwould not have it there.\n\nThe baronet soothed his conscience, if it ever gave him any\nuneasiness, by the supposition that the aged mathematician had found\nsome pupils--that probably he eked out as comfortable a subsistence as\nbefore, and had only exchanged the dreamy pursuit of scientific fame,\nfor the more practical labours of tuition. But no such fortune\nattended Mr Simpson. He had lived too long out of the world to find\neither friends or pupils, and the more manifest his poverty, the more\nhopeless became his applications. Meanwhile, utter destitution stood\nface to face before him. Did he spend his last coin in the purchase of\nthe mortal dose? Did he leap at night from any of the bridges of the\nmetropolis? He was built of stouter stuff. He collected together his\nmanuscripts, a book or two, which had happily for him been unsaleable,\nhis ink-bottle and an iron pen, and marched straight--to the parish\nworkhouse. There was no refusing his claim here. Poverty and famine\nwere legible in every garment, and on every feature. In that asylum he\nended his days, unknown, unsought for.\n\nOne of his companions, dressed like himself, in the workhouse costume,\nwho had gathered that he was the sufferer by some act of injustice of\na rich oppressor, thought, on one occasion, to console him by the\nreflection, that his wrongdoer would certainly suffer for it in the\nnext world--in his own energetic language, that he would certainly be\nd----d.\n\n\"Not on my account--not, I hope, on my account,\" said the\nmathematician, with the greatest simplicity in the world. \"No revenge\neither here or hereafter. But if civil government deserved the name,\nit would have given me justice now. Had I been robbed of sixpence on\nthe highway, there would have been hue and cry--the officers of\ngovernment would not have rested till they had found and punished the\nculprit. I am robbed of all; and, because I am poor and\nunfriended--circumstances which make the loss irremediable--the law\nputs forth no hand to help me. Men will prate about the expense--the\nburden on the national revenue--as if justice to all were not the very\nfirst object of government--as if--but truce to this. My good friend,\nyou see these fragments of snuff that I have collected--could you get\nthem exchanged for me for a little ink?\"\n\n\n\n\nMARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.\n\n                Part XX.\n\n    \"Have I not in my time heard lions roar?\n    Have I not heard the sea, puft up with wind,\n    Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?\n    Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,\n    And Heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?\n    Have I not in the pitched battle heard\n    Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?\"\n\n                              Shakspeare.\n\n\nAs my mission was but temporary, and might be attended with personal\nhazard, I had left Clotilde in England, much to her regret, and\ntravelled with as small a retinue as possible; and in general by\nunfrequented ways, to avoid the French patroles which were already\nspread through the neighbourhood of the high-roads. But, at Burgos,\nthe Spanish commandant, on the delivery of my passport, insisted so\nstrongly on the necessity for an escort, placing the wish on a feeling\nof his personal responsibility, in case of my falling into the enemy's\nhands, that to save the senor's conscience, or his commission, I\nconsented to take a few troopers, with one of his aides-de-camp, to\nsee me in safety through the Sierra Morena.\n\nThe aide-de-camp was a _character_; a little meagre being, who, after\na long life of idleness and half-pay, was suddenly called into\nservice; and now figured in a staff-coat and feather. His first\ncommission had been in the luckless expedition of Count O'Reilly\nagainst the Moors; and it had probably served him as a topic, from\nthat time to the moment when he pledged his renown for my safe\ndelivery into the hands of the junta of Castile. He had three leading\nideas, which formed the elements of his body and soul,--his exploits\nin the Moorish campaign; his contempt for the monks; and his value for\nthe talents, courage, and fame of Don Ignacio Trueno Relampago, the\nillustrious appellative of the little aide-de-camp himself. He talked\nwithout mercy as we rode along; and gave his opinions with all the\neasy conviction of an \"officer on the staff,\" and all the freedom of\nthe wilderness. The expedition to Africa had failed solely for want of\nadopting \"the tactics which _he_ would have advised;\" and his public\nservices in securing the retreat would have done honour to the Cid, or\nto Alexander the Great, had not \"military jealousy refused to transmit\nthem to the national ear.\" His opinion of Spanish politics was, that\nthey owed their occasional mistakes solely to the culpable negligence\nof the war-minister \"in overlooking the gallant subalterns of the\nnational army.\" Spain he regarded as the natural sovereign of Europe;\nand, of course, of all mankind--its falling occasionally into the\nbackground being satisfactorily accounted for by the French descent of\nher existing dynasty, by the visible deterioration in the royal\nmanufacture of cigars, and, more than either, \"by the tardiness of\nmilitary promotion.\" This last grievance was the sting. \"If justice\nhad been done,\" exclaimed the new-feathered warrior, rising in his\nstirrups, and waving his hand, as if he was in the act of cleaving\ndown a Moor, \"_I_ should long since have been a general. If I had been\na general, the armies of Spain would long since have been on a very\ndifferent footing. Men of merit would have been placed in their proper\npositions; the troops would have emulated the exploits of their\nforefathers in the age of Ferdinand and Isabella; and, instead of\nreceiving a king from France, we should have given her one; while,\ninstead of seeing a French emperor carrying off our princes, as the\nhawk carries off pigeons, or as a gipsy picks your pocket under\npretence of telling your fortune, we should have been garrisoning\nParis with our battalions, and sending a viceroy to the Tuileries.\"\n\nI laughed; but my ill-timed mirth had nearly cost me an \"affair of\nhonour\" with the little regenerator. His hand was instantly on the\nhilt of his sword, and every wrinkle on his brown visage was swelling\nwith wrath; when my better genius prevailed, He probably recollected\nthat he was sent as my protector, and that the office would not have\nbeen fulfilled according to his instructions, by running me through\nthe midriff. But, with all his pomposity, he had the national\ngood-nature; and when we sat down to our chicken and bottle of Tinto\nin one of those delicious valleys, he was full of remorse for his\nburst of patriotic temper.\n\nThe day had been a continued blaze of sunshine, the road a burning\nsand, and the contrast of the spot where we made our halt was\ntempting. The scene was rich and _riant_, the evening lovely, and the\nwine good. I could have reposed there for a month, or a year, or for\never. It would have been enough to make a man turn hermit; and I\ninstinctively gazed round, to look for the convent which \"must lie\" in\nso luxurious a site. My companion informed me that I was perfectly\nright in my conjecture, that spot having been the position of one of\nthe richest brotherhoods of Spain. But its opulence had been unluckily\ndisplayed in rather too ostentatious a style in the eyes of a French\nbrigade; who, in consequence, packed up the plate in their baggage,\nand, in the course of a tumult which followed with the peasantry,\nburned the building to the ground.\n\nYet, this misfortune was the source of but slight condolence on the\npart of my friend. He was perfectly of the new school. \"They were\nTheatines,\" said he--\"as bad as the Jesuits in every thing but\nhypocrisy--powerful, insolent, bold-faced knaves; and after their\nrobbing me of the inheritance of my old, rich uncle, which one of\nthose crafty _padres_ contrived to make the old devotee give them on\nhis death-bed, I had dry eyes for their ill luck. But, I suppose,\"\nadded he, \"you know their creed?\" I acknowledged my ignorance. \"Well,\nyou shall hear it. It is incomparably true; though, whether written\nfor them by Moratin or Calderon, I leave to the antiquarians.\" He then\nchanted it in the style of the monkish service, and with\ngesticulations, groans, and upturning of eyes, which strongly gave me\nthe idea that he had employed his leisure, if not relieved his sense\nof the war-minister's neglect, by exerting his talents as the\n\"Gracioso\" of some strolling company. The troopers gathered round us,\nwith that odd mixture of familiarity and respect which belongs to all\nthe lower ranks of Spain; and the performer evidently acquired new\nspirits from the laughter of his audience, as he dashingly sang his\nburlesque:--\n\n                Cancion.\n\n    Los mandamientos de los Teatinos,[6].\n    Mas humanos son que divinos.\n\n                   _Coro_.--Tra lara, tra lara.\n\n    _Primo_--Adquirir mucho dinero. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Segundo_--Sujetar todo il mondo. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Tercero_--Buen capon, buen carnero. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Quarto_--Comprar barato, y vender caro. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Quinto_--Con el blanco aguar el tinto. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Sexto_--Tener siempre el lomo en siesto. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Septimo_--Guardase bien del sereno. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Octavo_--Obrar la suya, y lo ageno. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Nono_--Hazar del penitente esclavo. Tra lara, &c.\n    _Decimo_--Mesclarse en cosas d'estado. Tra lara, &c.\n\n    _Coro_.--Estes diez mandamientos se encierran en dos--\n              Todo para mi, y nada para vos.\n                                Tra lara, tra lara, &c.\n\n\nThe whole performance was received with an applause which awoke the\nlittle aide-de-camp's genius to such an extent, that he volunteered to\nsing some stanzas of his own, immeasurably more poignant. He was in\nthe act of filling a bumper to the \"downfall of all monkery on the\nface of the earth,\" when the report of a musket was heard, and the\nbottle was shivered in his hand. The honour of Don Ignacio Trueno\nRelampago was never in greater danger, for he instantly turned much\nwhiter than his own pocket-handkerchief: but the Spaniard is a brave\nfellow, after all; and seeing that I drew out my pistols, he drew his\nsword, ordered his troopers to mount, and prepared for battle. But,\nwho can fight against fortune? Our horses, which had been picketed at\na few yards' distance in the depth of the shade, were gone. A French\nbattalion of tirailleurs, accidentally coming on our route, had\nsurrounded the grove, and carried off the horses unperceived, while\nour gallant troopers were chorusing the songster. The sentinel left in\ncharge of them had, of course, given way to the allurements of \"sweet\nnature's kind restorer, balmy sleep,\" and awoke only to find himself\nin French hands. Don Ignacio would have fought a legion of fiends; but\nseven hundred and fifty sharpshooters were a much more unmanageable\naffair; and on our holding a council of war, (which never fights,) and\nwith a whole circle of bayonets glittering at our breasts, I advised a\nsurrender without loss of time. The troopers were already disarmed,\nand the Don, appealing to me as evidence that he had done all that\ncould be required by the most punctilious valour, surrendered his\nsword with the grace of a hero of romance. The Frenchmen enjoyed the\nentire scene prodigiously, laughed a great deal, drank our healths in\nour own bottles, and finished by a general request that the Don would\nindulge them with an encore of the chant which had so tickled their\nears during their advance in the wood. The Don complied, _malgre_,\n_bongre_; and at the conclusion of this feat, the French colonel,\nresolved not to be outdone in any thing, called on one of his\nsubalterns for a song. The subaltern hopelessly searched his memory\nfor its lyrical stores; but after half a dozen snatches of \"chansons,\"\nand breaking down in them all, he volunteered, in despair, what he\npronounced, \"the most popular love-song in all Italy.\" Probably not a\nsyllable of it was understood by any one present but myself; yet this\ndid not prevent its being applauded to the skies, and pronounced one\nof the most brilliant specimens of Italian sensibility. It was in\n_Latin_, and a fierce attack on the Jesuits, which the young officer,\na palpable _philosophe_, had brought with him from the _symposia_ of\nthe \"Ecole Polytechnique:\"--\n\n    Mortem norunt animare[7]\n    Et tumultus suscitare,\n    Inter reges, et sedare.\n\n    Tanquam sancti adorantur,\n    Tanquam reges dominantur,\n    Tanquam fures depraedantur.\n\n    Dominantur temporale,\n    Dominantur spirituale,\n    Dominantur omnia male.\n\n    Hos igitur Jesuitas,\n    Heluones, hypocritas,\n    Fuge, si caelestia quaeras.\n\n    Vita namque Christiana\n    Abhorret ab hac doctrina,\n    Tanquam ficta et insana.\n\n\nThe colonel of the tirailleurs was a complete specimen of the\nrevolutionary soldier. He was a dashing figure, with a bronzed face;\nat least so much of it as I could discover through the most inordinate\npair of mustaches ever worn by a warrior. He was ignorant of every\nthing on earth but his profession, and laughed at the waste of time in\nporing over books; his travelling-library consisting of but two--the\nimperial army-list, and the muster-roll of his regiment. His family\nrecollections went no higher than his father, a cobbler in Languedoc.\nBut he was a capital officer, and the very material for a\n_chef-de-bataillon_--rough, brave, quick, and as hardy as iron. Half a\ndozen scars gave evidence of his having shared the glories of France\non the Rhine, the Po, and the Danube; and a cross of the Legion of\nHonour showed that his emperor was a different person from the object\nof Don Ignacio's cureless wrath, the war-minister who \"made a point of\nneglecting all possible merit below that of a field-marshal.\"\n\nThe Frenchman, with all his, _brusquerie_, was civil enough to regret\nmy capture, \"peculiarly as it laid him under the necessity of taking\nme far from my route;\" his regiment then making forced marches to\nAndalusia, to join Dupont's division; and for the purpose of secrecy,\nthe strictest orders having been given that the prisoners which they\nmight make in the way should be carried along with them. As I had\nforwarded my official papers from Galicia to Castile, and was regarded\nsimply as an English tourist, I had no sense of personal hazard; and\nputting the best complexion which I could upon my misadventure, I rode\nalong with the column over hill and dale, enjoying the various aspects\nof one of the most varied and picturesque countries in the world. Our\nmarches were rapid, but chiefly by night; thus evading at once the\nintolerable heat of the Spanish day, and collisions with the people.\nWe bivouacked in the shelter of woods, or in the shade of hills,\nduring the sultry hours; and recommenced our march in the cool of the\neve, with short halts, until sunrise. Then we flung ourselves again\nunder the shelter of the trees, and enjoyed those delights of rest and\nappetite, which are unknown to all but to the marchers and fasters for\ntwelve hours together.\n\nBut, on our crossing the Sierra Morena, and taking the direction of\nAndalusia, the scene was wholly changed. The country was like one vast\nfield of battle. The peasants were every where in arms, villages were\nseen burning along the horizon, and our constant vigilance was\nnecessary to guard against a surprise. Every soldier who lay down to\nrest but a few yards from the column, or who attempted to forage in\nthe villages, was sure to be shot or stilettoed; provisions were\nburned before our faces; and even where we were not actually fired on,\nthe frowns of the population showed sufficiently that the evil day was\nat hand. At length we reached the range of hills which surround the\nplain of Cordova; yet only just in time to see the army of Dupont\nmarching out from the city gates, in the direction of Andujar. As I\nstood beside the colonel, I could observe, by the knitting of his\nbrow, that the movement did not satisfy his military sagacity. \"What a\nquantity of baggage!\" he murmured: \"how will it be possible to carry\nsuch a train through the country, or how to fight, with such an\nencumbrance embarrassing every step? Unless the Spanish generals are\nthe greatest fools on earth, or unless Dupont has a miracle worked for\nhim, he must either abandon three-fourths of his waggons, or be\nruined.\"\n\nBut I was now to have a nearer interest in the expedition. The\nbattalion had no sooner joined the army on its advance, than I was\nordered to appear before the chief of the staff. The language of this\nofficer was brief, but expressive.\n\n\"You are a spy.\"\n\n\"You are misinformed. I am a gentleman and an Englishman.\"\n\n\"Look here.\" He produced a copy of my letter to the junta of Castile,\nwhich some clerk in the French pay had treacherously transmitted from\nMadrid. \"What answer have you to this?\"\n\nI flung the letter on the table.\n\n\"What right have you to require an answer? I have not come voluntarily\nto the quarters of the French army; I am a prisoner; I am not even in\na military capacity. You would only act in conformity to the law of\nnations by giving me my liberty this moment; and I demand that you\nshall do your duty.\"\n\n\"I shall do it! If you have any arrangements to make, you had better\nlose no time; for I wait only the general's signature to my report, to\nhave you shot.\" He turned on his heel. A sergeant with a couple of\ngrenadiers entered, and I was consigned for the night to the\nprovost-marshal. How anxiously I spent that night, I need not say. I\nwas in the hands of violent men, exasperated by the popular\nresistance, and accustomed to disregard life. I braced myself up to\nmeet my untoward catastrophe, and determined at least not to disgrace\nmy country by helpless solicitation. I wrote a few letters, committed\nmyself to a protection above the passions and vices of man, wrapped my\ncloak round me, and sank into a sound slumber.\n\nI was aroused by a discharge of cannon, and found the camp in\ncommotion. The Spaniards, under Reding and Castanos, had, as the\ncolonel anticipated, fallen upon our line of march at daybreak, and\ncut off a large portion of the baggage-train. It had been loaded with\nthe church-plate, and general plunder of Cordova; and the avarice of\nthe French had obviously involved them in formidable difficulty. But,\neven in the universal tumult, the importance of my seizure was not\nforgotten; and I was ordered to the rear in charge of a guard. The\naction now began on all sides; the cannonade rapidly deepening on the\nflank and centre of the French position, and the musketry already\nbeginning to rattle on various points of the line. From the height on\nwhich I stood, the whole scene lay beneath my eye; and nothing could\nhave been better worth the speculation of any man--who was not under\nsentence of being shot as soon as the struggle was over!\n\nI was aware of the reputation of the French general. He held a high\nname among the _braves_ of the imperial army for the last ten years,\nand he had been foremost everywhere. In the desperate Italian\ncampaign against the Austrians and Russians; in the victorious\ncampaign of Austerlitz; in the sanguinary campaign of Eylau--Dupont\nwas one of the most daring of generals of brigade. But his pillage of\nCordova had roused the Spanish wrath into fury; and the effort to\ncarry off his plunder made it impossible for him to resist a vigorous\nattack, even with his twenty thousand veterans. He had indulged\nhimself in Cordova, until the broken armies of the south had found\ntime to rally; and a force of fifty thousand men was now rushing down\nupon his centre. The hills, as far as the eye could range, were\ncovered with the armed peasantry, moving like dark clouds over their\nsides, and descending by thousands to the field. The battle now raged\nfuriously in the centre, and the charges of the French cavalry made\nfearful gaps in the Spanish battalions. At length, the rising of the\ndust on the right showed that a strong column was approaching, which\nmight decide the day. My heart beat slow as I saw the tricolor\nfloating above its bayonets. It was the advanced guard, with Dupont at\nits head--a force of three thousand men, which had returned rapidly on\nits steps, as soon as the sound of the attack had reached it. It was\nboldly resisted by the Swiss and Walloon brigades of the Spanish line:\nbut the French fire was heavy, its manoeuvre was daring, and I began\nto fear for the fate of the day; when a loud explosion, and a hurried\nmovement at the extreme of the French position, turned my eyes to the\nleft wing. There the Spanish attack had swept every thing before it.\nBrigade after brigade was giving way, and the country was covered with\nscattered horsemen, infantry retiring in disorder, and broken and\ncaptured guns. The peasantry, too, had joined in the pursuit, and the\nwing seemed utterly ruined. To retrieve this disorder was now\nhopeless, for the French general had extended his line to the\nextraordinary length of ten miles. His baggage-train was his ruin. The\nwhole Spanish line now advanced, shouting, and only halting at\nintervals to cannonade the enemy. The French returned a feeble fire,\nand began to retreat. But retreat was now impossible, and they must\nfight, or be massacred. At this moment I saw an officer, from the spot\nwhere Dupont sat on his charger surrounded by his staff, gallop\nbetween the two armies. He was met by a Spanish officer. The firing\nceased. Dupont had surrendered, with all the troops in Andalusia!\n\nI was now at liberty, and I was received by the Spanish\ncommander-in-chief with the honours due to my mission and my country.\nAfter mutual congratulations on this most brilliant day, I expressed\nmy wish to set off for Madrid without delay. An escort of cavalry was\nordered for me, and by midnight I had left behind me the slaughter and\nthe triumph, the noblest of Spanish fields, the immortal Baylen!\n\nThe night was singularly dark; and as the by-roads of the Peninsula\nare confessedly among the most original specimens of the road-making\nart, our attention was chiefly occupied, for the first hour, in\nfinding our way in Indian file. At length, on the country's opening, I\nrode forward to the head of the troops, and addressed some questions,\non our distance from the next town, to the officer. He at once\npronounced my name, and my astonishment was not less than his own. In\nthe commandant of the escort I found my gallant, though most wayward,\nyoung friend, Mariamne's lover, Lafontaine! His story was brief. In\ndespair of removing her father's reluctance to their marriage, and\nwholly unable to bring over Mariamne to his own opinion, that she\nwould act the wiser part in taking the chances of the world along with\nhimself, he had resolved to enter the Russian or the Turkish service,\nor any other in which he had the speediest probability of ending his\ncareer by a bullet or a sabre-blow. The accidental rencontre of one of\nhis relations, an officer high in the Spanish service, had led him\ninto the Peninsula; where, as a Royalist, he was warmly received by a\npeople devoted to their kings; and had just received a commission in\nthe cavalry of the guard, when the French war broke out. He felt no\nscruples in acting as a soldier of Spain; for, with the death of\nLouis, he had regarded all ties as broken, and he was now a citizen of\nthe world. I ventured to mention the name of Mariamne; and I found\nthat, there at least, the inconstancy charged on his nation had no\nplace. He spoke of her with eloquent tenderness, and it was evident\nthat, with all his despair of ever seeing her again, she still held\nthe first place in his heart. In this wandering, yet by no means\npainful, interchange of thoughts, we moved on for some hours; when one\nof the advanced troopers rode back, to tell us that he had heard shots\nin the distance, and other sounds of struggle. We galloped forward,\nand from the brow of the next hill saw flames rising from a village in\nthe valley beneath, and a skirmish going on between some marauding\ntroops and the peasantry. Lafontaine instantly ordered an advance; and\nour whole troop were soon in the centre of the village, busily\nemployed with the pistol and sabre. The French, taken by surprise,\nmade but a slight resistance, and, after a few random shots, ran to a\nneighbouring wood. But as I was looking round, to congratulate my\nfriend on his success, I saw him, to my infinite alarm, reel in his\nsaddle, and had only time to save him from falling to the ground.\n\nThe accommodation of the Ventas and Posadas is habitually wretched,\nand I demanded whether there was not a house of some hidalgo in the\nneighbourhood, to which the wounded officer might be carried. One of\nthe last shots of the skirmish had struck him in the arm, and he was\nnow fainting with pain. The house was pointed out, and we carried my\nunfortunate friend there, in a swoon. Even in that moment of anxiety,\nand with scarcely more than the first dawn to guide us, I could not\nhelp being struck with the cultivated beauty of the avenue through\nwhich we passed, and the profusion and variety of the flowers, which\nnow began to breathe their opening incense to the dawn. The house was\nold, but large and handsome, and the furniture of the apartment into\nwhich we were shown, was singularly tasteful and costly. Who the owner\nwas, was scarcely known among the bold fellows who accompanied us; but\nby their pointings to their foreheads, and their making the sign of\nthe cross at every repetition of my enquiries, I was inclined to think\nhim some escaped lunatic. I shortly, however, received a message from\nhim, to tell me, that so soon as the crowd should be dismissed, he\nwould visit the officer. The apartment was cleared and he came. This\nwas a new wonder for me. It was Mordecai that entered the room. The\nlight was still so imperfect, that for awhile he could not recognise\neither of us; and when I advanced to take his hand, and addressed him\nby his name, he started back as if he had trod upon a snake. However,\nhis habitual presence of mind soon enabled him to answer all my\nenquiries, and, among the first, one for the health and happiness of\nhis daughter. Fearful of the effects of his intelligence, whether good\nor evil, on the nerves of Lafontaine, who still lay on the sofa,\nalmost invisible in the dusk, I begged to follow him to another room,\nand there I listened to his whole anxious history since our\nparting.--Mariamne had suddenly grown discontented with Poland; which\nto Mordecai himself had become a weary residence, from the ravages of\nthe French war. For some reason, unaccountable to me, said the old\nman, she set her heart upon Spain, and had now been domiciled in this\nsecluded spot for a year. But she was visibly fading away. She read\nand wrote much, and was even more attached to her harp and her flowers\nthan ever; yet declared that she had bid farewell to the world. The\nfather wept as he spoke, but his were the tears of sorrow rather than\nof anguish. They stole quietly down his cheeks, and showed that the\nstern and haughty spirit was subdued within him. I had not ventured to\nallude to Lafontaine; but the current of his own thoughts at length\nled to that forbidden topic. \"I am afraid, Mr Marston,\" said he, \"that\nI have been too harsh with my child. I looked for her alliance with\nsome of the opulent among my own kindred; or I should have rejoiced if\nyour regards had been fixed on her, and hers on you. And in those\ndreams, I forgot that the affections must choose for themselves. I had\nno objection to the young Frenchman, but that he was a stranger, and\nwas poor.--Yet are not we ourselves strangers? and if he was poor, was\nnot I rich? But all is over now; and I shall only have to follow my\npoor Mariamne, where I should have much rather preceded her,--to the\ngrave.\"\n\nI now requested to see Mariamne. She met me with almost a cry of joy,\nand with a cheek of sudden crimson; but, when the first flush passed\naway, her looks gave painful proof of the effect of solitude and\nsorrow. The rounded beauty of her cheek was gone, her eyes, once\ndancing with every emotion, were fixed and hollow, and her frame, once\nremarkable for symmetry, was thin and feeble. But, her heart was\nbuoyant still, and when I talked of past scenes and recollections, her\neye sparkled once more. Still, her manner was changed--it was softer\nand less capricious; her language, even her voice, was subdued; and\nmore than once I saw a tear stealing on her eye. At length, after\nhearing some slight detail of her wanderings, and her fears that the\ntroubles of Spain might drive her from a country in whose genial\nclimate and flowery fields \"she had hoped to end her days;\" I\nincidentally asked--whether, in all her wanderings, she had heard of\n\"my friend, Lafontaine.\" How impossible is it to deceive the instinct\nof the female heart! The look which she gave me, the searching glance\nof her fine eyes, which flashed with all their former lustre, and the\nsudden quivering of her lip, told me how deeply his image was fixed in\nher recollection. She saw at once that I had tidings of her lover; and\nshe hung upon the hand which I held out to her, with breathless and\nbeseeching anxiety. After some precautions, I revealed to her the\nfacts--that he was as faithfully devoted to her as ever, and--that he\nwas even under her roof!\n\nI leave the rest of her story to be conjectured. I shall only say,\nthat I saw her made happy; the burden taken off her spirits which had\nexhausted her frame; her former vivacity restored, her eye sparkling\nonce more; and even the heart of her father cheered, and acknowledging\n\"that there was happiness in the world, if men did not mar it for\nthemselves.\" The \"course of true love\" had, at last, \"run smooth.\" I\nwas present at the marriage of Lafontaine. The trials of fortune had\nbeen of infinite service to _him_; they had sobered his eccentricity,\ntaught him the value of a quiet mind, and prepared him for that\nmanlier career which belongs to the husband and the father. I left\nthem, thanking me in all the language of gratitude, promising to visit\nme in England.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy mission to the junta was speedily and successfully accomplished.\nSpain, in want of every thing but that which no subsidy could supply,\na determination to die in the last intrenchment, was offered arms,\nammunition, and the aid of an English army. In her pride, and yet a\npride which none could blame, she professed herself able to conquer by\nher own intrepidity. Later experience showed her, by many a suffering,\nthe value of England as the guide, sustainer, and example of her\nnational strength. But Spain had still the gallant distinction of\nbeing the first nation which, as one man, dared to defy the conqueror\nof all the great military powers of the Continent. The sieges of\nSaragossa and Gerona will immortalize the courage of the Spanish\nsoldier; the guerilla campaigns will immortalize the courage of the\nSpanish peasant; and the memorable confession of the French Emperor,\nthat \"Spain was his greatest error, and his ultimate ruin,\" is a\ntestimonial more lasting than the proudest trophy, to the magnanimous\nwarfare of the Peninsula.\n\nThis was the Crisis. The spirit of the whole European war now assumed\na bolder, loftier, and more triumphant form. A sudden conviction\nfilled the general heart, that the fortunes of the field were about to\nchange. Nations which had, till then, been only emulous in prostration\nto the universal conqueror, now assumed the port of courage, prepared\ntheir arms, and longed to try their cause again in battle. The outcry\nof Spain, answered by the trumpet of England, pierced to the depths of\nthat dungeon in which the intrigue and the power of France had\nlaboured to inclose the continental nations. The war of the Revolution\nhas already found historians, of eloquence and knowledge worthy of so\nmagnificent an era of human change. But, to me, the chief interest\narose from its successive developments of the European mind. The whole\nperiod was a continued awakening of faculties, hitherto almost\nunknown, in the great body of the people. The first burst of the\nRevolution, like the first use of gunpowder, had only shown the\nboundless force of a new element of destruction. The Spanish\ninsurrection showed its protecting and preservative power. The\ntremendous energy which seemed to defy all control, was there seen\neffecting the highest results of national defence, and giving proof of\nthe irresistible strength provided in the population of _every_ land.\nWhat nation of Europe does not possess a million of men for its\ndefence; and what invader could confront a million of men on their own\nsoil? Let this truth be felt, and aggression becomes hopeless, and war\nceases to exist among men.\n\nFor the first time in the history of war, it was discovered, that the\ntrue force of kingdoms had been mistaken--a mistake which had lasted\nfor a thousand years; that armies were but splendid machines; and\nthat, while they might be crushed by the impulse of machines more\nrapid, stronger, and more skilfully urged, nothing could crush the\nvigour of defence, while it was supplied by a people.\n\nThe _levee en masse_ of France was but the rudest, as it was the\nearliest, form of the new discovery. There, terror was the moving\nprinciple. The conscription was the recruiting-officer. The guillotine\nwas the commander who manoeuvred the generals, the troops, and the\nnation. Yet, the revolutionary armies differed in nothing from the\nmonarchical, but in the superiority of their numbers, and the\ninferiority of their discipline.\n\nThe war of Spain was another, and a nobler advance. It was the war of\na nation. In France the war was the conspiracy of a faction. In Spain\nthe loss of the capital only inflamed the hostility of the provinces.\nIn France the loss of the capital would have extinguished the\nRevolution; as it afterwards extinguished the Empire. I think that I\ncan see the provision for a still bolder and more beneficent advance,\neven in those powerful developments of national capabilities. It will,\nperhaps, be left to other nations. Spain and France have a yoke upon\ntheir minds, which will disqualify them both from acting the nobler\npart of guides to Europe. Superstition contains in itself the canker\nof slavery; perfect freedom is essential to perfect power; and the\nnation which, from the cradle, prostrates itself to the priest, must\nretain the early flexure of its spine. The great experiment must be\nreserved for a nobler public mind; for a people religious without\nfanaticism, and free without licentiousness; honouring the wisdom of\ntheir fathers, without rejecting the wisdom of the living age;\naspiring but to the ministration of universal good, and feeling that\nits opulence, knowledge, and grandeur are only gifts for mankind.\n\nThe system of the war was now fully established. All the feelings of\nEngland were fixed on the Peninsula, and all the politics of her\nstatesmen and their rivals were alike guided by the course of the\nconflict. The prediction was gallantly fulfilled--that the French\nempire would there expose its flank to English intrepidity; that the\nbreaching battery which was to open the way to Paris, would be fixed\non the Pyrenees; that the true sign of conquest was the banner of\nEngland.\n\nThe battle of the Ministry was fought in Spain, and as victoriously as\nthe battle of our army. We saw Opposition gradually throw away its\narms, and gradually diminish in the popular view, until its existence\nwas scarcely visible. Successive changes varied the cabinet, but none\nshook its stability. Successive ministers sank into the grave, but the\nministry stood. The spirit of the nation, justly proud of its\ntriumphs, disdained to listen to the whispers of a party, who murmured\ndefeat with victory before their eyes; who conjured up visions of\nruin, only to be rebuked by realities of triumph; and to whom the\nnational scorn of pusillanimity, and the national rejoicing in the\nproudest success, could not unteach the language of despair. Perceval,\nthe overthrower of the Foxite ministry, perished; but the political\nsystem of the cabinet remained unchanged. Castlereaghperished--Liverpool\nperished; but the political system still remained. The successive\npilots might give up the helm, but the course of the great vessel\ncontinued the same--guided by the same science, and making her way\nthrough sunshine, and through storm, to the same point of destination.\n\nThe three successive ministers were men of high ability for\ngovernment, though their character of ability exhibited the most\nremarkable distinctions. Perceval had been a lawyer, and had risen to\nthe rank of attorney-general. In the House, he carried the acuteness,\nthe logic, and even the manner, of his profession with him. Without\npretending to the power of eloquence, he singularly possessed the\npower of conviction; without effecting changes in the theory of the\nconstitution, he put its truths in a new light; and without a trace of\nbigotry, he defended, with conscientious vigour, the rights of the\nnational religion. Sustaining a bold struggle at the head of the\nfeeblest minority perhaps ever known in Parliament, he had shown\nunshaken courage and undismayed principle in the day of the Foxite\nsupremacy. This defence was at length turned into assault, and his\nopponents were driven from power. His ministry was too brief for his\nfame. But, when he fell by the hand of a maniac, he left a universal\nimpression on the mind of the empire, that the blow had deprived it of\na great ministerial mind.\n\nLord Castlereagh exhibited a character of a totally different order,\nyet equally fitted for his time. An Irishman, he had the habitual\nintrepidity of his countrymen, combined with the indefatigable\ndiligence of England. Nobly connected, and placed high in public life\nby that connexion, he showed himself capable of sustaining his\nministerial rank by personal capacity. Careless of the style of his\nspeeches, he was yet a grave, solid, and fully-informed debater. But\nit was in the council that his value to the country was most\nacknowledged. His conception of the rights, the influence, and the\nservices of England, was lofty; and, when the period came for deciding\non her rank in the presence of continental diplomacy, he was her\nchosen, and her successful, representative. His natural place was\namong the councils of camps, where sovereigns were the soldiers. The\n\"march to Paris\" was due to his courage; and the first fall of\nNapoleon was effected by the ambassador of England.\n\nLord Liverpool was a man equally fitted for his time. The war had\ntriumphantly closed. But, a period of perturbed feelings and financial\nnecessities followed. It required in the minister a combination of\nsound sense and practical vigour--of deference for the public\nfeelings, yet respect for the laws--of promptitude in discovering\nnational resources, and yet of firmness in repelling factious change.\nThe head of the cabinet possessed those qualities. Without brilliancy,\nwithout eloquence, without accomplished literature; still, no man\nformed his views with a clearer intelligence; and no man pursued them\nwith more steady determination. Perhaps disdaining the glitter of\npopularity, no minister, for the last half century, had been so\nsingularly exempt from all the sarcasms of public opinion. The nation\nrelied on his sincerity, honoured his purity of principle, and\nwillingly confided its safety to hands which none believed capable of\na stain.\n\nBut the characters of those three ministers were striking in a still\nhigher point of view. Their qualities seem to have been expressly\nconstructed to meet the peculiar exigency of their times.\nPerceval--acute, strict, and with strong religious conceptions--to\nmeet a period, when religious laxity in the cabinet had already\nenfeebled the defence of the national religion. Castlereagh--stately,\nbold, and high-toned--to meet a period, when the fate of Europe was to\nbe removed from cabinets to the field, and when he was to carry the\nwill of England among assembled monarchs. Liverpool--calm, rational,\nand practical; the man of conscience and common sense--for the period,\nwhen the great questions of religion had been quieted, the great\nquestions of the war had died with the war, and when the supreme\ndifficulty of government was, to reconcile the pressure of financial\nexigency with the progress of the people--to invigorate the public\nframe without inflaming it by dangerous innovation--and to reconstruct\nthe whole commercial constitution, without infringing on those\nprinciples which had founded the prosperity of the empire.\n\nAt length the consummation came: the French empire fell on the field\nby the hand of England. All the sovereigns of Europe rushed in to\nstrip the corpse, and each carried back a portion of the spoils. But\nthe conqueror was content with the triumph, and asked no more of glory\nthan the liberation of mankind.\n\nWhile all was public exultation for this crowning event, fortune had\nnot neglected to reward the gentler virtues of one worthy of its\nnoblest gifts. In my first campaign with the Prussian troops in\nFrance, I had intrusted to the care of the old domestic whom I found\nin the Chateau de Montauban, an escritoire and a picture, belonging to\nthe family of Clotilde. The old man had disappeared; and I took it for\ngranted that he had been plundered, or had died.\n\nBut one day, after my return from one of those splendid entertainments\nwith which the Regent welcomed the Allied sovereigns, I found Clotilde\ndeeply agitated. The picture of her relative was before her, and she\nwas gazing at its singularly expressive and lovely countenance with\nintense interest.\n\nShe flew into my arms. \"I have longed for your coming,\" said she, with\nglowing lips and tearful eyes, \"to offer at least one proof of\ngratitude for years of the truest protection, and the most generous\nlove. Michelle, the husband of my nurse, has arrived; and he tells me,\nthat this escritoire contains the title-deeds of my family. I was\nresolved that you alone should open it. In the frame of that picture,\nin a secret drawer, is the key.