{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_45765/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_45765","id":"gutenberg_45765","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45765","summary":null,"tags":["American literature -- Periodicals","Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: History - Religious","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Civilization -- Periodicals","Culture -- Periodicals","Harper's New Monthly Magazine"],"text":"HARPER'S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.\n\n  NO. XXIX.--OCTOBER, 1852.--VOL. V.\n\n\n\n\nMEMOIRS OF THE HOLY LAND.[1]\n\nBY JACOB ABBOTT.\n\n\nTHE DEAD SEA.\n\nSODOM AND GOMORRAH.\n\nHow strongly associated in the minds of men, are the ideas of guilt\nand ruin, unspeakable and awful, with the names of Sodom and Gomorrah.\nThe very words themselves seem deeply and indelibly imbued with a\nmysterious and dreadful meaning.\n\n[1] Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by Harper\nand Brothers, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the\nSouthern District of New York.\n\nThe account given in the Sacred Scriptures of the destruction of these\ncities, and of the circumstances connected with it, has, perhaps,\nexercised a greater influence in modifying, or, rather, in forming, the\nconception which has been since entertained among mankind in respect\nto the character of God, than any other one portion of the sacred\nnarrative. The thing that is most remarkable about it is, that while in\nthe destruction of the cities we have a most appalling exhibition of\nthe terrible energy with which God will punish confirmed and obdurate\nwickedness, we have in the attendant circumstances of the case, a\nstill more striking illustration of the kind, and tender, and merciful\nregard with which he will protect, and encourage, and sustain those who\nare attempting, however feebly, to please him, and to do his will. We\nare told elsewhere in the Scriptures, didactically, that God is love,\nand also that he is a consuming fire. In this transaction we see the\ngentleness and the tenderness of his love, and the terrible severity of\nhis retributive justice, displayed together. Let us examine the account\nsomewhat in detail.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"And the Lord said, Because the cry of Sodom and Gomorrah is great, and\nbecause their sin is very grievous,\n\n\"I will go down now, and see whether they have done altogether\naccording to the cry of it, which is come unto me; and if not, I will\nknow.\"--_Gen._ xviii. 20, 21.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is a certain dramatic beauty in the manner in which the designs\nand intentions of Jehovah are represented in such cases as this,\nunder the guise of words spoken. This rhetorical figure is adopted\nvery frequently by the Hebrew writers, being far more spirited and\ngraphic than the ordinary mode of narration, and more forcible in its\neffect upon common minds that are not accustomed to abstractions and\ngeneralizations. Thus, instead of saying, And God determined to create\nman, it is, And God said, I will make man. In the same manner, where\na modern historian in speaking of the discovery of America would have\nwritten: Columbus, having learned that trunks of trees were brought by\nwestern winds to the shores of Europe, inferred that there was land in\nthat direction, and resolved to go in search of it, a Hebrew writer\nwould have said, And it was told to Columbus, that when western winds\nhad long been blowing, trees were thrown up upon the European shores;\nand Columbus said, I will take vessels and men and go and search for\nthe land whence these trees come.\n\nThe verses which we have quoted above, accordingly, though in form\nascribing words to Jehovah, in reality are meant only to express, in a\nmanner adapted to the conceptions of men, the cautious and deliberate\ncharacter of the justice of God. \"I have heard the cry of Sodom and\nGomorrah, the cry of grievous violence and guilt, and I will go down\nand see if the real wickedness that reigns there, is as great as\nwould seem to be denoted by the cry. And if not, I will know.\" In\nother words, God would not condemn hastily. He would not judge from\nappearances, since appearances might be fallacious. He would cautiously\ninquire into all the circumstances, and even in the case of wickedness\nso enormous as that of Sodom and Gomorrah, he would carefully ascertain\nwhether there were any considerations that could extenuate or soften\nit. How happy would it be for mankind, if we all, in judging our\nneighbors, would follow the example of forbearance and caution here\npresented to us. It was undoubtedly with reference to its influence as\nan example for us, that the sacred writer has thus related the story.\n\nIn the same manner, how strikingly the narrative which is given of\nthe earnest intercession made by Abraham, to save the cities, and\nof the apparent yielding of the Almighty Judge, again and again, to\nhumble prayers in behalf of sinners, offered by a brother sinner,\nillustrates the long-suffering and the forbearance of God--his\nreluctance to punish, and his readiness to save. There is a special\ncharm in the exhibition which is made of these divine attributes in\nthis case, assuming the form as they do of a divine sympathy with the\ncompassionate impulses of man. The great and almighty Judge allows\nhimself to be led to deal mercifully with sinners through the pity and\nthe prayers of a brother sinner, deprecating the merited destruction.\nThe intercession of Abraham was after all unavailing, for there were\nnot ten righteous men to be found to fulfill the condition on which he\nhad obtained the promise that the city should be spared. The narrative,\nhowever, of the intercession, the final result of it in the promise\nof God to spare the whole monstrous mass of wickedness, if only ten\nrighteous men could be found in the city, and the measures which he\nadopted, when it was ascertained that there were not ten to be found,\nto warn and rescue all that there were, give to the whole story a great\npower in bringing home to the hearts of men, a sense of the compassion\nof God, and the regard which he feels for human sympathies and desires.\nThere is no portion of the sacred Scriptures which has more encouraged\nand strengthened the spirit of prayer, than the narration of the\ncircumstances that preceded the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.\n\n\nSITUATION OF THE PLAIN.\n\nSodom and Gomorrah are described as the cities of the plain, and this\nplain is spoken of as the plain of Jordan. And yet the place where\nthe cities are supposed to have stood, is near the southern end of\nthe Dead Sea, while the Jordan empties into the northern end of it.\nIf, therefore, the plain on which the cities stood was the plain of\nthe Jordan, in the time of Lot, it would seem that the sea itself\ncould not have existed then, but that the river must have continued\nits flow, beyond the point which now forms the southern termination\nof the sea. The sea as at present existing, is bounded on both sides\nby ranges of lofty and precipitous mountains, which lie parallel to\neach other, and extend north and south for several hundred miles. The\nspace which lies between these ranges, forms a long and narrow ravine,\nvery deeply depressed below the ordinary level of the earth's surface,\nas if it were an enormous crevasse, with the bed of it filled up to a\ncertain level, in some places with water and in others with alluvial\nsoil, either fertile or barren according to the geological structure\nof the different sections of it. This remarkable ravine divides itself\nnaturally into five sections. The first, reckoning from north to south,\ncontains the sources of the Jordan, and the lakes Merom and Tiberias.\nThe second is the valley of the Jordan. Here the bottom of the ravine\nconsists of a long and narrow plain of fertile land, with the river\nmeandering through it. The third section is the bed of the Dead Sea.\nThe waters here fill the whole breadth of the valley so completely,\nthat in many places it is impossible to pass along the shore between\nthe mountains and the sea. The water is deepest near the northern\npart of the sea, and grows more and more shallow toward the southern\npart, until at length the land rises above the level of the surface of\nthe water, and then the bottom of the ravine presents again a plain\nof land, instead of a sheet of water. This is the fourth section. It\nextends, perhaps, a hundred miles, rising gradually all the way, and\nforming in summer the bed of a small stream which flows northward to\nthe Dead Sea. This part of the great fissure is called the valley of\nArabah.[2] At length the level of the bottom of the valley reaches its\nhighest point, and the land descends again to the south, forming the\nfifth or southern-most section of the vast crevasse. The waters of\nthe Red sea flow up some hundred miles into this section, forming the\neastern one of the two forks into which that sea divides itself, at its\nnorthernmost extremity.\n\n[2] Wadi Arabah.\n\nIt will be seen thus that it is at the Dead Sea that the depression of\nthe valley is the greatest. In fact, the bed of the valley descends in\nboth directions toward the Dead Sea for a hundred miles. Some writers\nhave supposed that the whole of this depression was produced at the\ntime of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, and that previous to\nthat time, the Jordan continued its course through the whole length\nof the valley to the Red Sea, being bordered throughout this whole\ndistance by fertile plains extending on either hand from its banks to\nthe base of the mountains; and that it was on this plain, near the\nplace where now lies the southern extremity of the Dead Sea, that the\ncities Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboim, were built. In adopting\nthis hypothesis we must suppose that the destruction of the cities was\nattended with some volcanic convulsion, by which all that part of the\nvalley was sunk so far below its natural level that the river could no\nlonger continue its course. The waters then, we must imagine, gradually\nfilled up the deep bed so suddenly made for them, until the surface\nbecame so extended that the evaporation from it was equal to the\nsupply from the river; and thus the sea was formed, and its size and\nconfiguration permanently determined.\n\nOthers supposed that the sea existed from the most ancient times\nsubstantially as at present, occupying the whole breadth of the valley,\nfrom side to side, though not extending so far to the southward as\nnow. On this supposition the cities destroyed were situated on a\nfertile plain which then bordered the southern extremity of the sea,\nbut which is now submerged by its waters. It is no longer possible to\ndetermine which of these hypotheses, if either, is correct. A much\ngreater physical change is implied in the former than in the latter\nsupposition, but perhaps the latter is not on that account any the\nless improbable. When the question is of an actual sinking of the\nearth, whether we suppose the causes to be miraculous or natural, it\nis as easy to conceive of a great subsidence, as of a small one. The\nenlargement of a sea, whether by the agency of an earthquake, or by the\ndirect power of God, is as great a wonder as the creation of it would\nbe.\n\n\nTHE DESTRUCTION OF THE CITIES.\n\nThe account given by the sacred writers of the destruction of Sodom\nand Gomorrah is this. Lot was dwelling, at the time, in Sodom. He was\nwarned by the messengers of God, that the city was to be destroyed,\nand was directed to make his escape from it with all his family. This\nwarning was given to Lot in the night. He went out immediately to the\nhouses of his sons-in-law, to communicate the awful tidings to them\nand to summon them to flee. They however did not believe him. They\nridiculed his fears and refused to accompany him in his flight. Lot\nreturned to his house much troubled and perplexed. He could not go\nwithout his daughters, and his daughters could not go without their\nhusbands. The two messengers urged him not to delay. They entreated him\nto take his daughters with him and go, before the fated hour should\narrive. Finally they took him by the hand, and partly by persuasion and\npartly by force, they succeeded in bringing him out of the city. His\nwife and his daughters accompanied him. His sons-in-law, it seems, were\nleft behind.\n\n[Illustration: THE DEPARTURE OF LOT FROM SODOM.]\n\nIt was very early in the morning when Lot came forth from the city--not\nfar from the break of day. As soon as he was without the walls, the\nmessengers urged him not to tarry there or imagine that he was yet\nsafe, but to press forward with all speed, until he reached the\nmountain. \"Escape for thy life,\" said they \"Look not behind thee,\nneither stay thou in all the plain; escape to the mountain lest thou be\nconsumed.\" Lot was, however, afraid to go into the mountains. They were\nwild and desolate. His wife and his daughters were with him and it was\nyet dark. To take so helpless a company into such solitudes at such a\ntime, seemed awful to him, and he begged to be permitted to retire to\nZoar. Zoar was a small town on the eastern side of the plain, just at\nthe foot of the mountains, at a place where a lateral valley opened,\nthrough which a stream descended to the plain. Lot begged that he might\nbe permitted to go to Zoar, and that that city might be spared. His\nprayer was granted. A promise was given him that Zoar should be saved,\nand he was directed to proceed thither without delay. He accordingly\nwent eastward across the plain and reached Zoar, just as the sun was\nrising. His wife, instead of going diligently on with her husband,\nlingered and loitered on the way, and was lost. The words are, \"She\nbecame a pillar of salt.\" Precisely what is intended by this expression\nis somewhat uncertain; at any rate she was destroyed, and Lot escaped\nwith his daughters alone into Zoar. Immediately afterward Sodom and\nGomorrah were overwhelmed. The description of the catastrophe is given\nin the following words:\n\n \"The Lord rained upon Sodom and Gomorrah brimstone and fire from the\n Lord out of heaven.\n\n \"And he overthrew those cities and all the plain, and all the\n inhabitants of the cities and that which grew upon the ground.\n\n \"And Abraham got up early in the morning to the place where he stood\n before the Lord:\n\n \"And he looked toward Sodom and Gomorrah, and toward all the land of\n the plain, and beheld, and lo, the smoke of the country went up as the\n smoke of a furnace.\"--_Gen._ xix. 24, 25, 27, 28.\n\n[Illustration: THE PLAIN.]\n\n\nPHILOSOPHIZING ON THE DESTRUCTION OF SODOM AND GOMORRAH.\n\nThere has been a great deal of philosophical speculation on the\nnature of the physical causes which were called into action in the\ndestruction of these cities, and of the plain on which they stood.\nThese speculations, however, are to be considered as ingenious and\ncurious rather than useful, since they can not lead to any very\ntangible results. We can, in fact, know nothing positive of the\nphenomenon except what the sacred narrative records. And yet there is a\ncertain propriety in making philosophical inquiries in respect to the\nnature even of miraculous effects, for we observe in respect to almost\nall of the miracles recorded in the Old Testament, that, though they\ntranscend the power of nature, still, in character, they are always\nin a certain sense in harmony with it. Thus the plagues which were\nbrought upon the Egyptians, in the time of Pharaoh, are the ordinary\ncalamities to which the country was subject, following each other in a\nrapid and extraordinary succession, and developed in an aggravated and\nunusual form. The children of Israel, in their journeys through the\ndesert, were fed miraculously on manna. There is a natural manna found\nin those regions as an ordinary production, from which undoubtedly the\ntype and character of the miraculous supply were determined. The waters\nof the Red Sea were driven back at the time when the Israelites were\nto cross it, by the blowing of a strong east wind. The blowing of a\nwind has a natural tendency to drive back such waters, and to lay the\nshoals and shallows of a river bare. The effects produced in all these\ncases were far greater than the causes would naturally account for, but\nthey were all, so to speak, in the same direction with the tendency of\nthe causes. They transcended the ordinary course of nature; still, in\ncharacter, they were in harmony with its laws. It is right and proper\nfor us, therefore, where a miraculous effect is described, to look into\nthe natural laws related to it, for the sake of observing whatever of\nanalogy or conformity between the causes and effects may really appear.\n\nWith reference to such analogies, the character and the physical\nconstitution of the gorge in which the Dead Sea lies, has excited\ngreat interest in every age. The valley has been generally considered\nas of volcanic formation, though it is somewhat doubtful how far it\nis strictly correct thus to characterize it, since no signs of lava\nor of extinct craters appear in any part of it. The whole region,\nhowever, is subject to earthquakes, and many substances that are\nusually considered as volcanic productions are found here and there\nalong the valley, especially near the southern extremity of the Dead\nSea. One of the most remarkable of these substances is bitumen, a hard\nand inflammable mineral which has been found, from time to time, in\nall ages, on the shores of the sea. Some writers have supposed that\nthe \"pits,\" which are referred to in the passage, \"And the vale of\nSiddim was full of slime pits,\" were pits of liquified bitumen or\nasphaltum,--that the plain of Sodom was composed in a great degree of\nthese and similar inflammable substances--that they were set on fire by\nlightning from heaven or by volcanic ignition from below, and that thus\nthe plain itself on which the cities stood was consumed and destroyed.\nOthers suppose that under the influence of some great volcanic\nconvulsion, attended, as such convulsions often are, by thunderings and\nlightnings--the brimstone and fire out of heaven, referred to in the\nsacred record--a sinking, or subsidence of the land at the bottom of\nthe valley, took place; and that the waters of the Jordan overflowed\nand filled the cavity, thus forming, or else greatly enlarging the Dead\nSea. That the waters of the sea now flow where formerly a tract of\nfertile land extended, seems to be implied in the passage, Gen. xiv. 3,\nin which it is stated that certain kings assembled their forces, \"in\nthe vale of Siddim which is the Salt Sea.\" The meaning is undoubtedly\nas if the writer had said, The armies were gathered at a place which\nwas then the vale of Siddim, but which is now the Salt Sea.\n\n\nTHE DEAD SEA IN THE MIDDLE AGES.\n\nAfter the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the valley of the Dead\nSea seemed to be forsaken of God, and to be abhorred and shunned by\nman, so that it remained for a great many centuries, the very type\nand symbol of solitude, desolation, and death. A few wild Arabs dwelt\nalong its shores, building their rude and simple villages in the little\ndells that open among the mountains that border it, and feeding their\ncamels on the scanty herbage which grew in them. Now and then some\nparty of Crusaders, or some solitary pilgrim travelers, descended the\nvalley from the fords of the Jordan, till they reached the sea--or\nlooked down upon it from some commanding position among the mountains,\non the eastern or western sides--and caravans or beasts of burden were\naccustomed to go to its southern shores to procure salt for the people\nof the interior. Through these and other similar channels, vague and\nuncertain tidings of the deadly influences of the sea and of the awful\nsolitude and desolation which reigned around it, came out, from time\nto time, to more frequented regions, whence they spread in strange and\nexaggerated rumors throughout the civilized world. It was said that the\nwaters of the sea filled the gloomy valley which they occupied with\ninfluences so pestiferous and deadly that they were fatal to every\nspecies of life. No fish could swim in them, no plant could grow upon\ntheir shores. It was death for a man to bathe in them, or for a bird\nto fly over them; and even the breezes which blew from them toward the\nland, blighted and destroyed all the vegetation that they breathed\nupon. The surface and margin of the water, instead of being adorned\nwith verdant islands, or fringed with the floating vegetation of other\nseas, was blackened with masses of bitumen, that were driven hither and\nthither by the winds, or was bordered with a pestiferous volcanic scum;\nwhile all the approaches to the shores in the valley below were filled\nwith yawning pits of pitchy slime, which engulfed the traveler in their\nhorrid depths, or destroyed his life by their poisonous and abominable\nexhalations. In a word, the valley of the Dead Sea was for two thousand\nyears regarded as an accursed ground, from which the wrath of God,\ncontinually brooding over it, sternly excluded every living thing.\nWithin the last half century, however, many scientific travelers have\nvisited the spot, and have brought back to the civilized world more\ncorrect information in respect to the natural history of the valley.\n\n\nBURCKHARDT'S VISIT TO THE VALLEY OF ARABAH.\n\nOne of the earliest of the scientific travelers, to whom we have\nalluded, was John Lewis Burckhardt, who spent several years, in the\nearly part of the present century, in exploring the countries around\nthe southeastern shores of the Mediterranean Sea, under the auspices of\na society established in London, called the Association for Promoting\nthe Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa. Burckhardt prepared\nhimself for his work, by taking up his residence for several years in\nAleppo, and in other Oriental cities, for the purpose of studying the\nArabic language, and making himself perfectly familiar with the manners\nand customs of the people, so that in traveling through the countries\nwhich he was intending to explore, he might pass for a native, and thus\nbe allowed to go where he pleased without molestation. He succeeded\nperfectly in attaining this object. He acquired the Arabic language,\nassumed the Arabic dress, and learned to accommodate himself, in all\nrespects, to the manners and customs of the country. He thus passed\nwithout hindrance or suspicion where no known European or Christian\nwould have been allowed to go.\n\n[Illustration: THE VALLEY OF ARABAH.]\n\nBurckhardt explored the valley of Arabah, which extends from the Dead\nSea to the Red Sea, forming, as has already been said, a southern\ncontinuation of the great Jordan gorge. He was, in fact, the first\nto bring the existence of this southern valley to the notice of the\ncivilized world. The valley of the Jordan, as he describes it, widens\nabout Jericho, where the hills which border it, join the chains of\nmountains which inclose the Dead Sea. At the southern extremity of the\nsea they again approach each other, leaving between them a valley or\nGhor, similar in form to the northern Ghor, through which the Jordan\nflows; though the southern valley, from want of water, is a desert,\nwhile the Jordan and its tributaries make the other a fertile plain.\nIn the southern Ghor, the rivulets which descend from the mountains\nare lost in the sand and gravel which form their beds, long before\nthey reach the valley below. The valley itself, therefore, is entirely\nwithout water, and is, consequently, barren and desolate. The whole\nplain, as Burckhardt viewed it, presented the appearance of an expanse\nof shifting sands, the surface varied with innumerable undulations\nand low hills. A few trees grow here and there in the low places, and\nat the foot of the rocks which line the valley; but the depth of the\nsand, and the total want of water in the summer season, preclude the\ngrowth of every species of herbage. A few Bedouin tribes encamp in the\nvalley in the winter, when the streams from the mountains being full,\na sufficient supply of water is produced to flow down into the valley,\ncausing a few shrubs to grow, on which the sheep and goats can feed.\n\nBurckhardt and his party were an hour and a half in crossing the\nvalley. It was in the month of August that they made the tour, and\nthey found the heat almost intolerable. There was not the slightest\nappearance of a road or of any other work of man at the place where\nthey crossed it. Still they met with no difficulty in prosecuting their\njourney, for the sand, though deep, was firm, and the camels walked\nover it without sinking. In the various journeys which Burckhardt made\nin these solitary regions, he carefully noted all that he saw, and\ncopious reports of his observations were afterward published by the\nsociety in whose service he was engaged. The only instrument which\nhe had, however, for making observations, was a pocket compass, and\nthis he was obliged to conceal in the most careful manner from his\nArab attendants, for fear of betraying himself to them. If they had\nseen such an instrument in his possession, they would not only have\nsuspected his true character, but would have believed the compass\nto be an instrument of magic, and would have been overwhelmed with\nsuperstitious horror at the sight of it. Accordingly, Burckhardt\nwas compelled, not only to keep his compass in concealment, as he\njourneyed, but also to resort to a great variety of contrivances and\ndevices to make observations with it without being seen. Sometimes,\nwhen riding on horseback, he would stop for a moment in the way, and\nwatching an opportunity when the attention of his companions was turned\nin another direction, would hastily glance at his compass unseen,\ncovering it, while he did so, beneath his wide Arabian cloak. When\nriding upon a camel he could not adopt this method, for a single camel\nin a caravan can not be induced to stop while the train is going on.\nTo meet this emergency, the indefatigable traveler learned to dismount\nand mount again without arresting the progress of the animal. He would\ndescend to the ground, and straying away for a moment into a copse of\nbushes, or behind some angle of a rock, would crouch down, take out his\ncompass, ascertain the required bearing, make a note of it secretly in\na little book which he carried for the purpose in the pocket of his\nvest, and then returning to the camel, would climb up to his seat and\nride on as before.\n\nIt was by such means as these that the existence and the leading\ngeographical features of the valley of Arabah were first made known to\nthe Christian world.\n\n\nROBINSON'S VISIT TO EN-GEDI.\n\nEdward Robinson is a distinguished American philosopher and scholar,\nwho has devoted a great deal of attention to the geography and history\nof Palestine, and whose researches and explorations have perhaps\naccomplished more in throwing light upon the subject, than those of\nany other person, whether of ancient or modern times. He has enjoyed\nvery extraordinary facilities for accomplishing his work; for, in\nhis character, and in the circumstances in which he has been placed,\nthere have been combined, in a very remarkable degree, all the\nqualifications, and all the opportunities necessary for the successful\nprosecution of it. Having been devoted, during the greater portion of\nhis life, to the pursuit of philological studies, he has acquired a\nvery accurate knowledge of the languages, as well as of the manners and\ncustoms of the East; and, being endued by nature with a temperament in\nwhich great firmness and great steadiness of purpose are combined with\na certain quiet and philosophical calmness and composure, and a quick\nand discriminating apprehension with caution, prudence, and practical\ngood sense, he is very eminently qualified for the work of an Oriental\nexplorer. In the year 1838, he made an extended tour, or, rather,\nseries of tours, in the Holy Land, a very minute and interesting report\nof which he afterward gave to the world. He is now, in 1852, making a\nsecond journey there; and the Christian world are looking forward, with\ngreat interest, to the result of it.\n\n[Illustration: MAP OF THE DEAD SEA.]\n\nDuring Robinson's first tour in Palestine, he made an excursion from\nJerusalem to the western shores of the Dead Sea, where he visited a\nspot which is marked by a small tract of fertile ground, under the\ncliffs on the shore, known in ancient times as En-gedi, but called by\nthe Arabs of the present day Ain Jidy. From Jerusalem he traveled\nsouth to Hebron, and thence turning to the east, he traversed the\nmountains through a succession of wild and romantic passes which led\nhim gradually toward the sea. The road conducted him at length into the\ndesolate and rocky region called in ancient times the Wilderness of\nEn-gedi, the place to which David retreated when pursued by the deadly\nhostility of Saul. It was here that the extraordinary occurrences took\nplace that are narrated in 1 Sam. xxiv. David, in endeavoring to escape\nfrom his enemy, hid in a cave. Saul, in pursuing him, came to the\nsame cave, and being wearied, lay down and went to sleep there. While\nhe was asleep, David, coming out, secretly cut off the skirt of his\nrobe, without attempting to do him any personal injury; thus showing\nconclusively that he bore him no ill-will. Robinson found the region\nfull of caves, and the scenery corresponded, in all other respects,\nwith the allusions made to it in the Scripture narrative.\n\n[Illustration: CAVES OF EN-GEDI.]\n\n\nVIEW OF THE SEA.\n\nAs our traveler and his party journeyed on toward the sea, they found\nthe country descending continually, and as they followed the road\ndown the valleys and ravines through which it lay, they imagined that\nthey had reached the level of the sea, long before they came in sight\nof its shores. At length, however, to their astonishment, they came\nsuddenly out upon the brow of a mountain, from which they looked down\ninto a deep and extended valley where the broad expanse of water lay,\nfifteen hundred feet below them. The surprise which they experienced\nat finding the sea at so much lower a level than their estimate made\nit, illustrates the singular accuracy of Robinson's ideas in respect to\nthe topography of the country which he was exploring; for, if the Dead\nSea had been really at the same level with the Mediterranean, as was\nthen generally supposed to be the case, it would have presented itself\nto the party of travelers precisely as they had expected to find it.\nThe unlooked for depth was owing to a very extraordinary depression\nof the valley, the existence and the measure of which has since been\nascertained.\n\nRobinson and his companions, from the summit of a small knoll which\nlay on one side of their path, looked down upon the vast gulf beneath\nthem with emotions of wonder and awe. It was the Dead Sea which\nthey saw extended before them. There it lay, filling the bottom of\nits vast chasm, and shut in on both sides by ranges of precipitous\nmountains, whose steep acclivities seemed sometimes to rise directly\nfrom the water, though here and there they receded a little from the\nshore, so as to leave a narrow beach beneath the rocks below. From\nthe point where our observers stood the whole southern half of the\nsea was exposed to view. The northern part was partly concealed by a\nprecipitous promontory, called Ras Mersed, which rose abruptly from the\nshore a little north of their position.\n\nThe southern part of the sea, as viewed from this point, was remarkable\nfor the numerous shoals and sand bars which appeared projecting in many\nplaces from the shore, forming long and low points and peninsulas of\nsandy land. There was one very large and remarkable peninsula of higher\nland, in the southeast part of the sea. The position and configuration\nof this peninsula may be seen upon the map. It is formed in some\nrespect like a human foot, with the heel toward the sea. Of course,\nthe ankle of the foot is the isthmus which connects the peninsula with\nthe main land. The length of this peninsula, from north to south,\nis five or six miles. Our observers, from their lofty position at\nEn-gedi, looked down upon it, and could trace almost the whole of its\noutline. North of it, too, there was a valley, which opened up among\nthe mountains to the eastward, called the Valley of Kerak. At the head\nof this valley, several miles from the shore of the sea, lies the town\nof Kerak, a place sometimes visited by pilgrims and travelers, who\npass that way along a road which traverses that part of the country\non a line parallel to the shore of the sea. The course of the valley\nwas such that the position of our observers on the mountain at En-gedi\ncommanded a full view of the whole extent of it. They could even see\nthe town of Kerak, with its ancient castle on a rock--far up near the\nsummit of the mountain. It is in the lower part of this valley, a\nlittle to the eastward of the isthmus which has been already described,\nthat the town of Zoar stood, as it is supposed, where Lot sought\nrefuge at the time of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.\n\n\nTHE PASS.\n\nAfter remaining on the cliff about three quarters of an hour, to\nobserve and to record every thing worthy of notice in the extended\nview before them, the party began to go down the pass to the shore.\nThe descent was frightful, the pathway having been formed by zigzags\ndown the cliff, the necessary width for the track having been obtained,\nsometimes by cutting into the face of the rock, and sometimes by means\nof rude walls built from below. As they looked back up the rocks after\nthey had descended, it seemed impossible to them that any road could\nhave been formed there--and yet so skillfully had the work been planned\nand executed, that the descent, though terrific, was accomplished\nwithout any serious difficulty. In fact, the road was so practicable,\nthat loaded camels sometimes passed up and down. One of Mr. Robinson's\ncompanions had crossed the heights of Lebanon and the mountains of\nPersia, and he himself had traversed all the principal passes of the\nAlps, but neither of them had ever met with a pass so difficult and\ndangerous as this. The way was really dangerous as well as difficult.\nAn Arab woman, not long before the time of Robinson's visit, in\ndescending the road, had fallen off over the brink of the precipice to\nthe rocks below. She was, of course, killed by the fall.\n\n[Illustration: THE DESCENT.]\n\nAfter descending for about three quarters of an hour, the party reached\na sort of dell, where a copious and beautiful fountain, springing forth\nsuddenly from a recess in the rock, formed at once an abundant stream,\nthat flowed tumultuously down a narrow ravine toward the sea, still\nfour hundred feet below. This fount was the Ain Jidy, the word Ain\nsignifying fountain in the Arabic tongue. The meaning of the whole\nname is the _fountain of the kid_. The course of the stream in its\ndescent from its source was hidden from view by a luxuriant thicket of\ntrees and shrubs which grew along its bed, nourished by the fertilizing\ninfluence of the waters. The party halted at the spring, and pitched\ntheir tents, determining to make their encampment at this spot with a\nview of leaving their animals here and going down on foot to the shore\nbelow. They had originally intended not to go up the pass again, but\nto proceed to the northward along the shore of the sea, having been\ninformed that they could do so. They now learned, however, that there\nwas no practicable passage along the shore, and that they must reascend\nthe mountain in order to continue their journey. They accordingly\ndetermined, for the purpose of saving the transportation of their\nbaggage up and down, to encamp at the fountain.\n\nWhile pitching their tents, an alarm was given, that some persons were\ncoming down the pass, and, on looking upward, they saw at the turns\nof the zigzag, on the brow of the precipice far above, two or three\nmen, mounted and armed with guns. The party were for a moment alarmed,\nsupposing that the strangers might be robbers. Their true character,\nhowever, very soon appeared; for, as they drew near, they were found\nto be a troop of laboring peasants of the neighborhood, mounted on\npeaceful donkeys, and coming down to the shore in search of salt; and\nso the alarm ended in a laugh. The party of peasants stopped a short\ntime at the fountain to rest, and then continued their descent to the\nshore. They gathered the salt, which they came to procure, on the\nmargin of the sea; for the waters of the sea are so impregnated with\nsaline solutions, that whenever pools of it are evaporated by the sun,\nalong the shore, inflorescences and incrustations remain, which can\nbe easily gathered. After a time, the train of donkeys, bearing their\nheavy burdens, went toiling up the steep ascent again, and disappeared.\n\n\nTHE SHORE OF THE SEA.\n\nAfter remaining for some time at the encampment, Robinson and his\ncompanions set out at five o'clock, to go down to the shore. The\ndeclivity was still steep, though less so than in the pass above. The\nground was fertile, and bore many plants and trees, and the surface\nof it appeared to have been once terraced for tillage and gardens. At\none place, near the foot of the descent, were the ruins of an ancient\ntown. From the base of the declivity, there was a rich and fertile\nplain which lay sloping gradually nearly half a mile to the shore. The\nbed of the brook could be traced across this plain to the sea, though\nat the season of this visit, the waters which the fountain supplied,\ncopious as they appeared where they first issued from the rock, were\nabsorbed by the earth long before they reached the shore. The rivulet,\ntherefore, of Ain Jidy is the most short-lived and transitory of\nstreams. It breaks forth suddenly from the earth at its fountain, and\nthen, after tumbling and foaming for a short distance over its rocky\nbed, it descends again into the ground, disappearing as suddenly and\nmysteriously as it came into being.\n\nThe plain which this evanescent stream thus gave up its life to\nfertilize, was all under cultivation at the time that Robinson visited\nit, being divided into gardens, which belonged to a certain tribe of\nwandering Arabs. This tribe were, however, not now encamped here, but\nhad gone away to a tract of ground belonging to them in another part\nof the country, having left only a few sentinels to watch the fruits\nthat were growing in the gardens. Robinson and his party went across\nthe plain, and finally came to the margin of the sea, approaching it at\nlast over a bank of pebbles which lined the shore, and formed a sort of\nridge of sand and shingle, six or eight feet higher than the level of\nthe water. The slope of these pebbles, on the seaward side, was covered\nwith saline incrustations.\n\nThe water had a greenish hue, and its surface was very brilliant. To\nthe taste, the travelers found it intensely and intolerably salt, and\nfar more nauseous than the waters of the ocean. The great quantity of\nsaline matter, which it contains, makes it very dense, and, of course,\nvery buoyant in respect to bodies floating in it. This property of the\nsea has been observed and commented upon by visitors in every age.\nSwimmers, and those who can not swim, as an ancient writer expressed\nit, are borne up by it alike. Robinson himself bathed in the sea, and\nthough, as he says, he had never learned to swim, he found, that in\nthis water he could sit, stand, lie, or float in any position without\ndifficulty. The bottom was of clean sand and gravel, and the bathers\nfound that the water shoaled very gradually as they receded from the\nshore, so that they were obliged to wade out many rods before it\nreached their shoulders. Its great density produced a peculiar effect\nin respect to the appearance that it presented to the eye, adding\ngreatly to its brilliancy, and imparting a certain pearly richness and\nbeauty to its reflections. The objects seen through it on the bottom\nappeared as if seen through oil.\n\n\nMEASUREMENTS.\n\nAfter having spent some time in noting these general phenomena,\nRobinson, finding that the day was wearing away, called the attention\nof his party to the less entertaining but more important work of making\nthe necessary scientific measurements and observations. He laid off a\nbase line on the shore, fifteen hundred feet in length; and from the\nextremities of it, by means of a large and accurate compass, which he\ncarried with him in all his travels for this express purpose, he took\nthe bearings of all the principal points and headlands which could be\nseen around the sea, as well as of every mountain in view. By this\nmeans he secured the data for making an exact map of the sea, at least\nso far as these leading points are concerned; for, by the application\nof certain principles of trigonometry, it is very easy to ascertain the\nprecise situation of any object whatever, provided its precise bearing\nfrom each of two separate stations, and also the precise distance\nbetween the two stations is known. Accordingly, by establishing two\nstations on the plain, and measuring the distance between them, and\nthen taking the bearings of all important points on the shores of the\nsea, from both stations, the materials are secured for a correct map of\nit, in its general outline.\n\nThis work being accomplished, and the day being now fully spent, the\nparty bade the shores of the sea farewell; and, weary with the fatigues\nand excitement of the day, they began, with slow and toilsome steps,\nto reascend the path toward their encampment by the fountain. They at\nlength arrived at their tent, and spent the evening there to a late\nhour, in writing out their records of the observations which they had\nmade, and of the adventures which they had met with during the day.\nFrom time to time, as the hours passed on, they looked out from their\ntent to survey the broad expanse of water now far below them. The day\nhad been sultry and hot, but the evening was cool. The air was calm and\nstill, and the moon rising behind the eastern mountains shone in upon\ntheir encampment, and cheered the solitude of the night, illuminating,\nat the same time, with her beams, the quiet and lonely surface of the\nsea.\n\n\nTHE SALT MOUNTAIN OF USDUM.\n\nAt a subsequent period of his tour in the Holy Land, Robinson\napproached the Dead Sea again, near the southern extremity of it, and\nthere examined and described a certain very remarkable geological\nformation, which is justly considered one of the greatest wonders of\nthis most wonderful valley. It is called the Salt Mountain of Usdum.\nIt is a lofty ridge that extends for a great distance along the shore\nof the sea, and consists of a solid mass of rock-salt. The situation\nof this mountain, as will be seen from the map, is on the southwestern\nshore of the sea. There is a narrow tract of low and level land between\nthe mountain and the water. The road passes along this plain, close\nunder the cliffs, giving the traveler a very convenient opportunity of\nexamining the formation of the mountain as he journeys with his caravan\nslowly along.\n\nThe existence of such a mountain of salt was asserted by certain\ntravelers many centuries ago, but the accounts which they gave of it\nwere not generally believed, the spot being visited too seldom, and the\naccounts which were brought from it being too vague and imperfect to\nconfirm sufficiently so extraordinary a story. Robinson, however, and\nother travelers who have, since his day, fully explored the locality,\nhave found that the ancient tales were true. The ridge is very uneven\nand rugged, its summit and its sides having been furrowed by the rains\nwhich sometimes, though at very distant intervals, fall in this arid\nregion. The height of the ridge is from one hundred to one hundred\nand fifty feet. The surface of the hill is generally covered, like\nthat of other rocky ridges, with earth and marl, and sometimes with\ncalcareous strata of various kinds, so that its true character is in\nsome measure concealed from ordinary and casual observers. The mass\nof salt, however, which underlies these superficial coverings, breaks\nout in various places along the line of the hills, and sometimes\nforms perpendicular precipices of pure crystalized fossil salt, forty\nor fifty feet high, and several hundred feet long. The traveler who\nbeholds these crystaline cliffs is always greatly astonished at the\nspectacle, and can scarcely believe that the mountain is really what it\nseems, until he has gone repeatedly to the precipice and broken off a\nfragment from the face of it, to satisfy himself of the true character\nof the rock, by tasting the specimen.\n\nThe mountain extends for two or three miles along the shore, drawing\nnearer and nearer to it toward the south, until at last it approaches\nso closely to the margin of the sea, that the waters, when high, wash\nthe foot of the precipice. Along the road which lies between the cliffs\nand the shore, and upon the beach, masses of salt are found, which,\nhaving been broken off from the heights above, have fallen down to the\nlevel land below, where they lie like common rocks upon the ground.\nHere and there ravines are found, forming little dells, down which\nsmall streams are constantly trickling; and, in some seasons of the\nyear rains fall, and, dissolving small portions of the rock, flow with\nthe solution into the sea below. Of course, what salt finds its way\ninto the sea remains there forever, except so far as it is carried away\nby man--for the process of evaporation takes up the aqueous particles\nalone, from saline solutions. A very small annual addition is therefore\nsufficient to keep up the saltness of such a sea. It is supposed that\nthis mountain is the source which furnishes the supply in this case. If\nso, the Dead Sea, geologically speaking, is simply an accumulation of\nthe waters of the Jordan, formed in a deep depression of its valley,\nand made salt by impregnation from a range of soluble rocks, the base\nof which they lave.\n\n\nTHE CAVERN.\n\n[Illustration: THE CAVERN OF USDUM.]\n\nAt one point in the eastern face of the Usdum mountain, that is the\nface which is turned toward the sea, there is a cavern. This cavern\nseems to have been formed by a spring. A spring of water issuing from\namong soluble strata will, of course, always produce a cavern, as its\nwaters must necessarily dissolve and wear away the substance of the\nrock, and so, in the process of ages, form an open recess leading\ninto the heart of the mountain. The few European travelers who have\never passed the road that leads along the base of this mountain, have\ngenerally stopped to examine and explore this cavern. It is irregular\nin its form, but very considerable in extent. The mouth of it is ten\nor twelve feet high, and about the same in breadth. Robinson and his\nparty went into it with lights. They followed it for three or four\nhundred feet into the heart of the mountain, until at length they came\nto a place where it branched off into two small fissures, which could\nnot be traced any farther. A small stream of water was trickling slowly\nalong its bed in the floor of the cavern, which, as well as the walls\nand roof, were of solid salt. There were clear indications that the\nquantity of water flowing here varied greatly at different seasons; and\nthe cavern itself was undoubtedly formed by the action of the stream.\n\n\nAN INCIDENT OF ORIENTAL TRAVELING.\n\nWhen Robinson and his party came out from the cavern in the Salt\nMountain, an incident occurred which illustrates so forcibly both\nthe nature of Oriental traveling, and the manners and customs of the\nsemi-savage tribes that roam about the shores of the Dead Sea, that it\nwell deserves a place in this memoir. When they were about entering\nthe cavern, a report came from some of the scouts, of whom it was\nalways customary to have one or more ahead, when traveling on these\nexpeditions, that a troop of riders were in sight, coming round the\nsouthern end of the sea. This report had been confirmed during the time\nthat Robinson and his companions had been in the cave, and when they\ncame out they found their camp in a state of great confusion and alarm.\nThe strangers that were coming were supposed, from their numbers,\nand from the manner in which they were mounted, to be enemies or\nrobbers. The Arab attendants of the party were greatly excited by this\nintelligence. They were getting their guns in readiness, and loading\nand priming them. A consultation was held, and it was determined by\nthe party that they would not leave their encampment at the mouth of\nthe cavern, since the position which they occupied there was such as\nto afford them a considerable advantage, as they judged, in the case\nof an attack. They accordingly began to strengthen themselves where\nthey were with such means as they had at their command, and to make the\nbest disposition they could of the animals and baggage, with a view to\ndefending them. At the same time they sent forward an Arab chieftain of\nthe party, to reconnoitre and learn more particularly the character of\nthe enemy.\n\nThe messenger soon returned, bringing back a report which at once\nrelieved their fears. The dreaded troop of marauders proved to be a\nflock of sheep, driven by a few men on donkeys. Of course, all alarm\nwas at once dispelled, and the expedition immediately resumed its\nmarch, pursuing its way as before along the strand. But this was not\nthe end of the affair, for the Arabs of Robinson's escort, finding\nthat they were now the stronger party, at once assumed the character\nof robbers themselves, and began immediately to make preparations for\nplundering the strangers. The customs of the country as they understood\nthe subject, fully justified them in doing so, and before Robinson\nwas aware of their intentions, they galloped forward, and attacked\nthe peaceful company of strangers, and began to take away from them\nevery thing valuable on which they could lay their hands. One seized\na pistol, another a cloak, and a third stores of provisions. Robinson\nand his companions hastened to the spot and arrested this proceeding,\nthough they had great difficulty in doing it. The Arabs insisted that\nthese men were their enemies, and that they had a right to rob them\nwherever they found them. To which Robinson replied, that that might\nperhaps be the law of the desert, but that while the Arabs were in\nhis employ they must be content to submit to his orders. At length\nthe stolen property was reluctantly restored, and the strangers went\non their way. They proved to be a party in the service of a merchant\nof Gaza, a town on the Mediterranean coast, nearly opposite this part\nof the Dead Sea. This merchant had been to Kerak--the village which\nhas already been mentioned as seen by our party from their position\non the heights of Ain Jidy, at the head of the valley which opens on\nthe eastern side of the sea beyond Zoar--and there he had purchased a\nflock of sheep, and was now driving them, with the assistance of some\npeasants whom he had hired for the purpose, home to Gaza.\n\n\nTHE FORD.\n\nAs has already been stated, the water of the Dead Sea, though deep in\nthe northern part, spreads out toward the southward over an immense\nregion of flats and shallows, so that sometimes the water is only a few\nfeet deep over an extent of many miles. There are, moreover, southward\nof the sea, vast tracts of low and sandy land, which are sometimes\ncovered with water and sometimes bare, on account of the rising and\nfalling of the sea, the level of which seems to vary many feet in\ndifferent years and in different seasons, according to the state of the\nsnows on Mount Lebanon and the quantity of water brought down by the\nJordan and other streams. The shallowness of the water becomes very\nmarked and apparent at the peninsula, and various rumors were brought\nto Europe, from time to time, in the middle ages, of a fording place\nthere, by means of which caravans, when the water was low, could cross\nover from the eastern shore to the western, and thus save the long\ndetour around the southern end of the sea. The most direct and tangible\nevidence in respect to this ford, was given by the two celebrated\ntravelers, Irby and Mangles, who relate that in descending from Kerak\nto the peninsula, they fell in with a small company of Arabs that were\ngoing down to the sea--riding upon asses and other beasts of burden.\nThe Arabs of this caravan said that they were going to cross the sea\nat the ford. The travelers did not actually see them make the passage,\nfor they were themselves engaged in exploring the eastern and northern\npart of the peninsula at the time, and the caravan was thus hidden\nfrom view when they approached the water, by the high land intervening\nbetween them and the travelers. After a short time, however, the\ntravelers came over to the western side of the promontory, and there\nthey saw the place of the ford indicated by boughs of trees set up in\nthe water. The caravan had passed the ford, and were just emerging from\nthe water on the western side of the sea. This evidence was considered\nas very direct and very conclusive, and yet other travelers who visited\nthe same region, both before and afterward, could obtain no certain\ninformation in respect to the ford. Allusions to it exist in some\nvery ancient records, and yet the Arabs themselves who live in the\nvicinity, when inquired of in respect to the subject, often denied the\npossibility of such a passage. The only way, apparently, of reconciling\nthese seemingly contradictory accounts, is to suppose that the sea\nis subject to great changes of level, and that for certain periods,\nperhaps at distant intervals from each other, the water is so low that\ncaravans can cross it--and that afterward it becomes again too deep to\nbe passable, continuing so perhaps for a long series of years, so that\nthe existence of the ford is for a time in some measure forgotten.\n\n[Illustration: THE FORD]\n\n\nLIEUTENANT LYNCH.\n\nThe information which the Christian world obtained in respect to\nthe Dead Sea and the character of the country around it, was, after\nall, down to quite a late period, of a very vague and unsatisfactory\ncharacter, being derived almost entirely from the reports of occasional\ntravelers who approached the shores of it, from time to time, at\ncertain points more accessible than others, but who remained at their\nplaces of observation for so brief a period, and were so restricted\nin respect to their means and facilities for properly examining the\nlocalities that they visited, that, notwithstanding all their efforts,\nthe geography and natural history of the region were very imperfectly\ndetermined. Things continued in this state until the year 1847,\nwhen Lieutenant Lynch, of the United States naval service, made his\ncelebrated expedition into the Holy Land, for the express purpose of\nexploring the River Jordan and the Dead Sea. We have already, in our\narticle on the River Jordan, given an account of the landing of this\nparty at the Bay of Acre, of their extraordinary journey across the\ncountry to the Sea of Galilee, and of their passage down the Jordan in\nthe metallic boats, the Fanny Mason and the Fanny Skinner, which they\nhad brought with them across to the Mediterranean. We now propose to\nnarrate briefly the adventures which the intrepid explorer met with\nin his cruise around the Dead Sea. When he commenced the undertaking,\nit was considered both by himself and his companions, and also by his\ncountrymen and friends at home, to be extremely doubtful whether he\nwould be able to accomplish it. All previous attempts to navigate the\nsea had failed, and had proved fatal to their projectors. Some had been\ndestroyed by the natives--others had sunk under the pestiferous effects\nof the climate. When, therefore, the boats of this party, heavily laden\nwith their stores of provisions and their crews, came from the mouth\nof the Jordan out into the open sea, the hearts of the adventurous\nnavigators were filled with many forebodings.\n\n\nA GALE.\n\nThe party expected to spend several weeks upon the sea, and their plan\nwas to establish fixed encampments from time to time on the shore, to\nbe used as stations where they could keep the necessary stores and\nsupplies, and from which they could make excursions over the whole\nsurface of the sea. The first of these stations was to be at a place\ncalled the Fountain of Feshkah; a point on the western shore of the\nsea, about five miles from the mouth of the Jordan. The caravan which\nhad accompanied the expedition along the bank while they had been\ndescending the river, were to go around by land, and meet the boats\nat the place of rendezvous at night. Things being thus arranged, the\nland and water parties took leave of each other, and the boats pushed\nout upon the sea--turning to the westward and southward as soon as\nthey had rounded the point of land which forms the termination of the\nbank of the river--and shaped their course in a direction toward the\nplace of rendezvous. Their course led them across a wide bay, which\nforms the northwestern termination of the sea. There was a fresh\nnorthwestern wind blowing at the time, though they did not anticipate\nany inconvenience from it when they left the river. The force of the\nwind, however, rapidly increased, and the effects which it produced\nwere far more serious than would have resulted from a similar gale\nin any other sea. The weight of the water was so great, on account\nof the extraordinary quantity of saline matter which it held in\nsolution, that the boats in encountering the waves, suffered the most\ntremendous concussions. The surface of the sea became one wide spread\nsheet of foaming brine, while the spray which dashed over upon the\nmen, evaporating as it fell, covered their faces, their hands, and\ntheir clothes with encrustations of salt, producing, at the same time,\nprickling and painful sensations upon the skin, and inflammation and\nsmarting in the eyes. The party, nevertheless, pushed boldly on for\nsome time toward the west, in the hope of reaching the shore. The wind,\nhowever, being almost directly ahead, they made very little progress.\nThey began to fear that they should be driven entirely out to the open\nsea, and at length, about the middle of the afternoon, when they had\nbeen for some hours in this dangerous situation, the gale increased to\nsuch a degree that the boats were in imminent danger of foundering. The\nofficers were obliged to order their supplies of water to be thrown\noverboard, in order to lighten the burden. They gave up all hope of\ngaining the land; and, expecting to spend the night on the sea, they\nthought only of the means of saving themselves from sinking. At length,\nhowever, about six o'clock, the wind suddenly ceased, and the waves, on\naccount of the great weight of the water, almost immediately went down.\nThe voyagers now, though almost exhausted with their toils, had little\ndifficulty in gaining the land.\n\n\nTHE FIRST ENCAMPMENT.\n\nIt was, however, now dark, and Mr. Lynch felt much solicitude in\nrespect to the difficulty of finding the place of rendezvous on the\ncoast where the party in the boats were to meet the caravan. They\nrowed along the shore to the southward, looking out on all the cliffs\nand headlands for lights or other signals. They had an Arab chieftain\non board as a guide, and on him the party had depended for direction\nto the place where the fountain of Feshkah was to be found. The Arab\nhad, however, become so bewildered by the terror which the storm had\ninspired, or, perhaps, by the strange and unusual aspect which the\nland presented to him, as seen from the side toward the sea and in\nthe night, that he seemed to be entirely lost. At length the boatmen\nsaw the light of a fire on the beach to the southward of them. They\ndischarged a gun as a signal, and pulled eagerly toward the fire. The\nlight, however, soon disappeared. The men were then at a loss again,\nand while resting upon their oars, awaiting another signal, they\nsuddenly saw flashes, and heard reports of guns and sounds of voices on\nthe cliffs, not far from them, and immediately afterward heard other\nreports from a considerable distance back, at a place which they had\npassed in coming along the shore. These various and uncertain sounds\nquite embarrassed the boatmen. They might indicate an attack from some\nhostile force upon their friends on the land, or some stratagem, to\ndraw the boats into an ambuscade. They, however, determined, at length,\nthat they would, at all events, ascertain the truth; so closing in with\nthe shore, they pulled along the beach, sounding as they proceeded.\nAbout eight o'clock they arrived at the place of rendezvous, where\nthey found their friends awaiting them at the fountain. The shouts\nand signal-guns which they had heard had proceeded from two portions\nof the caravan that had become separated on the march, and were thus\nattempting to communicate with each other. The party in the boats were\ngreatly relieved on reaching the land, for the whole scene through\nwhich they had passed in approaching it, had been one of the wildest\nand most exciting character. The sea itself, mysterious and unknown,\nthe lonely and desolate coast, the dark and gloomy mountains, the human\nvoices heard in shouts and outcries on the cliffs, with the flashes of\nthe guns, and the reports reverberating along the shore, joined to the\ndread uncertainty which the boatmen felt in respect to what the end of\nthe adventure was to be, combined to impress the minds of all the party\nwith the most sublime and solemn emotions.\n\nThe boats, they found, for some reason or other, could not land at\nthe place which had been chosen for the encampment, but were obliged\nto proceed about a mile to the southward, where, at length, they were\nsafely drawn up upon the beach. Some Arabs were placed here to guard\nthem, while the seamen were conducted to the camp, in order that they\nmight enjoy a night of repose. The camp was pitched in a cane-brake,\nnot far from the shore, the vegetation which covered the spot proving\nthat there was nothing very specially deleterious in the atmosphere of\nthe sea. In fact, during the remainder of the excursion, Mr. Lynch's\nparty always found, in landing along the shores, that there was always\nabundance of vegetation whenever there was fresh water from the\nmountains to sustain it. The water of the sea seems to be itself too\ndeeply impregnated with saline solutions to nourish vegetable life;\nbut beyond the reach of the spray, which the wind drives only to a\nshort distance from the margin of the shore, it exerts, apparently no\nperceptible influence on either plants or animals. Many animals were\nseen at different times in the vicinity of the sea, some on the land,\nand others flying freely over the water. The water itself, however,\nseemed to produce no living thing. Some few shells were found in two or\nthree instances on the beach, but they were of such a character, and\nappeared under such circumstances as to lead to the supposition that\nthey were brought down to the sea by the torrents from the mountains,\nor by the current of the Jordan.\n\nThe scene which presented itself to the party as the night came on at\nthis their first encampment on the shore of the Dead Sea, was solemn\nand sublime. The dark and gloomy mountains, barren and desolate--their\ndeclivities fretted and furrowed by the tooth of time, rose behind\nthem in dismal grandeur; the waters of the sea lay reposing heavily in\ntheir vast caldron before them, covered with a leaden-colored mist;\nwhile the moon, which rose toward midnight above the mountains beyond,\ncast spectre-like shadows from the clouds over the broad and solemn\nexpanse, in a wild and fantastic manner. Every thing seemed strange\nand unnatural, and wore an expression of unspeakable loneliness and\ndesolation. And yet about midnight the death-like silence and repose\nwhich reigned around, was strangely broken by the distant tolling of a\nbell!\n\nThe tolling of the bell which the travelers heard, proceeded from the\nConvent of Mar Saba, a rude and lonely structure, situated in the\nmiddle of the desolate gorge which the brook Kedron forms in traversing\nthe mountains that lie between Jerusalem and the Dead Sea. The place of\nthe convent was seven or eight miles from the shore where our travelers\nwere encamped, but yet the tones of the bell, calling the monks to\ntheir devotions, made their way to the spot through the still evening\nair. The travelers felt cheered and encouraged in their solitude, by\nbeing thus connected again, even by so slender a bond as this, with\nthe common family of man, from which they had seemed before to have\nundergone an absolute and total separation.\n\n\nTHE VOYAGE TO EN-GEDI.\n\nAfter remaining a day or two at Feshkah, and making various excursions\nacross the sea and along the shores, from that station, for the\npurpose of measuring distances and taking soundings, the party broke\nup their encampment, and prepared to proceed to the southward. They\nmade arrangements for taking every thing with them on board the boats,\nexcept a load from one single camel, which was to be sent along the\nshore. Their intention was to proceed to En-gedi, and to encamp there\nat the foot of the cliffs, on the little plain which Robinson had\nvisited about ten years before. This encampment at En-gedi was to be a\nsort of permanent station for the party during all the time necessary\nfor the survey of the middle and southern portions of the sea. It was\na suitable spot for such a post, on account of its central position,\nand also on account of the abundant supply of fresh water which could\nbe obtained there from the fountain. The company were obliged to hasten\ntheir departure from Feshkah; for the water of the fountain at the\nplace of their first encampment was brackish and unfit for use, while\nthe supply which they had brought from the Jordan was nearly exhausted.\nTheir stock of provisions, too, was well-nigh spent, and Lieutenant\nLynch felt a considerable degree of uneasiness in respect to the means\nof sufficiently replenishing it. He sent off detachments from his\nparty to Hebron and to Jerusalem, to procure supplies, directing them\nto bring whatever they could procure to En-gedi. He also sent an Arab\nchieftain, named Akil, round to the eastern side of the sea, to Kerak,\nto purchase provisions there. The Arab, if successful, was to bring\ndown his stores to the sea, at the peninsula, and at the proper time,\nLieutenant Lynch was to send one of the boats across from En-gedi to\nreceive them.\n\nThings being thus arranged, the tents were struck, the boats pushed off\nfrom the land, while a train of Arabs attended by the loaded camel,\ntook up their line of march along the beach. As they proceeded, the\nboats stopped from time to time, to note and to record every thing\nworthy of notice that appeared along the shore. They passed the mouth\nof the brook Kedron, a deep gorge, narrow at the base, and yawning wide\nat the summit. The sides of this frightful ravine were twelve hundred\nfeet high. The bed of it was perfectly dry; the waters of the stream at\nthis season of the year being wholly absorbed by the sands long before\nreaching the sea. They passed many caves, some opening into the face of\nthe rock, far up the mountain sides, in positions wholly inaccessible.\nThe shores were generally barren and desolate, consisting of dark\nbrown mountains, which looked as if they had been scorched by fire,\nwith a narrow beach equally dreary and desolate below. Here and there,\nhowever, little valleys opened, which sustained a scanty vegetation,\nand birds and other animals were occasionally seen. There seemed to be\nno vegetation, except at points where streams or springs of fresh water\nflowed down from the land.