\" The spring was touched, the key was\nfound; and in the little chest was discovered, untouched by chance or\ntime, the document entitling my beautiful and high-hearted wife to one\nof the finest possessions in France. By a singular instance of good\nfortune, the property had not been alienated, like so many of the\nestates of the noblesse; and it now lay open to the claims of the\noriginal proprietorship. I hastened to Paris. My claim was\nacknowledged by the returned Bourbon, and Clotilde had the delight of\nonce more sitting under the vine and the fig-tree of her ancestors.\nThe old domestic had made it the business of years to obtain the means\nof reaching England. But the war had placed obstacles in his way every\nwhere, and he devoted himself thenceforth to the guardianship of his\nprecious deposit, as the duty of his life. He was almost pathetic, in\nhis narration of the hazards to which it had been exposed in the\nperpetual convulsions of the country, and in the rejoicing with which\nhe felt himself at last enabled to place it in the hands of its\nrightful mistress, the last descendant of the noble house of De\nTourville.--But I had still to experience another gift of fortune.\n\nOn the evening of my birth-day, Clotilde had given a rustic fete to\nthe children of her tenantry; and all were dancing in front of the\nchateau, with the gaiety and with the grace which nature seems to have\nconferred as an especial gift on even the humblest classes of France.\n\nThe day was one of the luxury of summer. The landscape before me was a\nrich extent of plain and hill; the fragrance of the vast gardens of\nthe chateau as rising as the twilight approached; my infants were\nclustering round my knee; and in that thankfulness of heart, which is\nnot less sincere for its not being expressed in words, I came to the\nconclusion, that no access of wealth, or of honours, could add to my\nsubstantial happiness at that hour.\n\nMy reverie was broken by the sound of a _caleche_ driving up the\navenue. A courier alighted from it, who brought a letter with a black\nseal, addressed to me. It was from the family solicitor. My noble\nbrother had died in Madeira; where he had gone in the hopeless attempt\nto recruit a frame which he had exhausted by a life of excess. In that\nhour, I gave him the regrets which belonged to the tie of blood. I\nforgot his selfishness, and forgave his alienation. I thought of him\nonly as the remembered playfellow of my early days; and could say in\nheart--\"Alas, my brother!\" The landscape before me at last sank into\nnight; and with feelings darkened like it, yet calm and still, I saw\nthe closing of a day which, painful as was the cause, yet called me to\nnew duties, gave me a stronger hold upon society, and placed me in\nthat position which I fully believe to combine more of the true\nmaterials of happiness and honour than any other on earth--that of an\nopulent English nobleman.\n\nMy brother, dying childless, had devolved the family estates to me,\ndisburdened of the results of his prodigality; but I had still much to\noccupy me, in restoring them from the neglect of years. The life of\nthe member of government was now to alternate with the life of the\ncountry gentleman; and my transfer to the House of Peers gave me the\ncomparative leisure, essential to the fulfilment of the large and\nliberal duties which belong to the English landholder. To cheer the\ncountry life by rational hospitality; to make friends of those whom\nnature had made dependents; to sustain those laws which had turned\nEngland into a garden; and to protect that \"bold peasantry,\" who ought\nto be the pride, as they are the strength of their country; to excite\nthe country gentlemen to the scientific study of the noblest of all\narts, as it was the first, the cultivation of the soil; to maintain\namong that gallant race a high sense of their purposes, their powers,\nand their position; to invigorate the principles which had made them\nthe surest defenders of the throne in its day of adversity; and to fix\nin their minds by example, more effectual than precept, a solemn\nfidelity to the faith and to the freedom of their forefathers:--these\nwere the objects which I proposed to myself, and which the loftiest\nintellect, or the amplest opulence, might be well employed in\nattempting to fulfil.\n\nThose objects had been placed before England, from the day when the\nlight of the Reformation broke through the darkness of a thousand\nyears, and her brow was first designed for the diadem. By those she\nwas made the universal protector of Europe, in its day of fugitive\nprinces and falling thrones; and by those alone will be erected round\nher, if she shall remain true to her allegiance, a wall of fire, in\nthe days of that approaching contest which shall bring the powers of\ngood and evil front to front, in strength and hostility unknown\nbefore, and consummate the wars of the world.\n\nYet with those tranquil and retired pursuits, I still took my share in\nthe activity of public life. I was still minister, and bore my part in\nthe discussions of the legislature. But the great questions which had\nonce sounded in my ear, like the call to battle in the ear of the\nwarrior, had passed away. The minds that \"rode in the whirlwind, and\nruled the storm,\" had vanished with the storm. The surge had gone\ndown; and neither the dangers of my earlier day, nor the powers which\nwere summoned to resist them, were to be found in the living\ngeneration. Yet, let it not be thought that I regard the mind of\nEngland as exhausted, or even as exhaustible. The only distinction\nbetween the periods is, that one gave the impulse, and that the other\nonly continues it. When peril comes again, we shall again see the\ndevelopment of power. We might as well doubt the existence of\nlightning, because the day is serene, the sun shining, and no cloud\nrolls across the heaven. But when the balance of the elements demands\nto be restored, we shall again be dazzled by the flash, and awed by\nthe thunder.\n\nBut time has taught me additional lessons. I have learned to see a\nhand, in all its clouds, which guides man and kingdoms with more than\nhuman power. In these remembrances, I have spoken but little of\nreligion. It belongs to the chamber more than to the council; and it\nis less honoured than humiliated by being brought idly before men. But\nby that light I have been able to see, where subtler minds have been\nblind. The man may be bewildered by the glare of the torch in his\nhand, who would have found his way by trusting to the milder lustre of\nthe stars. In the great war of our time, the greatest since the fall\nof the Roman empire--the war of the French Revolution--I think, that I\ncan trace a divine protection, distinctly given to England as the\nchampion of justice, honour, and religion. I offer but the outline of\nthis view; but to me the proof is demonstrative.--In every instance in\nwhich France aimed an especial blow at England, that blow was retorted\nby an especial retribution; while her assaults on the continental\nkingdoms were made with triumphant impunity.\n\nI give the examples.--The French expedition to Egypt was formed with\nthe express object of breaking down the influence of England in the\nEast, and ultimately subverting her Indian empire--that expedition was\nthe _first_ which tarnished the military renown of the Republic, cost\nher a fleet, and lost her an army. Of the army which Napoleon led to\nEgypt, not a battalion returned to Europe but as the prisoners of\nEngland!\n\nThe French invasion of Spain was a blow aimed _expressly_ at England.\nIts object was the invasion of England--the Spanish war broke down the\nmilitary renown of the Empire, and was pronounced by Napoleon to be\nthe origin of his ruin!\n\nThe invasion of Russia was a blow aimed _expressly_ at England. Its\nobject was the extinction of English commerce in the whole sea-line of\nthe north--that invasion was punished, by the ruin of the whole\nveteran army of France!\n\nNapoleon himself at length met the troops of England. He met them with\nan arrogant assumption of victory--\"Ah! je les tiens, ces Anglais.\"\nNever was presumption more deeply punished. This single conflict\n_destroyed_ him; his laurels, his diadem, and his dynasty, were\nblasted together!\n\nIt is not less memorable, that during the entire Revolutionary war,\nFrance was never suffered to inflict an injury on England; with one\nexception--the perfidious seizure of the English travelling in the\nFrench territories under the safeguard of the Imperial passports. But\nthis, too, had its punishment--and one of the most especial and\ncharacteristic retribution--Napoleon himself was sent to a dungeon! By\na fate unheard of even among fallen princes, the man who had\ntreacherously made prisoners of the English was himself made a\nprisoner, was delivered into English hands, was consigned to captivity\nin an English island, and died the prisoner of England!\n\nI speak of events like these, not in the spirit of superstition, nor\nin the fond presumption of being an interpreter of the mysterious ways\nof Providence. I record them, in a full consciousness of the\nimmeasurable distance between the intellect of man and the wisdom of\nthe supreme Disposer. But they convey, at least to my own feelings, a\nconfidence, a solemn security, a calm yet ardent conviction, that\nchance has no share in the government of the world; that the great\ntide of things, in its rise and fall, has laws, which, if unapproached\nby the feebleness of human faculties, are not the less true, vast, and\nimperishable; that if, like the air, the agency of that ruling and\nboundless authority is invisible, we may yet feel its existence in its\neffects, rejoice in the acknowledgment of a power which nothing can\nexhaust, and take to our bosoms the high consolation, that the good of\nman is the supreme principle of the system.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMen actively employed in public life, are strangely apt to think that\nthere is no progress outside their circle. But, on my return to\nMortimer Castle, I found this conception amply confuted. The world had\nmoved as rapidly in those shades, as in the centre of cabinets and\ncourts. Time had done its work, in changing the condition of almost\nevery human being whom I had known in my early days. The brothers and\nsisters, whom I had left children, were now in the full beauty of\ntheir prime; my brothers showy and stirring youths; my sisters fair\nand gentle girls, just reaching that period of life when the\ncountenance and mind are in their bloom together, and the highborn\nwoman of England is the loveliest perhaps in the world. The\nextravagance of my elder brother had dilapidated the provision\nintended for the younger branches of his house. My habits, learned in\na sterner school, enabled me to retrieve their fortunes, and I thus\nsecured a new tie to their regards. Justice is essential to all\ngratitude, and I found them ready to pay the tribute, to the full.\n\nAmong my first visits was one to my old friend and tutor, Vincent. I\nfound him still resident on his living; and with spirits, on which\ntime had wrought no change. Years had passed lightly over his head.\nHis eye was as vivid, and his mind as active as ever. He perhaps\nstooped a little more, and his frame had lost something of that\nelasticity of step which had so often tried my young nerves in our\nramblings over the hills. But he was the same cordial, animated, and\nhigh-toned being, in all his feelings, that I had seen him from the\nfirst hour. I found him in his garden, arranging, selecting, and\nenjoying his flower-beds with all the spirit of a horticulturist. But\nhe apologised for what he termed, \"its disorder.\" \"For,\" said he, \"I\nhave lost all my gardeners.\" On my looking doubtful, \"All my girls,\"\nsaid he, \"are gone; all married; all wedded to one neighbour or\nanother. Such is the way in which I have been left alone.\" I made my\ncondolences on his solitude, in due form. \"Yet I am not quite\nsolitary,\" added the gay old man, \"after all; or my solitude depends\nupon myself. My girls are all married to our squires, honest fellows,\nand some of them well enough off in the world. But I made a\nstipulation, that none of them should marry out of sight from the\ngazebo on the top of yonder hill; and when I want their company, I\nhave only to hoist a flag. You see that I have not altogether\nforgotten my days of the sabre and the signal-post; my telegraph works\nwell, and I have them all trooping over here with the regularity of a\nsquadron.\"\n\nThe approach of winter made the castle a scene of increased\nliveliness. I had always looked with strong distaste on the habit of\nflying to watering-places at the season when the presence of the\nleading families of a county is most important to the comforts of the\ntenantry, and to the intelligent and social intercourse of the higher\nranks. I sent a request to Lafontaine and his wife, that they should\nperform their \"covenant,\" and venture to see \"how English life\ncontrived to get through the dulness of its Decembers.\" My request was\ncountersigned by Clotilde, and this was irresistible. They came, and\nwere received with a joyous welcome. They too had undergone a change.\nLafontaine was graver, and was much the better for his gravity. He was\nnow the sincere and kind-hearted being for which nature had intended\nhim. The coxcombry of French early life had disappeared, and left\nbehind it only that general grace and spirit which makes the maturity\nof a foreign life its most interesting portion. Mariamne was still\nmore advantageously changed. Her wild vivacity was less subdued than\ntransformed into elegance of manner; her features were still handsome,\ntravel had given her knowledge, and her natural talents had been\ncultivated by the solitary hours, in which but for that cultivation\nshe might have sunk into the grave. She had brought with her, too,\nanother remembrance, and one of that order which produces the most\npowerful effect upon the whole character of woman. She had brought her\nfirst-born, a lovely infant, in which her whole soul seemed to be\nabsorbed, and in which she already discovered more beauties and good\nqualities than fate or fortune had ever given to human nature. But the\ncentre of our circle, and the admiration and love of all, sat my wife,\nmy generous, noble, pure-spirited Clotilde. Time, too, had wrought its\nchange on her; but it was only to give her deeper claims on the\nfeelings of a heart which could not imagine happiness without her. The\nheroine had wholly disappeared, and given place to the woman; the\ncharacter of resistance to the shocks and frowns of fortune, which\nadversity had made essential perhaps to her being, had passed away\nwith her day of suffering. She was now soft, mild, tender, and\nconfiding. She often reminded me of some of those plants which, when\nexposed to the storm, contract and diminish their form and foliage;\nbut, when sheltered, resume their original luxuriance and loveliness.\nClotilde, in the sufferings of the emigration, in the terrors of the\nRevolution, and in the march through the Vendee, might have perished,\nbut for that loftiness of soul which was awakened by the exigency of\nthe trial. But now, surrounded with all the security of rank, and with\nopulence for her enjoyment, and with love to cherish her, she\ndisplayed the force of her nature only in the fondness of her\naffections. Thus surrounded, thus cheered, thus looked up to by beings\nwhom I loved; what had I to ask for more? Nothing. I here close my\npage of life. I still vividly retain all the sense of duty, all the\nfeeling of patriotism, and all the consciousness, that age will\nneither dull my heart towards those whom I have so long loved, nor\nshut up theirs to me. I believe in the possibility of friendship\nuntainted by selfishness, and I am firm in the faith, of love that\nknows no decline. I look round me, and am serenely happy. I look above\nme, and am sacredly thankful.\n\n\n\n\nHOW WE GOT UP THE GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY, AND HOW WE GOT OUT OF IT.\n\n\nI was confoundedly hard up. My patrimony, never of the largest, had\nbeen for the last year on the decrease--a herald would have emblazoned\nit, \"ARGENT, a money-bag improper, in detriment\"--and though the\nattenuating process was not excessively rapid, it was, nevertheless,\nproceeding at a steady ratio. As for the ordinary means and appliances\nby which men contrive to recruit their exhausted exchequers, I knew\nnone of them. Work I abhorred with a detestation worthy of a scion of\nnobility; and, I believe, you could just as soon have persuaded the\nlineal representative of the Howards or Percys to exhibit himself in\nthe character of a mountebank, as have got me to trust my person on\nthe pinnacle of a three-legged stool. The rule of three is all very\nwell for base mechanical souls; but I flatter myself I have an\nintellect too large to be limited to a ledger. \"Augustus,\" said my\npoor mother to me, one day while stroking my hyacinthine\ntresses--\"Augustus, my dear boy, whatever you do, never forget that\nyou are a gentleman.\" The maternal maxim sunk deeply into my heart,\nand I never for a moment have forgotten it.\n\nNotwithstanding this aristocratical resolution, the great practical\nquestion, \"How am I to live?\" began to thrust itself unpleasantly\nbefore me. I am one of that unfortunate class who have neither uncles\nnor aunts. For me, no yellow liverless individual, with characteristic\nbamboo and pigtail--emblems of half a million--returned to his native\nshores from Ceylon or remote Penang. For me, no venerable spinster\nhoarded in the Trongate, permitting herself few luxuries during a\nlong-protracted life, save a lass and a lanthorn, a parrot, and the\ninvariable baudrons of antiquity. No such luck was mine. Had all\nGlasgow perished by some vast epidemic, I should not have found myself\none farthing the richer. There would have been no golden balsam for me\nin the accumulated woes of Tradestown, Shettleston, and Camlachie. The\ntime has been when--according to Washington Irving and other veracious\nhistorians--a young man had no sooner got into difficulties than a\nguardian angel appeared to him in a dream, with the information that\nat such and such a bridge, or under such and such a tree, he might\nfind, at a slight expenditure of labour, a gallipot secured with\nbladder, and filled with glittering tomauns; or in the extremity of\ndespair, the youth had only to append himself to a cord, and\nstraightaway the other end thereof, forsaking its staple in the roof,\nwould disclose amidst the fractured ceiling the glories of a\nprofitable pose. These blessed days have long since gone by--at any\nrate, no such luck was mine. My guardian angel was either woefully\nignorant of metallurgy, or the stores had been surreptitiously\nransacked; and as to the other expedient, I frankly confess I should\nhave liked some better security for its result, than the precedent of\nthe \"Heir of Lynn.\"\n\nIt is a great consolation amidst all the evils of life, to know that,\nhowever bad your circumstances may be, there is always somebody else\nin nearly the same predicament. My chosen friend and ally, Bob\nM'Corkindale, was equally hard up with myself, and, if possible, more\naverse to exertion. Bob was essentially a speculative man--that is, in\na philosophical sense. He had once got hold of a stray volume of Adam\nSmith, and muddled his brains for a whole week over the intricacies of\nthe _Wealth of Nations_. The result was a crude farrago of notions\nregarding the true nature of money, the soundness of currency, and\nrelative value of capital, with which he nightly favoured an admiring\naudience at \"The Crow;\" for Bob was by no means--in the literal\nacceptation of the word--a dry philosopher. On the contrary, he\nperfectly appreciated the merits of each distinct distillery; and was\nunderstood to be the compiler of a statistical work, entitled, _A Tour\nthrough the Alcoholic Districts of Scotland_. It had very early\noccurred to me, who knew as much of political economy as of the\nbagpipes, that a gentleman so well versed in the art of accumulating\nnational wealth, must have some remote ideas of applying his\nprinciples profitably on a smaller scale. Accordingly, I gave\nM'Corkindale an unlimited invitation to my lodgings; and, like a good\nhearty fellow as he was, he availed himself every evening of the\nlicense; for I had laid in a fourteen gallon cask of Oban whisky, and\nthe quality of the malt was undeniable.\n\nThese were the first glorious days of general speculation. Railroads\nwere emerging from the hands of the greater into the fingers of the\nlesser capitalists. Two successful harvests had given a fearful\nstimulus to the national energy; and it appeared perfectly certain\nthat all the populous towns would be united, and the rich agricultural\ndistricts intersected, by the magical bands of iron. The columns of\nthe newspapers teemed every week with the parturition of novel\nschemes; and the shares were no sooner announced than they were\nrapidly subscribed for. But what is the use of my saying any thing\nmore about the history of last year? Every one of us remembers it\nperfectly well. It was a capital year on the whole, and put money into\nmany a pocket. About that time, Bob and I commenced operations. Our\navailable capital, or negotiable bullion, in the language of my\nfriend, amounted to about three hundred pounds, which we set aside as\na joint fund for speculation. Bob, in a series of learned discourses,\nhad convinced me that it was not only folly, but a positive sin, to\nleave this sum lying in the bank at a pitiful rate of interest, and\notherwise unemployed, whilst every one else in the kingdom was having\na pluck at the public pigeon. Somehow or other, we were unlucky in our\nfirst attempts. Speculators are like wasps; for when they have once\ngot hold of a ripening and peach-like project, they keep it rigidly\nfor their own swarm, and repel the approach of interlopers.\nNotwithstanding all our efforts, and very ingenious ones they were, we\nnever, in a single instance, succeeded in procuring an allocation of\noriginal shares; and though we did now and then make a hit by\npurchase, we more frequently bought at a premium, and parted with our\nscrip at a discount. At the end of six months, we were not twenty\npounds richer than before.\n\n\"This will never do,\" said Bob, as he sat one evening in my rooms\ncompounding his second tumbler. \"I thought we were living in an\nenlightened age; but I find I was mistaken. That brutal spirit of\nmonopoly is still abroad and uncurbed. The principles; of free-trade\nare utterly forgotten, or misunderstood. Else how comes it that David\nSpreul received but yesterday an allocation of two hundred shares in\nthe Westermidden Junction; whilst your application and mine, for a\nthousand each, were overlooked? Is this a state of things to be\ntolerated? Why should he, with his fifty thousand pounds, receive a\nslapping premium, whilst our three hundred of available capital\nremains unrepresented? The fact is monstrous, and demands the\nimmediate and serious interference of the legislature.\"\n\n\"It is a bloody shame,\" said I, fully alive to the manifold advantages\nof a premium.\n\n\"I'll tell you what, Dunshunner,\" rejoined M'Corkindale, \"it's no use\ngoing on in this way. We haven't shown half pluck enough. These\nfellows consider us as snobs, because we don't take the bull by the\nhorns. Now's the time for a bold stroke. The public are quite ready to\nsubscribe for any thing--and we'll start a railway for ourselves.\"\n\n\"Start a railway with three hundred pounds of capital!\"\n\n\"Pshaw, man! you don't know what you're talking about--we've a great\ndeal more capital than that. Have not I told you seventy times over,\nthat every thing a man has--his coat, his hat, the tumblers he drinks\nfrom, nay, his very corporeal existence--is absolute marketable\ncapital? What do you call that fourteen-gallon cask, I should like to\nknow?\"\n\n\"A compound of hoops and staves, containing about a quart and a half\nof spirits--you have effectually accounted for the rest.\"\n\n\"Then it has gone to the fund of profit and loss, that's all. Never\nlet me hear you sport those old theories again. Capital is\nindestructible, as I am ready to prove to you any day, in half an\nhour. But let us sit down seriously to business. We are rich enough\nto pay for the advertisements, and that is all we need care for in the\nmean time. The public is sure to step in, and bear us out handsomely\nwith the rest.\"\n\n\"But where in the face of the habitable globe shall the railway be?\nEngland is out of the question, and I hardly know a spot in the\nLowlands that is not occupied already.\"\n\n\"What do you say to a Spanish scheme--the Alcantara Union? Hang me if\nI know whether Alcantara is in Spain or Portugal; but nobody else\ndoes, and the one is quite as good as the other. Or what would you\nthink of the Palermo Railway, with a branch to the sulphur\nmines?--that would be popular in the North--or the Pyrenees Direct?\nThey would all go to a premium.\"\n\n\"I must confess I should prefer a line at home.\"\n\n\"Well, then, why not try the Highlands? There must be lots of traffic\nthere in the shape of sheep, grouse, and Cockney tourists, not to\nmention salmon and other et ceteras. Couldn't we tip them a railway\nsomewhere in the west?\"\n\n\"There's Glenmutchkin, for instance\"----\n\n\"Capital, my dear fellow! Glorious! By Jove, first-rate!\" shouted Bob\nin an ecstasy of delight. \"There's a distillery there, you know, and a\nfishing village at the foot; at least there used to be six years ago,\nwhen I was living with the exciseman. There may be some bother about\nthe population, though. The last laird shipped every mother's son of\nthe original Celts to America; but, after all, that's not of much\nconsequence. I see the whole thing! Unrivalled scenery--stupendous\nwaterfalls--herds of black cattle--spot where Prince Charles Edward\nmet Macgrugar of Glengrugar and his clan! We could not possibly have\nlighted on a more promising place. Hand us over that sheet of paper,\nlike a good fellow, and a pen. There is no time to be lost, and the\nsooner we get out the prospectus the better.\"\n\n\"But, Heaven bless you, Bob, there's a great deal to be thought of\nfirst. Who are we to get for a provisional committee?\"\n\n\"That's very true,\" said Bob musingly. \"We _must_ treat them to some\nrespectable names, that is, good sounding ones. I'm afraid there is\nlittle chance of our producing a Peer to begin with?\"\n\n\"None whatever--unless we could invent one, and that's hardly\nsafe--_Burke's Peerage_ has gone through too many editions. Couldn't\nwe try the Dormants?\"\n\n\"That would be rather dangerous in the teeth of the standing orders.\nBut what do you say to a baronet? There's Sir Polloxfen Tremens. He\ngot himself served the other day to a Nova Scotia baronetcy, with just\nas much title as you or I have; and he has sported the riband, and\ndined out on the strength of it ever since. He'll join us at once, for\nhe has not a sixpence to lose.\"\n\n\"Down with him, then,\" and we headed the Provisional list with the\npseudo Orange-tawney.\n\n\"Now,\" said Bob, \"it's quite indispensable, as this is a Highland\nline, that we should put forward a Chief or two. That has always a\ngreat effect upon the English, whose feudal notions are rather of the\nmistiest, and principally derived from Waverley.\"\n\n\"Why not write yourself down as the Laird of M'Corkindale?\" said I. \"I\ndaresay you would not be negatived by a counter-claim.\"\n\n\"That would hardly do,\" replied Bob, \"as I intend to be Secretary.\nAfter all, what's the use of thinking about it? Here goes for an\nextempore Chief,\" and the villain wrote down the name of Tavish\nM'Tavish of Invertavish.\n\n\"I say, though,\" said I, \"we must have a real Highlander on the list.\nIf we go on this way, it will become a Justiciary matter.\"\n\n\"You're devilish scrupulous, Gus,\" said Bob, who, if left to himself,\nwould have stuck in the names of the heathen gods and godesses, or\nborrowed his directors from the Ossianic chronicles, rather than have\ndelayed the prospectus. \"Where the mischief are we to find the men? I\ncan think of no others likely to go the whole hog; can you?\"\n\n\"I don't know a single Celt in Glasgow except old M'Closkie, the\ndrunken porter at the corner of Jamaica Street.\"\n\n\"He's the very man! I suppose, after the manner of his tribe, he will\ndo any thing for a pint of whisky. But what shall we call him? Jamaica\nStreet, I fear, will hardly do for a designation.\"\n\n\"Call him THE M'CLOSKIE. It will be sonorous in the ears of the\nSaxon!\"\n\n\"Bravo!\" and another Chief was added to the roll of the clans.\n\n\"Now,\" said Bob, \"we must put you down. Recollect, all the\nmanagement--that is, the allocation--will be entrusted to you.\nAugustus--you haven't a middle name I think?--well, then, suppose we\ninterpolate 'Reginald;' it has a smack of the Crusades. Augustus\nReginald Dunshunner, Esq. of ---- where, in the name of Munchausen?\"\n\n\"I'm sure I don't know. I never had any land beyond the contents of a\nflower-pot. Stay--I rather think I have a superiority somewhere about\nPaisley.\"\n\n\"Just the thing,\" cried Bob. \"It's heritable property, and therefore\ntitular. What's the denomination?\"\n\n\"St Mirrens.\"\n\n\"Beautiful! Dunshunner of St Mirrens, I give you joy! Had you\ndiscovered that a little sooner--and I wonder you did not think of\nit--we might both of us have had lots of allocations. These are not\nthe times to conceal hereditary distinctions. But now comes the\nserious work. We must have one or two men of known wealth upon the\nlist. The chaff is nothing without a decoy-bird. Now, can't you help\nme with a name?\"\n\n\"In that case,\" said I, \"the game is up, and the whole scheme\nexploded. I would as soon undertake to evoke the ghost of\nCroesus.\"\n\n\"Dunshunner,\" said Bob very seriously, \"to be a man of information,\nyou are possessed of marvellous few resources. I am quite ashamed of\nyou. Now listen to me. I have thought deeply upon this subject, and am\nquite convinced that with some little trouble we may secure the\nco-operation of a most wealthy and influential body--one, too, that is\ngenerally supposed to have stood aloof from all speculation of the\nkind, and whose name would be a tower of strength in the monied\nquarters. I allude,\" continued Bob, reaching across for the kettle,\n\"to the great Dissenting Interest.\"\n\n\"The what?\" cried I aghast.\n\n\"The great Dissenting Interest. You can't have failed to observe the\nrow they have lately been making about Sunday travelling and\neducation. Old Sam Sawley, the coffin-maker, is their principal\nspokesman here; and wherever he goes the rest will follow, like a\nflock of sheep bounding after a patriarchal ram. I propose, therefore,\nto wait upon him to-morrow, and request his co-operation in a scheme\nwhich is not only to prove profitable, but to make head against the\nlax principles of the present age. Leave me alone to tickle him. I\nconsider his name, and those of one or two others belonging to the\nsame meeting-house--fellows with bank-stock, and all sorts of tin--as\nperfectly secure. These dissenters smell a premium from an almost\nincredible distance. We can fill up the rest of the committee with\nciphers, and the whole thing is done.\n\n\"But the engineer--we must announce such an officer as a matter of\ncourse.\"\n\n\"I never thought of that,\" said Bob. \"Couldn't we hire a fellow from\none of the steam-boats?\"\n\n\"I fear that might get us into trouble: You know there are such things\nas gradients and sections to be prepared. But there's Watty Solder,\nthe gasfitter, who failed the other day. He's a sort of civil engineer\nby trade, and will jump at the proposal like a trout at the tail of a\nMay fly.\"\n\n\"Agreed. Now, then, let's fix the number of shares. This is our first\nexperiment, and I think we ought to be moderate. No sound political\neconomist is avaricious. Let us say twelve thousand, at twenty pounds\na-piece.\"\n\n\"So be it.\"\n\n\"Well, then, that's arranged. I'll see Sawley and the rest to-morrow;\nsettle with Solder, and then write out the prospectus. You look in\nupon me in the evening, and we'll revise it together. Now, by your\nleave, let's have in the Welsh rabbit and another tumbler to drink\nsuccess and prosperity to the Glenmutchkin railway.\"\n\nI confess, that when I rose on the morrow, with a slight headache and\na tongue indifferently parched, I recalled to memory, not without\nperturbation of conscience, and some internal qualms, the conversation\nof the previous evening. I felt relieved, however, after two spoonfuls\nof carbonate of soda, and a glance at the newspaper, wherein I\nperceived the announcement of no less than four other schemes equally\npreposterous with our own. But, after all, what right had I to assume\nthat the Glenmutchkin project would prove an ultimate failure? I had\nnot a scrap of statistical information that might entitle me to form\nsuch an opinion. At any rate, Parliament, by substituting the Board of\nTrade as an initiating body of enquiry, had created a responsible\ntribunal, and freed us from the chance of obloquy. I saw before me a\nvision of six months' steady gambling, at manifest advantage, in the\nshares, before a report could possibly be pronounced, or our\nproceedings in any way overhauled. Of course I attended that evening\npunctually at my friend M'Corkindale's. Bob was in high feather; for\nSawley no sooner heard of the principles upon which the railway was to\nbe conducted, and his own nomination as a director, than he gave in\nhis adhesion, and promised his unflinching support to the uttermost.\nThe Prospectus ran as follows:--\n\n              \"DIRECT GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY.\n    In 12,000 Shares of L.20 each. Deposit L.1 per Share.\n              _Provisional Committee._\n    SIR POLLOXFEN TREMENS, Bart. of Toddymains.\n    TAVISH M'TAVISH of Invertavish.\n    THE M'CLOSKIE.\n    AUGUSTUS REGINALD DUNSHUNNER, Esq. of St Mirrens.\n    SAMUEL SAWLEY, Esq., Merchant.\n    MHIC-MHAC-VICH-INDUIBH.\n    PHELIM O'FINLAN, Esq. of Castle-rook, Ireland.\n    THE CAPTAIN of M'ALCOHOL.\n    FACTOR for GLENTUMBLERS.\n    JOHN JOB JOBSON, Esq., Manufacturer.\n    EVAN M'CLAW of Glenscart and Inveryewky.\n    JOSEPH HECKLES, Esq.\n    HABBAKUK GRABBIE, Portioner in Ramoth-Drumclog.\n              _Engineer_--WALTER SOLDER, Esq.\n         _Interim Secretary_--ROBERT M'CORKINDALE, Esq.\n\n     \"The necessity of a direct line of Railway communication through\n     the fertile and populous district known as the VALLEY of\n     GLENMUTCHKIN, has been long felt and universally acknowledged.\n     Independent of the surpassing grandeur of its mountain scenery,\n     which shall immediately be referred to, and other considerations\n     of even greater importance, GLENMUTCHKIN is known to the\n     capitalist as the most important BREEDING STATION in the\n     Highlands of Scotland, and indeed as the great emporium from\n     which the southern markets are supplied. It has been calculated\n     by a most eminent authority, that every acre in the strath is\n     capable of rearing twenty head of cattle; and, as has been\n     ascertained after a careful admeasurement, that there are not\n     less than TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND improvable acres immediately\n     contiguous to the proposed line of Railway, it may confidently be\n     assumed that the number of cattle to be conveyed along the line\n     will amount to FOUR MILLIONS annually, which, at the lowest\n     estimate, would yield a revenue larger, in proportion to the\n     capital subscribed, than that of any Railway as yet completed\n     within the United Kingdom. From this estimate the traffic in\n     Sheep and Goats, with which the mountains are literally covered,\n     has been carefully excluded, it having been found quite\n     impossible (from its extent) to compute the actual revenue to be\n     drawn from that most important branch. It may, however, be\n     roughly assumed as from seventeen to nineteen _per cent_ upon the\n     whole, after deduction of the working expenses.\n\n     \"The population of Glenmutchkin is extremely dense. Its situation\n     on the west coast has afforded it the means of direct\n     communication with America, of which for many years the\n     inhabitants have actively availed themselves. Indeed the amount\n     of exportation of live stock from this part of the Highlands to\n     the Western continent, has more than once attracted the\n     attention of Parliament. The Manufactures are large and\n     comprehensive, and include the most famous distilleries in the\n     world. The Minerals are most abundant, and amongst these may be\n     reckoned quartz, porphyry, felspar, malachite, manganese, and\n     basalt.\n\n     \"At the foot of the valley, and close to the sea, lies the\n     important village known as the CLACHAN of INVERSTARVE. It is\n     supposed by various eminent antiquaries to have been the capital\n     of the Picts, and, amongst the busy inroads of commercial\n     prosperity, it still retains some interesting traces of its\n     former grandeur. There is a large fishing station here, to which\n     vessels from every nation resort, and the demand for foreign\n     produce is daily and steadily increasing.\n\n     \"As a sporting country Glenmutchkin is unrivalled; but it is by\n     the tourists that its beauties will most greedily be sought.\n     These consist of every combination which plastic nature can\n     afford--cliffs of unusual magnitude and grandeur--waterfalls only\n     second to the sublime cascades of Norway--woods, of which the\n     bark is a remarkably valuable commodity. It need scarcely be\n     added, to rouse the enthusiasm inseparable from this glorious\n     glen, that here, in 1745, Prince Charles Edward Stuart, then in\n     the zenith of his hopes, was joined by the brave Sir Grugar\n     M'Grugar at the head of his devoted clan.\n\n     \"The Railway will be twelve miles long, and can be completed\n     within six months after the Act of Parliament is obtained. The\n     gradients are easy, and the curves obtuse. There are no viaducts\n     of any importance, and only four tunnels along the whole length\n     of the line. The shortest of those does not exceed a mile and a\n     half.\n\n     \"In conclusion, the projectors of this Railway beg to state that\n     they have determined, as a principle, to set their face AGAINST\n     ALL SUNDAY TRAVELLING WHATSOEVER, and to oppose EVERY BILL which\n     may hereafter be brought into Parliament, unless it shall contain\n     a clause to that effect. It is also their intention to take up\n     the cause of the poor and neglected STOKER, for whose\n     accommodation, and social, moral, religious, and intellectual\n     improvement a large stock of evangelical tracts will speedily be\n     required. Tenders of these, in quantities of not less than\n     12,000, may be sent in to the interim secretary. Shares must be\n     applied for within ten days from the present date.\n\n    \"By order of the Provisional Committee,\n    \"ROBT. M'CORKINDALE, _Secretary_.\"\n\n\n\"There!\" said Bob, slapping down the prospectus on the table, with the\njauntiness of a Cockney vouchsafing a pint of Hermitage to his\nguests--\"What do you think of that? If it doesn't do the business\neffectually, I shall submit to be called a Dutchman. That last touch\nabout the stoker will bring us in the subscriptions of the old ladies\nby the score.\"\n\n\"Very masterly, indeed,\" said I. \"But who the deuce is\nMhic-Mhac-vich-Induibh?\"\n\n\"A _bona-fide_ chief, I assure you, though a little reduced: I picked\nhim up upon the Broomielaw. His grandfather had an island somewhere to\nthe west of the Hebrides; but it is not laid down in the maps.\"\n\n\"And the Captain of M'Alcohol?\"\n\n\"A crack distiller.\"\n\n\"And the Factor for Glentumblers?\"\n\n\"His principal customer. But, bless you, my dear St Mirrens! don't\ntrouble yourself any more about the committee. They are as respectable\na set--on paper at least--as you would wish to see of a summer's\nmorning, and the beauty of it is that they will give us no manner of\ntrouble. Now about the allocation. You and I must restrict ourselves\nto a couple of thousand shares a-piece. That's only a third of the\nwhole, but it wont do to be greedy.\"\n\n\"But, Bob, consider! Where on earth are we to find the money to pay up\nthe deposits?\"\n\n\"Can you, the principal director of the Glenmutchkin Railway, ask me,\nthe secretary, such a question? Don't you know that any of the banks\nwill give us tick to the amount 'of half the deposits.' All that is\nsettled already, and you can get your two thousand pounds whenever you\nplease merely for the signing of a bill. Sawley must get a thousand\naccording to stipulation--Jobson, Heckles, and Grabbie, at least five\nhundred a-piece, and another five hundred, I should think, will\nexhaust the remaining means of the committee. So that, out of our\nwhole stock, there remain just five thousand shares to be allocated to\nthe speculative and evangelical public. My eyes! won't there be a\nscramble for them?\"\n\nNext day our prospectus appeared in the newspapers. It was read,\ncanvassed, and generally approved of. During the afternoon, I took an\nopportunity of looking into the Tontine, and whilst under shelter of\nthe _Glasgow Herald_, my ears were solaced with such ejaculations as\nthe following:--\n\n\"I say, Jimsy, hae ye seen this grand new prospectus for a railway tae\nGlenmutchkin?\"\n\n\"Ay--it looks no that ill. The Hieland lairds are pitting their best\nfit foremost. Will ye apply for shares?\"\n\n\"I think I'll tak' twa hundred. Wha's Sir Polloxfen Tremens?\"\n\n\"He'll be yin o' the Ayrshire folk. He used to rin horses at the\nPaisley races.\"\n\n(\"The devil he did!\" thought I.)\n\n\"D'ye ken ony o' the directors, Jimsy?\"\n\n\"I ken Sawley fine. Ye may depend on't, it's a gude thing if he's\nin't, for he's a howkin' body.\"\n\n\"Then it's sure to gae up. What prem. d'ye think it will bring?\"\n\n\"Twa pund a share, and maybe mair.\"\n\n\"'Od, I'll apply for three hundred!\"\n\n\"Heaven bless you, my dear countrymen!\" thought I, as I sallied forth\nto refresh myself with a basin of soup, \"do but maintain this liberal\nand patriotic feeling--this thirst for national improvement, internal\ncommunication, and premiums--a short while longer, and I know whose\nfortune will be made.