\n\nThe boats proceeded onward in this manner till night, and then rounding\na point which was covered sparsely with bushes and trees, and with\ntufts of cane and grass, they came into a little bay which opened to a\ndell, fertilized by a fountain. The name of the fountain was Turabeh.\nFlowers were growing here, and certain fruits, the sight of which\ngladdened the eyes of our voyagers, though in any other situation they\nwould have attracted little attention. The stream which sustained this\nvegetation was extremely small. The water trickled down from the spring\nso scantily that the Arabs were forced to dig holes in the sand, and\nwait for them to fill, in order to procure enough for drink. Still its\ninfluence was sufficient to clothe its narrow dell with something like\nverdure and fruitfulness. The little oasis had its inhabitants, too, as\nwell as its plants and flowers. One of the party saw a duck at a little\ndistance from the shore, and fired at her; though it might have been\nthought that no one could have had the heart to disturb even a duck in\nthe possession of so solitary and humble a domain. In fact, it seems\nthe sportsman must have had some misgivings, and was accordingly not\nvery careful in his aim, for the bird was not harmed by the shot. She\nflew out to sea a little way, alarmed by the report, and then alighting\non the glassy surface of the water, began to swim back again toward\nthe shore, as if thinking it not possible that the strange intruders\ninto her lonely home, whoever and whatever they might be, could really\nintend to do her any harm.\n\n[Illustration: TURABEH.]\n\nSoon after the party in the boats had landed, the camel with his\nattendants arrived, and they all encamped on this spot for the night.\nThe scene which presented itself when the arrangements had been made\nfor the night was, as usual in such cases, very solemn and impressive.\nThe tents stood among the trees. The Arab watch-fires were burning. The\nboats were drawn up upon the shore. The dark and sombre mountains rose\nlike a wall behind the encampment; while the smooth and placid sea was\nspread out before it, reflecting with a sort of metallic lustre the\nsilver radiance of the moon. The stillness, too, which reigned around\nseemed strange and fearful, it was so absolute and profound.\n\nIn the morning, the party, after breakfasting under the trees on the\nshore, resumed their voyage. After proceeding a few miles along the\ncoast, they saw an Arab on the beach. The Arab hailed the party, and\nthey attempted to communicate with him, but could not understand what\nhe said. At one place they stopped to examine a mass of ruins which\nthey saw standing a short distance up the mountain side. The ruins\nproved to be the remains of a wall, built to defend the entrances to\nseveral caves which opened in the face of the precipice directly behind\nthem. The caves were perfectly dry, and one of them was large enough to\ncontain twenty or thirty men. There were openings cut from them through\nthe rock to the air above, intended apparently to serve the purpose of\nchimneys. These caves were in the wilderness of En-gedi.\n\nIn fact, the boats were now drawing near to their place of destination.\nAt noon they arrived at the spot, and the party landing, unloaded the\nboats and hauled them up upon the shore. They selected a spot for their\nencampment on the little plain at the foot of the cliffs, not far from\nthe place where the stream descends to it from the mountain above. They\nfound that the gardens and other marks of vegetation which Robinson had\nobserved at the time of his visit, had disappeared; in other respects,\nevery thing corresponded with his description. The water was gushing\nfrom the fountain as copiously as ever, and was disappearing as rapidly\nin the sands of its thirsty bed, after running its short and foaming\ncourse along its little dell. After a brief survey of the scene, the\nground was marked out, the tents were pitched, and the stores deposited\nwithin them; the boats were hauled up and examined for repairs, and all\nthe arrangements made for a permanent encampment; for this was to be\nthe head-quarters of the expedition during all the remaining time that\nthey were to spend upon the sea. They named it \"Camp Washington.\"\n\n\nEXPLORINGS.\n\nThe encampment thus established at En-gedi continued to be occupied as\nthe head-quarters of our party for two or three weeks, during which\ntime many expeditions were fitted out from it, for exploring the whole\nsouthern portion of the sea, and the country around. The engineer of\nthe party measured a base line on the beach, and from the two stations\nat the extremities of it took the bearings of all the important\npoints on the shores of the sea. He made the necessary astronomical\nobservations also for determining the exact latitude and longitude of\nthe camp. Parties were sent out, too, sometimes along the shores and\nup the mountains to collect plants and specimens, and at other times\nacross to the eastern shore to measure the breadth of the sea, and to\nmake soundings for determining the depth of it in every part. They\npreserved specimens and memorials of every thing. Even the mud and\nsand, and the cubical crystals of salt which their sounding apparatus\nbrought up from the bottom of the sea, were put up in airtight vessels\nto be brought home for the inspection of naturalists and philosophers\nin America. Thus the whole party were constantly employed in the\nvarious labors incident to such an undertaking, meeting from time\nto time with strange and romantic adventures, and suffering on many\noccasions most excessively from exposure and fatigue.\n\nOne of the most remarkable of the expeditions which they made from\ntheir camp at En-gedi, was a cruise of four days in the southern\nportion of the sea, in the course of which they circumnavigated the\nwhole southern shore. In following down the western coast in first\ncommencing their voyage, they found the scenery much the same as it\nhad been in the northern part of the sea, the coast being formed of\nbald and barren mountains, desolate and gloomy, with a low, flat beach\nbelow, and sometimes a broad peninsula, or delta, formed, at the mouths\nof the ravines, by the detritus brought down from above. Farther south,\nhowever, the water became very shoal, so much so, that at last they\ncould not approach the shore near enough to land, without wading for a\ngreat distance through water and mire. In fact, the line of demarkation\nbetween the land and the sea was often scarcely perceptible, the land\nconsisting of low flats and slimy mud, coated with incrustations of\nsalt, and sometimes with masses of drift-wood lying upon it, while\nthe water was covered with a frothy scum, formed of salt and bitumen.\nSometimes for miles the water was only one or two feet deep, and the\nmen in such cases, leaving the boats, waded often to a great distance\nfrom them. Every night, of course, they stopped and encamped on the\nland.\n\n\nTHE SIROCCO.\n\nThe party suffered on some occasions most intensely from heat and\nthirst. Their supply of water was not abundant, and one of the\nprincipal sources of solicitude which the officers of the expedition\nfelt throughout the cruise, was to find fountains where they could\nreplenish their stores. One night they were reduced to the greatest\nextreme of misery from the influence of an intolerably hot and\nsuffocating wind, which blew upon them from off the desert to the\nsouthward. It was the Sirocco. It gave them warning of its approach\non the evening before by a thin purple haze which spread over the\nmountains a certain unnatural and lurid hue, that awakened a mysterious\nemotion of awe and terror. Something dreadful seemed to be portended\nby it. It might be a thunder-tempest; it might be an earthquake, or it\nmight be some strange and nameless convulsion of nature incident to the\ndreadful region to which they had penetrated, but elsewhere unknown.\nThe whole party were impressed with a sentiment of solemnity and awe,\nand deeming it best for them to get to the land as soon as possible,\nthey took in sail, turned their boats' heads to the westward, and rowed\ntoward the shore.\n\nIn a short time they were struck suddenly by a hot and suffocating\nhurricane, which blew directly against them, and, for a time, not only\nstopped their progress, but threatened to drive them out again to sea.\nThe thermometer rose immediately to 105\u00b0. The oarsmen were obliged to\nshut their eyes to protect them from the fiery blast, and to pull, thus\nblinded, with all their strength to stem the waves. The men who steered\nthe boats were unable, of course, thus to protect themselves, and their\neyelids became dreadfully inflamed by the hot wind before they reached\nthe land.\n\nAt length, to their great joy, they succeeded in getting to the shore.\nThey landed at a most desolate and gloomy spot at the mouth of a dismal\nravine; and the men, drawing the boats up on the beach, immediately\nbegan to seek, in various ways, some means of escape from the dreadful\ninfluences of the blast. Several went up the ravine in search of some\nplace of retreat, or shelter. Others finding the glare of the sun upon\nthe rocks insupportable, while they remained on the shore, returned to\nthe boats and crouched down under the awnings. One of the officers put\nspectacles upon his eyes to protect them from the lurid and burning\nlight, but the metal of the bows became so hot, that he was obliged\nto remove them. Every thing metallic, in fact, such as the arms, and\neven the buttons on the clothes of the men, were almost burning to\nthe touch, and the wind, instead of bringing the usual refreshing\ninfluences of a breeze, was now the vehicle of heat, and blew hot and\nsuffocating along the beach, as if coming from the mouth of an oven.\n\nIntolerable as the influence was of this ill-fated blast, it increased\nin power, until it blew a gale. The distant mountains, seen across the\nsurface of the sea, were curtained by mists of a purple and deadly hue.\nThe sky above was covered with bronze-colored clouds, through which the\ndeclining sun shone, red and rayless, diffusing over the whole face of\nnature, instead of light, a sort of lurid and awful gloom.\n\nThe sun went down, and the shades of the evening came on, but the heat\nincreased. The thermometer rose to 106\u00b0. The wind was like the blast of\na furnace. The men, without pitching their tents or making any other\npreparations for the night, threw themselves down upon the ground,\npanting and exhausted, and oppressed with an intolerable thirst. They\nwent continually to the \"water breakers,\" in which their supplies of\nwater were kept, and drank incessantly, but their thirst could not be\nassuaged.\n\nThings continued in this state till midnight. The wind then went down,\nand very soon afterward a gentle breeze sprung up from the northward.\nThe thermometer fell to 82\u00b0, and the Sirocco was over.\n\n\nTHE PILLAR OF SALT.\n\nMr. Lynch's party visited the salt mountain of Usdum, of which we have\nalready spoken, and examined it throughout its whole extent, in a very\ncareful and thorough manner. They found at one place, at the head of\na deep and narrow chasm, a remarkable conformation of the salt rock,\nconsisting of a tall cylindrical mass, standing out detached, as it\nwere, from the mountain behind it, and appearing like an artificial\ncolumn. It was in fact literally a pillar of salt. It was forty or\nfifty feet high, and was capped above with a layer of limestone, a\nportion perhaps of the once continuous calcareous stratum, which at\nsome remote geological period had been deposited over the whole bed of\nsalt. The appearance of the pillar was as if it were itself a portion\nof the salt mountain that had been left by the gradual disintegration\nand wearing away of the adjoining mass, having assumed and preserved\nits tall and columnar form, through the protecting influence of the cap\nof insoluble rock on its summit. The mass, though as seen in front it\nappeared to stand isolated and alone like a pillar, was connected with\nthe precipice behind it by a sort of buttress, by means of which some\nof the party climbed up to the top of the gigantic geological ruin, and\nstanding upon the pinnacle, looked down upon their companions below,\nand upon the wide scene of desolation and death which was spread out\nbefore them.\n\n\nEXCURSION TO KERAK.\n\nAs we have already mentioned, an Arab chieftain who accompanied the\nexpedition, had been sent round to the eastern side of the sea to the\ntown of Kerak, which was situated, as will be recollected, at the head\nof the valley beyond Zoar, to negotiate with the natives and to procure\nprovisions, and a day had been appointed for him to come down to the\nshore, at a certain point on the peninsula, where a boat was to be sent\nto meet him. When the time arrived for fulfilling this appointment,\nLieutenant Lynch organized a party for the excursion, and embarked\nfor the eastern shore. On approaching the land at the appointed place\nof rendezvous, they saw an Arab lurking in the bushes, apparently\nwatching for them, and soon afterward several more appeared. At first\nthe voyagers doubted whether these were the friends whom they had come\nto meet or whether they were enemies lying in wait to entrap them. On\napproaching nearer to the beach, however, they soon recognized Akil.\nHe seemed greatly rejoiced to see them. He informed them that he had\nbeen kindly received at Kerak, and he brought down an invitation to\nLieutenant Lynch, from the chieftain that ruled there, to come up to\nthe valley and make him a visit. After some hesitation, Lieutenant\nLynch concluded to accept this invitation. He encamped, however, first\non the shore for a day or two, to make the necessary explorations and\nsurveys in the neighborhood. During this time he went out with two\nArabs across the plain, to examine the supposed site of ancient Zoar.\nHe found ruins of an ancient village there, and fragments of pottery,\nand other similar vestiges on the ground. At length, on the morning of\nthe third day, leaving his boat in the care of a guard, he put himself\nand his party of attendants under Akil's guidance, and set out to\nascend the valley. The party were fourteen in number. The sailors were\nmounted on mules. The officers rode on horseback. The cavalcade was\nescorted by a troop of twenty armed Arabs--twelve mounted and the rest\non foot.\n\nThey found the valley which they had to ascend in going up to Kerak, a\ngloomy gorge, of the wildest and grandest character. The path was steep\nand very difficult, overhanging on one side a deep and yawning chasm,\nand being itself overhung on the other with beetling crags, blackened\nas if by fire, and presenting an aspect of unutterable and frightful\ndesolation. To complete the sublimity of the scene, a terrific tempest\nof thunder, lightning, and rain swept over the valley while our party\nwere ascending it, and soon filled the bottom of the gorge with a\nroaring and foaming torrent, which came down from the mountains and\nswept on toward the sea with a thundering sound. At length the party\nreached the brow of the table land, three thousand feet above the level\nof the sea, and came out under the walls of the town.\n\nThe town proved to be a dreary and comfortless collection of rude stone\nhouses, without windows or chimneys, and blackened within with smoke.\nThe inhabitants were squalid and miserable. Three-fourths of the people\nwere nominally Christian. The visit of the Americans of course excited\ngreat interest. We have not time to detail the various adventures\nwhich the party met with in their intercourse with the inhabitants,\nor to describe the singular characters which they encountered and the\nextraordinary scenes through which they passed. They remained one\nnight at Kerak, and then after experiencing considerable difficulty\nin escaping the importunities with which they were besieged by the\nchieftains for presents, they succeeded in getting away and in\nreturning safely to their boat on the shore.\n\n\nTHE DEPRESSION OF THE SEA.\n\nOur party, after having spent about three weeks in making these and\nsimilar excursions from their various encampments, during which time\nthey had thoroughly explored the shores on every side, and sounded the\ndepths of the water in every part, made all the necessary measurements\nand observations both mathematical and meteorological, collected\nspecimens for fully illustrating the geology and natural history of the\nregion, and carefully noted all the physical phenomena which they had\nobserved, found that their work was done. At least all was done which\ncould be accomplished at the sea itself. One thing only remained to be\ndetermined, and that was the measure of the _depression_ of the sea.\nThis could be positively and precisely ascertained only by the process\nof \"leveling a line,\" as it is termed, across from the sea to the\nshores of the Mediterranean. This work they now prepared to undertake,\nmaking arrangements at the same time for taking their final leave of\nthe dismal lake which they had been so long exploring.\n\nIt had been long supposed that the Dead Sea lay below the general\nlevel of the waters of the earth's surface, and various modes had\nbeen adopted for ascertaining the amount of the depression. The first\nattempt was made by two English philosophers in 1837. The method by\nwhich they attempted to measure the depression was by means of the\nboiling point of water. Water requires a greater or a less amount of\nheat to boil it according to the degree of pressure which it sustains\nupon its surface from the atmosphere--boiling with less heat on the\ntops of mountains where the air is rare, and requiring greater in the\nbottoms of mines, where the density and weight of the atmosphere is\nincreased in proportion to the depth. Heights and depths, therefore,\nmay be approximately measured by an observation of the degree of heat\nindicated by the thermometer in the locality in question, when water\nbegins to boil. By this test the English philosophers found the\ndepression of the Dead Sea to be five hundred feet.\n\nA short time after this experiment was performed a very careful\nobservation was made by means of a barometer, which also, measuring,\nas it does, the density of the air, directly, may be made use of to\nascertain heights and depths. It is, in fact, often thus employed to\nmeasure the heights of mountains. The result of observations with the\nbarometer gave a depression to the surface of the sea of about six\nhundred feet.\n\nA third method is by trigonometrical calculation. This mode is much\nmore laborious and difficult than either of the other modes which we\nhave alluded to, but it is more to be relied upon in its results.\nThe data for a trigonometrical calculation are to be obtained by\nobserving, in a very accurate manner, a series of angles of elevation\nand depression on a line between the points, the relative levels of\nwhich are to be obtained. Lieutenant Symonds, an officer of the English\nservice, made such a survey with great care, a few years after the\npreceding experiments were performed. He carried a line across from\nthe Mediterranean to the Dead Sea, connecting the two extremes of it\nby means of a series of vertical angles which he measured accurately,\nwith instruments of the most exact construction. The result of the\ncomputation which he made from these data, was that the sea was\ndepressed _one thousand three hundred and twelve feet_ below the level\nof the Mediterranean.\n\nThe surprise which had been felt at the results of the experiments\nfirst mentioned, was greatly increased by the announcement of this\nresult. No one was disposed really to question the accuracy of the\nengineer's measurements and calculations, but it seemed still almost\nincredible that a valley lying so near the open sea could be sunken so\nlow beneath its level. There was one remaining mode of determining the\nquestion, and that was by carrying an actual level across the land, by\nmeans of leveling instruments, such as are used in the construction of\nrailroads and canals. This would be, of course, a very laborious work,\nbut there was a general desire among all who took an interest in the\nsubject that it should be performed and Lieutenant Lynch determined to\nundertake it.\n\nAccordingly, when the time arrived for leaving the shores of the sea,\nhe organized a leveling party, furnishing them with the necessary\ninstruments and with proper instructions, and commissioned them to\nperform this service. They began by scaling the face of the mountain\nwhich rose almost perpendicularly from the shore of the sea at the\nplace of the last encampment. They then proceeded slowly along, meeting\nwith various adventures, and encountering many difficulties, but\npersevering steadily with the work, until at last, in twenty-three days\nfrom the time of leaving the Dead Sea, they arrived on the shore of the\nMediterranean at Jaffa. The result confirmed in a very accurate manner\nthe calculations of Lieutenant Symonds, for the difference of level\nwas found to be a little over thirteen hundred feet--almost precisely\nthe same as Lieutenant Symonds had determined it. The question is,\ntherefore, now definitely settled. The vast accumulation of waters\nlies so far below the general level of the earth's surface that, if\nnamed after the analogy of its mighty neighbor, it might well have been\ncalled the Subterranean Sea.\n\n[Illustration: THE LEVELING PARTY.]\n\nLieutenant Lynch had great reason to congratulate himself on this\nsuccessful result of his labors; for the work which he had undertaken\nwas one not only of toil, exposure, and suffering, but also of great\ndanger. He was warned by the fatal results which had almost invariably\nattended former attempts to explore these waters, that if he ventured\nto trust himself upon them, it was wholly uncertain whether he would\never return. He followed in a track which had led all who had preceded\nhim in taking it, to destruction; and the only hope of safety and\nsuccess which he could entertain in renewing an experiment which had so\noften failed before, was in the superior sagacity and forethought which\nhe and his party could exercise in forming their plans, and in the\ngreater energy and courage, and the higher powers of endurance, which\nthey could bring into play in the execution of them. The event proved\nthat he estimated correctly the resources which he had at his command.\n\n\nTHE STORY OF COSTIGAN.\n\nAmong the stories which were related to Mr. Lynch, when he was\npreparing at the Sea of Galilee to commence his dangerous voyage,\nto discourage him from the undertaking, was that of the unfortunate\nCostigan. Costigan was an Irish gentleman who, some years before the\nperiod of Lieutenant Lynch's expedition, had undertaken to make a\nvoyage on the Dead Sea, in a boat, with a single companion--a sailor\nwhom he employed to accompany him, to row the boat, and to perform\nsuch other services as might be required. Costigan laid in a store of\nprovisions and water, sufficient, as he judged, for the time that would\nbe consumed in the excursion, and then taking his departure from a\npoint on the shore near the mouth of the Jordan, he pushed out with his\nsingle oarsman over the waters of the sea.\n\n[Illustration: COSTIGAN]\n\nAbout eight days afterward, an Arab woman, wandering along the shore\nnear the place where these voyagers had embarked, found Costigan lying\nupon the ground there, in a dying condition, alone, and the boat at a\nlittle distance on the beach, stranded and abandoned. The woman took\npity upon the sufferer, and calling some Arab men to the spot, she\npersuaded them to take him up, and carry him to Jericho. There they\nfound the sailor, who, better able as it would seem to endure such\nhardships than his master, had had strength enough left, when the\nboat reached the land, to walk, and had, accordingly, made his way to\nJericho, leaving his master on the shore while he went for succor. At\nJericho Costigan revived a little, and was then taken to Jerusalem,\nwhere he was lodged in a convent, and every effort was made to save his\nlife and to promote his recovery, but in vain. He died in two days, and\nwas never able to give any account of the events of his voyage.\n\nThe sailor, however, when questioned in respect to the events of the\ncruise, gave an account of such of them as a mere sailor would be\nlikely to remember. They moved, he said, in a zigzag direction on the\nlake, crossing and recrossing it a number of times. They sounded every\nday, and found the depth of the water in many places very great. The\nsufferings, the sailor said, which they both endured from the heat,\nwere very great; and the labor of rowing was excessively exhausting. In\nthree days, however, they succeeded in reaching the southern extremity\nof the sea, and then set out on their return. During all this time\nCostigan himself took his turn regularly at the oars, but on the sixth\nday the supply of water gave out, and then Costigan's strength entirely\nfailed. On the seventh day, they had nothing to drink but the water of\nthe sea. This only aggravated instead of relieving their thirst, and on\nthe eighth day the sailor undertook to make coffee from the sea water,\nhoping, by this means, to disguise in some measure its nauseating and\nintolerable saltness. But all was in vain. No sustenance or strength\ncould be obtained from such sources, and the sailor himself soon found\nhis strength, too, entirely gone. All attempts at rowing were now, of\ncourse, entirely abandoned, and although the boat had nearly reached\nthe land again, at the mouth of the Jordan, the ill fated navigators\nmust have perished floating on the sea, had it not happened that a\nbreeze sprung up just at this juncture--blowing toward the land. The\nsailor, though too much exhausted to row, contrived to raise the sail,\nand to guide the helm, so that the boat at length attained the shore.\nThere he left his master, while he himself made his way to Jericho, as\nhas been already described.\n\nThese and several other attempts somewhat similar in their nature and\nresults, which had been made in previous years, made it evident to\nLieutenant Lynch, when he embarked in his enterprise, that he was about\nto engage in a very dangerous undertaking. The arrangements and plans\nwhich he formed, however, were on a much greater scale and far more\ncomplete than those of any of his predecessors, and he was enabled\nto make a much more ample provision than they for all the various\nemergencies which might occur in the course of the expedition. By these\nmeans, and through the extraordinary courage, energy, and resolution\ndisplayed by himself and by the men under his command, the enterprise\nwas conducted to a very successful result.\n\n\nTHE FUTURE.\n\nThe true character and condition of the whole valley of the Dead\nSea having been thus fully ascertained, and all the secrets of its\ngloomiest recesses having been brought fully to light, it will probably\nnow be left for centuries to come, to rest undisturbed in the dismal\nand death-like solitude which seems to be its peculiar and appropriate\ndestiny. Curious travelers may, from time to time, look out over its\nwaters from the mouth of the Jordan, or survey its broad expanse from\nthe heights at En-gedi, or perhaps cruise along under the salt cliffs\nof Usdum, on its southeastern shore, in journeying to or from the\nArabian deserts; but it will be long, probably, before any keel shall\nagain indent its salt-encrusted sands, or disturb the repose of its\nponderous waters. It is true that the emotion of awe which its gloomy\nand desolate scenery inspires has something in it of the sublime; and\nthe religious associations connected with the past history of the sea,\nimpart a certain dread solemnity to its grandeur, and make the spot a\nvery attractive one to those who travel into distant climes from love\nof excitement and emotion. But the physical difficulties, dangers,\nexposures, and sufferings, which are unavoidably to be incurred in\nevery attempt to explore a locality like this, are so formidable, and\nthe hazard to life is so great, while the causes from which these evils\nand dangers flow lie so utterly beyond all possible or conceivable\nmeans of counteraction, that the vast pit will probably remain forever\na memorial of the wrath and curse of God, and a scene of unrelieved and\ngloomy desolation.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PALACES OF FRANCE.\n\nBY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.\n\n\nVersailles. It was a beautiful morning in May, when we took the cars in\nParis for a ride to Versailles, to visit this most renowned of all the\nvoluptuous palaces of the French kings. Nature was decked in her most\njoyous robes. The birds of spring had returned, and, in their fragrant\nretreats of foliage and flowers, were filling the air with their happy\nwarblings. In less than an hour we alighted at Versailles, which is\nabout twelve miles from Paris.\n\nWhen Henry IV., three hundred years ago, attained the sovereignty of\nFrance, an immense forest spread over the whole region now occupied\nby the princely residences of Versailles. For a hundred years this\nremained the hunting ground of the French monarchs. Lords and\nladies, with packs of hounds in full chase of the frightened deer,\nlike whirlwinds swept through the forests, and those dark solitudes\nresounded with the bugle notes of the huntsmen, and with the shouts of\nregal revelry. Two hundred years ago Louis XIII., in the midst of this\nforest, erected a beautiful pavilion, where, when weary with the chase,\nthe princely retinue, following their king, might rest and feast, and\nwith wine and wassail prolong their joy. The fundamental doctrine of\npolitical economy then was that _people_ were made simply to earn money\nfor kings to spend. The art of governing consisted simply in the art of\nkeeping the people submissive while they earned as much as possible to\nadminister to the voluptuous indulgences of their monarchs.\n\nLouis XIV. ascended the throne. He loved sin and feared its\nconsequences. He could not shut out reflection, and he dreaded death\nand the scenes which might ensue beyond the grave. Whenever he\napproached the windows of the grand saloon of his magnificent palace\nat St. Germain, far away, in the haze of the distant horizon, he\ndiscerned the massive towers of the church of St. Denis. In damp and\ngloomy vaults, beneath those walls, mouldered the ashes of the kings\nof France. The sepulchral object ever arrested the sight and tortured\nthe mind of the royal debauchee. It unceasingly warned him of death,\njudgment, retribution. He could never walk the magnificent terrace of\nhis palace, and look out upon the scene of loveliness spread through\nthe valley below, but there rose before him, in sombre majesty, far\naway in the distance, the gloomy mausoleum awaiting his burial. When\nheated with wine and inflamed by passion he surrendered himself to\ndalliance with all forbidden pleasures, his tomb reproached him and\nwarned him, and the troubled king could find no peace. At last he was\nunable to bear it any longer, and abandoning St. Germain, he lavished\nuncounted millions in rearing, for himself, his mistresses, and his\ncourtiers, at Versailles, a palace, where the sepulchre would not\ngloomily loom up before their eyes. It is estimated that the almost\nincredible sum of two hundred millions of dollars were expended upon\nthe buildings, the gardens, and the park. Thirty thousand soldiers,\nbesides a large number of mechanics, were for a long time employed\nupon the works. A circuit of sixty miles inclosed the immense park,\nin the midst of which the palace was embowered. An elegant city rose\naround the royal residence, as by magic. Wealthy nobles reared their\nprincely mansions, and a population of a hundred thousand thronged the\ngay streets of Versailles. Water was brought in aqueducts from a great\ndistance, and with a perfectly lavish expenditure of money, to create\nfountains, cascades, and lakes. Forests, and groves, and lawns arose\nas by creative power, and even rocks were made of cement, and piled up\nin precipitous crags to give variety and picturesqueness to the scene.\nVersailles! It eclipsed Babylon in voluptuousness, extravagance, and\nsin. Millions toiled in ignorance and degradation from the cradle to\nthe grave, to feed and clothe these proud patricians, and to fill to\nsuperfluity the measure of their indulgences. The poor peasant, with\nhis merely animal wife and animal daughter, toiled in the ditch and\nin the field, through joyless years, while his king, beneath gilded\nceilings, was feasting thousands of nobles, with the luxuries of all\nclimes, from plate of gold.\n\n[Illustration: PLAN _of_ VERSAILLES]\n\nIt is in vain to attempt a description of Versailles. The main palace\ncontains five hundred rooms. We passed the long hours of a long day\nin rapidly passing through them. The mind becomes bewildered with\nthe magnificence. Here is the chapel where an offended God was to\nbe appeased by gilding his altar with gold, and where regal sinners\ncheaply purchased pardon for the past and indulgence for the future.\nIt is one of the essentials of luxurious iniquity to be furnished with\nfacile appliances to silence the reproaches of the soul; and nothing\nmore effectually accomplishes this than a religion of mere ceremony.\nUpon this chapel Louis XIV. concentrated all the taste and grandeur\nof the age. It was an easy penance for a profligate life to expend\nmillions, wrested from the toiling poor, to embellish an edifice\nconsecrated to an insulted God. Before this gorgeous altar stood Maria\nAntoinette and Louis XVI., in consummation of that nuptial union which\nterminated in the most melancholy tragedy earth has ever known. The\nexquisite paintings, the rich carvings and gildings, the graceful\nspring of the arched ceiling, the statues of marble and bronze, the\nsubdued light, which gently penetrates the apartment, through the\nstained glass, the organ in its tones so soft and rich and full, all\nconspire to awaken that luxury of poetic feeling which the human heart\nis so apt to mistake for the spirit of devotion--for love to God. \"If\nye love me, ye will keep my commandments.\"\n\nBut every spot in this sumptuous abode is so alive with the memories\nof other days, is so peopled with the spirits of the departed, that we\nlinger and linger, as historical incidents of intensest interest crowd\nthe mind.\n\n[Illustration: LOUIS XIV.]\n\n\"Voici la salle de l'Op\u00e9ra,\" exclaims the guide, and he rattles off a\nvoluble description, which falls upon your ear like the unintelligible\nmoaning of the wind, as, lost in reverie, you recall to mind the scenes\nwhich have transpired in the theatre of Versailles. Sinking down upon\nthe cushioned sofa, where Maria Antoinette often reclined in her days\nof bridal beauty and ambition, the vision of private theatricals rises\nbefore you. The deserted stage is again peopled. The nobles of the\nBourbon court, in all the regalia of aristocratic pomp and pride, crowd\nthe brilliant theatre, blazing with the illumination of ten thousand\nwaxen lights. Maria, the queen of France, enacts a tragedy, little\ndreaming that she is soon to take a part in a real tragedy, the recital\nof which will bring tears into the eyes of all generations. Maria\nperforms her part upon the stage with triumphant success. The courtiers\nfill the house with tumultuous applause. Her husband loves not to see\nhis wife a play-actress. He hisses. The wife is deaf to every sound but\nthat one piercing note of reproach. In the midst of resounding triumph\nshe retires overwhelmed with sorrow and tears.\n\n[Illustration: OLD CHATEAU OF VERSAILLES]\n\nSuddenly the vision changes. The dark hours of the monarchy have come.\nThe people, ragged, beggared, desperate, have thundered at the doors\nof the palace, declaring that they will starve no longer to support\nkings and nobles in such splendor. Poor Maria, educated in the palace,\nis amazed that the people should be so unreasonable and so insolent.\nShe had supposed that as the horse is made to bear his rider, and the\ncow to give milk to her owner, so the _people_ were created to provide\nkings with luxury and splendor. But the maddened populace have lost all\nsense of mercy. They burn the chateaus of the nobles and hang their\ninmates at the lamp-posts. The high civil and military officers of the\nking rally at Versailles to protect the royal family. In this very\ntheatre they hold a banquet to pledge to each other undying support. In\nthe midst of their festivities, when chivalrous enthusiasm is at its\nheight, the door opens, and Maria enters, pale, wan, and woe-stricken.\nThe sight inflames the wine-excited enthusiasts to frenzy. The hall\nis filled with shoutings and with weeping; with acclamations and with\noaths of allegiance. But we must no longer linger here. The hours are\nfast passing and there are hundreds of rooms, gorgeous with paintings\nand statues, and crowded with historical associations, yet to explore.\nWe must not, however, forget to mention, in illustration of the\natrocious extravagance of these kings, that the expense of every grand\nopera performed in that theatre was twenty-five thousand dollars.\n\nThere were two grand suites of apartments, one facing the gardens on\nthe north, belonging to the king, the other facing the south, belonging\nto the queen. The king's apartments, vast in dimensions and with lofty\nceilings decorated with the most exquisite and voluptuous paintings,\nare encrusted with marble and embellished with a profusion of the\nrichest works of the pencil and the chisel. The queen's rooms are all\ntastefully draped in white, and glitter with gold. Upon this gorgeous\ncouch of purple and of fine linen, she placed her aching head and\naching heart, seeking in vain that repose which the defrauded peasants\nfound, but which fled from the pillow of the queen. Let society be\nas corrupt as it may, in a nominally Christian land, no woman can be\nhappy when she is but the prominent slave in the harem of her husband.\nThe paramours of Louis XIV. and Louis XV. trod proudly the halls of\nVersailles; their favor was courted even more than that of their queen,\nand the neglected wife and mother knew well the secret passages through\nwhich her husband passed to the society of youth, and beauty, and\ninfamy.\n\nThe statues and the paintings which adorn these rooms seem to have been\ninspired by that one all-powerful passion, which, properly regulated,\nfills the heart with joy, and which unregulated is the most direful\nsource of wretchedness which can desolate human homes. It is said that\nart is in possession of a delicacy which rises above the instinctive\nmodesty of ordinary life. France has adopted this philosophy, and it\nis undeniable that France, with all her refinement and politeness, has\nbecome an indelicate nation. The evidence is astounding and revolting.\nNo gentleman, no lady, from other lands can long reside in Paris\nwithout being amazed at the scenes which Paris exhibits. The human\nframe in its nudity is so familiar to every eye, that it has lost all\nits sacredness. In all the places of public amusement, the almost\nundraped forms of living men and women pass before the spectators,\nand all the modesties of nature are profaned. The pen can not detail\nparticulars, for we may not even record in America that which is done\nin France. The connection is plain. The effect comes legitimately from\nthe cause. No lady can visit Versailles without having her sense of\ndelicacy wounded. It is said that \"to the pure all things are pure.\"\nBut alas for humanity! a fleeting thought will sully the soul. There\nis much, very much in France to admire. The cordiality and the courtesy\nof the French are worthy of all praise. But the delicacy of France has\nreceived a wound, deplorable in the extreme, and a wound from which it\ncan not soon recover.\n\n[Illustration: PALACE OF VERSAILLES--OLD COURT ENTRANCE.]\n\nThe grand banqueting room of Versailles is perhaps the most magnificent\napartment in the world, extending along the whole central fa\u00e7ade of\nthe palace, and measuring 242 feet in length, 35 feet in width, and\n43 feet in height. It is lighted by 17 large arched windows, with\ncorresponding mirrors upon the opposite wall. The ceiling is painted\nwith the most costly creations of art. Statues of Venus and Adonis, and\nof every form of male and female beauty, embellish the niches. Here\nLouis XIV. displayed all the grandeur of royalty, and this vast gallery\nwas often filled to its utmost capacity with the brilliant throng of\nlords and ladies, whom the people here supported, Versailles was the\nRoyal alms-house of the kingdom. The French Revolution, in its terrible\nreprisals, was caused by strong provocatives.\n\nThe cabinet of the king, a very beautiful room, is near. Here is a\nlarge round table in the centre of the saloon. History informs us\nthat one day Louis XV. was sitting at this table, with a packet of\nletters before him. The petted favorite, Madame du Barri, came in, and\nsuspecting that the package was from a rival, she snatched it from the\nking's hand. He rose indignantly, and pursued her. She ran around the\ntable, chased by the angry monarch, till finding herself in danger\nof being caught, she threw the letters into the glowing fire of the\ngrate. The fascinating and guilty beauty perished in the Revolution.\nShe was condemned by the revolutionary tribunal. Her long hair was\nshorn, that the knife of the guillotine might more keenly cut its way.\nBut clustering ringlets, in beautiful profusion, fell over her brow\nand temples, and vailing her voluptuous features reposed upon her\nbosom, from which the executioner had brutally torn the dress. The\nyells of the maddened populace, deriding her exposure and her agony\nof terror, filled the air. The drunken mob danced exultingly around\nthe aristocratic courtesan as the cart dragged her to the block. But\nthe shrieks of the appalled victim pierced through the uproar which\nsurrounded her. \"Life--life--life!\" she screamed, frantic with fright;\n\"O, save me, save me!\" The mob laughed and shouted, and taunted her\nwith coarse witticisms upon the soft pillow of the guillotine, upon\nwhich her head would soon repose. The coarse executioners, with rude\nviolence, bound her graceful, struggling limbs to the plank, the slide\nfell, and her shrieks were hushed in death.\n\nAnd here is the room in which her royal lover died. It was midnight,\nthe 10th of May, 1774. The small-pox, in its most loathsome form, had\nswollen his frame into the mockery of humanity. The courtiers had fled\nin consternation from the monarch whom they hated and despised. In his\ngorgeous palace the king of thirty millions of people was left, to\nstruggle with death, unpitied and alone. An old woman sat unconcerned\nin an adjoining room, waiting till he should be dead. Occasionally\nshe rose and walked to his bedside to see if he still breathed, and,\ndisappointed that he lived so long, returned again to her chair. A\nlamp flickers at the window, a signal to the courtiers, at a safe\ndistance, that the king is not yet dead. They watch impatiently through\nthe hours of the night the glimmer of that dim torch. Suddenly it is\nextinguished, and gladness fills all hearts.\n\n    \"So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep,\n    Smiles may be thine, while all around thee weep.\"\n\nAnd here is the gorgeous couch upon which the monarch who reared\nthese walls expired. It was the 30th of August, 1715. The gray-haired\nking, emaciate with remorse and physical suffering, reclined upon the\nregal bed, whose velvet hangings were looped back with heavy tassels\nand ropes of gold. The vast apartment was thronged with princes and\ncourtiers in the magnificent costume of the times. Ladies sunk upon\ntheir knees around the bed where the proudest monarch of France was\npainfully gasping in the agonies of death. His soul was harrowed with\nanguish, as he reflected upon the bitter past, and anticipated the\ndread future. Publicly he avowed with gushing tears his regret, in view\nof the scenes of guilt through which he had passed. \"Gentlemen,\" said\nthe dying king, in a faltering voice to those around him, \"I implore\nyour pardon for the bad example I have set you. Forgive me. I trust\nthat you will sometimes think of me when I am gone.\" Then exclaiming,\n\"Oh, my God, come to my aid, and hasten to help me,\" he fell back\ninsensible upon his pillow, and soon expired.\n\nAs he breathed his last, one of the high officers of the household\napproached the window of the state apartment, which opened upon the\ngreat balcony, and threw it back. A vast crowd was assembled in the\ncourt-yard below, awaiting the tidings which they knew could not long\nbe delayed. Raising his truncheon above his head, he broke it in the\ncentre, and throwing the pieces among the crowd exclaimed, with a loud\nand solemn voice, \"The king is dead!\" Then seizing another staff from\nan attendant, he waved it in the air, shouting joyfully, \"Long live the\nking!\" The dead king is instantly and forever forgotten. The living\nking, who alone had favors to confer, was welcomed to his throne by\nmultitudinous shouts, echoing through the apartment of death.\n\n[Illustration: DEATH OF LOUIS XIV.]\n\nBut upon this balcony a scene of far greater moral sublimity has\ntranspired. It was the morning of the 8th of October, 1789. The\nnight had been black and stormy. The infuriated mob of Paris,\ndrenched with rain, men, women, boys, drunken, ragged, starving,\nin countless thousands, had all the night long been howling around\ntheir watch-fires, ravenous for the life of the queen. Clouds, heavy\nwith rain, were still driven violently through the stormy sky, and\npools of water filled the vast court-yard of the palace. Muskets\nwere continually discharged, and now and then the crash of a bullet\nthrough a window was heard. At last the mob, pressing the palace in an\ninnumerable throng, with a roar which soon became simultaneous, like\nan uninterrupted peal of thunder, shouted, \"The Queen! the Queen!\"\ndemanding that she should appear upon the balcony. With that heroic\nspirit which ever inspired her, she fearlessly stepped out of the low\nwindow, leading her children by her side. \"Away with the children!\"\nshouted thousands of voices. Even this maddened multitude had not the\nheart to massacre youth and innocence. Maria, whose whole soul was\nroused to meet the sublimity of the occasion, without the tremor of\na nerve led back her children, and again appearing upon the balcony,\nfolded her arms and raised her eyes to heaven, as if devoting herself\na sacrifice to the wrath of her subjects. Even degraded souls could\nappreciate the heroism of such a deed. A murmur of admiration ensued,\nfollowed by a simultaneous shout, which pierced the skies, \"Vive la\nReine! Vive la Reine!\"\n\nAnd now we enter the chamber where Maria slept on that night--or rather\nwhere she did not sleep, but merely threw herself for a few moments\nupon her pillow, in the vain attempt to soothe her agitated spirit. The\nmorning had nearly dawned ere she retired to her chamber. A dreadful\nclamor upon the stairs roused her. The mob had broken into the palace.\nThe discharge of fire-arms and the clash of swords at her door,\nproclaimed that the desperadoes were struggling with her guard. At the\nsame moment she heard the dying cry of her faithful sentinel, as he\nfell beneath the blows of the assassins, calling to her, \"Fly! fly for\nyour life!\" She sprang from her bed, rushed to the private door which\nled to the king's apartment, and had but just time to close the door\nbehind her, when the tumultuous assailants rushed into the room, and\nplunged their bayonets, with all the vigor of their brawny arms, into\nher bed. Unfortunately, Maria had escaped. Happy would it have been\nfor the ill-fated queen had she died in that short agony. But she was\nreserved for a fate perhaps more dreadful than has ever befallen any\nother daughter of our race.\n\nPoor Maria! fancy can not create so wild a dream of terror as was\nrealized in her sad life. The annals of the world contain not another\ntragedy so mournful.\n\nEvery room we enter has its tale to tell. Providence deals strangely\nin compensations. The kings of France robbed the nation to rear for\nthemselves these gorgeous palaces. And yet the poor unlettered peasant\nin his hut, was a stranger to those woes, which have ever held high\ncarnival within these gilded walls. Few must have been the hours of\nhappiness which have been found in the Palace of Versailles. The\npaintings which adorn the saloons and galleries of this princely abode,\nare executed in the highest style of ancient and modern art. One is\nnever weary of gazing upon them. Many of them leave an impression upon\nthe mind which a lifetime can not obliterate. All the great events of\nFrance are here chronicled in that universal language which all nations\ncan alike understand. David's magnificent painting of the Coronation of\nNapoleon attracts the special attention of every visitor. The artist\nhas seized upon the moment when the Emperor is placing the crown upon\nthe brow of Josephine. When the colossal work was finished, many\ncriticisms were passed upon the composition, which met the Emperor's\near. Among other things, it was specially objected that it was not\na picture of the coronation of Napoleon but of that of Josephine.\nWhen the great work was entirely completed, Napoleon appointed a day\nto inspect it in person, prior to its public exhibition. To confer\nhonor upon the distinguished artist, he went in state, attended by a\ndetachment of horse and a military band, accompanied by the Empress\nJosephine, the princes and princesses of the family, and the great\nofficers of the crown.\n\nNapoleon for a few moments contemplated the painting in thoughtful\nsilence, and then, turning to the artist, said, \"M. David, this is\nwell--very well, indeed. The empress, my mother, the emperor, all are\nmost appropriately placed. You have made me a French knight, and I am\ngratified that you have thus transmitted to future ages the proofs of\naffection I was desirous of testifying toward the empress.\" Josephine\nwas at the time standing at his side, leaning upon his right arm. M.\nDavid stood at his left. After contemplating the picture again for a\nfew moments in silence, he dropped the arm of the empress, advanced two\nsteps, and turning to the painter, uncovered his head, and bowing to\nhim profoundly, exclaimed, \"M. David, I salute you!\"\n\n\"Sire!\" replied the painter, with admirable tact, \"I receive the\ncompliment of the emperor, in the name of all the artists in the\nempire, happy in being the individual one you deign to make the channel\nof such an honor.\"\n\nWhen this painting was afterward removed to the Museum, the emperor\nwished to see it a second time. M. David, in consequence, attended in\nthe hall of the Louvre, accompanied by all of his pupils. Napoleon on\nthis occasion inquired of the illustrious painter who of his pupils had\ndistinguished themselves in their art. Napoleon immediately conferred\nupon those young men the decoration of the Legion of Honor. He then\nsaid, \"It is requisite that I should testify my satisfaction to the\nmaster of so many distinguished artists; therefore I promote you to be\nOfficer of the Legion of Honor. M. Duroc, give a golden decoration to\nM. David.\" \"Sire, I have none with me,\" answered the Grand Marshal.\n\"No matter,\" replied the Emperor; \"do not let this day pass without\nexecuting my order.\"\n\nThe King of Wirtemberg, himself quite an artist, visited the painting,\nand exceedingly admired it. As he contemplated the glow of light which\nirradiated the person of the Pope, he exclaimed, \"I did not believe\nthat your art could effect such wonders. White and black, in painting,\nafford but very weak resources. When you produced this you had no doubt\na sunbeam upon your pencil!\"\n\nBut we must no longer linger here. And yet how can we hurry along\nthrough the midst of this profusion of splendor and of beauty. Room\nafter room opens before us, in endless succession, and the mind is\nbewildered with the opulence of art. In each room you wish to stop for\nhours, and yet you can stop but moments, for there are hundreds of\nthese gorgeous saloons to pass through, and the gardens and the parks\nto be visited, the fountains and the groves, the rural palaces of the\nGreat Trianon and the Little Trianon, and above all the Swiss village.\nThe Historical Museum consists of a suite of eleven magnificent\napartments, filled with the most costly paintings illustrating the\nprincipal events in the history of France up to the period of the\nrevolution. You then enter a gallery, three hundred feet in length,\nfilled with the busts, statues, and monumental effigies of the\nkings, queens, and illustrious personages of France. The Hall of the\nCrusades consists of a series of five splendid saloons in the Gothic\nstyle, filled with pictures relating to that strange period of the\nhistory of the world. But there seems to be no end to the artistic\nwonders here accumulated. The Grand Gallery of Battles is a room 393\nfeet in length, 43 in breadth, and the same in height. The vaulted\nceiling is emblazoned with gold, and the walls are brilliant with\nthe most costly productions of the pencil. One vast gallery contains\nmore than three hundred colossal pictures, illustrating the military\nhistory of Napoleon. In one of the apartments, on the ground floor,\nare seen two superb carriages. One is that in which Charles X. rode\nto his coronation. It was built for that occasion, at an expense of\none hundred thousand dollars. The resources of wealth and art were\nexhausted in the construction of this voluptuous and magnificent\nvehicle. The other was built expressly for the christening of the\ninfant Duke of Bordeaux.\n\nBut let us enter the stables, for they also are palaces. The nobles of\nother lands have hardly been as sumptuously housed as were the horses\nof the kings of France. The Palace of Versailles is approached from\nthe town by three grand avenues--the central one 800 feet broad. These\navenues open into a large space called the Place of Arms. Flanking the\nmain avenue, and facing the palace, were placed the Grand Stables,\ninclosed by handsome iron railings and lofty gate-ways, and ornamented\nwith trophies and sculptures. These stables were appropriated to the\ncarriages and the horses of the royal family. Here the king kept\nhis stud of 1000 of the most magnificent steeds the empire could\nfurnish. It must have been a brilliant spectacle, in the gala days\nof Versailles, when lords and ladies, glittering in purple and gold,\nthronged these saloons, and mounted on horses and shouting in chariots,\nwith waving plumes, and robes like banners fluttering in the air,\nswept as a vision of enchantment through the Eden-like drives which\nboundless opulence and the most highly cultivated taste had opened in\nthe spacious parks of the palace. The poor peasant and pale artisan,\nwhose toil supplied the means for this luxury, heard the shout, and saw\nthe vision, and, ate their black bread, and looked upon the bare-footed\ndaughter and the emaciate wife, and treasured up wrath. The fearful\noutrages of the French revolution, concentrated upon kings and nobles\nin the short space of a few years, were but the accumulated vengeance\nwhich had been gathering through ages of wrong and violence in the\nhearts of oppressed men. But those days of kingly grandeur have passed\naway from France forever. Versailles can never again be filled as it\nhas been. It is no longer a regal palace. It is a museum of art, opened\nfreely to all the people. No longer will the blooded Arabians of a\nproud monarch fill those stables. One has already been converted into\ncavalry barracks, and the other into an agricultural school. It is to\nbe hoped that the soldiers will soon follow the horses, and that the\nsciences of peace will eject those of war.\n\n[Illustration: LOUIS XIV. HUNTING.]\n\nWhat tongue can tell the heart-crushing dramas of real life which have\nbeen enacted in this palace. Its history is full of the revealings\nof the agonies of the soul. Love, in all its delirium of passion, of\nhopelessness, of jealousy, and of remorse, has here rioted, causing\nthe virtuous to fall and weep tears of blood, the vicious to become\ndemoniac in reckless self-abandonment. After years of soul-harrowing\npleasure and sin, the Duchesse de la Valli\u00e8re, with pallid cheek, and\nwithered charms, and exhausted vivacity, retired from these sumptuous\nhalls and from her heartless, selfish, discarding betrayer, to seek\nin the glooms of a convent that peace which the guilty love of a\nking could never confer upon her heart. For thirty years, clothed in\nsackcloth, she mourned and prayed, till the midnight tollings of the\nconvent bell consigned her emaciate frame to the tomb.\n\nMadame Montespan, a lady of noble rank, beautiful and brilliant,\nabandoning her husband, willingly threw herself into the arms of the\nproud, mean, self-worshiping monarch. The patient, gentle, pious,\nmartyr wife of Louis XIV. looked silently on, and saw Madame Montespan\nbecome the mother of the children of the king. But Madame Montespan's\ncheek also, in time, became pale with jealousy and sorrow, as another\nlove attracted the vagrant desires of the royal debauchee. He sent\na messenger to inform the ruined, woe-stricken, frantic woman, that\nher presence was no longer desired, that she was but a supernumerary\nin the palace, that she must retire. With insult almost incredible\nhe informed the unhappy woman, that as the children to whom she had\ngiven birth were his own they might be received and honored in the\npalace, but that as she had been only his mistress, it was not decorous\nthat she should longer be seen there. The discarded favorite, in the\ndelirium of her indignation and her agony, seized a dessert knife upon\nthe table, and rushing upon her beautiful boy, the little Count of\nToulouse, whom the king held by the hand, shrieked out, \"I will leave\nthe palace, but first I will bury this knife in the heart of that\nchild.\" With difficulty the frantic woman was seized and bound, and the\naffrighted child torn from her grasp. And here we stand in the very\nsaloon in which this tragedy occurred. The room is deserted and still.\nThe summer's sun sleeps placidly upon the polished floor. But far away\nin other worlds the perfidious lover and his victim have met before a\ntribunal, where justice can not be warded off, by sceptre or by crown.\nMadame Maintenon, whom the king gained by a private marriage, which he\nafterward was meanly ashamed to acknowledge, succeeded Madame Montespan\nin the evanescent love of the king.\n\nThe fate of this proud beauty, once one of the most envied and admired\nof the gilded throng, which crowded Versailles, was indeed peculiar.\nUpon her dying bed, in accordance with the gloomy superstitions of the\ntimes, she bequeathed her body to the family tomb, her heart to the\nconvent of La Fl\u00e8che, and her entrails to the priory of St. Menoux. A\nvillage surgeon performed the duty of separating from the body those\norgans, which were to be conveyed as sacred relics to the cloister.\nThe heart, inclosed in a leaden case, was forwarded to La Fl\u00e8che. The\nintestines were taken out and placed in a small trunk. The trunk was\nintrusted to the care of a peasant, who was directed to convey them\nto St. Menoux. The porter, having completed half of his journey, sat\ndown under a tree to rest. His curiosity was excited to ascertain the\ncontents of the box. Astonished at the sight, he thought that some\ncomrade was trifling with him, desiring to make merry at his expense.\nHe therefore emptied the trunk into a ditch beside which he sat.\nJust at that moment, a lad who was herding swine drove them toward\nhim. Groveling in the mire they approached the remains and instantly\ndevoured them! She had bequeathed the sacred relics as a legacy to the\nchurch, to be approached with reverence through all coming time. The\nfilthiest animals in the world rooted them into the mire and ate them,\ndevouring a portion of the remains of one of the proudest beauties who\never reigned in an imperial palace.\n\n[Illustration: MADAME MAINTENON.]\n\nIt has often been said that the French revolution merely overthrew\na Bourbon to place upon the throne a Bonaparte. But Napoleon, a\ndemocratic king, with all the energy of his impassioned nature\nconsulting for the interests of the people of France, was as different\nin his character, and in the great objects of his ambition, and his\nlife, from the old feudal monarchs, as is light from darkness. The\nfollowing was the ordinary routine of life, day after day, and year\nafter year, with Louis XIV., in the palace of Versailles.\n\nAt eight o'clock in the morning two servants carefully entered the\nchamber of the king. One, if the weather was cold or damp, brought dry\nwood to kindle a cheerful blaze upon the hearth, while the other opened\nthe shutters, carried away the collation of soup, roasted chicken,\nbread, wine, and water, which had been placed, the night before, at\nthe side of the royal couch, that the king might find a repast at hand\nin case he should require refreshment during the night. The valet de\nchambre then entered and stood silently and reverently at the side of\nthe bed for one half hour. He then awoke the monarch, and immediately\npassed into an ante-room to communicate the important intelligence that\nthe king no longer slept. Upon receiving this announcement an attendant\nthrew open the double portals of a wide door, when the dauphin and\nhis two sons, the brother of the king, and the Duke of Chartres, who\nawaited the signal, entered, and approaching the bed with the utmost\nsolemnity of etiquette, inquired how his majesty had passed the\nnight. After the interval of a moment the Duke du Maine, the Count de\nToulouse, the first lord of the bed-chamber, and the grand master of\nthe robes entered the apartment, and with military precision took their\nstation by the side of the couch of recumbent royalty. Immediately\nthere followed another procession of officers bearing the regal\nvestments. Fagon, the head physician, and Telier, the head surgeon,\ncompleted the train.\n\nThe head valet de chambre then poured upon the hands of the king a few\ndrops of spirits of wine, holding beneath them a plate of enameled\nsilver, and the first lord of the bed-chamber presented to the monarch,\nwho was ever very punctilious in his devotions, the holy water, with\nwhich the king made the sign of the cross upon his head and his\nbreast. Thus purified and sanctified he repeated a short prayer, which\nthe church had taught him, and then rose in his bed. A noble lord\nthen approached and presented to him a collection of wigs from which\nhe selected the one which he intended to wear that day, and having\ncondescended to place it, with his own royal hands upon his head, he\nslipped his arms into the sleeves of a rich dressing-gown, which the\nhead valet de chambre held ready for him. Then reclining again upon\nhis pillow, he thrust one foot out from the bed clothes. The valet de\nchambre reverently received the sacred extremity, and drew over it a\nsilk stocking. The other limb was similarly presented and dressed,\nwhen slippers of embroidered velvet were placed upon the royal feet.\nThe king then devoutly crossing himself with holy water, with great\ndignity moved from his bed and seated himself in a large arm-chair,\nplaced at the fire-side. The king then announced that he was prepared\nto receive the First Entr\u00e9e. None but the especial favorites of the\nmonarch were honored with an audience so confidential. These privileged\npersons were to enjoy the ecstatic happiness of witnessing the awful\nceremony of shaving the king. One attendant prepared the water and held\nthe basin. Another religiously lathered the royal chin, and removed the\nsacred beard, and with soft sponges, saturated with wine and water,\nwashed the parts which had been operated upon and soothed them with\nsilken towels.\n\nAnd now the master of the robes approaches to dress the king. At the\nsame moment the monarch announces that he is ready for his Grand\nEntr\u00e9e. The principal attendants of royalty, accompanied by several\nvalets de chambre and door keepers of the cabinet, immediately took\ntheir stations at the entrance of the apartment. Princes often sighed\nin vain for the honor of an admission to the Grand Entr\u00e9e. The\ngreatest precautions were observed that no unprivileged person should\nintrude. As each individual presented himself at the door, his name\nwas whispered to the first lord of the bed chamber, who repeated it to\nthe king. If the monarch made no reply the visitor was admitted. The\nduke in attendance marshaled the newcomers to their several places,\nthat they might not approach too near the presence of His Majesty.\nPrinces of the highest rank, and statesmen of the most exalted station\nwere subjected alike to these humiliating ceremonials. The king, the\nmeanwhile, regardless of his guests, was occupied in being dressed.\nA valet of the wardrobe delivered to a gentleman of the chamber\nthe garters, which he in turn presented to the monarch. Inexorable\netiquette would allow the king to clasp his garters in the morning,\nbut not to unclasp them at night. It was the exclusive privilege of\nthe head valet de chambre to unclasp that of the right leg, while an\nattendant of inferior rank might remove the other. One attendant put on\nthe shoes, another fastened the diamond buckles. Two pages, gorgeously\ndressed in crimson velvet, overlaid with gold and silver lace, received\nthe slippers as they were taken from the king's feet.\n\nThe breakfast followed. Two officers entered; one with bread on an\nenameled salver, the other with a folded napkin between two silver\nplates. At the same time the royal cup bearers presented to the first\nlord a golden vase, into which he poured a small quantity of wine and\nwater, which was tasted by a second cup bearer to insure that there was\nno poison in the beverage. The vase was then rinsed, and being again\nfilled, was presented to the king upon a golden saucer. The dauphin, as\nsoon as the king had drank, giving his hat and gloves to the first lord\nin waiting, took the napkin and presented it to the monarch to wipe his\nlips. The frugal repast was soon finished. The king then laid aside\nhis dressing-gown, while two attendants drew off his night shirt, one\ntaking the left sleeve and the other the right. The monarch then drew\nfrom his neck the casket of sacred relics, with which he ever slept.\nIt was passed from the hands of one officer to that of another, and\nthen deposited in the king's closet, where it was carefully guarded.\nThe royal shirt, in the mean time, had been thoroughly warmed at the\nfire. It was placed in the hands of the first lord, he presented it\nto the dauphin, and he, laying aside his hat and gloves, approached\nand presented it to the king. Each garment was thus ceremoniously\npresented. The royal sword, the vest, and the blue ribbon were brought\nforward. A nobleman of high rank was honored in the privilege of\nputting on the vest, another buckled on the sword, another placed over\nthe shoulders of the monarch a scarf, to which was attached the cross\nof the Holy Ghost in diamonds, and the cross of St. Louis. The grand\nmaster of the robes presented to the king his cravat of rich lace,\nwhile a favorite courtier folded it around his neck. Two handkerchiefs\nof most costly embroidery and richly perfumed were then placed before\nhis majesty, on an enameled saucer, and his toilet was completed.\n\nThe king then returned to his bedside. Obsequious attendants spread\nbefore him two soft cushions of crimson velvet. In all the pride of\nostentatious humility he kneeled upon these, and repeated his prayers,\nwhile the bishops and cardinals in his suit, with suppressed voice,\nuttered responses. But our readers will be weary of the recital of the\nroutine of the day. From his chamber the king went to his cabinet,\nwhere, with a few privileged ones, he decided upon the plans or\namusements of the day. He then attended mass in the chapel. At one\no'clock he dined alone, in all the dignity of unapproachable majesty.\nThe ceremony at the dinner table was no less punctilious and ridiculous\nthan at the toilet. After dinner he fed his dogs, and amused himself in\nplaying with them. He then, in the presence of a number of courtiers,\nchanged his dress, and leaving the palace by a private staircase,\nproceeded to his carriage, which awaited him in the marble court-yard.\nReturning from his drive, he again changed his dress, and visited the\napartments of Madame Maintenon, where he remained until 10 o'clock,\nthe hour of supper. The supper was the great event of the day. Six\nnoblemen stationed themselves at each end of the table to wait upon\nthe king. Whenever he raised his cup, the cup bearer exclaimed aloud\nto all the company, \"drink for the king.\" After supper he held a short\nceremonial audience with members of the royal family, and at midnight\nwent again to feed his dogs. He then retired, surrounded by puerilities\nof ceremony too tedious to be read.\n\n[Illustration: CASCADES OF VERSAILLES.]\n\nSuch was the character of one of the most majestic kings of the Bourbon\nrace. France wearied with them, drove them from the throne, and placed\nNapoleon there, a man of energy, of intellect, and of action; toiling,\nnight and day, to promote the prosperity of France in all its varied\ninterests. The monarchs of Europe, with their united millions, combined\nand chained the democratic king to the rock of St. Helena, and replaced\nthe Bourbon. But the end is not even yet. In view of the wretched\nlife of Louis XIV., Madame Maintenon exclaimed: \"Could you but form\nan idea of what kingly life is! Those who occupy thrones are the most\nunfortunate in the world.\"\n\nOn one occasion Louis gave a grand entertainment in the magnificent\nbanqueting-room of the palace. Seventy-five thousand dollars were\nexpended in loading the tables with every luxury. After the feast\nthe gaming tables were spread. Gold and silver ornaments, jewels and\nprecious stones, glittered on every side. For these treasures thus\nprofusely spread, the courtiers of both sexes gambled without incurring\nany risk.\n\nAs the visitor leaves the palace for the gardens and the park, he\nenters a labyrinth of enchantment, to which there is apparently no\nend. Groves, lawns, parterres of flowers, fountains, basins, cascades,\nlakes, shrubbery, forests, avenues, and serpentine paths bewilder him\nwith their profusion and their opulence of beauty. It is in vain to\nbegin to describe these works. There is the Terrace of the Chateau, the\nParterre of Water with its miniature lakes and twenty-four magnificent\ngroups of statuary. Now you approach the Parterre of the South,\nembellished with colossal vases in bronze; again you saunter through\nthe Parterre of the North, with antique statues in marble, with its\ngroup of Tritons and Sirens, with its basins and its gorgeous flower\nbeds. Your steps are invited to the Baths of Diana, to the Grove of the\nArch of Triumph, to the Grove of the Three Crowns, to the Basin of the\nDragon, and to the magnificent Basin of Neptune, with its wilderness of\nsculpture and its fantastic jets from which a deluge of water may be\nthrown. The Basin of Latona presents a group consisting of Latona, with\nApollo and Diana. The goddess has implored the vengeance of Jupiter\nagainst the peasants of Libya, who had refused her water. Jupiter has\ntransformed the peasants, some half and others entirely, into frogs\nor tortoises, and they are surrounding Latona and throwing water upon\nher in liquid arches of beautiful effect. The Fountain of Fame and the\nFountain of the Star are neatly represented in the accompanying cuts.\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN OF FAME.]\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN OF THE STAR.]\n\nThe Parterre of the North, which is represented in the illustration,\non page 808, extends in front of the northern wing of the palace, the\napartments on the second floor of which are occupied by the king. This\nparterre is approached by descending a flight of steps constructed of\nwhite marble. Fourteen magnificent bronze vases crown the terraced\nwall which separate these walks of regal luxury from the Parterre\nd'Eau, which is spread out in front of the palace. Statues and vases of\nexquisite workmanship crowd the grounds; most of the statues tending\nto inflame a voluptuous taste. The beautiful flower beds, filled with\nsuch a variety of plants and shrubs, as always to present an aspect\nof gorgeous bloom, are ornamented with two smaller fountains, called\nthe Basins of the Crown, and one large fountain, called the Fountain\nof the Pyramid. The two smaller basins or fountains are so named from\nthe chiseled groups of Tritons and Sirens supporting crowns of laurel,\nfrom the midst of which issue, in graceful curves, columns of water.\nThe Pyramid consists of several round basins rising one above another\nin a pyramidal form, supported by statues of lead. The water issues\nfrom many jets and flows beautifully over the rims of the basins. Just\nbelow the Fountain of the Pyramid are the Baths of Diana, which are not\nrepresented in this illustration. This basin is embellished with finely\nexecuted statuary, representing Diana and her nymphs, in voluptuous\nattitudes, enjoying the luxury of the bath.\n\n[Illustration: FOUNTAIN OF THE PYRAMID.]\n\nDirectly in front of the palace is the Terrace of the Chateaux,\nembellished with walks, shrubbery, flowers, basins, fountains, and\ncolossal statues in bronze. Connected with this is the Parterre of\nWater, with two splendid fountains, ever replenishing two large oblong\nbasins filled with golden fishes. Groups of statuary enrich the\nlandscape. From the centre of each of the basins rise jets of water.\nThese grounds lie spread out before the magnificent banqueting hall\nof the palace. It is difficult to imagine a scene more beautiful than\nis thus presented to the eye. Let the reader recur to the plan of\nVersailles, and contemplate the vast expanse of lawn, forest, garden,\ngrove, fountain, lake, walks, and avenues which are spread before him\nover a space of thirty-two thousand acres. From the Parterre of Water a\nflight of massive white steps conducts to the Fountain of Latona.\n\n[Illustration: PARTERRE OF VERSAILLES.]\n\nAt the extremity of the park is a beautiful palace called the Grand\nTrianon. It was built by Louis XIV. for Madame Maintenon. This edifice,\nspacious and aristocratic as it is in all its appliances, possesses the\ncharm of beauty rather than that of grandeur. It seems constructed for\nan attractive home of opulence and taste. It was a favorite retreat of\nthe Bourbons, from the pomp and ceremony of Versailles. This was also\none of the favorite resorts of Napoleon when he sought a few hours of\nrepose from the cares of empire. That he might reach it without loss of\ntime, he constructed a direct road from thence to St. Cloud.\n\nThe Little Trianon, however, with its surroundings, constitutes to\nmany minds the most attractive spot in this region of attractions. It\nis a beautiful house, about eighty feet square, erected by Louis XV.\nfor the hapless Madame du Barri. It is constructed in the style of a\nRoman pavilion, and surrounded with gardens ornamented in the highest\nattainments of French and English art. Temples, cottages, groves,\nlawns, crags, fountains, lakes, cascades, embellish the grounds and\npresent a scene of peaceful beauty which the garden of Eden could\nhardly have surpassed. This was the favorite abode of Maria Antoinette.\nShe called it her home. In the quietude of this miniature palace, she\nloved to disembarrass herself of the restraints of regal life; and in\nthe society of congenial friends, and in the privacy of her own rural\nwalks to forget that she was an envied, hated queen. But even here the\nmonotony of life wearied her, and deeply regretting that she had not\nformed in early youth intellectual tastes, she once sadly exclaimed\nto her companions, \"What a resource, amidst the casualties of life,\nis to be found in a well cultivated mind. One can then be one's\nown companion, and find society in one's own thoughts.\" There is a\nbeautiful sheet of water in the centre of the romantic, deeply wooded\ngrounds of the Little Trianon, upon the green shores of which Maria,\nfor pastime, erected a beautiful Swiss village, with its picturesque\ninn, its farm house and cow sheds, and its mill.\n\n[Illustration: THE GRAND TRIANON.]\n\nHere the regal votaries of pleasure, satiated with the gayeties of\nParis, weary of the splendors and the etiquette of the Tuileries and\nVersailles, endeavored to step from the palace to the cottage, and in\nthe humble employments of the humblest life, to alleviate the monotony\nof an existence devoted only to pleasure. They _played_ that they\nwere peasants, put on the garb of peasants, and engaged heartily in\nthe employments of peasants. King Louis was the inn-keeper, and Maria\nAntoinette, with her sleeves tucked up and her apron bound around her,\nthe inn-keeper's pretty and energetic wife. She courtesied humbly to\nthe guests, whom her husband received at the door, spread the table,\nfor them, and placed before them the fresh butter which, in the dairy,\nshe had churned with her own hands. A noble duke kept the shop and sold\nthe groceries. A graceful, high-born duchess was Betty, the maid of the\ninn. A marquis, who proudly traced his lineage through many centuries,\nwas the miller, grinding the wheat for the evening meal.\n\nThe sun was just sinking beneath the horizon, on a calm, warm,\nbeautiful afternoon, when we sauntered through this picturesque,\nlovely, silent, deserted village. It was all in perfect repair! The\ngreen lawn was of velvet softness. The trees and shrubbery were in\nfull leaf. Innumerable birds filled the air with their warblings, and\nthe chirp of the insect, the rustling of the leaves, the sighing of\nthe wind, the ripple of the streamlet, and the silence of all human\nvoices, so deep, so solemn, left an impress upon the mind never to be\nforgotten. How terrible the fate of those who once made these scenes\nresound with the voice of gayety. Some were burned in their chateaux,\nor massacred in the streets. Some died miserably on pallets of straw\nin dungeons dark, and wet, and cold. Some were dragged by a deriding\nmob to the guillotine to bleed beneath its keen knife. And some, in\nbeggary and wretchedness, wandered through weary years, in foreign\nlands, envying the fate of those who had found a more speedy death.\nThe palace of Versailles! It is a monument of oppression and pride. It\nwill be well for the rulers of Europe to heed its monitory voice. The\nthoughtful American will return from the inspection of its grandeur,\nadmiring, more profoundly than ever before, the beautiful simplicity\nof his own land. He will more highly prize those noble institutions\nof freedom and of popular rights which open before every citizen an\nunobstructed avenue to wealth and power, encouraging every man to\nindustry, and securing to every man the possession of what he earns.\nThe glory of America consists not in the pride of palaces and the pomp\nof armies, but in the tasteful homes of a virtuous, intelligent, and\nhappy people.\n\n\n\n\nNAPOLEON BONAPARTE.\n\nBY JOHN S. C. ABBOTT\n\nTHE CAMP AT BOULOGNE, AND THE BOURBON CONSPIRACY.\n\n\nImpartial History, without a dissenting voice, must award the\nresponsibility of the rupture of the peace of Amiens to the government\nof Great Britain. Napoleon had nothing to hope for from war, and\nevery thing to fear. The only way in which he could even approach his\nformidable enemy, was by crossing the sea, and invading England. He\nacknowledged, and the world knew, that such an enterprise was an act\nof perfect desperation, for England was the undisputed mistress of the\nseas, and no naval power could stand before her ships. The voice of\npoetry was the voice of truth--\n\n    \"Britannia needs no bulwarks, to frown along the steep,\n    Her march is on the mountain-wave; her home is on the deep.\"\n\nEngland, with her invincible navy, could assail France in every\nquarter. She could sweep the merchant ships of the infant Republic\nfrom the ocean, and appropriate to herself the commerce of all climes.\nThus war proffered to England security and wealth. It promised the\ncommercial ruin of a dreaded rival, whose rapid strides toward opulence\nand power had excited the most intense alarm. The temptation thus\npresented to the British cabinet to renew the war was powerful in the\nextreme. It required more virtue than ordinarily falls to the lot of\ncabinets, to resist. Unhappily for suffering humanity, England yielded\nto the temptation. She refused to fulfil the stipulations of a treaty\nsolemnly ratified, retained possession of Malta, in violation of her\nplighted faith, and renewed the assault upon France.\n\nIn a communication which Napoleon made to the legislative bodies just\nbefore the rupture, he said: \"Two parties contend in England for the\npossession of power. One has concluded a peace. The other cherishes\nimplacable hatred against France. Hence arises this fluctuation in\ncouncils and in measures, and this attitude, at one time pacific and\nagain menacing. While this strife continues, there are measures which\nprudence demands of the government of the Republic. Five hundred\nthousand men ought to be, and will be, ready to defend our country, and\nto avenge insult. Strange necessity, which wicked passions impose upon\ntwo nations, who should be, by the same interests and the same desires,\ndevoted to peace. But let us hope for the best; and believe that we\nshall yet hear from the cabinet of England the councils of wisdom and\nthe voice of humanity.\" Says Alison, the most eloquent, able, and\nimpartial of those English historians who, with patriotic zeal, have\nadvocated the cause of their own country, \"Upon coolly reviewing the\ncircumstances under which the conflict was renewed, it is impossible\nto deny that the British government manifested a feverish anxiety to\ncome to a rupture, and that, so far as the transactions between the two\ncountries are concerned, they were the aggressors.\"\n\n[Illustration: SCENE IN THE LOUVRE.]\n\nWhen Mr. Fox was in Paris, he was one day, with Napoleon and several\nother gentlemen, in the gallery of the Louvre, looking at a magnificent\nglobe, of unusual magnitude, which had been deposited in the museum.\nSome one remarked upon the very small space which the island of Great\nBritain seemed to occupy. \"Yes,\" said Mr. Fox, as he approached the\nglobe, and attempted to encircle it in his extended arms, \"England is\na small island, but with her power she girdles the world.\" This was\nnot an empty boast. Her possessions were every where. In Spain, in the\nMediterranean, in the East Indies and West Indies, in Asia, Africa,\nand America, and over innumerable islands of the ocean, she extended\nher sceptre. Rome, in her proudest day of grandeur, never swayed such\npower. To Napoleon, consequently, it seemed but mere trifling for this\nEngland to complain that the infant republic of France, struggling\nagainst the hostile monarchies of Europe, was endangering the world by\nher ambition, because she had obtained an influence in Piedmont, in\nthe Cisalpine Republic, in the feeble Duchy of Parma, and had obtained\nthe island of Elba for a colony. To the arguments and remonstrances\nof Napoleon, England could make no reply but by the broadsides of her\nships. \"You are seated,\" said England, \"upon the throne of the exiled\nBourbons.\" \"And your king,\" Napoleon replies, \"is on the throne of the\nexiled Stuarts.\" \"But the First Consul of France is also President of\nthe Cisalpine Republic,\" England rejoins. \"And the King of England,\"\nNapoleon adds, \"is also Elector of Hanover.\" \"Your troops are in\nSwitzerland,\" England continues. \"And yours,\" Napoleon replies, \"are in\nSpain, having fortified themselves upon the rock of Gibraltar.\" \"You\nare ambitious, and are trying to establish foreign colonies,\" England\nrejoins. \"But you,\" Napoleon replies, \"have ten colonies where we have\none.\" \"We _believe_,\" England says, \"that you desire to appropriate\nto yourself Egypt.\" \"You _have_,\" Napoleon retorts, \"appropriated\nto yourself India.\" Indignantly England exclaims, \"Nelson, bring on\nthe fleet! Wellington, head the army! This man must be put down. His\nambition endangers the liberties of the world. Historians of England!\ninform the nations that the usurper Bonaparte, by his arrogance and\naggression, is deluging the Continent with blood.\"\n\nImmediately upon the withdrawal of the British embassador from Paris,\nand even before the departure of the French minister from London,\nEngland, without any public declaration of hostilities, commenced her\nassaults upon France. The merchant ships of the Republic, unsuspicious\nof danger, freighted with treasure, were seized, even in the harbors\nof England, and wherever they could be found, by the vigilant and\nalmost omnipresent navy of the Queen of the Seas. Two French ships\nof war were attacked and captured. These disastrous tidings were the\nfirst intimation that Napoleon received that the war was renewed. The\nindignation of the First Consul was thoroughly aroused. The retaliating\nblow he struck, though merited, yet terrible, was characteristic of\nthe man. At midnight he summoned to his presence the minister of\npolice, and ordered the immediate arrest of every Englishman in France,\nbetween the ages of eighteen and fifty. These were all to be detained\nas hostages for the prisoners England had captured upon the seas. The\ntidings of this decree rolled a billow of woe over the peaceful homes\nof England; for there were thousands of travelers upon the continent,\nunapprehensive of danger, supposing that war would be declared before\nhostilities would be resumed. These were the first-fruits of that\nterrific conflict into which the world again was plunged. No tongue\ncan tell the anguish thus caused in thousands of homes. Most of the\ntravelers were gentlemen of culture and refinement--husbands, fathers,\nsons, brothers--who were visiting the continent for pleasure. During\ntwelve weary years these hapless men lingered in exile. Many died and\nmoldered to the dust in France. Children grew to manhood strangers to\ntheir imprisoned fathers, knowing not even whether they were living\nor dead. Wives and daughters, in desolated homes, through lingering\nyears of suspense and agony, sank in despair into the grave. The hulks\nof England were also filled with the husbands and fathers of France,\nand beggary and starvation reigned in a thousand cottages, clustered\nin the valleys and along the shores of the republic, where peace and\ncontentment might have dwelt, but for this horrible and iniquitous\nstrife. As in all such cases, the woes fell mainly upon the innocent,\nupon those homes where matrons and maidens wept away years of agony.\nThe imagination is appalled in contemplating this melancholy addition\nto the ordinary miseries of war. William Pitt, whose genius inspired\nthis strife, was a man of gigantic intellect, of gigantic energy. But\nhe was an entire stranger to all those kindly sensibilities which add\nlustre to human nature. He was neither a father nor a husband, and no\nemotions of gentleness, of tenderness, of affection, ever ruffled the\ncalm, cold, icy surface of his soul.\n\nThe order to seize all the English in France, was thus announced in the\n_Moniteur_: \"The government of the Republic, having heard read, by the\nMinister of Marine and Colonies, a dispatch from the maritime prefect\nat Brest, announcing that two English frigates had taken two merchant\nvessels in the bay of Audrieu, without any previous declaration of war,\nand in manifest violation of the law of nations:\n\n\"All the English, from the ages of 18 to 60, or holding any commission\nfrom his Britannic Majesty, who are at present in France, shall\nimmediately be constituted prisoners of war, to answer for those\ncitizens of the Republic who may have been arrested and made prisoners\nby the vessels or subjects of his Britannic Majesty previous to any\ndeclaration of hostilities.\n\n  (Signed)   \"BONAPARTE.\"\n\nNapoleon treated the captives whom he had taken with great humanity,\nholding as prisoners of war only those who were in the military\nservice, while the rest were detained in fortified places on\ntheir parole, with much personal liberty. The English held the\nFrench prisoners in floating hulks, crowded together in a state\nof inconceivable suffering. Napoleon at times felt that, for the\nprotection of the French captives in England, he ought to retaliate, by\nvisiting similar inflictions upon the English prisoners in France. It\nwas not an easy question for a humane man to settle. But instinctive\nkindness prevailed, and Napoleon spared the unhappy victims who were\nin his power. The cabinet of St. James's remonstrated energetically\nagainst Napoleon's capture of peaceful travelers upon the land.\nNapoleon replied, \"You have seized unsuspecting voyagers upon the sea.\"\nEngland rejoined, \"It is customary to capture every thing we can find,\nupon the ocean, belonging to an enemy, and therefore it is right.\"\nNapoleon answered, \"I will make it customary to do the same thing upon\nthe land, and then that also will be right.\" There the argument ended.\nBut the poor captives were still pining away in the hulks of England,\nor wandering in sorrow around the fortresses of France. Napoleon\nproposed to exchange the travelers he had taken upon the land for the\nvoyagers the English had taken upon the sea; but the cabinet of St.\nJames, asserting that such an exchange would sanction the validity of\ntheir capture, refused the humane proposal, and heartlessly left the\ncaptives of the two nations to their terrible fate. Napoleon assured\nthe detained of his sympathy, but informed them that their destiny was\nentirely in the hands of their own government, and to that alone they\nmust appeal.\n\nSuch is war, even when conducted by two nations as enlightened\nand humane as England and France. Such is that horrible system of\nretaliation which war necessarily engenders. This system of reprisals,\nvisiting upon the innocent the crimes of the guilty, is the fruit\nwhich ever ripens when war buds and blossoms. Napoleon had received\na terrific blow. With instinctive and stupendous power he returned\nit. Both nations were now exasperated to the highest degree. The\nmost extraordinary vigor was infused into the deadly strife. The\npower and the genius of France were concentrated in the ruler whom\nthe almost unanimous voice of France had elevated to the supreme\npower. Consequently, the war assumed the aspect of an assault upon an\nindividual man. France was quite unprepared for this sudden resumption\nof hostilities. Napoleon had needed all the resources of the state for\nhis great works of internal improvement. Large numbers of troops had\nbeen disbanded, and the army was on a peace establishment.\n\n[Illustration: ARREST OF CADOUDAL.]\n\nAll France was however roused by the sleepless energy of Napoleon.\nThe Electorate of Hanover was one of the European possessions of the\nKing of England. Ten days had not elapsed, after the first broadside\nfrom the British ships had been heard, ere a French army of twenty\nthousand men invaded Hanover, captured its army of 16,000 troops,\nwith 400 pieces of cannon, 30,000 muskets, and 3500 superb horses,\nand took entire possession of the province. The King of England was\ndeeply agitated when he received the tidings of this sudden loss of his\npatrimonial dominions.\n\nThe First Consul immediately sent new offers of peace to England,\nstating that in the conquest of Hanover, \"he had only in view to obtain\npledges for the evacuation of Malta, and to secure the execution of\nthe treaty of Amiens.\" The British minister coldly replied that his\nsovereign would appeal for aid to the German empire. \"If a general\npeace is ever concluded,\" said Napoleon often, \"then only shall I\nbe able to show myself such as I am, and become the moderator of\nEurope. France is enabled, by her high civilization, and the absence\nof all aristocracy, to moderate the extreme demands of the two\nprinciples which divide the world, by placing herself between them;\nthus preventing a general conflagration, of which none of us can see\nthe end, or guess the issue. For this I want ten years of peace,\nand the English oligarchy will not allow it.\" Napoleon was forced\ninto war by the English. The allied monarchs of Europe were roused\nto combine against him. This compelled France to become a camp, and\nforced Napoleon to assume the dictatorship. The width of the Atlantic\nocean alone has saved the United States from the assaults of a similar\ncombination.\n\nIt had ever been one of Napoleon's favorite projects to multiply\ncolonies, that he might promote the maritime prosperity of France.\nWith this object in view, he had purchased Louisiana of Spain. It\nwas his intention to cherish, with the utmost care, upon the fertile\nbanks of the Mississippi, a French colony. This territory, so valuable\nto France, was now at the mercy of England, and would be immediately\ncaptured. Without loss of time, Napoleon sold it to the United States.\nIt was a severe sacrifice for him to make, but cruel necessity demanded\nit.\n\nThe French were every where exposed to the ravages of the British navy.\nBlow after blow fell upon France with fearful vigor, as her cities\nwere bombarded, her colonies captured, and her commerce annihilated.\nThe superiority of the English, upon the sea, was so decisive, that\nwherever the British flag appeared victory was almost invariably her\nown. But England was inapproachable. Guarded by her navy, she reposed\nin her beautiful island in peace, while she rained down destruction\nupon her foes in all quarters of the globe. \"It is an awful temerity,\nmy lord,\" said Napoleon to the British embassador, \"to attempt the\ninvasion of England.\" But desperate as Napoleon acknowledged the\nundertaking to be, there was nothing else which he could even attempt.\nAnd he embarked in this enterprise with energy so extraordinary, with\nforesight so penetrating, with sagacity so conspicuous, that the world\nlooked upon his majestic movements with amazement, and all England was\naroused to a sense of fearful peril. The most gigantic preparations\nwere immediately made upon the shores of the channel for the invasion\nof England. An army of three hundred thousand men, as by magic,\nsprung into being. All France was aroused to activity. Two thousand\ngun-boats were speedily built and collected at Boulogne, to convey\nacross the narrow strait a hundred and fifty thousand troops, ten\nthousand horses, and four thousand pieces of cannon. All the foundries\nof France were in full blast, constructing mortars, howitzers, and\nartillery, of the largest calibre. Every province of the republic was\naroused and inspirited by the almost superhuman energies of the mind\nof the First Consul. He attended to the minutest particulars of all\nthe arrangements. While believing that destiny controls all things,\nhe seemed to leave nothing for destiny to control. Every possible\ncontingency was foreseen, and guarded against. The national enthusiasm\nwas so great, the conviction was so unanimous that there remained for\nFrance no alternative but, by force, to repel aggression, that Napoleon\nproudly formed a legion of the Vendean royalists, all composed, both\nofficers and soldiers, of those who, but a few months before, had\nbeen fighting against the republic. It was a sublime assertion of his\nconfidence in the attachment of United France. To meet the enormous\nexpenses which this new war involved, it was necessary to impose a\nheavy tax upon the people. This was not only borne cheerfully, but,\nfrom all parts of the republic, rich presents flowed into the treasury,\ntokens of the affection of France for the First Consul, and of the\ndeep conviction of the community of the righteousness of the cause in\nwhich they were engaged. One of the departments of the state built and\nequipped a frigate, and sent it to Boulogne as a free-gift. The impulse\nwas electric. All over France the whole people rose, and vied with each\nother in their offerings of good-will. Small towns gave flat-bottomed\nboats, larger towns, frigates, and the more important cities,\nships-of-the-line. Paris gave a ship of 120 guns, Lyons one of 100,\nBordeaux an 84, and Marseilles a 74. Even the Italian Republic, as a\ntoken of its gratitude, sent one million of dollars to build two ships:\none to be called the President, and the other the Italian Republic.\nAll the mercantile houses and public bodies made liberal presents. The\nSenate gave for its donation a ship of 120 guns. These free-gifts\namounted to over ten millions of dollars. Napoleon established himself\nat Boulogne, where he spent much of his time, carefully studying\nthe features of the coast, the varying phenomena of the sea, and\norganizing, in all its parts, the desperate enterprise he contemplated.\nThe most rigid economy, by Napoleon's sleepless vigilance, was infused\ninto every contract, and the strictest order pervaded the national\nfinances. It was impossible that strife so deadly should rage between\nEngland and France, and not involve the rest of the continent. Under\nthese circumstances Alexander of Russia, entered a remonstrance against\nagain enkindling the horrid flames of war throughout Europe, and\noffered his mediation. Napoleon promptly replied: \"I am ready to refer\nthe question to the arbitration of the Emperor Alexander, and will\npledge myself by a bond, to submit to the award, whatever it may be.\"\nEngland declined the pacific offer. The _Cabinet_ of Russia then made\nsome proposals for the termination of hostilities. Napoleon replied: \"I\nam still ready to accept the personal arbitration of the Czar himself;\nfor that monarch's regard to his reputation will render him just. But\nI am not willing to submit to a negotiation conducted by the Russian\nCabinet, in a manner not at all friendly to France.\" He concluded with\nthe following characteristic words: \"The First Consul has done every\nthing to preserve peace. His efforts have been vain. He could not\nrefrain from seeing that war was the decree of destiny. He will make\nwar; and he will not flinch before a proud nation, capable for twenty\nyears of making all the powers of the earth bow before it.\"\n\nNapoleon now resolved to visit Belgium and the departments of the\nRhine. Josephine accompanied him. He was hailed with transport wherever\nhe appeared, and royal honors were showered upon him. Every where his\npresence drew forth manifestations of attachment to his person, hatred\nfor the English, and zeal to combat the determined foes of France. But\nwherever Napoleon went, his scrutinizing attention was directed to the\ndock-yards, the magazines, the supplies, and the various resources and\ncapabilities of the country. Every hour was an hour of toil--for toil\nseemed to be his only pleasure. From this brief tour Napoleon returned\nto Boulogne.\n\nThe Straits of Calais, which Napoleon contemplated crossing,\nnotwithstanding the immense preponderance of the British navy\nfilling the channel, is about thirty miles in width. There were four\ncontingencies which seemed to render the project not impossible. In\nsummer, there are frequent calms, in the channel, of forty-eight\nhours' duration. During this calm, the English ships-of-the-line\nwould be compelled to lie motionless. The flat-bottomed boats of\nNapoleon, impelled by strong rowers might then pass even in sight of\nthe enemy's squadron. In the winter, there were frequently dense fogs,\nunaccompanied by any wind. Favored by the obscurity and the calm, a\npassage might then be practicable. There was still a third chance\nmore favorable than either. There were not unfrequently tempests, so\nviolent, that the English squadron would be compelled to leave the\nchannel, and stand out to sea. Seizing the moment when the tempest\nsubsided, the French flotilla might perhaps cross the Straits before\nthe squadron could return. A fourth chance offered. It was, by skillful\ncombinations to concentrate suddenly in the channel a strong French\nsquadron, and to push the flotilla across under the protection of its\nguns. For three years, Napoleon consecrated his untiring energies to\nthe perfection of all the mechanism of this Herculean enterprise. Yet\nno one was more fully alive than himself to the tremendous hazards to\nbe encountered. It is impossible now to tell what would have been the\nresult of a conflict between the English squadron and those innumerable\ngun-boats, manned by one hundred and fifty thousand men, surrounding\nin swarms every ship-of-the-line, piercing them in every direction\nwith their guns, and sweeping their decks with a perfect hail-storm\nof bullets, while, in their turn, they were run down by the large\nships, dashing, in full sail, through their midst, sinking some in\ntheir crushing onset, and blowing others out of the water with their\ntremendous broadsides. Said Admiral Decris, a man disposed to magnify\ndifficulties, \"by sacrificing 100 gun-boats, and 10,000 men, it is not\nimprobable that we may repel the assault of the enemy's squadron, and\ncross the Straits.\" \"One loses,\" said Napoleon, \"that number in battle\nevery day. And what battle ever promised the results which a landing in\nEngland authorizes us to hope for!\"\n\n[Illustration: ARREST OF THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN.]\n\nThe amount of business now resting upon the mind of Napoleon, seems\nincredible. He was personally attending to all the complicated\ndiplomacy of Europe. Spain was professing friendship and alliance, and\nyet treacherously engaged in acts of hostility. Charles III., perhaps\nthe most contemptible monarch who ever wore a crown, was then upon the\nthrone of Spain. His wife was a shameless libertine. Her paramour,\nGodoy, called the Prince of Peace, a weak-minded, conceited, worn-out\ndebauchee, governed the degraded empire. Napoleon remonstrated against\nthe perfidy of Spain, and the wrongs France was receiving at her hands.\nThe miserable Godoy returned an answer, mean-spirited, hypocritical,\nand sycophantic. Napoleon sternly shook his head, and ominously\nexclaimed, \"All this will yet end in a clap of thunder.\"\n\nIn the midst of these scenes, Napoleon was continually displaying\nthose generous and magnanimous traits of character which were the\nenthusiastic love of all who knew him. On one occasion, a young English\nsailor had escaped from imprisonment in the interior of France, and\nhad succeeded in reaching the coast near Boulogne. Secretly he had\nconstructed a little skiff of the branches and the bark of trees, as\nfragile as the ark of bullrushes. Upon this frail float, which would\nscarcely buoy up his body, he was about to venture out upon the stormy\nchannel, with the chance of being picked up by some English cruiser.\nNapoleon, informed of the desperate project of the young man who was\narrested in the attempt, was struck with admiration in view of the\nfearless enterprise, and ordered the prisoner to be brought before him.\n\n\"Did you really intend,\" inquired Napoleon, \"to brave the terrors of\nthe ocean in so frail a skiff?\"\n\n\"If you will but grant me permission,\" said the young man, \"I will\nembark immediately.\"\n\n\"You must, doubtless, then, have some mistress to revisit, since you\nare so desirous to return to your country?\"\n\n\"I wish,\" replied the noble sailor, \"to see my mother. She is aged,\npoor, and infirm.\"\n\nThe heart of Napoleon was touched. \"You shall see her,\" he\nenergetically replied; \"and present to her from me this purse of gold.\nShe must be no common mother, who can have trained up so affectionate\nand dutiful a son.\"\n\nHe immediately gave orders that the young sailor should be furnished\nwith every comfort, and sent in a cruiser, with a flag of truce, to the\nfirst British vessel which could be found. When one thinks of the moral\nsublimity of the meeting of the English and French ships under these\ncircumstances, with the white flag of humanity and peace fluttering in\nthe breeze, one can not but mourn with more intensity over the horrid\nbarbarity and brutality of savage war. Perhaps in the next interview\nbetween these two ships, they fought for hours, hurling bullets and\nballs through the quivering nerves and lacerated sinews, and mangled\nframes of brothers, husbands, and fathers.\n\nNapoleon's labors at this time in the cabinet were so enormous,\ndictating to his agents in all parts of France, and to his embassadors,\nall over Europe, that he kept three secretaries constantly employed.\nOne of these young men, who was lodged and boarded in the palace,\nreceived a salary of 1200 dollars a year. Unfortunately, however,\nhe had become deeply involved in debt, and was incessantly harassed\nby the importunities of his creditors. Knowing Napoleon's strong\ndisapprobation of all irregularities, he feared utter ruin should the\nknowledge of the facts reach his ears. One morning, after having passed\na sleepless night, he rose at the early hour of five, and sought refuge\nfrom his distraction in commencing work in the cabinet. But Napoleon,\nwho had already been at work for some time, in passing the door of the\ncabinet to go to his bath, heard the young man humming a tune.\n\nOpening the door, he looked in upon his young secretary, and said, with\na smile of satisfaction, \"What! so early at your desk! Why, this is\nvery exemplary. We ought to be well satisfied with such service. What\nsalary have you?\"\n\n\"Twelve hundred dollars, sire,\" was the reply.\n\n\"Indeed,\" said Napoleon, \"that for one of your age is very handsome.\nAnd, in addition, I think you have your board and lodging?\"\n\n\"I have, sire?\"\n\n\"Well, I do not wonder that you sing. You must be a very happy man.\"\n\n\"Alas, sire,\" he replied, \"I ought to be, but I am not.\"\n\n\"And why not?\"\n\n\"Because, sire,\" he replied, \"I have too many _English_ tormenting me.\nI have also an aged father, who is almost blind, and a sister who is\nnot yet married, dependent upon me for support.\"\n\n\"But, sir,\" Napoleon rejoined, \"in supporting your father and your\nsister, you do only that which every good son should do. But what have\nyou to do with the _English_?\"\n\n\"They are those,\" the young man answered, \"who have loaned me money,\nwhich I am not able to repay. All those who are in debt call their\ncreditors the _English_.\"\n\n\"Enough! enough! I understand you. You are in debt then. And how is it\nthat with such a salary, you run into debt? I wish to have no man about\nmy person who has recourse to the gold of the _English_. From this hour\nyou will receive your dismission. Adieu, sir!\" Saying this, Napoleon\nleft the room, and returned to his chamber. The young man was stupefied\nwith despair.\n\nBut a few moments elapsed when an aid entered and gave him a note,\nsaying, \"It is from Napoleon.\" Trembling with agitation, and not\ndoubting that it confirmed his dismissal, he opened it and read:\n\n\"I have wished to dismiss you from my cabinet, for you deserve it;\nbut I have thought of your aged and blind father, and of your young\nsister; and, for their sake, I pardon you. And, since they are the ones\nwho must most suffer from your misconduct, I send you, with leave of\nabsence for one day only, the sum of two thousand dollars. With this\nsum disembarrass yourself immediately of all the _English_ who trouble\nyou. And hereafter conduct yourself in such a manner as not to fall\ninto their power. Should you fail in this, I shall give you leave of\nabsence, without permission to return.\"\n\nUpon the bleak cliff of Boulogne, swept by the storm and the rain,\nNapoleon had a little hut erected for himself. Often, leaving the\npalace of St. Cloud by night, after having spent a toilsome day in the\ncares of state, he passed, with almost the rapidity of the wind, over\nthe intervening space of 180 miles. Arriving about the middle of the\nnext day, apparently unconscious of fatigue, he examined every thing\nbefore he allowed himself a moment of sleep. The English exerted all\ntheir energies to impede the progress of the majestic enterprise. Their\ncruisers incessantly hovering around, kept up an almost uninterrupted\nfire upon the works. Their shells, passing over the cliff, exploded\nin the harbor and in the crowded camps. The laborers, inspired by the\npresence of Napoleon, continued proudly their toil, singing as they\nworked, while the balls of the English were flying around them. For\ntheir protection, Napoleon finally constructed large batteries, which\nwould throw twenty-four pound shot three miles, and thus kept the\nEnglish ships at that distance. It would, however, require a volume to\ndescribe the magnitude of the works constructed at Boulogne. Napoleon\nwas indefatigable in his exertions to promote the health and the\ncomfort of the soldiers. They were all well paid, warmly clothed, fed\nwith an abundance of nutritious food, and their camp, divided into\nquarters traversed by long streets, presented the cheerful aspect of\na neat, thriving, well ordered city. The soldiers, thus protected,\nenjoyed perfect health, and, full of confidence in the enterprise for\nwhich they were preparing, hailed their beloved leader with the most\nenthusiastic acclamations, whenever he appeared.\n\n[Illustration: NAPOLEON'S HUT AT BOULOGNE.]\n\nSpacious as were the quays erected at Boulogne, it was not possible to\nrange all the vessels alongside. They were consequently ranged nine\ndeep, the first only touching the quays. A horse, with a band passing\nround him, was raised, by means of a yard, transmitted nine times\nfrom yard to yard, as he was borne aloft in the air, and in about two\nminutes was deposited in the ninth vessel. By constant repetition,\nthe embarkation and disembarkation was accomplished with almost\ninconceivable promptness and precision. In all weather, in summer and\nwinter, unless it blew a gale, the boats went out to manoeuvre in the\npresence of the enemy. The exercise of landing from the boats along\nthe cliff was almost daily performed. The men first swept the shore\nby a steady fire of artillery from the boats, and then, approaching\nthe beach, landed men, horses, and cannon. There was not an accident\nwhich could happen in landing on an enemies' coast, except the fire\nfrom hostile batteries, which was not thus provided against, and often\nbraved. In all these exciting scenes, the First Consul was every where\npresent. The soldiers saw him now on horseback upon the cliff, gazing\nproudly upon their heroic exertions; again he was galloping over the\nhard smooth sands of the beach, and again on board of one of the\ngun-boats going out to try her powers in a skirmish with one of the\nBritish cruisers. Frequently he persisted in braving serious danger,\nand at one time, when visiting the anchorage in a violent gale, the\nboat was swamped near the shore. The sailors threw themselves into\nthe sea, and bore him safely through the billows to the land. It is\nnot strange that those who have seen the kings of France squandering\nthe revenues of the realm to minister to their own voluptuousness and\ndebauchery, should have regarded Napoleon as belonging to a different\nrace. One day, when the atmosphere was peculiarly clear, Napoleon, upon\nthe cliffs of Boulogne, saw dimly, in the distant horizon, the outline\nof the English shore. Roused by the sight, he wrote thus to Camb\u00e8ceres:\n\"From the heights of Ambleteuse, I have seen this day the coast of\nEngland, as one sees the heights of Calvary from the Tuileries. We\ncould distinguish the houses and the bustle. It is a ditch that shall\nbe leaped when one is daring enough to try.\"\n\nNapoleon, though one of the most bold of men in his conceptions,\nwas also the most cautious and prudent in their execution. He had\nmade, in his own mind, arrangements, unrevealed to any one, suddenly\nto concentrate in the channel the whole French squadron, which, in\nthe harbors of Toulon, Ferrol, and La Rochelle, had been thoroughly\nequipped, to act in unexpected concert with the vast flotilla. \"Eight\nhours of night,\" said he, \"favorable for us, will now decide the fate\nof the world.\"\n\nEngland, surprised at the magnitude of these preparations, began to\nbe seriously alarmed. She had imagined her ocean-engirdled isle to be\nin a state of perfect security. Now she learned that within thirty\nmiles of her coast an army of 150,000 most highly-disciplined troops\nwas assembled, that more than two thousand gun-boats were prepared to\ntransport this host, with ten thousand horses, and four thousand pieces\nof cannon, across the channel, and that Napoleon, who had already\nproved himself to be the greatest military genius of any age, was to\nhead this army on its march to London. The idea of 150,000 men, led by\nBonaparte, was enough to make even the most powerful nation shudder.\nThe British naval officers almost unanimously expressed the opinion,\nthat it was impossible to be secure against a descent on the English\ncoast by the French, under favor of a fog, a calm, or a long winter's\nnight. The debates in Parliament as to the means of resisting the\ndanger, were anxious and stormy. A vote was passed authorizing the\nministers to summon all Englishmen, between the ages of 17 and 55, to\narms. In every country town the whole male population were seen every\nmorning exercising for war. The aged King George III. reviewed these\nraw troops, accompanied by the excited Bourbon princes, who wished to\nrecover by the force of the arms of foreigners, that throne from which\nthey had been ejected by the will of the people. From the Isle of Wight\nto the mouth of the Thames, a system of signals was arranged to give\nthe alarm. Beacon fires were to blaze at night upon every headland,\nupon the slightest intimation of danger. Carriages were constructed\nfor the rapid conveyance of troops to any threatened point. Mothers\nand maidens, in beautiful happy England, placed their heads upon their\npillows in terror, for the blood-hounds of war were unleashed, and\nEngland had unleashed them. She suffered bitterly for the crime. She\nsuffers still in that enormous burden of taxes which the ensuing years\nof war and woe have bequeathed to her children.\n\nThe infamous George Cadoudal, already implicated in the infernal\nmachine, was still in London, living with other French refugees, in a\nstate of opulence, from the money furnished by the British government.\nThe Count d'Artois, subsequently Charles X., and his son, the Duke de\nBerri, with other persons prominent in the Bourbon interests, were\nassociated with this brawny assassin in the attempts, by any means,\nfair or foul, to crush Napoleon. The English government supplied\nthem liberally with money; asking no questions, for conscience sake,\nrespecting the manner in which they would employ it. Innumerable\nconspiracies were formed for the assassination of Napoleon, more\nthan thirty of which were detected by the police. Napoleon at last\nbecame exceedingly exasperated. He felt that England was ignominiously\nsupplying those with funds whom she knew to be aiming at his\nassassination. He was indignant that the Bourbon princes should assume,\nthat he, elected to the chief magistracy of France by the unanimous\nvoice of the nation, was to be treated as a dog--to be shot in a ditch.\n\"If this game is continued,\" said he, one day, \"I will teach those\nBourbons a lesson which they will not soon forget.\"\n\nA conspiracy was now organized in London, by Count d'Artois and\nothers of the French emigrants, upon a gigantic scale. Count de\nLisle, afterward Louis XVIII., was then residing at Warsaw. The\nplot was communicated to him; but he repulsed it. The plan involved\nthe expenditure of millions, which were furnished by the British\ngovernment. Mr. Hammond, under secretary of state at London, and the\nEnglish ministers at Hesse, at Stuttgard, and at Bavaria, all upon the\nconfines of France, were in intimate communication with the disaffected\nin France, endeavoring to excite civil war. Three prominent French\nemigrants, the Princes of Cond\u00e9, grandfather, son, and grandson, were\nthen in the service and pay of Great Britain, with arms in their hands\nagainst their country, and ready to obey any call for active service.\nThe grandson, the Duke d'Enghien, was in the duchy of Baden, awaiting\non the banks of the Rhine, the signal for his march into France; and\nattracted to the village of Ettenheim, by his attachment for a young\nlady there, a Princess de Rohan. The plan of the conspirators was this:\nA band of a hundred resolute men, headed by the daring and indomitable\nGeorge Cadoudal, were to be introduced stealthily into France to waylay\nNapoleon when passing to Malmaison, disperse his guard, consisting\nof some ten outriders, and kill him upon the spot. The conspirators\nflattered themselves that this would not be considered assassination,\nbut a battle. Having thus disposed of the First Consul, the next\nquestion was, how, in the midst of the confusion that would ensue, to\nregain for the Bourbons and their partisans their lost power. To do\nthis, it was necessary to secure the co-operation of the army.\n\nIn nothing is the infirmity of our nature more conspicuous, than in\nthe petty jealousies which so often rankle in the bosoms of great men.\nGeneral Moreau had looked with an envious eye upon the gigantic strides\nof General Bonaparte to power. His wife, a weak, vain, envious woman,\ncould not endure the thought that General Moreau should be only the\nsecond man in the empire; and she exerted all her influence over her\nvacillating and unstable husband, to convince him that the conqueror of\nHohenlinden was entitled to the highest gifts France had to confer. One\nday, by accident, she was detained a few moments in the ante-chamber of\nJosephine. Her indignation was extreme. General Moreau was in a mood of\nmind to yield to the influence of these reproaches. As an indication of\nhis displeasure, he allowed himself to repel the favors which the First\nConsul showered upon him. He at last was guilty of the impropriety of\nrefusing to attend the First Consul at a review. In consequence, he\nwas omitted in an invitation to a banquet, which Napoleon gave on the\nanniversary of the republic. Thus coldness increased to hostility.\nMoreau, with bitter feelings, withdrew to his estate at Grosbois,\nwhere, in the enjoyment of opulence, he watched with an evil eye, the\nmovements of one whom he had the vanity to think his rival.\n\nUnder these circumstances, it was not thought difficult to win\nover Moreau, and through him the army. Then, at the very moment\nwhen Napoleon had been butchered on his drive to Malmaison, the\nloyalists all over France were to rise; the emigrant Bourbons, with\narms and money, supplied by England, in their hands, were to rush\nover the frontier; the British navy and army were to be ready with\ntheir powerful co-operation; and the Bourbon dynasty was to be\nre-established. Such was this famous conspiracy of the Bourbons.\n\n[Illustration: EXECUTION OF THE DUKE D'ENGHIEN.]\n\nBut in this plan there was a serious difficulty. Moreau prided himself\nupon being a very decided republican; and had denounced even the\nconsulate for life, as tending to the establishment of royalty. Still\nit was hoped that the jealousy of his disposition would induce him\nto engage in any plot for the overthrow of the First Consul. General\nPichegru, a man illustrious in rank and talent, a warm advocate of the\nBourbons, and alike influential with monarchists and republicans, had\nescaped from the wilds of Sinamary, where he had been banished by the\nDirectory, and was then residing in London. Pichegru was drawn into\nthe conspiracy, and employed to confer with Moreau. Matters being thus\narranged, Cadoudal, with a band of bold and desperate men, armed to\nthe teeth, and with an ample supply of funds, which had been obtained\nfrom the English treasury, set out from London for Paris. Upon the\ncoast of Normandy, upon the side of a precipitous craggy cliff, ever\nwashed by the ocean, there was a secret passage formed, by a cleft in\nthe rock, known only to smugglers. Through the cleft, two or three\nhundred feet in depth, a rope-ladder could be let down to the surface\nof the sea. The smugglers thus scaled the precipice, bearing heavy\nburdens upon their shoulders. Cadoudal had found out this path, and\neasily purchased its use. To facilitate communication with Paris, a\nchain of lodging-places had been established, in solitary farm-houses,\nand in the castles of loyalist nobles; so that the conspirators\ncould pass from the cliff of Biville to Paris without exposure to\nthe public roads, or to any inn. Captain Wright, an officer in the\nEnglish navy, a bold and skillful seaman, took the conspirators on\nboard his vessel, and secretly landed them at the foot of this cliff.\nCautiously, Cadoudal, with some of his trusty followers, crept along,\nfrom shelter to shelter, until he reached the suburbs of Paris. From\nhis lurking place he dispatched emissaries, bought by his abundance\nof gold, to different parts of France, to prepare the royalists to\nrise. Much to his disappointment, he found Napoleon almost universally\npopular, and the loyalists themselves settling down in contentment\nunder his efficient government. Even the priests were attached to\nthe First Consul, for he had rescued them from the most unrelenting\npersecution. In the course of two months of incessant exertions,\nCadoudal was able to collect but about thirty men, who, by liberal\npay, were willing to run the risk of trying to restore the Bourbons.\nWhile Cadoudal was thus employed with the royalists, Pichegru and his\nagents were sounding Moreau and the republicans. General Lajolais, a\nformer officer of Moreau, was easily gained over. He drew from Moreau\na confession of his wounded feelings, and of his desire to see the\nconsular government overthrown in almost any way. Lajolais did not\nreveal to the illustrious general the details of the conspiracy, but\nhastening to London, by the circuitous route of Hamburg, to avoid\ndetection, told his credulous employers that Moreau was ready to take\nany part in the enterprise. At the conferences now held in London, by\nthis band of conspirators, plotting assassination, the Count d'Artois\nhad the criminal folly to preside--the future monarch of France guiding\nthe deliberations of a band of assassins. When Lajolais reported that\nMoreau was ready to join Pichegru the moment he should appear, Charles,\nthen Count d'Artois, exclaimed with delight, \"Ah! let but our two\ngenerals agree together, and I shall speedily be restored to France!\"\nIt was arranged that Pichegru, Rivi\u00e8re, and one of the Polignacs, with\nothers of the conspirators, should immediately join George Cadoudal,\nand, as soon as every thing was ripe, Charles and his son, the Duke of\nBerri, were to land in France, and take their share in the infamous\nproject. Pichegru and his party embarked on board the vessel of Captain\nWright, and were landed, in the darkness of the night, beneath the\ncliff of Biville. These illustrious assassins climbed the smugglers'\nrope, and skulking from lurking-place to lurking-place, joined the\ndesperado, George Cadoudal, in the suburbs of Paris. Moreau made\nan appointment to meet Pichegru by night upon the boulevard de la\nMadelaine.\n\nIt was a dark and cold night, in the month of January, 1804, when these\ntwo illustrious generals, the conqueror of Holland and the hero of\nHohenlinden, approached, and, by a preconcerted signal, recognized\neach other. Years had elapsed since they had stood side by side as\nsoldiers in the army of the Rhine. Both were embarrassed, for neither\nof these once honorable men was accustomed to deeds of darkness. They\nhad hardly exchanged salutations, when George Cadoudal appeared, he\nhaving planned the meeting, and being determined to know its result.\nMoreau, disgusted with the idea of having any association with such a\nman, was angry in being subjected to such an interview; and appointing\nanother meeting with Pichegru at his own house, abruptly retired. They\nsoon met, and had a long and serious conference. Moreau was perfectly\nwilling to conspire for the overthrow of the consular government, but\ninsisted that the supreme power should be placed in his own hands, and\nnot in the hands of the Bourbons. Pichegru was grievously disappointed\nat the result of this interview. He remarked to the confidant who\nconducted him to Moreau's house, and thence back to his retreat, \"And\nthis man too has ambition, and wishes to take his turn in governing\nFrance. Poor creature! he could not govern her for four-and-twenty\nhours.\" When Cadoudal was informed of the result of the interview, he\nimpetuously exclaimed, \"If we must needs have any usurper, I should\ninfinitely prefer Napoleon to this brainless and heartless Moreau!\"\nThe conspirators were now almost in a state of despair. They found, to\ntheir surprise, in entire contradiction to the views which had been\nso confidently proclaimed in England, that Napoleon was admired and\nbeloved by nearly all the French nation; and that it was impossible to\norganize even a respectable party in opposition to him.\n\n[Illustration: MADAME POLIGNAC INTERCEDING FOR HER HUSBAND.]\n\nVarious circumstances now led the First Consul to suspect that some\nserious plot was in progress. The three English ministers at Hesse,\nWirtemberg, and Bavaria, were found actively employed in endeavoring\nto foment intrigues in France. The minister at Bavaria, Mr. Drake,\nhad, as he supposed, bribed a Frenchman to act as his spy. This\nFrenchman carried all Drake's letters to Napoleon, and received from\nthe First Consul drafts of the answers to be returned. In this curious\ncorrespondence Drake remarks in one of his letters, \"_All plots against\nthe First Consul must be forwarded; for it is a matter of right little\nconsequence by whom the animal be stricken down, provided you are all\nin the hunt_.\" Napoleon caused these letters to be deposited in the\nsenate, and to be exhibited to the diplomatists of all nations, who\nchose to see them. Some spies had also been arrested by the police,\nand condemned to be shot. One, on his way to execution, declared\nthat he had important information to give. He was one of the band of\nGeorge Cadoudal, and confessed the whole plot. Other conspirators were\nsoon arrested. Among them M. Lozier, a man of education and polished\nmanners, declared that Moreau had sent to the royalist conspirators\nin London, one of his officers, offering to head a movement in behalf\nof the Bourbons, and to influence the army to co-operate in that\nmovement. When the conspirators, relying upon this promise, had reached\nParis, he continued, Moreau took a different turn, and demanded that he\nhimself should be made the successor of the First Consul. When first\nintimation of Moreau's guilt was communicated to Napoleon, it was\nwith difficulty that he could credit it. The First Consul immediately\nconvened a secret council of his ministers. They met in the Tuileries\nat night. Moreau was a formidable opponent even for Napoleon to attack.\nHe was enthusiastically admired by the army, and his numerous and\npowerful friends would aver that he was the victim of the jealousy of\nthe French Consul. It was suggested by some of the council that it\nwould be good policy not to touch Moreau. Napoleon remarked, \"they will\nsay that I am afraid of Moreau. That shall not be said. I have been one\nof the most merciful of men; but, if necessary, I will be one of the\nmost terrible. I will strike Moreau as I would strike any one else, as\nhe has entered into a conspiracy, odious alike for its objects and for\nthe connections which it presumes.\" It was decided that Moreau should\nbe immediately arrested. Cambac\u00e8res, a profound lawyer, declared that\nthe ordinary tribunals were not sufficient to meet this case, and urged\nthat Moreau should be tried by a court martial, composed of the most\neminent military officers, a course which would have been in entire\naccordance with existing laws. Napoleon opposed the proposition. \"It\nwould be said,\" he remarked, \"that I had punished Moreau, by causing\nhim, under the form of law, to be condemned by my own partisans.\"\nEarly in the morning, Moreau was arrested and conducted to the Temple.\nExcitement spread rapidly through Paris. The friends of Moreau declared\nthat there was no conspiracy, that neither George Cadoudal nor Pichegru\nwere in France, that the whole story was an entire fabrication to\nenable the First Consul to get rid of a dangerous rival. Napoleon was\nextremely sensitive respecting his reputation. It was the great object\nof his ambition to enthrone himself in the hearts of the French people\nas a great benefactor. He was deeply wounded by these cruel taunts. \"It\nis indeed hard,\" said he, \"to be exposed to plots the most atrocious,\nand then to be accused of being the inventor of those plots; to be\ncharged with jealousy, when the vilest jealousy pursues me; to be\naccused of attempts upon the life of another, when the most desperate\nattacks are aimed at my own.\" All the enthusiasm of his impetuous\nnature was now aroused to drag the whole plot to light in defense of\nhis honor. He was extremely indignant against the royalists. He had\nnot overturned the throne of the Bourbons. He had found it overturned,\nFrance in anarchy, and the royalists in exile and beggary. He had been\nthe generous benefactor of these royalists, and had done every thing in\nhis power to render them service. In defiance of deeply-rooted popular\nprejudices, and in opposition to the remonstrances of his friends, he\nhad recalled the exiled emigrants, restored to them, as far as possible\ntheir confiscated estates, conferred upon them important trusts, and\nhad even lavished upon them so many favors as to have drawn upon\nhimself the accusation of meditating the restoration of the Bourbons.\nIn return for such services they were endeavoring to blow him up with\ninfernal machines, and to butcher him on the highway. As for Moreau, he\nregarded him simply with pity, and wished only to place upon his head\nthe burden of a pardon. The most energetic measures were now adopted\nto search out the conspirators in their lurking places. Every day new\narrests were made. Two of the conspirators made full confessions. They\ndeclared that the highest nobles of the Bourbon Court were involved in\nthe plot, and that a distinguished Bourbon prince was near at hand,\nready to place himself at the head of the royalists as soon as Napoleon\nshould be slain.\n\nThe first Consul, exasperated to the highest degree, exclaimed, \"These\nBourbons fancy that they may shed my blood like that of some wild\nanimal. And yet my blood is quite as precious as theirs. I will repay\nthem the alarm with which they seek to inspire me. I pardon Moreau the\nweakness and the errors to which he is urged by a stupid jealousy. But\nI will pitilessly shoot the very first of these princes who shall fall\ninto my hands. I will teach them with what sort of a man they have to\ndeal.\"\n\nFresh arrests were still daily made, and the confessions of the\nprisoners all established the point that there was a young prince\nwho occasionally appeared in their councils, who was treated with\nthe greatest consideration, and who was to head the movement. Still\nCadoudal, Pichegru, and other prominent leaders of the conspiracy,\neluded detection. As there was ample evidence that these men were\nin Paris, a law was passed by the Legislative Assembly, without\nopposition, that any person who should shelter them should be punished\nby death, and that whosoever should be aware of their hiding-place,\nand yet fail to expose them, should be punished with six years\nimprisonment. A strict guard was also placed, for several days, at the\ngates of Paris, allowing no one to leave, and with orders to shoot\nany person who should attempt to scale the wall. Pichegru, Cadoudal,\nand the other prominent conspirators were now in a state of terrible\nperplexity. They wandered by night from house to house, often paying\none or two thousand dollars for the shelter of a few hours. One evening\nPichegru, in a state of despair, seized a pistol and was about to shoot\nhimself through the head, when he was prevented by a friend. On another\noccasion, with the boldness of desperation, he went to the house of\nM. Marbois, one of the ministers of Napoleon, and implored shelter.\nMarbois, knowing the noble character of the master whom he served, with\ngrief, but without hesitancy, allowed his old companion the temporary\nshelter of his roof, and did not betray him. He subsequently informed\nthe First Consul of what he had done. Napoleon, with characteristic\nmagnanimity, replied to this avowal in a letter expressive of his\nhigh admiration of his generosity, in affording shelter, under such\ncircumstances, to one, who though an outlaw, had been his friend.\n\nAt length Pichegru was betrayed. He was asleep at night. His sword\nand loaded pistols were by his side, ready for desperate defense. The\ngendarmes cautiously entered his room, and sprang upon his bed. He\nwas a powerful man, and he struggled with herculean but unavailing\nefforts. He was, however, speedily overpowered, bound, and conducted\nto the Temple. Soon after, George Cadoudal was arrested. He was in a\ncabriolet. A police officer seized the bridle of the horse. Cadoudal\ndrew a pistol, and shot him dead upon the spot. He then leaped from\nthe cabriolet, and severely wounded another officer who attempted to\nseize him. He made the utmost efforts to escape on foot under cover of\nthe darkness of the night; but, surrounded by the crowd, he was soon\ncaptured. This desperado appeared perfectly calm and self-possessed\nbefore his examiners. There were upon his person a dagger, pistols, and\ntwelve thousand dollars in gold and in bank notes. Boldly he avowed his\nobject of attacking the First Consul, and proudly declared that he was\nacting in co-operation with the Bourbon princes.\n\nThe certainty of the conspiracy was now established, and the senate\ntransmitted a letter of congratulation to the First Consul upon his\nescape. In his reply, Napoleon remarked, \"I have long since renounced\nthe hope of enjoying the pleasures of private life. All my days are\noccupied in fulfilling the duties which my fate and the will of the\nFrench people have imposed upon me. Heaven will watch over France and\ndefeat the plots of the wicked. The citizens may be without alarm;\nmy life will last as long as it will be useful to the nation. But I\nwish the French people to understand, that existence, without their\nconfidence and affection, would afford me no consolation, and would, as\nregards them, have no beneficial objects.\"\n\nNapoleon sincerely pitied Moreau and Pichegru, and wished to save them\nfrom the ignominious death they merited. He sent a messenger to Moreau\nassuring him that a frank confession should secure his pardon and\nrestoration to favor. But it was far more easy for Napoleon to forgive\nthan for the proud Moreau to accept his forgiveness. With profound\nsympathy Napoleon contemplated the position of Pichegru. As he thought\nof this illustrious general, condemned and executed like a felon, he\nexclaimed to M. Real, \"What an end for the conqueror of Holland! But\nthe men of the Revolution must not thus destroy each other. I have\nlong thought about forming a colony at Cayenne. Pichegru was exiled\nthither, and knows the place well; and of all our generals, he is best\ncalculated to form an extensive establishment there. Go and visit him\nin his prison, and tell him that I pardon him; that it is not toward\nhim or Moreau, or men like them that I am inclined to be severe.