\"\n\nOn the following morning my breakfast-table was covered with shoals of\nletters, from fellows whom I scarcely ever had spoken to--or who, to\nuse a franker phraseology, had scarcely ever condescended to speak to\nme--entreating my influence as a director to obtain them shares in the\nnew undertaking. I never bore malice in my life, so I chalked them\ndown, without favouritism, for a certain proportion. Whilst engaged in\nthis charitable work, the door flew open, and M'Corkindale, looking\nutterly haggard with excitement, rushed in.\n\n\"You may buy an estate whenever you please, Dunshunner,\" cried he,\n\"the world's gone perfectly mad. I have been to Blazes the broker, and\nhe tells me that the whole amount of the stock has been subscribed for\nfour times over already, and he has not yet got in the returns from\nEdinburgh and Liverpool!\"\n\n\"Are they good names though, Bob--sure cards--none of your M'Closkies\nand M'Alcohols?\"\n\n\"The first names in the city, I assure you, and most of them holders\nfor investment. I wouldn't take ten millions for their capital.\"\n\n\"Then the sooner we close the list the better.\"\n\n\"I think so too. I suspect a rival company will be out before long.\nBlazes says the shares are selling already conditionally on allotment,\nat seven and sixpence premium.\"\n\n\"The deuce they are! I say, Bob, since we have the cards in our hands,\nwould it not be wise to favour them with a few hundreds at that rate?\nA bird in the hand, you know, is worth two in the bush, eh?\"\n\n\"I know no such maxim in political economy,\" replied the secretary.\n\"Are you mad, Dunshunner? How are the shares ever to go up, if it gets\nwind that the directors are selling already? Our business just now, is\nto _bull_ the line, not to _bear_ it; and if you will trust me, I\nshall show them such an operation on the ascending scale, as the Stock\nExchange has not witnessed for this long and many a-day. Then,\nto-morrow, I shall advertise in the papers, that the committee having\nreceived applications for ten times the amount of stock, have been\ncompelled, unwillingly, to close the lists. That will be a slap in the\nface to the dilatory gentlemen, and send up the shares like wildfire.\"\n\nBob was right. No sooner did the advertisement appear, than a\nsimultaneous groan was uttered by some hundreds of disappointed\nspeculators, who with unwonted and unnecessary caution, had been\nanxious to see their way a little, before committing themselves to our\nsplendid enterprise. In consequence, they rushed into the market, with\nintense anxiety to make what terms they could at the earliest stage,\nand the seven-and-sixpence of premium was doubled in the course of a\nforenoon.\n\nThe allocation passed over very peaceably. Sawley, Heckles, Jobson,\nGrabbie, and the Captain of M'Alcohol, besides myself, attended, and\ntook part in the business. We were also threatened with the presence\nof the M'Closkie and Vich-Induibh; but M'Corkindale, entertaining some\nreasonable doubts as to the effect which their corporeal appearance\nmight have upon the representatives of the dissenting interest, had\ntaken the precaution to get them snugly housed in a tavern, where an\nunbounded supply of gratuitous Ferntosh deprived us of the benefit of\ntheir experience. We, however, allotted them twenty shares a-piece.\nSir Polloxfen Tremens sent a handsome, though rather illegible letter\nof apology, dated from an island in Lochlomond, where he was said to\nbe detained on particular business.\n\nMr Sawley, who officiated as our chairman, was kind enough, before\nparting, to pass a very flattering eulogium upon the excellence and\ncandour of all the preliminary arrangements. It would now, he said, go\nforth to the public that this line was not, like some others he could\nmention, a mere bubble, emanating from the stank of private interest,\nbut a solid, lasting superstructure, based upon the principles of sound\nreturn for capital, and serious evangelical truth, (hear, hear.) The\ntime was fast approaching, when the gravestone, with the words \"HIC\nOBIIT\", chiselled upon it, would be placed at the head of all the other\nlines which rejected the grand opportunity of conveying education to the\nstoker. The stoker, in his (Mr Sawley's) opinion, had a right to ask the\nall important question, \"Am I not a man and a brother?\" (Cheers.) Much\nhad been said and written lately about a work called _Tracts for the\nTimes_. With the opinions contained in that publication, he was not\nconversant, as it was conducted by persons of another community from\nthat to which he (Mr Sawley) had the privilege to belong. But he hoped\nvery soon, under the auspices of the Glenmutchkin Railway Company, to\nsee a new periodical established, under the title of _Tracts for the\nTrains_. He never for a moment would relax his efforts to knock a nail\ninto the coffin, which, he might say, was already made, and measured,\nand cloth-covered for the reception of all establishments; and with\nthese sentiments and the conviction that the shares must rise, could it\nbe doubted that he would remain a fast friend to the interests of this\nCompany for ever? (Much cheering.)\n\nAfter having delivered this address, Mr Sawley affectionately squeezed\nthe hands of his brother directors, and departed, leaving several of\nus much overcome. As, however, M'Corkindale had told me that every one\nof Sawley's shares had been disposed of in the market the day before,\nI felt less compunction at having refused to allow that excellent man\nan extra thousand beyond the amount he had applied for,\nnotwithstanding of his broadest hints, and even private entreaties.\n\n\"Confound the greedy hypocrite!\" said Bob; \"does he think we shall let\nhim Burke the line for nothing? No--no! let him go to the brokers and\nbuy his shares back, if he thinks they are likely to rise. I'll be\nbound he has made a cool five hundred out of them already.\"\n\nOn the day which succeeded the allocation, the following entry\nappeared in the Glasgow share lists. \"Direct Glenmutchkin Railway.\n15s. 15s.6d. 15s.6d. 16s. 15s.6d. 16s. 16s.6d. 16s.6d. 16s. 17s 18s.\n18s. 19s.6d. 21s. 21s. 22s.6d. 24s. 25s. 6d. 27s. 29s. 29s.6d. 30s.\n31s. pm.\"\n\n\"They might go higher, and they ought to go higher,\" said Bob\nmusingly; \"but there's not much more stock to come and go upon, and\nthese two share-sharks, Jobson and Grabbie, I know, will be in the\nmarket to-morrow. We must not let them have the whip-hand of us. I\nthink upon the whole, Dunshunner, though it's letting them go dog\ncheap, that we ought to sell half our shares at the present premium,\nwhilst there is a certainty of getting it.\"\n\n\"Why not sell the whole? I'm sure I have no objections to part with\nevery stiver of the scrip on such terms.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Bob, \"upon general principles you may be right; but\nthen remember that we have a vested interest in the line.\"\n\n\"Vested interest be hanged!\"\n\n\"That's very well--at the same time it is no use to kill your salmon\nin a hurry. The bulls have done their work pretty well for us, and we\nought to keep something on hand for the bears; they are snuffling at\nit already. I could almost swear that some of those fellows who have\nsold to-day are working for a time-bargain.\"\n\nWe accordingly got rid of a couple of thousand shares, the proceeds of\nwhich not only enabled us to discharge the deposit loan, but left us a\nmaterial surplus. Under these circumstances, a two-handed banquet was\nproposed and unanimously carried, the commencement of which I\ndistinctly remember, but am rather dubious as to the end. So many\nstories have lately been circulated to the prejudice of railway\ndirectors, that I think it my duty to state that this entertainment\nwas scrupulously defrayed by ourselves, and _not_ carried to account,\neither of the preliminary survey, or the expenses of the provisional\ncommittee.\n\nNothing effects so great a metamorphosis in the bearing of the outer\nman, as a sudden change of fortune. The anemone of the garden differs\nscarcely more from its unpretending prototype of the woods, than\nRobert M'Corkindale, Esq., Secretary and Projector of the Glenmutchkin\nRailway, differed from Bob M'Corkindale, the seedy frequenter of \"The\nCrow.\" In the days of yore, men eyed the surtout--napless at the\nvelvet collar, and preternaturally white at the seams--which Bob\nvouchsafed to wear, with looks of dim suspicion, as if some faint\nreminiscence, similar to that which is said to recall the memory of a\nformer state of existence, suggested to them a vision that the garment\nhad once been their own. Indeed, his whole appearance was then\nwonderfully second-hand. Now he had cast his slough. A most undeniable\nTaglioni, with trimmings just bordering upon frogs, gave dignity to\nhis demeanour and twofold amplitude to his chest. The horn eyeglass\nwas exchanged for one of purest gold, the dingy high-lows for\nwell-waxed Wellingtons, the Paisley fogle for the fabric of the China\nloom. Moreover, he walked with a swagger, and affected in common\nconversation a peculiar dialect which he opined to be the purest\nEnglish, but which no one--except a bagman--could be reasonably\nexpected to understand. His pockets were invariably crammed with share\nlists; and he quoted, if he did not comprehend, the money article from\nthe _Times_. This sort of assumption, though very ludicrous in itself,\ngoes down wonderfully. Bob gradually became a sort of authority, and\nhis opinions got quoted on 'Change. He was no ass, notwithstanding his\npeculiarities, and made good use of his opportunity.\n\nFor myself, I bore my new dignities with an air of modest meekness. A\ncertain degree of starchness is indispensable for a railway director,\nif he means to go forward in his high calling and prosper; he must\nabandon all juvenile eccentricities, and aim at the appearance of a\ndecided enemy to free trade in the article of Wild Oats. Accordingly,\nas the first step towards respectability, I eschewed coloured\nwaistcoats, and gave out that I was a marrying man. No man under\nforty, unless he is a positive idiot, will stand forth as a\ntheoretical bachelor. It is all nonsense to say that there is any\nthing unpleasant in being courted. Attention, whether from male or\nfemale, tickles the vanity, and although I have a reasonable, and, I\nhope, not unwholesome regard, for the gratification of my other\nappetites, I confess that this same vanity is by far the most poignant\nof the whole. I therefore surrendered myself freely to the soft\nallurements thrown in my way by such matronly denizens of Glasgow as\nwere possessed of stock in the shape of marriageable daughters; and\nwalked the more readily into their toils, because every party, though\nnominally for the purposes of tea, wound up with a hot supper, and\nsomething hotter still by way of assisting the digestion.\n\nI don't know whether it was my determined conduct at the allocation,\nmy territorial title, or a most exaggerated idea of my circumstances,\nthat worked upon the mind of Mr Sawley. Possibly it was a combination\nof the three; but sure enough few days had elapsed before I received a\nformal card of invitation to a tea and serious conversation. Now\nserious conversation is a sort of thing that I never shone in,\npossibly because my early studies were framed in a different\ndirection; but as I really was unwilling to offend the respectable\ncoffin-maker, and as I found that the Captain of M'Alcohol--a decided\ntrump in his way--had also received a summons, I notified my\nacceptance.\n\nM'Alcohol and I went together. The Captain, an enormous brawny Celt,\nwith superhuman whiskers, and a shock of the fieriest hair, had figged\nhimself out, _more majorum_, in the full Highland costume. I never saw\nRob Roy on the stage look half so dignified or ferocious. He glittered\nfrom head to foot, with dirk, pistol, and skean-dhu, and at least a\nhundred-weight of cairngorums cast a prismatic glory around his\nperson. I felt quite abashed beside him.\n\nWe were ushered into Mr Sawley's drawing-room. Round the walls, and at\nconsiderable distances from each other, were seated about a dozen\ncharacters male and female, all of them dressed in sable, and wearing\ncountenances of woe. Sawley advanced, and wrung me by the hand with so\npiteous an expression of visage, that I could not help thinking some\nawful catastrophe had just befallen his family.\n\n\"You are welcome, Mr Dunshunner, welcome to my humble tabernacle. Let\nme present you to Mrs Sawley\"--and a lady, who seemed to have bathed\nin the Yellow Sea, rose from her seat, and favoured me with a profound\ncurtsy.\n\n\"My daughter--Miss Selina Sawley.\"\n\nI felt in my brain the scorching glance of the two darkest eyes it\never was my fortune to behold, as the beauteous Selina looked up from\nthe perusal of her handkerchief hem. It was a pity that the other\nfeatures were not corresponding; for the nose was flat, and the mouth\nof such dimensions, that a Harlequin might have jumped down it with\nimpunity--but the eyes _were_ splendid.\n\nIn obedience to a sign from the hostess, I sank into a chair beside\nSelina; and not knowing exactly what to say, hazarded some observation\nabout the weather.\n\n\"Yes, it is indeed a suggestive season. How deeply, Mr Dunshunner, we\nought to feel the pensive progress of autumn towards a soft and\npremature decay! I always think, about this time of the year, that\nnature is falling into a consumption!\"\n\n\"To be sure, ma'am,\" said I, rather taken aback by this style of\ncolloquy \"the trees are looking devilishly hectic.\"\n\n\"Ah, you have remarked that too! Strange! it was but yesterday that I\nwas wandering through Kelvin Grove, and as the phantom breeze brought\ndown the withered foliage from the spray, I thought, how probable it\nwas, that they might erelong rustle over young and glowing hearts\ndeposited prematurely in the tomb!\"\n\nThis, which struck me as a very passable imitation of Dickens's\npathetic writings, was a poser. In default of language, I looked Miss\nSawley straight in the face, and attempted a substitute for a sigh. I\nwas rewarded with a tender glance.\n\n\"Ah!\" said she, \"I see you are a congenial spirit. How delightful, and\nyet how rare it is to meet with any one who thinks in unison with\nyourself! Do you ever walk in the Necropolis, Mr Dunshunner? It is my\nfavourite haunt of a morning. There we can wean ourselves, as it were,\nfrom life, and, beneath the melancholy yew and cypress, anticipate the\nsetting star. How often there have I seen the procession--the funeral\nof some very, _very_ little child\"----\n\n\"Selina, my love,\" said Mrs Sawley, \"have the kindness to ring for the\ncookies.\"\n\nI, as in duty bound, started up to save the fair enthusiast the\ntrouble, and was not sorry to observe my seat immediately occupied by\na very cadaverous gentleman, who was evidently jealous of the progress\nI was rapidly making. Sawley, with an air of great mystery, informed\nme that this was a Mr Dalgleish of Raxmathrapple, the representative\nof an ancient Scottish family who claimed an important heritable\noffice. The name, I thought, was familiar to me, but there was\nsomething in the appearance of Mr Dalgleish which, notwithstanding the\nsmiles of Miss Selina, rendered a rivalship in that quarter utterly\nout of the question.\n\nI hate injustice, so let me do due honour in description to the Sawley\nbanquet. The tea-urn most literally corresponded to its name. The\ntable was decked out with divers platters, containing seed-cakes cut\ninto rhomboids, almond biscuits, and ratafia drops; but somehow or\nother they all looked clammy and damp, and, for the life of me, I\ncould not divest myself of the idea that the selfsame viands had\nfigured, not long before, as funeral refreshments at a dirgie. No such\nsuspicion seemed to cross the mind of M'Alcohol, who hitherto had\nremained uneasily surveying his nails in a corner, but at the first\nsymptom of food started forwards, and was in the act of making a clean\nsweep of the china, when Sawley proposed the singular preliminary of a\nhymn.\n\nThe hymn was accordingly sung. I am thankful to say it was such a one\nas I never heard before, or expect to hear again; and unless it was\ncomposed by the Reverend Saunders Peden in an hour of paroxysm on the\nmoors, I cannot conjecture the author. After this original symphony,\ntea was discussed, and after tea, to my amazement, more hot brandy and\nwater than I ever remember to have seen circulated at the most\nconvivial party. Of course this effected a radical change in the\nspirits and conversation of the circle. It was again my lot to be\nplaced by the side of the fascinating Selina, whose sentimentality\ngradually thawed away beneath the influence of sundry sips, which she\naccepted with a delicate reluctance. This time Dalgleish of\nRaxmathrapple had not the remotest chance. M'Alcohol got furious, sang\nGaelic songs, and even delivered a sermon in genuine Erse, without\nincurring a rebuke; whilst, for my own part, I must needs confess that\nI waxed unnecessarily amorous, and the last thing I recollect was the\npressure of Mr Sawley's hand at the door, as he denominated me his\ndear boy, and hoped I would soon come back and visit Mrs Sawley and\nSelina. The recollection of these passages next morning was the surest\nantidote to my return.\n\nThree weeks had elapsed, and still the Glenmutchkin Railway shares\nwere at a premium, though rather lower than when we sold. Our\nengineer, Watty Solder, returned from his first survey of the line,\nalong with an assistant who really appeared to have some remote\nglimmerings of the science and practice of mensuration. It seemed,\nfrom a verbal report, that the line was actually practicable; and the\nsurvey would have been completed in a very short time--\"If,\" according\nto the account of Solder, \"there had been ae hoos in the glen. But\never sin' the distillery stoppit--and that was twa year last\nMartinmas--there wasna a hole whaur a Christian could lay his head,\nmuckle less get white sugar to his toddy, forbye the change-house at\nthe clachan; and the auld luckie that keepit it was sair forfochten\nwi' the palsy, and maist in the dead-thraws. There was naebody else\nliving within twal miles o' the line, barring a tacksman, a lamiter,\nand a bauldie.\"\n\nWe had some difficulty in preventing Mr Solder from making this report\nopen and patent to the public, which premature disclosure might have\ninterfered materially with the preparation of our traffic tables, not\nto mention the marketable value of the shares. We therefore kept him\nsteadily at work out of Glasgow, upon a very liberal allowance, to\nwhich, apparently, he did not object.\n\n\"Dunshunner,\" said M'Corkindale to me one day, \"I suspect that there\nis something going on about our railway more than we are aware of.\nHave you observed that the shares are preternaturally high just now?\"\n\n\"So much the better. Let's sell.\"\n\n\"I did so this morning--both yours and mine, at two pounds ten\nshillings premium.\"\n\n\"The deuce you did! Then we're out of the whole concern.\"\n\n\"Not quite. If my suspicions are correct, there's a good deal more\nmoney yet to be got from the speculation. Somebody has been bulling\nthe stock without orders; and, as they can have no information which\nwe are not perfectly up to, depend upon it, it is done for a purpose.\nI suspect Sawley and his friends. They have never been quite happy\nsince the allocation; and I caught him yesterday pumping our broker in\nthe back shop. We'll see in a day or two. If they are beginning a\nbearing operation, I know how to catch them.\"\n\nAnd, in effect, the bearing operation commenced. Next day, heavy sales\nwere effected for delivery in three weeks; and the stock, as if\nwater-logged, began to sink. The same thing continued for the\nfollowing two days, until the premium became nearly nominal. In the\nmean time, Bob and I, in conjunction with two leading capitalists\nwhom we let into the secret, bought up steadily every share that was\noffered; and at the end of a fortnight we found that we had purchased\nrather more than double the amount of the whole original stock. Sawley\nand his disciples, who, as M'Corkindale suspected, were at the bottom\nof the whole transaction, having beared to their heart's content, now\ncame into the market to purchase, in order to redeem their\nengagements. The following extract from the weekly share-lists will\nshow the result of their endeavours to regain their lost position:--\n\n                                Sat.    Mon.   Tues.    Wed.   Thurs.\nGlenmutchkin Rail, L.1 paid,.  1 2/8 | 2 1/4 | 4 3/8 | 7 1/2 | 10 3/4\n\n                                      Frid.   Sat.\n                                     15 3/8 |  17,\n\nand Monday was the day of delivery.\n\nI have no means of knowing in what frame of mind Mr Sawley spent the\nSunday, or whether he had recourse for mental consolation to Peden;\nbut on Monday morning he presented himself at my door in full funeral\ncostume, with about a quarter of a mile of crape swathed round his\nhat, black gloves, and a countenance infinitely more doleful than if\nhe had been attending the interment of his beloved wife.\n\n\"Walk in, Mr Sawley,\" said I cheerfully. \"What a long time it is since\nI have had the pleasure of seeing you--too long indeed for brother\ndirectors. How are Mrs Sawley and Miss Selina--won't you take a cup of\ncoffee?\"\n\n\"Grass, sir, grass!\" said Mr Sawley, with a sigh like the groan of a\nfurnace-bellows. \"We are all flowers of the oven--weak, erring\ncreatures, every one of us. Ah! Mr Dunshunner! you have been a great\nstranger at Lykewake Terrace!\"\n\n\"Take a muffin, Mr Sawley. Any thing new in the railway world?\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear sir--my good Mr Augustus Reginald--I wanted to have some\nserious conversation with you on that very point. I am afraid there is\nsomething far wrong indeed in the present state of our stock.\"\n\n\"Why, to be sure it is high; but that, you know, is a token of the\npublic confidence in the line. After all, the rise is nothing compared\nto that of several English railways; and individually, I suppose,\nneither of us have any reason to complain.\"\n\n\"I don't like it,\" said Sawley, watching me over the margin of his\ncoffee-cup. \"I don't like it. It savours too much of gambling for a\nman of my habits. Selina, who is a sensible girl, has serious qualms\non the subject.\"\n\n\"Then, why not get out of it? I have no objection to run the risk,\nand, if you like to transact with me I will pay you ready money for\nevery share you have at the present market price.\"\n\nSawley writhed uneasily in his chair.\n\n\"Will you sell me five hundred, Mr Sawley? Say the word and it is a\nbargain.\"\n\n\"A time bargain?\" quavered the coffin-maker.\n\n\"No. Money down, and scrip handed over.\"\n\n\"I--I can't. The fact is, my dear young friend, I have sold all my\nstock already!\"\n\n\"Then permit me to ask, Mr Sawley, what possible objection you can\nhave to the present aspect of affairs? You do not surely suppose that\nwe are going to issue new shares and bring down the market, simply\nbecause you have realized at a handsome premium?\"\n\n\"A handsome premium! O Lord!\" moaned Sawley.\n\n\"Why, what did you get for them?\"\n\n\"Four, three, and two and a half.\"\n\n\"A very considerable profit indeed,\" said I; \"and you ought to be\nabundantly thankful. We shall talk this matter over at another time,\nMr Sawley, but just now I must beg you to excuse me. I have a\nparticular engagement this morning with my broker--rather a heavy\ntransaction to settle--and so\"----\n\n\"It's no use beating about the bush any longer,\" said Mr Sawley in an\nexcited tone, at the same time dashing down his crape-covered castor\non the floor. \"Did you ever see a ruined man with a large family? Look\nat me, Mr Dunshunner--I'm one, and you've done it!\"\n\n\"Mr Sawley! are you in your senses?\"\n\n\"That depends on circumstances. Haven't you been buying stock lately?\"\n\n\"I am glad to say I have--two thousand Glenmutchkins, I think, and\nthis is the day of delivery.\"\n\n\"Well, then--can't you see how the matter stands? It was I who sold\nthem!\"\n\n\"Well!\"\n\n\"Mother of Moses, sir! don't you see I'm ruined?\n\n\"By no means--but you must not swear. I pay over the money for your\nscrip, and you pocket a premium. It seems to me a very simple\ntransaction.\"\n\n\"But I tell you I haven't got the scrip!\" cried Sawley, gnashing his\nteeth, whilst the cold beads of perspiration gathered largely on his\nbrow.\n\n\"That is very unfortunate! Have you lost it?\"\n\n\"No!--the devil tempted me, and I oversold!\"\n\nThere was a very long pause, during which I assumed an aspect of\nserious and dignified rebuke.\n\n\"Is it possible?\" said I in a low tone, after the manner of Kean's\noffended fathers. \"What! you, Mr Sawley--the stoker's friend--the\nenemy of gambling--the father of Selina--condescend to so equivocal a\ntransaction? You amaze me! But I never was the man to press heavily on\na friend\"--here Sawley brightened up--\"your secret is safe with me,\nand it shall be your own fault if it reaches the ears of the Session.\nPay me over the difference at the present market price, and I release\nyou of your obligation.\"\n\n\"Then I'm in the Gazette, that's all,\" said Sawley doggedly, \"and a\nwife and nine beautiful babes upon the parish! I had hoped other\nthings from you, Mr Dunshunner--I thought you and Selina\"----\n\n\"Nonsense, man! Nobody goes into the Gazette just now--it will be time\nenough when the general crash comes. Out with your checque-book, and\nwrite me an order for four-and-twenty thousand. Confound fractions! in\nthese days one can afford to be liberal.\"\n\n\"I haven't got it,\" said Sawley. \"You have no idea how bad our trade\nhas been of late, for nobody seems to think of dying. I have not sold\na gross of coffins this fortnight. But I'll tell what--I'll give you\nfive thousand down in cash, and ten thousand in shares--further I\ncan't go.\"\n\n\"Now, Mr Sawley',\" said I, \"I may be blamed by worldly-minded persons\nfor what I am going to do; but I am a man of principle, and feel\ndeeply for the situation of your amiable wife and family. I bear no\nmalice, though it is quite clear that you intended to make me the\nsufferer. Pay me fifteen thousand over the counter, and we cry quits\nfor ever.\"\n\n\"Won't you take Camlachie Cemetery shares? They are sure to go up.\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Twelve hundred Cowcaddens' Water, with an issue of new stock next\nweek?\"\n\n\"Not if they disseminated the Ganges.\"\n\n\"A thousand Ramshorn Gas--four per cent guaranteed until the act?\"\n\n\"Not if they promised twenty, and melted down the sun in their\nretort!\"\n\n\"Blawweary Iron? Best spec. going.\"\n\n\"No, I tell you once for all. If you don't like my offer--and it is an\nuncommonly liberal one--say so, and I'll expose you this afternoon\nupon 'Change.\"\n\n\"Well, then--there's a checque. But may the\"----\n\n\"Stop, sir! Any such profane expressions, and I shall insist upon the\noriginal bargain. So, then--now we're quits. I wish you a very\ngood-morning, Mr Sawley, and better luck next time. Pray remember me\nto your amiable family.\"\n\nThe door had hardly closed upon the discomfited coffin-maker, and I\nwas still in the preliminary steps of an extempore _pas seul_,\nintended as the outward demonstration of exceeding inward joy, when\nBob M'Corkindale entered. I told him the result of the morning's\nconference.\n\n\"You have let him off too easily,\" said the Political Economist. \"Had\nI been his creditor, I certainly should have sacked the shares into\nthe bargain. There is nothing like rigid dealing between man and man.\"\n\n\"I am contented with moderate profits,\" said I; \"besides, the image\nof Selina overcame me. How goes it with Jobson and Grabbie?\"\n\n\"Jobson has paid, and Grabbie compounded. Heckles--may he die an evil\ndeath!--has repudiated, become a lame duck, and waddled; but no doubt\nhis estate will pay a dividend.\"\n\n\"So, then, we are clear of the whole Glenmutchkin business, and at a\nhandsome profit.\"\n\n\"A fair interest for the outlay of capital--nothing more. But I'm not\nquite done with the concern yet.\"\n\n\"How so? not another bearing operation?\"\n\n\"No; that cock would hardly fight. But you forget that I am secretary\nto the company, and have a small account against them for services\nalready rendered. I must do what I can to carry the bill through\nParliament; and, as you have now sold your whole shares, I advise you\nto resign from the direction, go down straight to Glenmutchkin, and\nqualify yourself for a witness. We shall give you five guineas a-day,\nand pay all your expenses.\"\n\n\"Not a bad notion. But what has become of M'Closkie, and the other\nfellow with the jaw-breaking name?\"\n\n\"Vich-Induibh? I have looked after their interests, as in duty bound,\nsold their shares at a large premium, and dispatched them to their\nnative hills on annuities.\"\n\n\"And Sir Polloxfen?\"\n\n\"Died yesterday of spontaneous combustion.\"\n\nAs the company seemed breaking up, I thought I could not do better\nthan take M'Corkindale's hint, and accordingly betook myself to\nGlenmutchkin, along with the Captain of M'Alcohol, and we quartered\nourselves upon the Factor for Glentumblers. We found Watty Solder very\nshakey, and his assistant also lapsing into habits of painful\ninebriety. We saw little of them except of an evening, for we shot and\nfished the whole day, and made ourselves remarkably comfortable. By\nsingular good-luck, the plans and sections were lodged in time, and\nthe Board of Trade very handsomely reported in our favour, with a\nrecommendation of what they were pleased to call \"the Glenmutchkin\nsystem,\" and a hope that it might generally be carried out. What this\nsystem was, I never clearly understood; but, of course, none of us had\nany objections. This circumstance gave an additional impetus to the\nshares, and they once more went up. I was, however, too cautious to\nplunge a second time into Charybdis, but M'Corkindale did, and again\nemerged with plunder.\n\nWhen the time came for the parliamentary contest, we all emigrated to\nLondon. I still recollect, with lively satisfaction, the many pleasant\ndays we spent in the metropolis at the company's expense. There were\njust a neat fifty of us, and we occupied the whole of an hotel. The\ndiscussion before the committee was long and formidable. We were\nopposed by four other companies who patronised lines, of which the\nnearest was at least a hundred miles distant from Glenmutchkin; but as\nthey founded their opposition upon dissent from \"the Glenmutchkin\nsystem\" generally, the committee allowed them to be heard. We fought\nfor three weeks a most desperate battle, and might in the end have\nbeen victorious, had not our last antagonist, at the very close of his\ncase, pointed out no less than seventy-three fatal errors in the\nparliamentary plan deposited by the unfortunate Solder. Why this was\nnot done earlier, I never exactly understood; it may be, that our\nopponents, with gentlemanly consideration, were unwilling to curtail\nour sojourn in London--and their own. The drama was now finally\nclosed, and after all preliminary expenses were paid, sixpence per\nshare was returned to the holders upon surrender of their scrip.\n\nSuch is an accurate history of the Origin, Rise, Progress, and Fall of\nthe Direct Glenmutchkin Railway. It contains a deep moral, if any body\nhas sense enough to see it; if not, I have a new project in my eye for\nnext session, of which timely notice shall be given.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SCIENCE OF LANGUAGES.[8]\n\n\nThe past history of Mr Morgan Kavanagh is probably as little known to\nour readers as it is to ourselves. But his future destiny is not\nequally obscure. We have it, on his own authority, that he has made a\ndiscovery of unparalleled merit and magnitude, as simple as it is\nsurprising, and calculated, in an equal degree, to benefit mankind,\nand immortalize its author. He has discovered the science of\nlanguages--a science in which the wisest hitherto have been\nsmatterers, but in which the most shallow may henceforward be\nprofound. In the prophetic spirit of conscious genius, Horace, Ovid,\nand other great men, have boasted of the perpetuity of fame achieved\nby their efforts; and Kavanagh, apparently under a similar\ninspiration, indulges the pleasing anticipation, that he has completed\na monument more lasting than brass--of which material, it may be\nobserved, he does not appear to have a deficient supply. He confesses,\nthat on so trite a subject, the presumption is against him of so great\nan achievement; but he sticks to his point, and is sure that he has\nattained an undying name by his inestimable disclosures:--\n\n     \"A discovery equalling in magnitude the one to which I lay claim,\n     must appear to all, before examining its accompanying proofs,\n     just about as probable as the discovery, in the neighbourhood of\n     the British Channel, of some rich and extensive island that had\n     escaped till now the mariner's notice. Then am I either\n     egregiously in error, or, through my humble means, one of the\n     greatest and most important discoveries on record has been made.\"\n\nThe alternative here allowed us is irresistible--_either_ our author\nis egregiously in error, _or_ he has made a great discovery. Who can\ndoubt it? We feel at once driven to the wall by the horns of so\ndexterous a dilemma; and unable as we are, in the kindness of our\nhearts, to adopt the more uncivil supposition, we succumb, without a\nstruggle, to the only choice left us, and concede to such a disputant\nall that he can demand.\n\nMr Kavanagh is determined that the importance of his discovery shall\nlose nothing from his reluctance to put it in the strongest light:--\n\n     \"If, from having taken a view of the human mind different from\n     any other hitherto taken, and from having founded a rational\n     principle, in conformity with this view, I can offer such a\n     definition of words as may bear the strictest investigation, and\n     which all may understand; and if a child, by adhering to this\n     principle, may be able to account for words with all their\n     changes and variations, and show them such as they must have\n     been, not only ages before the Bible and the Iliad had been\n     written, but even as they were at their very birth; then it will,\n     I dare hope, be admitted, that I shall not only have surmounted\n     innumerable difficulties, but have discovered the real science of\n     languages. Yet all this, and a great deal more, may be done by\n     the application of the principle by which I am guided.\"\n\n\nAgain he says:--\n\n     \"I am sorry that the resolution I have formed, of frankly speaking\n     my mind throughout this work, obliges me to express myself as I\n     do here and elsewhere with such an apparent want of modesty; but\n     were I to adopt, with regard to this discovery, and the knowledge\n     we have hitherto had of the science of grammar, what is\n     understood by a more becoming and humble tone, I should, by doing\n     so, lose in truth what I might gain by affected modesty, since I\n     should not only be speaking falsely, but be leading the reader\n     into error by concealing from him my real opinion, which I should\n     by no means do. And if while it be allowed, as I am sure it must,\n     that though I do well to speak as I think, it be observed that\n     this is not a reason why I should think as I do--that is, so\n     presumptuously--I beg to reply, that if I had never _thought so_,\n     this discovery had never been attempted, and much less made; for\n     notwithstanding what the world may say about the modesty of\n     certain great men, I do in my heart believe that such modesty has\n     been ever affected, and that it is wholly impossible that any\n     thing great may be undertaken or achieved, but where there is at\n     bottom great presumption, which is, after all, nothing more than\n     a consciousness of one's own strength.\"\n\n\nThis is all right, and no apology was necessary. Why should a man be\nmodest, who, in the six thousandth year of the creation, has found\nout, for the first time, the science of languages? Though entirely\ndevoid of originality ourselves, we can sympathize with the proud\nexultation of those who have produced a new and \"glorious birth.\" From\nthe cackling of the hen when she has laid an egg, to the [Greek:\nheurecha] of Archimedes when he discovered hydrostatics, we see the\ninstinctive impulse under which those who have brought to light a\ngreat result, are constrained to proclaim it aloud; and we should be\nthankful when the mighty inventor can refrain from rushing out, in\nnative nudity, into the public way.\n\nThe discoverer of the science of languages, however, does not come\nforth upon us, like Archimedes, in a state of dishabille. Attired in\nthe same fashionable garb, rejoicing in the same paper and type, and\nissuing from the shelves of the same respectable publishers, Mr\nKavanagh's two goodly octavos may fitly range, as far as exterior is\nconcerned, with the collected productions of Jeffrey and Macaulay, who\nwill no doubt feel honoured by such good company. The fly-leaf at the\nbeginning of the work warns all pirates and poachers \"that it is\nprivate property, protected by the late Copyright Act;\" and a foot-note\nseems to inform us that a French edition is simultaneously to appear\nin Paris. Who could doubt that such mighty notes of preparation were\nto usher in some _magnum opus_, worthy of the expectations thus\nexcited?\n\nMr Kavanagh appears to us to have lived for some time in France, and\nif so, he has not lived there in vain. He has acquired the knack of\nframing a bill of fare, that would do honour to the reigning prince of\nrestaurateurs, whoever he may be, and would create an appetite under\nthe ribs of death. Take the following excerpts from the contents:--\n\n     \"What the author should do before attempting to prove the\n     discovery of the science of languages. This he does, and a great\n     deal more.\"\n\n     \"View of the human mind. That taken by eminent philosophers\n     inquired into, and found to be erroneous. The author's view of\n     it.\"\n\n     \"Proof that there are no such words as substantives or nouns.\"\n\n     \"Pronouns, supposed like nouns, but erroneously, to represent\n     substances. They never represent nouns, as they have been\n     supposed to do. Proof that they never stand for substances, nor\n     can be, any more than nouns, the subject of propositions. Their\n     real nature shown, and difficulties and locutions connected with\n     them accounted for. The original form of _oh me_! and _ah me_!\"\n\n     \"Thus far the author pretends to have shown that there is but one\n     part of speech.\"\n\n     \"The author's account of the verb. Why it cannot be compared like\n     the adjective. The verb is an adjective or name in the fourth\n     degree. It does not represent an action. TO and DO. Shown how it\n     does not represent an action, and how grammarians have been led\n     to suppose that it does.\"\n\n     \"How men expressed themselves in the beginning of the world, when\n     they had occasion to make use of the verb TO BE.\"\n\n     \"The nature of a past participle in English and French. This\n     knowledge of a past participle in French leads to a precious\n     discovery.\"\n\n     \"How to find the etymology of words. Instances given: the meaning\n     of _friend_, _mind_, _blind_, &c., shown.\"\n\n     \"The origin of the termination _ish_ discovered. The etymology of\n     the words, _Ireland_, _Scotland_, _Dublin_, with many other\n     etymologies.\"\n\n     \"The feminine and plural of _mon_, _ton_, _son_, explained.\n     _Mes_, _tes_, and _ses_, not plural numbers. _Notre_ and _votre_\n     do not come from the Latin words _noster_ and _vester_. No\n     language derived from another.\"\n\n     \"The first names man ever had for his own dwelling, with several\n     other etymologies, such as _barrack_, _good-by_, _property_,\n     _coin_, _copper_, _maistre_, _castor_, _out-cast_, _caserne_,\n     _quoit_, _cat_, _quiet_, _discus_, _Apollo_, _tranquil_, _keel_,\n     _cuisse_, &c.\"\n\n     \"The delicate meaning of certain words.\"\n\n     \"The extraordinary wisdom displayed in the formation of words:\n     different accounts of the words _man_, _woman_, _Adam_, &c. The\n     meanings of _animare_, _animal_, _animation_, _beget_, _amo_,\n     _Venus_, _shame_, _honte_, &c.\n\n     \"The etymology of _squat_, _cower_, _square_, _four_, _year_,\n     _fair_, _faire_, &c.\"\n\n     \"In the account given of the letters of the Greek alphabet are to\n     be found explained the letters of all languages. To what this\n     knowledge may lead. Shown how the twenty-four letters make but\n     one. The dot over the _i_. A straight line, a circle, &c.\"\n\n     \"The _ing_ in _being_ accounted for. Meaning of _big_, _wig_,\n     _mig_, &c.; of _hat_, _oyster_, &c.; of _eight_, _octo_, &c.; of\n     _nigh_, _near_, _night_, &c. The literal meaning of negatives and\n     affirmatives. What man's first oaths were.\"\n\n     \"_Big_, once a name for the Divinity.\"\n\n     \"How all numbers make but one. No such thing as a plural number.\n     Examination of the ten figures, 1, 2, 3, &c. Each of them means\n     _one_.\"\n\n     \"Concluding observations resumed. The difficulty of believing in\n     this discovery. The great wisdom it contains. The language\n     supposed to be spoken in heaven.\"\n\n     \"The advantages to be derived from this discovery. How\n     Mathematicians, Theologians, Grammarians, Lexicographers,\n     Logicians, and Philosophers, are likely to consider this\n     discovery. Other works proposed.\"\n\n     \"The members of the press. Bookmaking. The many important\n     discoveries in this work lie in the way of its immediate success\n     with such minds as cannot receive new ideas. The view which the\n     man of enlarged ideas is likely to take of it. The author's\n     pretensions. His confidence in the ultimate success of this\n     discovery.\"\n\n\nWe confess we felt our mouth water at the glimpses thus afforded of\nthe coming feast; and we are happy to acknowledge that what we\nexpected was fully realized.\n\nIt must not be imagined that we are going to furnish, in these trivial\npages, a full disclosure of Mr Kavanagh's discovery. There are several\nreasons for our not doing so. First, we could not, in common justice,\nthink of spoiling the sale of Mr Kavanagh's book. Secondly, we are not\nsanguine that, in the space allowed us, we could make the discovery\nunderstood by our readers. And thirdly, we are not sure that we\nunderstand it ourselves. But, as far as consistent with these\nconsiderations, we shall endeavour to give such a view of it as may\nexcite, without satiating, curiosity, and may give the means of\nconjecturing what the book itself must be, of which we are enabled to\noffer such specimens.