\nAsk him how many men, and what amount of money he would require for\nfounding a colony in Cayenne, and I will supply him, that he may go\nthither and re-establish his reputation in rendering a great service\nto France.\" Pichegru was so much affected by this magnanimity of the\nman whose death he had been plotting, that he bowed his head and wept\nconvulsively. The illustrious man was conquered.\n\nBut Napoleon was much annoyed in not being able to lay hold upon one of\nthose Bourbon princes who had so long been conspiring against his life,\nand inciting others to perils from which they themselves escaped. One\nmorning in his study he inquired of Talleyrand and Fouch\u00e9 respecting\nthe place of residence of the various members of the Bourbon family. He\nwas told in reply that Louis XVIII. and the Duke d'Angoul\u00e9me lived in\nWarsaw; the Count d'Artois and the Duke de Berri in London, where also\nwere the Princes of Cond\u00e9 with the exception of the Duke d'Enghien, the\nmost enterprising of them all, who lived at Ettenheim near Strasburg.\nIt was in this vicinity that the British ministers Taylor, Smith, and\nDrake had been busying themselves in fomenting intrigues. The idea\ninstantly flashed into the mind of the First Consul that the Duke\nd'Enghien was thus lurking near the frontier of France to take part in\nthe conspiracy. He immediately sent an officer to Ettenheim to make\ninquiries respecting the Prince. The officer returned with the report\nthat the Duke d'Enghien was living there with a Princess of Rohan, to\nwhom he was warmly attached. He was often absent from Ettenheim, and\noccasionally went in disguise to Strasburg. He was in the pay of the\nBritish government, a soldier against his own country, and had received\norders from the British Cabinet to repair to the banks of the Rhine, to\nbe ready to take advantage of any favorable opportunity which might be\npresented to invade France.\n\nOn the very morning in which this report reached Paris, a deposition\nwas presented to Napoleon, made by the servant of George Cadoudal,\nin which he stated that a prince was at the head of the conspiracy,\nthat he believed this Prince to be in France, as he had often seen at\nthe house of Cadoudal a well dressed man, of distinguished manners,\nwhom all seemed to treat with profound respect. This man, thought\nNapoleon, must certainly be the Duke d'Enghien, and his interviews\nwith the conspirators will account for his frequent absence from\nEttenheim. Another very singular circumstance greatly strengthened this\nconclusion. There was a Marquis de _Thumery_ in the suite of the Duke\nd'Enghien. The German officer, who repeated this fact, mispronounced\nthe word so that it sounded like Dumuner, a distinguished advocate\nof the Bourbons. The officer sent by Napoleon to make inquiries,\nconsequently reported that General Dumuner was with the Duke d'Enghien.\nAll was now plain to the excited mind of the First Consul. The Duke\nd'Enghien was in the conspiracy. With General Dumuner and an army of\nemigrants he was to march into France, by Strasburg, as soon as the\ndeath of the First Consul was secured; while the Count d'Artois. aided\nby England, would approach from London.\n\nA council was immediately called, to decide what should be done. The\nministers were divided in opinion. Some urged sending a secret force to\narrest the Duke, with all his papers and accomplices, and bring them\nto Paris. Cambac\u00e8res, apprehensive of the effect that such a violation\nof the German territory might produce in Europe, opposed the measure.\nNapoleon replied to him kindly, but firmly, \"I know your motive for\nspeaking thus--your devotion to me, I thank you for it. But I will not\nallow myself to be put to death without resistance. I will make those\npeople tremble, and teach them to keep quiet for the time to come.\"\n\nOrders were immediately given for three hundred dragoons to repair to\nthe banks of the Rhine, cross the river, dash forward to Ettenheim,\nsurround the town, arrest the Prince and all his retinue, and carry\nthem to Strasburg. As soon as the arrest was made, Colonel Caulaincourt\nwas directed to hasten to the Grand-duke of Baden, with an apology\nfrom the First Consul for violating his territory, stating that the\ngathering of the hostile emigrants so near the frontiers of France,\nauthorized the French government to protect itself, and that the\nnecessity for prompt and immediate action rendered it impossible\nto adopt more tardy measures. The duke of Baden expressed his\nsatisfaction with the apology.\n\nOn the 15th of March, 1804, the detachment of dragoons set out, and\nproceeded with such rapidity as to surround the town before the Duke\ncould receive any notice of their approach. He was arrested in his bed,\nand hurried, but partially clothed, into a carriage, and conveyed with\nthe utmost speed to Strasburg. He was from thence taken to the Castle\nof Vincennes, in the vicinity of Paris. A military commission was\nformed composed of the colonels of the garrison, with General Hullin as\nPresident. The Prince was brought before the Commission. He was calm\nand haughty, for he had no apprehension of the fate which awaited him.\nHe was accused of high treason, in having sought to excite civil war,\nand in bearing arms against France. To arraign him upon this charge\nwas to condemn him, for of this crime he was clearly guilty. Though\nhe denied all knowledge of the plot in question, boldly and rather\ndefiantly he avowed that he had borne arms against France, and that\nhe was on the banks of the Rhine for the purpose of serving against\nher again. \"I esteem,\" said he, \"General Bonaparte as a great man, but\nbeing myself a prince of the house of Bourbon, I have vowed against him\neternal hatred.\" \"A Cond\u00e9,\" he added, \"can never re-enter France but\nwith arms in his hands. My birth, my opinions render me for ever the\nenemy of your government.\" By the laws of the Republic, for a Frenchman\nto serve against France was a capital offense. Napoleon, however,\nwould not have enforced this law in the case of the Duke, had he not\nfully believed that he was implicated in the conspiracy, and that it\nwas necessary, to secure himself from assassination, that he should\nstrike terror into the hearts of the Bourbons. The Prince implored\npermission to see the First Consul. The court refused this request,\nwhich, if granted would undoubtedly have saved his life. Napoleon also\ncommissioned M. Real to proceed to Vincennes, and examine the prisoner.\nHad M. Real arrived in season to see the Duke, he would have made a\nreport of facts which would have rescued the Prince from his tragical\nfate; but, exhausted by the fatigue of several days and nights, he had\nretired to rest, and had given directions to his servants to permit him\nto sleep undisturbed. The order of the First Consul was, consequently,\nnot placed in his hands until five o'clock in the morning. It was then\ntoo late. The court sorrowfully pronounced sentence of death. By torch\nlight the unfortunate Prince was led down the winding staircase, which\nled into a fosse of the chateau. There he saw through the gray mist\nof the morning, a file of soldiers drawn up for his execution. Calmly\nhe cut off a lock of his hair, and, taking his watch from his pocket,\nrequested an officer to solicit _Josephine_ to present those tokens of\nhis love to the Princess de Rohan. Turning to the soldiers he said, \"I\ndie for my King and for France;\" and giving the command to fire, he\nfell, pierced by seven balls.\n\nWhile these scenes were transpiring, Napoleon was in a state of\nintense excitement. He retired to the seclusion of Malmaison, and for\nhours, communing with no one, paced his apartment with a countenance\nexpressive of the most unwavering determination. It is said that\nJosephine pleaded with him for the life of the Prince, and he replied\n\"Josephine, you are a woman, and know not the necessities of political\nlife.\" As pensive and thoughtful he walked his room, he was heard in\nlow tones to repeat to himself the most celebrated verses of the French\npoets upon the subject of clemency. This seemed to indicate that his\nthoughts were turned to the nobleness of pardon. He however remained\nunrelenting. He was deeply indignant that the monarchs of Europe\nshould assume that he was an upstart, whom any one might shoot in the\nstreet. He resolved to strike a blow which should send consternation\nto the hearts of his enemies, a blow so sudden, so energetic, so\nterrible as to teach them that he would pay as little regard for\ntheir blood, as they manifested for his. The object at which he aimed\nwas fully accomplished. Says Thiers \"It is not much to the credit\nof human nature to be obliged to confess, that the terror inspired\nby the First Consul acted effectually upon the Bourbon Princes and\nthe emigrants. They no longer felt themselves secure, now that even\nthe German territory had proved no safeguard to the unfortunate Duke\nd'Enghien; and thenceforth conspiracies of that kind ceased.\" There are\nmany indications that Napoleon subsequently deplored the tragical fate\nof the Prince. It subsequently appeared that the mysterious stranger\nto whom the prisoners so often alluded, was Pichegru. When this fact\nwas communicated to Napoleon, he was deeply moved and musing long and\npainfully, gave utterance to an exclamation of grief, that he had\nconsented to the seizure of the unhappy Prince.\n\nHe, however, took the whole responsibility of his execution upon\nhimself. In his testament at St. Helena, he wrote, \"I arrested the\nDuke d'Enghien because that measure was necessary to the security,\nthe interest, and the honor of the French people, when the Count\nd'Artois maintained, on his own admission, sixty assassins. In similar\ncircumstances I would do the same.\" The spirit is saddened in recording\nthese terrible deeds of violence and of blood. It was a period of\nanarchy, of revolution, of conspiracies, of war. Fleets were bombarding\ncities, and tens of thousands were falling in a day upon a single\nfield of battle. Human life was considered of but little value. Bloody\nretaliations and reprisals were sanctified by the laws of contending\nnations. Surrounded by those influences, nurtured from infancy in the\nminds of them, provoked beyond endurance by the aristocratic arrogance\nwhich regarded the elected sovereign of France as an usurper beyond\nthe pale of law, it is only surprising that Napoleon could have passed\nthrough a career so wonderful and so full of temptations, with a\ncharacter so seldom sullied by blemishes of despotic injustice.\n\nThis execution of a prince of the blood royal sent a thrill of\nindignation through all the courts of Europe. The French embassadors\nwere treated in many instances with coldness amounting to insult.\nThe Emperor Alexander sent a remonstrance to the First Consul. He\nthus provoked a terrible reply from the man who could hurl a sentence\nlike a bomb-shell. The young monarch of Russia was seated upon the\nblood-stained throne, from which the daggers of assassins had removed\nhis father. And yet, not one of these assassins had been punished.\nWith crushing irony, Napoleon remarked, \"France has acted, as Russia\nunder similar circumstances would have done; for had she been informed\nthat the assassins of Paul were assembled at a day's march from her\nfrontier, would she not, at all hazards, have seized upon them there?\"\nThis was not one of these soft answers which turn away wrath. It stung\nAlexander to the quick.\n\nAbsorbed by these cares, Napoleon had but little time to think of\nthe imprisoned conspirators awaiting their trial. Pichegru, hearing\nno further mention of the First Consul's proposal, and informed of\nthe execution of the Duke d'Enghien, gave himself up for lost. His\nproud spirit could not endure the thought of a public trial and an\nignominious punishment. One night, after having read a treatise of\nSeneca upon suicide, he laid aside his book, and by means of his\nsilk-cravat, and a wooden-peg, which he used as a tourniquet, he\nstrangled himself. His keepers found him in the morning dead upon his\nbed.\n\nThe trial of the other conspirators soon came on. Moreau, respecting\nwhom great interest was excited, as one of the most illustrious of the\nRepublican generals, was sentenced to two years imprisonment. Napoleon\nimmediately pardoned him, and granted him permission to retire to\nAmerica. As that unfortunate general wished to dispose of his estate,\nNapoleon gave orders for it to be purchased at the highest price. He\nalso paid the expenses of his journey to Barcelona, preparatory to his\nembarkation for the new world. George Cadoudal, Polignac, Revi\u00e8re, and\nseveral others, were condemned to death. There was something in the\nfirm and determined energy of Cadoudal which singularly interested the\nmind of the First Consul. He wished to save him. \"There is one man,\"\nsaid Napoleon, \"among the conspirators whom I regret--that is George\nCadoudal. His mind is of the right stamp. In my hands, he would have\ndone great things. I appreciate all the firmness of his character, and\nI would have given it a right direction. I made Real say to him, that\nif he would attach himself to me, I would not only pardon him, but\nwould give him a regiment. What do I say? I would have made him one of\nmy aides-de-camp. Such a step would have excited a great clamor; but I\nshould not have cared for it. Cadoudal refused every thing. He is a bar\nof iron. What can I now do? He must undergo his fate; for such a man\nis too dangerous in a party. It is a necessity of my situation.\"\n\nThe evening before his execution, Cadoudal desired the jailer to bring\nhim a bottle of excellent wine. Upon tasting the contents of the bottle\nbrought, and finding it of an inferior quality, he complained, stating\nthat it was not such wine as he desired. The jailer brutally replied,\n\"It is good enough for such a miscreant as you.\" Cadoudal, with perfect\ndeliberation and composure, corked up the bottle, and, with his\nherculean arm hurled it at the head of the jailer, with an aim so well\ndirected that he fell helpless at his feet. The next day, with several\nof the conspirators, he was executed.\n\nJosephine, who was ever to Napoleon a ministering angel of mercy, was\nvisited by the wife of Polignac, who, with tears of anguish, entreated\nJosephine's intercession in behalf of her condemned husband. Her tender\nheart was deeply moved by a wife's delirious agony, and she hastened\nto plead for the life of the conspirator. Napoleon, endeavoring to\nconceal the struggle of his heart beneath a severe exterior, replied,\n\"Josephine, you still interest yourself for my enemies. They are all of\nthem as imprudent as they are guilty. If I do not teach them a lesson\nthey will begin again, and will be the cause of new victims.\" Thus\nrepulsed, Josephine, almost in despair, retired. But she knew that\nNapoleon was soon to pass through one of the galleries of the chateau.\nCalling Madame Polignac, she hastened with her to the gallery, and they\nboth threw themselves in tears before Napoleon. He for a moment glanced\nsternly at Josephine, as if to reproach her for the trial to which\nshe had exposed him. But his yielding heart could not withstand this\nappeal. Taking the hand of Madame Polignac, he said, \"I am surprised in\nfinding, in a plot against my life, Armand Polignac, the companion of\nmy boyhood at the military school. I will, however, grant his pardon to\nthe tears of his wife. I only hope that this act of weakness on my part\nmay not encourage fresh acts of imprudence. Those princes, madame, are\nmost deeply culpable who thus compromise the lives of their faithful\nservants without partaking their perils.\"\n\nGeneral Lajolais had been condemned to death. He had an only daughter,\nfourteen years of age, who was remarkably beautiful. The poor child\nwas in a state of fearful agony in view of the fate of her father.\nOne morning, without communicating her intentions to any one, she set\nout alone and on foot, for St. Cloud. Presenting herself before the\ngate of the palace, by her youth, her beauty, her tears, and her woe,\nshe persuaded the keeper, a kind-hearted man, to introduce her to the\napartment of Josephine and Hortense. Napoleon had said to Josephine\nthat she must not any more expose him to the pain of seeing the\nrelatives of the condemned; that if any petitions were to be offered,\nthey must be presented in writing. Josephine and Hortense were,\nhowever, so deeply moved by the anguish of the distracted child, that\nthey contrived to introduce her to the presence of Napoleon as he was\npassing through one of the apartments of the palace, accompanied by\nseveral of his ministers. The fragile child, in a delirium of emotion,\nrushed before him, precipitated herself at his feet, and exclaimed,\n\"Pardon, sire! pardon for my father!\"\n\nNapoleon, surprised at this sudden apparition, exclaimed in\ndispleasure, \"I have said that I wish for no such scenes. Who has dared\nto introduce you here, in disregard of my prohibition? Leave me, miss!\"\nSo saying, he turned to pass from her.\n\nBut the child threw her arms around his knees, and with her eyes\nsuffused with tears, and agony depicted in every feature of her\nbeautiful upturned face, exclaimed, \"Pardon! pardon! pardon! it is for\nmy father!\"\n\n\"And who is your father?\" said Napoleon, kindly. \"Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am Miss Lajolais,\" she replied, \"and my father is doomed to die.\"\nNapoleon hesitated for a moment; and then exclaimed, \"Ah, miss, but\nthis is the second time in which your father has conspired against the\nstate. I can do nothing for you!\"\n\n\"Alas, sire!\" the poor child exclaimed, with great simplicity, \"I know\nit: but the first time, papa was innocent; and to-day I do not ask for\njustice--I implore pardon, pardon for him!\"\n\nNapoleon was deeply moved. His lip trembled, tears filled his eyes,\nand, taking the little hand of the child in both of his own, he\ntenderly pressed it, and said:\n\n\"Well, my child! yes! For your sake, I will forgive your father. This\nis enough. Now rise and leave me.\"\n\nAt these words the suppliant fainted, and fell lifeless upon the floor.\nShe was conveyed to the apartment of Josephine, where she soon revived,\nand, though in a state of extreme exhaustion, proceeded immediately\nto Paris. M. Lavalette, then aid-de-camp of Napoleon, and his wife,\naccompanied her to the prison of the Conciergerie, with the joyful\ntidings. When she arrived in the gloomy cell where her father was\nimmured, she threw herself upon his neck, and her convulsive sobbings,\nfor a time, stifled all possible powers of utterance. Suddenly,\nher frame became convulsed, her eyes fixed, and she fell in entire\nunconsciousness into the arms of Madame Lavalette. When she revived,\nreason had fled, and the affectionate daughter was a hopeless maniac!\n\nNapoleon, in the evening, was informed of this new calamity. He dropped\nhis head in silence, mused painfully, brushed a tear from his eye,\nand was heard to murmur, in a low tone of voice, \"Poor child! poor\nchild!--a father who has such a daughter is still more culpable. I will\ntake care of her and of her mother.\"\n\nSix others of the conspirators also soon received a pardon. Such was\nthe termination of the Bourbon conspiracy for the assassination of\nNapoleon.\n\n\n\n\n\"WHO MURDERED DOWNIE?\"\n\n\nAbout the end of the eighteenth century, whenever any student of the\nMarischal College, Aberdeen, incurred the displeasure of the humbler\ncitizens, he was assailed with the question, \"Who murdered Downie?\"\nReply and rejoinder generally brought on a collision between \"town\nand gown;\" although the young gentlemen were accused of what was\nchronologically impossible. People have a right to be angry at being\nstigmatized as murderers, when their accusers have probability on their\nside; but the \"taking off\" of Downie occurred when the gownsmen, so\nmaligned, were in swaddling clothes.\n\nBut there was a time, when to be branded as an accomplice in the\nslaughter of Richard Downie, made the blood run to the cheek of many\na youth, and sent him home to his books, thoughtful and subdued.\nDownie was sacrist or janitor at Marischal College. One of his duties\nconsisted in securing the gate by a certain hour; previous to which all\nthe students had to assemble in the common hall, where a Latin prayer\nwas delivered by the principal. Whether, in discharging this function,\nDownie was more rigid than his predecessor in office, or whether he\nbecame stricter in the performance of it at one time than another,\ncan not now be ascertained; but there can be no doubt that he closed\nthe gate with austere punctuality, and that those who were not in the\ncommon hall within a minute of the prescribed time, were shut out, and\nwere afterward reprimanded and fined by the principal and professors.\nThe students became irritated at this strictness, and took every petty\nmeans of annoying the sacrist; he, in his turn, applied the screw at\nother points of academic routine, and a fierce war soon began to rage\nbetween the collegians and the humble functionary. Downie took care\nthat in all his proceedings he kept within the strict letter of the\nlaw; but his opponents were not so careful, and the decisions of the\nrulers were uniformly against them, and in favor of Downie. Reprimands\nand fines having failed in producing due subordination, rustication,\nsuspension, and even the extreme sentence of expulsion had to be put\nin force; and, in the end, law and order prevailed. But a secret and\ndeadly grudge continued to be entertained against Downie. Various\nschemes of revenge were thought of.\n\nDownie was, in common with teachers and taught, enjoying the leisure\nof the short New Year's vacation--the pleasure being no doubt greatly\nenhanced by the annoyances to which he had been subjected during the\nrecent bickerings--when, as he was one evening seated with his family\nin his official residence at the gate, a messenger informed him that\na gentleman at a neighboring hotel wished to speak with him. Downie\nobeyed the summons, and was ushered from one room into another, till\nat length he found himself in a large apartment hung with black,\nand lighted by a solitary candle. After waiting for some time in\nthis strange place, about fifty figures also dressed in black, and\nwith black masks on their faces, presented themselves. They arranged\nthemselves in the form of a Court, and Downie, pale with terror, was\ngiven to understand that he was about to be put on his trial.\n\nA judge took his seat on the bench; a clerk and public prosecutor sat\nbelow; a jury was empanelled in front; and witnesses and spectators\nstood around. Downie at first set down the whole affair as a joke; but\nthe proceedings were conducted with such persistent gravity, that,\nin spite of himself, he began to believe in the genuine mission of\nthe awful tribunal. The clerk read an indictment, charging him with\nconspiring against the liberties of the students; witnesses were\nexamined in due form, the public prosecutor addressed the jury; and the\njudge summed up.\n\n\"Gentlemen,\" said Downie, \"the joke has been carried far enough--it is\ngetting late, and my wife and family will be getting anxious about me.\nIf I have been too strict with you in time past, I am sorry for it, and\nI assure you I will take more care in future.\"\n\n\"Gentlemen of the jury,\" said the judge, without paying the slightest\nattention to this appeal, \"consider your verdict; and, if you wish to\nretire, do so.\"\n\nThe jury retired. During their absence the most profound silence was\nobserved; and except renewing the solitary candle that burnt beside the\njudge, there was not the slightest movement.\n\nThe jury returned, and recorded a verdict of GUILTY.\n\nThe judge solemnly assumed a huge black cap, and addressed the prisoner.\n\n\"Richard Downie! The jury have unanimously found you guilty of\nconspiring against the just liberty and immunities of the students\nof Marischal College. You have wantonly provoked and insulted those\ninoffensive lieges for some months, and your punishment will assuredly\nbe condign. You must prepare for death. In fifteen minutes the sentence\nof the Court will be carried into effect.\"\n\nThe judge placed his watch on the bench. A block, an ax, and a bag\nof sawdust were brought into the Centre of the room. A figure more\nterrible than any that had yet appeared came forward, and prepared to\nact the part of doomster.\n\nIt was now past midnight, there was no sound audible save the ominous\nticking of the judge's watch. Downie became more and more alarmed.\n\n\"For any sake, gentlemen,\" said the terrified man, \"let me home. I\npromise that you never again shall have cause for complaint.\"\n\n\"Richard Downie,\" remarked the judge, \"you are vainly wasting the few\nmoments that are left you on earth. You are in the hands of those who\nmust have your life. No human power can save you. Attempt to utter one\ncry, and you are seized, and your doom completed before you can utter\nanother. Every one here present has sworn a solemn oath never to reveal\nthe proceedings of this night; they are known to none but ourselves;\nand when the object for which we have met is accomplished, we shall\ndisperse unknown to any one. Prepare, then, for death; other five\nminutes will be allowed, but no more.\"\n\nThe unfortunate man in an agony of deadly terror raved and shrieked\nfor mercy: but the avengers paid no heed to his cries. His fevered,\ntrembling lips then moved as if in silent prayer; for he felt that the\nbrief space between him and eternity was but as a few more tickings of\nthat ominous watch.\n\n\"Now!\" exclaimed the judge.\n\nFour persons stepped forward and seized Downie, on whose features a\ncold, clammy sweat had burst forth. They bared his neck, and made him\nkneel before the block.\n\n\"Strike!\" exclaimed the judge.\n\nThe executioner struck the ax on the floor; an assistant on the\nopposite side lifted at the same moment a wet towel, and struck it\nacross the neck of the recumbent criminal. A loud laugh announced that\nthe joke had at last come to an end.\n\nBut Downie responded not to the uproarious merriment--they laughed\nagain--but still he moved not--they lifted him, and Downie was dead!\n\nFright had killed him as effectually as if the ax of a real headsman\nhad severed his head from his body.\n\nIt was a tragedy to all. The medical students tried to open a vein,\nbut all was over; and the conspirators had now to bethink themselves\nof safety. They now in reality swore an oath among themselves; and the\naffrighted young men, carrying their disguises with them, left the body\nof Downie lying in the hotel. One of their number told the landlord\nthat their entertainment was not yet quite over, and that they did not\nwish the individual that was left in the room to be disturbed for some\nhours. This was to give them all time to make their escape.\n\nNext morning the body was found. Judicial inquiry was instituted,\nbut no satisfactory result could be arrived at. The corpse of poor\nDownie exhibited no mark of violence internal or external. The\nill-will between him and the students was known: it was also known\nthat the students had hired apartments in the hotel for a theatrical\nrepresentation--that Downie had been sent for by them; but beyond this,\nnothing was known. No noise had been heard, and no proof of murder\ncould be adduced. Of two hundred students at the college, who could\npoint out the guilty or suspected fifty? Moreover, the students were\nscattered over the city, and the magistrates themselves had many of\ntheir own families among the number, and it was not desirable to go\ninto the affair too minutely. Downie's widow and family were provided\nfor, and his slaughter remained a mystery; until, about fifteen years\nafter its occurrence, a gentleman on his death-bed disclosed the whole\nparticulars, and avowed himself to have belonged to the obnoxious class\nof students who murdered Downie.\n\n\n\n\nFRAGMENTS FROM A YOUNG WIFE'S DIARY.[3]\n\n\nI have been married seven weeks. * * * I do not rave in girlish fashion\nabout my perfect happiness--I do not even say I love my husband. Such\nwords imply a separate existence--a gift consciously bestowed on one\nbeing from another. I feel not thus: my husband is to me as my own soul.\n\n[3] By the Authoress of \"OLIVE,\" \"THE OGILVIES,\" and \"THE HEAD OF\nTHE FAMILY,\" three charming works, recently published by Harper and\nBrothers.\n\nLong, very long, it is since I first knew this. Gradually, not\nsuddenly, the great mystery of love overshadowed me, until at last I\nfound out the truth, that I was my own no more. All the world's beauty\nI saw through his eyes--all the world's goodness and greatness came\nreflected through his noble heart. In his presence I was as a child: I\nforgot myself, my own existence, hopes, and aims. Every where--at all\ntimes and all places--his power was upon me. He seemed to absorb and\ninhale my whole soul into his, until I became like a cloud melting away\nin sunshine, and vanishing from the face of heaven.\n\nAll this reads very wild and mad; but, oh! Laurence--Laurence! none\nwould marvel at it who had once looked on thee! Not that he is a\nperfect Apollo--this worshiped husband of mine: you may meet a score\nfar handsomer. But who cares? Not I! All that is grand, all that\nis beautiful, all that makes a man look godlike through the inward\nshining of his godlike soul--I see in my Laurence. His eyes, soft, yet\nproud--his wavy hair--his hand that I sit and clasp--his strong arm\nthat I lean on--all compose an image wherein I see no flaw. Nay, I\ncould scarce believe in any beauty that bore no likeness to Laurence.\n\nThus is my husband--what am I? His wife--and no more. Every thing in me\nis only a reflection of him. Sometimes I even marvel that he loved me,\nso unworthy as I seem: yet, when heaven rained on me the rich blessing\nof his love, my thirsty soul drank it in, and I felt that had it never\ncome, for lack of it I must have died. I did almost die, for the joy\nwas long in coming. Though--as I know now--he loved me well and dearly;\nyet for some reason or other he would not tell me so. The vail might\nnever have fallen from our hearts, save for one blessed chance. I will\nrelate it. I love to dream over that brief hour, to which my whole\nexistence can never show a parallel.\n\nWe were walking all together--my sisters, Laurence Shelmerdine, and\nI--when there came on an August thunder-storm. Our danger was great,\nfor we were in the midst of a wood. My sisters fled; but I, being weak\nand ill--alas! my heart was breaking quietly, though he knew it not--I\nhad no strength to fly. He was too kind to forsake me: so we staid in\nan open space of the wood, I clinging to his arm, and thinking--God\nforgive me!--that if I could only die then, close to him, encompassed\nby his gentle care, it would be so happy--happier far than my life was\nthen. What he thought, I knew not. He spoke in hurried, broken words,\nand turned his face from me all the while.\n\nIt grew dark, like night, and there came flash after flash, peal after\npeal. I could not stand--I leaned against his arm. At last there\nshone all around us a frightful glare, as if the whole wood were in\nflames--a crash of boughs--a roar above, as though the heavens were\nfalling--then, silence.\n\nDeath had passed close by us, and smote us not--and Death was the\nprecursor of Love.\n\nWe looked at one another, Laurence and I: then, with a great cry, our\nhearts--long-tortured--sprang together. There never can be such a\nmeeting, save that of two parted ones, who meet in heaven. No words\nwere spoken, save a murmur--\"Adelaide!\" \"Laurence!\"--but we knew that\nbetween us two there was but one soul. We stood there--all the while\nthe storm lasted. He sheltered me in his arms, and I felt neither the\nthunder nor the rain. I feared not life nor death, for I now knew that\nin either I should never be divided from him.\n\n* * * Ours was a brief engagement. Laurence wished it so; and I\ndisputed not--I never disputed with him in any thing. Besides, I was\nnot happy at home--my sisters did not understand him. They jested\nwith me because he was grave and reserved--even subject to moody fits\nsometimes. They said, \"I should have a great deal to put up with;\nbut it was worth while, for Mr. Shelmerdine's grand estate atoned\nfor all.\" My Laurence! as if I had ever thought whether he were rich\nor poor! I smiled, too, at my sisters' jests about his melancholy,\nand the possibility of his being \"a bandit in disguise.\" None truly\nknew him--none but I! Yet I was half afraid of him at times; but that\nwas only from the intensity of my love. I never asked him of his for\nme--how it grew--or why he had so long concealed it; enough for me that\nit was there. Yet it was always calm: he never showed any passionate\nemotion, save one night--the night before our wedding day.\n\nI went with him to the gate myself, walking in the moonlight under the\nholly trees. I trembled a little; but I was happy--very happy. He held\nme long in his arms ere he would part with me--the last brief parting\nere we would have no need to part any more. I said, looking up from his\nface unto the stars, \"Laurence, in our full joy, let us thank God, and\npray Him to bless us.\"\n\nHis heart seemed bursting: he bowed his proud head, dropped it down\nupon my shoulder, and cried, \"Nay, rather pray Him to _forgive_ me.\nAdelaide, I am not worthy of happiness--I am not worthy of you.\"\n\nHe, to talk in this way! and about me! but I answered him soothingly,\nso that he might feel how dear was my love--how entire my trust.\n\nHe said, at last, half mournfully, \"You are content to take me then,\njust as I am; to forgive my past--to bear with my present--to give\nhope to my future. Will you do this, my love, my Adelaide?\"\n\nI answered, solemnly, \"I will.\" Then, for the first time, I dared to\nlift my arms to his neck; and as he stooped I kissed his forehead. It\nwas the seal of this my promise--which may God give me strength to keep\nevermore!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe were laughing to-day--Laurence and I--about _first loves_. It was\nscarcely a subject for mirth; but one of his bachelor friends had been\ntelling us of a new-married couple, who, in some comical fashion,\nmutually made the discovery of each other's \"first loves.\" I said to\nmy husband, smiling happily, \"that _he_ need have no such fear.\" And I\nrepeated, half in sport, the lines--\n\n    \"'He was her own, her ocean treasure, cast\n    Like a rich wreck--her first love, and her last.'\n\nSo it was with your poor Adelaide.\" Touched by the thought, my gayety\nmelted almost into tears. But I laughed them off, and added, \"Come,\nLaurence, confess the same. You never, never loved any one but me?\"\n\nHe looked pained, said coldly, \"I believe I have not given cause--\"\nthen stopped. How I trembled; but I went up to him, and whispered,\n\"Laurence, dearest, forgive me.\" He looked at me a moment, then caught\nme passionately to his breast. I wept there a little--my heart was so\nfull. Yet I could not help again murmuring that question--\"You love me?\nyou _do_ love me?\"\n\n\"I love you as I never before loved woman. I swear this in the sight of\nheaven. Believe it, my wife!\" was his vehement answer. I hated myself\nfor having so tried him. My dear, my noble husband! I was mad to have a\nmoment's doubt of thee.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n* * * Nearly a year married, and it seems a brief day: yet it seems,\nalso, like a lifetime--as if I had never known any other. My Laurence!\ndaily I grow closer to him--heart to heart. I understand him better--if\npossible, I love him more: not with the wild worship of my girlhood,\nbut with something dearer--more home-like. I would not have him an\n\"angel,\" if I could. I know all his little faults and weaknesses quite\nwell--I do not shut my eyes on any of them; but I gaze openly at them,\nand _love_ them down. There is love enough in my heart to fill up all\nchasms--to remove all stumbling-blocks from our path. Ours is truly\na wedded life: not two jarring lives, but an harmonious and complete\n_one_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have taken a long journey, and am somewhat dreary at being away, even\nfor three days, from my pleasant home. But Laurence was obliged to go,\nand I would not let him go alone; though, from tender fear, he urged\nme to stay. So kind and thoughtful he was too. Because his engagements\nhere would keep him much from me, he made me take likewise my sister\nLouisa. She is a good girl, and a dear girl; but I miss Laurence; I\ndid especially in my walk to-day, through a lovely, wooded country and\na sweet little village. I was thinking of him all the time; so much so,\nthat I quite started when I heard one of the village children shouted\nafter as \"Laurence.\"\n\nVery foolish it is of me--a loving weakness I have not yet got\nover--but I never hear the name my husband bears without a pleasant\nthrill; I never even see it written up in the street without turning\nagain to look at it. So, unconsciously, I turned to the little rosy\nurchin, whom his grandam honored by the name of \"Laurence.\"\n\nA pretty, sturdy boy, of five or six years old--a child to glad any\nmother. I wondered had he a mother! I staid and asked.--I always\nnotice children now. Oh! wonderful, solemn mystery sleeping at my\nheart, my hope--my joy--my prayer! I think, with tears, how I may one\nday watch the gambols of a boy like this; and how, looking down in\nhis little face, I may see therein my Laurence's eyes. For the sake\nof this future--which God grant!--I went and kissed the little fellow\nwho chanced to bear my husband's name. I asked the old woman about\nthe boy's mother. \"Dead! dead five years.\" And his father? A sneer--a\nmuttered curse--bitter words about \"poor folk\" and \"gentle-folk.\" Alas!\nalas! I saw it all. Poor, beautiful, unhappy child!\n\nMy heart was so pained, that I could not tell the little incident to\nLaurence. Even when my sister began to talk of it, I asked her to\ncease. But I pondered over it the more. I think, if I am strong enough,\nI will go and see the poor little fellow again to-morrow. One might do\nsome good--who knows?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTo-morrow has come--to-morrow has gone. What a gulf lies between that\nyesterday and its to-morrow!\n\n* * * Louisa and I walked to the village--she very much against her\nwill. \"It was wrong and foolish,\" she said; \"one should not meddle\nwith vice.\" And she looked prudent and stern. I tried to speak of the\ninnocent child--of the poor dead mother; and the shadow of motherhood\nover my own soul taught me compassion towards both. At last, when\nLouisa was half angry, I said I would go for I had a secret reason\nwhich she did not know.--Thank heaven those words were put into my lips.\n\nSo, we went. My little beauty of a boy was not there; and I had the\ncuriosity to approach the cottage where his grandmother lived. It stood\nin a garden, with a high hedge around. I heard a child's laugh, and\ncould not forbear peeping through. There was my little favorite, held\naloft in the arms of a man, who stood half hidden behind a tree.\n\n\"He looks like a gentleman: perhaps it is the wretch of a father!\"\nwhispered Louisa. \"Sister, we ought to come away.\" And she walked\nforward indignantly.\n\nBut I still staid--still looked. Despite my horror of the crime, I\nfelt a sort of attraction: it was some sign of grace in the man that\nhe should at least acknowledge and show kindness to his child. And the\nmiserable mother! I, a happy wife, could have wept to think of her.\nI wondered, did he think of her, too? He might; for, though the boy\nlaughed and chattered, lavishing on him all those pet diminutives which\nchildren make out of the sweet word \"father,\" I did not hear _this_\nfather answer by a single word.\n\nLouisa came to hurry me away. \"Hush!\" I said: \"one moment and I will\ngo.\"\n\nThe little one had ceased chattering: the father put it down, and came\nforth from his covert.\n\nHeaven it was _my husband_!\n\n* * * I think I should then have fallen down dead, save for one\nthing--I turned and met my sister's eyes. They were full of\nhorror--indignation--pity. She, too, had seen.\n\nLike lightning there flashed across me all the future: my father's\nwrath--the world's mockery--_his_ shame.\n\nI said--and I had strength to say it quite calmly--\"Louisa, you have\nguessed our secret; but keep it--promise!\"\n\nShe looked aghast--confounded.\n\n\"You see,\" I went on, and I actually smiled, \"you see, I know all about\nit, and so does Laurence. It is--a friend's child.\"\n\nMay heaven forgive me for that lie I told: it was to save my husband's\nhonor.\n\nDay after day, week after week, goes by, and yet I live--live, and\nliving, keep the horrible secret in my soul. It must remain there\nburied forever, now.\n\nIt so chanced; that after that hour I did not see my husband for some\nweeks: Louisa and I were hastily summoned home. So I had time to think\nwhat I was to do.\n\nI knew all now--all the mystery of his fits of gloom--his secret\nsufferings. It was remorse, perpetual remorse. No marvel! And for a\nmoment my stern heart said, \"Let it be so.\" I, too, was wronged. Why\ndid he marry me, and hide all this? O vile! O cruel! Then the light\nbroke on me: his long struggle against his love--his terror of winning\nmine. But he did love me: half-maddening as I was, I grasped at that.\nWhatever blackness was on the past, he loved me now--he had sworn\nit--\"more than he ever loved woman.\"\n\nI was yet young: I knew little of the wickedness of the world; but I\nhad heard of that mad passion of a moment, which may seize on a heart\nnot wholly vile, and afterward a whole lifetime of remorse works out\nthe expiation. Six years ago! he must have been then a mere boy. If he\nhad thus erred in youth, I, who knew his nature, knew how awful must\nhave been the repentance of his manhood. On any humbled sinner I would\nhave mercy--how much rather must I have mercy on _my husband_?\n\nI _had_ mercy. Some, stern in virtue, may condemn me--but God knoweth\nall.\n\nHe is--I believe it in my soul--he is a good man now, and striving more\nand more after good. I will help him--I will save him. Never shall he\nknow that secret, which out of pride or bitterness might drive him back\nfrom virtue, or make him feel shame before me.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI took my resolution--I have fulfilled it. I have met him again, as a\nfaithful wife should meet her husband: no word, no look, betrays, or\nshall betray, what I know. All our outward life goes on as before: his\ntenderness for me is constant--overflowing. But oh! the agony, worse\nthan death, of knowing my idol fallen--that where I once worshiped, I\ncan only pity, weep, and pray.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHe told me yesterday he did not feel like the same man that he was\nbefore his marriage. He said I was his good angel: that through me he\nbecame calmer, happier every day. It was true: I read the change in his\nface. Others read it too. Even his aged mother told me, with tears, how\nmuch good I had done to Laurence. For this, thank God!\n\nMy husband! my husband! At times I could almost think this horror was\nsome delirious dream, cast it all to the winds, and worship him as of\nold. I do feel, as I ought, deep tenderness--compassion. No, no! let\nme not deceive myself: I love him; in defiance of all I love him, and\nshall do evermore.\n\nSometimes his olden sufferings come over him, and then I, knowing the\nwhole truth, feel my very soul moved within me. If he had only told me\nall: if I could now lay my heart open before him, with all its love and\npardon; if he would let me comfort him, and speak of hope, of heaven's\nmercy--of atonement, even on earth. But I dare not--I dare not.\n\nSince, from this silence which he has seen fit to keep, I must not\nshare the struggle, but must stay afar off--then, like the prophet who\nknelt on the rock, supplicating for Israel in the battle, let my hands\nfall not, nor my prayer cease, until heaven sendeth the victory.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNearer and nearer comes the hour which will be to me one of a double\nlife, or of death. Sometimes, remembering all I have lately suffered,\nthere comes to me a heavy foreboding. What, if I, so young, to whom,\none little year ago, life seemed an opening paradise--what, if I\nshould die--die and leave _him_, and he never know how deeply I have\nloved--how much I have forgiven?\n\nYes; he might know, and bitterly. Should Louisa tell. But I will\nprevent that.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn my husband's absence, I have sat up half the night writing; that,\nin case of my death, he may be made acquainted with the whole truth,\nand hear it from me alone. I have poured out all my sufferings--all my\ntenderness: I have implored him, for the love of heaven, for the love\nof me, that he would in every way atone for the past, and lead for the\nfuture a righteous life; that his sin may be forgiven, and that, after\ndeath, we may meet in joy evermore.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI have been to church with Laurence--for the last time, as I think.\nWe knelt together, and took the sacrament. His face was grave,\nbut peaceful. When we came home, we sat in our beautiful little\nrose-garden: he, looking so content--even happy; so tender over me--so\nfull of hope for the future. How should this be, if he had on his soul\nthat awful sin? All seemed a delusion of my own creating: I doubted\neven the evidence of my own senses. I longed to throw myself on his\nbosom, and tell him all. But then, from some inexplicable cause, the\nolden cloud came over him; I read in his face, or thought I read, the\ntorturing remorse which at once repelled me from him, and yet drew me\nagain, with a compassion that was almost stronger than love.\n\nI thought I would try to say, in some passing way, words that, should\nI die, might afterward comfort him, by telling him how his misery had\nwrung my heart, and how I did not scorn him, not even for his sin.\n\n\"Laurence,\" I said, very softly, \"I wish that you and I had known one\nanother all our lives--from the time we were little children.\"\n\n\"Oh! that we had! then I had been a better and a happier man, my\nAdelaide!\" was his answer.\n\n\"We will not talk of that. Please God, we may live a long and worthy\nlife together; but if not--\"\n\nHe looked at me with fear. \"What is that you say? Adelaide, you are not\ngoing to die? you, whom I love, whom I have made happy, _you_ have no\ncause to die.\"\n\nOh, agony! he thought of the one who _had_ cause--to whose shame and\nmisery death was better than life. Poor wretch! she, too, might have\nloved him. Down, wife's jealousy! down, woman's pride! It was long,\nlong ago. She is dead; and he--Oh! my husband! may God forgive me\naccording as I pardon you!\n\nI said to him once more, putting my arm round his neck, leaning so that\nhe could only hear, not see me. \"Laurence, if I should die, remember\nhow happy we have been, and how dearly we have loved one another. Think\nof nothing sad or painful; think only that, living or dying, I loved\nyou as I have loved none else in the world. And so, whatever chances,\nbe content.\"\n\nHe seemed afraid to speak more, lest I should be agitated; but as he\nkissed me, I felt on my cheek tears--tears that my own eyes, long\nsealed by misery, had no power to shed.\n\n* * * I have done all I wished to do. I have set my house in order.\nNow, whichever way God wills the event, I am prepared. Life is not to\nme what it once was: yet, for Laurence's sake, and for one besides--Ah!\nnow I dimly guess what that poor mother felt, who, dying, left her\nchild to the mercy of the bitter world. But, heaven's will be done. I\nshall write here no more--perhaps forever.\n\n* * * It is all past and gone. I have been a mother--alas! _have been_;\nbut I never knew it. I woke out of a long blank dream--a delirium of\nmany weeks--to find the blessing had come, and been taken away. ONE\nonly giveth--_ONE_ only taketh. Amen!\n\nFor seven days, as they tell me, my babe lay by my side--its tiny hands\ntouched mine--it slept at my breast. But I remember nothing--nothing!\nI was quite mad all the while. And then--it died--and I have no little\nface to dream of--no memory of the sweetness that has been. it is all\nto me as if I had never seen my child.\n\nIf I had only had my senses for one day--one hour: if I could but have\nseen Laurence when they gave him his baby boy. Bitterly he grieves, his\nmother says, because he has no heir.\n\n* * * My first waking fear was horrible. Had I betrayed any thing\nduring my delirium? I think not. Louisa says I lay all the time silent,\ndull, and did not even notice my husband, though he bent over me like\none distracted. Poor Laurence! I see him but little now: they will not\nsuffer me. It is perhaps well: I could not bear his grief and my own\ntoo: I might not be able to keep my secret safe.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI went yesterday to look at the tiny mound--all that is left to me\nof my dream of motherhood. Such a happy dream as it was, too! How it\ncomforted me, many a time: how I used to sit and think of my darling\nthat was to come: to picture it lying in my arms--playing at my\nfeet--growing in beauty--a boy, a youth, a man! And this--this is\nall--this little grave.\n\nPerhaps I may never have another child. If so, all the deep love\nwhich nature teaches, and which nature has even now awakened in my\nheart, must find no object, and droop and wither away, or be changed\ninto repining. No! please God, _that_ last shall never be: I will not\nembitter the blessings I have, by mourning over those denied.\n\nBut I must love something, in the way that I would have loved my child.\nI have lost my babe; some babe may have lost a mother. A thought\ncomes--I shudder--I tremble--yet I follow it. I will pause a little,\nand then--\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn Mr. Shelmerdine's absence, I have accomplished my plan. I have\ncontrived to visit the place where lives that hapless child--my\nhusband's child.\n\nI do believe my love to Laurence must be such as never before was borne\nto man by woman. It draws me even toward this little one: forgetting\nall wife-like pride, I seem to yearn over the boy. But is this strange?\nIn my first girlish dreams, many a time I have taken a book he had\ntouched--a flower he had gathered--hid it from my sisters, kissed\nit, and wept over it for days. It was folly; but it only showed how\nprecious I held every thing belonging to him. And should I not hold\nprecious what is half himself--his own son?\n\nI will go and see the child to-morrow.\n\nWeeks have passed, and yet I have had no strength to tell what that\nto-morrow brought. Strange book of human fate! each leaf closed until\nthe appointed time--if we could but turn it, and read. Yet it is best\nnot.\n\nI went to the cottage--alone, of course. I asked the old woman to let\nme come in and rest, for I was a stranger, weak and tired. She did so\nkindly, remembering, perhaps, how I had once noticed the boy. He was\nher grandson she told me--her daughter's child.\n\nHer daughter! And this old creature was a coarse, rough-spoken woman--a\nlaborer's wife. Laurence Shelmerdine--the elegant--the refined--what\nmadness must have possessed him!\n\n\"She died very young, then, your daughter?\" I found courage to say.\n\n\"Ay, ay; in a few months after the boy's birth. She was but a weakly\nthing at best, and she had troubles enow.\"\n\nQuickly came the blood to my heart--to my cheek--in bitter, bitter\nshame. Not for myself, but for him. I shrank like a guilty thing before\nthat mother's eye. I dared not ask--what I longed to hear--concerning\nthe poor girl, and her sad history.\n\n\"Is the child like her?\" was all I could say, looking to where the\nlittle one was playing, at the far end of the garden. I was glad not to\nsee him nearer. \"Was his mother as beautiful as he?\"\n\n\"Ay, a good-looking lass enough; but the little lad's like his father,\nwho was a gentleman born: though Laurence had better ha' been a\nplowman's son. A bad business Bess made of it. To this day I dunnot\nknow her right name, nor little Laurence's there; and so I canna\nmake his father own him. He ought, for the lad's growing up as grand\na gentleman as himself: he'll never do to live with poor folk like\ngranny.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" I cried, forgetting all but my compassion; \"then how will the\nchild bear his lot of shame!\"\n\n\"Shame!\" and the old woman came up fiercely to me. \"You'd better mind\nyour own business: my Bess was as good as you.\"\n\nI trembled violently, but could not speak. The woman went on:\n\n\"I dunnot care if I blab it all out, though Bess begged me not. She was\na fool, and the young fellow something worse. His father tried--may-be\nhe wished to try, too--but they couldna undo what had been done. My\ngirl was safe married to him, and the little lad's a gentleman's lawful\nson.\"\n\nOh! joy beyond belief! Oh! bursting blessed tears! My Laurence! my\nLaurence!\n\n* * * I have no clear recollection of any thing more, save that I\nsuppose the woman thought me mad, and fled out of the cottage. My first\nconsciousness is of finding myself quite alone, with the door open, and\na child looking in at me in wonderment, but with a gentleness such as I\nhave seen my husband wear. No marvel I had loved that childish face:\nit was such as might have been _his_ when he was a boy.\n\nI cried, tremulously, \"Laurence! little Laurence!\" He came to me,\nsmiling and pleased. One faint struggle I had--forgive me, poor dead\ngirl!--and then I took the child in my arms, and kissed him as though I\nhad been his mother For thy sake--for thy sake--my husband!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nI understood all the past now. The wild, boyish passion, making an\nideal out of a poor village girl--the unequal union--the dream fading\ninto common day--coarseness creating repulsion--the sting of one folly\nwhich had marred a lifetime--dread of the world, self-reproach, and\nshame--all these excuses I could find: and yet Laurence had acted ill.\nAnd when the end came: no wonder that remorse pursued him, for he had\nbroken a girl's heart. She might, she must, have loved him. I wept for\nher--I, who so passionately loved him too.\n\nHe was wrong, also, grievously wrong, in not acknowledging the child.\nYet there might have been reasons. His father ruled with an iron hand;\nand, then, when he died, Laurence had just known me. Alas! I weave all\ncoverings to hide his fault. But surely this strong, faithful love was\nimplanted in my heart for good. It shall not fail him now: it shall\nencompass him with arms of peace: it shall stand between him and the\nbitter past: it shall lead him on to a worthy and happy future.\n\nThere is one thing which he must do: I will strengthen him to do it.\nYet, when I tell him all, how will he meet it? No matter; I must do\nright. I have walked through this cloud of misery--shall my courage\nfail me now?\n\nHe came home, nor knew that I had been away. Something oppressed him:\nhis old grief perhaps. My beloved! I have a balm even for that, now.\n\n* * * I told him the story, as it were in a parable, not of myself, but\nof another--a friend I had. His color came and went--his hands trembled\nin my hold. I hid nothing: I told of the wife's first horrible fear--of\nher misery--and the red flush mounted to his very brow. I could have\nfallen at his feet, and prayed forgiveness; but I dared not yet. At\nlast I spoke of the end, still using the feigned names I had used all\nalong.\n\nHe said, hoarsely, \"Do you think the wife--a good and pure woman--would\nforgive all this?\"\n\n\"Forgive! Oh! Laurence--Laurence!\" and I clung to him and wept.\n\nA doubt seemed to strike him. \"Adelaide--tell me--\"\n\n\"I have told. Husband, forgive me! I know all, and still I love you--I\nlove you!\"\n\nI did not say, _I pardon_. I would not let him think that I felt I had\nneed to pardon.\n\nLaurence sank down at my feet, hid his face on my knees, and wept.\n\n* * * The tale of his youth was as I guessed. He told it me the same\nnight, when we sat in the twilight gloom. I was glad of this--that not\neven his wife's eyes might scan too closely the pang it cost him to\nreveal these long-past days. But all the while he spoke my head was on\nhis breast, that he might feel I held my place there still, and that no\nerror, no grief, no shame, could change my love for him, nor make me\ndoubt his own, which I had won.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMy task is accomplished. I rested not, day or night, until the right\nwas done. Why should he fear the world's sneer, when his wife stands\nby him--his wife, who most of all might be thought to shrink from\nthis confession that must be made? But I have given him comfort--ay,\ncourage. I have urged him to do his duty, which is one with mine.\n\nMy husband has acknowledged his first marriage, and taken home his son.\nHis mother, though shocked and bewildered at first, rejoiced when she\nsaw the beautiful boy--worthy to be the heir of the Shelmerdines. All\nare happy in the thought. And I--\n\nI go, but always secretly, to the small daisy-mound. My own lost one!\nmy babe, whose face I never saw! If I have no child on earth, I know\nthere is a little angel waiting me in heaven.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLet no one say I am not happy, as happy as one can be in this world:\nnever was any woman more blessed than I am in my husband and my\nson--_mine_. I took him as such: I will fulfill the pledge while I live.\n\n* * * The other day, our little Laurence did something wrong. He rarely\ndoes so--he is his father's own child for gentleness and generosity.\nBut here he was in error: he quarreled with his Aunt Louisa, and\nrefused to be friends. Louisa was not right either: she does not half\nlove the boy.\n\nI took my son on my lap, and tried to show him the holiness and beauty\nof returning good for evil, of forgetting unkindness, of pardoning\nsin. He listened, as he always listens to me. After a while, when\nhis heart was softened, I made him kneel down beside me, saying the\nprayer--\"_Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass\nagainst us._\"\n\nLittle Laurence stole away, repentant and good. I sat thoughtful: I did\nnot notice that behind me had stood _my_ Laurence--my husband. He came\nand knelt where his boy had knelt. Like a child, he laid his head on my\nshoulder, and blessed me, in broken words. The sweetest of all were:\n\n\"My wife! my wife who has saved her husband!\"\n\n\n\n\nA SOLDIER'S FIRST BATTLE.\n\nTHE CAPTURE OF A REDOUBT.\n\n\nA military friend of mine, who died of fever, in Greece, a few years\nago, one day related to me the first affair in which he had been\nengaged. His recital made such an impression upon me that I wrote it\ndown from memory as soon as I had leisure. Here it is:\n\n\"I joined my regiment on the 4th of September, in the evening. I found\nmy colonel at the bivouac. He received me at first very bluntly; but\nwhen he had read my letter of recommendation from General B----, he\naltered his manner, and addressed some civil words to me.\n\n\"I was presented by him to my captain, who had that instant returned\nfrom reconnoitering the movements of the enemy. This captain, though I\nhad scarce time to observe him, was a tall, sunburnt man, of harsh and\nrepulsive aspect. He had been a private soldier, and had gained his\nepaulets and his cross of the Legion on the field of battle. His voice,\nwhich was hoarse and weak, contrasted oddly with his almost gigantic\nheight. They told me afterward that he owed his strange voice to a ball\nwhich had cut his windpipe across at the battle of Jena.\n\n\"On learning that I had come from the military school of Fontainebleau,\nhe made a grimace, and said, 'My lieutenant was killed yesterday'--I\nunderstood what he would have added: 'It is you that should take his\nplace, but you are not fit.' An angry retort was on my lips, but I\ncontained myself.\n\n\"The moon rose behind the redoubt of Cheverino, situated about two\ngun-shots from our bivouac. It was large and red, as usual at first\nrising. But this evening the moon seemed to me of extraordinary size.\nFor an instant the redoubt stood out from the dark night against the\nbroad red disc of the moon. It looked like the cone of a volcano at the\nmoment of an eruption.\n\n\"An old soldier, near whom I stood, remarked upon the color of\nthe moon--'She is very red,' said he, 'it is a sign that it will\ncost us dear to take it--this famous redoubt!' I have always been\nsuperstitious, and this augury, especially at this moment, affected me\nconsiderably.\n\n\"I went to rest, but could not sleep. I rose, and walked about for some\ntime in the dark, looking at the immense line of watch-fires which\ncovered the heights about the village of Cheverino.\n\n\"When I found the cold, keen night-air had sufficiently cooled my\nblood, I went back to the fire; I wrapped myself carefully in my cloak,\nand shut my eyes, hoping not to open them again before daylight. But\nsleep fled my eyelids. My thoughts unconsciously assumed a gloomy\naspect. I reflected that I had not a single friend among the hundred\nthousand men who covered this plain. If I were wounded, I would be\ncarried to an hospital, and treated without respect, by perhaps\nignorant surgeons. All that I had heard of surgical operations came\ninto my mind. My heart beat with violence, and mechanically I placed,\nas a kind of cuirass, the handkerchief and the portfolio which I had\nwith me, about my breast. Fatigue overwhelmed me; I grew sleepier each\ninstant; but some unlucky thought suddenly flashed upon my mind, and I\nwoke up again with a start.\n\n\"But fatigue prevailed, and when the drums beat to arms, they awoke me\nfrom a sound sleep. We were put in battle array, and challenged the\nenemy, then we piled arms, and all said we were going to have a quiet\nday.\n\n\"About three o'clock, an aid-de-camp galloped up, bringing an order.\nWe stood to our arms again; our sharpshooters spread themselves over\nthe plain; we followed them slowly, and in about twenty minutes we saw\nthe advanced posts of the Russians turning back and entering within the\nredoubt.\n\n\"A battery of artillery had established itself on our right, another on\nour left, but both were well in advance of us. They began a brisk fire\nupon the enemy, who replied vigorously, and the redoubt of Cheverino\nwas very soon hid under a thick cloud of smoke.\n\n\"Our regiment was almost secure against the fire of the Russians by a\nrising-ground in our front. Their bullets--a rare thing for us--(for\ntheir gunners fired more accurately than ours) went over our heads, or\nat most covered us with earth and little stones.\n\n\"As soon as the order to advance had been given us, my captain eyed\nme with a look which obliged me, two or three times, to pass my hand\nover my young mustache with as unconcerned an air as I could. Indeed,\nI was not frightened, and the only fear I had was, lest any one about\nme should imagine I was afraid. These inoffensive bullets of the\nRussians still continued to preserve my heroic calmness. My self-esteem\nwhispered to me that I ran a real danger, and that I was under the fire\nof a battery. I was delighted at feeling myself so much at my ease, and\nI thought of the pleasure with which I should relate the capture of the\nredoubt of Cheverino, in the salon of Madame de B----, in the Rue de\nProvence.\n\n\"The colonel passed before our company; he said to me, 'Well, sir! you\nare soon going to make your _d\u00e9but_.'\n\n\"I smiled, with a martial air, brushing at the same time the sleeve of\nmy coat, upon which a bullet, that had fallen about thirty paces from\nme, had sent a little dust.\n\n\"It seemed that the Russians had perceived the bad success of their\nfiring, for they replaced their cannon with howitzers, which could\nbetter reach us in the hollow where we were posted. Suddenly a stunning\nblow knocked off my shako, and a ball killed the man behind me.\n\n\"'I congratulate you,' said the captain to me, as I put on my shako\nagain, 'you are safe for the day.' I knew of the military superstition,\nwhich holds that the axiom _non bis in idem_ has its application on\nthe field of battle as well as in the court of justice. I put on my\nshako somewhat haughtily. 'This causes one to salute without ceremony,'\nsaid I, as gayly as I could. This wretched pleasantry, under the\ncircumstances, seemed excellent. 'I wish you joy,' replied the captain,\n'you will not be hit again, and you will command a company this night;\nfor I feel sure that the furnace is heated for me. Every time that I\nhave been wounded, the officer behind me has received some mortal ball,\nand,' he added, in a low tone, and as if ashamed of what he was about\nto say, 'their names always began with a P.'\n\n\"I felt stout-hearted now; many people would have done as I did; many\nwould, like myself, have been struck with these prophetic words.\nConscript as I was, I felt that I could confide my sentiments to no\none, and that I ought only to appear coolly intrepid.\n\n\"At the lapse of about half an hour the fire of the Russians sensibly\ndiminished; and then we sallied from our cover, to march upon the\nredoubt.\n\n\"Our regiment was composed of three battalions. The second was ordered\nto turn the redoubt on the side of the defile; the two others were\nordered to make the assault. I belonged to the third battalion.\n\n\"In moving out from behind the shoulder of the rising ground which\nhad hitherto protected us, we were met by volleys of musketry, which,\nhowever, did little execution among our ranks. The whistling of the\nbullets surprised me; I frequently turned my head, and thus excited\nconsiderable pleasantry among those of my comrades who were more\nfamiliar than myself with this kind of music. Taking all things, said I\nto myself, a battle is not so terrible a thing after all.\n\n\"We advanced at a running pace, preceded by the skirmishers. All at\nonce the Russians set up three hurras--three distinct hurras; then they\nremained silent, and entirely ceased firing. 'I don't like this quiet,'\nsaid my captain, 'it bodes us no good.' I found our people becoming\nrather blustering, and I could not help at the moment contrasting their\nnoisy exclamations with the imposing silence of the enemy.\n\n\"We soon reached the foot of the redoubt, the palisades of which had\nbeen broken and the earth scattered by our cannon-balls. The soldiers\nrushed over the ruins, with cries of _Vive l'Empereur!_ louder than one\ncould have expected of men who had already been shouting so much.\n\n\"I raised my eyes, and never shall I forget the scene which I saw\nbefore me. The greater part of the smoke had risen, and hung, suspended\nlike a canopy, twenty feet above the redoubt. Beyond a bluish vapor, we\ncould see behind their half-destroyed parapet the Russian grenadiers,\nwith muskets raised, immovable as statues. I think I still see each\nsoldier, his left eye fixed on us, his right hidden behind his musket.\nIn an embrasure, some feet from us, a man, holding a match, stood\nbeside a cannon.\n\n\"I shuddered, and I thought that my last hour was come. 'Now the dance\nis about to begin!' said my captain. 