\n\nIt is a common and allowable artifice, in those attempting to lead us\nup the hill of science, to point to some attractive object that is to\nbe reached at the summit. Mr Kavanagh employs this expedient with\ngreat effect. He shows us, near the outset of our journey, one\nastonishing result to which it is to conduct us, and which necessarily\ninflames our eagerness to get over the ground:--\n\n     \"That the reader may have in advance some notion of this manner\n     of analysing words, and discovering their hidden meaning, I beg\n     here to give, for the present, the contents of the analysis of\n     the English alphabet _collectively_ considered; that is, not as\n     to what each letter means when read by itself, but as to what\n     they all mean when read together in the following order:--\n\n            A B C D E F G H I (or J) K L M N O P Q\n                    R S T U (or V) W X Y Z;\n\n     of which the literal meaning in modern English is--_This first\n     book is had of the Jews; it opens the mind, and is good breeding\n     and wisdom._ I shall show in the proper place how this meaning\n     may be found in the above characters.\"\n\n\nThe steps by which we are to reach a mighty secret like this, are\ngiven by our author in great detail; for, as he candidly observes--\n\n     \"Though my discoveries are mostly about as evident as any thing\n     in Euclid, still, as they are new to the world, and require,\n     previous to their being received as truths, the disagreeable\n     admission that we have been hitherto in error; some art, besides\n     down-right logical persuasion, will be necessary towards bringing\n     the mind friendly to them.\"\n\n\nThe first discovery Mr Kavanagh seems to have made is, that he knew\nnothing of grammar; and had he stopped here, he would have been\nentitled to no small praise for discernment. But this was but a\nstepping-stone to greater things.\n\nMr Kavanagh seems by and by to have found out that \"there are no such\nwords as substantives or nouns; that is to say, words standing for\nsubstances, or representing substances in any manner.\" He discovered\nthat such words, and indeed all words, are, whether it be true or not,\nsounds to our ears not altogether new. We had a notion that, at least,\nthe term _noun_, _nom_, and _nomen_, meant properly a _name_, but of\ncourse Mr Kavanagh must know better. We must decline, however, to\nfollow him through his explanation on this footing of the real\npresence.\n\nBut then comes an announcement of undoubted originality, \"that all\nwords called substantives are but names _in the fourth degree of\ncomparison_; that is to say, in a degree above the one commonly called\nthe superlative.\" We durst not doubt that Mr Kavanagh is here right;\nbut, for persons of slow perception like ourselves, we should have\nliked to see a little more fully explained what are the first, second,\nand third degrees of comparison of those names, of which _hat_,\n_stick_, _thing_, _hand_, _foot_, &c., are the fourth degrees.\nDiscoverers should bear a little with beginners; and we suggest that,\nin a second edition, a full table should be given of what we\ndesiderate.\n\nThe view thus taken of nouns, leads, it seems, to important results,\nand, in particular, enables us to explain what Mr Kavanagh had been\npuzzling himself about for half his lifetime--the meaning of the\nexpressions, \"This is John's book,\" and \"this is a book of John's.\" We\nhad always thought that the first of these phrases was plain sailing,\nand that the second meant, \"this a book of John's books--or, one of\nJohn's books,\" _ex libris Joannis_. But these simple suppositions\ncannot satisfy men of science, who require a discovery to explain what\nother men think they understand without one:--\n\n     \"We can now account for what has hitherto puzzled all grammarians,\n     namely, the double possessive. This book of John's means, this\n     book of all John's; that is, this book forming a part of all\n     John's, of all things belonging to John.\"\n\n     \"And how rich and full the meaning of this new possessive! What\n     an image it brings before the mind, compared to the wretched\n     meaning our ignorance of this noble science has hitherto taught\n     us to allow it to have! This book is John's, means, we have been\n     told, this book is John's book. How frivolous, how poor, compared\n     to, 'this book is part of all things corporeal and ideal\n     belonging to John.' How useless this repetition of the same word\n     book! and how incorrect! since if John possessed only one book,\n     and that we said, 'this book of John's is better than mine,' we\n     were immediately stopt, as we cannot say, this book of John's\n     book is better than mine. But now we know that this book of\n     John's, &c., means, 'this book is a part of all John's,' &c.\"\n\n\nOur discoverer thereafter proceeds to analyse the personal\nterminations of verbs, of which he seems to give an elucidation highly\nsatisfactory to himself, and which, we hope, will be equally so to his\nreaders. It is obviously of oriental origin, being analogous to the\nastronomical theory of the elephant and tortoise, by which the Hindoos\nare said so clearly to account for the support of our terrestrial\nplanet. \"_Love_, _lovest_, _loveth_, or _loves_,\" &c., have been\nformed by combining the root with the inflections of the auxiliary\nverb, _to have_. He gives a very distinct table by which\n\n     \"We see that _love hast_ has been shortened to _lovest_; _love\n     has_, to _loves_; _love hath_ to _loveth_; _love had_ to _loved_;\n     and _love hadst_ to _lovedst_. The _ha_ has been omitted\n     throughout, as, love [ha]st; love [ha]s; love [ha]th; love [ha]d;\n     love [ha]dst.\"\n\n\nThis is remarkably ingenious, and it must be from a very\nunphilosophical curiosity that ignorant persons like ourselves are\ntempted to ask how Mr Kavanagh explains the origin of the inflections\n_have_, _hast_, _hath_, _had_, &c. We have been accustomed to regard\nthese terminations, though in a contracted form, as having the same\norigin as those of other verbs; and we doubt if it would command\ngeneral acquiescence to say that \"hath\" was a compound of \"have hath.\"\nBut these are probably foolish doubts, only showing the small progress\nof our scientific enlightenment; and we feel assured that they would\noccur to no one who was once fully imbued with Mr Kavanagh's\nprinciples.\n\nA similar theory is applied by Mr Kavanagh with equal success to the\nLatin system of conjugation; but we think it better to refer our\nreaders to the book itself, than weaken its effect by any attempt at\nan abstract of it. We cannot, however, resist quoting Mr Kavanagh's\naccount of the advantages to which his theories directly tend.\n\n     \"And this inquiry has led me to the most important of all my\n     discoveries; since it not only showed me the original of the\n     endings of the Latin verbs, but also those of the several\n     declensions of Latin nouns, adjectives, pronouns, participles,\n     &c., with their several cases, genders, numbers, &c. And this\n     knowledge will not only apply to the Latin language, but of\n     course to all the languages in the world. From this I have been\n     also led to discover the real nature of a pronoun, and how words\n     have been made in the beginning of time, and how they have\n     increased from a single letter, or at most from two, to all which\n     they have at present: by which means we may see the state of\n     languages at different periods of the world, even such as they\n     must have been ages before the building of the tower of Babel;\n     which knowledge will, it is presumed, throw great light on the\n     ancient history of the world, since men must, in the composition\n     of words, have ever made allusion to things already known, and\n     such as might serve to explain the words they made. Thus is it\n     even in our own times, and thus has it ever been. I intend\n     towards the end of this work to give numerous instances of how\n     words were at first formed, and the various forms they bore at\n     different times; so that no doubt may remain on any man's mind,\n     either as to the truth of this, the most important part of my\n     discovery, or as to the advantages which may, from our following\n     it up, arise from it.\"\n\n\nIn pursuing this interesting subject, Mr Kavanagh shows the important\npart in etymology played by the Latin verb _esse_.\n\n     \"Nothing of this has, however, been known. The greatest\n     lexicographers have not even suspected that _sagesse_ was for\n     _sage-esse_ (sage-etre,) so short-sighted is man without the\n     light of science; then much less did they suspect that for _to\n     be_, and _to go_ there was, whilst languages were yet in their\n     infancy, but one word. The learned, from their not knowing that\n     _sagesse_ is for _sage-esse_, must have lost discovering the\n     etymology of a vast number of words in all languages. Thus, all\n     the French words ending in _esse_, as, caresse, finesse, paresse,\n     &c., have never been accounted for; and, in like manner, the\n     etymology of all English words ending in _ess_ and _ness_, as,\n     car_ess_, happi_ness_, &c., has been unknown. But here the\n     reader, as he has not yet seen how we are to discover in words\n     their own definitions, may say, that though he can admit _caress_\n     and _caresse_ to be for _cara_ or _carus esse_ (to be dear,) and\n     _finesse_ to be for _fin-esse_ (etre fin,) he cannot so readily\n     allow _paresse_ and _happiness_ to be accounted for after a\n     similar manner, since _paresse_ must hence become _par-esse_, and\n     _happiness_, _happin-esse_, which words _par_ and _happin_ here\n     offer no meaning. But a little farther on, he will know that\n     _par_ here signifies _on the ground_; so that _paresse_ literally\n     means _on the ground to be_, that is, to be lying down, or doing\n     nothing. He will also see, that the termination _ness_ has not\n     the ridiculous meaning assigned it by the learned, namely, \"the\n     top or the foot of a hill\" (I forget which,) but that it\n     literally means _the being_ (_en-esse_,) so that _happiness_ was\n     first _en-esse-happy_, (the being happy, the thing happy,) after\n     which, _en-esse_ became contracted to _ness_, and so fell behind\n     happy, making _happiness_.\n\n     \"Here, not to perplex the reader's and my own mind, by the\n     considering of too many things at once, I am really obliged to\n     turn my view from the many important discoveries that rush upon\n     me, all emanating out of this little word _be_, or _go_, (no\n     matter which we call it,) in order merely to show how verbs in\n     Latin have, from this single word, formed their endings.\"\n\n\nBy and by it appears that if we are so much indebted to the Latin for\ntheir verb _esse_, the Latin is no less indebted to us for our verb\n_am_.\n\n\n     \"But I have not shown by what artifice this past time (ibam) of\n     _eo_ is formed. It is, we may see, composed of two words, _ib_\n     and _am_; yet the latter word _am_ has all the appearance of a\n     present time or a future; as we may see it in e_am_, leg_am_, and\n     audi_am_. Then it is evidently to the word _ib_ we are indebted\n     for this word _ibam_ having a past signification; and as there\n     is now no such Latin word, we are led to believe that _ib_ must\n     be a contraction, and this at once leads us upon _ibi_, which\n     means, _then_, or, _at that time_. Hence, _ibam_ is a contraction\n     of _ibi am_, there being only the letter _i_ omitted. Now, as\n     _am_ is evidently a present time, and the same _am_ we have in\n     English, it means, \"I existence;\" so that when _ibi_ is added to\n     it, both words mean, \"I existence then,\" or \"at that time;\" and\n     it is in this manner that men, in the beginning, made a past\n     time. If we now turn to the past time of _sum_ (_eram_, _eras_,\n     _erat_, &c.) we shall find that the same method has been adhered\n     to. The _am_ here is the _am_ in ib_am_; and now we have to look\n     to the word _er_ by which it is preceded, in order to find its\n     past signification. This brings us to _era_, or as it is now\n     written in Latin, _aera_ which, like _ibi_, refers also to a past\n     time, meaning _that epoch_. Then _eram_, which might as well be\n     written _aeram_, is a contraction of aer_a_am, there being, as\n     before, but a single letter omitted, (the _a_,) and the meaning\n     is as before, \"I existence _then_, or _at that epoch_.\"\n\n\nCertainly if ever there was a man who \"existenced\" at an era or epoch,\nor rather who was himself the era, Mr Kavanagh may claim the\ndistinction.\n\nWe are informed by the printer that our space is nearly out, and we\nmust therefore draw to a close. We cannot better fill up the limits\nallowed us, than by selecting a few examples of our author's\nsuccessful treatment of etymology. It will be seen that in the\nzoological department of this subject he is particularly happy.\n\n     \"The third person plural, _etoient_, is a very curious word: it\n     literally means _the great lives_--and there is for this a very\n     wise reason. When this word first received this name, persons\n     were not referred to, but the winds of heaven; and hence the\n     propriety of the name _great lives_ or _great beings_; and also\n     of making this name signify afterwards _persons_ or _beings\n     gone_, since nothing can, to all appearance, be more gone than\n     the winds that have passed by. When _oient_ means _the great\n     lives_, it is to be thus analysed: _oi-iv-it_; or thus,\n     _ii-iv-it_; or thus, _iv-iv-it_. But when considered as meaning\n     but a single idea, it may be indifferently written _went_ or\n     _ivent_. It is easy to perceive that _ivent_ is no other than\n     _vent_, the French of wind, the _i_ having been dropped. Thus we\n     discover the origin of the English word _went_: we see that it is\n     the same as _vent_ or _wind_.\"\n\n     \"As the French word _souvent_ means, when analysed, _all the\n     wind_ (_is-oii-vent_), it would appear that men in the beginning\n     of time received also the idea of frequency from the winds. But\n     in a country rarely visited by them, this idea must have been\n     borrowed from some other natural object. Thus the Latin word for\n     _often_ (_saeepe_) takes, when analysed, this form, _is-ae-ip-e_,\n     which literally means, _is the bees_. Here the word _bees_ is\n     represented by _ip-e_, of which the meaning is _bee_, _bee_; but\n     to avoid the repetition of the second _bee_, a pronoun, that is\n     _e_, and which means life or being, has been put in its place.\n     When it is remarked that this pronoun might as well be _is_ or\n     _es_ as what it is, it will be admitted that _saepe_ might as well\n     be written _saepes_. I make this remark to show how slight the\n     difference between _apes_, the Latin of _bees_ and _ape_ in\n     _is-ape_, which means also the _bees_. Now the English word\n     _often_ becomes, when analysed, _en-ov-it_, of which the literal\n     meaning is _the sheep-sheep_; the pronoun _it_ serving here as in\n     the last instance, and for the same reason, as a substitute for\n     the second word _sheep_; but this _it_ might as well be _es_ or\n     _is_. In Latin the word for _sheep_ is _ov is_, which must have\n     first been _is ov_; that is, _the sheep_: but when the _is_ fell\n     behind, it became _ovis_, and it has no other meaning than _the\n     one life_ (_is-o-vie_). Thus we perceive that _the winds, bees_,\n     and _sheep_, have, in three different countries, given birth to\n     the same idea.\"\n\n\nMr Kavanagh adds in a foot-note as to the word sheep--\n\n     \"This is for she-bay; that is, _the female-bay_, this animal being\n     so called from its crying _bay_. Hence it would appear that the\n     word sheep (_she-bay_) did not in the beginning apply equally to\n     both genders, but that it was only in the feminine. When we\n     recollect that the _b_ and the _p_ are frequently confounded, it\n     can be easily admitted that, with our great love for contraction,\n     _sheep_ should be used instead of _sheeb_. An analysis of the\n     French word for sheep (_brebis_) confirms what I have here stated\n     with regard to this animal's being called after its bleat. When\n     analysed, it is _is-bre-be_; of which the literal meaning is,\n     the _bray bay_; that is, the _cry bay_ or _the breath bay_, for\n     the word _breath (bray the)_ is no other than _the bray_ which\n     became _breath_ from the article _the_ falling behind _bray_. And\n     this again is confirmed by an analysis of the word _bleat_, which\n     makes _it_-BE-_il-ea_, or _it bay il e_, and means, _the bay it\n     is_, that is, it is the cry of the sheep.\"\n\n     \"_Mons_,\" says Mr Kavanagh, \"is the original of _monster_ in\n     English, of _monstre_ in French, and _monstrum_ in Latin. Then\n     the literal meaning of these words is--_monster, it is to be a\n     mountain; est er_ literally means 'it is the thing,' and, of\n     course, these two words first preceded _mon_, thus, _est er mon_\n     (it is the thing mountain.) _Monstre_ is for _mon estre_, this\n     _estre_ being the infinitive _etre_, and the same as _est re_ (it\n     is the thing.) _Monstrum_ is more modern in its form than either\n     the English word _monster_, or the French word _monstre_, since\n     it has in its composition the pronoun _um_, besides what these\n     two words have. Then the Latins had _monstre_ or _monster_ before\n     they had _monstrum_; and they must have said _um monstre_ or _um\n     monster_ just as the French say now _le monstre_.\"\n\n     \"The word _chien_ becomes when analysed (and the explanation of\n     the alphabet will show how this happens) _ic iv ien_; or, as\n     _ien_ can be reduced to _iv_, we may say it is equal to _ic iv\n     iv_. No matter which of these two forms we adopt, the analysis of\n     _chien_ will be still the same, since both are expressive of\n     haste. _Ic iv ien_ means _the thing come_ or _go_, or _life\n     life_. Thus if we contract _iv ien_ to one word, we have _vien_,\n     so that _ic vien_ will mean _the come_; and this word is we know\n     expressive of haste, since _venir_, as we have seen in the\n     account given of _oient_, means the wind (_ir ven_). In like\n     manner _ic iv iv_ may mean _the life life_, which we know from\n     the repetition of _life_ must imply quickness. And hence it is\n     that _iv iv_ become when contracted, _vive_, that is, _be alive_.\n     Now when we contract _iv ien_ to _vien_, if we give to _ic_ its\n     primitive meaning, which is that of _here_, we shall, by allowing\n     that _vien_ in the beginning went before _ic_, have for the\n     meaning of both words, come here (_vien ic_). Hence it is we\n     still hear a dog called upon in English by _Here! here!_ and in\n     French by the word _Ici_ with the dog's name attached to it. The\n     English word _dog_ is also, when analysed, expressive of haste,\n     since it makes _id eo ge_ or _id-o-ge,_ which implies _the thing\n     go_, or _the go, go_.\"\n\n\nWe conclude this brief, and, we fear, imperfect notice of so great a\nwork, by suggesting for the author's consideration, whether, in a\nrevisal of his views, he might not bestow some attention on one or two\nother languages than English and French. His attainments in these seem\nto be of a superior order, and he seems also to have made considerable\nprogress in the Latin rudiments. We do not hold that Greek is\nessential, but we respectfully submit that the acquisition of\nAnglo-Saxon, and some other older dialects of Europe, with which\nEnglish is generally supposed to have some connexion, might with\nadvantage be attempted. Not that we imagine Mr Kavanagh's views would\nthen be changed or improved. The etymologist's eye, \"in a fine frenzy\nrolling,\" may have intuitive perceptions of results such as no course\nof study could attain. But still there is a vulgar prejudice to which\nwe think it prudent to pay some deference, and which recommends that,\nbefore writing on a subject, we should know something about it.\n\nThis, however, is a secondary matter, which we merely submit in\npassing. As it is, Mr Kavanagh has taken his place as a philologist on\nan elevation which only a few can hope to attain. He may be said to\nhave done for language in general what has hitherto only been\nattempted in the field of Celtic speculation; but it is no light\nmatter to have followed and outstripped in their course the\nillustrious men who have excelled in that more limited province.\nHenceforth the name of Morgan Kavanagh will be entwined in the same\nundying wreath with those of Lachlan Maclean and Sir William Betham.\n\n\n\n\nSCRAMBLES IN MONMOUTHSHIRE.\n\nA SEQUEL TO HOUSE-HUNTING IN WALES.\n\n\nAs we sat in the state of mind which has become characteristic of the\ngallant Widdrington--in the large room at the Angel inn at\nAbergavenny, wondering when our pilgrimage among the hotels would come\nto an end--a messenger of joyful tidings made his appearance in the\nperson of our friendly landlord. He had just remembered that a house\nabout three miles off was occasionally let--he thought it was unlet at\nthat moment--it was the larger portion of a farm-house, originally\noccupied by the 'squire, but now in the hands of a most respectable\nfarmer. We would hear no more; in ten minutes from this communication\nwe were careering along in a one-horse car to judge for ourselves--our\nimaginations filled with the same celestial visions that blest the\nslumbers of the friar, in the song--\n\n    \"All night long of heaven I dream--\n    But that is fat pullets and clouted cream\"--\n\nand before we had conjured up one-half the delights of a residence in\na real farm-house, we turned in at some iron gates, drove up a\ngravelled avenue, and stood at the door of a very nice,\ncomfortable-looking house, that in many advertisements would pass very\nwell for \"a quiet and gentlemanly mansion, fit for a family of the\nfirst distinction.\" The rooms were of good size--a beautiful lawn\nbefore the door--a well-filled garden behind--fields, hedges, trees\nall round--and the river winding through brushwood a few hundred yards\nin front. It did not take long to settle about terms. We were\ninstalled the very next day; and, after our ten days' wanderings, it\nwas no little satisfaction to find once more\n\n    \"All that the heart can dream of heaven\n        --a home!\"\n\nTrunks were unpacked, books laid on the table, and, in spite of the\nseason of the year, a roaring fire went rushing up the chimney; and as\nwe looked round, after candles were brought in, and the novel skies\nand unaccustomed earth shut out, we could hardly believe we had gone\nthrough such a succession of coaches and cars, boats, busses, and\nflies--Yorks, Westerns, Beauforts, Angels, Swans, Lions, and other\nbeasts of hospitable inclinations--but that we had long been\ncompletely settled in our present quarters, while all these\nconveyances and hotels were the phantasmata of a dreadful dream.\n\nEven in the best furnished houses, in Aladdin's palace itself,\nnew-comers always discover some deficiency; and a few things were\nwanting in this to complete our felicity;--but Fate, which had frowned\nfrom every sign-board on us for a long time, was now determined to\nmake up for her bad behaviour, and at that moment put into our hands a\ncatalogue of household goods to be sold the very next day, a few miles\noff, at Oakfield Lodge. The one-horse car was again put in\nrequisition, and our hostess--the kindest of women--accompanied us to\nthe sale, and by nodding at intervals to the auctioneer, procured all\nthe articles required.\n\nA sale is always a melancholy event. A house looks so miserable with\nall its carpets and chairs and tables piled in useless heaps--the beds\ndismantled--and the rooms filled with a staring crowd, handling every\nthing, and passing its vulgar judgment upon curtains and drapery that\nthe proprietor perhaps thought finer than those of a Grecian\nstatue--on pier-glasses which had reflected shapes of love or\nbeauty--on the polish of mahogany that had been set in a roar with\nwit,--a low, mean, savage-hearted crowd, bent on making bargains, and\ncaring nothing for the associations that make commonest furniture more\nvaluable than cedar and ebony. The auction on this occasion lasted\nnearly a week; and day after day the whole population of the\nneighbourhood streamed to it like a fair. It was a handsome house, and\nthe arrangement of the rooms spoke audibly of taste and comfort.\nSelling the things that agreed together so well, to go into separate\nsituations--the library table to one town--the library chairs to\nanother--seemed very like selling a family of slaves to different\nmasters; so, after a cursory glance at the dwelling, we betook\nourselves in solitary rumination to the banks of the river. And a\nquiet, steady, calm, respectable kind of river the Usk is--not of the\nhigh aristocratic appearance of the Wye, with wild outbursts of\nyouthful petulance softened immediately into grace and elegance--but a\nsedate individual, like a retired citizen, well to do in the world,\nand glad to jog on as uninterruptedly as he can. The grounds of\nOakfield slope down to the water--and beautiful grounds they are--a\nline of rich meadows, shaded with stately trees, and divided into\nnumerous portions by invisible wires, stretches for several miles\nalong the banks; and the abrupt elevation, bounding this level sweep\nof grass and stream, affords an admirable site for two or three of the\nmoderate-sized and tasteful villas that seem the characteristics of\nthis vicinity. On pursuing our way through field and fell towards the\nsuspension bridge over the river, we saw, emerging from a wood, a\nfigure that Isaac Walton would have adopted immediately for his son\nand heir. He was a good-looking young man, but so piscatorially\nhabilimented that there was no making out his order or degree from his\nexternal sophistications. Round his hat were twined spare lines; on\nhis back, as Paris's quiver hung over his shoulder broad, was\nsuspended a fish-basket; an iron blade of a foot or so in length\nformed the end of his rod; and, as if he had been afraid of the\ndisciples of the gentle Rebecca, he bore an instrument something\nbetween a Highland claymore and a reaping-hook; and as we looked on\nhis accoutrements, we thought we would not be a trout in such a\nneighbourhood on any consideration. Escape must be impossible for\neverything with fins, from a thirty-pound salmon to a minnow. As we\ngot near him, he handled his rod with a skill and dexterity that left\nthe young waterman far behind in the management of his oars; and,\nafter a whisk or too in the upper air, he deposited the hook and line,\nnot on the ripple in the middle of the Usk, but on the bough of an\nelm-tree.\n\n\"Here's a mess!\" he said, with a half-despairing, half-angry look at\nthe entanglement. He pulled, and it seemed firmer at every tug. We\napproached to render what aid we could.\n\n\"Here's a mess!\" again he said.\n\n\"You can scarcely call it a kettle of fish,\" was our sympathizing\nreply; and by the aid of crooked sticks to hold the bough with, and\nthe warlike weapon, which cut off some of the branches, the hook was\nregained, the fly found uninjured, and with mutual good wishes we each\ntook off his several way.\n\nThere seems a good deal of amateur fishing in this country. In the\ncourse of our walk to the bridge, we saw three or four individuals\nflogging the water with great energy, who had evidently been fitted\nout in Bond Street, or who were perhaps taking out the value of the\ndresses in which they had enacted piscators at the fancy ball; but\ntheir success, we are sorry to say, was in no degree proportioned to\nthe completeness of their preparations; and we suspect that people\nwith less adornments, and a much more scanty apparatus of flies and\nfish-baskets, are the real discoverers of the treasures of the deep in\nthe shape of trout and sewin. This latter fish, the sewin, we may add\nin passing, is a luxury of which the Usk has great reason to boast;\nfor it is better than any thing we remember of the salmon kind, except\nthe inimitable grilses at Stirling.\n\nOn returning from the sale, with the carriage loaded with our\npurchases, we disposed our new acquisitions in the different rooms,\nand laid ourselves out for a few weeks' enjoyment of the blest\nretirement--friend to life's decline--which we had struggled so hard\nto gain, and which now looked so satisfying in every point.\n\nThere is nothing to be compared, for comfort and beauty, to a\ndairy-farm. Arable lands are detestable; and the windows of the house\ngenerally look into a horrible yard, where the present agonies of the\nnose are made tolerable only by the hope of the rich crop to come.\nHere our windows looked upon a sloping green field, bounded from the\nroad by a good thick hedge, at the distance of seventy or eighty\nyards. Beyond the road stretched fine luxuriant meadows, each bordered\nwith its fence of noble elms, down to the river; so that we had\nnothing to do but cross the road, and wander among fields and\nhedgerows, miles and miles, either east or west--always within hearing\nof the gentle voice of the Usk, and often in sight of the long, still\nreaches of the river, that looked like beautiful lakes, fringed to the\nwater side with willows and flowering shrubs. Seventeen or eighteen\ncows were our fellow-lodgers at the farm; and no sight is more\nfascinating, especially if you are fond of warm milk, than the long\nmajestic march, and musical invocations, of the milky mothers, as they\ncome home at evening from the pastures. Before three days were over,\nthe names of all the cows were household words among the young ones;\ntheir very voices were distinguished; and it was decided that the\nflower of the flock, as to beauty, was Glo'ster, though some of us\nstoutly maintained that the whiteness of Handsome entitled her to the\nprize. Then there were about thirty sheep; but with them (in spite of\nfrequent intercourse) we could only make out a general acquaintance--for\nwe disbelieve altogether in the possibility of distinguishing one of\nthe flock from the others. It must be the easiest thing in the world\nfor a sheep to establish an _alibi_; and we are rather surprised that\nthe impossibility of detection does not encourage some of the bolder\nof the woolly-sided heroes to some desperate outrage. There could be\nno identifying the culprit. But we saw no instance of spirit among\nthem, except a wicked attempt on the part of a young lamb to overthrow\nauthorities and powers; and we are sorry to say it was successful. Our\nfriend the farmer discovered the presence of some insects in the wool,\nor rather in the body, of one of the yearlings. He proceeded, attended\nby us all, to extirpate this fatal enemy with his shears; and, having\nseized the sufferer, put its head between his knees, and proceeded to\nlay bare the hiding-place of the devouring grub. By some unlucky\nchance, the lamb got its head loose, pushed forward with two or three\ntremendous jumps, and the operator was thrown on his back, his feet in\nthe air, and the shears held helplessly up in his discomfited hands.\nIt created great consternation among the spectators; and the two\nyounger children, after looking on in speechless amazement, thought,\nprobably, that the assailant was a tiger in disguise, and sought\nsafety ignominiously in flight. The patient--the lamb, we mean--was\nagain submitted to the shears, the grub extirpated, and the cure, we\nbelieve, effected. The muscular power of a sheep is tremendous; and,\nif it were to get its head between the ankles of the brazen Achilles,\ndown would fall the glory of Hyde Park. It is lucky they have not\nfound out the secret of their strength, as they might take such a\ndangerous attitude as materially to raise the price of mutton--a\nconsummation by no means to be wished.\n\nIn addition to the cows and sheep, and innumerable multitudes of\nchickens and turkeys, the farm boasted a goodly array of horses. These\nwould have made a poor figure at Newmarket, as they were no kin to\nGodolphin or Eclipse--but in plough or harrow they looked respectable.\nThere was an old mare, and her daughter, and her daughter's\ndaughter--Grannie, and Polly, and Rose by name. There were also\nanother mare and her foal; but our acquaintance was confined to the\nthree generations--or rather to the two--for Grannie was old and\nstupid; and as the farmer sported a fine old-fashioned strong rough\ngig, we occasionally pressed Polly into the service, put two or three\nchildren on footstools in the front, brandished a whip that had done\nduty at the plough, and trotted off with the easy dignity of four\nmiles an hour, and lionized the whole neighbourhood. Amidst bumps, and\nthumps, and bursts of laughter at the unwieldy turn-out, the excursion\nwas pleasanter than if made in a chariot and four.\n\nOne day we started off to visit Ragland Castle; the distance was five\nor six miles, the day beautiful, the mare in splendid order, and the\nwhip ornamented with a new lash. Disregarding the whinnyings and\nneighings with which the family received our steed as we passed the\nfield where they were all assembled to see us at the gate, from\nGrannie down to the foal, we applied the thong vigorously, and\nchirruped, and whistled, and cried \"Gee!\" and \"Hither!\" and got fairly\ninto a trot; and an easy thing it is to maintain the pace after you\nhave once got into it--in fact, you find some difficulty in getting\ninto a slower rate; and if by any chance we pulled up altogether to\nsee a view, Polly, who was no judge of the picturesque, was very apt\nto turn round and run away home--if the word \"run away\" can be applied\nto a very determined walk, with no regard whatever to bit and rein. A\nstruggle of this sort was very apt to occur at Llansaintfraed Lodge,\nmeaning, we are told, in the original, the Church of St Bridget--and a\npretty church it is. It is in a park of moderate size, crowning a\ngentle elevation; a carriage-drive leads to it, nicely gravelled, for\nit is the approach to Llansaintfraed House. The church, when we saw\nit, was all festooned over the porch and a portion of the walls, with\nhoneysuckle in full show; roses and other flowers were planted all\nround, and a fine solid stone cross threw its beautiful shadow over\nthe graves. The church is very small and very old, and owes a part of\nits good condition to the good fortune of having had the late Bishop\nof Llandaff for a parishioner. Some years ago he occupied\nLlansaintfraed House, and rescued the parish from the disgrace of a\nruinous and neglected church. It is only to be wished that every\nparish had its manor occupied so well--for a district with churches so\nshamefully fallen into disrepair we never saw. In all the churchyards,\nfor instance, the piety of our forefathers had raised a cross; and it\nsurely does not argue a man to be a Puseyite, if he thinks highly of\nsuch an emblem in such a place; and in every instance, except this one\nof Llansaintfraed, the hand of the spoiler hath been upon it. The\ncross, in every instance, is broken, and only a portion of the broken\npillar remaining. If the archdeacon disapproves of the cross, let it\nbe removed altogether; but if not, let it be repaired, and not left to\naffront the parishioners with the daily spectacle of the rate-payers'\nmeanness and the clergyman's neglect. So, having managed to get\nPolly's head round again--for she had availed herself of our pause to\nwhisk homeward--we proceed on our way to Ragland. Welsh precisians, we\nperceive, call it Rhaglan--and probably attach a nobler meaning to the\nname than can be forced out of the Saxon Rag and Land; but as\nnovelists and historians have agreed in calling it Ragland, we shall\nkeep to the old spelling in spite of sennachie and bard. A short way\nbeyond Llansaintfraed is the handsome gate and beautiful park of\nClytha; the gate surmounted by a magnificent and highly ornamented\nGothic arch, and the mansion-house pure Grecian--an allegory, perhaps,\nof the gradual civilization of mankind, or the process by which\nchivalrous knights are turned into Christian gentlemen. The house is\nmodern, and even the arch without much pretension to antiquity; but\nthe family stretching far back into the gloom of ages, and lineal\nancestors of the antediluvian patriarchs. Since the Deluge, however,\nthey have restricted themselves to this part of Monmouthshire; and\njudging from the number of Joneses--which is the great name in the\nneighbourhood--there seems no great chance of the genealogical tree\nbeing in want of branches. There is nothing so strange in a new\nvicinity as the different weight attached to family names. We have\nknown districts where the word Smith itself, even without the\nfictitious dignity of _y_ in the middle and _e_ at the end, was\npronounced with great veneration. Jones--elsewhere sacred to the comic\nmuse--is of as potent syllable--unluckily it has only one--along the\nbanks of the Usk, as Scott or Douglas on the Nith and Yarrow. And such\nis the effect of territorial or moral association, that we shall\nwillingly withdraw an objection we made to a line in the tragedy of\nour late friend J---- S----, where some one, speaking of the patriot\nPym--to eye and ear the most pithless and contemptible of\ncognomens--says,\n\n    \"There is a sound of thunder in the name.\"\n\nWe have no doubt there was a very distinct peal of heaven's dread\nartillery in the ear of that bitter-hearted Roundhead every time he\nheard the magic word--Pym.\n\nThe family highest in mere antiquity in Monmouthshire, we are told,\nrejoices in the curious-looking name of Progers. From them are\ndescended the noble Beauforts, and even the Joneses of Clytha. For\nhundreds of years, the Progerses had kept going down-hill; estate\nafter estate had disappeared; farm after farm took to flight; till,\nthirty or forty years ago, the blood of the Progerses flowed in the\nveins of a poor gentleman with about two hundred a-year, a house in\nvery bad repair, and family pride that seemed to flourish in\nproportion as every thing else decayed. Some tourist, in the course of\nhis researches, encountered this Monmouthshire Marins sitting among\nthe ruins of his former state. The tourist was of a genealogical turn\nof mind, and the Desdichado poured forth his hoarded boasts in his\nsympathizing ear. \"Out of this house,\" he said, pointing mechanically\nto the tottering walls of his family mansion, but metaphorically\nalluding to the House of Progers, \"came the Joneses of Clytha and\nLlanerth--out of this house came the noble Somersets, now Dukes of\nBeaufort;\" and so he went on, relating all the great and powerful\nnames that had owed their origin to his house. The tourist seems also\nto have had some knowledge of architecture, for his answer to the\ncatalogue was--\"Well, sir, it's my advice to you to come out of this\nhouse yourself as quickly as you can, or it will be down upon you some\nof these days to a certainty.\"\n\nOn passing Clytha, we enter into a territory which might more justly\nbe called Somersetshire than the county the other side of the channel.\nThe Dukes of Beaufort seem paramount wherever you go; and in every\ntown, and even in all the villages, there is sure to be a house of\nentertainment with the royal portcullis on the signpost, and the name\nof the Beaufort Arms. The domains of the family must be larger than\nhalf a dozen foreign principalities; and, from all we heard, the\nconduct of the present noble Somerset is worthy of his high\nposition--liberal, kind-hearted, magnificent. One thing very pleasant\nto see was the little garden-ground taken from the road, and attached\nto nice clean cottages, almost all the way. Little portions, about\nthirty feet in depth, and considerable length, formed the wealth and\nornament of the wayside dwellings. They were all well filled with\napple and other fruit-trees, and stocked with useful vegetables. If\nthis is the plan of enclosing commons, we wish we were in Parliament\nto give Lord Worsley our aid; for a few perches, well hedged and\ncarefully kept, are worth all the rights of pasture, whether of cows,\ngeese, or donkeys, that ever the poor possessed. Inside of this fringe\nof rustic independencies, snug farm-houses rose up in all directions;\nbut, with a perverseness which seems characteristic of the whole\ncounty, and not limited to farm-houses, or even semi-genteel villas, no\nsooner does a man fix on a nice situation--a rising knoll beside a\nriver--a gentle slope--or beautiful level green--no sooner does he\nrear a modest, or perhaps an ornamental, mansion on the site, than his\nnext care is to plant as thick round it as the trees will stand. Elms,\npoplars, oaks, and larches, in a few years block up the view; and\narbutus, rododendrons, and enormous Portugal laurels, stand as an\nimpenetrable screen before every window; so that a house, which by its\narchitecture ought to be an ornament to the neighbourhood, and should\ncommand noble hills and rich valleys, might as well be a wigwam in an\nIndian forest. There seems a greater tendency to rheumatism than\nromance among the inhabitants; and, by the by, we observed on all the\nwalls Welsh placards of Parr's pills. But in spite of the large\nletters, and the populousness of the towns and villages where they\nwere posted up, we did not see a single individual reading the\nannouncements. Query, can the Welsh peasantry read Welsh? or is their\nbook-learning limited to English, and their native tongue left to its\noral freedom, untrammeled with A, B, C? In addition to the usual fence\nof impenetrable trees and shrubs, we noticed one pretty little\ndwelling, newly built, a mile or two from the village of Ragland,\ntastefully ornamented with an immense heap of compost, which nearly\nbarricaded the drawing-room window. The inhabitant must have been a\nprodigious agriculturist; and probably preferred the useful, but\nunromantic heap, to any other object in the view. We gave it the name\nof Guano Hall.