'Good-night!' These were the last\nwords I heard him speak.\n\n\"A roll of drums resounded through the redoubt. I saw them lower\ntheir muskets. I shut my eyes, and then I heard a terrific discharge,\nfollowed by cries and groans. I opened my eyes again, surprised to find\nmyself still unharmed. The redoubt was again enveloped in smoke. I was\nsurrounded by dead and wounded. My captain lay stretched at my feet.\nHis head was pounded by a bullet, and I was spattered with his blood\nand his brains. Of all my company, there remained alive only six men\nbesides myself.\n\n\"A moment of stupor succeeded to this carnage. The colonel, putting\nhis hat on the point of his sword, clambered up the parapet the first,\ncrying _Vive l'Empereur!_ and he was soon followed by the survivors. I\nhave no distinct recollection of what occurred. We entered the redoubt,\nI don't know how. We fought, man to man, amid a smoke so thick that we\ncould scarcely see each other. I must have struck like the rest, for I\nfound my sabre all bloody. At last I heard the cry of 'Victory!' and,\nthe smoke diminishing, I saw that blood and dead bodies almost covered\nthe ground of the redoubt. The cannons were almost buried under the\nheaps of corpses. About two hundred men standing, in French uniforms,\nwere grouped without order, some charging their pieces, others wiping\ntheir bayonets. Eleven Russian prisoners stood by them.\n\n\"The colonel lay stretched, all bloody, upon a broken wagon, near the\ndefile. Some soldiers pressed round him. I approached. 'Who is the\nsenior captain?' he asked of a sergeant. The sergeant shrugged his\nshoulders in a most expressive manner. 'And the senior lieutenant?'\n'This officer who arrived to-day!' said the sergeant, calmly. The\ncolonel smiled sadly. 'Come, sir,' said he to me, 'you command in\nchief. You must at once fortify the redoubt, and barricade the defile\nwith wagons, for the enemy is in force; but General C---- will support\nyou.' 'Colonel,' said I to him, 'you are seriously wounded.' 'F----, my\ndear fellow, but the redoubt is taken.'\"\n\n\n\n\nMEMORY AND ITS CAPRICES.\n\n\nThere is no faculty so inexplicable as memory. It is not merely that\nits powers vary so much in different individuals, but that every\none has found their own liable to the most unaccountable changes\nand chances. Why vivid impressions should appear to become utterly\nobliterated, and then suddenly spring to light, as if by the wand of\na magician, without the slightest effort of our own, is a mystery\nwhich no metaphysician has ever been able to explain. We all have\nexperience of this, when we have striven _in vain_ to recollect a name,\na quotation, or a tune, and find it present itself unbidden, it may be,\nat a considerable interval of time, when the thoughts are engaged on\nanother subject. We all know the uneasy feeling with which we search\nfor the missing article, and the relief when it suddenly flashes\nacross the mind, and when, as if traced by invisible ink, it comes out\nunexpectedly, bright and clear.\n\nIt is most happily ordered, that pleasing sensations are recalled with\nfar greater vividness than those of a distressing nature. A charming\nscene which we loved to contemplate, a perfume which we have inhaled,\nan air to which we have listened, can all be reverted to with a degree\nof pleasure not far short of that which we experienced in the actual\nenjoyment; but bodily pain, which, during its continuance, occasions\nsensations more absorbing than any thing else, can not be recalled with\nthe same vividness. It is remembered in a general way as a great evil,\nbut we do not recall the suffering so as to communicate the sensation\nof the reality. In fact, we remember the pain, but we recollect the\npleasure--for the difference between remembrance and recollection is\ndistinct. We may remember a friend, whose person we have forgotten,\nbut we can not have forgotten the appearance of one whom we recollect.\nSurely a benevolent Providence can be traced in the provision which\nenables us to enjoy the sensations again which gave pleasure, but which\ndoes not oblige us to feel those which gave pain. The memory of the\naged, which is so impaired by years, is generally clear as to the most\npleasurable period of existence, and faint and uncertain as to that\nwhich has brought the infirmities and \"ills which flesh is heir to;\"\nand the recollection of schoolboy days, with what keen delight are all\ntheir merry pranks and innocent pleasures recalled, while the drudgery\nof learning and the discipline of rules, once considered so irksome,\nfill but a faint outline in the retrospective picture; the impressions\nof joy and gayety rest on the mind, while those which are felt in the\nfirst moments of some great calamity are so blunted by its stunning\neffect, that they can not be accurately recalled. Indeed, it frequently\nhappens that the memory loses every trace of a sudden misfortune, while\nit retains all the events which have preceded it.\n\nOf such paramount importance is a retentive memory considered, that\nthe improvement of the faculty by constant exercise is the first\nobject in education, and artificial aids for its advantage have been\ninvented. So essential did the ancients regard its vigor for any work\nof imagination, that \"they described the muses as the daughters of\nmemory.\" Though a retentive memory may be found where there is no\ngenius, yet genius, though sometimes, is rarely deficient in this\nmost valuable gift. There are so many examples of its great power in\nmen of transcendent abilities, that every one can name a host. Some\nof these examples would appear incredible, had they not been given on\nunquestionable authority. Themistocles, we are told, could call by\ntheir names every citizen of Athens, though they amounted to twenty\nthousand. Cyrus knew the name of every soldier in his army. Hortentius,\nafter attending a public sale for the day, gave an account in the\nevening of every article which had been sold, the prices, and the names\nof the purchasers. On comparing it with that taken at the sale by the\nnotary, it was found to agree as exactly with it as if it had been\na copy. \"Memory Corner Thompson,\" so called from the extraordinary\npower which he possessed, drew, in the space of twenty-two hours, a\ncorrect plan of the parish of St. James's, Westminster, with parts of\nthe parishes of St. Marylebone, St. Ann, and St. Martin. In this were\nincluded all the squares, streets, courts, lanes, alleys, markets,\nand all other entries; every church, chapel, and public building;\nall stables and yards; all the public-houses and corners of streets,\nwith every pump, post, tree, house, bow-window; all the minuti\u00e6 about\nSt. James's Palace; this he did in the presence of two gentlemen,\nwithout any plan or notes of reference, but solely from his memory. He\nafterward completed the plans of other parishes. A house being named in\nany public street, he could tell the trade of the shop, either on the\nright or left hand. He could from memory furnish an inventory of every\nthing contained in any house where he was intimate, from the garret to\nthe cellar.\n\nThe extraordinary powers of calculation entirely from memory are\nvery surprising. The mathematician Wallis, in bed, and in the dark,\nextracted the cube root from a number consisting of thirty figures.\nGeorge III. had a memory remarkably retentive. He is said never to\nhave forgotten the face he had once seen, or the name once heard.\nCarolan's memory was remarkably quick and retentive. On one occasion,\nhe met a celebrated musician at the house of an Irish nobleman. He\nchallenged him to a trial of musical skill. The musician played the\nfifth Concerto of Vivaldi on his violin, to which Carolan, who had\nnever heard it, listened with deep attention. When it was finished, he\ntook his harp, and played the Concerto from beginning to end, without\nmissing a single note. An instance of great memory is related of La\nMotte, who was invited by Voltaire, then a young man, to hear a tragedy\nwhich he had just finished. La Motte listened with great attention,\nand was delighted with it. However, he said he had one fault to find\nwith it. On being urged by Voltaire to say what _that_ was, he replied,\nthat he regretted that any part of it should have been borrowed.\nVoltaire, chagrined and incredulous, requested that he would point\nthis out. He named the second scene of the fourth act, saying, that,\nwhen he had met with it, it had struck him so much, that he took the\ntrouble of transmitting it to memory. He then recited the scene, just\nas Voltaire had read it, with the animation which showed how much it\npleased him. Voltaire, utterly confounded, remained silent; the friends\nwho were present looked at each other in amazement; a few moments of\nembarrassment and dismay ensued. La Motte at length broke the silence:\n\"Make yourself easy, sir,\" said he, \"the scene belongs to no one\nbut you. I was so charmed by its beauty that I could not resist the\ntemptation of committing it to memory.\"\n\nIt is not uncommon to find the memory retentive on some subjects,\nyet extremely defective on others. The remarkable powers of some are\nlimited to dates and names. A lady with whom we were acquainted could\ntell the number of stairs contained in each flight in the houses of\nall her acquaintance, but her memory was not particularly retentive in\nany thing else. In the notice of the death of Miss Addison, daughter of\nthe celebrated Addison, which took place in 1797, it is stated, that\n\"she inherited her father's memory, but none of the discriminating\npowers of his understanding; with the retentive faculties of Jedediah\nBuxton, she was a perfect imbecile. She could go on in any part of her\nfather's works, and repeat the whole, but was incapable of speaking or\nwriting an intelligible sentence.\" Cases of occasional forgetfulness\non matters of interest to the mind are among the strange caprices of\nmemory. When Dr. Priestley was preparing the dissertations prefixed\nto his \"Harmony of the Gospels,\" he had taken great pains to inform\nhimself on a subject which had been under discussion, relative to the\nJewish passover. He transcribed the result of his researches, and\nlaid the paper aside. His attention being called to something else, a\nfortnight elapsed before the subject again occurred to his mind. The\nsame pains were taken which he had bestowed on it before. The fruits of\nhis labor were again written out. So completely had he forgotten that\nhe had before copied out exactly the same paragraphs and reflections,\nthat it was only when he found the papers on which he had transcribed\nthem that it was recalled to his recollection. At times he has read his\nown published writings without recognizing them.\n\nJohn Hunter's memory once failed him. When he was in the house of a\nfriend, he totally forgot where he was, in whose house, in what room,\nor in what street, or where he lived himself. He was conscious of this\nfailure, and tried to restore his recollection by looking out of the\nwindow to ascertain where he was, but to no purpose. After some time,\nrecollection gradually returned. It is well known that a young man of\ngreat ability, and for whom his friends looked for the most brilliant\nsuccess, totally forgot what he had been about to say, when making his\nfirst, and, as it proved, his only parliamentary speech. He tried to\nresume the thread of his argument, but all was a cheerless blank--he\ncame to a dead stop; and thus his parliamentary career ended: he never\nattempted to address the house again. An actor, who was performing in\na play which had a great run, all at once forgot a speech which he had\nto make. \"How,\" said he, when he got behind the scenes, and offered, as\nhe thought, a very sufficient excuse, \"how could it be expected that I\nshould remember it forever. Haven't I repeated it every night for the\nlast thirty nights!\"\n\nWe are told in the \"Psychological Magazine,\" that many cases have\noccurred in which persons have forgotten their own names. On one\noccasion, a gentleman had to turn to his companion, when about to leave\nhis name at a door where they called to visit, to ask him what it was,\nso completely and suddenly had he forgotten it. After severe attacks\nof illness and great hardship, loss of memory is not infrequent. Some\nwho recovered from the plague at Athens, as Thucydides relates, had\nlost their memories so entirely that no friend, no relation, nothing\nconnected with their personal identity, was remembered. It is said,\nthat, among those who had escaped with life the disasters of the\nmemorable campaign in Russia, and the disease which was so fatal to the\ntroops at Wilna, there were some who had utterly lost their memory--who\npreserved not the faintest recollection of country, home, or friends.\nThe fond associations of other days had left nothing but a dreary blank.\n\nAs the body has been made the vehicle for the exercise of the faculties\nof the mind, and as they are united in some mysterious manner, we find\ninjuries to the one often hurtful, and sometimes fatal to the other.\nMental shocks frequently impede, or in some cases utterly put an end to\nthat exercise which the union of body and mind produces. The memory is\noften disturbed or upset by some injury to the brain. A fall, a sudden\nblow, or disease, may obliterate _all recollection_. We have heard\nof those who have suffered from such who have forgotten every friend\nand relation, and never knew the face of one belonging to them again.\nBut the effects are sometimes very strange and partial, and totally\nbeyond our comprehension. The functions of the memory, in some cases,\nare suspended for a time, but, on recovery, take up at the very point\nwhere they were deprived of their power. Dr. Abercrombie was acquainted\nwith a lady who had an apoplectic seizure while at cards. From Thursday\nevening till Sunday morning she was quite unconscious. At length she\nspoke, and the first words she uttered were, \"What is trump?\" Beattie\nmentions a gentleman who had a similar attack, in the year 1761, from\nwhich he recovered, but all recollection of the four years previous to\nthe attack was gone, while all that had happened in the preceding years\nwas accurately recollected. He had to refer to the public journals of\nthe forgotten years, in which he had taken great interest at the time,\nfor information about the passing events of those years, and read\nthe details with great satisfaction and surprise. By a fall from his\nhorse, a gentleman, who was an admirable scholar, received a severe\nhurt on the head. He recovered, but his learning was gone, and he had\nactually to commence his education again by the very first step, the\nlearning of the alphabet. A less unfortunate scholar, meeting with a\nsimilar accident, lost none of his acquirements but his Greek; but it\nwas irrevocably lost. A strange caprice of memory is recorded in the\ncase of Dr. Broussannet. An accident which befell him brought on an\nattack of apoplexy. When he recovered, he had utterly lost the power\nof pronouncing or writing proper names, or any substantive, while his\nmemory supplied adjectives in profusion, by the application of which he\ndistinguished whatever he wished to mention. In speaking of any one, he\nwould designate him by calling him after the shape or color for which\nhe was remarkable. If his hair was red, he called him \"red;\" if above\nthe usual height, he named him \"tall;\" if he wanted his hat, he asked\nfor his \"black;\" if his \"blue\" or \"brown\" was required, it was a _coat_\nof the color that he called for. The same mode of mentioning plants\nwas that which he made use of. As he was a good botanist, he was well\nacquainted with a vast number, but he could never call them by their\nnames.\n\nMr. Millingen quotes from Salmuth an account of a man who could\npronounce words, though he had forgotten how to write them; and of\nanother, who could only recollect the first syllable of the words\nhe used. Some have confused substantives altogether, calling their\nwatch a hat, and ordering up paper when they wanted coals; others\nhave transposed the letters of the words which they intended to\nuse. A musician, laboring under the partial loss of memory, was\nknown to call his flute a _tufle_, thus employing every letter in\nthe right word. Curious anagrams, it is stated, have been made in\nthis way, and innumerable names for persons and things invented. An\nextraordinary case of periodic recollection had occurred in an old\nman, who had forgotten all the events of his former life, unless they\nwere recalled to his memory by some occurrence; yet every night he\nregularly recollected some one particular circumstance of his early\ndays. There are, indeed, very extraordinary cases of a sudden rush\nof recollections. A gentleman with whom we are acquainted, mentioned\nthat at one time he was in imminent danger of being drowned, and that\nin the brief space of some moments all the events of his life were\nvividly recalled. There have been similar instances; indeed, were we to\ntranscribe one-third of the remarkable cases of the caprice of memory,\nwe should far exceed our limits. Some very wonderful details are given\nof those which have been known to occur in the somnambulist state.\nDr. Dyce of Aberdeen describes the case of a girl who was subject to\nsuch attacks. During these, she would converse with the bystanders,\nanswering their questions. Once she went through the whole of the\nbaptismal service of the Church of England. On awakening, she had no\nrecollection of what had occurred in her state of somnambulism, but,\non falling into it again, she would talk over all that had passed and\nbeen said while it continued. During one of these paroxysms, she was\ntaken to church, where she appeared to attend to the service with great\ndevotion. She was much affected by the sermon, and shed tears at one\npassage. When restored to the waking state, she had not the faintest\nrecollection whatever of the circumstance; but, in the following\nparoxysm, her recollection of the whole matter was most accurate; her\naccount of it was as vivid as possible. Not only did she describe every\nthing, but she gave the subject of the sermon, repeating _verbatim_\nthe passage at which she had wept. Thus she appeared endowed with two\nmemories--one for the walking state, and the other for that mysterious\nsleep.\n\nThere are some very affecting cases of the partial loss of memory from\nsudden misfortune and from untoward accidents. The day was fixed for\nthe marriage of a young clergyman and one to whom he was most tenderly\nattached. Two days before the appointed time, he went out with a young\nfriend, who was going to shoot. The gun went off accidentally. He\ninstantly fell, and it was found that part of the charge had lodged in\nhis forehead. For some days his life was despaired of; but at the end\nof that time he was pronounced out of danger. The happiness, however,\nwhich had hung on his existence was forever gone. She who had watched\nby him night and day had a trial more bitter than his death: he was\nderanged; his memory retained nothing but the idea of his approaching\nmarriage. Every recollection, every thought was absorbed in that one\nidea. His whole conversation related to the preparations. He never\nwould speak on any other subject. It was always within two days of the\nhappy time. Thus years and years went over. Youth passed, and still two\ndays more would wed him to her who was fondly loved as ever. And thus\nhe reached his eightieth year, and sunk into the grave.\n\nIt has sometimes happened that the recollection of a sudden calamity\nhas been lost in the very shock which it has produced. A curate of\nSt. Sulpice, never weary of doing good, practiced the most rigid\nself-denial, that he might have the means of serving others. He adopted\nan English orphan boy, who repaid his kindness with a fond affection,\nwhich increased every year--in short, they loved like a father and a\nson. The poor boy was an apt scholar, and his protector took special\ndelight in teaching him. But his predominant taste was for music, for\nwhich he evinced the enthusiasm that ever marks genius. His taste was\ncultivated, for many of those whom the curate instructed were the sons\nof artists, and were themselves well skilled in the delightful art,\nand he got them to give lessons to his prot\u00e9g\u00e9. He soon excelled upon\nthe harp, and his voice, though not powerful, was capable of all those\ntouching modulations which find their way to the heart. Accompanied\nby the chords, which he so well knew how to waken, more enchanting\nmelody could scarcely be heard; and the poor curate found no more\ndelightful relaxation than listening to his music; and the kind old\nman felt pride as well as delight in the progress of his _son_, as\nhe always called the young musician. But peace and harmony was sadly\ninterrupted. The attachment of the curate to the Archbishop of Arles\nwas the cause of his being thrown into confinement with him in the\nconvent of the Carmelites. His poor son pined to share the prison of\none so much beloved--the one in whom all his feelings of affection\nand gratitude centred. At length his entreaties succeeded, and the\npupil and his preceptor were together again. But even this melancholy\ncompanionship was to be rent asunder. The convent was attacked. The\nparticulars of the massacre of the 2d of September, 1792, are too well\nknown to need repetition. Some sought concealment among the branches\nof the trees into which they had climbed; but pikes and bullets soon\nreached them. The archbishop, attended by thirty of the clergy, went\nwith steady steps up to the altar in the chapel at the end of the\ngarden. It was there that these martyrs were sacrificed, as it has been\nbeautifully told by Mr. Alison, with eyes raised to the image of their\ncrucified Redeemer, and offering a prayer for their cruel assassins.\nPoor Capdeville, the good curate, it is said, recited at this awful\nmoment the prayers of persons in the last agonies. The youth flew\nabout the house in a state of bewildered distraction, seeking for his\nbenefactor; at one moment bursting into an agony of tears, and then\nuttering the wildest lamentations; then, brushing away his tears, he\nwould listen for some sound which might direct him to the spot where\nhe might find his father. Some of the neighbors, who had been led by\ncompassion to the melancholy scene, tried to induce the boy to escape,\nbut he pursued his way wildly, till he found his benefactor. Nothing\ncould persuade him to leave him. He appeared riveted to the spot, and\nrefused to quit his side. But soon after the murder of the archbishop,\nthe death-blow was aimed at Capdeville. He cast a last look, full of\ncompassion and tenderness, on the beloved boy, and expired. Even as he\nlay, with his head resting on the step of the altar, it seemed as if he\nstill observed his favorite with looks of kindness. The poor child's\nmind was quite upset. He would not believe him dead. He insisted that\nhe slept. He forgot the scene of carnage by which he was surrounded.\nHe sat by the bleeding corpse for three hours, expecting every moment\nthat he would awaken. He rushed for his harp, and, returning to his\npatron's side, he played those plaintive airs in which he had taken\nespecial delight. At length, worn out by watching for the moment of\nhis awaking, he fell into a profound sleep, and the compassionate\npeople about him bore him away and laid him on a bed. The sleep, or,\nmore properly speaking, the stupor, continued for forty-eight hours.\nIt was thought that when consciousness returned he might be somewhat\ncomposed; but his senses were never restored. As his affliction met\nwith great commiseration, and as he was perfectly harmless, he was\nallowed the free range of the house. He would remain, as it were, in\nabstracted thought, pacing silently along the apartments, till the\nclock struck three; then he would bound away and fetch his harp, and,\nleaning against the fragments of the altar, he would play the tunes his\npreceptor had loved to hear. There was a touching expression of anxious\nhope in his countenance, but, when hours passed on, it was gradually\nsucceeded by utter sadness. It was observed that at the hour of six he\nceased to play, and slowly moving, he would say, \"Not yet, not yet;\nbut he will soon speak to his child;\" and then he would throw himself\non his knees, and appear for a while rapt in devotion, and, heaving a\nsigh as he rose, he would glide softly about, as if fearing to disturb\nhis friend, whom he thought was sleeping; and then he would again fall\ninto a state of abstraction till the next day. How it happened that\nthere was such regularity in the time of his commencing and ceasing to\nplay, has not been suggested. It may have been that the exact time of\nhis last interview with his friend was impressed upon his mind, or it\nmay have been, which seems to us most likely, that these were the hours\nin which the poor curate was in the habit of seeking the relaxation of\nmusic to soothe and elevate his spirit after the labors of the day.\nEvery one pitied the poor demented boy, and could not see unmoved how\nhe clung to affection and to hope, though bereft of reason and of\nrecollection.\n\n\n\n\nBLEAK HOUSE.[4]\n\nBY CHARLES DICKENS.\n\n\nCHAPTER XX.--A NEW LODGER.\n\nThe long vacation saunters on toward term-time, like an idle river very\nleisurely strolling down a flat country to the sea. Mr. Guppy saunters\nalong with it congenially. He has blunted the blade of his penknife,\nand broken the point off, by sticking that instrument into his desk in\nevery direction. Not that he bears the desk any ill-will, but he must\ndo something; and it must be something of an unexciting nature, which\nwill lay neither his physical nor his intellectual energies under too\nheavy contribution. He finds that nothing agrees with him so well, as\nto make little gyrations on one leg of his stool, and stab his desk,\nand gape.\n\n[4] Continued from the September Number.\n\nKenge and Carboy are out of town, and the articled clerk has taken out\na shooting license and gone down to his father's, and Mr. Guppy's two\nfellow stipendiaries are away on leave. Mr. Guppy, and Mr. Richard\nCarstone divide the dignity of the office. But Mr. Carstone is for the\ntime being established in Kenge's room, whereat Mr. Guppy chafes. So\nexceedingly, that he with biting sarcasm informs his mother, in the\nconfidential moments when he sups with her off a lobster and lettuce,\nin the Old Street Road, that he is afraid the office is hardly good\nenough for swells, and that if he had known there was a swell coming,\nhe would have got it painted.\n\nMr. Guppy suspects every body who enters on the occupation of a stool\nin Kenge and Carboy's office, of entertaining, as a matter of course,\nsinister designs upon him. He is clear that every such person wants\nto depose him. If he be ever asked how, why, when, or wherefore,\nhe shuts up one eye and shakes his head. On the strength of these\nprofound views, he in the most ingenious manner takes infinite pains\nto counterplot, when there is no plot; and plays the deepest games of\nchess without any adversary.\n\nIt is a source of much gratification to Mr. Guppy, therefore, to\nfind the new comer constantly poring over the papers in Jarndyce and\nJarndyce; for he well knows that nothing but confusion and failure\ncan come of that. His satisfaction communicates itself to a third\nsaunterer through the long vacation in Kenge and Carboy's office; to\nwit, Young Smallweed.\n\nWhether Young Smallweed (metaphorically called Small and eke Chick\nWeed, as it were jocularly to express a fledgling), was ever a boy,\nis much doubted in Lincoln's Inn. He is now something under fifteen,\nand an old limb of the law. He is facetiously understood to entertain\na passion for a lady at a cigar shop, in the neighborhood of Chancery\nLane; and for her sake to have broken off a contract with another lady,\nto whom he had been engaged some years. He is a town-made article,\nof small stature and weazen features; but may be perceived from a\nconsiderable distance by means of his very tall hat. To become a Guppy\nis the object of his ambition. He dresses at that gentleman (by whom\nhe is patronized), talks at him, walks at him, founds himself entirely\non him. He is honored with Mr. Guppy's particular confidence; and\noccasionally advises him, from the deep wells of his experience, on\ndifficult points in private life.\n\nMr. Guppy has been lolling out of window all the morning, after\ntrying all the stools in succession, and finding none of them easy,\nand after several times putting his head into the iron safe with a\nnotion of cooling it. Mr. Smallweed has been twice dispatched for\neffervescent drinks, and has twice mixed them in the two official\ntumblers and stirred them up with the ruler. Mr. Guppy propounds, for\nMr. Smallweed's consideration, the paradox that the more you drink the\nthirstier you are; and reclines his head upon the window-sill in a\nstate of hopeless languor.\n\nWhile thus looking out into the shade of Old Square, Lincoln's Inn,\nsurveying the intolerable bricks and mortar, Mr. Guppy becomes\nconscious of a manly whisker emerging from the cloistered walk below,\nand turning itself up in the direction of his face. At the same time,\na low whistle is wafted through the Inn, and a suppressed voice cries,\n\"Hip! Guppy!\"\n\n\"Why, you don't mean it?\" says Mr. Guppy, aroused. \"Small! Here's\nJobling!\" Small's head looks out of window too, and nods to Jobling.\n\n\"Where have you sprung up from?\" inquires Mr. Guppy.\n\n\"From the Market Gardens down by Deptford. I can't stand it any longer.\nI must enlist. I say! I wish you'd lend me half-a-crown. Upon my soul\nI'm hungry.\"\n\nJobling looks hungry, and also has the appearance of having run to seed\nin the Market Gardens down by Deptford.\n\n\"I say! Just throw out half-a-crown, if you have got one to spare. I\nwant to get some dinner.\"\n\n\"Will you come and dine with me?\" says Mr. Guppy, throwing out the\ncoin, which Mr. Jobling catches neatly.\n\n\"How long should I have to hold out?\" says Jobling.\n\n\"Not half an hour. I am only waiting here, till the enemy goes,\"\nreturns Mr. Guppy, butting inward with his head.\n\n\"What enemy?\"\n\n\"A new one. Going to be articled. Will you wait?\"\n\n\"Can you give a fellow any thing to read in the mean time?\" says Mr.\nJobling.\n\nSmallweed suggests the Law List. But Mr. Jobling declares, with much\nearnestness, that he \"can't stand it.\"\n\n\"You shall have the paper,\" says Mr. Guppy. \"He shall bring it down.\nBut you had better not be seen about here. Sit on our staircase and\nread. It's a quiet place.\"\n\nJobling nods intelligence and acquiescence. The sagacious Smallweed\nsupplies him with the newspaper; and occasionally drops his eye upon\nhim from the landing as a precaution against his becoming disgusted\nwith waiting, and making an untimely departure. At last the enemy\nretreats, and then Smallweed fetches Mr. Jobling up.\n\n\"Well, and how are you?\" says Mr. Guppy, shaking hands with him.\n\n\"So, so. How are you?\"\n\nMr. Guppy replying that he is not much to boast of, Mr. Jobling\nventures on the question, \"How is _she_?\" This Mr. Guppy resents as a\nliberty; retorting, \"Jobling, there _are_ chords in the human mind--\"\nJobling begs pardon.\n\n\"Any subject but that!\" says Mr. Guppy, with a gloomy enjoyment of his\ninjury. \"For there _are_ chords, Jobling--\"\n\nMr. Jobling begs pardon again.\n\nDuring this short colloquy, the active Smallweed, who is of the dinner\nparty, has written in legal characters on a slip of paper, \"Return\nimmediately.\" This notification to all whom it may concern, he inserts\nin the letter-box; and then putting on the tall hat, at the angle of\ninclination at which Mr. Guppy wears his, informs his patron that they\nmay now make themselves scarce.\n\nAccordingly they betake themselves to a neighboring dining-house, of\nthe class known among its frequenters by the denomination Slap-Bang,\nwhere the waitress, a bouncing young female of forty, is supposed to\nhave made some impression on the susceptible Smallweed; of whom it may\nbe remarked that he is a weird changeling, to whom years are nothing.\nHe stands precociously possessed of centuries of owlish wisdom. If\nhe ever lay in a cradle, it seems as if he must have lain there in a\ntail-coat. He has an old, old eye, has Smallweed; and he drinks, and\nsmokes, in a monkeyish way; and his neck is stiff in his collar; and he\nis never to be taken in; and he knows all about it, whatever it is. In\nshort, in his bringing up, he has been so nursed by Law and Equity that\nhe has become a kind of fossil Imp, to account for whose terrestrial\nexistence it is reported at the public offices that his father was John\nDoe, and his mother the only female member of the Roe family; also that\nhis first long-clothes were made from a blue bag.\n\nInto the Dining House, unaffected by the seductive show in the window,\nof artificially whitened cauliflowers and poultry, verdant baskets of\npeas, coolly blooming cucumbers, and joints ready for the spit, Mr.\nSmallweed leads the way. They know him there, and defer to him. He has\nhis favorite box, he bespeaks all the papers, he is down upon bald\npatriarchs, who keep them more than ten minutes afterward. It is of\nno use trying him with any thing less than a full-sized \"bread,\" or\nproposing to him any joint in cut, unless it is in the very best cut.\nIn the matter of gravy he is adamant.\n\nConscious of his elfin power, and submitting to his dread experience,\nMr. Guppy consults him in the choice of that day's banquet; turning\nan appealing look toward him as the waitress repeats the catalogue\nof viands, and saying \"What do _you_ take, Chick?\" Chick, out of the\nprofundity of his artfulness, preferring \"veal and ham and French\nbeans--And don't you forget the stuffing, Polly,\" (with an unearthly\ncock of his venerable eye); Mr. Guppy and Mr. Jobling give the like\norder. Three pint pots of half-and-half are super-added. Quickly the\nwaitress returns, bearing what is apparently a model of the tower of\nBabel, but what is really a pile of plates and flat tin dish-covers.\nMr. Smallweed, approving of what is set before him, conveys intelligent\nbenignity into his ancient eye, and winks upon her. Then, amid a\nconstant coming in, and going out, and running about, and a clatter of\ncrockery, and a rumbling up and down of the machine which brings the\nnice cuts from the kitchen, and a shrill crying for more nice cuts down\nthe speaking-pipe, and a shrill reckoning of the cost of nice cuts that\nhave been disposed of, and a general flush and steam of hot joints, cut\nand uncut, and a considerably heated atmosphere in which the soiled\nknives and table-cloths seem to break out spontaneously into eruptions\nof grease and blotches of beer, the legal triumvirate appease their\nappetites.\n\nMr. Jobling is buttoned up closer than mere adornment might require.\nHis hat presents at the rims a peculiar appearance of a glistening\nnature, as if it had been a favorite snail-promenade. The same\nphenomenon is visible on some parts of his coat, and particularly at\nthe seams. He has the faded appearance of a gentleman in embarrassed\ncircumstances; even his light whiskers droop with something of a shabby\nair.\n\nHis appetite is so vigorous, that it suggests spare living for some\nlittle time back. He makes such a speedy end of his plate of veal and\nham, bringing it to a close while his companions are yet midway in\ntheirs, that Mr. Guppy proposes another. \"Thank you, Guppy,\" says Mr.\nJobling, \"I really don't know but what I _will_ take another.\"\n\nAnother being brought, he falls to with great good-will.\n\nMr. Guppy takes silent notice of him at intervals, until he is half way\nthrough this second plate and stops to take an enjoying pull at his\npint pot of half-and-half (also renewed), and stretches out his legs\nand rubs his hands. Beholding him in which glow of contentment, Mr.\nGuppy says:\n\n\"You are a man again, Tony!\"\n\n[Illustration: MR. GUPPY'S ENTERTAINMENT.]\n\n\"Well, not quite, yet,\" says Mr. Jobling. \"Say, just born.\"\n\n\"Will you take any other vegetables? Grass? Peas? Summer cabbage?\"\n\n\"Thank you, Guppy,\" says Mr. Jobling. \"I really don't know but what I\n_will_ take summer cabbage.\"\n\nOrder given; with the sarcastic addition (from Mr. Smallweed) of\n\"Without slugs, Polly!\" And cabbage produced.\n\n\"I am growing up, Guppy,\" says Mr. Jobling, plying his knife and fork\nwith a relishing steadiness.\n\n\"Glad to hear it.\"\n\n\"In fact, I have just turned into my teens,\" says Mr. Jobling.\n\nHe says no more until he has performed his task, which he achieves as\nMessrs. Guppy and Smallweed finish theirs; thus getting over the ground\nin excellent style, and beating those two gentlemen easily by a veal\nand ham and a cabbage.\n\n\"Now, Small,\" says Mr. Guppy, \"what would you recommend about pastry?\"\n\n\"Marrow puddings,\" says Mr. Smallweed instantly.\n\n\"Ay, ay!\" cries Mr. Jobling, with an arch look. \"You're there, are you?\nThank you, Guppy, I don't know but what I _will_ take a marrow pudding.\"\n\nThree marrow puddings being produced, Mr. Jobling adds, in a pleasant\nhumor, that he is coming of age fast. To these succeed, by command of\nMr. Smallweed, \"three Cheshires;\" and to those, \"three small rums.\"\nThis apex of the entertainment happily reached, Mr. Jobling puts up his\nlegs on the carpeted seat (having his own side of the box to himself),\nleans against the wall, and says, \"I am grown up, now, Guppy. I have\narrived at maturity.\"\n\n\"What do you think, now,\" says Mr. Guppy, \"about--you don't mind\nSmallweed?\"\n\n\"Not the least in the world. I have the pleasure of drinking his good\nhealth.\"\n\n\"Sir, to you!\" says Mr. Smallweed.\n\n\"I was saying, what do you think _now_,\" pursues Mr. Guppy, \"of\nenlisting?\"\n\n\"Why, what I may think after dinner,\" returns Mr. Jobling, \"is one\nthing, my dear Guppy, and what I may think before dinner is another\nthing. Still, even after dinner, I ask myself the question, What am I\nto do? How am I to live? Ill fo manger, you know,\" says Mr. Jobling,\npronouncing that word as if he meant a necessary fixture in an English\nstable. \"Ill fo manger. That's the French saying, and mangering is as\nnecessary to me as it is to a Frenchman. Or more so.\"\n\nMr. Smallweed is decidedly of opinion \"much more so.\"\n\n\"If any man had told me,\" pursues Jobling, \"even so lately as when you\nand I had the frisk down in Lincolnshire, Guppy, and drove over to see\nthat house at Castle Wold--\"\n\nMr. Smallweed corrects him: \"Chesney Wold.\"\n\n\"Chesney Wold. (I thank my honorable friend for that cheer.) If any man\nhad told me, then, that I should be as hard up at the present time as I\nliterally find myself, I should have--well, I should have pitched into\nhim,\" says Mr. Jobling, taking a little rum-and-water with an air of\ndesperate resignation; \"I should have let fly at his head.\"\n\n\"Still, Tony, you were on the wrong side of the post then,\"\nremonstrates Mr. Guppy. \"You were talking about nothing else in the\ngig.\"\n\n\"Guppy,\" says Mr. Jobling, \"I will not deny it. I was on the wrong side\nof the post. But I trusted to things coming round.\"\n\nThat very popular trust in flat things coming round! Not in their being\nbeaten round, or worked round, but in their \"coming\" round! As though a\nlunatic should trust in the world's \"coming\" triangular!\n\n\"I had confident expectations that things would come round and be all\nsquare,\" says Mr. Jobling, with some vagueness of expression, and\nperhaps of meaning, too. \"But I was disappointed. They never did. And\nwhen it came to creditors making rows at the office, and to people\nthat the office dealt with making complaints about dirty trifles of\nborrowed money, why there was an end of that connection. And of any\nnew professional connection, too; for if I was to give a reference\nto-morrow, it would be mentioned, and would sew me up. Then, what's a\nfellow to do? I have been keeping out of the way, and living cheap,\ndown about the market-gardens; but what's the use of living cheap when\nyou have got no money? You might as well live dear.\"\n\n\"Better,\" Mr. Smallweed thinks.\n\n\"Certainly. It's the fashionable way; and fashion and whiskers have\nbeen my weaknesses, and I don't care who knows it,\" says Mr. Jobling.\n\"They are great weaknesses--Damme, sir, they are great. Well!\" proceeds\nMr. Jobling, after a defiant visit to his rum-and-water, \"what can a\nfellow do, I ask you, _but_ enlist?\"\n\nMr. Guppy comes more fully into the conversation, to state what, in\nhis opinion, a fellow can do. His manner is the gravely impressive\nmanner of a man who has not committed himself in life, otherwise than\nas he has become the victim of a tender sorrow of the heart.\n\n\"Jobling,\" says Mr. Guppy, \"myself and our mutual friend Smallweed--\"\n\n(Mr. Smallweed modestly observes, \"Gentlemen both!\" and drinks.)\n\n\"Have had a little conversation on this matter more than once, since\nyou--\"\n\n\"Say, got the sack!\" cries Mr. Jobling, bitterly. \"Say it, Guppy. You\nmean it.\"\n\n\"N-o-o! Left the Inn,\" Mr. Smallweed delicately suggests.\n\n\"Since you left the Inn, Jobling,\" says Mr. Guppy; \"and I have\nmentioned, to our mutual friend Smallweed, a plan I have lately thought\nof proposing. You know Snagsby, the stationer?\"\n\n\"I know there is such a stationer,\" returns Mr. Jobling. \"He was not\nours, and I am not acquainted with him.\"\n\n\"He _is_ ours, Jobling, and I _am_ acquainted with him,\" Mr. Guppy\nretorts. \"Well, sir! I have lately become better acquainted with him,\nthrough some accidental circumstances that have made me a visitor of\nhis in private life. Those circumstances it is not necessary to offer\nin argument. They may--or they may not--have some reference to a\nsubject, which may--or may not--have cast its shadow on my existence.\"\n\nAs it is Mr. Guppy's perplexing way, with boastful misery to tempt his\nparticular friends into this subject, and the moment they touch it,\nto turn on them with that trenchant severity about the chords in the\nhuman mind; both Mr. Jobling and Mr. Smallweed decline the pitfall, by\nremaining silent.\n\n\"Such things may be,\" repeats Mr. Guppy, \"or they may not be. They\nare no part of the case. It is enough to mention, that both Mr. and\nMrs. Snagsby are very willing to oblige me; and that Snagsby has,\nin busy times, a good deal of copying work to give out. He has all\nTulkinghorn's, and an excellent business besides. I believe, if our\nmutual friend Smallweed were put into the box, he could prove this?\"\n\nMr. Smallweed nods, and appears greedy to be sworn.\n\n\"Now, gentlemen of the jury,\" says Mr. Guppy, \"--I mean, now\nJobling--you may say this is a poor prospect of a living. Granted. But\nit's better than nothing, and better than enlistment. You want time.\nThere must be time for these late affairs to blow over. You might live\nthrough it on much worse terms than by writing for Snagsby.\"\n\nMr. Jobling is about to interrupt, when the sagacious Smallweed checks\nhim with a dry cough, and the words, \"Hem! Shakspeare!\"\n\n\"There are two branches to this subject, Jobling,\" says Mr. Guppy.\n\"That is the first. I come to the second. You know Krook, the\nChancellor, across the lane. Come, Jobling,\" says Mr. Guppy, in his\nencouraging cross-examination tone, \"I think you know Krook, the\nChancellor, across the lane?\"\n\n\"I know him by sight,\" says Mr. Jobling.\n\n\"You know him by sight. Very well. And you know little Flite?\"\n\n\"Every body knows her,\" says Mr. Jobling.\n\n\"Every body knows her. _Very_ well. Now it has been one of my duties\nof late, to pay Flite a certain weekly allowance, deducting from it\nthe amount of her weekly rent: which I have paid (in consequence of\ninstructions I have received) to Krook himself, regularly, in her\npresence. This has brought me into communication with Krook, and into\na knowledge of his house and his habits. I know he has a room to let.\nYou may live there, at a very low charge, under any name you like; as\nquietly as if you were a hundred miles off. He'll ask no questions;\nand would accept you as a tenant, at a word from me--before the clock\nstrikes, if you chose. And I'll tell you another thing, Jobling,\" says\nMr. Guppy, who has suddenly lowered his voice, and become familiar\nagain, \"he's an extraordinary old chap--always rummaging among a litter\nof papers, and grubbing away at teaching himself to read and write;\nwithout getting on a bit, as it seems to me. He is a most extraordinary\nold chap, sir. I don't know but what it might be worth a fellow's while\nto look him up a bit.\"\n\n\"You don't mean--?\" Mr. Jobling begins.\n\n\"I mean,\" returns Mr. Guppy, shrugging his shoulders with becoming\nmodesty, \"that _I_ can't make him out. I appeal to our mutual friend\nSmallweed, whether he has or has not heard me remark, that I can't make\nhim out.\"\n\nMr. Smallweed bears the concise testimony, \"A few!\"\n\n\"I have seen something of the profession, and something of life, Tony,\"\nsays Mr. Guppy, \"and it's seldom I can't make a man out more or less.\nBut such an old card as this; so deep, so sly, and secret (though I\ndon't believe he is ever sober;) I never came across. Now, he must\nbe precious old, you know, and he has not a soul about him, and he\nis reported to be immensely rich; and whether he is a smuggler, or a\nreceiver, or an unlicensed pawnbroker, or a money-lender--all of which\nI have thought likely at different times--it might pay you to knock up\na sort of knowledge of him. I don't see why you shouldn't go in for it\nwhen every thing else suits.\"\n\nMr. Jobling, Mr. Guppy, and Mr. Smallweed, all lean their elbows on the\ntable, and their chins upon their hands, and look at the ceiling. After\na time, they all drink, slowly lean back, put their hands in their\npockets, and look at one another.\n\n\"If I had the energy I once possessed, Tony!\" says Mr. Guppy with a\nsigh. \"But there are chords in the human mind--\"\n\nExpressing the remainder of the desolate sentiment in rum and water,\nMr. Guppy concludes by resigning the adventure to Tony Jobling, and\ninforming him that, during the vacation and while things are slack,\nhis purse, \"as far as three or four or even five pound goes,\" will be\nat his disposal. \"For never shall it be said,\" Mr. Guppy adds with\nemphasis, \"that William Guppy turned his back upon his friend!\"\n\nThe latter part of the proposal is so directly to the purpose, that\nMr. Jobling says with emotion, \"Guppy, my trump, your fist!\" Mr. Guppy\npresents it, saying, \"Jobling, my boy, there it is!\" Mr. Jobling\nreturns. \"Guppy, we have been pals now for some years!\" Mr. Guppy\nreplies, \"Jobling, we have.\" They then shake hands, and Mr. Jobling\nadds in a feeling manner, \"Thank you, Guppy, I don't know but what I\n_will_ take another glass for old acquaintance sake.\"\n\n\"Krook's last lodger died there,\" observes Mr. Guppy, in an incidental\nway.\n\n\"Did he though!\" says Mr. Jobling.\n\n\"There was a verdict. Accidental death. You don't mind that?\"\n\n\"No,\" says Mr. Jobling, \"I don't mind it; but he might as well have\ndied somewhere else. It's devilish odd that he need go and die at _my_\nplace!\" Mr. Jobling quite resents this liberty; several times returning\nto it with such remarks as, \"There are places enough to die in, I\nshould think!\" or, \"He wouldn't have liked my dying at _his_ place, I\ndare say!\"\n\nHowever, the compact being virtually made, Mr. Guppy proposes to\ndispatch the trusty Smallweed to ascertain if Mr. Krook is at home,\nas in that case they may complete the negotiation without delay. Mr.\nJobling approving, Smallweed puts himself under the tall hat and\nconveys it out of the dining-rooms in the Guppy manner. He soon returns\nwith the intelligence that Mr. Krook is at home, and that he has seen\nhim through the shop-door, sitting in his back premises, sleeping,\n\"like one o'clock.\"\n\n\"Then I'll pay,\" says Mr. Guppy, \"and we'll go and see him. Small, what\nwill it be?\"\n\nMr. Smallweed, compelling the attendance of the waitress with one hitch\nof his eyelash, instantly replies as follows: \"Four veals and hams is\nthree and four potatoes is three and four and one summer cabbage is\nthree and six and three marrows is four and six and six breads is five\nand three Cheshires is five and three and four pints of half-and-half\nis six and three and four small rums is eight and three and three\nPollys is eight and six. Eight and six in half a sovereign, Polly, and\neighteen-pence out!\"\n\nNot at all excited by these stupendous calculations, Smallweed\ndismisses his friends, with a cool nod, and remains behind to take a\nlittle admiring notice of Polly, as opportunity may serve, and to read\nthe daily papers: which are so very large in proportion to himself,\nshorn of his hat, that when he holds up The Times to run his eye over\nthe columns, he seems to have retired for the night, and to have\ndisappeared under the bedclothes.\n\nMr. Guppy and Mr. Jobling repair to the rag and bottle shop, where they\nfind Krook still sleeping like one o'clock; that is to say, breathing\nstertorously with his chin upon his breast, and quite insensible to\nany external sounds, or even to gentle shaking. On the table beside\nhim, among the usual lumber, stand an empty gin bottle and glass. The\nunwholesome air is so stained with this liquor, that even the green\neyes of the cat upon her shelf, as they open and shut and glimmer on\nthe visitors, look drunk.\n\n\"Hold up here!\" says Mr. Guppy, giving the relaxed figure of the old\nman another shake. \"Mr. Krook! Halloa, sir!\"\n\nBut it would seem as easy to wake a bundle of old clothes, with a\nspirituous heat smouldering in it. \"Did you ever see such a stupor as\nhe falls into, between drink and sleep?\" says Mr. Guppy.\n\n\"If this is his regular sleep,\" returns Jobling, rather alarmed, \"it'll\nlast a long time one of these days, I am thinking.\"\n\n\"It's always more like a fit than a nap,\" says Mr. Guppy, shaking him\nagain. \"Halloa, your lordship! Why he might be robbed, fifty times\nover! Open your eyes!\"\n\nAfter much ado, he opens them, but without appearing to see his\nvisitors, or any other objects. Though he crosses one leg on another,\nand folds his hands, and several times closes and opens his parched\nlips, he seems to all intents and purposes as insensible as before.\n\n\"He is alive at any rate,\" says Mr. Guppy. \"How are you, my Lord\nChancellor. I have brought a friend of mine, sir, on a little matter of\nbusiness.\"\n\nThe old man still sits, often smacking his dry lips, without the least\nconsciousness. After some minutes, he makes an attempt to rise. They\nhelp him up, and he staggers against the wall, and stares at them.\n\n\"How do you do, Mr. Krook?\" says Mr. Guppy, in some discomfiture. \"How\ndo you do sir? You are looking charming, Mr. Krook. I hope you are\npretty well?\"\n\nThe old man, in aiming a purposeless blow at Mr. Guppy, or at nothing,\nfeebly swings himself round, and comes with his face against the wall.\nSo he remains for a minute or two, heaped up against it; and then\nstaggers down the shop to the front door. The air, the movement in the\ncourt, the lapse of time, or the combination of these things, recovers\nhim. He comes back pretty steadily, adjusting his fur cap on his head,\nand looking keenly at them.\n\n\"Your servant, gentlemen; I've been dozing. Hi! I am hard to wake, odd\ntimes.\"\n\n\"Rather so, indeed, sir,\" responds Mr. Guppy.\n\n\"What? You've been a-trying to do it, have you?\" says the suspicious\nKrook.\n\n\"Only a little,\" Mr. Guppy explains.\n\nThe old man's eye resting on the empty bottle, he takes it up, examines\nit, and slowly tilts it upside down.\n\n\"I say!\" he cries, like the Hobgoblin in the story. \"Somebody's been\nmaking free here!\"\n\n\"I assure you we found it so,\" says Mr. Guppy. \"Would you allow me to\nget it filled for you?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly I would!\" cries Krook, in high glee. \"Certainly I\nwould! Don't mention it! Get it filled next door--Sol's Arms--the Lord\nChancellor's fourteenpenny. Bless you, they know _me_!\"\n\nHe so presses the empty bottle upon Mr. Guppy, that that gentleman,\nwith a nod to his friend, accepts the trust, and hurries out and\nhurries in again with the bottle filled. The old man receives it in his\narms like a beloved grandchild, and pats it tenderly.\n\n\"But, I say!\" he whispers, with his eye screwed up, after tasting\nit, \"this ain't the Lord Chancellor's fourteenpenny. This is\neighteen-penny!\"\n\n\"I thought you might like that better,\" says Mr. Guppy.\n\n\"You're a nobleman, sir,\" returns Krook, with another taste--and his\nhot breath seems to come toward them like a flame. \"You're a baron of\nthe land.\"\n\nTaking advantage of this auspicious moment, Mr. Guppy presents his\nfriend under the impromptu name of Mr. Weevle, and states the object\nof their visit. Krook, with his bottle under his arm (he never gets\nbeyond a certain point of either drunkenness or sobriety), takes time\nto survey his proposed lodger, and seems to approve of him. \"You'd\nlike to see the room, young man?\" he says. \"Ah! It's a good room! Been\nwhitewashed. Been cleaned down with soft soap and soda. Hi! It's worth\ntwice the rent; letting alone my company when you want it, and such a\ncat to keep the mice away.\"\n\nCommending the room after this manner, the old man takes them\nup-stairs, where indeed they do find it cleaner than it used to be,\nand also containing some old articles of furniture which he has dug up\nfrom his inexhaustible stores. The terms are easily concluded--for the\nLord Chancellor can not be hard on Mr. Guppy, associated as he is with\nKenge and Carboy, Jarndyce and Jarndyce, and other famous claims on his\nprofessional consideration--and it is agreed that Mr. Weevle shall take\npossession on the morrow.\n\nMr. Weevle and Mr. Guppy then repair to Cook's Court, Cursitor Street,\nwhere the personal introduction of the former to Mr. Snagsby is\neffected, and (more important) the vote and interest of Mrs. Snagsby\nare secured. They then report progress to the eminent Smallweed,\nwaiting at the office in his tall hat for that purpose, and separate;\nMr. Guppy explaining that he would terminate his little entertainment\nby standing treat at the play, but that there are chords in the human\nmind which would render it a hollow mockery.\n\nOn the morrow, in the dusk of evening, Mr. Weevle modestly appears at\nKrook's, by no means incommoded with luggage, and establishes himself\nin his new lodging; where the two eyes in the shutters stare at him in\nhis sleep, as if they were full of wonder. On the following day Mr.\nWeevle, who is a handy good-for-nothing kind of young fellow, borrows\na needle and thread of Miss Flite, and a hammer of his landlord, and\ngoes to work devising apologies for window-curtains, and knocking up\napologies for shelves, and hanging up his two tea-cups, milk-pot, and\ncrockery sundries on a pennyworth of little hooks, like a shipwrecked\nsailor making the best of it.\n\nBut what Mr. Weevle prizes most, of all his few possessions (next\nafter his light whiskers, for which he has an attachment that only\nwhiskers can awaken in the breast of man), is a choice collection of\ncopper-plate impressions from that truly national work, The Divinities\nof Albion, or Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty, representing ladies of\ntitle and fashion in every variety of smirk that art, combined with\ncapital, is capable of producing. With these magnificent portraits,\nunworthily confined in a band-box during his seclusion among the\nmarket-gardens, he decorates his apartment; and as the Galaxy Gallery\nof British Beauty wears every variety of fancy-dress, plays every\nvariety of musical instrument, fondles every variety of dog, ogles\nevery variety of prospect, and is backed up by every variety of\nflower-pot and balustrade, the result is very imposing.\n\nBut fashion is Mr. Weevle's, as it was Tony Jobling's weakness. To\nborrow yesterday's paper from the Sols' Arms of an evening, and read\nabout the brilliant and distinguished meteors that are shooting across\nthe fashionable sky in every direction, is unspeakable consolation to\nhim. To know what member of what brilliant and distinguished circle\naccomplished the brilliant and distinguished feat of joining it\nyesterday, or contemplates the no less brilliant and distinguished feat\nof leaving it to-morrow, gives him a thrill of joy. To be informed what\nthe Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty is about and means to be about,\nand what Galaxy marriages are on the tapis, and what Galaxy rumors\nare in circulation, is to become acquainted with the most glorious\ndestinies of mankind. Mr. Weevle reverts from this intelligence, to the\nGalaxy portraits implicated; and seems to know the originals, and to be\nknown of them.\n\nFor the rest he is a quiet lodger, full of handy shifts and devices\nas before mentioned, able to cook and clean for himself as well as\nto carpenter, and developing social inclinations after the shades\nof evening have fallen on the court. At those times, when he is not\nvisited by Mr. Guppy, or by a small light in his likeness quenched in\na dark hat, he comes out of his dull room--where he has inherited the\ndeal wilderness of desk bespattered with a rain of ink--and talks to\nKrook, or is \"very free,\" as they call it in the court, commendingly,\nwith any one disposed for conversation. Wherefore, Mrs. Piper, who\nleads the court, is impelled to offer two remarks to Mrs. Perkins:\nFirstly, that if her Johnny was to have whiskers, she could wish 'em to\nbe identically like that young man's; and secondly, Mark my words, Mrs.\nPerkins, ma'am, and don't you be surprised, Lord bless you, if that\nyoung man comes in at last for old Krook's money!\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI.--THE SMALLWEED FAMILY.\n\nIn a rather ill-favored and ill-savored neighborhood, though one of its\nrising grounds bears the name of Mount Pleasant, the Elfin Smallweed,\nchristened Bartholomew, and known on the domestic hearth as Bart,\npasses that limited portion of his time on which the office and its\ncontingencies have no claim. He dwells in a little narrow street,\nalways solitary, shady, and sad, closely bricked in on all sides like\na tomb, but where there yet lingers the stump of an old forest tree,\nwhose flavor is about as fresh and natural as the Smallweed smack of\nyouth.\n\nThere has been only one child in the Smallweed family for several\ngenerations. Little old men and women there have been, but no child,\nuntil Mr. Smallweed's grandmother, now living, became weak in her\nintellect, and fell (for the first time) into a childish state.\nWith such infantine graces as a total want of observation, memory,\nunderstanding and interest, and an eternal disposition to fall asleep\nover the fire and into it, Mr. Smallweed's grandmother has undoubtedly\nbrightened the family.\n\nMr. Smallweed's grandfather is likewise of the party. He is in a\nhelpless condition as to his lower, and nearly so as to his upper\nlimbs; but his mind is unimpaired. It holds, as well as it ever held,\nthe first four rules of arithmetic, and a certain small collection of\nthe hardest facts. In respect of ideality, reverence, wonder, and other\nsuch phrenological attributes, it is no worse off than it used to be.\nEvery thing that Mr. Smallweed's grandfather ever put away in his mind\nwas a grub at first, and is a grub at last. In all his life he has\nnever bred a single butterfly.\n\nThe father of this pleasant grandfather of the neighborhood of Mount\nPleasant was a horny-skinned, two-legged, money-getting species\nof spider, who spun webs to catch unwary flies, and retired into\nholes until they were entrapped. The name of this old pagan's God\nwas Compound Interest. He lived for it, married it, died of it.\nMeeting with a heavy loss in an honest little enterprise in which\nall the loss was intended to have been on the other side, he broke\nsomething--something necessary to his existence; therefore it couldn't\nhave been his heart--and made an end of his career. As his character\nwas not good; and he had been bred at a Charity School, in a complete\ncourse, according to question and answer, of those ancient people the\nAmorites and Hittites; he was frequently quoted as an example of the\nfailure of education.\n\nHis spirit shone through his son, to whom he had always preached\nof \"going out,\" early in life, and whom he made a clerk in a sharp\nscrivener's office at twelve years old. There, the young gentleman\nimproved his mind, which was of a lean and anxious character; and,\ndeveloping the family gifts, gradually elevated himself into the\ndiscounting profession. Going out early in life and marrying late, as\nhis father had done before him, he too begat a lean and anxious-minded\nson; who, in his turn, going out early in life and marrying late,\nbecame the father of Bartholomew and Judith Smallweed, twins. During\nthe whole time consumed in the slow growth of this family tree, the\nhouse of Smallweed, always early to go out and late to marry, has\nstrengthened itself in its practical character, has discarded all\namusements, discountenanced all story-books, fairy tales, fictions,\nand fables, and banished all levities whatsoever. Hence the gratifying\nfact, that it has had no child born to it; and that the complete little\nmen and women whom it has produced, have been observed to bear a\nlikeness to old monkeys with something depressing on their minds.\n\nAt the present time, in the dark little parlor certain feet below the\nlevel of the street--a grim, hard, uncouth parlor, only ornamented\nwith the coarsest of baize table-covers, and the hardest of sheet iron\ntea-trays, and offering in its decorative character no bad allegorical\nrepresentation of Grandfather Smallweed's mind--seated in two black\nhorsehair porter's chairs, one on each side of the fire-place, the\nsuperannuated Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed wile away the rosy hours. On the\nstove are a couple of trivets for the pots and kettles which it is\nGrandfather Smallweed's usual occupation to watch, and projecting from\nthe chimney-piece between them is a sort of brass gallows for roasting,\nwhich he also superintends when it is in action. Under the venerable\nMr. Smallweed's seat, and guarded by his spindle legs, is a drawer in\nhis chair, reported to contain property to a fabulous amount. Beside\nhim is a spare cushion, with which he is always provided, in order\nthat he may have something to throw at the venerable partner of his\nrespected age when ever she makes an allusion to money--a subject on\nwhich he is particularly sensitive.\n\n\"And where's Bart?\" Grandfather Smallweed inquires of Judy, Bart's\ntwin-sister.\n\n\"He an't come in yet,\" says Judy.\n\n\"It's his tea-time, isn't it?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"How much do you mean to say it wants then?\"\n\n\"Ten minutes.\"\n\n\"Hey?\"\n\n\"Ten minutes.\"--(Loud on the part of Judy.)\n\n[Illustration: THE SMALLWEED FAMILY.]\n\n\"Ho!\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"Ten minutes.\"\n\nGrandmother Smallweed, who has been mumbling and shaking her head at\nthe trevets, hearing figures mentioned, connects them with money,\nand screeches, like a horrible old parrot without any plumage, \"Ten\nten-pound notes!\"\n\nGrandfather Smallweed immediately throws the cushion at her.\n\n\"Drat you, be quiet!\" says the old man.\n\nThe effect of this act of jaculation is twofold. It not only doubles\nup Mrs. Smallweed's head against the side of her porter's chair, and\ncauses her to present, when extricated by her grand-daughter, a highly\nunbecoming state of cap, but the necessary exertion recoils on Mr.\nSmallweed himself, whom it throws back into _his_ porter's chair, like\na broken puppet. The excellent old gentleman being, at these times,\na mere clothes-bag with a black skull-cap on the top of it, does not\npresent a very animated appearance until he has undergone the two\noperations at the hands of his grand-daughter, of being shaken up\nlike a great bottle, and poked and punched like a great bolster. Some\nindication of a neck being developed in him by these means, he and the\nsharer of his life's evening again sit fronting one another in their\ntwo porter's chairs, like a couple of sentinels long forgotten on their\npost by the Black Sergeant Death.\n\nJudy the twin is worthy company for these associates. She is so\nindubitably sister to Mr. Smallweed the younger, that the two kneaded\ninto one would hardly make a young person of average proportions; while\nshe so happily exemplifies the before-mentioned family likeness to the\nmonkey tribe, that, attired in a spangled robe and cap, she might walk\nabout the table-land on the top of a barrel-organ without exciting much\nremark as an unusual specimen. Under existing circumstances, however,\nshe is dressed in a plain, spare gown of brown stuff.\n\nJudy never owned a doll, never heard of Cinderella, never played at\nany game. She once or twice fell into children's company when she was\nabout ten years old, but the children couldn't get on with Judy, and\nJudy couldn't get on with them. She seemed like an animal of another\nspecies, and there was instinctive repugnance on both sides. It is\nvery doubtful whether Judy knows how to laugh. She has so rarely seen\nthe thing done, that the probabilities are strong the other way. Of\nany thing like a youthful laugh, she certainly can have no conception.\nIf she were to try one, she would find her teeth in her way; modeling\nthat action of her face, as she has unconsciously modeled all its other\nexpressions, on her pattern of sordid age. Such is Judy.\n\nAnd her twin brother couldn't wind up a top for his life. He knows no\nmore of Jack the Giant Killer, or of Sinbad the Sailor, than he knows\nof the people in the stars. He could as soon play at leap-frog, or at\ncricket, as change into a cricket or a frog himself. But he is so much\nthe better off than his sister, that on his narrow world of fact an\nopening has dawned, into such broader regions as lie within the ken\nof Mr. Guppy. Hence, his admiration and his emulation of that shining\nenchanter.\n\nJudy, with a gong-like clash and clatter, sets one of the sheet-iron\ntea-trays on the table, and arranges cups and saucers. The bread she\nputs on in an iron basket; and the butter (and not much of it) in a\nsmall pewter plate. Grandfather Smallweed looks hard after the tea as\nit is served out, and asks Judy where the girl is?\n\n\"Charley, do you mean?\" says Judy.\n\n\"Hey?\" from Grandfather Smallweed.\n\n\"Charley, do you mean?\"\n\nThis touches a spring in Grandmother Smallweed who, chuckling, as\nusual, at the trevets, cries--\"Over the water! Charley over the water,\nCharley over the water, over the water to Charley, Charley over\nthe water, over the water to Charley!\" and becomes quite energetic\nabout it. Grandfather looks at the cushion, but has not sufficiently\nrecovered his late exertion.\n\n\"Ha!\" he says, when there is silence--\"if that's her name. She eats a\ndeal. It would be better to allow her for her keep.\"\n\nJudy, with her brother's wink, shakes her head, and purses up her mouth\ninto No, without saying it.\n\n\"No?\" returns the old man. \"Why not?\"\n\n\"She'd want sixpence a-day, and we can do it for less,\" says Judy.\n\n\"Sure?\"\n\nJudy answers with a nod of deepest meaning; and calls, as she scrapes\nthe butter on the loaf with every precaution against waste, and cuts\nit into slices, \"You Charley, where are you?\" Timidly obedient to the\nsummons, a little girl in a rough apron and a large bonnet, with her\nhands covered with soap and water, and a scrubbing brush in one of\nthem, appears, and courtesies.\n\n\"What work are you about now?\" says Judy, making an ancient snap at\nher, like a very sharp old beldame.\n\n\"I'm a cleaning the up-stairs back room, miss,\" replies Charley.\n\n\"Mind you do it thoroughly, and don't loiter. Shirking won't do for me.\nMake haste! Go along!\" cries Judy, with a stamp upon the ground. \"You\ngirls are more trouble than you're worth, by half.\"\n\nOn this severe matron, as she returns to her task of scraping the\nbutter and cutting the bread, falls the shadow of her brother, looking\nin at the window. For whom, knife and loaf in hand, she opens the\nstreet door.\n\n\"Ay, ay, Bart!\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"Here you are, hey?\"\n\n\"Here I am,\" says Bart.\n\n\"Been along with your friend again, Bart?\"\n\nSmall nods.\n\n\"Dining at his expense, Bart?\"\n\nSmall nods again.\n\n\"That's right. Live at his expense as much as you can, and take warning\nby his foolish example. That's the use of such a friend. The only use\nyou can put him to,\" says the venerable sage.\n\nHis grandson without receiving this good counsel as dutifully as he\nmight, honors it with all such acceptance as may lie in a slight wink\nand a nod, and takes a chair at the tea-table. The four old faces then\nhover over tea-cups, like a company of ghastly cherubim; Mrs. Smallweed\nperpetually twitching her head and chattering at the trevets, and Mr.\nSmallweed requiring to be repeatedly shaken up like a large black\ndraught.\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" says the good old gentleman, reverting to his lesson of\nwisdom. \"That's such advice as your father would have given you, Bart.\nYou never saw your father. More's the pity. He was my true son.\"\nWhether it is intended to be conveyed that he was particularly pleasant\nto look at, on that account, does not appear.\n\n\"He was my true son,\" repeats the old gentleman, folding his bread and\nbutter on his knee; \"a good accountant, and died fifteen years ago.\"\n\nMrs. Smallweed, following her usual instinct, breaks out with \"Fifteen\nhundred pound. Fifteen hundred pound in a black box, fifteen hundred\npound locked up, fifteen hundred pound put away and hid!\" Her worthy\nhusband, setting aside his bread and butter, immediately discharges\nthe cushion at her, crushes her against the side of her chair, and\nfalls back in his own overpowered. His appearance, after visiting Mrs.\nSmallweed with one of these admonitions, is particularly impressive\nand not wholly prepossessing: firstly, because the exertion generally\ntwists his black skull-cap over one eye and gives him an air of\ngoblin rakishness; secondly, because he mutters violent imprecations\nagainst Mrs. Smallweed; and thirdly, because the contrast between\nthose powerful expressions and his powerless figure is suggestive of a\nbaleful old malignant, who would be very wicked if he could. All this,\nhowever, is so common in the Smallweed family circle, that it produces\nno impression. The old gentleman is merely shaken, and has his internal\nfeathers beaten up; the cushion is restored to its usual place beside\nhim; and the old lady, perhaps with her cap adjusted, and perhaps not,\nis planted in her chair again, ready to be bowled down like a ninepin.\n\nSome time elapses, in the present instance, before the old gentleman is\nsufficiently cool to resume his discourse; and even then he mixes it up\nwith several edifying expletives addressed to the unconscious partner\nof his bosom, who holds communication with nothing on earth but the\ntrevets. As thus:\n\n\"If your father, Bart, had lived longer, he might have been worth a\ndeal of money--you brimstone chatterer!--but just as he was beginning\nto build up the house that he had been making the foundations for,\nthrough many a year--you jade of a magpie, jackdaw, and poll-parrot,\nwhat do you mean!--he took ill and died of a low fever, always being a\nsparing and a spare man, full of business care--I should like to throw\na cat at you instead of a cushion, and I will, too, if you make such a\nconfounded fool of yourself!--and your mother, who was a prudent woman,\nas dry as a chip, just dwindled away like touchwood after you and Judy\nwere born. You are an old pig. You are a brimstone pig. You're a head\nof swine!\"\n\nJudy, not interested in what she has often heard, begins to collect\nin a basin various tributary streams of tea, from the bottoms of\ncups and saucers and from the bottom of the teapot, for the little\ncharwoman's evening meal. In like manner she gets together, in the iron\nbread-basket, as many outside fragments and worn-down heels of loaves\nas the rigid economy of the house has left in existence.\n\n\"But your father and me were partners, Bart,\" says the old gentleman;\n\"and when I am gone, you and Judy will have all there is. It's rare for\nyou both, that you went out early in life--Judy to the flower business,\nand you to the law. You won't want to spend it. You'll get your living\nwithout it, and put more to it. When I am gone, Judy will go back to\nthe flower business, and you'll still stick to the law.\"\n\nOne might infer, from Judy's appearance, that her business rather\nlay with the thorns than the flowers; but she has, in her time, been\napprenticed to the art and mystery of artificial flower-making. A\nclose observer might perhaps detect both in her eye and her brother's,\nwhen their venerable grandsire anticipates his being gone, some little\nimpatience to know when he may be going, and some resentful opinion\nthat it is time he went.\n\n\"Now, if every body has done,\" says Judy, completing her preparations,\n\"I'll have that girl into her tea. She would never leave off, if she\ntook it by herself in the kitchen.\"\n\nCharley is accordingly introduced, and, under a heavy fire of eyes,\nsits down to her basin and a Druidical ruin of bread and butter. In the\nactive superintendence of this young person, Judy Smallweed appears\nto attain a perfectly geological age, and to date from the remotest\nperiods. Her systematic manner of flying at her, and pouncing on her,\nwith or without pretense, whether or no, is wonderful; evincing an\naccomplishment in the art of girl-driving, seldom reached by the oldest\npractitioners.\n\n\"Now, don't stare about you all the afternoon,\" cries Judy, shaking her\nhead and stamping her foot, as she happens to catch the glance which\nhas been previously sounding the basin of tea, \"but take your victuals\nand get back to your work.\"\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" says Charley.\n\n\"Don't say yes,\" returns Miss Smallweed, \"for I know what you girls\nare. Do it without saying it, and then I may begin to believe you.\"\n\nCharley swallows a great gulp of tea in token of submission, and so\ndisperses the Druidical ruins that Miss Smallweed charges her not to\ngormandize, which \"in you girls,\" she observes, is disgusting. Charley\nmight find some more difficulty in meeting her views on the general\nsubject of girls, but for a knock at the door.\n\n\"See who it is, and don't chew when you open it!\" cries Judy.\n\nThe object of her attentions withdrawing for the purpose, Miss\nSmallweed takes that opportunity of jumbling the remainder of the bread\nand butter together, and launching two or three dirty tea-cups into the\nebb-tide of the basin of tea; as a hint that she considers the eating\nand drinking terminated.\n\n\"Now! Who is it, and what's wanted?\" says the snappish Judy.\n\nIt is one \"Mr. George,\" it appears. Without other announcement or\nceremony, Mr. George walks in.\n\n\"Whew!\" says Mr. George. \"You are hot here. Always a fire, eh? Well!\nPerhaps you do right to get used to one.\" Mr. George makes the latter\nremark to himself, as he nods to Grandfather Smallweed.\n\n\"Ho! It's you!\" cries the old gentleman. \"How de do? How de do?\"\n\n\"Middling,\" replies Mr. George, taking a chair. \"Your grand-daughter I\nhave had the honor of seeing before; my service to you, miss.\"\n\n\"This is my grandson,\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"You han't seen him\nbefore. He is in the law, and not much at home.\"\n\n\"My service to him, too! He is like his sister. He is very like his\nsister. He is devilish like his sister,\" says Mr. George, laying a\ngreat and not altogether complimentary stress on his last adjective.\n\n\"And how does the world use you, Mr. George?\" Grandfather Smallweed\ninquires, slowly rubbing his legs.\n\n\"Pretty much as usual. Like a football.\"\n\nHe is a swarthy browned man of fifty; stoutly built, and good-looking;\nwith crisp dark hair, bright eyes, and a broad chest. His sinewy and\npowerful hands, as sunburnt as his face, have evidently been used to a\npretty rough life. What is curious about him is, that he sits forward\non his chair as if he were, from long habit, allowing space for some\ndress or accoutrements that he has altogether laid aside. His step,\ntoo, is measured and heavy, and would go well with a weighty clash and\njingle of spurs. He is close-shaved now, but his mouth is set as if his\nupper lip had been for years familiar with a great mustache; and his\nmanner of occasionally laying the open palm of his broad brown hand\nupon it, is to the same effect. Altogether, one might guess Mr. George\nto have been a trooper once upon a time.\n\nA special contrast Mr. George makes to the Smallweed family. Trooper\nwas never yet billeted upon a household more unlike him. It is a\nbroad-sword to an oyster-knife. His developed figure, and their stunted\nforms; his large manner filling any amount of room, and their little\nnarrow pinched ways; his sounding voice, and their sharp spare tones,\nare in the strongest and the strangest opposition. As he sits in the\nmiddle of the grim parlor, leaning a little forward, with his hands\nupon his thighs, and his elbows squared, he looks as though, if he\nremained there long, he would absorb into himself the whole family and\nthe whole four-roomed house, extra little back-kitchen and all.\n\n\"Do you rub your legs to rub life into 'em?\" he asks of Grandfather\nSmallweed, after looking round the room.\n\n\"Why, it's partly a habit, Mr. George, and--yes--it partly helps the\ncirculation,\" he replies.\n\n\"The cir-cu-la-tion!\" repeats Mr. George, folding his arms upon his\nchest, and seeming to become two sizes larger. \"Not much of that, I\nshould think.\"\n\n\"Truly, I'm old, Mr. George,\" says Grandfather Smallweed. \"But I can\ncarry my years. I'm older than _her_,\" nodding at his wife, \"and see\nwhat she is!--You're a brimstone chatterer!\" with a sudden revival of\nhis late hostility.\n\n\"Unlucky old soul!\" says Mr. George, turning his head in that\ndirection. \"Don't scold the old lady. Look at her here, with her\npoor cap half off her head, and her poor chair all in a muddle. Hold\nup, ma'am. That's better. There we are! Think of your mother, Mr.\nSmallweed,\" says Mr. George, coming back to his seat from assisting\nher, \"if your wife an't enough.\"\n\n\"I suppose you were an excellent son, Mr. George,\" the old man hints,\nwith a leer.\n\nThe color of George's face rather deepens, as he replies: \"Why no. I\nwasn't.\"\n\n\"I am astonished at it.\"\n\n\"So am I. I ought to have been a good son, and I think I meant to have\nbeen one. But I wasn't. I was a thundering bad son, that's the long and\nthe short of it, and never was a credit to any body.\"\n\n\"Surprising!\" cries the old man.\n\n\"However,\" Mr. George resumes, \"the less said about it, the better now.\nCome! You know the agreement. Always a pipe out of the two months'\ninterest! (Bosh! It's all correct. You needn't be afraid to order the\npipe. Here's the new bill, and here's the two months' interest-money,\nand a devil-and-all of a scrape it is to get it together in my\nbusiness.\")\n\nMr. George sits, with his arms folded, consuming the family and the\nparlor, while Grandfather Smallweed is assisted by Judy to two black\nleathern cases out of a locked bureau; in one of which he secures\nthe document he has just received, and from the other takes another\nsimilar document which he hands to Mr. George, who twists it up for\na pipe-light. As the old man inspects, through his glasses, every\nup-stroke and down-stroke of both documents, before he releases them\nfrom their leathern prison; and as he counts the money three times\nover, and requires Judy to say every word she utters at least twice,\nand is as tremulously slow of speech and action as it is possible\nto be; this business is a long time in progress. When it is quite\nconcluded, and not before, he disengages his ravenous eyes and fingers\nfrom it, and answers Mr. George's last remark by saying, \"Afraid\nto order the pipe? We are not so mercenary as that, sir. Judy, see\ndirectly to the pipe and the glass of cold brandy and water for Mr.\nGeorge.\"\n\nThe sportive twins, who have been looking straight before them all this\ntime, except when they have been engrossed by the black leathern cases,\nretire together, generally disdainful of the visitor, but leaving\nhim to the old man, as two young cubs might leave a traveler to the\nparental bear.\n\n\"And there you sit, I suppose, all the day long, eh?\" says Mr. George,\nwith folded arms.\n\n\"Just so, just so,\" the old man nods.\n\n\"And don't you occupy yourself at all?\"\n\n\"I watch the fire--and the boiling and the roasting--\"\n\n\"When there is any,\" says Mr. George, with great expression.\n\n\"Just so. When there is any.\"\n\n\"Don't you read, or get read to?\"\n\nThe old man shakes his head with sharp, sly triumph. \"No, no. We have\nnever been readers in our family. It don't pay. Stuff. Idleness. Folly.\nNo, no!\"\n\n\"There's not much to choose between your two states,\" says the visitor,\nin a key too low for the old man's dull hearing, as he looks from him\nto the old woman and back again. \"I say!\" in a louder voice.\n\n\"I hear you.\"\n\n\"You'll sell me up at last I suppose, when I am a day in arrear.\"\n\n\"My dear friend!\" cries Grandfather Smallweed, stretching out both\nhands to embrace him. \"Never! Never, my dear friend! But my friend in\nthe city that I got to lend you the money--_he_ might!\"\n\n\"O! you can't answer for him?\" says Mr. George; finishing the inquiry,\nin his lower key, with the words \"you lying old rascal!\"\n\n\"My dear friend, he is not to be depended on. I wouldn't trust him. He\nwill have his bond, my dear friend.\"\n\n\"Devil doubt him,\" says Mr. George. Charley appearing with a tray, on\nwhich are the pipe, a small paper of tobacco, and the brandy and water,\nhe asked her, \"How do you come here! you haven't got the family face.\"\n\n\"I goes out to work, sir,\" returns Charley.\n\nThe trooper (if trooper he be or have been) takes her bonnet off, with\na light touch for so strong a hand, and pats her on the head. \"You give\nthe house almost a wholesome look. It wants a bit of youth as much as\nit wants fresh air.\" Then he dismisses her, lights his pipe, and drinks\nto Mr. Smallweed's friend in the city--the one solitary flight of that\nesteemed old gentleman's imagination.\n\n\"So you think he might be hard upon me, eh?\"\n\n\"I think he might--I am afraid he would. I have known him do it,\" says\nGrandfather Smallweed, incautiously, \"twenty times.\"\n\nIncautiously, because his stricken better-half, who has been dozing\nover the fire for some time, is instantly aroused and jabbers. \"Twenty\nthousand pounds, twenty twenty-pound notes in a money-box, twenty\nguineas, twenty million twenty per cent., twenty--\" and is then cut\nshort by the flying cushion, which the visitor, to whom this singular\nexperiment appears to be a novelty, snatches from her face, as it\ncrushes her in the usual manner.\n\n\"You're a brimstone idiot. You're a scorpion--a brimstone scorpion!\nYou're a sweltering toad. You're a chattering, clattering, broom-stick\nwitch, that ought to be burnt!\" gasps the old man, prostrate in his\nchair. \"My dear friend, will you shake me up a little?\"\n\nMr. George, who has been looking first at one of them and then at the\nother, as if he were demented, takes his venerable acquaintance by the\nthroat on receiving this request, and dragging him upright in his chair\nas easily as if he were a doll, appears in two minds whether or no to\nshake all future power of cushioning out of him, and shake him into his\ngrave. Resisting the temptation, but agitating him violently enough to\nmake his head roll like a harlequin's, he puts him smartly down in his\nchair again, and adjusts his skull cap with such a rub, that the old\nman winks with both eyes for a minute afterward.\n\n\"O Lord!\" says Mr. Smallweed. \"That'll do. Thank you, my dear friend,\nthat'll do. O dear me, I'm out of breath. O Lord!\" And Mr. Smallweed\nsays it, not without evident apprehensions of his dear friend, who\nstill stands over him looming larger than ever.\n\nThe alarming presence, however, gradually subsides into its chair, and\nfalls to smoking in long puffs; consoling itself with the philosophical\nreflection, \"The name of your friend in the city begins with a D,\ncomrade, and you're about right respecting the bond.\"\n\n\"Did you speak, Mr. George?\" inquires the old man.\n\nThe trooper shakes his head; and leaning forward with his right elbow\non his right knee and his pipe supported in that hand, while his other\nhand, resting on his left leg, squares his left elbow in a martial\nmanner, continues to smoke. Meanwhile he looks at Mr. Smallweed with\ngrave attention, and now and then fans the cloud of smoke away, in\norder that he may see him the more clearly.\n\n\"I take it,\" he says, making just as much and as little change in his\nposition as will enable him to reach the glass to his lips, with a\nround, full action, \"that I am the only man alive (or dead either),\nthat gets the value of a pipe out of _you_?\"\n\n\"Well!\" returns the old man, \"it's true that I don't see company, Mr.\nGeorge, and that I don't treat. I can't afford to do it. But as you, in\nyour pleasant way, made your pipe a condition--\"\n\n\"Why, it's not for the value of it; that's no great thing. It was a\nfancy to get it out of you. To have something in for my money.\"\n\n\"Ha! You're prudent, prudent, sir!\" cries Grandfather Smallweed,\nrubbing his legs.\n\n\"Very. I always was.\" Puff. \"It's a sure sign of my prudence, that I\never found the way here.\" Puff. \"Also, that I am what I am.\" Puff. \"I\nam well known to be prudent,\" says Mr. George, composedly smoking. \"I\nrose in life, that way.\"\n\n\"Don't be down-hearted, sir. You may rise yet.\"\n\nMr. George laughs and drinks.\n\n\"Ha'n't you no relations now,\" asks Grandfather Smallweed, with a\ntwinkle in his eyes, \"who would pay off this little principal, or who\nwould lend you a good name or two that I could persuade my friend in\nthe city to make you a further advance upon? Two good names would be\nsufficient for my friend in the city. Ha'n't you no such relations, Mr.\nGeorge?\"\n\nMr. George, still composedly smoking, replies, \"If I had, I shouldn't\ntrouble them. I have been trouble enough to my belongings in my day. It\n_may_ be a very good sort of penitence in a vagabond, who has wasted\nthe best time of his life, to go back then to decent people that he\nnever was a credit to, and live upon them; but it's not my sort. The\nbest kind of amends then, for having gone away, is to keep away, in my\nopinion.\"\n\n\"But, natural affection, Mr. George,\" hints Grandfather Smallweed.\n\n\"For two good names, hey?\" says Mr. George, shaking his head, and still\ncomposedly smoking. \"No. That's not my sort, either.\"\n\nGrandfather Smallweed has been gradually sliding down in his chair\nsince his last adjustment, and is now a bundle of clothes, with a voice\nin it calling for Judy. That Houri appearing, shakes him up in the\nusual manner, and is charged by the old gentleman to remain near him.\nFor he seems chary of putting his visitor to the trouble of repeating\nhis late attentions.\n\n\"Ha!\" he observes, when he is in trim again. \"If you could have traced\nout the Captain, Mr. George, it would have been the making of you. If,\nwhen you first came here, in consequence of our advertisements in the\nnewspapers--when I say 'our,' I'm alluding to the advertisements of my\nfriend in the city, and one or two others who embark their capital in\nthe same way, and are so friendly toward me as sometimes to give me a\nlift with my little pittance--if, at that time, you could have helped\nus, Mr. George, it would have been the making of you.\"\n\n\"I was willing enough to be 'made,' as you call it,\" says Mr. George,\nsmoking not quite so placidly as before, for since the entrance of Judy\nhe has been in some measure disturbed by a fascination, not of the\nadmiring kind, which obliges him to look at her as she stands by her\ngrandfather's chair; \"but, on the whole, I am glad I wasn't now.\"\n\n\"Why, Mr. George? In the name of--of Brimstone, why?\" says Grandfather\nSmallweed, with a plain appearance of exasperation. (Brimstone\napparently suggested by his eye lighting on Mrs. Smallweed in her\nslumber).\n\n\"For two reasons, comrade.\"\n\n\"And what two reasons, Mr. George? In the name of the--\"\n\n\"Of our friend in the city?\" suggests Mr. George, composedly drinking.\n\n\"Ay, if you like. What two reasons?\"\n\n\"In the first place,\" returns Mr. George; but still looking at Judy,\nas if, she being so old and so like her grandfather, it is indifferent\nwhich of the two he addresses; \"you gentlemen took me in. You\nadvertised that Mr. Hawdon (Captain Hawdon, if you hold to the saying,\nOnce a captain always a captain) was to hear of something to his\nadvantage.\"\n\n\"Well?\" returns the old man, shrilly and sharply.\n\n\"Well!\" says Mr. George, smoking on. \"It wouldn't have been much to\nhis advantage to have been clapped into prison by the whole bill and\njudgment trade of London.\"\n\n\"How do you know that? Some of his rich relations might have paid his\ndebts, or compounded for 'em. Beside, he had taken _us_ in. He owed us\nimmense sums, all round. I would sooner have strangled him than had no\nreturn. If I sit here thinking of him,\" snarls the old man, holding up\nhis impotent ten fingers, \"I want to strangle him now.\" And in a sudden\naccess of fury he throws the cushion at the unoffending Mrs. Smallweed,\nbut it passes harmlessly on one side of her chair.\n\n\"I don't need to be told,\" returns the trooper, taking his pipe from\nhis lips for a moment, and carrying his eyes back from following the\nprogress of the cushion to the pipe-bowl, which is burning low, \"that\nhe carried on heavily and went to ruin. I have been at his right hand\nmany a day, when he was charging upon ruin full-gallop. I was with\nhim, when he was sick and well, rich and poor. I laid this hand upon\nhim, after he had run through every thing and broken down every thing\nbeneath him--when he held a pistol to his head.\"\n\n\"I wish he had let it off!\" says the benevolent old man, \"and blown his\nhead into as many pieces as he owed pounds!\"\n\n\"That would have been a smash indeed,\" returns the trooper, coolly;\n\"any way, he had been young, hopeful, and handsome in the days gone\nby; and I am glad I never found him, when he was neither, to lead to a\nresult so much to his advantage. That's reason number one.\"\n\n\"I hope number two's as good?\" says the old man.\n\n\"Why, no. It's more of a selfish reason. If I had found him, I must\nhave gone to the other world to look. He was there.\"\n\n\"How do you know he was there?\"\n\n\"He wasn't here.\"\n\n\"How do you know he wasn't here?\"\n\n\"Don't lose your temper as well as your money,\" says Mr. George, calmly\nknocking the ashes out of his pipe. \"He was drowned long before. I am\nconvinced of it. He went over a ship's side. Whether intentionally or\naccidentally, I don't know. Perhaps your friend in the city does. Do\nyou know what that tune is, Mr. Smallweed?\" he adds, after breaking off\nto whistle one, accompanied on the table with the empty pipe.\n\n\"Tune!\" replies the old man. \"No. We never have tunes here.\"\n\n\"That's the Dead March in Saul. They bury soldiers to it; so it's the\nnatural end of the subject. Now, if your pretty grand-daughter--excuse\nme, miss--will condescend to take care of this pipe for two months, we\nshall save the cost of one, next time. Good evening, Mr. Smallweed!\"\n\n\"My dear friend!\" The old man gives him both his hands.\n\n\"So you think your friend in the city will be hard upon me, if I fail\nin a payment?\" says the trooper, looking down upon him like a giant.\n\n\"My dear friend, I am afraid he will,\" returns the old man looking up\nat him like a pigmy.\n\nMr. George laughs; and with a glance at Mr. Smallweed, and a parting\nsalutation to the scornful Judy, strides out of the parlor, clashing\nimaginary sabres and other metallic appurtenances as he goes.\n\n\"You're a damned rogue,\" says the old gentleman, making a hideous\ngrimace at the door as he shuts it. \"But I'll lime you, you dog, I'll\nlime you!\"\n\nAfter this amiable remark, his spirit soars into those enchanting\nregions of reflection which its education and pursuits have opened\nto it; and again he and Mrs. Smallweed wile away the rosy hours, two\nunrelieved sentinels forgotten as aforesaid by the Black Sergeant.\n\nWhile the twain are faithful to their post, Mr. George strides through\nthe streets with a massive kind of swagger and a grave enough face. It\nis eight o'clock now, and the day is fast drawing in. He stops hard\nby Waterloo Bridge, and reads a playbill; decides to go to Astley's\nTheatre. Being there, is much delighted with the horses and the feats\nof strength; looks at the weapons with a critical eye; disapproves of\nthe combats, as giving evidences of unskillful swordmanship; but is\ntouched home by the sentiments. In the last scene, when the Emperor of\nTartary gets up into a cart and condescends to bless the united lovers,\nby hovering over them with the Union-Jack, his eye-lashes are moistened\nwith emotion.\n\nThe theatre over, Mr. George comes across the water again, and makes\nhis way to that curious region lying about the Haymarket and Leicester\nSquare, which is a centre of attraction to indifferent foreign hotels\nand indifferent foreigners, racket-courts, fighting-men, swordsmen,\nfoot-guards, old china, gaming houses, exhibitions, and a large medley\nof shabbiness and shrinking out of sight. Penetrating to the heart of\nthis region, he arrives, by a court and a long whitewashed passage, at\na great brick building, composed of bare walls, floor, roof-rafters,\nand skylights; on the front of which, if it can be said to have any\nfront, is painted GEORGE'S SHOOTING GALLERY, &C.\n\nInto George's Shooting Gallery, &c., he goes; and in it there are\ngas-lights (partly turned off now), and two whitened targets for\nrifle-shooting, and archery accommodation, and fencing appliances, and\nall necessaries for the British art of boxing. None of these sports\nor exercises are being pursued in George's Shooting Gallery to-night;\nwhich is so devoid of company, that a little grotesque man, with a\nlarge head, has it all to himself, and lies asleep upon the floor.\n\nThe little man is dressed something like a gunsmith, in a green baize\napron and cap; and his face and hands are dirty with gunpowder, and\nbegrimed with the loading of guns. As he lies in the light, before a\nglaring white target, the black upon him shines again. Not far off, is\nthe strong, rough, primitive table, with a vice upon it, at which he\nhas been working. He is a little man with a face all crushed together,\nwho appears, from a certain blue and speckled appearance that one of\nhis cheeks presents, to have blown up, in the way of business, at some\nodd time or times.\n\n\"Phil!\" says the trooper, in a quiet voice.\n\n\"All right!\" cries Phil, scrambling up.\n\n\"Any thing been doing?\"\n\n\"Flat as ever so much swipes,\" says Phil. \"Five dozen rifle and a dozen\npistol. As to aim!\" Phil gives a howl at the recollection.\n\n\"Shut up shop, Phil!\"\n\nAs Phil moves about to execute this order, it appears that he is\nlame, though able to move very quickly. On the speckled side of his\nface he has no eyebrow, and on the other side he has a bushy black\none, which want of uniformity gives him a very singular and rather\nsinister appearance. Every thing seems to have happened to his hands\nthat could possibly take place, consistently with the retention of all\nthe fingers; for they are notched, and seamed, and crumpled all over.\nHe appears to be very strong, and lifts heavy benches about as if he\nhad no idea what weight was. He has a curious way of limping round the\ngallery with his shoulder against the wall, and tacking off at objects\nhe wants to lay hold of, instead of going straight to them, which has\nleft a smear all round the four walls, conventionally called \"Phil's\nmark.\"\n\nThis custodian of George's Gallery in George's absence concludes his\nproceedings, when he has locked the great doors, and turned out all\nthe lights but one, which he leaves to glimmer, by dragging out from a\nwooden cabin in a corner two mattresses and bedding. These being drawn\nto opposite ends of the gallery, the trooper makes his own bed, and\nPhil makes his.\n\n\"Phil!\" says the master, walking toward him without his coat and\nwaistcoat, and looking more soldierly than ever in his braces, \"You\nwere found in a doorway, weren't you?\"\n\n\"Gutter,\" says Phil. \"Watchman tumbled over me.\"\n\n\"Then, vagabondizing came natural to _you_, from the beginning.\"\n\n\"As nat'ral as possible,\" says Phil.\n\n\"Good-night!\"\n\n\"Good-night, guv'ner.\"\n\nPhil can not even go straight to bed, but finds it necessary to\nshoulder round two sides of the gallery, and then tack off at\nhis mattress. The trooper, after taking a turn or two in the\nrifle-distance, and looking up at the moon, now shining through the\nskylights, strides to his own mattress by a shorter route, and goes to\nbed too.\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII.--MR. BUCKET.\n\nAllegory looks pretty cool in Lincoln's Inn Fields, though the evening\nis hot; for, both Mr. Tulkinghorn's windows are wide open, and the room\nis lofty, gusty, and gloomy. These may not be desirable characteristics\nwhen November comes with fog and sleet, or January with ice and snow;\nbut they have their merits in the sultry long vacation weather. They\nenable Allegory, though it has cheeks like peaches, and knees like\nbunches of blossoms, and rosy swellings for calves to its legs and\nmuscles to its arms, to look tolerably cool to-night.\n\nPlenty of dust comes in at Mr. Tulkinghorn's windows, and plenty more\nhas generated among his furniture and papers. It lies thick every\nwhere. When a breeze from the country that has lost its way, takes\nfright, and makes a blind hurry to rush out again, it flings as much\ndust in the eyes of Allegory as the law--or Mr. Tulkinghorn, one of its\ntrustiest representatives--may scatter, on occasion, in the eyes of the\nlaity.\n\nIn his lowering magazine of dust, the universal article into which\nhis papers and himself, and all his clients, and all things of earth,\nanimate and inanimate, are resolving, Mr. Tulkinghorn sits at one\nof the open windows, enjoying a bottle of old port. For, though a\nhard-grained man, close, dry, and silent, he can enjoy old wine with\nthe best. He has a priceless bin of port in some artful cellar under\nthe Fields, which is one of his many secrets. When he dines alone in\nchambers, as he has dined to-day, and has his bit of fish and his steak\nor chicken brought in from the coffee-house, he descends with a candle\nto the echoing regions below the deserted mansion, and, heralded by a\nremote reverberation of thundering doors, comes gravely back, encircled\nby an earthly atmosphere, and carrying a bottle from which he pours a\nradiant nectar, two score and ten years old, that blushes in the glass\nto find itself so famous, and fills the whole room with the fragrance\nof southern grapes.\n\nMr. Tulkinghorn, sitting in the twilight by the open window, enjoys\nhis wine. As if it whispered to him of its fifty years of silence and\nseclusion, it shuts him up the closer. More impenetrable than ever, he\nsits, and drinks, and mellows as it were in secrecy; pondering, at that\ntwilight hour, on all the mysteries he knows, associated with darkening\nwoods in the country, and vast blank shut-up houses in town; and\nperhaps sparing a thought or two for himself, and his family history,\nand his money, and his will--all a mystery to every one--and that one\nbachelor friend of his, a man of the same mould, and a lawyer too, who\nlived the same kind of life until he was seventy-five years old, and\nthen, suddenly conceiving (as it is supposed) an impression that it\nwas too monotonous, gave his gold watch to his hair-dresser one summer\nevening, and walked leisurely home to the Temple, and hanged himself.\n\nBut Mr. Tulkinghorn is not alone to-night, to ponder at his usual\nlength. Seated at the same table, though with his chair modestly and\nuncomfortably drawn a little away from it, sits a bald, mild, shining\nman, who coughs respectfully behind his hand when the lawyer bids him\nfill his glass.\n\n\"Now, Snagsby,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn, \"to go over this odd story again.\"\n\n\"If you please, sir.\"\n\n\"You told me, when you were so good as to step round here, last night--\"\n\n\"For which I must ask you to excuse me if it was a liberty, sir; but I\nremembered that you had taken a sort of an interest in that person, and\nI thought it possible that you might--just--wish--to--\"\n\nMr. Tulkinghorn is not the man to help him to any conclusion, or to\nadmit any thing as to any possibility concerning himself. So Mr.\nSnagsby trails off into saying, with an awkward cough, \"I must ask you\nto excuse the liberty, sir, I am sure.\"\n\n\"Not at all,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn. \"You told me, Snagsby, that you\nput on your hat and came round without mentioning your intention to\nyour wife. That was prudent, I think, because it's not a matter of such\nimportance that it requires to be mentioned.\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" returns Mr. Snagsby, \"you see my little woman is--not to\nput too fine a point upon it--inquisitive. She's inquisitive. Poor\nlittle thing, she's liable to spasms, and it's good for her to have her\nmind employed. In consequence of which, she employs it--I should say\nupon every individual thing she can lay hold of, whether it concerns\nher or not--especially not. My little woman has a very active mind,\nsir.\"\n\nMr. Snagsby drinks, and murmurs with an admiring cough behind his hand.\n\"Dear me, very fine wine indeed!\"\n\n\"Therefore you kept your visit to yourself, last night?\" says Mr.\nTulkinghorn. \"And to-night, too?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir, and to-night, too. My little woman is at present in--not\nto put too fine a point upon it--in a pious state, or in what she\nconsiders such, and attends the Evening Exertions (which is the name\nthey go by) of a reverend party of the name of Chadband. He has a great\ndeal of eloquence at his command, undoubtedly, but I am not quite\nfavorable to his style myself. That's neither here nor there. My little\nwoman being engaged in that way, made it easier for me to step round in\na quiet manner.\"\n\nMr. Tulkinghorn assents. \"Fill your glass, Snagsby.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir, I am sure,\" returns the stationer, with his cough of\ndeference. \"This is wonderfully fine wine, sir!\"\n\n\"It is a rare wine now,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn. \"It is fifty years old.\"\n\n\"Is it indeed, sir? But I am not surprised to hear it, I am sure. It\nmight be--any age almost.\" After rendering this general tribute to the\nport, Mr. Snagsby in his modesty coughs an apology behind his hand for\ndrinking any thing so precious.\n\n\"Will you run over, once again, what the boy said?\" asks Mr.\nTulkinghorn, putting his hands into the pockets of his rusty\nsmallclothes, and leaning quietly back in his chair.\n\n\"With pleasure, sir.\"\n\nThen, with fidelity, though with some prolixity, the law stationer\nrepeats Joe's statement made to the assembled guests at his house. On\ncoming to the end of his narrative, he gives a great start, and breaks\noff with--\"Dear me, sir, I wasn't aware there was any other gentleman\npresent!\"\n\nMr. Snagsby is dismayed to see, standing with an attentive face between\nhimself and the lawyer, at a little distance from the table, a person\nwith a hat and stick in his hand, who was not there when he himself\ncame in, and has not since entered by the door or by either of the\nwindows. There is a press in the room, but its hinges have not creaked,\nnor has a step been audible upon the floor. Yet this third person\nstands there, with his attentive face, and his hat and stick in his\nhands, and his hands behind him, a composed and quiet listener. He is\na steady-looking, sharp-eyed man in black, of about the middle age.\nExcept that he looks at Mr. Snagsby as if he were going to take his\nportrait, there is nothing remarkable about him at first sight but his\nghostly manner of appearing.\n\n\"Don't mind this gentleman,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn, in his quiet way.\n\"This is only Mr. Bucket.\"\n\n\"O indeed, sir?\" returns the stationer, expressing by a cough that he\nis quite in the dark as to who Mr. Bucket may be.\n\n\"I wanted him to hear this story,\" says the lawyer, \"because I\nhave half a mind (for a reason) to know more of it, and he is very\nintelligent in such things. What do you say to this, Bucket?\"\n\n\"It's very plain, sir. Since our people have moved this boy on, and\nhe's not to be found on his old lay, if Mr. Snagsby don't object to go\ndown with me to Tom-all-Alone's and point him out, we can have him here\nin less than a couple of hours' time. I can do it without Mr. Snagsby,\nof course; but this is the shortest way.\"\n\n\"Mr. Bucket is a detective officer, Snagsby,\" says the lawyer in\nexplanation.\n\n\"Is he indeed, sir?\" says Mr. Snagsby, with a strong tendency in his\nclump of hair to stand on end.\n\n\"And if you have no real objection to accompany Mr. Bucket to the place\nin question,\" pursues the lawyer, \"I shall feel obliged to you if you\nwill do so.\"\n\nIn a moment's hesitation on the part of Mr. Snagsby, Bucket dips down\nto the bottom of his mind.\n\n\"Don't you be afraid of hurting the boy,\" he says. \"You won't do that.\nIt's all right as far as the boy's concerned. We shall only bring him\nhere to ask him a question or so I want to put to him, and he'll be\npaid for his trouble, and sent away again. It'll be a good job for\nhim. I promise you, as a man, that you shall see the boy sent away all\nright. Don't you be afraid of hurting him; you an't going to do that.\"\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Tulkinghorn!\" cries Mr. Snagsby, cheerfully, and\nreassured, \"since that's the case--\"\n\n\"Yes! and lookee here, Mr. Snagsby,\" resumes Bucket, taking him aside\nby the arm, tapping him familiarly on the breast, and speaking in a\nconfidential tone. \"You're a man of the world, you know, and a man of\nbusiness, and a man of sense. That's what _you_ are.\"\n\n\"I am sure I am much obliged to you for your good opinion,\" returns the\nstationer, with his cough of modesty, \"but--\"\n\n\"That's what you _are_, you know,\" says Bucket. \"Now it an't necessary\nto say to a man like you, engaged in your business, which is a business\nof trust, and requires a person to be wide awake and have his senses\nabout him, and his head screwed on right (I had an uncle in your\nbusiness once)--it an't necessary to say to a man like you, that it's\nthe best and wisest way to keep little matters like this quiet. Don't\nyou see? Quiet!\"\n\n\"Certainly, certainly,\" returns the stationer.\n\n\"I don't mind telling _you_,\" says Bucket, with an engaging appearance\nof frankness, \"that, as far as I can understand it, there seems to be\na doubt whether this dead person wasn't entitled to a little property,\nand whether this female hasn't been up to some games respecting that\nproperty, don't you see!\"\n\n\"O!\" says Mr. Snagsby, but not appearing to see quite distinctly.\n\n\"Now, what _you_ want,\" pursues Bucket, again tapping Mr. Snagsby on\nthe breast in a comfortable and soothing manner, \"is, that every person\nshould have their rights according to justice. That's what _you_ want.\"\n\n\"To be sure,\" returns Mr. Snagsby, with a nod.\n\n\"On account of which, and at the same time to oblige a--do you call it,\nin your business, customer or client? I forget how my uncle used to\ncall it.\"\n\n\"Why, I generally say customer, myself,\" replies Mr. Snagsby.\n\n\"You're right!\" returns Mr. Bucket, shaking hands with him quite\naffectionately--\"on account of which, and at the same time to oblige\na real good customer, you mean to go down with me, in confidence, to\nTom-all-Alone's, and to keep the whole thing quiet ever afterward\nand never mention it to any one. That's about your intentions, if I\nunderstand you?\"\n\n\"You are right, sir. You are right,\" says Mr. Snagsby.\n\n\"Then here's your hat,\" returns his new friend, quite as intimate with\nit as if he had made it; \"and if you're ready, I am.\"\n\nThey leave Mr. Tulkinghorn, without a ruffle on the surface of his\nunfathomable depths, drinking his old wine; and go down into the\nstreets.\n\n\"You don't happen to know a very good sort of person of the name of\nGridley, do you?\" says Bucket, in friendly converse as they descend the\nstairs.\n\n\"No,\" says Mr. Snagsby, considering, \"I don't know any body of that\nname. Why?\"\n\n\"Nothing particular,\" says Bucket; \"only, having allowed his temper\nto get a little the better of him, and having been threatening some\nrespectable people, he is keeping out of the way of a warrant I have\ngot against him--which it's a pity that a man of sense should do.\"\n\nAs they walk along, Mr. Snagsby observes, as a novelty, that however\nquick their pace may be, his companion still seems in some undefinable\nmanner to lurk and lounge; also, that whenever he is going to turn to\nthe right or left, he pretends to have a fixed purpose in his mind\nof going straight ahead, and wheels off, sharply, at the very last\nmoment. Now and then, when they pass a police constable on his beat,\nMr. Snagsby notices that both the constable and his guide fall into a\ndeep abstraction as they come toward each other, and appear entirely\nto overlook each other, and to gaze into space. In a few instances Mr.\nBucket, coming behind some under-sized young man with a shining hat\non, and his sleek hair twisted into one flat curl on each side of his\nhead, almost without glancing at him touches him with his stick; upon\nwhich the young man, looking round, instantly evaporates. For the most\npart Mr. Bucket notices things in general, with a face as unchanging as\nthe great mourning ring on his little finger, or the brooch, composed\nof not much diamond and a good deal of setting, which he wears in his\nshirt.\n\nWhen they come at last to Tom-all-Alone's, Mr. Bucket stops for a\nmoment at the corner, and takes a lighted bull's-eye from the constable\non duty there, who then accompanies him with his own particular\nbull's-eye at his waist. Between his two conductors, Mr. Snagsby passes\nalong the middle of a villainous street, undrained, unventilated, deep\nin black mud and corrupt water--though the roads are dry elsewhere--and\nreeking with such smells and sights that he, who has lived in London\nall his life, can scarce believe his senses. Branching from this street\nand its heaps of ruins, are other streets and courts so infamous that\nMr. Snagsby sickens in body and mind, and feels as if he were going,\nevery moment deeper down, into the infernal gulf.\n\n\"Draw off a bit here, Mr. Snagsby,\" says Bucket, as a kind of shabby\npalanquin is borne toward them, surrounded by a noisy crowd. \"Here's\nthe fever coming up the street.\"\n\nAs the unseen wretch goes by, the crowd, leaving that object of\nattraction, hovers round the three visitors, like a dream of horrible\nfaces, and fades away up alleys and into ruins, and behind walls; and\nwith occasional cries and shrill whistles of warning, thenceforth flits\nabout them until they leave the place.\n\n\"Are those the fever-houses, Darby?\" Mr Bucket coolly asks, as he turns\nhis bull's-eye on a line of stinking ruins.\n\nDarby replies that \"all them are,\" and further that in all, for months\nand months, the people \"have been down by dozens,\" and have been\ncarried out, dead and dying \"like sheep with the rot.\" Bucket observing\nto Mr. Snagsby as they go on again, that he looks a little poorly, Mr.\nSnagsby answers that he feels as if he couldn't breathe the dreadful\nair.\n\nThere is inquiry made, at various houses, for a boy named Jo. As few\npeople are known in Tom-all-Alone's by any Christian sign, there is\nmuch reference to Mr. Snagsby whether he means Carrots, or the Colonel,\nor Gallows, or Young Chisel, or Terrier Tip, or Lanky, or the Brick.\nMr. Snagsby describes over and over again. There are conflicting\nopinions respecting the original of his picture. Some think it must be\nCarrots; some say the Brick. The Colonel is produced, but is not at all\nnear the thing. Whenever Mr. Snagsby and his conductors are stationary,\nthe crowd flows round, and from its squalid depths obsequious advice\nheaves up to Mr. Bucket. Whenever they move, and the angry bull's-eyes\nglare, it fades away, and flits about them up the alleys, and in the\nruins, and behind the walls, as before.\n\nAt last there is a lair found out where Toughy, or the Tough Subject,\nlays him down at night; and it is thought that the Tough Subject may\nbe Jo. Comparison of notes between Mr. Snagsby and the proprietress of\nthe house--a drunken, fiery face tied up in a black bundle, and flaring\nout of a heap of rags on the floor of a dog-hutch, which is her private\napartment--leads to the establishment of this conclusion. Toughy has\ngone to the Doctor's to get a bottle of stuff for a sick woman, but\nwill be here anon.\n\n\"And who have we got here to-night?\" says Mr. Bucket, opening another\ndoor, and glaring in with his bull's-eye. \"Two drunken men, eh? And two\nwomen? The men are sound enough,\" turning back each sleeper's arm from\nhis face to look at him. \"Are these your good men, my dears?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" returns one of the women. \"They are our husbands.\"\n\n\"Brickmakers, eh?\"\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"What are you doing here? You don't belong to London.\"\n\n\"No, sir. We belong to Hertfordshire.\"\n\n\"Whereabouts in Hertfordshire?\"\n\n\"Saint Albans.\"\n\n\"Come up on the tramp?\"\n\n\"We walked up yesterday. There's no work down with us at present; but\nwe have done no good by coming here, and shall do none, I expect.\"\n\n\"That's not the way to do much good,\" says Mr. Bucket, turning his head\nin the direction of the unconscious figures on the ground.\n\n\"It an't, indeed,\" replies the woman with a sigh. \"Jenny and me knows\nit full well.\"\n\nThe room, though two or three feet higher than the door, is so low\nthat the head of the tallest of the visitors would touch the blackened\nceiling if he stood upright. It is offensive to every sense; even the\ngross candle burns pale and sickly in the polluted air. There are a\ncouple of benches, and a higher bench by way of table. The men lie\nasleep where they stumbled down, but the women sit by the candle. Lying\nin the arms of the woman who has spoken, is a very young child.\n\n\"Why, what age do you call that little creature?\" says Bucket. \"It\nlooks as if it was born yesterday.\" He is not at all rough about\nit; and as he turns his light gently on the infant, Mr. Snagsby is\nstrangely reminded of another infant, encircled with light, that he has\nseen in pictures.\n\n\"He is not three weeks old yet, sir,\" says the woman.\n\n\"Is he your child?\"\n\n\"Mine.\"\n\nThe other woman, who was bending over it when they came in, stoops down\nagain, and kisses it as it lies asleep.\n\n\"You seem as fond of it as if you were the mother yourself,\" says Mr.\nBucket.\n\n\"I was the mother of one like it, master, and it died.\"\n\n\"Ah Jenny, Jenny!\" says the other woman to her; \"better so. Much better\nto think of dead than alive, Jenny! Much better!\"\n\n\"Why, you an't such an unnatural woman, I hope,\" returns Bucket,\nsternly, \"as to wish your own child dead?\"\n\n\"God knows you are right, master,\" she returns. \"I am not. I'd stand\nbetween it and death, with my own life if I could, as true as any\npretty lady.\"\n\n\"Then don't talk in that wrong manner,\" says Mr. Bucket, mollified\nagain. \"Why do you do it?\"\n\n\"It's brought into my head, master,\" returns the woman, her eyes\nfilling with tears, \"when I look down at the child lying so. If it\nwas never to wake no more, you'd think me mad, I should take on so.\nI know that very well. I was with Jenny when she lost hers--warn't I\nJenny?--and I know how she grieved. But look round you, at this place.\nLook at them;\" glancing at the sleepers on the ground. \"Look at the boy\nyou're waiting for, who's gone out to do me a good turn. Think of the\nchildren that your business lays with often and often, and that _you_\nsee grow up!\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" says Mr. Bucket, \"you train him respectable, and he'll be\na comfort to you, and look after you in your old age, you know.\"\n\n\"I mean to try hard,\" she answers, wiping her eyes. \"But I have been a\nthinking, being over-tired to-night, and not well with the ague, of\nall the many things that'll come in his way. My master will be against\nit, and he'll be beat, and see me beat, and made to fear his home, and\nperhaps to stray wild. If I work for him ever so much, and ever so\nhard, there's no one to help me; and if he should be turned bad, 'spite\nof all I could do, and the time should come when I should sit by him in\nhis sleep, made hard and changed, an't it likely I should think of him\nas he lies in my lap now, and wish he had died as Jenny's child died.\"\n\n\"There, there!\" says Jenny. \"Liz, you're tired and ill. Let me take\nhim.\"\n\nIn doing so she displaces the mother's dress, but quickly readjusts it\nover the wounded and bruised bosom where the baby has been lying.\n\n\"It's my dead child,\" says Jenny, walking up and down as she nurses,\n\"that makes me love this child so dear, and it's my dead child that\nmakes her love it so dear too, as even to think of its being taken away\nfrom her now. While she thinks that, _I_ think what fortune would I\ngive to have my darling back. But we mean the same thing, if we knew\nhow to say it, us two mothers does in our poor hearts!\"\n\nAs Mr. Snagsby blows his nose, and coughs his cough of sympathy, a step\nis heard without. Mr. Bucket throws his light into the doorway, and\nsays to Mr. Snagsby, \"Now, what do you say to Toughy? Will _he_ do?\"\n\n\"That's Jo!\" says Mr. Snagsby.\n\nJo stands amazed in the disc of light, like a ragged figure in a magic\nlantern, trembling to think that he has offended against the law in\nnot having moved on far enough. Mr. Snagsby, however, giving him the\nconsolatory assurance, \"It's only a job you will be paid for, Jo,\"\nhe recovers; and, on being taken outside by Mr. Bucket for a little\nprivate confabulation, tells his tale satisfactorily, though out of\nbreath.\n\n\"I have squared it with the lad,\" says Mr. Bucket, returning, \"and it's\nall right. Now, Mr. Snagsby, we're ready for you.\"\n\nFirst, Jo has to complete his errand of good-nature by handing over the\nphysic he has been to get, which he delivers with the laconic verbal\ndirection that \"it's to be all took d'rectly.\" Secondly Mr. Snagsby has\nto lay upon the table half-a-crown, his usual panacea for an immense\nvariety of afflictions. Thirdly, Mr. Bucket has to take Jo by the arm\na little above the elbow and walk him on before him: without which\nobservance, neither the Tough Subject nor any other subject could be\nprofessionally conducted to Lincoln's Inn Fields. These arrangements\ncompleted, they give the women good-night, and come out once more into\nblack and foul Tom-all-Alone's.\n\nBy the noisome ways through which they descended into that pit, they\ngradually emerge from it; the crowd flitting, and whistling, and\nskulking about them, until they come to the verge, where restoration of\nthe bull's-eyes is made to Darby. Here the crowd, like a concourse of\nimprisoned demons turns back, yelling and is seen no more. Through the\nclearer and fresher streets, never so clear and fresh to Mr. Snagsby's\nmind as now, they walk and ride, until they come to Mr. Tulkinghorn's\ngate.\n\nAs they ascend the dim stairs (Mr. Tulkinghorn's chambers being on the\nfirst floor), Mr. Bucket mentions that he has the key of the outer door\nin his pocket, and that there is no need to ring. For a man so expert\nin most things of that kind, Bucket takes time to open the door, and\nmakes some noise too. It may be that he sounds a note of preparation.\n\nHowbeit, they come at last into the hall, where a lamp is burning, and\nso into Mr. Tulkinghorn's usual room--the room where he drank his old\nwine to-night. He is not there, but his two old-fashioned candlesticks\nare; and the room is tolerably light.\n\nMr. Bucket, still having his professional hold of Jo, and appearing to\nMr. Snagsby to possess an unlimited number of eyes, makes a little way\ninto this room, when Jo starts, and stops.\n\n\"What's the matter?\" says Bucket in a whisper.\n\n\"There she is!\" cries Jo.\n\n\"Who?\"\n\n\"The lady!\"\n\nA female figure, closely vailed, stands in the middle of the room,\nwhere the light falls upon it. It is quite still, and silent. The front\nof the figure is toward them, but it takes no notice of their entrance,\nand remains like a statue.\n\n\"Now, tell me,\" says Bucket aloud, \"how you know that to be the lady.\"\n\n\"I know the wale,\" replies Jo, staring, \"and the bonnet, and the gownd.\"\n\n\"Be quite sure of what you say, Tough,\" returns Bucket, narrowly\nobservant of him. \"Look again.\"\n\n\"I am a-looking as hard as ever I can look,\" says Jo, with starting\neyes, \"and that there's the wale, the bonnet, and the gownd.\"\n\n\"What about those rings you told me of?\" asks Bucket.\n\n\"A sparkling all over here,\" says Jo, rubbing the fingers of his left\nhand on the knuckles of his right, without taking his eyes from the\nfigure.\n\nThe figure removes the right hand glove, and shows the hand.\n\n\"Now, what do you say to that?\" asks Bucket.\n\nJo shakes his head. \"Not rings a bit like them. Not a hand like that.\"\n\n\"What are you talking of?\" says Bucket; evidently pleased though, and\nwell pleased too.\n\n\"Hand was a deal whiter, a deal delicater, and a deal smaller,\" returns\nJo.\n\n\"Why, you'll tell me I'm my own mother, next,\" says Mr. Bucket. \"Do you\nrecollect the lady's voice?\"\n\n\"I think I does?\" says Jo.\n\nThe figure speaks. \"Was it at all like this. I will speak as long as\nyou like if you are not sure. Was it this voice, or at all like this\nvoice?\"\n\nJo looks aghast at Mr. Bucket. \"Not a bit!\"\n\n\"Then, what,\" retorts that worthy, pointing to the figure, \"did you say\nit was the lady for?\"\n\n\"Cos,\" says Jo, with a perplexed stare, but without being at all\nshaken in his certainty, \"Cos that there's the wale, the bonnet, and\nthe gownd. It is her and it an't her. It an't her hand, nor yet her\nrings, nor yet her woice. But that there's the wale, the bonnet, and\nthe gownd, and they're wore the same way wot she wore 'em, and its her\nheight wot she wos, and she give me a sov'ring and hooked it.\"\n\n\"Well!\" says Mr. Bucket, slightly, \"we haven't got much good out of\n_you_. But, however, here's five shillings for you. Take care how you\nspend it, and don't get yourself into trouble.\" Bucket stealthily tells\nthe coins from one hand into the other like counters--which is a way\nhe has, his principal use of them being in these games of skill--and\nthen puts them, in a little pile, into the boy's hand, and takes him\nout to the door; leaving Mr. Snagsby, not by any means comfortable\nunder these mysterious circumstances, alone with the vailed figure.\nBut on Mr. Tulkinghorn's coming into the room, the vail is raised,\nand a sufficiently good-looking Frenchwoman is revealed, though her\nexpression is something of the intensest.\n\n\"Thank you, Mademoiselle Hortense,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn, with his\nusual equanimity. \"I will give you no further trouble about this little\nwager.\"\n\n\"You will do me the kindness to remember, sir, that I am not at present\nplaced?\" said Mademoiselle.\n\n\"Certainly, certainly!\"\n\n\"And to confer upon me the favor of your distinguished recommendation?\"\n\n\"By all means, Mademoiselle Hortense.\"\n\n\"A word from Mr. Tulkinghorn is so powerful.\"--\"It shall not be\nwanting, Mademoiselle.\"--\"Receive the assurance of my devoted gratitude\ndear sir.\"--\"Good-night.\" Mademoiselle goes out with an air of native\ngentility; and Mr. Bucket, to whom it is, on an emergency, as natural\nto be groom of the ceremonies as it is to be any thing else, shows her\ndown stairs, not without gallantry.\n\n\"Well, Bucket?\" quoth Mr. Tulkinghorn on his return.\n\n\"It's all squared, you see, as I squared it myself, sir. There an't a\ndoubt that it was the other one with this one's dress on. The boy was\nexact respecting colors and every thing. Mr. Snagsby, I promised you,\nas a man, that he should be sent away all right. Don't say it wasn't\ndone!\"\n\n\"You have kept your word, sir,\" returns the stationer; \"and if I can be\nof no further use, Mr. Tulkinghorn, I think, as my little woman will be\ngetting anxious--\"\n\n\"Thank you, Snagsby, no further use,\" says Mr. Tulkinghorn. \"I am quite\nindebted to you for the trouble you have taken already.\"\n\n\"Not at all, sir. I wish you good-night.\"\n\n\"You see, Mr. Snagsby,\" says Mr. Bucket, accompanying him to the door,\nand shaking hands with him over and over again, \"what I like in you,\nis, that you're a man it's of no use pumping; that's what _you_ are.\nWhen you know you have done a right thing, you put it away, and it's\ndone with and gone, and there's an end of it. That's what _you_ do.\"\n\n\"That is certainly what I endeavor to do, sir,\" returns Mr. Snagsby.\n\n\"No, you don't do yourself justice. It an't what you endeavor to\ndo,\" says Mr. Bucket, shaking hands with him and blessing him in the\ntenderest manner, \"it's what you _do_. That's what I estimate in a man\nin your way of business.\"\n\nMr. Snagsby makes a suitable response; and goes homeward so confused\nby the events of the evening, that he is doubtful of his being awake\nand out--doubtful of the reality of the streets through which he\ngoes--doubtful of the reality of the moon that shines above him. He\nis presently reassured on these subjects, by the unchallengeable\nreality of Mrs. Snagsby, sitting up with her head in a perfect beehive\nof curl-papers and nightcap; who has dispatched Guster to the police\nstation with official intelligence of her husband's being made away\nwith, and who, within the last two hours, has passed through every\nstage of swooning with the greatest decorum. But, as the little woman\nfeelingly says, many thanks she gets for it!\n\n\n\n\nMONSTERS OF FAITH.\n\n\nWe people in this western world, have, in our time, not less than\nthose who went before us, been witnesses of many acts of eccentric and\nexaggerated faith. We have seen this virtue dressed in many a guise,\ntricked out in many a hue. We have seen it in the meanest and the\nhighest.\n\nBut what is cold, dwarfed, European faith, when compared with the huge\nmonstrous faith of the barbarous land of the sun? The two will no more\nbear comparison than will the Surrey Hills compare with the Himalayas,\nor the Thames and the Garonne bear being mentioned beside the Ganges\nand the Burrumpootra. The scenes I am about to relate are not selected\nfor their rarity or for any peculiarity about them; they may be met\nwith at any of the many festivals, or Poojahs, throughout India proper.\n\nThe village at which the festival I witnessed was held, was not very\nfar distant from one of the leading cities of Bengal, a city numbering\npossibly half a million of inhabitants, with a highly populous country\nround about it for many a league. The reader will, therefore, readily\nimagine the crowding and rushing which took place from all sides, to\nwitness the festival of a deity in whom all believed, for, away from\nthe south, there are comparatively but few of any other faith than\nHindooism.\n\nIt was high noon when I arrived on the ground in my palanquin; and\nby favor of the friendship of the British collector of Howdahpore I\nwas admitted within the most privileged circle, and took up my stand\nbeneath the pleasant shade of a wide-spreading Jambo tree. I had time\nand opportunity to note the place and the people; for the sacred\noperations had not as yet commenced. The spot we were assembled in was\nin an extensive valley lightly wooded at intervals, and commanding a\npicturesque view of a rather wide river which flowed on to Howdahpore,\nand was now busy with many boats loaded with passengers. On the river\nbank nearest to us, a number of bamboo and leaf sheds had been hastily\nerected, in which carousals and amusements of various kinds were in\nprogress or preparation. Flowers decorated the ample doorways, and\nhung festooned from many a roof; while high above, wooing in vain a\npassing breeze and brightly glaring in the noon-day tropic sun, gay\nstreamers drooped in burning listlessness. From the topmost summits of\nsome of the loftiest trees--and they _are_ lofty here--long tapering\npoles extended other flags and strips of colored cloth. In cool, shady\nnooks, where clumps of spreading jungle kindly grew, at other times the\nhaunts of fiercest tigers, or worse, of cruel Thugs, small knots of\nHindoo families of rank were grouped in silent watchfulness. The lordly\nZemindar of the district; the exacting Tulukdhar, the terror of village\nryots; the grinding Putindhar: all these were there in eastern feudal\npomp.\n\nFar as the eye could reach, the rich green valley teemed with human\nlife. Thousands on thousands flocked from many a point, and pressed\nto where the gaudy flags and beating drums told of the approaching\nPoojah. The steady hum of the vast multitude seemed like the ocean's\nfall on some far distant shore. Grief, joy, pain, pleasure, prayers\nand songs, blended with howling madness, or cries of devotees, in one\nstrange, stormy discord; the heat and glare, the many new and striking\ngarbs, the sea of dusky visages and brightly glaring eyes, mixed with\nthe varied gorgeous foliage, and flinging into contrast the lovely\ngentleness of distant hills and woods, made up a whole not easy to\nforget, yet difficult to paint.\n\nBut my attention was before long directed to some preparations in\nprogress not far from where I stood. I had observed several huge poles\nstanding at a great height, with ropes and some apparatus attached to\nthem, the use of which I knew from report alone. Here I now remarked a\ngreat deal of bustling activity; a number of attendants were beating\nback the crowd in order to clear a space around one of the loftiest of\nthe poles I have mentioned. This was a work of much difficulty, for\nthe mob was both excited and dense. At length, however, they succeeded\nin the task, and finding the ground before me pretty clear, I advanced\nclose to the scene of action. Round about the pole were a number of\nFakirs or Ascetics, a sort of self-mutilated hermits, who hope and\nfirmly believe that, by distorting their limbs into all sorts of\nimpossible positions and shapes, they have insured the favor of some\nunpronounceable divinity, and with that a ready and certain passport\nto some future state about which they have not the most remote idea,\nwhich renders their devotion the more praiseworthy.\n\nThere was one miserable object, with his long matted locks of dirty\nred streaming over his shoulders, and one withered arm and hand held\nblighted high above his head, immovable. It had been forced into that\nunnatural position years ago, and what was then an act of free-will,\nwas now a matter of necessity; the arm would no longer return to its\ntrue position, but pointed in its thin and bony haggardness to heaven.\nAnother dark-eyed, dark-haired ascetic had held his hands for years\nso firmly clasped together, that the long talon-like nails were to be\nseen growing through the palms of his hands and appearing at the back.\nSome I saw with thick rope actually threaded through their flesh quite\nround their bodies, many times in bleeding coils; more than one young\nwoman was there with her neck and shoulders thickly studded over with\nsharp short needles stuck firmly in the flesh. One man, a young man,\ntoo, had forced a sort of spear right through the fleshy part of his\nfoot, with the thick wooden handle downward, on which he walked, quite\nindifferent to any sort of inconvenience. There was no lack of others,\nall self-tortured, maimed, and trussed, and skewered, as though about\nto be spitted and put down to the fire.\n\nThe object which all by one consent agreed to gaze at, was a young\nand pretty-looking girl, almost a child in manner, who sat upon the\nground so sadly, yet so calm and almost happy, that I could not\npersuade myself one so young and gentle was about to be barbarously\ntortured. Yet so it was. It appeared that her husband had, months\nsince, gone upon some distant, dangerous journey; that being long\nabsent, and rumors raised in the native bazaar of his death, she, the\nanxious wife, had vowed to Siva, the protector of life, to undergo\nself-torture on his next festival if her loved husband's life should\nbe spared. He had returned, and now, mighty in faith and love, this\nsimple-minded, single-hearted creature gave up herself to pain such\nas the stoutest of our sex or race might shrink from. She sat looking\nfondly on her little infant as it lay asleep in the arms of an old\nnurse, all unconscious of the mother's sacrifice, and turning her eyes\nfrom that to her husband, who stood near in a wild, excited state, she\ngave the signal that she was ready. The stout-limbed, burly-bodied\nhusband rushed like a tiger at such of the crowd as attempted to press\ntoo near the sacrificial girl: he had a staff in his hand, and with it\nplayed such a tune on bare and turbaned heads and ebony shoulders, as\nbrought down many an angry malediction on the player. The nurse with\nthe infant moved further away among the crowd of admiring spectators.\nTwo or three persons, men and women, pressed forward to adjust the\nhorrid-looking hooks. Was it possible, I thought, that those huge\ninstruments of torture, heavy enough to hold an elephant, were to be\nforced into the flesh of that gentle girl! I felt sick as I saw the\npoor child stretched upon her face, and first one and then the other\nof those ugly, crooked pieces of iron forced slowly through the flesh\nand below the muscles of her back. They lifted her up, and as I watched\nher, I saw big drops of perspiration starting from her forehead; her\nsmall eyes seemed closed at first, and, for the moment, I fancied she\nhad fainted; but as they raised her to her feet, and then quickly drew\nher up in the air high above us, hanging by those two horrid hooks, I\nsaw her looking down quite placidly. She sought her husband out, and\nseeing him watching her eagerly, gave him a smile, and, waving her\nlittle hands, drew from her bosom small pieces of the sacred cocoa-nut\nand flung them amid the gazing crowd. To scramble for and obtain one of\nthese precious fragments was deemed a fortunate thing, for they were\nsupposed to contain all sorts of charmed powers.