\n\nBut where, all this while, is Ragland Castle, and when will the old\nmare jiggle joggle to the end of our course? All eyes were kept in\nconstant motion to catch a glimpse of the towers and pinnacles, of\nwhich we felt sure we were now within a mile. Trees, trees, and\nnothing but trees, with sometimes a glimpse of blue hills far off, and\nwreaths of smoke from cottages or farms rising above the wilderness of\nleaves. At last, on a little elevation on the left hand, rising\nsolemnly, into the silent air, we caught sight of the old ruin, with\ngreat ponderous walls, covered with ivy, and the sky seen through the\nopen arches of its immense windows. A beautiful mass of building, with\nsuch rents and fissures in it, that you wondered whether it was ever\nentire; and the walls so thick and massive that you wondered again how\nit ever fell into decay. We hobbled into the village, keeping the\ncastle in view the whole time, got good quarters for the mare at the\nfirst hostel we encountered, and proceeded up a country lane to spend\nan hour or two among the ruins. The entrance is very fine, and might\ngive rise to grand historic emotions in people fond of the feudal and\nsublime; but in our instance such a train of thought would have been\nimpossible, for just inside of the majestic portal sat an old harper\nthrumming away at the pathetic melody of Jenny Jones. He might as well\nhave played Jim Crow at once, for romance was put to flight, and we\nspeedily got as far as we could from the descendant of Talessin. The\nDuke of Beaufort has fitted up the ruins in a way that would have\ngratified the heart of Mrs Radcliffe. Winding stairs lead, in the\nthickness of the walls, from tower to tower, and the dim corridors and\ndizzying bartizans are made safe to the most timid of Cockneys by\nstout wooden banisters, that enable you to stand as securely on a\ncrumbling battlement as on the top of Salisbury plain. We saw the\ncourts and quadrangles, admired the splendid windows, and only\nwondered at the lowness of the ceilings of some of the principal\nrooms, as from floor to floor could not have been more than seven feet\nand a half. There were fountain courts without a fountain; and\nchapel-yards with no chapel; why should we speak of kitchens,\nconjuring up visions of roasted oxen, and butteries suggestive of\nhogsheads of home-brewed ale, when fire-places are now choked up, and\nnothing is left of the buttery but a pile of broken stones? At first,\non going in, we dilated on the grand things we should do in the way of\nrestoration if we were the lord of the castle. First, we would fit it\nup exactly as it was in the brave days of old: we should have new\nfloors put in the audience-chamber; a roof on the great dining-hall; a\nstately dais at the upper end, and get it from the hands of Pugin--the\nidentical castle of the days of Elizabeth. But, on closer inspection,\nwe came to the conclusion that the natural condition of such buildings\nis that of interesting remains. The rooms are low, the passages are\ndark, the bed-rooms dog-kennels, the stairs ladders, the court-yards\ndamp, the windows all turned the wrong way, and, in short, the\nsixteenth century an excellent trimmer of popes and conqueror of\narmadas, but a very bad architect.\n\nIn one of the court-yards was a flock of sheep nibbling at the grass\nthat had been trodden by the great marquis, as he walked down after\nhis noble defence, to deliver his sword to the Parliamentarian\nFairfax. Has Cattermole or Charles Landseer never thought of the brave\nold cavalier, at the age of eighty-five, surrendering his ancestral\nhome,--surrounded by his sorrowing garrison, and bearing himself with\nthe true dignity of a heroic noble? Let them think of this, and send\nus a proof print.\n\nLeader of the sheep was the most beautiful ram that ever was seen\nsince Aries was made a star. All our common-place muttons at home sank\ninto insignificance at once. The children patted it, and fed it, and\nkissed it,--and to all their endearments it answered in the most\nbewitching manner. It followed them like a dog, and rubbed its head\nagainst them, and it was soon very evident that the greatest beauty of\nRagland Castle, in certain eyes, was thickly cased in wool. The\nancient gardener told us it had once taken such a fancy to one of the\nvisitors, that it had followed her up a hundred and sixty steps to the\nvery top of the signal tower,--and the old lady was so pleased with\nit, she wished to take it home with her, though she lived two or three\nhundred miles off. And certainly if ever a pet of such a size was\nallowable, it must have been the gentle creature before us. But all\nthings are deceitful--gentle-looking rams among the number,--for on\nthe discontinuance of our gifts, he waxed all of a sudden very wroth,\nand favoured the youngest of the party with a butt, that made her not\nknow whether she was on her head or her heels--which is an\nextraordinary specimen of ignorance, for she was exactly half-way\nbetween both. So, converting our admiration of the golden fleece into\na kick, we raised the astonished victim of his anger, and after a\ndelightful stroll got into our gig again, and in due time arrived at\nour comfortable home.\n\nWe have heard of people being a month at Cairo, and never going to see\nthe Pyramids,--a circumstance which does not give a very lofty idea of\ntheir activity. We determined to show those stay-at-homes a good\nexample, and not remain a week in Monmouthshire without visiting the\nWye. Again the old gig was put in requisition; but on this occasion we\nsucceeded in borrowing a horse of a neighbouring farmer, that trotted\nmerrily up and down hill at a reasonable pace; and away we started on\none of the few warm days of this hyperborean summer, on our way to the\ntown of Monmouth. Great is the enjoyment of passing through a\nbeautiful country on a fine clear day in June. There was no dust--the\nsun was not too hot--the hedges were in full leaf, and no drawback to\nour felicity except a preternatural dread of stone heaps by the\nroadside, on the part of our steed, which: kept us on the alert to try\nand pull in the proper direction the moment he shied to the side. All\nother objects in nature or art it passed with the equanimity of a\nsage; tilted waggons with the wind flapping their canvass coverings\nwith a sound and motion that would justify a little tremor in the\nheart of Bucephalus--stagecoaches, loaded with men and luggage,\nrushing down-hill at fifteen miles an hour, and apparently determined\nto force their way over our very heads. Against all these it showed\nthe most unflinching courage; but if it came to a heap of stones,\nlarge or small, broken or entire, it lost its presence of mind in a\nmoment, and would have jumped for safety into the ditch at the other\nside of the road, if not restrained by a pull at the rein, and a good\ncut of the whip scientifically applied. Even the milestone was an\nobject of great alarm; and as there were twelve of them on the way,\nand the cowardly creature never by any chance missed seeing them,\nhowever deep they were sunk in hedges, or buried in grassy banks, we\nnever required to distinguish the figures on the stones, but\ncalculated the progress we made by the number of starts and struggles.\nAfter a dozen of these debates, which created great amusement among\nthe juveniles of the party, we arrived at the clean delightful town of\nMonmouth--and here let us make amends for the disparaging mention of\nthis place in our former narrative of House-Hunting in Wales. The\nweather on that occasion was very bad, and the inn we lunched at a\nvery poor and uncomfortable one. When a person's principal\nacquaintance with a town consists in his experience of its wet streets\nand tough beef steaks, it is no wonder that his impressions are not of\nthe most agreeable kind. On the present occasion we drove to the\nBeaufort Arms, and, in imitation of the Marquis of Exeter, \"we pulled\nat the bell with a lordly air.\" The hostler and his curates rushed\nzealously from the further end of the yard, and received us with\nastonishing command of face--not a grin was visible, even the waiters\nstood with decorous solemnity, while child after child was lifted\ndown, and all out of one gig. They rather looked on with the pleased\nexpression we have seen on the countenances of a rural audience when\nMr Ingilby, or other juggler, produced, out of some unaccountably\nprolific hat, a stewing-pan, a salt cellar, a couple of eggs, a brood\nof chickens, and finally the maternal hen. We ordered a cold dinner to\nbe put into baskets, with a moderate accompaniment of bottles and\nglasses--enquired if a boat was to be had to take us up the Wye--were\nrecommended to a certain barge-master of the name of Williams; and, in\na very short space of time, were safely stowed in a beautiful clipper,\nthirty feet long, with only nine inches draught of water, with a\ngorgeous morning over our heads, luxurious cushions on the seats, a\ntug, in the shape of a most strong, active fellow, pulling us by the\ntowing-path, and, seated at the helm, the most civil, the most polite,\nthe most communicative, and the most talkative man that it ever was\nour fortune to meet. He united in his own person a vast multiplicity\nof trades and offices. He was innkeeper, boat-builder, boat-owner,\npilot, turner, Bristol-trader, wood-merchant, coracle-maker,\nfisherman, historian, and, above all, a warrior of the most tremendous\ncourage. In all of these capacities he had no rival; and as it was his\nown boat, his native town, his own river, and we were merely his\npassengers, he had it all his own way. He stood up in the excitement\nof his discourse, and talked without a moment's intermission--sometimes\nto us--sometimes to a little boy he had brought on board to look after\nthe baskets--sometimes to the man on the towing-path--and sometimes to\nhimself; but at all times there fell thick and fast about our ears the\nwords of Thomas Williams; and of all his words, Thomas Williams was\nthe hero. As people get used to the noise of a waterfall, at last we\nstood the perpetual sound without any inconvenience, and carried on\nquiet conversation, or sank into silent admiration, as we floated past\nthe bold cliffs, or soft-wooded shores, of the sylvan Wye.\n\nFor the first mile or two from Monmouth, the hermit of the woods is\nnothing to boast of. The banks are low; the water sluggish; and the\nscenery common-place. The beauties begin at a bend of the river, where\nMr Blakemore has built a large and comfortable-looking house. On a\nhigh, conical hill above the mansion, there stands a lofty gazebo of\nopen iron-work, commanding a view of we don't remember how many\ncounties; but before our _cicerone_ had got half-way into an account\nof each of them, with their capital towns, the names of the present\nmayors, and the noble families he had supplied with cricket-bats, we\nhad passed far away among the noble scenery of the oak district; and\nour friend launched into a description of oak plantations in\ngeneral--the value of oaks per acre--the sum paid to Lord George for\nhis estate, which was bought by government fourteen years ago, the\nlast time the duke was in power--\n\n\"What duke?\"\n\nAn unlucky question, for it led into a disquisition o all dukes,\nancient and modern, and an encomium on the late Duke of Beaufort, as\nthe best soldier that England had ever produced. \"He was a true\nsoldier's friend, and flogged every soul that came on parade-ground\nwith a dirty shirt. I don't think there was ever seen such a militia\nregiment--there was a sight more flogging in it than the reg'lars--so\nit was quite a comfort to some fellers that didn't like it, to go into\nthe line. I was in it myself; but I liked the duke, though he would\nhave flogged me as soon as look at me. And such dinners he gave us\nwhen our time was over--it was dreadful--six of our corporals died of\ndrinking in one month. He was certainly the greatest officer ever _I_\nsee. I was threatened myself with a thing they call _delirium\ntremens_, for he dined us in tents for a fortnight at a time. It's a\npity the French never landed; we would have licked them like sacks. I\nhates a Frenchman, and hope to have a fling at 'em yet.\"\n\nIn the mean time we had glided further and further into the leafy\nrecesses of the river. Such banks are nowhere else to be seen--high\nperpendicular cliffs, broken off in all manner of fantastic shapes;\nsometimes a great rock standing up bare, smooth, and majestic, like a\nvast tower of some gigantic cathedral; sometimes a solitary column,\nhigher and more massive than any of an architect's designing, with its\ncapital ornamented with self-sown shrubs, and its base washed by the\nrippling water. Each of these called forth an anecdote from our guide,\nphilosopher, and friend--one was \"the scene of the great fight between\nCharacterus and the Romans. The Romans licked 'em; for them Welsh was\nnever no great shakes. I could lick any three ancient Britons I ever\nsaw myself--and they knows it. And, as to Characterus, he could be no\ngreat general, or he never would have fought on that side of the\nwater. He should have come across to the other side, and he would have\nlicked them Romans to a certainty.\"\n\nWe thought it was a pity Mr Williams, who, in spite of his contempt\nfor the ancient Britons, was as true a Welshman as ever ate his leek,\nhad not been of the council of war of Caractacus--for it _was_ the\nscene of his great struggle we were passing. The ground still bears\nthe name of Slaughter Field, and was a fit altar on which to offer the\nlast victims to national freedom. The scenery all round it is of the\nnoblest character--rock and wood, and the mountain chain that they\nhoped had shut out the invader. The river bends round it, and enables\nyou to keep for a long time in view the plain where the battle was\nfought, and the rude remains of what is considered to have been the\nRoman encampment. After an hour or two delightfully spent in gliding\nunder enormous cliffs, and winding among woods of all hues and sizes,\nhanging over the precipice, and waving their branches almost down to\nthe water's edge, we arrived at our point of destination, a high rock\ncalled Simon's Yatt, which our agreeable companion described as the\nfinest thing in the world. On bringing to at the landing-place, we\nfound we had nearly a mile to walk up a steep road, newly escarped on\nthe side of the hill; and setting ourselves manfully to the effort, we\nbegan our march--Williams insisted on being the useful member of the\nparty. He offered, in the plenitude of his strength, to carry the\nshawls, to carry a couple of children, to carry ourselves; he thought\nnothing of weights; he was used to hard labour; he rather liked some\ndifficult thing to do; and finally, nearly broke down under the burden\nof one of the provision baskets; stopping every now and then to rest,\nand evidently over-tasked. The day was very hot--the soil was a red\nironstone--there was no shelter from the pervading sun--and the ascent\nwas on an inclination of at least one foot in six; at last, however,\nurged on by a desire to enjoy the prospect--and the lunch--and also\nwith a malicious intention, shared by the whole party, to walk our\ncompanion to death, we surmounted all difficulties, wound round a\nrocky eminence at the top, and suddenly found ourselves on a\nbeautifully wooded platform, six or seven hundred feet above the\nriver, and in the enjoyment of the most surprising view we ever saw.\nThe river Wye takes a sharp turn round the foot of this enormous\nprojection, not only winding round the extremity, but actually flowing\ndown on one side exactly as it flowed up on the other, leaving Simon's\nYatt as a sort of wedge inserted in its course; and presents the\nextraordinary effect of the same river at the same moment running both\nnorth and south. The summit of Simon's Yatt is not above fifty feet\nwide, and the descent on one side is perpendicular, showing the river\ndirectly under your feet, and on the other is nearly precipitous,\nleaving only room, between its base and the river, for a most\npicturesque assemblage of cottages called the New-Weir village.\nDirectly in front is the rich level champaign, containing the town of\nRoss at a considerable distance, Goodrich Priory, and many other\nresidences, from the feudal Castle to the undated Grange. On the\nhorizon-line you recognise Ledbury, the Malvern hills; and the whole\noutline of the Black mountains. On the right, where the river careers\nalong in its backward course, you see the interminable foliage of the\nforest of Dean, and the rich valleys of Glo'stershire. A very\nhandsome house, about a mile down the river, attracted our attention.\n\"It's a reg'lar good billet,\" said Mr Williams, breaking off from some\nother piece of information with which he was regaling the idle wind,\nfor by this time we had acquired a power of not hearing a word he\nsaid; \"and it's a great shame, the gent as owns it never lives in it.\nHe is a very great man in foreign parts; and the Pope is his uncle.\nSo, in course, he always lives in France to be near his great\nrelations.\" No cross-examination could shake his statement of this\ngenealogical curiosity; so we looked with increased interest on the\nmansion of the Pope's nephew, whose principal merit by the by, in Mr\nWilliam's eyes, was, that he had once furnished him with a coracle.\nAfter gratifying our eyes for a long time with the surprising\nprospect, we found a nice shady spot in a plantation at a little\ndistance; spread shawls and cloaks upon the grass, and were soon\nengaged in the mysteries of cold meat, hard-boiled eggs, an excellent\nsalad, and Guinness's porter--not to mention a beautiful gooseberry\ntart and sparkling ginger-beer. Some feasts have been more splendid,\nand some perhaps more seasoned with eloquence and wisdom--but, as the\nVicar of Wakefield says of the united party of the Primroses and the\nFlamboroughs, \"If there was not much wit among the company, there was\na great deal of laughter, and that did just as well.\" So we laughed a\ngood hour among the shady walks at Simon's Yatt--managed for five\nwhole minutes to stop our companion's conversation by filling his\nmouth with beef and porter, distributed the fragments among a hungry\nand admiring population of young coal-heavers who looked on--like a\ngroup starting out of Murillo's pictures--and with empty baskets and\njoyous hearts set off on our homeward way. We glided at our own sweet\nwill down the river, exchanged the bark for our plethoric gig, and in\ndue course of time, after twelve starts at the twelve milestones,\narrived in safety at our home.\n\nBy this time there were no symptoms left of deficient health and\nstrength--the invalid would have done for an honorary member of the\nclub of fat people recorded in the _Spectator_; and we looked, with\ndisdain on the level territory on the banks of the Usk, and longed for\nhills to climb, and walls to get over, and rocks to overcome, like\nknights-errant in search of adventures. No walk was too great for us.\nWe thought of challenging Captain Barclay to a match against time, or\nof travelling through England as the Pedestrian Wonders. Walker, the\ntwopenny postman, would have had no chance against us. So, merely by\nway of practice, we started off one day, with straw-hats and short\nsummer frocks, and every other accompaniment of a professed\npedestrian's turn-out, and away we went on a pilgrimage to the\nchurchyard of Llanvair Kilgiden. Through rich fields of grass we\nsauntered--over stiles we leapt--through hedges we dashed--and\noccasionally became prosaic enough to walk on for half a mile or so in\na country lane, but generally we preferred trespassing through a\ncorn-field, and losing our way in searching for a short cut across a\nplantation; and at last, after many hairbreadth 'scapes--after being\nterrified by the bellowing of a bull, which turned out to be a\nsentimental cow giving vent to her agitated feelings in what somebody\ncalls a \"gentle voice and low\"--after nearly losing half the party by\nthe faithlessness of a plank that crossed a ditch that swarmed with an\ninnumerable multitude of tadpoles--after surpassing these, and many\nother perils, we at last got into the quiet road that leads from Penty\nGoitre bridge down to the church of Llanvair--a large, solemn-looking\nchurchyard, ornamented with a goodly array of splendid yew-trees, and\nboasting, at some former period, a majestic stone cross, now of course\ndefaced, and the very square it stood upon moss-grown and in ruins.\nThe church itself is a plain quiet structure, but the sylvan beauty\nand peaceful seclusion of the situation cannot be surpassed. We\nmeasured the great yews, and several of them were twenty-four or\ntwenty-five feet in circumference at four feet from the ground. There\nwere some graves enclosed in railings, and surrounded by evergreens\nand rose-trees; and the sentiment of the place was not destroyed by a\nfew nibbling sheep that cropped the short grass on the graves where\nthe rude forefathers of the hamlet slept. Can the sepulchral muses\nhave found their way to so remote a district as this? Have\n\"afflictions sore\" and \"vain physicians\" obtained a sculptor among the\nheadstones of this out-of-the-way place? We made a survey of the\ninscriptions, as a very sure guide to the state of education among the\npeasantry, and are compelled to confess that the schoolmaster had\ndecidedly gone abroad. Even monuments of some pretension to grandeur,\nwith full-cheeked cherubs on the sides, and solid stones on the top,\noffered no better specimens of spelling and composition that this:--\n\n    \"Laden with age my years they flew--\n    The Lord is holy, just, and trew.\"\n\n\nAnd on the slab, over a child of three years old, the following pithy\nobservation:--\n\n    \"If life and care could death p_er_vent,\n    My days would not so soon been spent.\"\n\n\nThe sculptor, in many instances, (being tired probably of chiselling\nthe same words over and over,) had attempted an improvement by\naltering the arrangement of the lines,--an ingenious device on his\npart, and a pleasing puzzle to the spectator:--\n\n    \"A tender husband and a father\n    dear, a faithful friend lies\n    buried hear, he was true and\n    just in all his ways, he do\n    deserve this worthey praise.\"\n\n\nTo the memory of Margaret, wife of John Hall, appeared some lines of a\nsuperior kind, with which we never met elsewhere:--\n\n    \"You see around me richer neighbours lie\n    As deep and still in this cold ground as I;\n    From ease and plenty they were called away--\n    Could I in lingering sickness wish to stay?\n    When faith supports the body worn with pain,\n    To live is nothing but to die is gain.\"\n\n\nBut as if to show that the muse had made a very flying visit to the\nhamlet, and had left the mason, on the next occasion, to his own\nunassisted genius, the epitaph on two other members of the same family\nruns thus:--\n\n    \"When in the world we did remain,\n    Our latter days was grief and pain,\n    But God above he thought it best\n    To take _we_ to a place of rest.\"\n\n\nWhat can it be that induces people, who were probably as unpoetical as\nAudrey in their lives, to wish the ornament of verse upon their\ntombstones? The effect must be almost ludicrous upon those who were\nacquainted with the living individual, to hear \"the long resounding\nmarch and energy divine\" of heroics and Alexandrines proceeding from\nhim, now he is dead. Philosophy put by the epitaph-writer in the\nmouths of a chaw-bacon--moral reflections on the loveliness of virtue\nin the mouth of a poor-law overseer--and noble incitements to follow a\ngood example in the mouth of the bully or drunkard of the parish, must\nbe far from useful to the surviving generation. We therefore highly\napprove of the remarks of a sententious gentleman in this churchyard,\nwho seems to lay no great claim to extraordinary merit himself, but\nfavours his co-parishioners with very useful advice:--\n\n    \"Farewell, vain world, I've seen enough of thee,\n    And now am careless what thou say'st of me,--\n    Thy smiles I court not, nor thy frowns I fear;\n    My cares are past; my head lies quiet here--\n    What faults thou see'st in me take care to shun--\n    Look well at home; enough there's to be done.\"\n\n\nBy the time we had transferred these and other inscriptions to our\nnote-book, the party were refreshed and ready for the homeward walk.\nWe got over the same stiles and underwent the same dangers as before,\nand happily completed our voyage of discovery to the beautiful\nchurchyard of Llanvair.\n\nDay after day saw us all busy in ferreting out fine views or old\nmanor-houses--the little Skirrid or old Llangattock. Sometimes we\ncrossed the river and wandered through the delicious lanes of\nLlanover, or passed through Llanellen on our way to the Blorenge. As\nour courage and strength expanded, we tried bolder flights--spent a\nday among the smoke and thunder of the Nantiglo ironworks--with\nprocessions of thousands of men hurrying off amidst music, and shouts\nof the most tremendous loudness, to a dinner at their club. Great,\nhard-featured, savage-looking fellows they were, though in their\nholiday attire, and accompanied by one or two of the Bailey\nfamily--the real iron kings of the neighbourhood; and a sight of their\ngrim features and brawny arms gave us a more vivid respect for the\ncourage of Sir Thomas Philips, who drove them back from the sack and\nmassacre of Newport; and also a clearer idea of the almost justifiable\nhardihood of the worshipful Mister Frost, in thinking that with ten or\ntwelve thousand souls, made of fire, and children of the mine, he\ncould upset Old England, and be himself the legitimate successor of\nKing Coal.\n\nAnother day we spent among the ruins of Llantony Abbey, one of the\nfinest remains of ecclesiastical architecture in the kingdom. The\nperson who owns the ground and the ruins, is a poet, a philosopher, a\nscholar, so at least he wishes to be thought; but from the condition\nof the abbey, (a small pot-house protruding its vulgar sign from one\nof the noble entrances, and a skittle-ground being established in the\nmain aisle--desolation, neglect, and dirtiness all around,) we formed\nno very high estimate of the taste or feeling of Mr Walter Savage\nLandor. If he had no higher object than merely to keep up the beauty\nof the building, you might expect that he would have guarded it from\nthe degradation of beer, tobacco, and British spirits. A man of a\npoetical mind would have taken care to prevent such miserable\nassociations as are supplied by a tap and skittle-ground;--a person of\nloftier and purer sentiments would have shown more reverence for the\n_genius loci_, and would have remembered that the walls were once\nvocal with Christian prayers, and that what in other instances would\nbe only negligence, is profanation here. But probably the innkeeper\npays his rent regularly, and we hope will be made the interlocutor in\nan imaginary conversation with the last abbot of Llantony.\n\nThe object we had in coming into Wales was now entirely gained; and\nafter ten weeks most happy wanderings over hill and dale, and\nconstantly breathing the clear fresh air of Monmouthshire, we packed\nup bag and baggage, and returned to our home with a stock of health\nlaid in for winter use, which will keep us constantly in mind of the\nbenefits we derived from change of scene.\n\n\n\n\nNEAPOLITAN SKETCHES.\n\nGARDEN OF THE VILLA REALE.\n\n\nThis garden--which, during the winter months, is the lounge of the\nEnglish idler at Naples, and then looks as flowerless and dingy as\nKensington in an east wind--assumes a very different appearance in\nspring. On the 7th of May, we, who had passed the winter at Rome, were\nat once struck with the brilliancy of unusual blossoms, and the number\nof distinguished vegetable foreigners who lifted their heads out of\nparterres, of the very existence of which in winter one is scarcely\nconscious. The formal line of clipt _Ilex_ that looks towards the sea,\nhad changed its dusky hue for a warmer tint; statues that had been\ndoing sentinel all the winter without relief, now seem to bend\ndelighted over fragrant flower-beds, and enjoy the spring. Two high\nshrubs in flower (_Metresiglias_) hoist from opposite beds, the one\nits _white_, the other its _red_ banner. Two of the _Muses_, the\n_Speciosa_ and _Paravisogna_, or bread-tree plant, were raising their\nlight spiry trunks out of a _corbeille_ taller than a life-guardsman.\nThey want no hothouse in Naples:--would you shade your face from the\nsun, an elsewhere exotic, the Brazilian _Camarotta_ at your feet,\nfurnishes you with a _screen_. The _white flocks_ of the _Acacia\nverticillata_ are peeping out from the ranks of those small\n_triangular leaves_, which are so singularly attached, without stalks,\nby one of these angles to the stem. Amidst these pleasant perfumes\ncamphor would be unwelcome, but there is the _laurel_ that yields it.\n_Fennel_ has here become a tree, in which, like the _mustard_ of the\nGospels, the fowls of the air may lodge; we are dwarfs beside it!\nThree kinds of the soft, slimy Mallow of the Marsh are here so much\nWOODY and so tall, that we must pick their flowers on tiptoe. The\n_flattened disk_ of the sky-blue _Nana arborea_ contrasts with the\n_Betula sanguinea_, glowing deeply in the flower-bed of many\nlighter-coloured petals; the sweet-scented _African laurel_ grows\nagainst the long-leafed Babylonian willow, which _susurrates_\ndroopingly over your head, as if it were \"by _the waters of Babylon_.\"\nThe fountains, with their _hydrophilous_ tribes, add to the charm; and\nmany a beautiful _Launaria aquatica_ had already buoyed himself up on\nhis large _cordate leaves_ on the surface of the _tazza_, and was\nfilling his vegetable skin with water. All these beauties and\npeculiarities, a mere scantling of the whole of the Villa Reale,\nescape the lounger, and the nurserymaids, and children, and those of\neither sex who have appointments to keep, or to look out for; and the\nsoldiers, and the police, and the Neapolitan nobility and gentry, and\nthe pickpockets, and others:--to the nurseryman and botanist, things\nnot to be forgotten; and at present the weather is not too hot to\ninterfere with their enjoyment.\n\n\nSERVI DI PENA.\n\nAt Castel Nuovo, a penal settlement of Naples, we held conversation\nwith a man sentenced to the galleys, and wearing, accordingly, a\n_yellow_ jacket; but yellow is not here, as at Leghorn, the deepest\ndye. Here, it is _red cloth_ and manacles that go together. We asked\nhim his crime. \"Un _piccolo_ omicidio.\" \"A small homicide, provoked by\na dispute for a single ducat! I quarrelled with a man _now in\nparadise_. I killed him at one stab, but the devil possessed me to\ngive him another _colpo di coltello_ after he had fallen; and as the\njudges asked me _why_ I did this, and I could not perfectly satisfy\nthem, they concluded I was a sanguinary fellow, and gave me eighteen\nyears galleys--but, as you see, I have no chains; nor ever had--_mai!\nmai_!\" and he extended his hands in somewhat of the attitude of\nRaphael's _Paul before Festus_, to suit the action to the word. \"No!\nhe was of a very different order of criminals to a boatful of\n_birboni_ in red jackets, all _bad cases_ of homicide and _robbery!_\"\n\n\"What do you call _bad_ cases?\"\n\n\"Why, I call it a bad case to kill a man for NOTHING.\"\n\n\"Well, but _theft_ to any amount is not so bad as taking away _life_.\"\n\n\"Oh! as to that, the police are _quite right!_ A decent and a devout\nman does not commit homicides every day: but he that steals at all,\nsteals always!\" So that our culprit reasoned, like _Paley_, on the\n_tendency_ of crimes. It was his _Chapter of the Silver Spoon_, with a\nnew exposition from the mouth of a Galeote! And they pluck men at\nCambridge for _not_ getting up their Paley! Our philosophical criminal\nseemed satisfied with his lot.\n\n     \"We are not so badly off after all: we walk out with an obliging\n     escort, who let us do pretty much as we like; and all our work is\n     confined to sweeping the courts in front of the king's palace. We\n     are free of the castle, and allowed to conduct strangers over it,\n     as in your case. Oh! for the fellows at _St Stefano_, it is quite\n     another matter; as a part of their punishment, they are\n     _compelled to be idle!_\"\n\n\nOur rascal was allowed a new coat once every eighteen months, with two\npair of drawers and as many shirts, and a penny a-day for\npocket-money! These _piccoli omicidii_ at home do not get off so\ncheap, but stabbing is endemic at Naples. When a queen of Naples\nbrings the Neapolitans a new prince--great joy of course!--all the\npenal settlements _except_ St Stefano receive _three_ years'\nmitigation of their sentence; but the crimes that consign to that\nisland are _senza grazia_--the rays of royal bounty do not reach those\ndark and solitary cells. The St Stefano convicts form a body of three\nhundred doomed men, incorrigible housebreakers or systematic\nassassins. The food of all classes of criminals is the same, whatever\nthe offence, and consists of twenty-four ounces of bread, with\nhalf-a-pint measure of beans and some oil--a basin of cabbage soup,\nwithout meat, for dinner, and meat once in fourteen days: there are\neight thousand out-of-doors convicts, many of whom being under\nsentence for a less space _than two years_, work in their own\nclothes--which is, of course, a considerable saving to government.\nAlthough all the galley-slave establishments are full, no place swarms\nlike Naples with so many meritorious candidates for the _red_ and\n_yellow_ liveries of the state.\n\n\nST CARLO, &c.\n\nSt Carlo is, as the guide-books tell us, \"a very fine theatre.\" What\nwe particularly like, is the absence of all _side-lights round its\nboxes_. Two hundred burners, arranged in three rows round a small\nchandelier, give just light enough to set off the fine chastened white\nand gold, and the one quiet fresco which embellishes the ceiling. A\npit of vast size, divided into comfortable sittings, six tiers of\nboxes, and an orchestra of great space, suited to the extraordinary\nsize of the house, secure a far less adulterated playhouse atmosphere\nthan we are used to; and so exempt from the ordinary inconveniences,\nthat we were able to sit out the _Semiramide_, even with Ronzi di\nBegnis, now old and out of keeping, for the heroine. Surely _she\nnever_ should have been Semiramis, even in her palmy day! Actors and\nactresses _will_ not know that words written for them, scenery and\ndresses adapted for them, and attitudes invented for them, can never\n_make_ them the personages mentioned in the playbill. On returning\nhome, we stood at our balcony gazing on the lovely face of a true\nNaples night--a night beyond description!--the whole vault of heaven\nlighted by one light: a full moon, like a subdued sunshine over earth\nand water. A world of light, that shone on a world of darkness,\ntinging the air, gilding the mountain-tops, and making the sea run\nlike melted phosphorus. And what a silence abroad! not the perilous\ncessation of sound which so often only anticipates the storm; nor the\nsultry stillness of an exhausting noon; but a mighty and godlike\ndisplay, as it were, of the first full moon after creation shining on\nan entranced world!\n\n\nPOZZUOLI.\n\nAn _amphitheatre_ is one of those few ruins that leave no problem to\nsolve. Here we have a grey antiquity without any mutilation of form,\nand merely spoliated of its benches. The patron saint of Naples was,\nthey say, imprisoned here. A little chapel ascertains the spot, but he\ndoes no miracles on this _arena_. When we come to _temples_, we are\nalways at a great loss for proprietors. The very large one here is\ncalled of Jupiter Serapis. The remaining columns of this temple,\nwhatever it was, exhibit a very remarkable appearance. Three pillars,\nforty-two feet in height, up to about twelve feet above their\npedestals, have the surface of the marble as smooth as any in the\nForum; then comes a portion of nine or ten feet, of which the marble\nhas been bored, drilled in all directions, by that persevering bivalve\nthe _Lithodomus;_ the perforations are so considerable, and go so\ndeep, as to prove \"the long-continued abode\" of these animals within\nthe stone, and by consequence, as Mr Lyell observes, \"a long-continued\nimmersion of the columns in the sea at some period recent,\ncomparatively, with that of its erection.\" Indeed, there is abundant\nevidence adduced in the fourth volume of his _Geology_ to show, that\nall this ground was at a no very distant period _under the sea_, like\nMonte Nuovo in its neighbourhood, and was thrust out of the water to\nits present level. When the ground on which this temple stood,\ncollapsed, the _bottom part of its columns_ was protected by \"the\nrubbish of decayed buildings and strata of turf;\" the _middle_ or\nperforated part was left exposed to the action of the sea bivalves\nabove alluded to; and the _upper part_, which was never under the\nwater, remained smooth and free from perforation. But these columns\nnot only prove by internal evidence the general fact of the ground on\nwhich they stand having been submerged--they also furnish an exact\n_measure_ of the degree to which it sunk; viz. twenty feet--_i.e._ the\nheight where these perforations terminate at present. You can only\ncross the floor of this building on stepping-stones; and as you do so,\nyou see shoals of small sea-fish darting about in the shallow water\nwhich occupies its area, into which the sea has been _admitted_ on\npurpose, to prevent the accumulation of the stagnant water that had\ninfected this particular spot with intense malaria.\n\n\nBAIAE.\n\nWe took a hot bath under the _soi-disant_ villa of Lucullus. Steam,\nsulphur, and hot water, may be had cheap any where along this coast.\nAn awful place it was to enter naked, and be kept in the dark,\nstifling, as we were, for some seconds which seemed minutes, till our\nguide returned with a _milord's_ dressing-gown, which he assured us\nhad been hung up as a votive offering for cured rheumatism. Being\ncandidates ourselves for a similar benefit, we desired to be rubbed\ndown like _milord_, till _aluminous_ perspiration stood thick upon us,\nthe alum being deposited from the walls and atmosphere of the place.\nWe were soon obliged to beg for quarter. The _milord_, whose\ndressing-gown we were possessed of, was so bad as to be obliged to be\nrubbed sitting; but so powerful is the remedy, that after fifteen such\nsittings, he walked round the lake (two miles), and went home in his\ncarriage \"_guerito!_\" \"Such baths!\" that had cured _he_ knew not how\nmany persons:--\n\n    \"Men who'd spent _all_ upon physician's fees,\n    Who'd _never_ slept, nor had a _moment's_ ease,\n    Were now as _roaches sound_, and all as _brisk as bees!_\"--CRABBE.\n\n\nWhat with its hot water, sulphur, vapour, and alum, we too should have\nfancied Naples might have been comparatively exempt from rheumatisms\nand skin diseases, in both of which it abounds.\n\n\nLUCRINE AND AVERNUS LAKES.\n\nFrom the sea and its inlet called the Lucrine _Lake_, we pass along a\npleasant green lane, about a mile long, which issues on _Avernus_,\nwhose waters we find both limpid and clear; but are instructed that\ntwo months later will change them to a dark-red colour, and that the\nneighbourhood will then become very malarious and unsafe. A piece of\nsemicircular wall on one side of the lake, indicates the whereabouts\nof a temple of Proserpine, or Apollo, or any god or goddess you\nplease. We were so absurd as to pay a scudo to be taken through a vile\ntunnel, accompanied by two torch-bearers, and two other dirty\nwretches, who often carry us pick-a-back through one black hole into\nanother, splashing us through dark pools, putting us down here and\nthere as they pleased, picking us up again, grinning like demons, and\nby dint of shaking their torches above, and disturbing the water\nbelow, raising foul smells enough to intoxicate fifty Sybils. At\nlength, half suffocated by those classical delights, we cry Enough!\nenough! and beg to be put into our saddles again. The _Stufa di\nNerone_, a little further on the high-road, is another volcanic\n_calidarium_ in full activity, where you may boil eggs or scald\nyourself in a dark cavern. There you may deposit your mattrass and\nyourself in any one of a store of _berths_ wrought into that most\nunpicturesque tufa, of which the exterior face constitutes the whole\nof the sea view of _Baiae._ If ever there were decorations in these\ncaverns, they are gone; but there probably never were. Diana, Mercury,\nVenus, and Apollo all claim brick tenements, called temples, in this\nlittle bay, all close together on the seaside, and none having any\nclaim at present either on the artist or the poet.\n\nWe quit the seaside at this spot, and reach the summit of the hill\nabove, where there is more torch-work and more disappointment for\nthose that go a Sybil-seeking with the sixth book of Virgil for a\nguide. Those who like it may also grope their way through _Nero's\nprisons_, and descend into the _Piscina Mirabilis_, that vast\npilastered cellar like an underground dissenting chapel. They say the\nRoman fleet was supplied with water from this huge tank; but if this\nhad been the intention of its construction, why obstruct it with more\npillars or supports of square masonry than the roof absolutely\nrequired, without which incumbrances a reservoir of half its size\nwould have held more water,--and for water it was evidently meant?\nAscending the hill we see a man or two working away at a\nnewly-discovered _tomb_, from which he told us he had removed several\nskulls in perfect preservation, even to the teeth of both jaws,\ntogether with some small sepulchral lamps and old copper coins. We\ndine on the summit of a low hill, immediately opposite a cape better\nknown to fame than the Cape of Good Hope--the promontory of _Misenum_,\nwith _Procida_ and _Ischia_ on our right, and _Nisida_ with its white\nlazaretto, and _Puteoli_ (Pozzuoli,) where St Paul landed, on our\nleft. We took to _plant_ collecting after dinner, and were glad to\nlearn that we should find at Puzzuoli a celebrated botanist of the\nlocality, who could declare to us the _unknown_ of all we should\ncollect. On our return, therefore, the man of science was fetched to\nlook at our wild nose-gay and at us. We show him a specimen; he calls\nit by some outlandish name; we tell him what we want is its _Latin_\none. It _is_ Latin, he says, which he is actually speaking! _We_\nthought _not_. A crowd of fishermen and rustics are fast collecting\naround us; we try him with another one of the grasses. \"_Questo e\nasparago_,\" cries a bumpkin, unasked, from behind. \"_Che asparagi?_\"\nsays _il mio Maestro_, \"_e Pimpinella._\" We show him a _Cytisus_, and\nhe calls it a _Campanula._ Seeing that so great a difference exists\nbetween our friend and Linnaeus, we ask no further questions.\n\nTench and eels abound in _Avernus_, and coot and teal also blunder\nhere occasionally, as if to contradict Virgil and confute\netymology--for Avernus is [Greek: aornos] (birdless,) and Latinised as\nevery one knows. However, few birds are to be found here. The\n_Lucrine_ is now a mere salt-water pond of small extent, affording the\nlittle sea fish, in rough weather, a sort of playground. No Lucrine\noysters now, though these dainties are of excellent quality at Naples,\nand might have satisfied _Montanus_ himself. As to the _Mare Mortuum_,\nit is another rank, unwholesome, unpicturesque pond. We walked all\nround it, and have a right to say so; and, if we had done so _twice_\nafter sunset, might perchance have had to say _more_.\n\n\nPROCIDA.\n\n\"_Ego vel Prochytam praepono Suburrae_,\" says Juvenal, and so would we\nif compelled to live in that nasty St Giles's beyond the Coliseum; but\nas the \"_vel_\" seems strangely misapplied--for the _situation_ of\nProcida must always have been delightful--the poet's preference must\nbe understood as of a dull unlively place, with few inhabitants or\nresources, to a dense and dangerous population. Baiae itself is not\nthree miles from Procida; but the Roman Baiae was thronged with good\nsociety, and this little island was doubtless then as unpeopled as it\nis now populous. Procida is about three-fourths of an hour's fair\nrowing from Miniseolae, on the Baian side; but you may run your boat\nover on a fine day in half an hour. As you approach the houses, you\ndiscern the not unpicturesque frontage of a little fishing town; but\nall is as revolting within as fair without. Something of the Greek or\nAlbanese costume is still preserved here, and they offer to dress up\none of their families in full _parure_ for our further satisfaction,\nif we will pay them. The view from the leads of the fort (under which\nthe galley-slaves are confined) is fine indeed! Ischia and Vesuvius,\nand the whole stretch of the bay, and _Sorrento_, and the promontory\nof Minerva. Procida builds good enough trading vessels. We saw two in\nthe harbour of Baiae, as we rowed back on a delicious evening towards\nsunset; they were going on a first voyage, bound for our London\ndocks;--and _a propos_ of the London docks, all this country is, as it\nalways was, rich in productive vineyards and bad wine. Every hill once\ngave its own epithet to wines celebrated in _longs and shorts_ of\nimmortal celebrity, whereas the land round Rome could never have been\nviniferous. You may still drink _Falernian_, if so minded, on its\nnative seat of St Agatha. The wine of _Gaurus_ has not deserted Monte\nBabaro, and _Lachryma_, though not classical, has its own celebrity;\nand the islands of Ischia and Procida also produce a strong, heating,\nwhite wine. But there is not any wine, from the Alps to Messina, to be\ncompared to those of the _Garonne_, and the _Rhine_, or the _Moselle_.\nThe _Barbarians_ subdued by the Roman legions have long had it all\ntheir own way, not only in this, but in every other good thing _except\nsunshine_; but the vine, growing as it grows, suspended as it is\nsuspended, and wreathed round the hills of Italy, is still the _plant_\nwhich secures the loudest admiration of the foreigner. \"The vine of\nItaly for ever!\"--so we join the chorus of all travellers, and\nsay-\"_till_ it lies bruised, bleeding, fermenting in the vat! _then_\ncommend us to the Bacchus of lands far nearer home.\" And here, feeling\nourselves called upon for a _song_, we will sing one.\n\n\n        A VINTAGE SONG.\n\n    ABRIDGED FROM BERANGER.\n\n    \"Amidst the Celtic hordes of old\n    That gather'd round his wayworn band,\n    The cumbrous booty to behold\n    Brought from Ausonia's sunny land,\n    Thus _Brennus_ spake--'This lance of mine\n    Bears Rome's best gift--Behold--the Vine!\n        Plant, plant the Vine, to whose fair reign belong\n        The arts of Peace, and all the realms of Song!\n\n    \"'They told us of its wondrous juice;\n    We fought to taste it, and have won!\n    Now o'er your hills new wealth diffuse\n    And cherish well the warrior's boon.\n        Plant, plant the Vine, &c.\n\n    \"'Nor for ourselves alone we tore\n    That stem away; your ships shall bear\n    The freighted joy to many a shore,\n    And spread the unknown gladness there.\n        Plant, plant the Vine, &c.'\n\n    \"He ended, and in face of all,\n    While deep in earth he strikes the lance\n    And plants the shoot--_unconscious Gaul\n    Prepares the world's vast vineyard--France!_\"[9]\n\n\nTHE PALACE OF CASERTA.\n\nAbout thirteen miles from Naples is one of the finest kingly\nresidences in Europe--so say all the guide-books, and they are right.\nVanvitelli is the very Michael Angelo of palace-rearing! Its shape is\na parallelogram approaching to a square. Counting mezzanines, it has\nsix stories besides the attics; and is pierced with no less than 1700\nwindows. Its stair, the very perfection of that sort of construction,\nis vast in all its dimensions, and so very easy, that you look down\nfrom its summit admiring, with untried lungs, the enormous height you\nhave reached. It starts double from the ground, and twenty persons\nmight ascent either branch abreast, and meet one another at the spot\nwhere it begins to return upon itself; so that the noble octagonal\nlanding above finds itself just over the starting-place below. From\nthis post four large windows command four spacious courts, and the\nsimple construction of this gigantic edifice stands unveiled. You now\nbegin your journey through vast, lofty, magnificently marbled, and\nvery ill-furnished apartments, of which, before you have completed the\nhalf circuit of a single floor, you are heartily tired, for, beyond\nthe architecture, there is nothing to see. The commonest broker's shop\nwould furnish better pictures. Boar-hunts of course, to represent how\nNeapolitan kings kill boars at Portici, and shoot wild-ducks on the\n_Lago di Fusina_. There is also an ample historical fresco on the\nceiling of the antechamber to the throne-room, on which Murat _had_\ncaused to be represented some notable _charge_ where he proved\nvictorious; but after he was shot, Ferdinand, with great taste,\njudgment, and good feeling, _erased_, _interpolated_, and _altered_\nthe picture into a harmless battle of Trojans against Greeks, or some\nsuch thing! The palace has two theatres and a chapel; and you must\nchange your conductor four times if you would be led through the\nwhole. For this enormous edifice boasts of only twelve servants, at\neleven dollars a-month from the privy purse. Caserta, which, even in\nits present imperfect state, has cost 7,000,000 scudi, is raised\namidst a swarm of paupers, who are permitted to besiege the stranger,\nand impede his progress, with an importunity such as could be shown by\nnone but men on the eve of famishing. We _never_ saw such a population\nof beggars as those which infest the walls of this most sumptuous\npalace and its park--but the park is a park indeed! It may have\nsomething of the formality of Versailles or Chantilly; but its leading\nfeatures are essentially English; its thickets and copses abound in\nhares and pheasants. The ilex attains twice the height we remember to\nhave seen it reach elsewhere. Its islands and fishponds, its kitchen\nand flower-gardens, put one in mind of a first-rate English\ncountry-seat. The ornamental water is fetched, by an aqueduct worthy\nof old Rome, from mountains seven miles off, first emptying its whole\ncharge over a high ledge of rock, making a waterfall (which you see\nfrom the drawing-room window) over a series of steps and terraces,\nwhich get wider as they get lower, till they terminate in a superb\nbasin within a quarter of a mile of the palace, where the water makes\nits last bound, and forms a broad lake fit for Diana and her nymphs,\namidst woods fit for Actaeon and his dogs. Of course we asked to be\nconducted to these stone terraces, over which the dash of the mountain\nstream into the lake is effected: but as we passed the latter, we were\nsurprised by our guide approaching the water, and, beginning to\nwhistle, he begs us to observe the water begins to be troubled at a\ndistance, and the more he whistles the more the commotion increases.\nTen, twenty, and in half a second hundreds of _immense_ fish come\ntrooping up, and, undeterred by our presence, approach as near as they\ndare to the surface of the water where he stands; they swim backwards\nand forwards, and lash the water with their tails. What is the matter?\nWhy! they come to be fed! and such is the ferocious impatience of this\naquatic _menagerie_, that we long to assist in quelling it; and so we\ndip our hand into the man's basket of frogs, and drop a few right over\nthe swarm--and now the water is bubbling and lathering with the\nworkings and plungings of these mad fish; and so large are they, so\nstrong, so numerous, that, all angler as we are, we really felt\nunpleasantly, nor would we, after what we saw, have trusted hand or\nfoot in the domain of such shark-like rapacity. They consume five\nbasketsful of frogs and minnows a-day. Except that of the Caserta\nbeggars, we never saw any thing like the hunger of the Caserta fish.\n\n\nTHE SILK MANUFACTORY.\n\nThe silk manufactory at Caserta is worth a visit. The labour is\nchiefly accomplished by the hand, as is all labour in Naples. Silk is\nwound off into skeins by a mill turned by the artificial falls of the\naqueduct. At one extremity you see the unpromising _cocoons_; at the\nother the most rare and beautiful velvets and _gros de Naples_. The\nlocality of this manufactory is delightful, and the old queen\npreferred its comforts and cheerfulness to the solitary grandeur of\nthe palace in the plain. In place of occupying and paying the poor\nround his palace to make silk and satins for his court and the Pope,\nthe present king spends his money in _gunpowder and soldiering_. They\naccuse him of having less compassion for the misfortunes of the poor\nthan even his father Francis, or his grandfather Ferdinand of blessed\nmemory. The view from this spot of the huge palace itself, with\nVesuvius smoking to our right, and Capri shining before it, is one of\nthose not to be forgotten.\n\n\nTHE SNAKE TAMER.\n\nBehold the old snake-finder with his sack! \"_Ola! vecchio, che cosa\navete pigliato quest' oggi?_\" was a question put from our one-horse\ncart, till then going at a great rate through the village of Somma, to\na little old man, with a humpback, a sack, and a large shallow box. He\nwas dressed in a queer costume, had a wolf's brush in his hat, and\nremarkably tight-fitting leather leggings. \"Tre! fra altri una vipera\nmeschia.\" \"Oh! oh! aspetta,\" added we--we must see the viper. Upon\nwhich there was a broad grin all round the circle; but the driver\nstopped, and down we got. The old man, seeing our intention to be\nserious, got a chair for us from a cottage, and putting his box on his\nknee, looked knowing, and thus began.\n\n\"Gentlemen, you have all seen a viper, _basta feroce_--a reptile that\nevery one runs from _except_ me, and those who know, as I do, how to\nhumour him. I have a viper in this box whom I have so perfectly tamed,\nthat he lives with two others, and never quarrels with them. I will\nopen the box, and, as you will see, they will all lie as if they were\ndead, until I notice _one_, when he will put up his head that I may\ntake him out.\"\n\nHe opened the box, where lay coiled, and perfectly still, a spotted\nviper, an immense black snake, and one very light and silvery like an\neel.\n\n\"Here's my family,\" said the old man; and catching the viper round the\nmiddle, brought him out, while the others wriggled a little, as if in\nexpectation of being caressed in their turn. \"This animal, signor, is\nnot so bad in his temper as you have been told. It is only when he is\nmaking love that he is poisonous--to all but his females; but in this,\ngentlemen, he is scarcely worse than many of yourselves, whom it is\nnot safe then to approach.\"\n\n\"Bravo, bravo, _vecchaccio_! ancora! Go it again!\" sounds every where\nfrom the circle collected round the old snake-charmer.\n\n\"If you tread upon his tail, gentlemen, what can you expect but a\nbite? Would not _you_ bite if you had your tails trodden on?\"\n\nThe viper now raised his head, and darted it out, with about half of\nhis body behind it, at the crowd. The two nearest peasants fell back.\nThe viper, missing his spring, turns round to bite the hand that is\nholding him, but no sooner touches it, than off it glides from the\nhorny finger, wriggling both head and tail at a great rate.\n\n\"He has been warmed by my hand, sirs, and wants to escape! _Ingrato!_\nCome, I have something to tell you that these gentlemen must not\nhear!\"\n\nAnd he opened his month, and the viper thrust his head between his\nlips; upon which the old man closes them and makes believe to mumble\nthe horrid head, the body appearing violently convulsed, as if it\nreally suffered violence.\n\n\"He has lost his teeth,\" said one, \"and can't bite.\"\n\n\"_Sicuro_,\" said another, and began to yawn.\n\n\"No,\" said the old man, \"his teeth are all in his head. You doubt it,\ndo you? See here, then.\"\n\nAnd catching him by the head, and drawing down his lower jaw, having\nforced the mouth to its full stretch, he drew the red surface of his\nupper-jaw smartly over the back of his own hand two or three times, so\nas to bring blood from six or seven orifices. Then, drying the blood\noff his hand, he returns his viper to the box, and asks a _baiocco_\nfor the exhibition.\n\n\"What's the price of your viper?\" ask we.\n\n\"Two _carlines_, excellenza.\"\n\n\"Here, tie him up for me in my handkerchief.\" Which was accordingly\ndone, and we popped him into spirits of wine, as a _souvenir_ of Monte\nSomma, and of the old man whom we saw handling him.\n\n\"Does he gain a livelihood by his trade?\" we enquired.\n\n\"He teaches people how to catch serpents; and by familiarizing them\nwith the danger, they work in greater comfort, and are not afraid of\ngoing over any part of Monte Somma, which, as it abounds in vipers and\nsnakes, still deters the unpractised a little. Besides, they like to\nsee the snake caught and exhibited, and every body gives him\nsomething.\"\n\n\n\n\nA MEDITATION.\n\n\n    Some hidden disappointment clings\n      To all of man--to all his schemes,\n    And life has little fair it brings,\n      Save idle dreams.\n\n    The peace that may be ours to-day,\n      Scarce heed we, looking for the morrow;\n    The slighted moments steal away,\n      And then comes sorrow.\n\n    The light of promise that may glow\n      Where life shines fair in bud or bloom,\n    Ere fruit hath ripen'd forth to show,\n      Is quench'd in gloom.\n\n    The rapture softest blush imparts,\n      Dies with the bloom that fades away,\n    And glory from the wave departs\n      At close of day.\n\n    Where we have garner'd up our hearts,\n      And fixed our earnest love and trust,\n    The very life-blood thence departs,\n      And all is dust.\n\n    Then, Nature, let us turn to thee;\n      For in thy countless changes thou\n    Still bearest immortality\n      Upon they brow.\n\n    Thy seasons, in their endless round\n      Of sunshine, tempest, calm or blight,\n    Yet leave thee like an empress crown'd\n      With jewels bright.\n\n    Thy very storms are life to thee,\n      'Tis but a sleep thy seeming death;\n    We see thee wake in flower and tree\n      At spring's soft breath.\n\n    We view the ruin of our youth,\n      Decay's wan trace on all we cherish;\n    But thou, in thine unfailing truth,\n      Canst never perish.\n\n                              J.D.\n\n\n\n\nON THE OLD YEAR.\n\n\n    With mournful tone I hear thee say,\n      \"Alas, another year hath sped!\"\n    As if within that circlet lay\n      Life's garland dead.\n\n    Vain thought! Thy measure is not Time's;\n      Not thus yields life each glowing hue;\n    Fair fruit may fall--the tendril climbs,\n      And clasps anew.\n\n    Time hath mute landmarks of his own;\n      They are not such as man may raise;\n    Not his the rudely number'd stone\n      On life's broad ways.\n\n    The record measuring his speed\n      Is but a shadow softer spread--\n    A browner leaf--a broken reed,\n      Or mildew shed.\n\n    And if his footfall crush the flower,\n      How sweet the spicy perfume springs!\n    His mildew stain upon the tower\n      A glory brings.\n\n    Then let the murmuring voice be still,\n      The heart hold fast its treasure bright;\n    The hearth glows warm when sunbeams chill;\n      Life hath no night.\n\n                                  J.D.\n\n\n\n\nCORALI.\n\n\n    Soft-brow'd, majestic Corali!\n      Thou like a memory serene\n    Seemest to me--or melody,\n      Or moonlight scene.\n\n    With thee life in soft plumage glides,\n      As on the ruffled lake the swan,\n    Whose downy breast the struggle hides\n      That speeds it on.\n\n    In thy fair presence wakes no care;\n      Harsh discords into music melt;\n    Thy harmony alone is there--\n      Alone is felt.\n\n    The heart, unsway'd by hope or dread,\n      Safe haven'd in a clime of balm,\n    Nor chain'd in ice, nor tempest-sped,\n      Lies rock'd in calm.\n\n                                 J.D.\n\n\n\n\nBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF FRANK ABNEY HASTINGS.\n\n    \"Man wrongs and time avenges, and my name\n    May form a monument not all obscure.\"\n\n\nThe success of the Greek insurrection against the Turks, is the event\nin contemporary history concerning which it is most difficult to form\na precise and correct idea. Causes and effects seem, to the ordinary\nobserver, to be utterly disproportionate. Its progress set the\ncalculations of statesmen at defiance; and while congresses,\nambassadors, and protocols, were attempting to fetter it in one\ndirection, it generally advanced with increased speed in some other,\ntotally unexpected.\n\nIt was very natural that the Greeks should take up arms to emancipate\nthemselves from Turkish oppression, the moment a favourable\nopportunity presented itself; but certainly, few foreigners conceived\nthat the time they selected afforded them much chance of success.\nKolocotroni, however, appears to have understood the internal\ncondition of the Ottoman empire rather better than Metternich. The\nunwarlike habits of the majority of the Greek population, contrasted\nwith the military feelings of the Turks, and with the numbers and\nvalour of the Ottoman armies, rendered their cause desperate for some\nyears, even in the opinion of their most enthusiastic friends. The\nwhole progress of the Revolution was filled with anomalous\noccurrences; and the wisdom of the statesman, and the skill of the\nwarrior, were constantly set at nought by events, the causes of which\nhave still been too generally overlooked by the professional\npoliticians of all nations who mix in the affairs of Greece.\n\nUnquestionably, therefore, there exists much in the condition of the\nGreek nation, and in the character of the people, which has been\ncompletely misunderstood by foreigners. Nor do we entertain any hope\nof seeing the affairs of Greece placed on a better footing, until the\nGreeks themselves collect and publish detailed information concerning\nthe statistics and the administration of the kingdom.\n\nHitherto, not a single report of any value has been published on any\nbranch of the public service; so that the foreign ministers at Athens\nare, from absolute want of materials, compelled to confine their\nactive exertions for the good of Greece to recommending King Otho to\nchoose particular individuals, devoted to the English, French, or\nRussian party, as the case may be, to the office of cabinet ministers.\nNot even an army list has yet been published in Greece, though the\nHellenic kingdom is in the twelfth year of its existence. But as the\npublication of an army list would put some restraint on political\njobbing and ministerial patronage, each minister leaves it to be done\nby his successor.\n\nThe fate of all the foreigners who have taken an active part in the\nGreek Revolution is worthy of notice. Many persons of high, and of\ndeservedly high, reputation embarked in the cause, yet not one of the\nnumber added to his previous fame by his exploits. Although the names\nof Byron, Cochrane, and Capo d'Istrias appear in the annals of Greece,\nit is doubtful whether their actions in the country exercised any\ndirect influence on the course of events. We think we may safely\nassert that they did not, and that these distinguished and able men\nwere all carried along by the current of events. To us, it appears\nthat the fate of Greece would have undergone no change if these great\nmen had changed places;--if Capo d'Istrias had enacted the part of\nlord high admiral, Lord Cochrane that of commander-in-chief at\nMissolonghi, and Lord Byron, in his day, that of president of the\nGreek republic, things would have been little better and no worse. The\nambassadors with their treaties and protocols at London, and the\nadmirals with their _untoward event_ at Navarin, were almost as\nunfortunate as all other volunteers in the Greek cause. The\nambassadors were occupied for years in trying to hinder the Greek\nstate from attaining the form it ultimately assumed; and, in spite of\nthe battle of Navarin, Ibrahim Pasha carried away from the\nPeloponnesus an immense number of Greek prisoners, in the very fleet\nthe allied admirals supposed they had destroyed.\n\nThe insignificance of individual exertions in this truly national\nRevolution, has been equally remarkable among the Greeks themselves.\nIndeed it has been made a capital charge against them by strangers,\nthat no man of distinguished talent has arisen to direct the destinies\nof the country. Perhaps there is a worse feature than this prominent\nin the Greek community, and this is a disposition to calumniate\nwhatever little merit may exist. Here again, however, we cannot\nrefrain from remarking, that a singular resemblance may be traced\nbetween the conduct of the strangers in Greece, and the Greeks\nthemselves. A vice so predominant must doubtless be nourished by some\ninherent defect in the constitution of society in Greece, rather than\nin the characters of individuals.\n\nIf no Greek has succeeded in gaining a glorious pre-eminence by the\nRevolution, we must recollect that the foreigners who have visited the\ncountry have contrived to bury there all the fame they brought with\nthem. Singular too as it may appear, a love of quarrelling and a\npassion for calumny have been found to be as decidedly characteristic\nof the foreigners in Greece, as of the natives. The Philhellenes were\nnotoriously a most insubordinate body; the English in Greece have\nnever been able to live together in amity and concord; the three\nEuropean powers who signed a treaty to aid and protect Greece, have\nrarely been able to agree on the means of carrying their good\nintentions into execution on a systematic plan. The Regency sent to\ncivilize the country during King Otho's minority, though consisting of\nonly three members, set the Greeks an example of what the Litany calls\n\"blindness of heart, pride, vain-glory, and hypocrisy, envy, hatred,\nand malice, and all uncharitableness.\" The _corps diplomatique_ has\noften astounded the Greeks by its feuds and dissensions. The Bavarians\nmade their sojourn in the country one prolonged _querelle\nd'Allemande._ Even the American missionaries at Athens have not\nescaped severe attacks of the universal epidemic, and during the\nparoxysms of the malady have made all Greece spectators of their\nquarrels.[10]\n\nThe single exception which so often occurs to confirm the general\nruler, exists in this case as in so many others. One European officer\nrendered very important services to Greece, and so conducted himself\nas to acquire the respect and esteem of every party in that singularly\nfactious land. This officer was Frank Abney Hastings; but he always\nmade it his rule of life to act, amidst the license and anarchy of\nsociety in Greece, precisely as he would have felt himself called upon\nto act in similar circumstances, could they have occurred, in England.\nWe shall now attempt to erect a humble monument to his memory. The\npages of Maga have frequently rescued much that is good from the\nshadow of oblivion; and, in this instance, we hope that a short\naccount of the actions of the best of the Philhellenes will not only\ndo honour to his memory, but will likewise throw some new light on the\nhistory of the Greek Revolution.\n\nFrank Abney Hastings was the younger son of the late\nLieutenant-general Sir Charles Hastings, Bart., and his elder brother\nSir Charles Abney Hastings inherited the baronetcy. The late Sir\nCharles Hastings was colonel of the 12th foot, and knight grand cross\nof the Guelphic order; he possessed a large fortune, and he was well\nknown for his singularity at Carlton House, and in the fashionable\ncircles of London, about the beginning of the present century. The\npresent baronet, Sir Charles Abney Hastings, entered the army when\nyoung, but retired after having served some time in the Mediterranean.\nFrank was born on the 14th of February 1794, and was placed in the\nnavy when about eleven years old. Hardly six months after he became a\nmidshipman, he was present at the battle of Trafalgar on board the\nNeptune. An explosion of powder between the decks of the Neptune\nduring the action, by which several men were killed and wounded, early\ndirected his attention to the service of artillery on board ship; and\nthe science of gunnery became his favourite study. Hastings was\nsubsequently serving in the Seahorse when that frigate engaged two\nTurkish men-of-war, and captured one of them, which proved to be a\nfrigate much larger than herself. During his career of service, he\nvisited every quarter of the globe.\n\nAfter having served nearly fifteen years, he was sent to the West\nIndies in command of the Kangaroo, a vessel destined for the surveying\nservice, carrying out his commission as commander. On arriving in the\nharbour of Port-Royal, in Jamaica, he was supposed to have brought the\nKangaroo to an anchor in an improper manner. The flag-captain of the\nadmiral's ship, then in the harbour considered this offence so\nextraordinary, that he took a still more extraordinary manner of\nexpressing his dissatisfaction. We cannot give our readers a better\nidea of the circumstance than by transcribing the words of a letter\nwhich Hastings, on his return to England, addressed to Lord Melville,\nthen first lord of the Admiralty. \"He thought proper to hail me in a\nvoice that rang through the whole of Port-Royal, saying--'You have\noverlayed our anchor--you ought to be ashamed of yourself--you damned\nlubber, you--who are you?'\" Of course such an insult, both personal\nand professional, could never be overlooked. Hastings, however,\nfeeling the importance of any step he might take to his future\nreputation, both as a sailor and a gentleman, waited until he had\ndelivered up the command of the Kangaroo to the officer appointed to\nconduct the survey; and having received his commission as commander,\nand being ready to return to England on half-pay, he sent a challenge\nto the flag-captain who had thus insulted him.\n\nThe admiral on the station was, by some circumstance, informed of this\nchallenge, and on his representation of the affair to the Admiralty,\nHastings was dismissed the service. We shall conclude our mention of\nthis most unfortunate business by quoting a few more words from the\nletter of Hastings to Lord Melville, which we have already alluded\nto:--\"I have served fourteen years under various captains, and on\nalmost all stations. I have certainly seen greater errors committed\nbefore; yet I never was witness to such language used to the commander\nof a British vessel bearing a pendant.\" \"Your lordship may, perhaps,\nfind officers that will submit to such language, but I do not envy\nthem their dearly purchased rank; and God forbid that the British navy\nshould have no better supporters of its character than such spiritless\ncreatures.\" These words express the deep attachment he always felt to\nthe service.\n\n    \"Alas! how bitter is his country's curse\n    To him who for that country would expire.\"\n\n\nHastings now found that all his hopes of advancement at home were\nblasted, and, without any loss of time, he determined to qualify\nhimself for foreign service. He flattered himself that he might\nacquire a reputation abroad, which would one day obtain for him the\nrestoration of his rank in the navy in a distinguished manner. He\nresided in France for some time, in order to acquire a thorough\nknowledge of the French language, which, by dint of close application,\nhe soon spoke and wrote with ease and correctness.\n\nAbout three years after his dismissal from the navy, the position of\nthe Greeks induced him to believe that in Greece he should find an\nopportunity of putting in practice several plans for the improvement\nof maritime warfare which he had long meditated. He embarked at\nMarseilles on the 12th of March 1822, and arrived at Hydra on the 3d\nof April. Here he was kindly received by the two brothers Jakomaki and\nManoli Tombazis, and their acquaintance soon ripened into friendship.\n\nThe Greek fleet was preparing to sail from Hydra to encounter the\nTurks, and Hastings was anxious to accompany it, in order to witness\nthe manner in which the Greeks and Turks conducted their naval\nwarfare. As it was necessary for a stranger to receive an\nauthorization from the general government before embarking in the\nfleet, Hastings repaired to Corinth, which was then the seat of the\nexecutive power. The hostility displayed to the Greek cause by Sir\nThomas Maitland, the lord high commissioner in the Ionian islands, had\nrendered the British name exceedingly unpopular at this time, in\nGreece, and Alexander Maurocordatos, (called at that period Prince\nMaurocordatos,) who was president of the Greek Republic, partook of\nthe popular prejudice against Englishmen.\n\nOn arriving at Corinth Hastings met with a very cool reception, and\nspies were placed to watch his conduct; for though the president had\nmade no progress in organizing the naval, military, or financial\nadministration, he had already established a numerous and active\nsecret police. For several days Hastings was unable to obtain an\naudience of Maurocordatos; but an American, Mr Jarvis, (afterwards a\nlieutenant-general in the Greek service,) to whom Hastings had given a\npassage from Marseilles, was received with great attention. Jarvis, as\nwell as Hastings, observed \"that the police was very severe and\nvigilant in Corinth;\" and on the 15th of April he wrote thus:--\"I paid\nmy respects to the prince, and was invited to come in the evening. I\nhad a long conversation with him, and he was particularly kind to me,\nand liked me the more, as he said, for being an American. He told me\nmany of the bad actions of the English, and plainly told me he and the\nrest took my friend and companion for a spy. I then answered what was\nnecessary--approved his dislike of the English and his foresight, but\nshowed him that he was in the wrong in this case.\"\n\nThese suspicions being mentioned to Hastings, he immediately addressed\na letter to the president, demanding that his offer of serving on\nboard the fleet should be either definitely refused or accepted by the\nGreek government. He, at the same time, pointed out to Maurocordatos\nthe absurdity of suspecting him as a spy. We translate his own letter,\nwhich is in French. \"I am suspected by your excellency of being an\nEnglish spy. Considering the conduct of the British government to\nGreece, I expected to meet with some prejudice against the English\namong the ignorant; but I own I was not prepared to find this\nilliberality among men of rank and education. If the English\ngovernment required a spy in Greece, it would not address itself to a\nperson of my condition. I am the younger son of Sir Charles Hastings,\nBaronet, a general in the army, and who was educated in his youth with\nthe Marquis of Hastings, governor-general of India; so that I could\nsurely find a more lucrative, less dangerous, and more respectable\nemployment in India than that of a spy in Greece. I quitted England\nbecause I considered the government treated me with injustice, in\narbitrarily dismissing me from the navy, after more than fourteen\nyears of active service, for an affair of honour, while I was on\nhalf-pay.\" This letter obtained for Hastings an audience of the\npresident, and his services were at length accepted.\n\nOn the 3d of May 1822, the Greek fleet began to get under weigh at\nHydra, and Hastings embarked as a volunteer on board the Themistocles,\na corvette belonging to the brothers Tombazis. The scene presented by\nthe Hydriote ships hauling out of harbour was calculated to depress\nthe hopes of the most sanguine friend of Greece. Those of the crew who\nchose to come on board did so; the rest remained on shore, and came\noff as it suited their convenience. When it became necessary to make\nsail, the men loosed the sails, but shortly found that no sheets were\nrove, and the bow-lines bent to the bunt line cringles. At last sheets\nwere rove. But as the ships were getting clear of the harbour, a\nsquall came on; then every man on board shouted to take in sail; but\nthere were no clue-lines bent, and the men were obliged to go out on\nthe jib-boom to haul down the sail by hand. The same thing occurred\nwith the topgallant sails. The crews, however, were gradually\ncollected; things assumed some slight appearance of order; and after\nthis singular exhibition of anarchy and confusion, the fleet bore up\nfor Psara.\n\nIt is needless to describe the scenes of misery Hastings witnessed\nwhen the fleet arrived at Scio, as the particulars of the frightful\nmanner in which that island had been devastated by the Turks are\ngenerally known. The war was at this period carried on with unexampled\nbarbarity, both by the Greeks and Turks. As an illustration of the\nmanner in which naval warfare had been previously conducted in the\nLevant, we shall quote the account given by an English sailor of the\nconduct of the Russo-Greek privateers in 1788. The modern atrocities\nwere not perpetrated on so large a scale, and the officers rarely\ncountenanced them, but still it would be too invidious to cite single\nexamples. We shall therefore copy a short extract from Davidson's\nnarrative of a cruise on board one of the vessels connected with the\nexpedition of the famous Greek privateer and pirate, Lambro. \"The\nprize had on board eighty-five hands, which we took on board us, and\nconfined in the hold until next day; when they were called up one by\none, and had their heads cut off in the same manner as we cut off\nducks' heads at home, and we then threw them overboard. This was the\nfirst time we were obliged to take it by turns to put them to death.\nThe English, when called upon, at first refused it; but when the\ncaptain told them they were cowards, and that he could not believe\nthey were Englishmen, they went and did the same as the rest; and\nafterwards were even worse than the others, for they always were first\nwhen such work was going on. Sometimes we had three or four in a day\nto put to death for each man's share.\" Things are certainly better\nthan this in our times; but the statesmen who have constituted the\nkingdom of Greece should recollect, that these occurrences took place\nin the dominions of King Otho on the 21st of May 1789, and that\nsimilar scenes, though not on so extensive a scale, were witnessed by\nHastings in the month of May 1822.\n\nThe Greek naval force at this period consisted entirely of merchant\nships, fitted out at the private expense of their owners. These\nvessels were generally commanded either by the owners or their near\nrelations, whose whole fortune frequently consisted in the vessel they\nwere to lead into action. It is not surprising that under such\ncircumstances many brave men, who would willingly have exposed their\nlives, felt some hesitation in risking their property. The Greek\nships, previously to the breaking out of the Revolution, had been\nnavigated by crews interested in certain fixed proportions in the\nprofits of the cargo. As the proprietor of the ship, the captain, and\nthe sailors formed a kind of joint-stock company, they were in the\nhabit of deliberating together on the measures to be adopted, and in\ndiscussing the destination of the vessel. The disorder and want of\ndiscipline naturally arising from such habits, were greatly increased\nby the practice which was introduced at the breaking out of the\nRevolution, of always paying the sailors their wages in advance. In a\nfleet so composed and manned, Hastings soon perceived that there was\nno hope of executing any of his projects for the improvement of naval\nartillery. After fitting locks and sights to the guns in the\nThemistocles, and building up a furnace for heating shot in her hold,\nhe found that all his arrangements were of no avail. Some order was\nabsolutely necessary, but he discovered by experience that there was\nnothing the Albanians of Hydra held in so much honour as disorder.\n\nThe naval campaign of 1822 was signalized by the successful attack of\nthe Greek fire-ships on the fleet of the Capitan Pasha off Scio.\nKanaris, who conducted his vessel with admirable courage and presence\nof mind, set fire to the ship bearing the pasha's flag, which was\ncompletely destroyed. Pepinos, who commanded the Hydriot fire-ship,\nwas not so fortunate in his attack on the ship of the Reala Bey. His\nvessel was disengaged, and though it drifted on board another\nline-of-battle ship, the Turks succeeded in extinguishing the flames\nin both.\n\nHastings, having failed to persuade the Greeks to fit out one or two\ngun-boats with long guns of large calibre and furnaces for heating\nshot, became disgusted with the service on board the fleet, which was\nconfined to sending marauding parties to the coast of Asia Minor,\nwhere the plunder was oftener taken from the poor Greek villagers than\nfrom their Ottoman masters. These expeditions were conducted with\nunparalleled disorder, and without any plan. Before quitting the\nfleet, Hastings made a last attempt to inspire the councils of the\nadmiral with some of his own energy. He waited on the celebrated\nAdmiral Miaoulis with a plan for capturing a Turkish frigate then\nanchored at Tenedos. This interview between these two remarkable men\nis of great importance for the appreciation of their respective\ncharacters and views at this period. In order to convey to our readers\nas vividly as possible the impression which it produced on the mind of\nHastings, we shall transcribe the account of it in his own words. \"I\nproposed to direct a fire-ship and three other vessels upon the\nfrigate, and, when near the enemy, to set fire to certain combustibles\nwhich should throw out a great flame; the enemy would naturally\nconclude they were all fire-ships. The vessels were then to attach\nthemselves to the frigate, fire broadsides double-shotted, throwing on\nboard the enemy at the same time combustible balls which give a great\nsmoke without flame. This would doubtless induce him to believe he was\non fire, and give a most favourable opportunity for boarding him.\nHowever, the admiral returned my plan, saying only [Greek: chalho],\nwithout asking a single question, or wishing me to explain its\ndetails; and I observed a kind of insolent contempt in his manner,\nwhich no doubt arose from the late success of Kanaris. This interview\nwith the admiral disgusted me. They place you in a position in which\nit is impossible to render any service, and then they boast of their\nown superiority, and of the uselessness of the Franks (as they call\nus) in Turkish warfare.\" It must be recollected, in justification of\nMiaoulis, that he had not then had time to avail himself of the\nenlarged experience he subsequently acquired in his capacity of\nadmiral of the Greek fleet. He was then little more than a judicious\nand courageous captain of a merchant brig, just elected by the\nsuffrage of his equals to lead them. As one of the owners of the ships\nhired by government, his attention was naturally rather directed to\nthe destruction than to the capture of the large Turkish men-of-war;\nand it is probable that he considered the total want of discipline\namong the Hydriotes as presenting insuperable difficulties to the\nexecution of the plan, and as likely to render the Turkish frigate,\neven if captured, utterly useless to the Greeks, who would doubtless\nhave allowed her to rot in port.\n\nShortly after this disagreeable affair, Hastings had an opportunity of\nacquiring considerable personal reputation among the Hydriote sailors,\nby saving the corvette of Tombazis in circumstances of great danger.\nIn pursuing some Turkish _sakolevas_ off the north of Mytilene, they\nran in near Cape Baba, and made for the shore under a cliff, where a\nconsiderable number of armed men soon collected from the neighbouring\ntown. The captain and crew of the Themistocles, eager for prizes,\npursued them; when the ship was suddenly becalmed within gun-shot of a\nbattery at the town, which opened a well-directed fire on the\ncorvette. In getting from under the fire of the battery, a baffling\nwind and strong current drove the ship within sixty yards of the high\nrocky cliff where the Turkish soldiers were posted. These troops\nopened a sharp but ill-directed fire of musketry on the deck of the\nThemistocles; and on this occasion the total want of order, and the\ndisrespect habitually shown to the officers, had very nearly caused\nthe loss of the vessel. The whole crew sought shelter from the Turkish\nfire under the bulwarks, and no one could be induced to obey the\norders which every one issued. A single man would spring forward for a\nfew seconds, at intervals, to execute the most necessary manoeuvre.\nHastings was the only person on deck who remained silently watching\nthe ship slowly drifting towards the rocks. He was fortunately the\nfirst to perceive the change in the direction of a light breeze which\nsprang up, and by immediately springing forward on the bowsprit, he\nsucceeded in getting the ship's head round. Her sails soon filled, and\nshe moved out of her awkward position. As upwards of two hundred and\nfifty Turks were assembled on the rocks above, and fresh men were\narriving every moment, there can be no doubt that in a short time the\nenemy would have brought a piece of artillery to bear on the\nThemistocles from a position inaccessible to her fire; so that, even\nif she had escaped going on shore on the rocks, her destruction seemed\ninevitable, had she remained an hour within gun-shot of the cliff.