\n\nAnd now the Poojah was fairly commenced. The ropes which carried the\niron hooks were so arranged, that by pulling one end--which passed over\nthe top of the pole--it swung round a plate of iron which set in motion\nthe other rope holding the hooks and the living operator. Two men\nseized on this rope, and soon the poor girl was in rapid flight over\nthe heads of the crowd, who cheered her on by a variety of wild cries,\nand shouts, and songs. Not that she seemed to need encouragement; her\neyes were still bent toward her husband; I almost fancied she smiled\nas she caught his eye. There was no sign of pain, or shrinking, or\nyielding: she bore it as many a hero of the old world would have been\nproud to have done, scattering beneath her flowers and fruit among the\nbusy throng.\n\nI felt as though a heavy weight were off my mind when I perceived the\nwhirling motion of the ropes first to slacken, and then to cease,\nand finally the girl, all bleeding, relieved from the cruel torture.\nThey laid her on a mat beneath some shady trees: the women gave her a\ndraught of cool water in a cocoa-nut shell. But her thoughts were not\nupon herself: she looked anxiously around, and could not be satisfied\nuntil her husband sat beside her, and their little swarthy infant was\nplaced within her arms. The only care her deep and open wounds received\nwas to have them rubbed with a little turmeric powder, and covered with\nthe fresh tender leaf of a banana.\n\nLeaving this family group, I turned back to watch the further\nproceedings around the huge pole, where there was once more a great\nbustle and pressing among the crowd. This time the operator, or\nsufferer, whichever would be the most fitting term, was a man of middle\nage, and of the lowest ranks of the laboring class. He appeared to be\nperfectly indifferent to any thing like suffering, as the two operators\nseized the flesh of his back, and another roughly thrust through it two\nhooks. In another minute he was whirling through the air as rapidly\nas the attendants could force him; still he seemed anxious to travel\nfaster, and by signs and cries urged them to increased speed. The mob\nwas delighted with this exhibition of perfect endurance and enthusiasm,\nand testified their approbation in a variety of modes. This man\nremained swinging for fully twenty minutes, at the end of which time he\nwas released: somewhat less excited, I fancied, than when he was first\nhoisted in the air. I failed to learn his story, but it had reference,\nbeyond a doubt, to some escape from danger, real or imaginary, and, of\ncourse, imputed to the direct interposition of the powerful Siva, or\nsome equally efficacious deputy. The medical treatment of this devotee\nwas on the ruder scale, and would have shocked the feelings and science\nof some of our army surgeons, to say nothing of civil practitioners.\nThe root of turmeric was again employed, in fine powder, but placed in\nthe wounds most hastily, and, by way of forcing it thoroughly in, some\none stood on his back, and trod in the powder with his heel.\n\nI saw one other man hoisted up. He had taken the vow in order to save\nthe life of a much-loved sister's child; and as he swung round and\nround in stoical indifference, the sister, a young creature with her\nlittle infant, sat looking at him as if she would willingly have borne\nthe suffering in his stead. Doubtless there was a love linking these\npoor creatures together in their ignorance; which, mighty as it was,\nwould have done honor to any highly-gifted dwellers in the west. And,\nit must be remembered, their sacrifice was for the past; it was one\nof gratitude, and not of hope or fear for the future. Their prayers\nhad been heard; and, although they knew not of that undying Providence\nwhich had listened to their voice and spared the young child's life,\nthey turned to such stone and wooden deities as their forefathers had\nset up, and devoutly kept their vow.\n\nThere were other victims yet to be self-offered; but I had had enough,\nand the heat, and the noise, and the many strange effluvia were growing\nso rank and overpowering, that I prepared to retreat. As I returned\nthrough the dense crowd which made way for me, I perceived an aged\nwoman preparing for a swing as stoically as any of the younger devotees\nwho had gone before her. A tall, powerful-looking man was standing by\nher side, watching the preparations with considerable interest. He\nwas her son; and, as I learnt, the cause of her present appearance\nin public. It had been some seven or eight years previously that the\nvow had been made to the stone deity; which, as they believed, had\nacted as a miracle and saved his life. It would have been fulfilled at\nonce, but first poverty, and then ill-health, had stood in the way of\nits performance; and now, after this long lapse being able to pay the\nnecessary fees to the priests, she had left her distant home to carry\nout the never-to-be-forgotten vow. As I moved away in the distance, I\nheard the shouts of the enraptured multitude raised in honor of the old\nlady's fortitude; cry after cry floated on the breeze, and died away\nin the din of drums, and pipes, and bells.\n\nFor miles the country round about was covered with festivity and\nuproar. Hundreds of fanatic companies were reveling in religious\nfestive rites. In one leaf and bamboo shed, larger than the rest, I\nnoticed, as I looked in unperceived, the young self-offered wife of\nthat day, as gay and unconcerned by pain as any of the party; I might\nhave fancied she had but just been married, instead of hanging in the\nair upon cruel hooks.\n\n\n\n\nLIFE AND DEATH OF PAGANINI.\n\n\nGenius--talent, whatever its extent--can not always count upon\npopularity. Susceptibility of the highest conceptions, of the most\nsublime creations, frequently fails in securing the attention of the\nmultitude. How to attain this most coveted point? It would be difficult\nto arrive at any precise conclusion, from the fact that it applies to\nmatters totally differing from each other; it is, however, perhaps\npossible to define the aggregation of qualities required to move the\npublic in masses, by calling it _sympathetic wonderment_, and its\noriginality is one of its absolute conditions. Many names, doubtless,\nrecall talents of the first order, and personalities of the highest\nvalue; yet, notwithstanding their having been duly appreciated by the\nintelligent and enlightened classes, they have not always called forth\nthose outbursts of enthusiasm, which were manifested toward the truly\nprodigious artist who is the object of this notice.\n\nNicolo Paganini, the most extraordinary musical genius of the 19th\ncentury, was born at Genoa, on the 18th of February, 1784. His father,\nAntoine Paganini, a commercial broker, or simple post clerk, according\nto some biographers, was passionately fond of music, and played upon\nthe mandoline. His penetration soon discovered the aptitude of his\nson for this art, and he resolved that study should develope it. His\nexcessive severity had probably led to contrary results to those he\nexpected, had not the younger Paganini been endowed with the firm\ndetermination of becoming an artist. From the age of six years he was\na musician, and played the violin. The ill treatment to which he was\nsubjected during this period of his youth, appears to have exercised a\nfatal influence over his nervous and delicate constitution. From his\nfirst attempts he was imbued with the disposition to execute feats of\nstrength and agility upon his instrument; and his instinct urged him to\nattempt the most extraordinary things.\n\nHis father's lessons soon became useless, and Servetto, a musician\nof the theatre, at Genoa, became his teacher; but even he was not\npossessed of sufficient ability to benefit this predestined artist.\nPaganini received his instructions for a short period only, and he was\nplaced under Giacomo Costa, director of music, and principal violinist\nof the churches of Genoa, under whose care he progressed rapidly. He\nhad now attained his eighth year, when he wrote his Sonata, which he\nunfortunately took no care of, and has been lost among many other of\nhis productions.\n\nHaving reached his ninth year, the young virtuoso appeared in public,\nfor the first time, in a performance at the large theatre of his\nnative town; and this extraordinary child played variations of his\nown composition on the French air, _la Carmagnole_, amid the frenzied\nacclamations of an enthusiastic audience. About this period of his\nlife the father was advised, by judicious friends, to place the boy\nunder good masters of the violin and composition; and he shortly after\ntook him to Parma, where Alexander Rolla then resided, so celebrated\nfor his performance as conductor of the orchestra, and composer.\nPaganini was now twelve years of age. The following anecdote, related\nby M. Schottky, and which Paganini published in a Vienna journal,\nfurnishes interesting details of the master's first interview with the\nyoung artist: \"On arriving at Rolla's house,\" he said, \"we found him\nill, and in bed. His wife conducted us into a room adjoining the one\nwhere the sick man lay, in order to concert with her husband, who, it\nappeared, was not at all disposed to receive us. Perceiving upon the\ntable of the chamber into which we were ushered, a violin, and the\nlast concerto of Rolla, I took up the violin, and played the piece at\nfirst sight. Surprised at what he heard, the composer inquired the\nname of the virtuoso he had just heard. When he heard the virtuoso\nwas only a mere lad, he would not give credence to the fact unless by\nocular demonstration. Thus satisfied, he told me, that he could teach\nme nothing, and recommended me to take lessons on composition from\nPa\u00ebr.\" Even now, Paganini was occupied in discovering new effects on\nhis instrument. It was, however, only after his return to Genoa, that\nPaganini wrote his first compositions for the violin. This music was\nso difficult that he was obliged to study it himself with increasing\nperseverance, and to make constant efforts to solve problems unknown to\nall other violinists.\n\nQuitting Parma, at the commencement of 1797, Paganini made his first\nprofessional tour, with his father, of all the principal towns in\nLombardy, and commenced a matchless reputation. On his return to\nGenoa, and after having in solitude made the efforts necessary for\nthe development of his talent, he began to feel the weight of the\nchain by which he was held by his father, and determined to release\nhimself from the ill treatment to which he was still subjected under\nthe paternal roof. A favorable opportunity alone was required to favor\nhis design. This soon presented itself. The f\u00eate of St. Martin was\ncelebrated annually at Lucca by a musical festival, to which persons\nflocked from every part of Italy. As this period approached, Paganini\nentreated his father to permit him to attend it, accompanied by his\nelder brother. His demand was at first met with a peremptory refusal;\nbut the solicitations of the son, and the prayers of the mother,\nfinally prevailed, and the heart of the young artist, at liberty for\nthe first time, bounded with joy, and he set out agitated by dreams\nof success and happiness. At Lucca he was received with enthusiasm.\nEncouraged by this propitious _d\u00e9but_, he visited Pisa, and some other\ntowns, in all of which his success was unequivocal. Paganini had not\nyet attained his fifteenth year. This is not the age of prudence. His\nmoral education, besides, had been grossly neglected, and the severity\nwhich assailed his more youthful years, was not calculated to awaken\nhim to the dangers of a free life: and he formed dangerous connections.\nPaganini, in this manner, frequently lost the produce of several\nconcerts in one night, and was consequently often in a state of great\nembarrassment, and frequently reduced to part with his violin. In this\ncondition he found himself at Leghorn, and was indebted to the kindness\nof a French merchant (M. Livron), a distinguished amateur, for the loan\nof a violin, an excellent Guarneri. When the concert had concluded,\nPaganini brought it back to its owner, when this gentleman exclaimed,\n\"Never will I profane strings which your fingers have touched! that\ninstrument is now yours.\" This is the violin Paganini since used in all\nhis concerts.\n\nAdventures of every kind signalize this period of Paganini's early\ndays; the enthusiasm of art, love, and gaming, divided his time,\ndespite the warnings of a delicate constitution, which proclaimed the\nnecessity of great care. Heedless of every thing, he continued his\ncareer of dissipation, until the prostration of his faculties forced a\nrespite. He would then lie by for several weeks, in a state of absolute\nrepose, until, with energies refreshed, he recommenced his artistic\ncareer and wandering life. It was to be feared that this dissolute life\nwould, ultimately, deprive the world of his marvelous talent, when an\nunforeseen and important circumstance, related by himself, ended his\nfatal passion for gaming.\n\n\"I shall never forget,\" he said, \"that I, one day, placed myself in\na position which was to decide my future. The Prince of ---- had,\nfor some time, coveted the possession of my violin--the only one I\npossessed at that period, and which I still have. He, on one particular\noccasion, was extremely anxious that I should mention the sum for which\nI would dispose of it; but, not wishing to part with my instrument, I\ndeclared I would not sell it for 250 gold Napoleons. Some time after,\nthe prince said to me that I was, doubtless, only in jest in asking\nsuch a sum, but that he would be willing to give me 2,000 francs. I\nwas, at this moment, in the greatest want of money to meet a debt of\nhonor I had incurred at play, and I was almost tempted to accept the\nproffered amount, when I received an invitation to a party that evening\nat a friend's house. All my capital consisted of thirty francs, as\nI had disposed of all my jewels, watch, rings, and brooches, &c., I\nresolved on risking this last resource; and, if fortune proved fickle,\nto sell my violin to the prince and proceed to St. Petersburg, without\ninstrument or luggage, with the view of re-establishing my affairs;\nmy thirty francs were reduced to three, when, suddenly, my fortune\ntook a sudden turn; and, with the small remains of my capital, I won\n160 francs. This amount saved my violin, and completely set me up.\nFrom that day I abjured gaming--to which I had sacrificed a part of\nmy youth--convinced that a gamester is an object of contempt to all\nwell-regulated minds.\"\n\nAlthough he was still in the full prime of youth, Paganini devoted\nhis talent steadily to success and profit, when, in one of those\nhallucinations to which all great artists are subject, the violin\nlost its attractions in his eyes. A lady of rank having fallen\ndesperately in love with him, and reciprocated by him, he withdrew\nwith her to an estate she possessed in Tuscany. This lady played the\nguitar, and Paganini imbibed a taste for the instrument, and applied\nhimself as sedulously to its practice as he had formerly done with\nthe violin. He soon discovered new resources; and during a period\nof three years, he divided all the energies of his mind between its\nstudy, and agricultural pursuits, for which the lady's estate afforded\nhim ample opportunities. But Paganini's former _penchant_ for the\nviolin returned, and he decided on resuming his travels. On his return\nto Genoa, in 1804, he occupied himself solely with composition. It\nappears, too, that at this period he gave instruction on the violin to\nCatherine Calcagno, born at Genoa, in 1797, who, at the age of fifteen,\nastounded Italy by the boldness of her style; all traces of her seem\nlost after 1816. Toward the middle of 1805, Paganini left Genoa, to\nundertake a new tour in Italy. The first town he visited was Lucca,\nthe scene of his first successes. Here he again created so great a\nsensation by the concerto he performed at a nocturnal festival, in a\nconvent chapel, that the monks were obliged to leave their stalls, in\norder to repress the applause which burst forth, despite the sanctity\nof the place. He was then twenty-one years of age. The principality of\nLucca and Piombino had been organized in the month of March, of the\nsame year, in favor of the Princess Eliza, sister of Napoleon, and\nthe wife of Prince Bacciochi. The court had fixed its residence in\nthe town of Lucca. The great reputation of the violinist induced the\nprincess to offer him the posts of director of her private music, and\nconductor of the Opera orchestra, which he accepted. The princess, who\nhad appreciated the originality of his talent, excited him to extend\nhis discoveries of novel effects upon his instrument. To convince him\nof the interest he had inspired her with, she granted him the grade of\ncaptain in the Royal Gendarmerie, so that he might be admitted with\nhis brilliant costume at all the great court receptions. Seeking to\nvary the effect of his instrument at the court concerts, he removed the\nsecond and third strings, and composed a dialogue sonata for the first\nand fourth strings. He has related this circumstance himself nearly in\nthe same terms:\n\n\"At Lucca I directed the orchestra when the reigning family honored\nthe Opera with their presence. I was often also called upon to play\nat court: and then, fortnightly, I organized concerts, and announced\nto the court a novelty under the title of _Sc\u00e8ne amoureuse_. Curiosity\nrose to the highest pitch; but the surprise of all present at court\nwas extreme, when I entered the saloon with a violin with only two\nstrings. I had only retained the first and the fourth. The former was\nto express the sentiments of a young girl; the other was to express\nthe passionate language of a lover. I had composed a kind of dialogue,\nin which the most tender accents followed the outbursts of jealousy.\nAt one time, chords representing most tender appeals; at another,\nplaintive reproaches, cries of joy and anger, felicity and pain. Then\nfollowed the reconciliation; and the lovers, more persuaded than ever,\nexecuted a _pas de deux_, which terminated in a brilliant coda. This\nnovelty was eminently successful. The Princess Eliza lauded me to the\nskies; and said to me, in the most gracious manner possible, '_You\nhave just performed impossibilities--would not a single string suffice\nfor your talent?_' I promised to make the attempt. This idea delighted\nme; and, some weeks after, I composed my military sonata, entitled\n_Napoleon_, which I performed on the 25th of August, before a numerous\nand brilliant court. Its success far surpassed my expectations. My\npredilection for the _G_ string dates from this period.\"\n\nIn the summer of 1808, Paganini obtained leave to travel, and quitted\nLucca, never more to return. As the sister of Napoleon had become\nGrand Duchess of Tuscany, she fixed her residence at Florence, with\nall her court, and where the great artist retained his position. He\nwent to Leghorn, where, seven years previously, he had met with so much\nsuccess. He has related, with much humor, a series of tribulations\nwhich happened to him upon the occasion of his first concert there.\n\"A nail,\" he said, \"had run into my heel, and I came on limping, at\nwhich the audience laughed. At the moment I was about to commence\nmy concerto, the candles of my desk fell out. (Another laugh.) At\nthe end of the first few bars of the solo, my first string broke,\nwhich increased the hilarity of the audience; but I played the piece\non the three strings--the grins quickly changed into acclamations\nof applause.\" This broken string frequently occurred afterward; and\nPaganini has been accused of using it as a means of success, having\npreviously practiced upon the three strings, pieces which appear to\nrequire the use of the first string.\n\nFrom Leghorn he went to Turin, where Paganini was first attacked with\nthe bowel complaint, which subsequently so debilitated his health, as\nfrequently to cause long interruptions to his travels, and his series\nof concerts.\n\nBeing at Milan in the spring of 1813, he witnessed, at the theatre of\n_La Scala_, the ballet of _Il noce di Benevento_ (the Drowned One of\nBenevento). It was from this ballet Paganini took the theme of his\ncelebrated variations, _le Streghe_ (the Witches), from the air being\nthat to which witches appeared. Here he was again seized with a return\nof his former malady, and several months elapsed before he could appear\nin public. It was only on the 29th of October following, he was enabled\nto give his first concert, exciting a sensation which the journals of\nItaly and Germany made known to the whole world.\n\nIn the month of October, 1814, he went to Bologna, when he saw\nRossini for the first time, and commenced a friendship which became\nstrengthened at Rome in 1817, and at Paris in 1831.\n\nIn the year 1817, he arrived at Rome, and found Rossini there busy in\nproducing his _Cenerentola_. Several concerts he gave here during the\nCarnival excited the greatest enthusiasm. From this time, Paganini\nformed the project of leaving Italy to visit the principal cities in\nGermany and France; and in the year 1819, he arrived at Naples. It\nis a very remarkable circumstance, that he appeared here in a manner\nunworthy of his great name; for, instead of giving his first concerts\nat St. Carlo, he modestly commenced at the theatre of the _Fondo_.\n\nOn his arrival at Naples, Paganini found several artists indisposed\ntoward him. They doubted the reality of the prodigies attributed to\nhim, and awaited a failure. To put his talent to the test, the young\ncomposer, Danna, was engaged, recently from the Conservatory, to write\na quartet, containing every species of difficulty, convinced that the\ngreat violinist would not vanquish them. He was, therefore, invited to\na musical re-union, where the piece was immediately given to him to\nplay at first sight. Understanding the snare that was laid for him, he\nmerely glanced at it, and played it as if he had been familiar with it.\nAmazed and confounded at what they had heard, the highest approbation\nwas awarded to him, and he was proclaimed a miracle.\n\nIt was during this sojourn at Naples that Paganini met with one of the\nmost singular adventures of his extraordinary life. An alarming relapse\nof his malady took place; and, satisfied that any current of air was\ninjurious to him, he took an apartment in the part of the town called\n_Petrajo_ under Saint Elme; but meeting here that which he most sought\nto avoid, and his health daily becoming worse, it was reported that he\nwas consumptive. At Naples, the opinion prevails that consumption is\ncontagious. His landlord, alarmed at having in his house one who was\nsupposed to be dying of this malady, had the inhumanity to turn him\ninto the street, with all he possessed. Fortunately, the violoncellist,\nCiandelli, the friend of Paganini, happened to be passing, and,\nincensed at the act of cruelty he was witness to, and which might have\nproved fatal to the great artist, belabored the barbarian unmercifully\nwith a stick he carried, and then had his friend conveyed to a\ncomfortable lodging, where every attention was paid to him.\n\nBetween 1820 and 1828, he visited Milan, Rome, Naples, and Trieste, and\non the 2d of March, 1828, he proceeded to Vienna.\n\nOn the 29th of March, the first concert of this artist threw the\nViennese population into an indescribable paroxysm of enthusiasm.\n\"The first note he played on his Guarneri\" (says M. Schilling, in his\npoetical style, in his _Lexique Universel de Musique_)--indeed, from\nhis first step into the room--his reputation was decided in Germany.\nThe Vienna journals were unlimited in hyperbolical expressions of\nadmiration; and all admitted his performance to be incomparable. Verses\nappeared in every publication--medals were struck--the name of Paganini\nengrossing all; and, as M. Schottky remarks, _every thing was \u00e0 la\nPaganini_. Cooks designated certain productions after him; and any\nextraordinary stroke of billiards was compared to a bow movement of the\nartist. His portrait appeared on snuff-boxes and cigar-cases; his bust\nsurmounted the walking-sticks of the fashionable men. After a concert\ngiven for the benefit of the poor, the magistrate of Vienna presented\nto Paganini the large gold medal of St. Salvator, and the emperor\nconferred upon him the title of virtuoso of his private band.\n\nAfter an uninterrupted series of triumphs, during three years, the\ncelebrated artist arrived at Paris, and gave his first concert at\nthe Opera, the 9th of March, 1831. His studies for the violin, which\nhad been published there for some time--a species of enigma which\nhad perplexed every violinist--the European fame of the artist--his\ntravels and triumphs--raised the curiosity of the artists and the\npublic. It were impossible to describe the enthusiasm his first concert\ncreated--it was universal frenzy. The same enthusiasm prevailed during\nhis entire stay in Paris.\n\nToward the middle of May he left this city and proceeded to\nLondon--where he was expected with the utmost impatience, but not with\nthat artistic and perceptive interest with which he had been received\nat Paris.\n\nAfter an absence of six years, Paganini again set foot on his native\nsoil. The wealth he had amassed in his European tour, placed him in\na position of great independence; and among the various properties\nhe purchased, was a charming country-house in the environs of Parma,\ncalled _la Villa Gajona_--here he decided on residing.\n\nIn 1836, speculators induced him to lend the aid of his name and talent\nfor establishing a casino, of which music was the pretext, but gambling\nthe real object. This establishment, which was situate in the most\nfashionable locality of Paris, was opened with considerable splendor at\nthe end of November, 1837, under the name of _Casino Paganini_; but the\ngovernment refused to authorize its opening as a gambling-house, and\nthe speculators were reduced to give concerts, which far exceeded the\nexpenses of the undertaking. The declension of his health was manifest,\nand his wasted strength precluded the possibility of his playing at the\ncasino. A lawsuit was commenced against him, which he lost; and the\njudges, without having heard his defense, condemned him to pay 50,000f.\nto the creditors of the speculation, and he was deprived of his liberty\nuntil that amount was paid.\n\nWhen this decision was pronounced, Paganini was dying--his malady,\nwhich was phthisis of the larynx, had increased since the commencement\nof 1839. The medical men advised him to proceed to Marseilles,\nthe climate of which they considered favorable to his health. He\nfollowed this advice, and traveled by slow stages to the southern\nextremity. Despite his extreme weakness, he went to hear a requiem,\nby Cherubini, for male voices; finally, on the 21st of June, he\nattended in one of the churches at Marseilles, to take part in a solemn\nmass, by Beethoven. However, the love of change, inherent in all\nvaletudinarians, induced him to return to Genoa by sea, fully impressed\nthe voyage would recruit his health. Vain hope! In the commencement of\nOctober of the same year, he wrote from his native city to M. Galafre,\na painter, an esteemed friend: \"_Being in much worse health than I\nwas at Marseilles, I have resolved on passing the winter at Nice._\"\nNice was destined to be his last abode. The progress of his malady was\nrapid--his voice became almost extinct, and dreadful fits of coughing,\nwhich daily became more frequent, and, finally, reduced him to a\nshadow. The sinking of his features, a certain token of approaching\ndeath, was visible in his face. An Italian writer has furnished us with\na most touching description of his last moments, in the following terms:\n\n\"On the last night of his existence, he appeared unusually tranquil--he\nhad slept a little: when he awoke, he requested that the curtains\nof his bed should be drawn aside to contemplate the moon, which, at\nits full, was advancing calmly in the immensity of the pure heavens.\nAt this solemn hour, he seemed desirous to return to Nature all the\nsoft sensations which he was then possessed of; stretching forth his\nhand toward his enchanted violin--to the faithful companion of his\ntravels--to the magician which had robbed care of its stings--he sent\nto heaven, with its last sounds, the last sigh of a life which had been\nall melody.\"\n\nThe great artist expired on the 27th of May, 1840, at the age of 56,\nleaving to his only son, Achille, an immense fortune, and the title of\nBaron, which had been conceded him in Germany. All had not ended with\nthe man whose life was as extraordinary as his talent. Whether from the\neffect of certain popular rumors, or whether from Paganini having died\nwithout receiving the last rites of his church, he had left doubts of\nhis faith; his remains were refused interment in consecrated ground\nby the Bishop of Nice. Vainly did his friends solicit permission to\ncelebrate a solemn service for his eternal rest; the bishop remained\ninexorable, but proffered an authentic act of decease, with permission\nto remove the body wheresoever they pleased. This was not accepted,\nand the matter was brought before the tribunals. All this time, the\nbody was remaining in one of the rooms of the hospital at Nice; it was\nafterward removed by sea from the lazaretto of Villa Franca, near that\ncity, to a country spot named _Polcevera_, near Genoa, which belonged\nto the inheritance of the illustrious artist. At length, the friends\nof the deceased obtained permission from the bishop of Parma to bring\nthe body into the Duchy, to remove it to the _Villa Gajona_, and to\ninter it in the village church. This funeral homage was rendered to\nthe remains of this celebrated man, in the month of May, 1845, but\nwithout pomp, in conformity with the orders which had emanated from the\ngovernment.\n\nBy his will, made on the 27th of April, 1837, and opened the 1st of\nJune, 1840, Paganini left to his son, legitimized by deeds of law, a\nfortune estimated at two millions (\u00a380,000 sterling), out of which two\nlegacies were to be paid, of fifty and sixty thousand francs, to his\ntwo sisters, leaving to the mother of his son, Achille, an annuity\nof 1,200 francs. Independently of his wealth, Paganini possessed a\ncollection of valuable instruments; his large _Guarneri_, the only\ninstrument which accompanied him in his travels, he bequeathed to the\ntown of Genoa, not being desirous that an artist should possess it\nafter him.\n\n\n\n\nNUMBER NINETEEN IN OUR STREET.\n\n\nNumber Nineteen in our street is a gloomy house, with a blistered door\nand a cavernous step; with a hungry area and a desolate frontage.\nThe windows are like prison-slips, only a trifle darker, and a good\ndeal dirtier, and the kitchen-offices might stand proxies for the\nBlack Hole of Calcutta, barring the company and the warmth. For as\nto company, black beetles, mice, and red ants, are all that are ever\nseen of animated nature there, and the thermometer rarely stands above\nfreezing-point. Number Nineteen is a lodging-house, kept by a poor\nold maid, whose only friend is her cat, and whose only heirs will be\nthe parish. With the outward world, excepting such as slowly filter\nthrough the rusty opening of the blistered door, Miss Rebecca Spong has\nlong ceased to have dealings. She hangs a certain piece of card-board,\nwith \"Lodgings to Let,\" printed in school-girl print, unconscious of\nstraight lines, across it; and this act of public notification, coupled\nwith anxious peepings over the blinds of the parlor front, is all the\nintercourse which she and the world of men hold together. Every now and\nthen, indeed, a mangy cab may be seen driving up to her worn-out step;\nand dingy individuals, of the kind who travel about with small square\nboxes, covered with marbled paper, and secured with knotted cords\nof different sizes, may be witnessed taking possession of Nineteen,\nin a melancholy and mysterious way. But even these visitations,\nunsatisfactory as most lodging-house keepers would consider them, are\nfew and far between; for somehow the people who come and go never seem\nto have any friends or relations whereby Miss Spong may improve her\n\"connection.\" You never see the postman stop at that desolate door; you\nnever hear a visitor's knock on that rusty lion's head; no unnecessary\ntraffic of social life ever takes place behind those dusty blinds;\nit might be the home of a select party of Trappists, or the favorite\nhiding-place of coiners, for all the sunshine of external humanity that\nis suffered to enter those interior recesses. If a murder had been\ncommitted in every room, from the attics to the cellar, a heavier spell\nof solitude and desolation could not rest on its floors.\n\nOne dreary afternoon in November, a cab stopped at Number Nineteen.\nIt was a railway cab, less worn and ghastly than those vehicles in\ngeneral, but not bringing much evidence of gayety or wealth for all\nthat. Its inmates were a widow and a boy of about fifteen; and all the\npossessions they had with them were contained in one trunk of very\nmoderate dimensions, a cage with a canary-bird twittering inside,\nsome pots of flowers, and a little white rabbit, one of the comical\n\"lop-eared\" kind. There was something very touching in these evidences\nof the fresh country life which they had left for the dull atmosphere\nand steaming fogs of the metropolis. They told a sad tale of old\nassociations broken, and old loves forsworn; of days of comfort and\nprosperity exchanged for the dreariness of poverty; and freedom, love,\nand happiness, all snapped asunder for the leaden chain of suffering to\nbe forged instead. One could not help thinking of all those two hapless\npeople must have gone through before they could have summoned courage\nto leave their own dear village, where they had lived so many years in\nthat local honorableness of the clergyman's family; throwing themselves\nout of the society which knew and loved them, that they might enter a\nharsh world, where they must make their own position, and earn their\nown living, unaided by sympathy, honor, or affection. They looked as\nif they themselves thought something of this, too, when they took\npossession of the desolate second floor; and the widow sat down near\nher son, and taking his hand in hers, gave vent to a flood of tears,\nwhich ended by unmanning the boy as well. And then they shut up the\nwindow carefully, and nothing more was seen of them that night.\n\nMrs. Lawson, the widow, was a mild, lady-like person, whose face bore\nthe marks of recent affliction, and whose whole appearance and manners\nwere those of a loving, gentle, unenergetic, and helpless woman,\nwhom sorrow could well crush beyond all power of resistance. The boy\nwas a tall, thin youth, with a hectic flush and a hollow cough, eyes\nbright and restless, and as manifestly nervous as his mother was the\nreverse in temperament--anxious and restless, and continually taxing\nhis strength beyond its power, making himself seriously ill in his\nendeavors to save his beloved mother some small trouble. They seemed\nto be very tenderly attached one to the other, and to supply to each\nall that was wanting in each: the mother's gentleness soothing down\nher boy's excitability, and the boy's nervousness rousing the mother\nto exertion. They were interesting people--so lonely, apparently so\nunfit to \"rough it,\" in the world; the mother so gentle in temper, and\nthe son so frail in constitution--two people who ought to have been\nprotected from all ill and all cares, yet who had such a bitter cup to\nempty, such a harsh fate to fulfill.\n\nThey were very poor. The mother used to go out with a small basket\non her arm, which could hold but scanty supplies for two full-grown\npeople. Yet this was the only store they had; for no baker, no butcher,\nno milkman, grocer, or poulterer, ever stopped at the area gate of\nMiss Rebecca Spong; no purveyor of higher grade than a cat's-meat-man\nwas ever seen to hand provisions into the depths of Number Nineteen's\ndarkness. The old maid herself was poor; and she, too, used to do her\nmarketing on the basket principle; carrying home, generally at night,\nodd scraps from the open stalls in Tottenham Court Road, which she\nhad picked up as bargains, and dividing equally between herself and\nher fagged servant-of-all-work the wretched meal which would not have\nbeen too ample for one. She therefore could not help her lodgers, and\nthey all scrambled on over the desolate places of poverty as they best\nmight. In general, tea, sugar, bread, a little rice, a little coffee\nas a change, a scrap of butter which no cow that ever yielded milk\nwould have acknowledged--these were the usual items of Mrs. Lawson's\nmarketing, on which she and her young son were to be nourished. And on\nsuch poor fare as this was that pale boy expected to become a hearty\nman? The mother could not, did not expect it. Else why were the tears\nin her eyes so often as she returned? and why did she hang over her\nson, and caress him fondly, as if in deprecation, when she brought him\nhis wretched meal, seeming to lament, to blame herself, too, that she\nhad not been able to provide him any thing better? Poor things! poor\nthings!\n\nMrs. Lawson seemed at last to get some employment. She had been seeking\nfor it long--to judge by her frequent absences from home, and the\nweary look of disappointment she wore when she returned. But at last\nthe opening was found, and she set to work in earnest. She used to go\nout early in the morning, and not return until late in the evening,\nand then she looked pale and tired, as one whose energies had been\novertasked all the day; but she had found no gold-mine. The scanty\nmeals were even scantier than before, and her shabby mourning was\ngetting shabbier and duller. She was evidently hard-worked for very\nlittle pay; and their condition was not improved, only sustained by\nher exertions. Things seemed to be very bad with them altogether, and\nwith little hope of amendment; for poor Mrs. Lawson had been \"brought\nup as a lady,\" and so was doubly incapable--by education as well as by\ntemperament--of gaining her own living. She was now employed as daily\ngoverness in the family of a city tradesman--people, who though they\nwere kindly-natured enough, had as much as they could do in keeping\ntheir own fortunes afloat without giving any substantial aid to others,\nand who had therefore engaged her at the lowest possible salary, such\nas was barely sufficient to keep her and her son from absolute want.\n\nThe boy had long been very busy. He used to sit by the window all the\nday, earnestly employed with paper and scissors; and I wondered what\nfascinating occupation he had found to chain him for so many hours by\nthose chinks and draughts; for he was usually enveloped in shawls,\nand blankets were hung about his chair, and every tender precaution\ntaken that he should not increase his sickness by exposure even to the\nordinary changes in the temperature of a dwelling-room. But now, in\nspite of his terrible cough, in spite of his hurried breathing, he used\nto sit for hours on hours by the dusky window, cutting and cutting at\nthat eternal paper, as if his very life depended on his task. But he\nused to gather up the cuttings carefully, and hide all out of sight\nbefore his mother came home--sometimes nearly caught before quite\nprepared, when he used to show as much trepidation as if committing a\ncrime.\n\nThis went on for some time, and at last he went out. It was fortunately\na fine day--a clear, cold, January day; but he had no sooner breathed\nthe brisk frosty air than a terrible fit of coughing seemed to threaten\nhis frail existence. He did not turn back though; and I watched him\nslowly pass down the street, holding on by the rails, and every now\nand then stopping to take breath. I saw a policeman speak to him in\na grave, compassionating way, as if--seeing that he was so young\nand feeble, and so much a stranger, that he was asking his way to\nOxford-street, while going in a totally contrary direction--he was\nadvising him to go home, and to let some one else do his business--his\nfather perhaps; but the boy only smiled, and shook his head in a\nhopeful way; and so he went from my sight, though not from my thoughts.\n\nThis continued daily, sometimes Herbert bringing home a small quantity\nof money, sometimes only disappointment; and these were terrible\ntrials! At last, the mother was made acquainted with her son's new\nmode of life, by the treasured 5s. which the poor boy thrust into\nher hand one evening, with a strange shy pride that brought all the\nblood into his face, while he kissed her with impetuosity to smother\nher reproaches. She asked him how he had got so much money--so much!\nand then he told her how, self-taught, he had learned to cut out\nfigures--dogs and landscapes--in colored paper, which he had taken to\nthe bazaars and stationers' shops, and there disposed of--for a mere\ntrifle truly. \"For this kind of thing is not fashionable, mother,\nthough I think the Queen likes them,\" he said; \"and of course, if not\nfashionable, I could not get very much for them.\" So he contented\nhimself, and consoled her, for the small payment of sixpence or a\nshilling, which perhaps was all he could earn by three or four days'\nwork.\n\nThe mother gently blamed him for his imprudence in exposing himself as\nhe had done to the wet and cold--and, alas! these had told sadly on\nhis weakened frame; but Herbert was so happy to-night, that she could\nnot damp his pleasure, even for maternal love; so she reserved the\nlecture which _must_ be given until to-morrow. And then his out-door\nexpeditions were peremptorily forbidden; and Miss Spong was called up\nto strengthen the prohibition--which she did effectually by offering,\nin her little, quick, nervous way, to take Herbert's cuttings to the\nshops herself, and thus to spare him the necessity of doing so. Poor\nMrs. Lawson went up to the little woman, and kissed her cheek like a\nsister, as she spoke; while Miss Spong, so utterly unused as she had\nbeen for years to the smallest demonstration of affection, looked at\nfirst bewildered and aghast, and finally sank down on the chair in a\nchildish fit of crying. I can not say how much the sight of that poor\nlittle old maid's tears affected me! They seemed to speak of such\nlong years of heart-loneliness--such loving impulses strangled by the\nchill hand of solitude--such weary familiarity with that deadness of\nlife wherein no sympathy is bestowed, no love awakened--that I felt\nas one witnessing a dead man recalled to life, after all that made\nlife pleasant had fled. What a sorrowful house that Number Nineteen\nwas! From the desolate servant-of-all-work at her first place from the\nFoundling, to the half-starved German in the attics, every inmate of\nthe house seemed to have nothing but the bitter bread of affliction to\neat--nothing but the salt waters of despair to drink.\n\nAnd now began another epoch in the Lawson history, which shed a sad but\nmost beautiful light over the fading day of that young life.\n\nA girl of about fourteen--she might have been a year or so younger--was\nonce sent from one of the stationer's shops to conclude some bargain\nwith the sick paper-cutter. I saw her slender figure bound up the\ndesolate steps with the light tread of youth, as if she had been a\ndivine being entering the home of human sorrow. She was one of those\nsaintly children who are sometimes seen blooming like white roses,\nunstained by time or by contact. Her hair hung down her neck in\nlong, loose curls, among which the sunlight seemed to have fairly\nlost itself, they were so golden bright; her eyes were large, and\nof that deep, dark gray which is so much more beautiful, because so\nmuch more intellectual, than any other color eyes can take; her lips\nwere fresh and youthful; and her figure had all that girlish grace of\nfourteen which combines the unconscious innocence of the child with the\nexquisite modesty of the maiden. She soon became the daily visitor of\nthe Lawsons--pupil to Herbert.\n\nThe paper-cutting was not wholly laid aside though; in the early\nmorning, and in the evening, and often late into the night, the thin,\nwan fingers were busy about their task; but the middle of the day was\nsnatched like an hour of sleep in the midst of pain--garnered up like a\nfountain of sweet waters in the wilderness; for then it was that little\nJessie came for her Latin lesson, which she used to learn so well,\nand take such pleasure in, and be doubly diligent about, because poor\nHerbert Lawson was ill, and vexation would do him harm. Does it seem\nstrange that a stationer's daughter should be so lovely, and should\nlearn Latin? And there those two children used to sit for three dear\nhours of the day; she, leaning over her book, her sweet young face\nbent on her task with a look of earnest intellectuality in it, that\nmade her like some sainted maid of olden time; and he watching her\nevery movement, and listening to every syllable, with a rapt interest\nsuch as only very early youth can feel. How happy he used to look! How\nhis face would lighten up, as if an angel's wing had swept over it,\nwhen the two gentle taps at the door heralded young Jessie! How his\nboyish reverence, mixed with boyish care, gave his wasted features an\nexpression almost unearthly, as he hung over her so protectingly, so\ntenderly, so adoringly! It was so different from a man's love! There\nwas something so exquisitely pure and spiritual in it--something so\nreverential and so chivalrous--it would have been almost a sin to\nhave had that love grow out into a man's strong passion! The flowers\nshe brought him--and seldom did a day pass without a fresh supply of\nviolets, and, when the weather was warmer, of primroses and cowslips,\nfrom her gentle hand--all these were cherished more than gold would\nhave been cherished; the books she lent him were never from his side;\nif she touched one of the paltry ornaments on the chimney-piece, that\nornament was transferred to his own private table; and the chair she\nused was always kept apart, and sacred to her return.\n\nIt was very beautiful to watch all these manifestations: for I did\nwatch them, first from my own window, then in the house, in the midst\nof the lonely family, comforting when I could not aid, and sharing\nin the griefs I could not lessen. Under the new influence, the boy\ngained such loveliness and spiritualism, that his face had an angelic\ncharacter, which, though it made young Jessie feel a strange kind of\nloving awe for the sick boy, betokened to me, and to his mother, that\nhis end was not far off.\n\nHe was now too weak to sit up, excepting for a small part of the day;\nand I feared that he would soon become too weak to teach, even in his\ngentle way, and with such a gentle pupil. But the Latin exercises still\nheld their place; the books lying on the sofa instead of on the table,\nand Jessie sitting by him on a stool, where he could overlook her as\nshe read: this was all the change; unless, indeed, that Jessie read\naloud more than formerly, and not always out of a Latin book. Sometimes\nit was poetry, and sometimes it was the Bible that she read to him; and\nthen he used to stop her, and pour forth such eloquent, such rapturous\nremarks on what he had heard, that Jessie used to sit and watch him\nlike a young angel holding converse with a spirit. She was beginning\nto love him very deeply in her innocent, girlish, unconscious way; and\nI used to see her bounding step grow sad and heavy as, day by day, her\nbrother-like tutor seemed to be sinking from earth so fast.\n\nThus passed the winter, poor Mrs. Lawson toiling painfully at her task,\nand Herbert falling into death in his; but with such happiness in his\nheart as made his sufferings divine delights, and his weakness, the\nholy strength of heaven.\n\nHe could do but little at his paper-cutting now, but still he\npersevered; and his toil was well repaid, too, when he gave his mother\nthe scanty payment which he received at the end of the week, and felt\nthat he had done his best--that he had helped her forward--that he was\nno longer an idler supported by her sorrow--but that he had braced the\nburden of labor on to his own shoulders also, weak as they were, and\nhad taken his place, though dying, among the manful workers of the\nworld. Jessie brought a small weekly contribution also, neatly sealed\nup in fair white paper; and of these crumpled scraps Herbert used to\ncut angels and cherubs' heads, which he would sit and look at for hours\ntogether; and then he would pray as if in a trance--so earnest and\nheartfelt was it--while tears of love, not grief, would stream down his\nface, as his lips moved in blessings on that young maiden child.\n\nIt came at last. He had fought against it long and bravely; but death\nis a hard adversary, and can not be withstood, even by the strongest.\nIt came, stealing over him like an evening cloud over a star--leaving\nhim still beautiful, while blotting out his light--softening and\npurifying, while slowly obliterating his place. Day by day, his\nweakness increased; day by day, his pale hands grew paler, and his\nhollow cheek more wan. But the love in his boy's heart hung about his\nsick bed as flowers that have an eternal fragrance from their birth.\n\nJessie was ever a daily visitor, though no longer now a scholar; and\nher presence had all the effect of religion on the boy--he was so calm,\nand still, and holy, while she was there. When she was gone, he was\nsometimes restless, though never peevish; but he would get nervous, and\nunable to fix his mind on any thing, his sick head turning incessantly\nto the window, as if vainly watching for a shadowy hope, and his thin\nfingers plucking ceaselessly at his bedclothes, in restless, weary,\nunsoothed sorrow. While she sat by him, her voice sounding like low\nmusic in his ears, and her hands wandering about him in a thousand\noffices of gentle comforting, he was like a child sinking softly to\nsleep--a soul striving upward to its home, beckoned on by the hands of\nthe holier sister before it.\n\nAnd thus he died--in the bright spring-time of the year, in the bright\nspring-time of his life. Love had been the cradle song of his infancy,\nlove was the requiem of his youth. His was no romantic fable, no\nheroic epic; adventures, passions, fame, made up none of its incidents;\nit was simply the history of a boy's manful struggling against fate--of\nthe quiet heroism of endurance, compensated by inward satisfaction, if\nnot by actual happiness.\n\nTrue, his career was in the low-lying paths of humanity; but it was\nnone the less beautiful and pure, for it is not deeds, it is their\nspirit, which makes men noble, or leaves them stained. Had Herbert\nLawson been a warrior, statesman, hero, philosopher, he would have\nshown no other nature than that which gladdened the heart of his\nwidowed mother, and proved a life's instruction to Jessie Hamilton, in\nhis small deeds of love and untaught words of faith in the solitude\nof that lodging-house. Brave, pure, noble then, his sphere only would\nhave been enlarged, and with his sphere the weight and power of his\ncharacter; but the spirit would have been the same, and in the dying\nchild it was as beautiful as it would have been in the renowned\nphilosopher.\n\nWe have given this simple story--simple in all its bearings--as an\ninstance of how much real heroism is daily enacted, how much true\nmorality daily cherished, under the most unfavorable conditions. A\nwidow and her young son cast on the world without sufficient means of\nliving--a brave boy battling against poverty and sickness combined, and\ndoing his small endeavor with manful constancy--a dying youth, whose\nwhole soul is penetrated with love, as with a divine song; all these\nare elements of true human interest, and these are circumstances to\nbe found in every street of a crowded city. And to such as these is\nthe divine mission of brotherly charity required; for though poverty\nmay not be relieved by reason of our inability, suffering may always\nbe lightened by our sympathy. It takes but a word of love, a glance\nof pity, a gentle kiss of affection--it takes but an hour of our day,\na prayer at night, and we may walk through the sick world and the\nsorrowful as angels dropping balm and comfort on the wounded. The\ncup of such human love as this poured freely out will prove in truth\n\"twice blessed,\" returning back to our hearts the peace we have shed on\nothers. Alas! alas! how thick the harvest and how few the reapers!\n\n\n\n\nGOSSIP ABOUT GREAT MEN.\n\n\nOne can not help taking an interest in great men. Even their pettiest\nfoibles--their most ordinary actions--their by-play--their jokes--are\neagerly commemorated. Their haunts--their homes--the apartments in\nwhich they have studied--their style of dress--and, above all, their\nfamiliar conversation, are treasured up in books, and fascinate all\nreaders. Trifles help to decipher the character of a man, often more\nthan his greatest actions. What is a man's daily life--his private\nconversations--his familiar deportment? These, though they make but\na small figure in his history, are often the most characteristic and\ngenuine things in a man's life. With what interest do we think of\nblind, glorious John Milton, when writing _Paradise Lost_, sitting\nat \"the old organ behind the faded green hangings,\" his dimmed eyes\nrolling in vain to find the day; of Richardson, in his back-shop,\nwriting _Pamela_; of Cowper and his tame hares; of Byron and Newstead\nAbbey; of Burns, in his humble cottage home; of Voltaire, in his\nretreat of Ferney, by the shores of Lake Leman; of Sir Walter Scott, in\nhis study at Abbotsford; of Dr. Johnson, in his retreat in Bolt Court;\nof Shakspeare, and the woods of Charlecote; of Pope, and his house at\nTwickenham; of Swift, and his living at Laracor. We are never tired\nof reading of such things, identified as they are with genius, and\nconsecrated by their association with the names of great men.\n\nWe take an interest in even smaller things. Everybody remembers\nGoldsmith's bloom-colored coat; George Fox's \"leathern hull;\" Milton's\ngarb of coarse gray; Magliabecchi's great brown vest down to his knees,\nhis broad-brimmed hat, and patched black mantle, and his cravat full\nof snuff-droppings; Pope's velvet cap, tye-wig, and sword; and Buffon,\nwith his hair in curl-papers while sitting at his desk. We curiously\nremember Oliver Cromwell's warts; Wilks's squint; Scott's limp; Byron's\nclub-foot; Pope's little crooked figure, like a note of interrogation;\nJohnson's rotundity and rheum; Charles Lamb's spindle-shanks in\ngaiters; and all manner of personal peculiarities of distinguished men.\n\nThe appetites, tastes, idiosyncracies, prejudices, foibles, and follies\nof great men, are well known. Perhaps we think too much of them; but we\ntake interest in all that concerns them, even the pettiest details. It\nis often these that give an interest to their written life. What were\nBoswell's _Johnson_, that best of biographies, were it wanting in its\ngossip and small talk?\n\nAn interesting chapter might be written about the weaknesses of great\nmen. For instance, they have been very notorious for their strange fits\nof abstraction. The anecdote of Archimedes will be remembered, who\nrushed through the streets of Syracuse _al fresco_, crying _Eureka!_\nand at the taking of the city was killed by a soldier, while tracing\ngeometrical lines on sand. Socrates, when filled with some idea,\nwould stand for hours fixed like a statue. It is recorded of him\nthat he stood amidst the soldiers in the camp at Potidea, in rooted\nabstraction, listening to his \"prophetic or supernatural voice.\"\nDemocritus shut himself up for days together in a little apartment in\nhis garden. Dante was subject to fits of abstraction, in which he often\nquite forgot himself. One day, he found an interesting book, which he\nhad long sought for, in a druggist's shop at Sienna, and sat reading\nthere till night came on.\n\nBude, whom Erasmus called the wonder of France, was a thoroughly absent\nman. One day his domestics broke into his study with the intelligence\nthat his house was on fire. \"Go inform my wife,\" said he; \"you know\nI do not interfere in household affairs!\" Scaliger only slept for a\nfew hours at a time, and passed whole days without thinking of food.\nSully, when his mind was occupied with plans of reform, displayed\nextraordinary fits of forgetfulness. One day, in winter, when on his\nway to church, he observed, \"How very cold it is to-day!\" \"Not more\ncold than usual,\" said one of his attendants. \"Then I must have the\nague,\" said Sully. \"Is it not more probable that you are too scantily\ndressed?\" he was asked. On lifting his tunic the secret was at once\ndiscovered. He had forgotten all his under clothing but his breeches!\n\nMrs. Bray tells a somewhat familiar story of the painter Stothard. When\ninvited on one occasion to dine with the poet Rogers, on reaching the\nhouse in St. James's Place, he complained of cold, and, chancing to\nplace his hand on his neck, he found he had forgotten to put on his\ncravat, when he hastily returned home to complete his attire.\n\nBuffon was very fond of dress. He assumed the air of the grand signeur;\nsported jewels and finery; wore rich lace and velvets; and was curled\nand scented to excess--wearing his hair _en papillotte_ while at his\nstudies. Pope, too, was a little dandy in a bag-wig and a sword; and\nhis crooked figure enveloped in fashionable garments, gave him the look\nof an over-dressed monkey. Voltaire, also, was fond of magnificent\nattire, and usually dressed in an absurd manner. Diderot once traveled\nfrom St. Petersburg to Paris in his morning-gown and nightcap; and in\nthis guise promenaded the streets and public places of the towns on his\nroute. He was often taken for a madman. While composing his works, he\nused to walk about at a rapid pace, making huge strides, and sometimes\nthrowing his wig in the air when he had struck out a happy idea. One\nday, a friend found him in tears--\"Good heavens!\" he exclaimed, \"what\nis the matter?\" \"I am weeping,\" answered Diderot, \"at a story that I\nhave just composed!\"\n\nYoung, the poet, composed his _Night Thoughts_ with a skull before\nhim, in which he would sometimes place a lighted candle; and he\noccasionally sought his sepulchral inspiration by wandering among\nthe tombs at midnight. Mrs. Radcliffe courted the horrors with which\nshe filled her gloomy romances, by supping on half-raw beefsteaks,\nplentifully garnished with onions. Dryden used to take physic before\nsetting himself to compose a new piece. Kant, the German philosopher,\nwhile lecturing, had the habit of fixing his attention upon one of his\nauditors who wore a garment without a button in a particular place.\nOne day, the student had the button sewed on. Kant, on commencing his\nlecture, fixed his eyes on the usual place. The button was there! Fancy\nthe consternation of the philosopher, whose ideas had become associated\nwith that buttonless garment. His lecture that day was detestable: he\nwas quite unhinged by the circumstance.\n\nToo many authors have been fond of the bottle. Rabelais said, \"Eating\nand drinking are my true sources of inspiration. See this bottle!\nIt is my true and only Helicon, my cabalistic fountain, my sole\nenthusiasm. Drinking, I deliberate; and deliberating, I drink.\" Ennius,\nEschylus, and Cato, all got their inspiration while drinking. Mezerai\nhad always a large bottle of wine beside him, among his books. He drank\nof it at each page that he wrote. He turned the night into day; and\nnever composed except by lamp-light, even in the day time. All his\nwindows were darkened; and it was no unusual thing for him to show a\nfriend to the door with a lamp, though outside it was broad daylight!\nOn the contrary, Varillas, the historian, never wrote except at full\nmid-day. His ideas, he imagined, grew and declined with the sun's light.\n\nSir William Blackstone is said to have composed his _Commentaries_\nwith a bottle of wine on the table, from which he drank largely at\nintervals: and Addison, while composing, used to pace to and fro the\nlong drawing-room of Holland House, with a glass of sherry at each\nend, and rewarded himself by drinking one in case of a felicitous\ninspiration.\n\nWhile Goldsmith wrote his _Vicar of Wakefield_, he kept drinking at\nMadeira, \"to drown care,\" for the duns were upon him. When Johnson\ncalled to relieve him, he sent away the bottle, and took the manuscript\nto the bookseller, bringing back some money to the author. Goldsmith's\nfirst use of the money was, to call in the landlady to have a glass of\npunch with him. Goldie was guilty of very strange tricks. He once broke\nhis shin by exhibiting to the company how much better he could jump\nover a stick than puppets.\n\nThe intemperance of poets is but too painfully illustrated in the lives\nof Parnell, Otway, Sheffield, Savage, Churchill, Prior, Dryden, Cowley,\nBurns, Coleridge, Lamb, and others. There is nothing more painful in\nBurns's letters, than those in which he confesses his contrition after\nhis drunken bouts, and vows amendment for the future. His letter to\nMrs. Dunlop on this subject will be remembered. Lamb, too, in a letter\nto Mr. Carey, painted _next morning_ in vivid terrors. Byron says--\n\n              Get very drunk; and when\n    You wake with headache, you shall see what then.\n\nHere is Lamb's graphic picture: \"I protest,\" said he, to Mr. Carey,\nthe translator of Dante; \"I know not in what words to invest my sense\nof the shameful violation of hospitality which I was guilty of on that\nfatal Wednesday. Let it be blotted from the calendar. Had it been\ncommitted at a layman's house--say a merchant's, or a manufacturer's,\nor a cheesemonger's, or a greengrocer's--or, to go higher, a\nbarrister's, a member of parliament's, a rich banker's, I should have\nfelt alleviation--a drop of self-pity. But to be seen deliberately to\ngo out of the house of a clergyman, drunk!... With feverish eyes on the\nsucceeding dawn, I opened upon the faint light, enough to distinguish,\nin a strange chamber, not immediately to be recognized, garters, hose,\nwaistcoat, neckerchief, arranged in dreadful order and proportion,\nwhich I knew was not mine own! 'Tis the common symptom, on awaking,\nI judge my last night's condition from. A tolerable scattering on the\nfloor I hail as being too probably my own, and if the candlestick\nbe not removed, I assail myself. But this finical arrangement--this\nfinding every thing in the morning in exact diametrical rectitude,\ntorments me. By whom was I divested? burning blushes! not by the\nfair hand of nymphs--the Buffian graces! Remote whispers suggested\nthat I _coached_ it home in triumph. Far be that from waking pride\nin me, for I was unconscious of the locomotion. That a young Newton\naccompanied a reprobate old Telemachus; that, Trojan-like, he bore his\ncharge upon his shoulders, while the wretched incubus, in glimmering\nsense, hiccoughed drunken snatches of flying on the bat's wings after\nsunset.... Occasion led me through Great Russell-street, yesterday: I\ngazed at the great knocker. My feeble hands in vain essayed to lift it.\nI dreaded that Argus Portitor, who doubtless lanterned me out on that\nprodigious night. I called the Elginian marbles; they were cold to my\nsuit. I shall never again, I said, on the wide gates unfolding, say,\nwithout fear of thrusting back, in a light but a peremptory air, 'I am\ngoing to Mr. Cary's.'\"\n\nLamb was also a great smoker at one period of his life. But he\ndetermined to give it up, as he found it led to drinking--to \"drinking\negg-flip hot, at the Salutation\"--so he wrote his \"Farewell to\nTobacco,\" and gave it up--returning to it again, but finally abandoning\nit. In a letter to Wordsworth, he said: \"Tobacco has been my evening\ncomfort and my morning curse for these five years; and you know how\ndifficult it is from refraining to pick one's lips even, when it has\nbecome a habit. I have had it in my head to write this poem [Farewell\nto Tobacco] these two years; but tobacco stood in its own light, when\nit gave me headaches that prevented my singing its praises.\"\n\nOnce, in the height of Lamb's smoking fever, he was puffing the smoke\nof strong, coarse tobacco from a clay pipe, in the company of Dr. Parr,\nwho whiffed only the finest weed, when the latter, addressing Lamb,\nasked: \"Dear me, sir, how is it that you have acquired so prodigious a\nsmoking power?\" \"I have acquired it,\" answered Lamb, \"by toiling after\nit, as some men toil after virtue.\"\n\nIt was from frequenting the society of Dr. Parr, that Robert Hall, the\nfamous preacher, when at Cambridge, acquired the habit of smoking. He\nsmoked in self-defense. Some one asked him why he had commenced such an\nodious habit. \"Oh,\" said Hall, \"I am qualifying myself for the society\nof a Doctor of Divinity; and this (holding up the pipe) is the test of\nmy admission.\" A friend found him busy with his pipe one day, blowing\nhuge clouds of smoke. \"Ah,\" said the new comer, \"I find you again at\nyour old idol.\" \"Yes,\" said Hall, \"_burning it_!\" But his friends were\nanxious that he should give up the practice, and one of them presented\nhim with Adam Clarke's pamphlet on _The Use and Abuse of Tobacco_, to\nread. He read the pamphlet, and returned it to the lender saying, as if\nto preclude discussion--\"Thank you, sir, for Adam Clarke's pamphlet. I\ncan't refute his arguments, and I can't give up smoking.\"\n\nAmong other smokers of distinction, may be named the poet Milton,\nwhose nightcap was a pipe of tobacco and a glass of pure water. But he\nwas exceedingly moderate in the indulgence of this \"vice.\" Sir Walter\nRaleigh, who introduced the use of this weed into England, smoked\nfrequently; and the anecdote of his servant, who emptied a bucket of\nwater on him, thinking he was on fire, because he saw the smoke issuing\nfrom his mouth, is very well known. Many other poets and literary men\nhave smoked. Carlyle, at this day, blows a tremendous cloud.\n\nSouthey's indulgence at bed-time, was a glass of hot rum punch,\nenriched with a little black current jelly. Byron wrote under the\ninfluence of gin and water. Coleridge took immoderate quantities of\nopium. Gluck, the musical composer, wrote with a bottle of Champagne\nbeside him--Sacchini, when his wife was by his side, and his numerous\ncats gamboling about him.\n\nOther authors have found relaxation in other ways. Thus Daguesseau,\nwhen he wanted relaxation from the study of jurisprudence and history,\nbetook himself to a pair of compasses and a book of mathematics.\nRichelieu amused himself by playing with cats, and studying their\ntricks. Cowper had his tame hares. Sir Walter Scott was always attended\nby his favorite dogs. Professor Wilson, at this day, is famous for his\nterriers.\n\nAlfieri, like Luther and Milton, found the greatest solace and\ninspiration in music. \"Nothing,\" said he, \"so moves my heart, and soul\nand intellect, and rouses my very faculties, like music--and especially\nthe music of woman's voice. Almost all my tragedies have been conceived\nunder the immediate emotion caused by music.\" Voltaire took pleasure\nin the Opera, (not so Thomas Carlyle, as you may have seen), and there\ndictated some of his most brilliant letters.\n\nBut the foibles of men of genius are endless; and would be a curious\nsubject for some Disraeli, in a future volume of the Curiosities of\nLiterature, to depict at length, if the subject be indeed worth the\nrequired amount of pains and labor.\n\n\n\n\nMY NOVEL; OR, VARIETIES IN ENGLISH LIFE.[5]\n\n\nBOOK XII.--INITIAL CHAPTER.