\nThus, the finest vessel in the Greek fleet was in imminent danger of\nbeing lost, through the carelessness and obstinacy of the captain,\nwho, though repeatedly entreated by Hastings to have a small anchor\nconstantly in readiness, could never be induced to take this necessary\nprecaution.\n\nOn this occasion, however, both the captain and the crew of the\nThemistocles did Hastings ample justice. Though they had refused to\navail themselves of his skill, and neglected his advice, they now\nshowed no jealousy in acknowledging his gallant conduct, and he became\na permanent favourite with the crew ever after this exploit. Though he\ntreated all with great reserve and coldness, as a means of insuring\nrespect, there was not a man on board that was not always ready to do\nhim any service. Indeed the candid and hearty way in which they\nacknowledged the courage of Hastings, and blamed their own conduct in\nallowing a stranger to expose his life in so dangerous a manner to\nsave them, afforded unquestionable proof that so much real generosity\nwas inseparable from courage, and that, with proper discipline and\ngood officers, the sailors of the Greek fleet would have had few\nsuperiors.\n\nWhen the naval campaign was concluded, Hastings joined the troops\nengaged in the siege of Nauplia. That force was exposed to the\ngreatest danger by the irruption of a large Turkish army into the\nMorea, commanded by Dramali Pasha. While engaged in defending the\nlittle fort of Bourdzi in the port of Nauplia, and under the guns of\nthat fortress, he became intimately acquainted with Mr Hane, a young\nartillery officer, who subsequently served under his orders with great\ndistinction. At this time Hastings raised a company of fifty men, whom\nhe armed and equipped at his own expense. But as his actions on shore\nare not immediately connected with the great results of his services\nto Greece, we shall confine this sketch exclusively to the share he\ntook in the naval warfare. He served the campaign of 1823 in Crete, as\ncommander of the artillery; but a violent fever compelling him to quit\nthat island in autumn, he found, on his return to Hydra, that Lord\nByron had arrived at Cephalonia.\n\nIt was of great importance to the Greek cause that the services of\nLord Byron should be usefully directed, and it was equally necessary\nthat the funds collected by the Greek committee in London should be\nexpended in the way most likely to be of permanent advantage to\nGreece. The moment appeared suitable for one who, like Hastings, had\nacquired some experience by active service, both with the fleet and\narmy, to offer his advice. He accordingly drew up a project for the\nconstruction and armament of a steam-vessel, which he recommended as\nthe most effectual mode of advancing the Greek cause, by giving the\nfleet a decided superiority over the Turks at sea. It appeared to\nHastings that it was only by the introduction of a well-disciplined\nnaval force, directly dependent on the central government, that order\ncould be introduced into the administration, as well as a superiority\nsecured over the enemy. It is not necessary to enter into all the\nprofessional details of this memoir, as we shall have occasion to\nstate the manner in which Hastings carried his views into execution a\nfew years later. Its conclusion was to recommend Lord Byron to direct\nhis attention to the purchase or construction of a steam-vessel, armed\nwith heavy guns, and fitted up for the use of hot shot and shells as\nits ordinary projectiles.\n\nNeither Lord Byron nor Colonel Stanhope, the agent of the Greek\ncommittee, seem to have appreciated the military science of Hastings,\nand the plan met with little support from either.\n\nThe Greek government shortly after this obtained its first loan in\nEngland; and, during the summer of 1824, Hastings endeavoured to\nimpress its members with the necessity of rendering the national cause\nnot entirely dependent on the disorderly and tumultuous merchant\nmarine, which it was compelled to hire at an exorbitant price. It is\nneedless to record all the difficulties and opposition he met with\nfrom a government consisting in part of shipowners, eager to obtain a\nshare of the loan as hire for their ships. These ships were in some\ndanger of rotting in harbour, in case a national navy should be\nformed. The loan, however, appeared inexhaustible; and in the autumn\nof 1824, Hastings returned to England, with a promise that the Greek\ngovernment would lose no time in instructing their deputies in London\nto procure a steam-vessel to be armed under his inspection, and of\nwhich he was promised the command. This promise was soon forgotten; a\nnumber of favourable accidents deluded the members of the Greek\ngovernment into the belief that their deliverance from the Turkish\nyoke was already achieved, and they began to neglect the dictates of\ncommon prudence. The Greek committee in London emulated the example of\nthe Greek government at Nauplia; and in place of acting according to\nthe suggestions of common sense and common honesty, that body engaged\nin a number of tortuous transactions, ending in the concoction of a\ndish called \"the Greek pie.\" Ibrahim Pasha awakened the heroes at\nNauplia from their dreams, and Cobbett disturbed the reveries of the\nsages in London.\n\nThe success which attended Ibrahim Pasha on his landing in the\nPeloponnesus in 1825, and the improvement displayed by the Turks in\ntheir naval operations, seriously alarmed the Greeks. The advice of\nHastings occurred to their remembrance; but, even then, it required\nthe active exertions of two judicious friends of Greece in London to\ninduce the Greek deputies to take the necessary measures for fitting\nout a steamer. Hastings, in a letter addressed to the Greeks, which he\nwrote on his return to Greece, declared distinctly that the gratitude\nof the Greek nation was due to the Right Honourable Edward Ellice and\nto Sir John Hobhouse, and not to the Greek deputies in London, if the\nsteam-vessel he commanded proved of any service to the cause.\n\nGreece was then in a desperate condition. Navarin was taken by Ibrahim\nPasha, the Romeliat army was completely defeated, and the Egyptians\nencamped in the centre of the Peloponnesus, after routing every body\nof troops which attempted to arrest their progress. The Turkish and\nEgyptian fleets kept the sea in spite of the gallant attacks of\nMiaoulis; and the partial successes of the Greeks were more honourable\nto their courage than injurious to the real strength of their enemies.\nIn the mean time, the Greek government had lost all power of\ncommanding either respect or obedience at home, in consequence of the\ncivil wars which prevailed previously to the arrival of the Egyptians,\nand the intrigues of Maurocordatos and Kolettis to obtain the sole\ndirection of affairs.\n\nAt this conjuncture, Lord Cochrane's name excited universal attention\nin England, and he was engaged by the Greek deputies, and some friends\nof the cause, to enter the Greek service. He received for his services\nL37,000 sterling, in cash; and an additional sum of L20,000 was paid\ninto the hands of Sir Francis Burdett, to be given to Lord Cochrane\nwhenever the independence of Greece should be secured.\n\nThis transaction happened in the month of August 1825; but in the\nmonth of March, a steam-vessel, called the Perseverance, of about four\nhundred tons, had already been ordered; and Hastings had been named to\ncommand her, and received authority to arm her with sixty-eight\npounders, according to the plan he had submitted to the Greek\ngovernment. When Lord Cochrane was appointed commander-in-chief of the\nGreek fleet, five more steam-vessels were ordered to be built; but it\nmay be observed, that only two of these ever reached Greece. The\nequipment of the Perseverance was then kept back, in order that the\nwhole squadron might sail together under the auspices of Lord\nCochrane. The news of the taking of Missolonghi by the Turks at last\nthrew the friends of Greece into such a state of alarm, and the outcry\nagainst the dilatory manner in which the steam-boat expedition in the\nThames was fitting out, became so violent over all Europe, that the\nPerseverance was hastily completed, and allowed to sail alone.\n\nAfter a series of difficulties and disappointments, which it required\nall the extraordinary perseverance and energy of Hastings to overcome,\nhe was hurried away from Deptford on the twenty-sixth of May 1826,\nthough the engine of the Perseverance was evidently in a very\ndefective state. The boiler burst in the Mediterranean; and the ship\nwas detained at Cagliari, reconstructing a boiler, until the\ntwenty-eighth of August. She arrived in Greece too late to be of any\nuse in the naval campaign of that year. The winter was spent in aiding\nthe operations of the army, which was endeavouring to raise the siege\nof Athens.\n\nThe Karteria, which was the name of the Perseverance in the Greek\nnavy, was armed on the principle which Hastings had laid down as\nnecessary to place the Greeks with small vessels on some degree of\nequality with the line-of-battle ships and large frigates of the\nTurks: namely, that of using projectiles more destructive than the\nshot of the enemy. These projectiles were hot shot and shells, instead\nof the cold round-shot of the Turks. We have already mentioned that\nthe Karteria was armed with sixty-eight pounders. Of these she mounted\neight; four were carronades of the government pattern, and four were\nguns of a new form, cast after a model prepared by Hastings himself.\nThese guns were seven feet four inches long in the bore, and weighed\nfifty-eight hundred-weight. They had the form of carronades in every\nthing but the addition of trunnions to mount them like long guns;\nthese trunnions, however, were, contrary to the usual practice, placed\nso that their centre intersected a line through the centre of the bore\nof the gun. They were mounted on ten-inch howitzer carriages, which\nanswered the purpose admirably. The shells used were generally\nstrapped to wooden bottoms; but they were more than once employed\nwithout any precaution, except that of putting them in the gun with\nthe fusees towards the muzzle. The hot shot were heated in the engine\nfires, and were brought on deck by two men in a machine resembling a\ndouble coal-box, which was easily tilted up at the muzzle of the gun\nto be loaded.\n\nHastings fired about eighteen thousand shells from the Karteria in the\nyears 1826 and 1827, with a miscellaneous crew composed of Englishmen,\nSwedes, and Greeks, and never had a single accident from explosion. As\na very small number of hot shot can be heated at once, and as an iron\nball of eight inches diameter loses its spherical form if kept for any\nlength of time red hot, this projectile could only be used in\nparticular circumstances. It happened more than once on board the\nKarteria, that shot which had remained for some time in the engine\nfires, had so lost their form as not to enter the muzzle of the guns.\nWith regard to the great danger which is supposed to attend the use of\nhot shot on board ships, Hastings thus states his opinion in a \"Memoir\non the use of Shells, Hot Shot, and Carcass Shells, from ship\nartillery:\"[11] \"I have continually used hot shot with perfect safety;\nmy people having become so familiar with them, that they employ them\nwith as little apprehension as if using cold shot.\"\n\nWe shall now give a regular account of the career of active service in\nwhich Hastings was engaged, as captain of the Greek steam-frigate\nKarteria, extracted in part from his own official reports and private\nletters, and drawn in part from the testimony of eyewitnesses of all\nhis actions.\n\nIn February 1827, Captain Hastings was ordered by the Greek government\nto co-operate with the troops under General Gordon, destined to\nrelieve Athens. Captain Hastings, sailing from Egina, passed round the\nisland of Salamis, and entering the western strait between it and\nMegara, arrived, unobserved by the Turks, in the bay where the battle\nof Salamis was fought--now called the port of Ambelaki. This was the\nfirst time the passage had ever been attempted by a modern man-of-war.\nDuring the presidency of Count Capo-d'Istrias, Sir Edmund Lyons\ncarried H.M.S. Blonde through the same passage.\n\nThe troops under General Gordon were landed in the night, and they\noccupied and fortified the hill of Munychia without any loss of time.\nIt was then resolved to drive the Turks from a monastery at the\nPiraeus, in which they kept a garrison to command the port. The troops\nwere ordered to attack the building on the land side, and Hastings\nentered the Piraeus to bombard it from the sea. A practicable breach\nwas soon made; but the Greek troops, though supported by the fire of a\ncouple of field-pieces, were completely defeated in their feeble\nattempts to storm this monastery. The Turks, on the other hand,\ndisplayed the greatest activity; and the Seraskier Kutayhi Pasha, who\ncommanded the army besieging Athens, soon arrived with a powerful\nescort of cavalry, and bringing with him two long five-inch howitzers\nwith shells, boasting that with these he would sink the Karteria. As\nthe object of the Greek attack had completely failed, and the troops\nhad retired, the Karteria quitted the port just as the Turks opened\ntheir fire on her.\n\nA few days after this, the Turks, having defeated a division of the\nGreek army destined to make a diversion from the plain of Eleusis,\nattempted to carry the camp of General Gordon by storm. Captain\nHastings now entered the Piraeus again, even at the risk of exposing\nthe Karteria to the Turkish shells; as he saw that by his powerful\nfire of grape he could prevent the Turks from forming in any force to\nattack the most vulnerable part of the camp. The fire of the Karteria\nsoon produced its effect; but it drew all the attention of the Pasha\nto the vessel, as he perceived it was vain to persist in attacking the\ntroops until he compelled the steamer to quit the Piraeus. Five guns\ndirected their fire against her, and though three were either\ndismounted by her fire, or rendered useless by their carriages\nbreaking, still two elongated five-inch howitzers being placed between\nthe monastery and an adjoining tower, which covered them from the fire\nof the Karteria, contrived to keep up a well-supported fire. The\neffect produced by the shells from the Turkish guns was soon\nconsiderable, though several of those which struck the Karteria did\nnot explode. One, however, fixed in the carriage of a long sixty-eight\npounder, and exploded there, though fortunately without injuring\neither Captain Hane, the artillery-officer engaged in pointing the\ngun, or any of the men who were working it. Another exploded in the\nKarteria's counter, and tore out the planking of two streaks for a\nlength of six feet, and started out the planking from the two adjacent\nstreaks. As this shell struck the vessel on the water's edge, a ship\nbuilt in the ordinary manner would have been sunk by this explosion of\nabout nine ounces of powder; but the Karteria was in no danger, as she\nwas built with her timbers close and caulked together. She was also\nconstructed with two solid bulkheads enclosing the engine-room,\ncaulked and lined, so as to be water-tight; consequently, any one of\nher compartments might have filled with water from a shot-hole without\nher sinking. The attack of the Turks on the Greek camp having been\nrepulsed, nothing remained for Hastings but to retreat from his\ndangerous position in the Piraeus as speedily as possible. This,\nhowever, he did not effect without loss; all his boats were shot\nthrough, and he had to encounter a severe fire of musketry from the\nTurks stationed on each side, as he moved through the pillars at the\nentrance of the port.\n\nIn the month of March an expedition was planned by General Heideck,\nwho was afterwards one of the members of the unhappy regency which\nmisgoverned Greece during the minority of King Otho. The object of\nthis expedition was to destroy the magazines of provisions and stores\nwhich the Turks possessed at Oropos, and, by occupying their lines of\ncommunication with Negropont, to compel them to raise the siege of\nAthens. This was the only feasible method by which the Greeks could\never have hoped to defeat the Turks; but when the execution of it was\nproposed, it always met with some opposition. When it was at last\nundertaken by a foreigner, the operation was conducted in so weak and\ndesultory a manner, as to end in complete disgrace.\n\nThe naval force which accompanied General Heideck was unusually\npowerful, as he was then the acknowledged agent of the King of\nBavaria. It consisted of the frigate Hellas of sixty-four guns, with\nthe flag of Admiral Miaoulis, the Karteria, and some smaller vessels\nas transports. The Greek vessels arrived before Oropos in the\nafternoon, and as the Hellas was compelled to anchor about a mile from\nthe Turkish camp, Captain Hastings immediately steamed into the port.\nHe captured two transports laden with grain and flour, which had just\narrived from Negropont; and having anchored within two hundred yards\nof the Turkish batteries, he opened on them a fire, which in a short\ntime dismounted every gun which they could bring to bear on his ship.\nA carcass-shell lodging in the fascines of which the principal battery\nwas constructed, soon enveloped the whole in flames--the\npowder-magazine exploded, and the carriages of the guns were rendered\nuseless.\n\nAt this moment the Greek troops, of whom one hundred and fifty were on\nboard the Karteria, loudly demanded to be led to attack the camp; and\nan officer from General Heideck, who had remained on board the Hellas,\nwas expected every moment to place himself at their head. No orders,\nhowever, arrived. Hastings remained all night in the port, and it was\nnot until dawn next morning that the troops were landed. The Turks, in\nthe mean time, had been more active; they had also received\nconsiderable reinforcements; the day was consumed without General\nHeideck going on shore, and a large body of Turkish cavalry making its\nappearance in the afternoon, he issued orders to re-embark the troops,\nand sailed back to Egina.\n\nThe public attention was suddenly diverted from this disgraceful\nexhibition of European military science by the arrival of Lord\nCochrane in Greece. He came, however, in an English yacht, which had\nbeen purchased to expedite his departure, but unaccompanied by a\nsingle one of the five steamers which were still unfinished in the\nThames. His lordship was soon after appointed lord high admiral of\nGreece; General Church was at the same time named generalissimo of the\nland forces; and both officers directed all their attention to raising\nthe siege of Athens, which Kutayhi continued to attack with the\ngreatest constancy.\n\nCaptain Hastings was now detached for the first time with an\nindependent naval command. The Turks drew their supplies for carrying\non the siege of Athens from a great distance in their rear, as all the\nprovinces of Greece were in a state of desolation. This circumstance\nexposed their lines of communication, both by land and sea, to be\nattacked by the Greeks in many different points. Volo was one of the\nprincipal depots at which the supplies transmitted from Thessalonica\nand Constantinople were secured; and from this station they were\nforwarded by the channel of Euboea to the fortress of Negropont, and\nthence to Oropos. From Oropos these supplies were transported on\nhorses and mules to the camp of the Pasha at Patissia, near Athens.\nCaptain Hastings was now charged with the duty of cutting off the\ncommunications of the Turks between Volo and Oropos, and instructed to\nuse every exertion to capture their transports and destroy their\nmagazines. For this purpose he sailed from Poros with a small\nsquadron, consisting of the Karteria and four hired vessels--the\ncorvette Themistocles, belonging to the Tombazis; the Ares, belonging\nto the Admiral Miaoulis; and two small schooners.\n\nOn the afternoon of a beautiful clear day, the little fleet entered\nthe bay of Volo, in which eight Turkish transports were seen at\nanchor. It was some time before the enemy was persuaded that the\nGreek vessels were bearing down to attack them, for they considered\nthe anchorage perfectly defended by two batteries which they had\nerected on the cape, enclosing the harbour, opposite the castle of\nVolo. The castle itself is a square fort in a dilapidated condition,\nwith only a few guns mounted.\n\nAt half-past four o'clock, the Themistocles and Ares received orders\nto anchor before the batteries, just out of the reach of musketry, and\nnot to waste a single shot before they had taken up their positions.\nThey were then directed to open a heavy fire of grape and round shot\non the enemy. While they were executing these orders, Hastings entered\nthe port, and opened his fire of shells on the intrenchments of the\nTurks, and of grape on the transports, which were filled with men to\nprevent their capture. The heavy fire of the Karteria, which poured on\nthe enemy three hundred two-ounce balls from each of its guns, soon\nthrew the Turks into confusion; and the boats were manned, and sent to\nboard the transports. Five vessels being heavily laden, though they\nhad been run aground, were not close to the shore, and these were soon\ncaptured; but two brigs being empty, were placed close under the fire\nof the troops in the intrenchments. Though they were attacked by all\nthe boats of the squadron, they were not taken until after an\nobstinate resistance. The English boatswain of the Karteria, who was\nthe first to mount the side of one, was wounded; but he succeeded in\ngaining the deck, and hauling down the Turkish flag. A Turk, however,\nwho had no idea of surrendering to an infidel, rushed at him, and\nfired a pistol at his head. The ball, fortunately, only grazed his\nforehead. The Turk then leaped overboard, and endeavoured to swim on\nshore; but one of the English sailors, considering his conduct so\nunfair as to merit death, jumped into the sea after him, and, having\novertaken him, deliberately cut his throat with a clasp-knife, as he\nhad no other weapon, and then returned on board. The Greek Revolution\ntoo often gave occasions for displaying\n\n    \"The instinct of the first-born Cain,\n    Which ever lurks somewhere in human hearts.\"\n\n\nIt was found impossible to get the two brigs afloat; and, as their\nsails had been landed, it would have been impossible to navigate them.\nThey were therefore burnt; and another smaller vessel, which was so\nplaced that Hastings would not expose his men by attempting to take\npossession of her, was destroyed by shells. A shell, exploding in her\nhull, blew her fore-mast into the water. For four hours the Karteria\nremained in the harbour of Volo. The corvette and brig had so\ncompletely silenced the fire of the batteries, that they appeared to\nbe abandoned; while the guns of the castle only kept up an irregular\nand ill-directed fire on the Karteria. The magazines were all in\nflames from the effect of the red-hot shot fired into them; and, as\nnight approached, the Karteria made the signal for all the vessels to\nmake sail out of the harbour with a light breeze from the land. The\nspectacle offered by the bay as it grew dark was peculiarly grand. On\nthe sombre outline of the hills round the gulf, innumerable fires were\nseen; and a continued discharge of musketry was heard proclaiming the\narrival of each little band of troops which reached the camp at Volo.\nThe lurid light thrown out by the flames from the burning magazines,\nand the reflection of the blazing transports, which were quickly\nconsumed to the water's edge, enabled the steamer, in departing, to\ndestroy the carriages of two guns which the Turks were endeavouring to\nget ready to salute the departing squadron.\n\nHastings had expected to find at Volo a large Turkish man-of-war,\nmounting sixteen heavy guns, and two mortars which had been\nconstructed for the siege of Missolonghi, but which had not even got\nso far as Volo until after the fall of that place. This vessel was now\nwaiting until the Turks should require her to bombard some seaport in\nthe possession of the Greeks. A Greek fishing-boat came alongside to\ninform Hastings that the Pasha had ordered this vessel to Tricheri for\ngreater security, where she was moored, with three schooners taken\nfrom the Greeks at Psara, in a small bay protected by a battery of\ntwelve guns. In this position, she was considered perfectly safe from\nthe attacks of the whole Greek fleet, aided by the fire-frigate\nherself, as the Turks called the Karteria. Hastings proceeded\nimmediately to Tricheri, hoping to surprise the enemy by an attack\nduring the night; but he found the Turks on the alert, and their\nwell-directed fire of musketry rendered it impossible to continue the\nattack with the smallest chance of success.\n\nAt daylight next morning, Hastings examined the position of the enemy\nwith care, but he saw there was no hope of capturing the bomb-ketch or\nany of the schooners; he therefore determined to confine his\noperations to destroying them. After getting up the steam and heating\na few shot, he stood in to about three-quarters of a mile of the\nTurkish ship, and going slowly round in a large circle, he brought his\nlong guns to bear successively, and fired them with the greatest\ndeliberation. He then moved out of gun-shot of the Turkish battery to\nobserve the effect of his fire. In about half an hour, a quantity of\nsmoke was observed to issue from the large Turkish vessel, which the\nenemy appeared at first to disregard; but, in a short time, they\nseemed to discover that their ship was on fire, for they were seen\nhurrying down and rushing on board in great numbers. The carronades\nwere now reloaded with shells, and the long guns with large grape, and\nthe Karteria stood in to prevent the enemy from continuing his\nendeavours to extinguish the fire. The attention of the Turks was thus\ndistracted; the flames soon burst through the decks of the ship, and,\ncatching the rigging, rendered all approach to her impossible. In a\nshort time she was a mass of flame; and her guns to the land-side,\nhaving been loaded, went off, discharging their shot into the battery\nformed for her protection. As her upper works burned away, she drifted\nfrom her station; but getting again on shore against the rocks, her\nmagazine exploded, and the remains of her hull, with all her guns,\nsank in deep water. The three schooners also received several shells,\nand were so injured, as to be rendered unable to put to sea without\nundergoing great repairs.\n\nThe loss of the Greek squadron in this expedition was very small; only\nthree men were killed and two wounded. But one of the killed was James\nHall, an Englishman on board the Karteria--an old sailor of a most\nexcellent character, and possessed of considerable knowledge in every\nbranch of his profession. He was killed by a twelve-pound shot from\nthe battery at Tricheri. This shot, after breaking the claw of an\nanchor, rebounded, and, in falling, struck Hall in the pit of the\nstomach, and rolled on the deck, as if it had hardly touched his\nclothes. He fell instantly, and was taken up quite dead--the usual\ntranquil smile his features bore still lingering on his lips. Hall was\nnot only a most excellent sailor, but, a truly honest man, and he was\nlong remembered and deeply regretted by all on board the Karteria. His\nremains were committed to the deep, Captain Hastings reading the\nfuneral service; for the English insisted that he would have preferred\na sailor's funeral to being interred on shore in a Greek churchyard.\n\nJames Hall was the only human spirit among the rude crew of the\nKarteria, and after his death most of the English sailors displayed\nthe feelings of savages. One old man-of-war's man, who had served in\nmany a well-fought action, declared that he would kill every Turkish\nprisoner taken in the prizes at Volo; and he attempted one night to\nbreak into the cabin abaft the larboard paddle-box, in which some of\nthese Turks were confined. Armed with a large knife, he proclaimed\nthat he was determined to kill the prisoners, and he called on the\nother sailors to assist him. He argued, that the war with the Turks\nwas an irregular warfare; and as the Turks killed their prisoners, on\nthe ground that they were either rebels or outlaws, it was the duty of\nthe Greeks to kill every Turk who fell into their power. When brought\nbefore Captain Hastings, he persisted in his determination; and though\nhe was perfectly sober, he at last declared that he would quit the\nservice, unless the English were allowed in future to kill the\nprisoners. Hastings tried to reason with him, but in vain. It was\nnecessary to put him under arrest, and when the Kateria returned to\nPoros, he demanded his discharge, and quitted Greece.\n\nThe Karteria suffered very severely in her hull and rigging, from the\nfire of the castle at Volo, and the battery at Tricheri. She lost her\njib-boom, main-topmast, gaff, and larboard cat-head, and received much\nother damage; so that it was necessary to proceed to Poros to give her\na thorough repair. On her way, she was fortunate enough to capture\nfour vessels laden with stores and provisions for the Turks of\nNegropont.\n\nAt Poros, Hastings found the affairs of the navy very little improved\nby Lord Cochrane's presence in Greece; and we think that we cannot\nconvey a better idea of their state, than is contained in a letter\nwhich he addressed to his lordship on the 30th of April 1827. \"It is\nwith deep regret I see the extreme discontent on board the Sauveur\nbrig, which seems to me to be greatly increased by, if not entirely\nowing to, the Greeks being paid in advance, and the English being in\narrears of wages. In this country, I must repeat, my lord, nothing can\nbe done without regular payments. By paying out of my own funds when\nothers could not be obtained, I have established the confidence both\nof Greeks and English in this vessel, as far as money is concerned;\nbut I cannot continue to pay out of my own pocket. If funds are not\nforthcoming, I beg leave to resign. Whilst I am on board, the people\nwill always consider me personally responsible for their wages; and I\nmust again remark, I have suffered already much too severely in my\nprivate fortune in this service to admit of my making further\nsacrifices. Besides wages for the crew, I have various expenses to\nrepair damages sustained in the late actions at Volo and Tricheri.\"\nCaptain Hastings was, however, at this time, easily induced to\ncontinue his services on board the Karteria, as the defeat of the\nGreek army before Athens on the 6th of May, and the departure of\nGeneral Gordon, Count Porro, and several other Philhellenes, who\nconsidered the cause utterly hopeless, rendered the moment unsuitable\nfor his resignation.\n\nThe Karteria was again fitted for sea with the greatest expedition,\nand joined Lord Cochrane, when he made an unsuccessful attempt to\nsurprise and capture Ibrahim Pasha at Clarenza. Hastings was separated\nfrom the Hellas by bad weather, and in returning to the rendezvous at\nSpetzia, he lost two of his masts and two men, in a hurricane off Cape\nMalea. Shortly after his return to Poros, where he was again compelled\nto refit, he received the following laconic communication from Lord\nCochrane, in which all mention of a rendezvous was omitted.\n\n     \"_Memo._--If the Perseverance is fit for service, please join the\n     squadron without delay.\n\n        \"COCHRANE.\n        \"_Hellas, 7th June 1827._\n        \"Captain Hastings, _Perseverance_.\"\n\n\nIn consequence of this order, Captain Hastings set out in search of\nLord Cochrane. A series of fruitless cruises followed, in which every\ndivision of the Turkish fleet contrived to escape the Greeks. At last,\nit was resolved that an attack should be made on Vasiladhi, the little\nfort which commands the entrance into the lagoons of Missolonghi; and\nthe whole fleet, under the command of Lord Cochrane in person,\nappeared off that place. The attempt was only persisted in for a short\ntime, and it failed.\n\nThe treaty of the 6th of July 1827, for the pacification of the\naffairs of Greece, between Great Britain, France, and Russia, now\nbecame known to the Greeks; and the news stimulated both them and\ntheir friends to make increased exertions, in order that the Allies\nmight find as much of the country as possible already delivered from\nthe Turkish yoke. A small squadron of ten Turkish brigs having entered\nthe Gulf of Lepanto, Lord Cochrane gave Hastings an order to pursue\nthem, conceived in the following flattering terms:--\n\n    _Off Missolonghi, 18th Sept. 1827._\n\n\n     \"You have been good enough to volunteer to proceed into the Gulf\n     of Lepanto, into which, under existing circumstances, I should\n     not have ordered the Perseverance (Karteria.) I therefore leave\n     all the proceedings to your judgment, intimating only, that the\n     transporting of General Church's troops to the north of the gulf,\n     and the destruction or capture of the enemy's vessels, will be\n     services of high importance to the cause of Greece.\"\n\n\nCaptain Hastings immediately entered the gulf, passing through the\nformidable strait between the castles of the Morea and Roumelia,\ncalled the Dardanelles of Lepanto, during the night. On the 29th of\nSeptember, having collected his little squadron, consisting of the\nKarteria, the brig Sauveur of eighteen guns, commanded by Captain\nThomas, and two gun-boats, each mounting a long thirty-two pounder;\nHastings stood into the bay of Salona (Amphissa) to attack a Turkish\nsquadron, consisting of nine vessels, anchored under the protection of\nbatteries, and a large body of troops placed at the Scala of Salona.\nThree Austrian merchantmen in the port were also filled with armed\nmen, in spite of the remonstrances of their masters, and assisted in\ndefending the squadron at anchor.\n\nAbout ten o'clock A.M., the Karteria, followed by the Sauveur and the\ntwo gun-boats, stood into the bay to attack this formidable position.\nThe Turks were so confident of victory, that they were eager to see\nthe Greek ships anchor as near them as possible. They therefore\nwithheld their fire until Captain Hastings made the signal for\nanchoring. The Karteria proceeded much nearer the shore than the\nsailing vessels, and having anchored within five hundred yards,\nopposite the vessel which bore the flag of the Turkish commodore, she\nopened her fire. The Turks then commenced a furious cannonade from\nupwards of sixty pieces of artillery; but they had hardly time to\nreload the greater part of the guns on board their ships. Captain\nHastings, before going into action, had heated several shells,\nthinking that sixty-eight pound shot might pass through both sides of\nthe vessels he was about to engage so near, as they were principally\nconstructed of fir. After firing one broadside of cold shot to make\nsure of the range, his second consisted of two hot shells from the\nlong guns, and two carcass-shells from the carronades. One of these\nlodged in the hull of the Turkish commodore, and, reaching the\npowder-magazine, the action commenced by blowing up his ship.[12] A\ncarcass-shell exploding in the bows of the brig anchored next to the\ncommodore, she sank forward, while a hot shell striking her stern,\nwhich stood up in the shallow water, it was soon enveloped in flames.\nIn a few minutes, another vessel was perceived to be on fire; and a\nfine Algerine schooner, mounting twenty long brass guns, having\nreceived a shell which exploded between her decks, was abandoned by\nher crew.\n\nThe battle of Salona afforded the most satisfactory proofs of the\nefficiency of the armament of steam-boats, with heavy guns, which\nCaptain Hastings had so long and so warmly advocated. The terrific and\nrapid manner in which a force so greatly superior to his own was\nutterly annihilated by the hot shot and shells of the Karteria,\nsilenced the opponents of Captain Hastings' plan throughout all\nEurope. From that day it became evident to all who studied the\nprogress of naval warfare, that every nation in Europe must adopt his\nprinciples of marine artillery, and arm some vessels in their fleets\non the model he had given them. In Greece the question of continuing\nto hire merchant ships to form a fleet was put to rest; and the\nnecessity of commencing the formation of a national navy was now\nadmitted by Hydriotes, Spetziotes, and Psariotes.\n\nThe services of the other vessels in the Greek squadron at Salona,\nthough eclipsed by the superior armament of the Karteria ought not to\nbe overlooked. Captain Thomas, who commanded the Sauveur, displayed\nall the courage, activity, and skill of an experienced English\nofficer; he silenced the two batteries, on which the Turks had placed\ngreat dependence, as alone sufficient to prevent the Greeks from\nentering the port; and by a well-directed fire of grape, he compelled\nthe troops which lined the shore to get under the cover of the\nirregular ground in the neighbourhood. Hastings then made the signal\nfor all the boats of the squadron to take possession of the Algerine\nschooner and the two other brigs which were not on fire.\n\nA severe contest took place in order to gain possession of the\nschooner; for the fire of the Greek ships being suspended as the boats\napproached her, the Turkish troops sprang from their hiding-places,\nand rushed to the edge of the rocks, which commanded a view of her\ndeck. From this position they opened a heavy fire of musketry on those\nwho had mounted her sides. The fire of the gun-boats again cleared the\nbeach; but the Turks contrived to keep up a severe fire at intervals,\nand Mr Scanlan, the first lieutenant of the Sauveur, was killed, and\nseveral others wounded, in attempting to get her under weigh. Captain\nHastings steamed up to the schooner at last, and having got her\nstream-cable made fast, attempted to move her; but the cable broke,\nand it became evident that the falling tide in the bay had fixed her\nfirmly on the ground. With incredible exertions her long brass guns\nwere all saved, and she was then set on fire. Mr Phalangas, a Greek\nofficer, the first lieutenant of the Karteria, was also wounded in\nsetting fire to a brig anchored at some distance from the rest. The\nboats then concluded the day by driving the Turks from the Austrian\nmerchantmen, and bringing out these vessels as prizes.\n\nIn this engagement nine Turkish vessels were destroyed, though\ndefended by batteries on shore and upwards of 500 veteran troops; yet\nit cost the assailants only six men killed and a few wounded. In the\ndespatch of Captain Hastings, announcing the victory, he pays a high\ntribute to the merits of Captain Hane, who had served with him at the\nsiege of Nauplia in 1822, and in Crete during the campaign of 1823.\n\"The services of Captain Hane of the artillery, serving on board this\nvessel, are too well known on every former occasion to make it\nnecessary for me to say more than that I am equally indebted to him\nnow as on other occasions.\"\n\nIbrahim Pasha was at Navarin with an immense fleet, when he heard of\nthe destruction of his ships in the bay of Salona. Sir Edward\nCodrington and Admiral de Rigny had, on the 25th of September, entered\ninto convention with him to suspend all hostilities against the Greeks\nuntil he should receive answers from Constantinople and Alexandria to\nthe communications made on the part of the three allied powers; but\nneither Hastings nor the Turkish commodore in the Gulf of Lepanto were\naware of this circumstance. The rage of Ibrahim when he heard of the\nresult of the affair at Salona knew no bounds, and he determined to\ninflict the severest vengeance on Hastings, whose little squadron he\nthought he could easily annihilate.\n\nSir Edward Codrington, after arranging the terms of the convention,\nhad repaired to Zante to wait the arrival of several vessels he\nexpected, and Admiral de Rigny had left Navarin to collect the French\nforce in the Archipelago. Ibrahim, seeing that there were no ships of\nthe allies at Navarin capable of stopping his fleet, ordered\ntwenty-six men-of-war to put to sea on the 30th of September. He\nembarked himself with this division of his fleet, determined to\nwitness the destruction of the Greek squadron. A violent gale,\nhowever, compelled him to put back on the 3d of October; but a part of\nhis fleet, under the command of the Patrona Bey, persisting in its\nendeavours to enter the Gulf of Lepanto, was pursued by Admiral\nCodrington, who forced it to return to Navarin, but not until he had\nfound himself obliged to fire into several of the Ottoman ships. As\nthe English admiral had at the time a very small force at Zante, many\nof the Turkish ships might, in spite of all his exertions, have\nescaped into the gulf, unless he had been aided in arresting their\nprogress by a succession of gales which blew on the 4th, 5th, and 6th\nof October. These gales assisted Sir Edward Codrington in compelling\nthe whole of the dispersed fleet of the Patrona Bey to seek refuge in\nthe port of Navarin.\n\nIn the mean time the position of Captain Hastings was one of extreme\ndanger, and Lord Cochrane, who addressed his last official\ncommunication to him on the 12th of October, conveys his parting words\nof praise and confidence in the following terms:--\"You have done so\nmuch good, and so much is anticipated from your keeping open the\ncommunications between the shores of the gulf, that I think you would\ndo well to remain for a while where you are. You occupy, however, a\nposition of risk, if the reports are true regarding the fleet being\noff Patras; and therefore I leave you to act in all things as you\njudge best for the public service.\" Hastings, as soon as he was\ninformed of Ibrahim Pasha's intention to attack him, and before he had\nreceived the news of his deliverance by the movement of Sir Edward\nCodrington's squadron, had selected the spot in which he hoped to be\nable to defy the attacks of the whole fleet sent against him. He chose\na small bay at the eastern extremity of the Gulf of Corinth, formed in\nthe rocky precipices of Mount Geranion, and open to the Alcyonian sea.\nThis little bay or port is called Strava. Its entrance is protected by\ntwo rocky islands, and it is bounded on the continent by a succession\nof precipices covered by pine woods, which render the debarkation of a\nlarge force in the neighbourhood very difficult. Hastings proposed to\ndefend this position by landing four of his guns on the mainland and\nthe islands; and he made every preparation for receiving the Egyptians\nwith a well-sustained fire of hot shot, while a number of Greek troops\nwere assembled to man the rocks around.\n\nThere can be no doubt that Ibrahim Pasha committed a blunder in\nviolating the convention into which he had just entered, and his\nattempt at taking vengeance into his own hands, instead of appealing\nto the three allied powers, created great distrust on the part of the\nadmirals. They naturally enough conceived that he would always hold\nhimself ready to take every advantage of their absence, and their only\nmethod of effectually watching the immense fleet assembled at Navarin\nwas by bringing their own squadrons to an anchor in that immense\nharbour. The battle of Navarin, on the 20th of October, was the\nnatural consequence of the distrust on the one side, and the eager\ndesire of revenge on the other, which rendered the proximity of the\ndifferent fleets necessary. The affair of Captain Hastings at Salona,\nas one of the proximate causes of this great naval engagement,\nacquires an historical importance far exceeding its mere military\nresults. In the eyes of the Greeks and Turks it very justly occupies a\nprominent place in the history of the Greek war, as it is by them\nalways viewed as the link which connects their military operations\nwith the celebrated battle of Navarin.\n\nThe destruction of the Turkish and Egyptian fleets delivered Greece\nfrom imminent peril; but in the exultation created by the assurance\nthat their independence was firmly established, the Greek government\nbegan to forget the services which the Karteria had rendered in the\ndays of their despair. No supplies of any kind were forwarded to\nCaptain Hastings, who remained in the gulf; both Lord Cochrane and the\ngovernment allowed him to remain without provisions, and his crew\nwould have in great part quitted him, unless he had paid the men their\nwages from his own fortune. On the 17th of November he wrote to Lord\nCochrane, urging the necessity of sending him some assistance. This\nletter, which remained unanswered, contains the following\npassages:--\"I am now seven thousand pounds out of pocket by my\nservices in Greece, and I am daily expending my own money for the\npublic service. Our prizes are serving as transports for the army, and\nwe must either shortly abandon this position or be paid. Without money\nI cannot any longer maintain this vessel. I will do all I can; but I\nmust repeat, that it is not quite fair I should end a beggar, after\nall the labour, vexation, and disappointment I have experienced for so\nmany years.\"\n\nThe only body of troops available for any national purpose, which had\nbeen kept together after the loss of Athens, with the exception of the\ncorps of regular troops under General Fabvier, was that assembled by\nGeneral Church on the southern shores of the Gulf of Lepanto. As soon\nas the battle of Navarin had paralysed the movements of the Turks,\nGeneral Church determined to transport his troops from the Morea into\nAcarnania, where the Greek captains, who had submitted to the Turks,\noffered again to take up arms, if an adequate force appeared in the\nprovince to support them. The principal object which detained the\nKarteria in the gulf had been to assist the movements of General\nChurch, who now resolved to cross over to Acarnania from Cape Papas.\nOn the evening of the 17th of November, Captain Hastings received a\ncommunication from General Church, requesting him to appear off Cape\nPapas next day.\n\nIn order to arrive at the rendezvous in time, Hastings was compelled\nto quit the gulf in the daytime, and consequently to expose his own\nship and the three prizes to the fire of the castles of the Morea and\nRomelia--an act of rashness of which he would not willingly have been\nguilty. The castle of the Morea mounted about sixty guns, and that of\nRomelia twenty-seven; those commanding the straights were of large\ncalibre. As their fire crossed, the passage of the Dardanelles of\nLepanto was always considered a dangerous enterprise; and certainly,\nif the batteries had been served by good artillerymen, no ship could\nhave ventured under their fire without being destroyed. Even with the\ngunners of Ibrahim Pasha's army, the passage was attended with\nconsiderable risk.\n\nThe little squadron of Captain Hastings approached the castles about\nnoon on a beautiful day. The Karteria, leading with a favourable wind,\nand spreading an immense extent of canvass from her four low masts,\nglided along with the aid of her steam at an amazing rate. Her three\nprizes, followed with every sail set, and two Greek misticos availed\nthemselves of the opportunity of quitting the gulf in order to cruise\nas privateers between Patras and Missolonghi. The moment the Karteria\ncame within gun-shot of the Turkish castles, they opened their fire;\nand for some time the balls fell thick around her--those of both\ncastles passing over her hull, and falling beyond their mark. Several\nshot, however, struck her sails, and the slow and regular manner in\nwhich each gun was discharged as it came to bear, indicated that the\npassage was not likely to be effected without some loss. Fortunately\nvery few shot struck the hull of the Karteria, yet the damage she\nreceived was not inconsiderable. The funnel was shot through, a patent\nwindlass was broken to pieces, and the fragments of the iron wheels\nscattered about the decks like a shower of grape. Several paddles were\nwrenched off the starboard paddle-wheel, and one shot passed through\nthe side near the water's edge. Two of the best sailors on board were\nkilled by a twenty-four pound shot while working a gun on the\nquarter-deck. The hand of a boy was carried away by another, and yet\nall this loss was sustained ere the Karteria had reached the centre of\nthe passage. At the moment when every shot was taking effect, the\nTurks suddenly lost the range. Every succeeding shot passed over the\nsteamer, and she proceeded along under the fire of more than half the\nguns, without receiving any additional damage. The Turks were only\nable to reload a few guns to discharge at the rest of the squadron,\nwhich escaped uninjured.\n\nThe loss of two men killed and one wounded, distressed Captain\nHastings. He was sure the Turks at Patras would soon receive an\nexaggerated account of the damage he had sustained, from their spies\nat Zante; and as this would embolden those who furnished their camp\nwith provisions, he was extremely anxious to destroy any vessels that\nmight be anchored at Patras, in order to convince the enemy that the\nKarteria was to be dreaded, even after receiving the greatest injury.\nA favourable opportunity fortunately offered itself of displaying the\npower of the steamer to Ibrahim Pasha's camp at Patras. On approaching\nthe roadstead, a brig heavily laden was seen at anchor, which had\nevidently arrived the preceding night, little expecting that the Greek\nsquadron would quit the gulf in the daytime. Hastings immediately\nmade every preparation for cutting her out, but the Austrian consul\nwas seen approaching in a small boat, with a flag like the ensign of a\nthree-decker. The following dialogue took place between him and\nHastings alongside the Karteria, while the Austrians in the brig were\nactively engaged in getting every thing ready to haul their vessel, at\na moment's warning, under a battery of Turkish field-pieces placed on\nthe beach.\n\n_Hastings._--\"As Austrian consul, you must be aware that the Greek\ngovernment have been blockading Patras for some time, and that there\nis now a gun-boat cruising off the port.\"\n\n_Austrian Consul._--\"My government acknowledges no such authority as a\nGreek government, and, consequently, does not admit the validity of\nits acts.\"\n\n_Hastings._--\"My orders, however, are to enforce those acts. I must,\ntherefore, request you to proceed immediately to the Austrian brig at\nanchor in the Harbour, and order the master to come on board with his\npapers.\"\n\n_Austrian Consul._--\"I believe I am speaking to an Englishman; and\nneither Austria nor Turkey being at war with England, you are bound to\nrespect the Austrian flag.\"\n\n_Hastings._--\"You are speaking, sir, to an officer in the Greek\nservice, commanding the squadron blockading Patras; and if the\nAustrian brig does not place itself under my protection in five\nminutes, I shall fire into the Turkish camp, and it will be\ndestroyed.\"\n\nIn saying this, Captain Hastings took out his watch and left the\nconsul, who vainly endeavoured to renew the conversation in order to\ngain time. When he quitted the Karteria, he pulled towards the shore,\ninstead of proceeding to communicate Hastings' orders to the master of\nthe brig. This being, apparently, a concerted signal, the greatest\nexertions were suddenly commence to haul the Austrian vessel under the\nguns of the battery.\n\nHastings allowed the Austrian consul five minutes to reach the shore;\nand as he was not inclined to expose his crew to any loss in taking\npossession of a prize which he could easily destroy without danger, he\ndirected his fire against the Austrian brig. As soon as he found that\nhe was approaching the range of the Turkish battery, he fired a few\nshells into it and the Austrian vessel. One of these exploding in her\nhull near the water's edge, tore out great part of her side, and she\nsank almost instantaneously, barely leaving time for the crew to\nescape in the long-boat.\n\nOn the 28th of November, General Church reached Cape Papas with the\nfirst division of his army, consisting of only six hundred men, which\nwas embarked and transported to Dragomestre. Two days after, the\nsquadron returned, and conveyed over to Romelia the remainder of the\nGreek troops, not exceeding seven hundred soldiers; so that General\nChurch opened his winter campaign in Acarnania, which led to the\nconquest of that province, with a force of only one thousand three\nhundred fighting men.\n\nWhile the Greek army was engaged in fortifying its position at\nDragomestre, Captain Hastings resolved to attack Vasiladhi--the small\ninsular fort commanding the entrance into the lagoons of Missolonghi\nand Anatolikon, which Lord Cochrane had attempted in vain to capture\nabout three months before. On the 22d of December he anchored about\nthree thousand yards from the fort, finding that it was impossible to\nbring the Karteria any nearer. For nearly a mile round Vasiladhi, the\ndepth of the water does not exceed three feet, and the fort itself\nrises little more than six feet above the level of the sea. The\nbombardment of such a place was a delicate operation, requiring the\nmost favourable weather, and the very best artillery practice. The\nfirst day the attempt was made, two hundred shells were fired without\nproducing any effect. When fired _en ricochet_, they diverged to the\nright and left in a manner which gave Vasiladhi the appearance of an\nenchanted spot. Captain Hastings conjectured that this singular\ncircumstance was owing to the shallowness of the water; the mud\napproaching the surface close to the fort, afforded so much more\nresistance to the shells which fell in its immediate vicinity, as to\ncause a more marked deviation in the line of their primary direction.\n\nAt the same time it was found that those shells which were fired with\na charge of eight pounds of powder, at twenty-three degrees of\nelevation--the highest elevation that could be given to the long\nguns--all varied to the right, though the day was perfectly calm. This\nvariation appeared to be caused by a strong current of air at some\nheight above the earth's surface; but it was so irregular that it was\nfound impossible to make any correct allowance for it; and it was\nsingular, that any wind perceptible on the deck of the Karteria blew\nin the contrary direction.\n\nFor some days after this unsuccessful attempt, the weather was too\nstormy to think of renewing the attack; but on the 29th of December\nthe day was perfectly calm, and the atmosphere of that transparent\nclearness which characterises the climate of Greece. Hastings\ndetermined to bombard Vasiladhi a second time. The first shell fired\nindicated that the circumstances were now favourable; and the fourth,\nwhich Captain Hastings fired with his own hand, exploded in the\npowder-magazine. All the boats were instantly ordered out to storm the\nplace; but the Turks were thrown into such a state of confusion by the\nexplosion of the powder, and the fire which burst out in their huts,\nthat they were unable to offer any resistance; and the assailants,\ncommanded by Captain Hane of the artillery, entered the place, seized\nthe arms of the Turks, and set them to work at extinguishing the fire,\nwhich was spreading to the magazine of provisions, as if they had only\narrived to assist their friends. There were fifty-one Turks in the\nfort; twelve had been killed by the explosion.\n\nCaptain Hastings ordered all the prisoners to be transported on board\nthe Karteria; and as he could ill spare any of his provisions, and\ncould not encumber his vessel with enemies who required to be guarded,\nhe resolved to release them immediately. He therefore informed the\nTurkish commandant that he would send him to Missolonghi in a\nmonoxylon, or canoe used in the lagoons, in order to procure two large\nflat-bottomed boats to take away the prisoners. The Turk, who\nconsidered this was only a polite way of letting him know that he was\nto be drowned or suffocated in the mud, showed, nevertheless, no signs\nof fear or anger. He thanked Captain Hastings for the soldier-like\nmanner in which he had been treated, and said that, as a prisoner, it\nwas his duty to meet death in any way his conqueror might determine.\nThe scene at last began to assume a comic character;--for Hastings was\nthe last person on board to perceive that his prisoner supposed that\nhe was about to be murdered by his orders; and the Turkish commandant\nwas the only one who did not understand that it was really Hastings'\nintention to send him to Missolonghi in perfect safety. When the Turk\nwas conducted to the monoxylon, in which one of his own men was\nseated, in order to paddle the boat through the lagoon, he was\nconvinced of his error, and his expressions of gratitude to Hastings\nwere warm, though as dignified as his previous conduct.\n\nThe flat-bottomed boats arrived next day, and took away the prisoners.\nThey brought a sheep and a sabre as a present to Captain Hastings from\nthe Turkish commandant, accompanied by a letter expressing his regret\nthat the commander-in-chief in Missolonghi would not allow him to come\nhimself to visit his benefactor.\n\nThe conquest of Vasiladhi did not diminish the difficulties with which\nHastings was surrounded, nor remove any of the disagreeable\ncircumstances attendant on the neglect with which he was treated by\nLord Cochrane and the Greek government. On the 7th of January 1828, he\nwrote to a friend in the following desponding terms:--\"I am full of\nmisery. I have not a dollar. I owe my people three months' pay, and\nfive dollars a man gratuity for Vasiladhi. I have no provisions. I\nhave lost an anchor and chain. If I can get out of my present\ndifficulties, I may perhaps go into the gulf.\"\n\nOn the 16th of January he wrote to the Greek government, stating all\nthe difficulties of his position, and complaining of the manner in\nwhich the Karteria had been left entirely dependent on his private\nresources. He wrote: \"It has become an established maxim to leave\nthis vessel without any supplies. Dr Goss has just been at Zante, and\nhas left three hundred dollars for the Helvetia, now serving under my\norders--but not one farthing, no provisions, and not even a single\nword, for me. Five months ago, I was eight thousand dollars in advance\nfor the pay of my crew; and, since that time, I have only received one\nthousand dollars from the naval chest of Lord Cochrane, and six\nhundred from the military of General Church. This last sum is not even\nsufficient to pay the expenses incurred by the detention of our prizes\nin order to serve as transports for the army. I have, in addition to\nthe ordinary expenses of this vessel, been obliged to purchase wood\nfor our steam-engine, and provisions for the gun-boat Helvetia--to\nwhich I have also furnished two hundred dollars in money to pay the\ncrew. The capture of Vasiladhi has cost me two thousand dollars; yet I\nhave not taken the brass cannon in that fort, and replaced them with\nthe iron guns of our prizes, in order to assist me in meeting my\nexpenses.\"\n\nAbout this time Count Capo d'Istrias arrived in Greece to assume the\npresidency of the republic; and Captain Hastings, as soon as he was\ninformed of his arrival, transmitted him a very valuable letter, in\nwhich he gave a luminous picture of the state of affairs in Western\nGreece. This letter is particularly instructive, as it gives an\nadmirable summary of the line of conduct which gained Hastings his\ngreat reputation in Greece. \"From the hour of my receiving the command\nof the Karteria, I determined to break down the system existing in the\nnavy of paying the sailors in advance, as such a practice is\ndestructive of all discipline. The Greek government and Lord Cochrane,\nhowever, did not adopt this rule. They paid their own equipages in\nadvance, and they left mine unpaid.\"\n\nCount Capo d'Istrias, though a very able diplomatist, was not a\nmilitary man; and he paid no attention to Hastings' letter. Lord\nCochrane, who had long ceased to hold any communication with Captain\nHastings, had, a short time previous to the arrival of Count Capo\nd'Istrias, suddenly disappeared from Greece, in the English yacht in\nwhich he arrived, without giving the Greek government any notice of\nhis intention. In this state of things, it was not wonderful that the\nnaval affairs of the country fell into the most deplorable anarchy;\nand the disorder became so painful to Captain Hastings, that he\nresigned the command of the Kateria and resolved to quit Greece.\n\nThe importance of preventing so distinguished a Philhellene from\nquitting Greece so shortly after his own arrival, struck Count Capo\nd'Istrias very forcibly, and he resolved to do every thing in his\npower to retain Captain Hastings in his service. To effect this, he\ninvited him to a personal interview at Poros, in order, as he said, to\navail himself of the valuable experience of so tried a friend to the\ncause of his country. When they met, it was easy for Capo d'Istrias to\npersuade Hastings to resume the command of the naval division in the\nGulf of Corinth; particularly as the president promised to adopt the\nprinciples which Hastings laid down as necessary for the formation of\na national navy, and engaged to follow his advice in organizing this\nforce. Nothing, indeed, could have gratified the ambition of Captain\nHastings so much as being employed in this way, since he could thus\nhope to raise a durable monument of his naval skill, and a lasting\nmemorial of his service in Greece.\n\nAfter commencing the formation of a naval arsenal at Poros, and laying\nthe foundation for some superstructure of order in the naval\nadministration, Hastings again assumed the command of the Karteria;\nand on the 9th of May 1828, anchored off Vasiladhi, in order to\nco-operate with the troops under General Church. The united forces had\nbeen directed by the president to act against Anatolikon and\nMissolonghi, which, it was hoped, would easily be compelled to\nsurrender. After reconnoitring the approaches to Anatolikon, which\nGeneral Church had resolved to attack first, Captain Hastings, with\nhis usual activity, prepared rocket-frames, and brought all his boats\ninto the lagoons. On the 15th, an attempt was made to set fire to the\ntown by the discharge of a number of six and twelve-pound rockets;\nbut, though many entered the place, no conflagration ensued, and the\nattack failed. It was then determined to bombard Anatolikon; and,\nunder the cover of a heavy fire of shells from the batteries, and\ngrenades from the gun-boats, to make an attempt to carry the place by\nstorm.\n\nThe 25th of May was fixed for the assault; and Captain Hastings, who\nfelt the necessity of enforcing order, and setting an example of\ncourage in so important a crisis, determined to direct the attack of\nthe naval forces in person. Unfortunately, a division of the land\nforces, which were totally destitute of all discipline, and not even\nofficered in a regular manner, had been embarked in the boats of some\nGreek privateers, for the purpose of assisting in the attack. The real\nobject of these troops was to try to get first into the place in order\nto pillage. Before the artillery had produced any effect, and before\nCaptain Hastings had made all the necessary dispositions for the\nassault, these irregular troops advanced to the attack. Two officers\nof the marine, who commanded the gun-boats at the greatest distance\nfrom the boats of the Karteria, seeing the attack commencing, and\nsupposing that the signal had been given by Captain Hastings, pushed\nforward. No alternative now remained between carrying the place, or\nwitnessing a total defeat of a considerable part of the force under\nhis command; Hastings, therefore, without a moment's hesitation,\nendeavoured to repair the error already committed, by rendering the\nattack as general as possible. Making the signal of attack, he led the\nboats of the Karteria to the assault.\n\nThe ardour of the troops who rashly commenced the attack abated, as\nsoon as they found that the Turks received them with a well-directed\nfire of musketry. After some feeble attempts to approach the enemy, in\nwhich they sustained no loss, they kept their boats stationary far out\nof musket-shot of Anatolikon. On the other side, the boats of the\nGreek squadron advanced with great gallantry and steadiness; but the\nTurks had assembled a powerful force, which was posted in a\nwell-protected position, and opened a severe fire on the assailants.\nThe shallow water, and intricate channel through the lagoon, retarded\nthe progress of the two gun-boats; and Captain Andrea, who commanded\nthat in advance, having been killed, and some of his men wounded, his\ncrew was thrown into disorder. Captain Hastings, pushing forward in\nhis gig to repair this loss, was almost immediately after struck by a\nrifle-ball in the left arm, and fell down. His fall was the signal for\na general retreat.\n\nWhen the boats returned to the Karteria, the wound of Captain Hastings\nwas examined and bandaged. By a most unfortunate accident, there was\nno surgeon attached to the ship at the time; one surgeon having left a\nfew days before, and his successor not having arrived. A medical man\nhad, however, without any loss of time, been procured from the camp on\nshore; and after he had dressed the wound, he declared that it was not\nalarming, and that the arm was in no danger. Though he suffered great\npain, Captain Hastings soon began to turn his attention to repairing\nthe loss the Greek arms had sustained. On the 28th of May, he wrote a\nreport of the proceedings before Anatolikon, addressed to the minister\nof the marine; and in it he expressed the hope, that in a few days his\nwound would be so far healed as to allow him again to assume the\ndirection of the operations against Anatolikon in person.\n\nBut, in spite of the favourable opinion expressed by the surgeon of\nthe troops, it became evident that the wound was rapidly becoming\nworse; and it was decided that amputation was necessary. In order to\nentrust the operation to a more skilful surgeon than the one who had\nhitherto attended him, it was necessary that Captain Hastings should\nproceed to Zante. This decision had unfortunately been delayed too\nlong. Tetanus had ensued before the Karteria reached the port; and, on\nthe 1st of June, Frank Abney Hastings expired at Zante, on board the\nKarteria, which he had so gloriously commanded.\n\nThe moment his death was known in Greece, the great value of his\nservices was universally felt. All hope of organizing the Greek navy\nperished with him; and notwithstanding the advice and assistance of\nthe European powers, and the adoption of many plans prepared by the\nallies of Greece, the naval force of that country is in a much worse\ncondition to-day than it was at the time of Captain Hastings' death in\n1828. Every honour was paid to his memory. The president of Greece,\nCount Capo d'Istrias, decreed that his remains should receive a public\nfuneral; and by an ordinance addressed to Mr Alexander Maurocordatos,\nthe minister of the marine, and Mr George Finlay and Mr Nicholas\nKalergy, the personal friends of the deceased, he charged these\ngentlemen with this sacred duty. Mr Tricoupi pronounced the funeral\noration when the interment took place at Poros; and he concluded his\ndiscourse with the following words, as the prayer of the assembled\nclergy in the name of the whole Greek nation:--\"O LORD! IN THY\nHEAVENLY KINGDOM REMEMBER FRANK ABNEY HASTINGS, WHO DIED IN DEFENCE OF\nHIS SUFFERING FELLOW-CREATURES.\"\n\nBut nations are proverbially ungrateful. Nearly seventeen years have\nnow elapsed since the death of Hastings, the best and ablest\nEnglishman who, even to the present hour, has been connected in any\nway with the public affairs of Greece; yet neither the Greek\ngovernment nor the Greek people, though often revelling in millions\nrashly furnished them by their injudicious friends, have ever thought\nof paying their debt of gratitude to the memory of Frank Abney\nHastings. While stars and ribands have been lavishly conferred on\nthose whose power was supposed to influence the arrival of expected\nmillions, the heirs of Hastings were forgotten. We are bound, however,\nto absolve a considerable portion of the nation from the charge of\ningratitude and avarice, which we only thereby concentrate against the\ngovernment, and the leading statesmen of the country.\n\nWhen the numerous Greek sailors who had served under the orders of\nHastings heard of his death, many of them happened to be at Egina.\nThey immediately collected a sum of money among themselves, and\nengaged the clergy at Egina to celebrate the funeral service in the\nprincipal church, with all the pomp and ceremony possible in those\ntroubled times. Never probably was a braver man more sincerely mourned\nby a veteran band of strangers, who, in a foreign land, grieved more\ndeeply for his untimely loss.\n\nIt may appear surprising to many of our readers that we should give to\nthe name of Hastings so very prominent a position in the history of\nthe latter days of the Greek Revolution, when that name is\ncomparatively unknown at home. To make this apparent, we shall\nendeavour to explain the manner in which the Greeks carried on their\nwarfare with the Turks; and it will then appear that European officers\nwere not generally likely to form either a correct or a favourable\nopinion of the military affairs of the country. It is not, therefore,\nsurprising that false ideas of the state of Greece have prevailed, or\nindeed that they still continue to prevail, even among the foreigners\nlong resident in the new Greek kingdom. The military operations of the\nGreeks, both at sea and on shore, were remarkable, not only for a\ntotal want of all scientific knowledge, but also for the absence of\nevery shadow of discipline, and the first elements of order and\nsubordination. The troops consisted of a number of separate corps,\neach under its own captain, who regulated the movements, and provided\nfor the supply of his men, from day to day. Every soldier joined his\nstandard, and left it, when he thought fit, unless when it happened\nthat he had received some pay in advance; in which case, he was bound\nin honour to remain in the camp for the term he was engaged. With such\nan army, any systematic plan of campaign, and all strategetical\ncombinations, were clearly impossible; and when they have been\nattempted by the different European officers who have commanded the\nGreeks, they have invariably ended in the most complete defeats the\nGreeks have ever sustained. So entirely were the operations of the war\nan affair of chance, that the mountain skirmishes, in which the Greek\ntroops excelled, were usually brought on by accident.\n\nIn such an army, it is evident that the services of many an able\nofficer would be useless. A Greek general could only acquire and\nmaintain a due influence over his troops by taking a rifle in his\nhand, and bounding over the rocks in advance of his soldiers. The best\ngeneral, therefore, in the estimation of the soldiers, was the officer\nwho could run fastest, see furthest, and fire with truest aim from\nbehind the smallest possible projection of a rock. In cases where it\nbecame absolutely necessary to enforce obedience to an order, the\ncaptain required to be both able and willing to knock down the first\nman who dared to show any signs of dissatisfaction with the butt of\nhis pistol. Many excellent European generals were not competent to\nemulate the fame to be gained in such a service.\n\nMatters were very little better in the fleet. The sailors were always\npaid in advance, or they refused to embark; if on a cruise, when the\nterm for which they had been paid expired, they always returned home,\nunless prevented by an additional payment. While at sea, they\nfrequently held councils to discuss the movements of their ships, and\nrepeatedly compelled their captains to alter the plans adopted by the\nadmiral; and sometimes they have been known to carry their ships home\nin defiance of their officers. Even the brilliant exploits of the\nfire-ships which destroyed the Turkish three-deckers, were entirely\nperformed by volunteers, and are rather due to the daring courage of\nKanaris, and a few other individuals, than to the naval skill of the\nGreek fleet. In the latter years of the war, when the Turks and\nEgyptians had, by the exertions of Sultan Mahmoud and Mohammed Ali,\nmade some small progress in naval affairs, the fire-ships of the\nGreeks failed to produce any important results.\n\nCaptain Hastings, observing the total difference between Greek and\nEuropean warfare, avoided the error into which foreigners generally\nfell, of allowing their authority to be mixed up with that of others,\nover whose actions they could not exercise any efficient control.\nInstead of seeking a command, the imposing title of which might\nflatter his vanity, and impose on the rest of Europe, Hastings\nsteadily refused to accept any rank, or place himself in any command,\nwhere he would have been unable to enforce obedience to his orders. By\nthis means, and by the sacrifice of very large sums of money from his\nprivate fortune, in paying not only the men, but even all the officers\nwho bore commissions on board the Karteria, he was enabled to maintain\nsome order and discipline in that vessel. Though he was at the head of\nthe smallest detached force commanded by a foreigner in Greece, there\ncan be no doubt that, of all the foreigners who have visited Greece,\nhe rendered the greatest service to the cause of her independence. At\nthe same time, it is not wonderful that all other foreigners have felt\nbut little inclined to give the due meed of praise to a line of\nconduct which they have never had strength of mind to imitate.\n\nIt may be observed here, that the naval operations of Captain Hastings\npossess considerable interest in connexion with the modern history of\nmaritime warfare in Europe. The Karteria was the first steam-vessel\narmed with long sixty-eight pounders; she was the first vessel from\nwhich eight-inch shells and hot shot were used as ordinary\nprojectiles. And this great change in the employment of destructive\nelements of warfare was introduced by Captain Hastings among a people\nwhere he had to teach the first principles of military discipline. Yet\nhe overcame every difficulty; and with very little assistance, either\nfrom the Greek government, or the officers who were his superiors in\nthe Greek navy, he succeeded in giving all the naval powers of Europe\na valuable practical lesson in marine artillery. Great Britain is\nespecially called upon to acknowledge her obligations to Captain\nHastings. She has imitated the armament of the Greek steam-frigate\nKarteria in several vessels; and though the admiralty have doubtless\nadded many improvements in our ships, we are only the more explicitly\nbound to recognise the debt of gratitude we owe. By rendering naval\nwarfare not only more destructive, but at the same time making it more\ndependent on a combination of good gunnery and mechanical knowledge\nwith profound naval skill, he has increased the naval power of Great\nBritain, where all these qualities are cultivated in the highest\ndegree. At the same time, the civilized world is indebted to him for\nrendering battles so terrible as to be henceforth less frequent; and\nfor putting an end to naval warfare as a means of amusing kings, and\ngratifying the ambition of princely admirals, or vain-glorious states.\n\nIn concluding this sketch of the biography of Hastings, we regret that\nwe have to record the death of Colonel Hane of the Greek army, so long\nhis companion during the war, and who is so often and so honourably\nmentioned in his despatches as Captain Hane of the artillery. His\ndeath is another blot on Greece, and on what is called the English\nparty in Greece, by whom he was treated with the greatest neglect.\nColonel Hane was removed from active employment in 1842, when King\nOtho placed many Philhellenes and Greeks on a trifling pittance of\nhalf-pay, in order to retain a number of Bavarian officers in his\nservice, who were richly endowed with staff-appointments. As a\nPhilhellene, a constitutionalist, and an Englishman, it was natural\nthat Colonel Hane should be treated with the utmost severity by the\ncourt and the Bavarian administration.\n\nThe adoption of the constitution on the 15th September (3d O.S.) 1843,\ncaused all the Bavarians to be dismissed from the Greek service; but\nthere were so many Greeks more eager in their solicitations for\nappointments than Colonel Hane, and ministers are always so much more\nready to listen to the claims of their party than their country, that\nthe title of a stranger to the gratitude of Greece was easily\nforgotten. When Mr Alexander Maurocordatos, however, became\nprime-minister, his subserviency to English diplomacy was supposed by\nmany to indicate a feeling of attachment to English views, and an\nesteem for the English character. Under this impression, Mr\nBracebridge, Dr Howe, and Mr George Finlay, solicited Sir Edmund Lyons\nto exert his influence to prevent an Englishman, who, for twenty-three\nyears, had served Greece with courage and fidelity, from dying of\nabsolute want. Mr Maurocordatos gave Sir Edmund Lyons some promises,\nbut those promises were never fulfilled; and Colonel Hane died of a\nbroken heart at Athens, on the 18th of September 1844, leaving a young\nwife and three children in the most destitute condition.\n\nIt was well known to every body in Athens, from King Otho to the\nyoungest soldiers in the army, that Colonel Hane had for some time\nsuffered the severest privations of poverty, which he had vainly\nendeavoured to conceal. That his last hours were soothed by the\npossession of the necessaries of life, was owing to the delicacy with\nwhich Dr Howe and Mr Bracebridge contrived to make the assistance they\nsupplied as soothing to his mind, as it was indispensable for the\ncomfort of his declining health.\n\nFrank Abney Hastings, the hero who commanded the Karteria, and John\nHane, the gallant officer who fought by his side, now rest in peace.\nTwo volunteers, their friends and companions in many a checkered scene\nof life, still survive to cherish the memory of the days spent\ntogether on board the Karteria. One has acquired a wide-extended\nreputation in America and Europe, by the intelligence, activity, and\nwe may truly say genius, with which he has laboured to alleviate the\nsufferings of humanity. But for an account of Dr Howe's exertions to\nextend the blessings of education to the blind, the deaf, and the\ndumb, we must refer to Dickens' _American Notes_. The other still\nwatches the slow progress of the Greeks towards that free and\nindependent condition of which these friends of their cause once\nfancied they beheld the approaching dawn. We may, therefore, allow the\nnames of Hastings, Hane, Howe, and Finlay, to stand united on our\npage--\n\n    \"As in this glorious and well foughten field\n    They stood together in their chivalry.\"\n\n\n\n_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work._\n\n\n\n\nFootnotes:\n\n[1] An offspring created without a mother.\n\n[2] \"There is no one now thinks of reading Montesquieu,\" said the\nMarquis of Mirabeau, author of _L'Ami des Hommes_, and a distinguished\neconomist, to the King of Sweden, in 1772, at Paris.--See _Biog.\nUniv._ xxix. 89.\n\n[3] This is still the case in some parts of England, according to the\ncustom called Borough-English, Blackstone, ii. 93. Duhalde mentions\nthat a similar rule of descent prevails among some of the Tartar\ntribes whom he visited on the frontiers of China: a curious indication\nof the justice of Montesquieu's speculation as to its origin.\n\n[4] We were once told by Mr West, the president, that the reading of\nRichardson, (to use his own words,) \"lighted up a fire in his breast\nthat had never been extinguished; and that he had in consequence, and\ncontrary to the wishes of his friends and relatives, who were Quakers\nat Philadelphia, resolved to become a painter.\" By a very curious\ncircumstance, this identical volume is now in our possession, the\nlegacy of the very man, whose history is worth relating, who lent it\nto Mr West when a boy.\n\n[5] Fuseli objects that the principal figures and chief action in the\n_Raising of Lazarus_, by Sebastian del Piombo, are crowded into a\ncorner. He would have had them \"pyramid;\" so does received quackery\noverpower the judgment of men of sense, and acute reasoning.\n\n[6] CHANT.\n\n    The Theatines' commandments ten\n    Have less to do with saints than men.\n\n              _Chorus_.--Tra lara, tra lara.\n\n    1--Of money make sure. Tra lara, &c.\n    2--Entrap rich and poor.\n    3--Always get a good dinner.\n    4--In all bargains be winner.\n    5--Cool your red wine with white.\n    6--Turn day into night.\n    7--Give the bailiff the slip.\n    8--Make the world fill your scrip.\n    9--Make your convert a slave.\n    10--To your king play the knave.\n\n    _Chorus._--Those ten commandments make but _two_--\n         All things for _me_, and none for _you_.\n                          Tra lara, tra lara.\n\n[7]\n\n    Breeders of all foreign wars,\n    Breeders of all household jars,\n    Snugly 'scaping all the scars.\n\n    Worshipp'd, like the saints they make;\n    Tyrants, forcing fools to quake;\n    Grasping all we brew or bake.\n\n    All our souls and bodies ruling,\n    All our passions hotly schooling,\n    All our wit and wisdom fooling.\n\n    Lords of all our goods and chattels,\n    Firebrands of our bigot battles.\n    When you see them, spring your rattles.\n\n    Shun them, as you'd shun the Pest;\n    Shun them, teacher, friend, and guest;\n    Shun them, north, south, east, and west.\n\n    France, her true disease has hit;\n    France has made the vagrants flit;\n    France has swamp'd the Jesuit.\n\n[8] _The Discovery of the Science of Languages._ By MORGAN KAVANAGH.\nLondon: Longman, Brown, Green, and Longmans. 1844.\n\n[9] The poets are a little at variance, and do not all celebrate the\n_same_ wine--(as some of us like Port, and some Madeira)--some,\ndoubtless, dealt with better wine-merchants than others. Poets have\nthe privilege of celebrating plain women, and wine that nobody else\ncan drink. Redi talks of Monte Fiascone and Monte Pulciano--both\n_raisin_ wines to English or French stomachs. _Florence_ had no fame\nin those days, and _now_ makes by far the best wine in Italy--give\n_us_ good _Chianti_, and none of your Aleatico or Vino Santo. At Rome,\nthere is not a flask of any thing fit to drink; and we recollect when\nbad _Spanish wine_ was brought up the Tiber to meet the deficiency.\n_Orvieto_ is far from wholesome; yet, in Juvenal's time, _Albano_\nfurnished a wine of superlative quality.\n\n    \"_Albani_ veteris pretiosa senectus;\"\n\nthe same passage denouncing _Falernian_ by the epithet of _acris_--a\nwine, he says, to _make faces at_. Again, _Cuma_ and _Gaurus_--the\nprivilege of drinking those wines was for the _rich only_--are now the\ncommon drink of the peasants who cultivate them.\n\n    \"_Te_ Trifolinus ager _fecundis vitibus_ implet,\n    Suspectumque jugum _Cumis_, et _Gaurus inanis_.\"\n\nThe _vinum Setinum_, wine fit for patriots to drink \"on the birthdays\nof Brutus and Cassius,\" was never heard of by a subject of the _Pope_,\nnor would be worth above a _paul_ a flask. But the day is far off when\nItaly will quaff a generous goblet on any such solemnity, or pour out\na cup\n\n    \"Quale coronati Thrasca, Helvidiusque bibebant,\n    Brut rum et Cassi natablibus.\"\n\n[10] During the dissensions of the Regency and the _corps\ndiplomatique_, old Kolocotroni, who was then confined in the fortress\nabove the town of Nauplia, once remarked--\"These Franks abuse us for\nquarrelling, but\"--and here he threw out his right hand with the\nfingers wide apart towards the town of Nauplia below him, exclaiming,\n[Greek: na], with true Greek energy--\"they worry one another like\ndogs--to unshame us.\" [Greek: Trogountai san schulia dia na mas\nexentropiasan.]\n\n[11] Published by RIDGWAY. 1828.\n\n[12] In a description of the engagement, forwarded by the Austrian\nconsul at Patras to the consul-general in the Ionian islands, which\nwas captured by the Greeks, the following is the account given by the\nAustrians:--\"Il commandante della flottiglia Ottomana con terzo del\nVapore ando per aria, avendogli questo gettato una granata in Santa\nBarbara.\"\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n  The original text included Greek characters. For this text version these\n    letters have been replaced with transliterations set off by [Greek: ]\n    tags.\n\n  Misprints corrected:\n    \"Lairisse\" corrected to \"Lairesse\" (page 429)\n    \"sb ject\" corrected to \"subject\" (page 464)\n    unnecessary leading \"ac-\" removed (page 466)\n    \"head\" to \"heard\" (page 480)\n    \"ruler\" corrected to \"rule\" (page 497)\n\n  Additional spacing after some of the poetry and block quotes is\n  intentional to indicate both the end of a quotation and the beginning\n  of a new paragraph as is in the original text.","title":"Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Volume 58, Number 360, October 1845","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":91614}