\n\n\"Again,\" quoth my father--\"Again behold us! We who greeted the\ncommencement of your narrative, who absented ourselves in the mid\ncourse, when we could but obstruct the current of events, and jostle\npersonages more important--we now gather round the close. Still, as the\nchorus to the drama, we circle round the altar with the solemn but\ndubious chant which prepares the audience for the completion of the\nappointed destinies; though still, ourselves, unaware how the skein is\nto be unraveled, and where the shears are to descend.\"\n\n[5] Continued from the September Number.\n\nSo there they stood, the Family of Caxton--all grouping round me--all\neager officiously to question--some over-anxious prematurely to\ncriticise.\n\n\"Violante can't have voluntarily gone off with that horrid Count,\" said\nmy mother; \"but perhaps she was deceived, like Eugenia by Mr. Bellamy,\nin the novel of 'CAMILLA.'\"\n\n\"Ha!\" said my father, \"and in that case it is time yet to steal a hint\nfrom Clarissa Harlowe, and make Violante die less of a broken heart\nthan a sullied honor. She is one of those girls who ought to be killed!\n_Ostendent omnia letum_--all things about her forebode an early tomb!\"\n\n\"Dear, dear!\" cried Mrs. Caxton, \"I hope not--poor thing!\"\n\n\"Pooh, brother,\" said the Captain, \"we have had enough of the tomb in\nthe history of poor Nora. The whole story grows out of a grave, and to\na grave it must return:--if, Pisistratus, you must kill somebody, kill\nLevy.\"\n\n\"Or the Count,\" said my mother, with unusual truculence.\n\n\"Or Randal Leslie,\" said Squills. \"I should like to have a\n_post-mortem_ cast of his head--it would be an instructive study.\"\n\nHere there was a general confusion of tongues, all present conspiring\nto bewilder the unfortunate author with their various and discordant\ncounsels how to wind up his story and dispose of his characters.\n\n\"Silence!\" cried Pisistratus, clapping his hands to both ears. \"I can\nno more alter the fate allotted to each of the personages whom you\nhonor with your interest than I can change your own; like you, they\nmust go where events lead them, urged on by their own characters and\nthe agencies of others. Providence so pervadingly governs the universe,\nthat you can not strike it even out of a book. The author may beget a\ncharacter, but the moment the character comes into action, it escapes\nfrom his hands--plays its own part, and fulfills its own inevitable\ndoom.\"\n\n\"Besides,\" said Mr. Squills, \"it is easy to see, from the phrenological\ndevelopment of the organs in those several heads which Pisistratus\nhas allowed us to examine, that we have seen no creations of mere\nfiction, but living persons, whose true history has set in movement\ntheir various bumps of Amativeness, Constructiveness, Acquisitiveness,\nIdeality, Wonder, Comparison, &c. They must act and they must end,\naccording to the influences of their crania. Thus we find in Randal\nLeslie the predominant organs of Constructiveness, Secretiveness,\nComparison, and Eventuality--while Benevolence, Conscientiousness,\nAdhesiveness, are utterly _nil_. Now, to divine how such a man must\nend, we must first see what is the general composition of the society\nin which he moves--in short, what other gases are brought into contact\nwith his phlogiston. As to Leonard, and Harley, and Audley Egerton,\nsurveying them phrenologically, I should say that--\"\n\n\"Hush!\" said my father. \"Pisistratus has dipped his pen in the\nink, and it seems to me easier for the wisest man that ever lived\nto account for what others have done, than to predict what they\nshould do. Phrenologists discovered that Mr. Thurtell had a very\nfine organ of Conscientiousness, yet, somehow or other, that erring\npersonage contrived to knock the brains out of his friend's organ of\nIndividuality. Therefore I rise to propose a Resolution--that this\nmeeting be adjourned till Pisistratus has completed his narrative: and\nwe shall then have the satisfaction of knowing that it ought, according\nto every principle of nature, science, and art, to have been completed\ndifferently. Why should we deprive ourselves of that pleasure?\"\n\n\"I second the motion,\" said the Captain, \"but if Levy be not hanged, I\nshall say that there is an end of all poetical justice.\"\n\n\"Take care of poor Helen,\" said Blanche, tenderly; \"not that I would\nhave you forget Violante.\"\n\n\"Pish! and sit down, or they shall both die old maids.\"\n\nFrightened at that threat, Blanche, with a deprecating look, drew her\nstool quietly near me, as if to place her two prot\u00e9g\u00e9s in an atmosphere\nmesmerised to matrimonial attractions; and my mother set hard to\nwork--at a new frock for the baby. Unsoftened by these undue female\ninfluences, Pisistratus wrote on at the dictation of the relentless\nFates. His pen was of iron, and his heart was of granite. He was as\ninsensible to the existence of wife and baby as if he had never paid a\nhouse bill, nor rushed from a nursery at the sound of an infant squall.\nO blessed privilege of Authorship!\n\n    \"O testudinis aure\u00e6\n      Dulcem qu\u00e6 strepitum, Pieri, temperas!\n    O mutis quoque piscibus\n      Donatura cycni, si libeat, sonum!\"\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nIt is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this narrative,\nand account to the reader for the disappearance of Violante.\n\nIt may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden approach\nof Lord L'Estrange, had little time for farther words to the young\nItalian, than those which expressed his intention to renew the\nconference, and press for her decision. But, the next day, when he\nre-entered the garden, secretly and stealthily as before, Violante\ndid not appear. And after watching round the precincts till dusk, the\nCount retreated with an indignant conviction that his arts had failed\nto enlist on his side, either the heart or the imagination of his\nintended victim. He began now to revolve, and to discuss with Levy,\nthe possibilities of one of those bold and violent measures, which\nwere favored by his reckless daring, and desperate condition. But Levy\ntreated with such just ridicule any suggestion to abstract Violante by\nforce from Lord Lansmere's house--so scouted the notions of nocturnal\nassault, with the devices of scaling windows and rope-ladders--that\nthe Count reluctantly abandoned that romance of villainy so unsuited\nto our sober capital, and which would no doubt have terminated in his\ncapture by the police, with the prospect of committal to the House of\nCorrection.\n\nLevy himself found his invention at fault, and Randal Leslie was called\ninto consultation. The usurer had contrived that Randal's schemes of\nfortune and advancement were so based upon Levy's aid and connivance,\nthat the young man, with all his desire rather to make instruments of\nother men, than to be himself their instrument, found his superior\nintellect as completely a slave to Levy's more experienced craft, as\never subtle Genius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer of earth.\n\nHis acquisition of the ancestral acres--his anticipated seat in\nparliament--his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage of\nHazeldean--were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, like a\npuppet in the sleek filbert-nailed fingers of the smiling showman, who\ncould exhibit him to the admiration of a crowd, or cast him away into\ndust and lumber.\n\nRandal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who bides his hour\nof future emancipation, and lent his brain to the hire of the present\nservitude, in mechanical acquiescence. The inherent superiority of the\nprofound young schemer became instantly apparent over the courage of\nPeschiera and the practiced wit of the Baron.\n\n\"Your sister,\" said Randal to the former, \"must be the active agent in\nthe first and most difficult part of your enterprise. Violante can not\nbe taken by force from Lord Lansmere's--she must be induced to leave\nit with her own consent. A female is needed here. Woman can best decoy\nwoman.\"\n\n\"Admirably said,\" quoth the Count; \"but Beatrice has grown restive, and\nthough her dowry and therefore her very marriage with that excellent\nyoung Hazeldean, depend on my own alliance with my fair kinswoman, she\nhas grown so indifferent to my success that I dare not reckon on her\naid. Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be married,\nshe now seems to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold over\nher.\"\n\n\"Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers to poor Frank?\"\n\n\"I suspect that she has; but I know not whom, unless it be that\ndetested L'Estrange.\"\n\n\"Ah--well, well. Interfere with her no farther yourself, but have all\nin readiness to quit England, as you had before proposed, as soon as\nViolante be in your power.\"\n\n\"All is in readiness,\" said the Count. \"Levy has agreed to purchase a\nfamous sailing vessel of one of his clients. I have engaged a score or\nso of determined outcasts, accustomed to the sea--Genoese, Corsicans,\nSardinians--ex-Carbonari of the best sort--no silly patriots, but\nliberal cosmopolitans, who have iron at the disposal of any man's gold.\nI have a priest to perform the nuptial service, and deaf to any fair\nlady's 'No.' Once at sea, and wherever I land, Violante will lean on my\narm as Countess of Peschiera.\"\n\n\"But Violante,\" said Randal, doggedly, determined not to yield to the\ndisgust with which the Count's audacious cynicism filled even him--\"but\nViolante can not be removed in broad daylight at once to such a vessel,\nnor from a quarter so populous as that in which your sister resides.\"\n\n\"I have thought of that too,\" said the Count; \"my emissaries have found\nme a house close by the river, and safe for our purpose as the dungeons\nof Venice.\"\n\n\"I wish not to know all this,\" answered Randal, quickly; \"you will\ninstruct Madame di Negra where to take Violante--my task limits itself\nto the fair inventions that belong to intellect; what belongs to force,\nis not in my province. I will go at once to your sister, whom I think I\ncan influence more effectually than you can; though later, I may give\nyou a hint to guard against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as,\nthe moment Violante disappears, suspicion would fall upon you, show\nyourself constantly in public surrounded by your friends. Be able to\naccount for every hour of your time--\"\n\n\"An _alibi_?\" interrupted the _ci-devant_ solicitor.\n\n\"Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, and let the\nCount man it as he proposes. I will communicate with you both as soon\nas I can put you into action. To-day I shall have much to do; it will\nbe done.\"\n\nAs Randal left the room, Levy followed him.\n\n\"What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt,\" quoth the usurer,\nlinking his arm in Randal's; \"but take care that you don't get yourself\ninto a scrape, so as to damage your character. I have great hopes of\nyou in public life; and in public life character is necessary--that is,\nso far as honor is concerned.\"\n\n\"I damage my character! and for a Count Peschiera!\" said Randal,\nopening his eyes. \"I! What do you take me for?\"\n\nThe Baron let go his hold.\n\n\"This boy ought to rise very high,\" said he to himself, as he turned\nback to the Count.\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nRandal's acute faculty of comprehension had long since surmised the\ntruth that Beatrice's views and temper of mind had been strangely and\nsuddenly altered by some such revolution as passion only can effect;\nthat pique or disappointment had mingled with the motive which had\ninduced her to accept the hand of his rash young kinsman; and that\ninstead of the resigned indifference with which she might at one time\nhave contemplated any marriage that could free her from a position that\nperpetually galled her pride, it was now with a repugnance, visible to\nRandal's keen eye, that she shrank from the performance of that pledge\nwhich Frank had so dearly bought. The temptations which the Count\ncould hold out to her, to become his accomplice in designs of which\nthe fraud and perfidy would revolt her better nature, had ceased to be\nof avail. A dowry had grown valueless, since it would but hasten the\nnuptials from which she recoiled. Randal felt that he could not secure\nher aid, except by working on a passion so turbulent as to confound\nher judgment. Such a passion he recognized in jealousy. He had once\ndoubted if Harley were the object of her love; yet, after all, was it\nnot probable? He knew, at least, of no one else to suspect. If so, he\nhad but to whisper, \"Violante is your rival. Violante removed, your\nbeauty may find its natural effect; if not, you are an Italian, and you\nwill be at least avenged.\" He saw still more reason to suppose that\nLord L'Estrange was indeed the one by whom he could rule Beatrice,\nsince, the last time he had seen her, she had questioned him with much\neagerness as to the family of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the\nfemale part of it. Randal had then judged it prudent to avoid speaking\nof Violante, and feigned ignorance; but promised to ascertain all\nparticulars by the time he next saw the Marchesa. It was the warmth\nwith which she had thanked him that had set his busy mind at work to\nconjecture the cause of her curiosity so earnestly aroused, and to\nascribe that cause to jealousy. If Harley loved Violante (as Randal\nhimself had before supposed), the little of passion that the young man\nadmitted to himself was enlisted in aid of Peschiera's schemes. For\nthough Randal did not love Violante, he cordially disliked L'Estrange,\nand would have gone as far to render that dislike vindictive, as a cold\nreasoner, intent upon worldly fortunes, will ever suffer mere hate to\ninfluence him.\n\n\"At the worst,\" thought Randal, \"if it be not Harley, touch the chord\nof jealousy, and its vibration will direct me right.\"\n\nThus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's.\n\nNow, in reality, the Marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's family\nhad their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest with\nwhich she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal had\nno reason to suspect. That interest had become yet more keen from the\nimpatient misery she had felt ever since she had plighted herself to\nanother. A wild hope that she might yet escape--a vague regretful\nthought that she had been too hasty in dismissing Leonard from her\npresence--that she ought rather to have courted his friendship, and\ncontended against her unknown rival, at times drew her wayward mind\nwholly from the future to which she had consigned herself. And, to\ndo her justice, though her sense of duty was so defective, and the\nprinciples which should have guided her conduct were so lost to her\nsight, still her feelings toward the generous Hazeldean were not so\nhard and blunted, but what her own ingratitude added to her torment;\nand it seemed as if the sole atonement she could make to him was to\nfind an excuse to withdraw her promise, and save him from herself.\nShe had caused Leonard's steps to be watched; she had found that he\nvisited at Lord Lansmere's; that he had gone there often, and staid\nthere long. She had learned in the neighborhood that Lady Lansmere had\none or two young female guests staying with her. Surely this was the\nattraction--here was the rival!\n\nRandal found Beatrice in a state of mind that favored his purpose.\nAnd first turning his conversation on Harley, and noting that her\ncountenance did not change, by little and little he drew forth her\nsecret.\n\nThen, said Randal, gravely, \"If one whom you honor with a tender\nthought, visits at Lord Lansmere's house, you have, indeed, cause to\nfear for yourself, to hope for your brother's success in the object\nwhich has brought him to England--for a girl of surpassing beauty is a\nguest in Lord Lansmere's house; and I will now tell you that that girl\nis she whom Count Peschiera would make his bride.\"\n\nAs Randal thus spoke, and saw how his listener's brow darkened and her\neye flashed, he felt that his accomplice was secured. Violante! Had not\nLeonard spoken of Violante, and with such praise? Had not his boyhood\nbeen passed under her eyes? Who but Violante could be the rival?\nBeatrice's abrupt exclamations after a moment's pause, revealed to\nRandal the advantage he had gained. And partly by rousing her jealousy\ninto revenge--partly by flattering her love with assurances that, if\nViolante were fairly removed from England, were the wife of Count\nPeschiera--it would be impossible that Leonard could remain insensible\nto her own attractions--that he, Randal, would undertake to free her\nhonorably from her engagement to Frank Hazeldean, and obtain from her\nbrother the acquittal of the debt which had first fettered her hand\nto that confiding suitor--he did not quit the Marchesa until she had\nnot only promised to do all that Randal might suggest, but impetuously\nurged him to mature his plans, and hasten the hour to accomplish them.\nRandal then walked some minutes musing and slow along the streets,\nrevolving the next meshes in his elaborate and most subtle web. And\nhere his craft luminously devised its master-piece.\n\nIt was necessary, during any interval that might elapse between\nViolante's disappearance and her departure from England, in order to\ndivert suspicion from Peschiera (who might otherwise be detained),\nthat some cause for her voluntary absence from Lord Lansmere's should\nbe at least assignable; it was still more necessary that Randal\nhimself should stand wholly clear from any surmise that he could have\nconnived at the Count's designs, even should their actual perpetrator\nbe discovered or conjectured. To effect these objects, Randal hastened\nto Norwood, and obtained an interview with Riccabocca. In seeming\nagitation and alarm, he informed the exile that he had reason to know\nthat Peschiera had succeeded in obtaining a secret interview with\nViolante, and he feared had made a certain favorable impression on her\nmind; and, speaking as if with the jealousy of a lover, he entreated\nRiccabocca to authorize Randal's direct proposals to Violante, and to\nrequire her consent to their immediate nuptials.\n\nThe poor Italian was confounded with the intelligence conveyed to him;\nand his almost superstitious fears of his brilliant enemy, conjoined\nwith his opinion of the susceptibility to outward attractions common\nto all the female sex, made him not only implicitly credit, but\neven exaggerate, the dangers that Randal intimated. The idea of his\ndaughter's marriage with Randal, toward which he had lately cooled, he\nnow gratefully welcomed. But his first natural suggestion was to go,\nor send, for Violante, and bring her to his own house. This, however,\nRandal artfully opposed.\n\n\"Alas! I know,\" said he, \"that Peschiera has discovered your retreat;\nand surely she would be far less safe here than where she is now!\"\n\n\"But, diavolo! you say that man has seen her where she is now, in spite\nof all Lady Lansmere's promises and Harley's precautions.\"\n\n\"True. Of this Peschiera boasted to me. He effected it not, of course,\nopenly, but in some disguise. I am sufficiently, however, in his\nconfidence--(any man may be that with so audacious a braggart)--to\ndeter him from renewing his attempt for some days. Meanwhile, I or\nyourself will have discovered some surer home than this, to which\nyou can remove, and then will be the proper time to take back your\ndaughter. Meanwhile, if you will send by me a letter to enjoin her\nto receive me as her future bridegroom, it will necessarily divert\nall thought at once from the Count; I shall be able to detect, by the\nmanner in which she receives me, how far the Count has overstated the\neffect he pretends to have produced. You can give me also a letter to\nLady Lansmere, to prevent your daughter coming hither. O, sir, do not\nreason with me. Have indulgence for my lover's fears. Believe that I\nadvise for the best. Have I not the keenest interest to do so?\"\n\nLike many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper before him, and\nplenty of time wherewith to get up his wisdom, Riccabocca was flurried,\nnervous, and confused when that wisdom was called upon for any ready\nexertion. From the tree of knowledge he had taken grafts enough to\nserve for a forest; but the whole forest could not spare him a handy\nwalking-stick. That great folio of the dead Machiavel lay useless\nbefore him--the living Machiavel of daily life stood all puissant by\nhis side. The Sage was as supple to the Schemer as the Clairvoyant\nis to the Mesmerist. And the lean, slight fingers of Randal actually\ndictated almost the very words that Riccabocca wrote to his child and\nher hostess.\n\nThe philosopher would like to have to consult his wife; but he was\nashamed to confess that weakness. Suddenly he remembered Harley, and\nsaid as Randal took up the letters which Riccabocca had indited,\n\n\"There--that will give us time; and I will send to Lord L'Estrange, and\ntalk to him.\"\n\n\"My noble friend,\" replied Randal, mournfully, \"may I intreat you not\nto see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have pleaded my cause to your\ndaughter--until, indeed, she is no longer under his father's roof.\"\n\n\"And why?\"\n\n\"Because I presume that you are sincere when you deign to receive me\nas a son-in-law, and because I am sure that Lord L'Estrange would hear\nwith distaste of your disposition in my favor. Am I not right?\"\n\nRiccabocca was silent.\n\n\"And though the arguments would fail with a man of your honor and\ndiscernment, they might have more effect on the young mind of your\nchild. Think, I beseech you, the more she is set against me, the more\naccessible she may be to the arts of Peschiera. Speak not, therefore, I\nimplore you, to Lord L'Estrange till Violante has accepted my hand, or\nat least until she is again under your charge; otherwise take back your\nletter--it would be of no avail.\"\n\n\"Perhaps you are right. Certainly Lord L'Estrange is prejudiced against\nyou; or rather, he thinks too much of what I have been--too little of\nwhat I am.\"\n\n\"Who can see you, and not do so? I pardon him.\" After kissing the hand\nwhich the exile modestly sought to withdraw from the act of homage,\nRandal pocketed the letters; and, as if struggling with emotion, rushed\nfrom the house.\n\nNow, O curious reader, if thou wilt heedfully observe to what uses\nRandal Leslie put these letters--what speedy and direct results he drew\nforth from devices which would seem to an honest, simple understanding\nthe most roundabout, wire-drawn wastes of invention--I almost fear that\nin thine admiration for his cleverness, thou mayest half forget thy\ncontempt for his knavery.\n\nBut when the head is very full, it does not do to have the heart very\nempty; there is such a thing as being topheavy!\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nHelen and Violante had been conversing together, and Helen had obeyed\nher guardian's injunction, and spoken, though briefly, of her positive\nengagement to Harley. However much Violante had been prepared for the\nconfidence, however clearly she had divined that engagement, however\nbefore persuaded that the dream of her childhood was fled forever,\nstill the positive truth, coming from Helen's own lips, was attended\nwith that anguish which proves how impossible it is _to prepare_ the\nhuman heart for the final verdict which slays its future. She did\nnot, however, betray her emotion to Ellen's artless eyes; sorrow,\ndeep-seated, is seldom self-betrayed. But, after a little while, she\ncrept away; and, forgetful of Peschiera, of all things that could\nthreaten danger (what danger could harm her more!), she glided from\nthe house, and went her desolate way under the leafless wintry trees.\nEver and anon she paused--ever and anon she murmured the same words:\n\"If she loved him, I could be consoled; but she does not! or how could\nshe have spoken to me so calmly! how could her very looks have been so\nsad! Heartless--heartless!\"\n\nThen there came on her a vehement resentment against poor Helen,\nthat almost took the character of scorn or hate--its excess startled\nherself. \"Am I grown so mean?\" she said; and tears, that humbled her,\nrushed to her eyes. \"Can so short a time alter one thus? Impossible!\"\n\nRandal Leslie rang at the front gate, inquired for Violante, and,\ncatching sight of her form as he walked toward the house, advanced\nboldly and openly. His voice startled her as she leant against one of\nthe dreary trees, still muttering to herself--forlorn. \"I have a letter\nto you from your father, Signorina,\" said Randal. \"But, before I give\nit to your hands, some explanation is necessary. Condescend, then, to\nhear me.\" Violante shook her head impatiently, and stretched forth her\nhand for the letter. Randal observed her countenance with his keen,\ncold, searching eye; but he still withheld the letter, and continued,\nafter a pause:\n\n\"I know that you were born to princely fortunes; and the excuse for my\naddressing you now is, that your birthright is lost to you, at least,\nunless you can consent to a union with the man who has despoiled you\nof your heritage--a union which your father would deem dishonor to\nyourself and him. Signorina, I might have presumed to love you; but I\nshould not have named that love, had your father not encouraged me by\nhis assent to my suit.\"\n\nViolante turned to the speaker her face eloquent with haughty surprise.\nRandal met the gaze unmoved. He continued, without warmth, and in the\ntone of one who reasons calmly, rather than of one who feels acutely:\n\n\"The man of whom I spoke is in pursuit of you. I have cause to believe\nthat this person has already intruded himself upon you. Ah! your\ncountenance owns it; you have seen Peschiera? This house is, then,\nless safe than your father deemed it. No house is safe for you but a\nhusband's. I offer to you my name--it is a gentleman's; my fortune,\nwhich is small; the participation in my hopes of the future, which\nare large. I place now your father's letter in your hand, and await\nyour answer.\" Randal bowed slightly, gave the letter to Violante, and\nretired a few paces.\n\nIt was not his object to conciliate Violante's affection, but rather\nto excite her repugnance, or, at least, her terror--we must wait to\ndiscover why; so he stood apart, seemingly in a kind of self-confident\nindifference, while the girl read the following letter:\n\n \"My child, receive with favor Mr. Leslie. He has my consent to address\n you as a suitor. Circumstances, of which it is needless now to inform\n you, render it essential to my very peace and happiness that your\n marriage should be immediate. In a word, I have given my promise to\n Mr. Leslie, and I confidently leave it to the daughter of my house to\n redeem the pledge of her anxious and tender father.\"\n\nThe letter dropped from Violante's hand. Randal approached, and\nrestored it to her. Their eyes met. Violante recoiled.\n\n\"I can not marry you,\" said she, passively.\n\n\"Indeed?\" answered Randal, drily. \"Is it because you can not love me?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"I did not expect that you would, and I still persist in my suit. I\nhave promised to your father that I would not recede before your first\nunconsidered refusal.\"\n\n\"I will go to my father at once.\"\n\n\"Does he request you to do so in his letter? Look again. Pardon me, but\nhe foresaw your impetuosity; and I have another note for Lady Lansmere,\nin which he begs her ladyship not to sanction your return to him\n(should you so wish) until he come or send for you himself. He will do\nso whenever your word has redeemed his own.\"\n\n\"And do you dare to talk to me thus, and yet pretend to love me?\"\n\nRandal smiled ironically.\n\n\"I pretend but to wed you. Love is a subject on which I might have\nspoken formerly, or may speak hereafter. I give you some little time to\nconsider. When I next call, it will be to fix the day for our wedding.\"\n\n\"Never!\"\n\n\"You will be, then, the first daughter of your house who disobeyed a\nfather; and you will have this additional crime, that you disobeyed him\nin his sorrow, his exile, and his fall.\"\n\nViolante wrung her hands.\n\n\"Is there no choice--no escape?\"\n\n\"I see none for either. Listen to me. I might have loved you, it is\ntrue; but it is not for my happiness to marry one who dislikes me, nor\nfor my ambition to connect myself with one whose poverty is greater\nthan my own. I marry but to keep my plighted faith with your father,\nand to save you from a villain you would hate more than myself, and\nfrom whom no walls are a barrier, no laws a defense. One person,\nindeed, might, perhaps, have preserved you from the misery you seem to\nanticipate with me; that person might defeat the plans of your father's\nfoe--effect, it might be, terms which could revoke his banishment, and\nrestore his honors; that person is--\"\n\n\"Lord L'Estrange?\"\n\n\"Lord L'Estrange!\" repeated Randal, sharply, and watching her pale\nparted lips and her changing color; \"Lord L'Estrange! What could he do?\nWhy did you name him?\"\n\nViolante turned aside. \"He saved my father once,\" said she, feelingly.\n\n\"And has interfered, and trifled, and promised, Heaven knows what,\never since--yet to what end? Pooh! The person I speak of your father\nwould not consent to see--would not believe if he saw her; yet she is\ngenerous, noble--could sympathize with you both. She is the sister of\nyour father's enemy--the Marchesa di Negra. I am convinced that she\nhas great influence with her brother--that she has known enough of his\nsecrets to awe him into renouncing all designs on yourself; but it is\nidle now to speak of her.\"\n\n\"No, no,\" exclaimed Violante. \"Tell me where she lives--I will see her.\"\n\n\"Pardon me, I can not obey you; and, indeed, her own pride is now\naroused by your father's unfortunate prejudices against her. It is too\nlate to count upon her aid. You turn from me--my presence is unwelcome.\nI rid you of it now. But welcome or unwelcome, later you must endure\nit--and for life.\"\n\nRandal again bowed with formal ceremony, walked toward the house, and\nasked for Lady Lansmere. The Countess was at home. Randal delivered\nRiccabocca's note, which was very short, implying that he feared\nPeschiera had discovered his retreat--and requesting Lady Lansmere to\nretain Violante, whatever her own desire, till her ladyship heard from\nhim again.\n\nThe Countess read, and her lip curled in disdain. \"Strange!\" said she,\nhalf to herself.\n\n\"Strange!\" said Randal, \"that a man like your correspondent should fear\none like the Count di Peschiera. Is that it?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Countess, a little surprised--\"strange that any man\nshould fear another in a country like ours!\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" said Randal, with his low, soft laugh; \"I fear many\nmen, and I know many who ought to fear me; yet at every turn of the\nstreet one meets a policeman!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Lady Lansmere. \"But to suppose that this profligate\nforeigner could carry away a girl like Violante, against her will--a\nman she has never seen, and whom she must have been taught to hate!\"\n\n\"Be on your guard, nevertheless, I pray you, madam: where there's a\nwill there's a way.\"\n\nRandal took his leave, and returned to Madame di Negra's. He staid with\nher an hour, revisited the Count, and then strolled to Limmer's.\n\n\"Randal,\" said the Squire, who looked pale and worn, but who scorned to\nconfess the weakness with which he still grieved and yearned for his\nrebellious son: \"Randal, you have nothing now to do in London; can you\ncome and stay with me, and take to farming? I remember that you showed\na good deal of sound knowledge about thin sowing.\"\n\n\"My dear sir, I will come to you as soon as the general election is\nover.\"\n\n\"What the deuce have you got to do with the general election?\"\n\n\"Mr. Egerton has some wish that I should enter Parliament; indeed,\nnegotiations for that purpose are now on foot.\"\n\nThe Squire shook his head. \"I don't like my half-brother's politics.\"\n\n\"I shall be quite independent of them,\" cried Randal, loftily; \"that\nindependence is the condition for which I stipulate.\"\n\n\"Glad to hear it; and if you do come into Parliament, I hope you'll not\nturn your back on the land?\"\n\n\"Turn my back on the land!\" cried Randal, with devout horror. \"Oh, sir,\nI am not so unnatural!\"\n\n\"That's the right way to put it,\" quoth the credulous Squire; \"it is\nunnatural! It is turning one's back on one's own mother! The land is a\nmother--\"\n\n\"To those who live by her, certainly--a mother,\" said Randal, gravely.\n\"And though, indeed, my father starves by her rather than lives, and\nRood Hall is not like Hazeldean, still--I--\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue,\" interrupted the Squire; \"I want to talk to you.\nYour grandmother was a Hazeldean.\"\n\n\"Her picture is in the drawing-room at Rood. People think me very like\nher!\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the Squire. \"The Hazeldeans are generally inclined to be\nstout and rosy, which you are certainly not. But no fault of yours. We\nare all as Heaven made us! However, to the point. I am going to alter\nmy will--(said with a choking gulp.) This is the rough draft for the\nlawyers to work upon.\"\n\n\"Pray--pray, sir, do not speak to me on such a subject. I can not bear\nto contemplate even the possibility of--of--\"\n\n\"My death! Ha, ha! Nonsense. My own son calculated on the date of it by\nthe insurance tables. Ha, ha, ha. A very fashionable son--Eh! Ha, ha!\"\n\n\"Poor Frank, do not let him suffer for a momentary forgetfulness of\nright feeling. When he comes to be married to that foreign lady, and be\na father himself, he--\"\n\n\"Father himself!\" burst forth the Squire. \"Father to a swarm of\nsallow-faced Popish tadpoles! No foreign frogs shall hop about my\ngrave in Hazeldean church-yard. No, no. But you need not look so\nreproachful--I am not going to disinherit Frank.\"\n\n\"Of course not,\" said Randal, with a bitter curve in the lip that\nrebelled against the joyous smile which he sought to impose on it.\n\n\"No--I shall leave him the life-interest in the greater part of\nthe property; but if he marry a foreigner, her children will not\nsucceed--you will stand after him in that case. But--(now, don't\ninterrupt me)--but Frank looks as if he would live longer than you--so\nsmall thanks to me for my good intentions, you may say. I mean to do\nmore for you than a mere barren place in the entail. What do you say to\nmarrying?\"\n\n\"Just as you please,\" said Randal, meekly.\n\n\"Good! There's Miss Stick-to-rights disengaged--great heiress. Her\nlands run on to Rood. At one time I thought of her for that graceless\npuppy of mine. But I can manage more easily to make up the match for\nyou. There's a mortgage on the property; Old Stick-to-rights would be\nvery glad to pay it off. I'll pay it out of the Hazeldean estate, and\ngive up the Right of Way into the bargain. You understand. So come down\nas soon as you can, and court the young lady yourself.\"\n\nRandal expressed his thanks with much grateful eloquence; and he then\ndelicately insinuated, that if the Squire ever did mean to bestow upon\nhim any pecuniary favors (always without injury to Frank), it would\ngratify him more to win back some portions of the old estate of Rood,\nthan to have all the acres of the Stick-to-rights, however free from\nany other encumbrance than the amiable heiress.\n\nThe Squire listened to Randal with benignant attention. This wish\nthe country gentleman could well understand and sympathize with. He\npromised to inquire into the matter, and to see what could be done with\nold Thornhill.\n\nRandal here let out that Mr. Thornhill was about to dispose of a large\nslice of the ancient Leslie estate through Levy, and that he, Randal,\ncould thus get it at a more moderate price than would be natural if Mr.\nThornhill knew that his neighbor the Squire would bid for the purchase.\n\n\"Better say nothing about it either to Levy or Thornhill.\"\n\n\"Right,\" said the Squire; \"no proprietor likes to sell to another\nproprietor, in the same shire, as largely acred as himself; it spoils\nthe balance of power. See to the business yourself; and if I can help\nyou with the purchase--(after that boy is married--I can attend to\nnothing before)--why, I will.\"\n\nRandal now went to Egerton's. The statesman was in his parlor, settling\nthe accounts of his house-steward, and giving brief orders for the\nreduction of his establishment to that of an ordinary private gentleman.\n\n\"I may go abroad if I lose my election,\" said Egerton, condescending to\nassign to his servant a reason for his economy; \"and if I do not lose\nit, still, now I am out of office, I shall live much in private.\"\n\n\"Do I disturb you, sir?\" said Randal, entering.\n\n\"No--I have just done.\" The house-steward withdrew, much surprised and\ndisgusted, and meditating the resignation of his own office--in order,\nnot like Egerton, to save, but to spend. The house-steward had private\ndealings with Baron Levy, and was in fact the veritable X. Y. of the\n_Times_, for whom Dick Avenel had been mistaken. He invested his wages\nand perquisites in the discount of bills; and it was part of his own\nmoney that had (though unknown to himself) swelled the last \u00a35000 which\nEgerton had borrowed from Levy.\n\n\"I have settled with our committee; and, with Lord Lansmere's consent,\"\nsaid Egerton, briefly, \"you will stand for the borough as we proposed,\nin conjunction with myself. And should any accident happen to me--that\nis, should I vacate this seat from any cause, you may succeed to\nit--very shortly perhaps. Ingratiate yourself with the electors,\nand speak at the public-houses for both of us. I shall stand on my\ndignity, and leave the work of the election to you. No thanks--you know\nhow I hate thanks. Good-night.\"\n\n\"I never stood so near to fortune and to power,\" said Randal, as\nhe slowly undressed. \"And I owe it but to knowledge--knowledge of\nmen--life--of all that books can teach us.\"\n\nSo his slight thin fingers dropped the extinguisher on the candle, and\nthe prosperous Schemer laid himself down to rest in the dark. Shutters\nclosed, curtains down--never was rest more quiet, never was room more\ndark!\n\nThat evening Harley had dined at his father's He spoke much to\nHelen--scarcely at all to Violante. But it so happened that when later,\nand a little while before he took his leave, Helen, at his request,\nwas playing a favorite air of his; Lady Lansmere, who had been seated\nbetween him and Violante, left the room, and Violante turned quickly\ntoward Harley.\n\n\"Do you know the Marchesa di Negra?\" she asked, in a hurried voice.\n\n\"A little. Why do you ask?\"\n\n\"That is my secret,\" answered Violante, trying to smile, with her old\nfrank, childlike archness. \"But, tell me, do you think better of her\nthan of her brother?\"\n\n\"Certainly. I believe her heart to be good, and that she is not without\ngenerous qualities.\"\n\n\"Can you not induce my father to see her? Would you not counsel him to\ndo so?\"\n\n\"Any wish of yours is a law to me,\" answered Harley, gallantly. \"You\nwish your father to see her? I will try and persuade him to do so. Now,\nin return, confide to me your secret. What is your object?\"\n\n\"Leave to return to my Italy. I care not for honors--for rank; and even\nmy father has ceased to regret their loss. But the land, the native\nland--Oh, to see it once more! Oh, to die there!\"\n\n\"Die! You children have so lately left heaven, that ye talk as if\nye could return there, without passing through the gates of sorrow,\ninfirmity, and age! But I thought you were content with England. Why\nso eager to leave it? Violante, you are unkind to us!--to Helen, who\nalready loves you so well!\"\n\nAs Harley spoke, Helen rose from the piano, and, approaching Violante,\nplaced her hand caressingly on the Italian's shoulder. Violante\nshivered, and shrunk away. The eyes both of Harley and Helen followed\nher. Harley's eyes were very grave and thoughtful.\n\n\"Is she not changed--your friend?\" said he, looking down.\n\n\"Yes, lately--much changed. I fear there is something on her mind--I\nknow not what.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" muttered Harley, \"it may be so; but at your age and hers, nothing\nrests on the mind long. Observe, I say the mind--the heart is more\ntenacious.\"\n\nHelen sighed softly, but deeply.\n\n\"And therefore,\" continued Harley, half to himself, \"we can detect when\nsomething is on the mind--some care, some fear, some trouble. But when\nthe heart closes over its own more passionate sorrow, who can discover!\nwho conjecture! Yet you at least, my pure, candid Helen--you might\nsubject mind and heart alike to the fabled window of glass.\"\n\n\"O, no!\" cried Helen involuntarily.\n\n\"O, yes! Do not let me think that you have one secret I may not know,\nor one sorrow I may not share. For, in our relationship--_that_ would\nbe deceit.\"\n\nHe pressed her hand with more than usual tenderness as he spoke, and\nshortly afterward left the house.\n\nAnd all that night Helen felt like a guilty thing--more wretched even\nthan Violante.\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nEarly the next morning, while Violante was still in her room, a letter\naddressed to her came by the Post. The direction was in a strange hand.\nShe opened it, and read in Italian what is thus translated:\n\n \"I would gladly see you, but I can not call openly at the house in\n which you live. Perhaps I may have it in my power to arrange family\n dissensions--to repair any wrongs your father may have sustained.\n Perhaps I may be enabled to render yourself an essential service. But\n for all this, it is necessary that we should meet, and confer frankly.\n Meanwhile time presses--delay is forbidden. Will you meet me, an\n hour after noon, in the lane, just outside the private gate of your\n gardens. I shall be alone; and you can not fear to meet one of your\n own sex, and a kinswoman. Ah, I so desire to see you! Come, I beseech\n you.\n\n  BEATRICE.\"\n\nViolante read, and her decision was taken. She was naturally fearless,\nand there was little that she would not have braved for the chance\nof serving her father. And now all peril seemed slight in comparison\nwith that which awaited her in Randal's suit, backed by her father's\napproval. Randal had said that Madame di Negra alone could aid her in\nescape from himself. Harley had said that Madame di Negra had generous\nqualities; and who but Madame di Negra would write herself a kinswoman,\nand sign herself \"Beatrice?\"\n\nA little before the appointed hour, she stole unobserved through\nthe trees, opened the little gate, and found herself in the quiet\nsolitary lane. In a few minutes, a female figure came up, with a quick\nlight step; and, throwing aside her vail, said, with a sort of wild,\nsuppressed energy, \"It is you! I was truly told. Beautiful!--beautiful!\nAnd, oh! what youth and what bloom!\"\n\nThe voice dropped mournfully; and Violante, surprised by the tone, and\nblushing under the praise, remained a moment silent; then she said,\nwith some hesitation--\n\n\"You are, I presume, the Marchesa di Negra? And I have heard of you\nenough to induce me to trust you.\"\n\n\"Of me! From whom?\" asked Beatrice, almost fiercely.\n\n\"From Mr. Leslie, and--and--\"\n\n\"Go on--why falter?\"\n\n\"From Lord L'Estrange.\"\n\n\"From no one else?\"\n\n\"Not that I remember.\"\n\nBeatrice sighed heavily, and let fall her vail. Some foot-passengers\nnow came up the lane; and seeing two ladies, of mien so remarkable,\nturned round, and gazed curiously.\n\n\"We can not talk here,\" said Beatrice impatiently; \"and I have so much\nto say--so much to know. Trust me yet more; it is for yourself I speak.\nMy carriage waits yonder. Come home with me--I will not detain you an\nhour; and I will bring you back.\"\n\nThis proposition startled Violante. She retreated toward the gate, with\na gesture of dissent. Beatrice laid her hand on the girl's arm, and\nagain lifting her vail, gazed at her with a look, half of scorn, half\nof admiration.\n\n\"I, too, would once have recoiled from one step beyond the formal line\nby which the world divides liberty from woman. Now--see how bold I am.\nChild, child, do not trifle with your destiny. You may never again\nhave the same occasion offered to you. It is not only to meet you that\nI am here; I must know something of you--something of your heart. Why\nshrink?--is not the heart pure?\"\n\nViolante made no answer; but her smile, so sweet and so lofty, humbled\nthe questioner it rebuked.\n\n\"I may restore to Italy your father,\" said Beatrice, with an altered\nvoice. \"Come!\"\n\nViolante approached, but still hesitatingly.\n\n\"Not by union with your brother?\"\n\n\"You dread that so much, then?\"\n\n\"Dread it? No! Why should I dread what is in my power to reject. But if\nyou can really restore my father, and by nobler means, you may save me\nfor--\"\n\nViolante stopped abruptly; the Marchesa's eyes sparkled.\n\n\"Save you for--ah! I can guess what you leave unsaid. But come,\ncome--more strangers--see; you shall tell me all at my own house. And\nif you can make one sacrifice, why, I will save you all else. Come, or\nfarewell forever!\"\n\nViolante placed her hand in Beatrice's, with a frank confidence that\nbrought the accusing blood into the Marchesa's cheek.\n\n\"We are women both,\" said Violante; \"we descend from the same noble\nhouse; we have knelt alike to the same Virgin Mother; why should I not\nbelieve and trust you?\"\n\n\"Why not?\" muttered Beatrice feebly; and she moved on, with her head\nbowed on her breast, and all the pride of her step was gone.\n\nThey reached a carriage that stood by the angle of the road. Beatrice\nspake a word apart to the driver, who was an Italian, in the pay of the\nCount the man nodded, and opened the carriage door. The ladies entered.\nBeatrice pulled down the blinds; the man remounted his box, and drove\non rapidly.\n\nBeatrice, leaning back, groaned aloud. Violante drew nearer to her\nside. \"Are you in pain?\" said she, with her tender, melodious voice;\n\"or can I serve you as you would serve me?\"\n\n\"Child, give me your hand, and be silent while I look at you. Was I\never so fair as this? Never! And what deeps--what deeps roll between\nher and me!\"\n\nShe said this as of some one absent, and again sank into silence; but\ncontinued still to gaze on Violante, whose eyes, vailed by their long\nfringes, drooped beneath the gaze.\n\nSuddenly Beatrice started, exclaiming, \"No, it shall not be!\" and\nplaced her hand on the check-string.\n\n\"What shall not be?\" asked Violante, surprised by the cry and the\naction. Beatrice paused--her breast heaved visibly under her dress.\n\n\"Stay,\" she said, slowly. \"As you say, we are both women of the same\nnoble house; you would reject the suit of my brother, yet you have\nseen him; his the form to please the eye--his the arts that allure the\nfancy. He offers to you rank, wealth, your father's pardon and recall.\nIf I could remove the objections which your father entertains--prove\nthat the Count has less wronged him than he deems, would you still\nreject the rank, and the wealth, and the hand of Giulio Franzini?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes, were his hand a king's!\"\n\n\"Still, then, as woman to woman--both, as you say, akin, and sprung\nfrom the same lineage--still, then, answer me--answer me, for you speak\nto one who has loved--Is it not that you love another? Speak.\"\n\n\"I do not know. Nay, not love--it was a romance; it is a thing\nimpossible. Do not question--I can not answer.\" And the broken words\nwere choked by sudden tears.\n\nBeatrice's face grew hard and pitiless. Again she lowered her vail, and\nwithdrew her hand from the check-string; but the coachman had felt the\ntouch, and halted. \"Drive on,\" said Beatrice, \"as you were directed.\"\n\nBoth were now long silent--Violante with great difficulty recovering\nfrom her emotion, Beatrice breathing hard, and her arms folded firmly\nacross her breast.\n\nMeanwhile the carriage had entered London--it passed the quarter in\nwhich Madame di Negra's house was situated--it rolled fast over a\nbridge--it whirled through a broad thoroughfare, then through defiles\nof lanes, with tall, blank, dreary houses on either side. On it went,\nand on, till Violante suddenly took alarm. \"Do you live so far?\" she\nsaid, drawing up the blind, and gazing in dismay on the strange ignoble\nsuburb. \"I shall be missed already. Oh, let us turn back, I beseech\nyou.\"\n\n\"We are nearly there now. The driver has taken this road in order to\navoid those streets in which we might have been seen together--perhaps\nby my brother himself. Listen to me, and talk of--of the lover whom\nyou rightly associate with a vain romance. 'Impossible'--yes, it is\nimpossible!\"\n\nViolante clasped her hands before her eyes, and bowed down her head.\n\"Why are you so cruel?\" said she. \"This is not what you promised! How\nare you to serve my father--how restore him to his country? This is\nwhat you promised.\"\n\n\"If you consent to one sacrifice, I will fulfill that promise. We are\narrived.\"\n\nThe carriage stopped before a tall dull house, divided from other\nhouses by a high wall that appeared to inclose a yard, and standing\nat the end of a narrow lane, which was bounded on the one side by the\nThames. In that quarter the river was crowded with gloomy, dark-looking\nvessels and craft, all lying lifeless under the wintry sky.\n\nThe driver dismounted and rang the bell. Two swarthy Italian faces\npresented themselves at the threshold.\n\nBeatrice descended lightly, and gave her hand to Violante. \"Now, here\nwe shall be secure,\" said she; \"and here a few minutes may suffice to\ndecide your fate.\"\n\nAs the door closed on Violante--who, now waking to suspicion, to alarm,\nlooked fearfully round the dark and dismal hall--Beatrice turned; \"Let\nthe carriage wait.\"\n\nThe Italian who received the order bowed and smiled; but when the two\nladies had ascended the stairs, he re-opened the street-door and said\nto the driver, \"Back to the Count, and say 'all is safe.'\"\n\nThe carriage drove off. The man who had given this order barred and\nlocked the door, and, taking with him the huge key, plunged into the\nmystic recesses of the basement and disappeared. The hall, thus left\nsolitary, had the grim aspect of a prison; the strong door sheeted with\niron--the rugged stone stairs, lighted by a high window grimed with the\ndust of years, and jealously barred--and the walls themselves abutting\nout rudely here and there, as if against violence even from within.\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nIt was, as we have seen, without taking counsel of the faithful Jemima\nthat the sage recluse of Norwood had yielded to his own fears, and\nRandal's subtle suggestions, in the concise and arbitrary letter\nwhich he had written to Violante but at night, when church-yards\ngive up the dead, and conjugal hearts the secrets hid by day from\neach other, the wise man informed his wife of the step he had taken.\nAnd Jemima then--who held English notions, very different from those\nwhich prevail in Italy, as to the right of fathers to dispose of their\ndaughters without reference to inclination or repugnance, and who\nhad an instinctive antipathy to Randal--so sensibly, yet so mildly,\nrepresented to the pupil of Machiavel that he had not gone exactly the\nright way to work, if he feared that the handsome Count had made some\nimpression on Violante, and if he wished her to turn with favor to the\nsuitor he recommended--that so abrupt a command could only chill the\nheart, revolt the will, and even give to the audacious Peschiera some\nromantic attraction which he had not before possessed--as effectually\nto destroy Riccabocca's sleep that night. And the next day he sent\nGiacomo to Lady Lansmere's with a very kind letter to Violante, and\na note to the hostess, praying the latter to bring his daughter to\nNorwood for a few hours, as he much wished to converse with both. It\nwas on Giacomo's arrival at Knightsbridge that Violante's absence was\ndiscovered. Lady Lansmere, ever proudly careful of the world and its\ngossip, kept Giacomo from betraying his excitement to her servants,\nand stated throughout the decorous household that the young lady had\ninformed her she was going to visit some friends that morning, and had\nno doubt gone through the garden-gate, since it was found open; the\nway was more quiet there than by the high-road, and her friends might\nhave therefore walked to meet her by the lane. Lady Lansmere observed\nthat her only surprise was that Violante had gone earlier than she had\nexpected. Having said this with a composure that compelled belief, Lady\nLansmere ordered the carriage, and, taking Giacomo with her, drove at\nonce to consult her son.\n\nHarley's quick intellect had scarcely recovered from the shock upon his\nemotions, before Randal Leslie was announced.\n\n\"Ah,\" said Lady Lansmere, \"Mr. Leslie may know something. He came to\nher yesterday with a note from her father. Pray let him enter.\"\n\nThe Austrian Prince approached Harley. \"I will wait in the next room,\"\nhe whispered. \"You may want me, if you have cause to suspect Peschiera\nin all this.\"\n\nLady Lansmere was pleased with the Prince's delicacy, and, glancing at\nLeonard, said \"Perhaps you too, sir, may kindly aid us, if you would\nretire with the Prince. Mr. Leslie may be disinclined to speak of\naffairs like these, except to Harley and myself.\"\n\n\"True, madam; but beware of Mr. Leslie.\"\n\nAs the door at one end of the room closed on the Prince and Leonard,\nRandal entered at the other, seemingly much agitated.\n\n\"I have just been to your house, Lady Lansmere. I heard you were here;\npardon me if I have followed you. I had called at Knightsbridge to see\nViolante--learned that she had left you. I implore you to tell me how\nor wherefore. I have the right to ask: her father has promised me her\nhand.\"\n\nHarley's falcon eye had brightened up at Randal's entrance. It watched\nsteadily the young man's face. It was clouded for a moment by his\nknitted brows at Randal's closing words. But he left it to Lady\nLansmere to reply and explain. This the Countess did briefly.\n\nRandal clasped his hands. \"And she not gone to her father's? Are you\nsure of that?\"\n\n\"Her father's servant has just come from Norwood.\"\n\n\"Oh, I am to blame for this! It is my rash suit--her fear of it--her\naversion. I see it all!\" Randal's voice was hollow with remorse and\ndespair. \"To save her from Peschiera, her father insisted on her\nimmediate marriage with myself. His orders were too abrupt, my own\nwooing too unwelcome. I know her high spirit; she has fled to escape\nfrom me. But whither, if not to Norwood?--oh, whither? What other\nfriends has she--what relations?\"\n\n\"You throw a new light on this mystery,\" said Lady Lansmere: \"perhaps\nshe may have gone to her father's after all, and the servant may have\ncrossed, but missed her on the way. I will drive to Norwood at once.\"\n\n\"Do so--do; but if she be not there, be careful not to alarm Riccabocca\nwith the news of her disappearance. Caution Giacomo not to do so. He\nwould only suspect Peschiera, and be hurried to some act of violence.\"\n\n\"Do not you, then, suspect Peschiera, Mr. Leslie?\" asked Harley\nsuddenly.\n\n\"Ha! is it possible? Yet, no. I called on him this morning with Frank\nHazeldean, who is to marry his sister. I was with him till I went on to\nKnightsbridge, at the very time of Violante's disappearance. He could\nnot then have been a party to it.\"\n\n\"You saw Violante yesterday. Did you speak to her of Madame di Negra?\"\nasked Harley, suddenly recalling the questions respecting the Marchesa\nwhich Violante had addressed to him.\n\nIn spite of himself, Randal felt that he changed countenance. \"Of\nMadame di Negra? I do not think so. Yet I might. Oh, yes, I remember\nnow. She asked me the Marchesa's address; I would not give it.\"\n\n\"The address is easily found. Can she have gone to the Marchesa's\nhouse?\"\n\n\"I will run there and see,\" cried Randal, starting up.\n\n\"And I with you. Stay, my dear mother. Proceed, as you propose, to\nNorwood, and take Mr. Leslie's advice. Spare our friend the news of his\ndaughter's loss--if lost she be--till she is restored to him. He can be\nof no use meanwhile. Let Giacomo rest here; I may want him.\"\n\nHarley then passed into the next room, and entreated the Prince and\nLeonard to await his return, and allow Giacomo to stay in the same room.\n\nHe then went quickly back to Randal. Whatever might be his fears\nor emotions, Harley felt that he had need of all his coolness of\njudgment and presence of mind. The occasion made abrupt demand upon\npowers which had slept since boyhood, but which now woke with a vigor\nthat would have made even Randal tremble, could he have detected the\nwit, the courage, the electric energies, masked under that tranquil\nself-possession. Lord L'Estrange and Randal soon reached the Marchesa's\nhouse, and learned that she had been out since morning in one of Count\nPeschiera's carriages. Randal stole an alarmed glance at Harley's\nface. Harley did not seem to notice it.\n\n\"Now, Mr. Leslie, what do you advise next?\"\n\n\"I am at a loss. Ah, perhaps, afraid of her father--knowing how\ndespotic is his belief in paternal rights, and how tenacious he is of\nhis word once passed, as it has been to me, she may have resolved to\ntake refuge in the country--perhaps at the Casino, or at Mrs. Dale's,\nor Mrs. Hazeldean's. I will hasten to inquire at the coach-office.\nMeanwhile, you--\"\n\n\"Never mind me, Mr. Leslie. Do as you please. But, if your surmises be\njust, you must have been a very rude wooer to the high-born lady you\naspired to win.\"\n\n\"Not so; but perhaps an unwelcome one. If she has indeed fled from me,\nneed I say that my suit will be withdrawn at once? I am not a selfish\nlover, Lord L'Estrange.\"\n\n\"Nor I a vindictive man. Yet, could I discover who has conspired\nagainst this lady, a guest under my father's roof, I would crush him\ninto the mire as easily as I set my foot upon this glove. Good-day to\nyou, Mr. Leslie.\"\n\nRandal stood still for a few moments as Harley strided on; then his lip\nsneered as it muttered--\"Insolent! He loves her. Well, I am avenged\nalready.\"\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nHarley went straight to Peschiera's hotel. He was told that the Count\nhad walked out with Mr. Frank Hazeldean and some other gentlemen who\nhad breakfasted with him. He had left word, in case any one called,\nthat he had gone to Tattersall's to look at some horses that were\nfor sale. To Tattersall's went Harley. The Count was in the yard\nleaning against a pillar, and surrounded by fashionable friends. Lord\nL'Estrange paused, and, with a heroic effort at self-mastery, repressed\nhis rage. \"I may lose all if I show that I suspect him; and yet I must\ninsult and fight him rather than leave his movements free. Ah, is that\nyoung Hazeldean? A thought strikes me!\" Frank was standing apart from\nthe group round the Count, and looking very absent and very sad. Harley\ntouched him on the shoulder, and drew him aside unobserved by the Count.\n\n\"Mr. Hazeldean, your uncle Egerton is my dearest friend. Will you be a\nfriend to me? I want you.\"\n\n\"My lord--\"\n\n\"Follow me. Do not let Count Peschiera see us talking together.\"\n\nHarley quitted the yard, and entered St. James's Park by the little\ngate close by. In a very few words he informed Frank of Violante's\ndisappearance, and of his reasons for suspecting the Count. Frank's\nfirst sentiment was that of indignant disbelief that the brother of\nBeatrice could be so vile; but as he gradually called to mind the\ncynical and corrupt vein of the Count's familiar conversation--the\nhints to Peschiera's prejudice that had been dropped by Beatrice\nherself--and the general character for brilliant and daring profligacy\nwhich even the admirers of the Count ascribed to him--Frank was\ncompelled to reluctant acquiescence in Harley's suspicions; and he\nsaid, with an earnest gravity very rare to him--\"Believe me, Lord\nL'Estrange, if I can assist you in defeating a base and mercenary\ndesign against this poor young lady, you have but to show me how. One\nthing is clear--Peschiera was not personally engaged in this abduction,\nsince I have been with him all day; and--now I think of it--I begin to\nhope that you wrong him; for he has invited a large party of us to make\nan excursion with him to Boulogne next week, in order to try his yacht;\nwhich he could scarcely do, if--\"\n\n\"Yacht, at this time of the year! a man who habitually resides at\nVienna--a yacht!\"\n\n\"Spendquick sells it a bargain on account of the time of year and other\nreasons; and the Count proposes to spend next summer in cruising about\nthe Ionian Isles. He has some property on those Isles, which he has\nnever yet visited.\"\n\n\"How long is it since he bought this yacht?\"\n\n\"Why, I am not sure that it is already bought--that is, paid for.\nLevy was to meet Spendquick this very morning to arrange the matter.\nSpendquick complains that Levy screws him.\"\n\n\"My dear Mr. Hazeldean, you are guiding me through the maze. Where\nshall I find Lord Spendquick?\"\n\n\"At this hour, probably, in bed. Here is his card.\"\n\n\"Thanks. And where lies the vessel?\"\n\n\"It was off Blackwall the other day. I went to see it--'The Flying\nDutchman'--a fine vessel, and carries guns.\"\n\n\"Enough. Now, heed me. There can be no immediate danger to Violante, so\nlong as Peschiera does not meet her--so long as we know his movements.\nYou are about to marry his sister. Avail yourself of that privilege\nto keep close by his side. Refuse to be shaken off. Make what excuses\nfor the present your invention suggests. I will give you an excuse. Be\nanxious and uneasy to know where you can find Madame di Negra.\"\n\n\"Madame di Negra?\" cried Frank. \"What of her? Is she not in\nCurzon-street?\"\n\n\"No; she has gone out in one of the Count's carriages. In all\nprobability the driver of that carriage, or some servant in attendance\non it, will come to the Count in the course of the day; and, in order\nto get rid of you, the Count will tell you to see this servant, and\nascertain yourself that his sister is safe. Pretend to believe what the\nman says, but make him come to your lodgings on pretense of writing\nthere a letter for the Marchesa. Once at your lodgings, and he will\nbe safe; for I shall see that the officers of justice secure him. The\nmoment he is there, send an express for me to my hotel.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Frank, a little bewildered, \"if I go to my lodging, how can\nI watch the Count?\"\n\n\"It will not then be necessary. Only get him to accompany you to your\nlodgings, and part with him at the door.\"\n\n\"Stop, stop--you can not suspect Madame di Negra of connivance in a\nscheme so infamous. Pardon me, Lord L'Estrange; I can not act in this\nmatter--can not even hear you, except as your foe, if you insinuate a\nword against the honor of the woman I love.\"\n\n\"Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di Negra I would save, as\nwell as my friend's young child. Think but of her, while you act as I\nintreat, and all will go well. I confide in you. Now, return to the\nCount.\"\n\nFrank walked back to join Peschiera, and his brow was thoughtful, and\nhis lips closed firmly. Harley had that gift which belongs to the\ngenius of Action. He inspired others with the light of his own spirit\nand the force of his own will. Harley then hastened to Lord Spendquick,\nremained with that young gentleman some minutes, then repaired to his\nhotel, where Leonard, the Prince, and Giacomo still awaited him.\n\n\"Come with me, both of you. You, too, Giacomo. I must now see the\npolice. We may then divide upon separate missions.\"\n\n\"Oh, my dear lord,\" cried Leonard, \"you must have had good news. You\nseem cheerful and sanguine.\"\n\n\"_Seem!_ Nay, I _am_ so! If I once paused to despond--even to doubt--I\nshould go mad. A foe to baffle, and an angel to save! Whose spirits\nwould not rise high--whose wits would not move quick to the warm pulse\nof his heart?\"\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nTwilight was dark in the room to which Beatrice had conducted Violante.\nA great change had come over Beatrice. Humble and weeping, she knelt\nbeside Violante, hiding her face, and imploring pardon. And Violante,\nstriving to resist the terror for which she now saw such cause as no\nwoman-heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly assured\nforgiveness.\n\nBeatrice had learned--after quick and fierce questions, that at last\ncompelled the answers that cleared away every doubt--that her jealousy\nhad been groundless--that she had no rival in Violante. From that\nmoment, the passions that had made her the tool of guilt abruptly\nvanished, and her conscience startled her with the magnitude of her\ntreachery. Perhaps had Violante's heart been wholly free, or she had\nbeen of that mere commonplace, girlish character which women like\nBeatrice are apt to despise, the Marchesa's affection for Peschiera,\nand her dread of him, might have made her try to persuade her young\nkinswoman at least to receive the Count's visit--at least to suffer\nhim to make his own excuses, and plead his own cause. But there had\nbeen a loftiness of spirit in which Violante had first defied the\nMarchesa's questions, followed by such generous, exquisite sweetness,\nwhen the girl perceived how that wild heart was stung and maddened,\nand such purity of mournful candor when she had overcome her own\nvirgin bashfulness sufficiently to undeceive the error she detected,\nand confess where her own affections were placed, that Beatrice bowed\nbefore her as mariner of old to some fair saint that had allayed the\nstorm.\n\n\"I have deceived you!\" she cried through her sobs; \"but I will now save\nyou at any cost. Had you been as I deemed--the rival who had despoiled\nall the hopes of my future life--I would, without remorse, have been\nthe accomplice I am pledged to be. But _now_, you!--oh, you--so good\nand so noble--you can never be the bride of Peschiera. Nay, start not:\nhe shall renounce his designs forever, or I will go myself to our\nEmperor, and expose the dark secrets of his life. Return with me quick\nto the home from which I ensnared you.\"\n\nBeatrice's hand was on the door while she spoke. Suddenly her face\nfell--her lips grew white; the door was locked from without. She\ncalled--no one answered; the bell-pull in the room gave no sound; the\nwindows were high and barred--they did not look on the river, nor the\nstreet, but on a close, gloomy, silent yard--high blank walls all\naround it--no one to hear the cry of distress, rang it ever so loud and\nsharp.\n\nBeatrice divined that she herself had been no less ensnared than\nher companion; that Peschiera, distrustful of her firmness in evil,\nhad precluded her from the power of reparation. She was in a house\nonly tenanted by his hirelings. Not a hope to save Violante, from a\nfate that now appalled her, seemed to remain. Thus, in incoherent\nself-reproaches and frenzied tears, Beatrice knelt beside her victim,\ncommunicating more and more the terrors that she felt, as the hours\nrolled on, and the room darkened, till it was only by the dull lamp\nwhich gleamed through the grimy windows from the yard without, that\neach saw the face of the other.\n\nNight came on; they heard a clock from some distant church strike\nthe hours. The dim fire had long since burnt out, and the air became\nintensely cold. No one broke upon their solitude--not a voice was heard\nin the house. They felt neither cold nor hunger--they felt but the\nsolitude and the silence, and the dread of something that was to come.\n\nAt length, about midnight, a bell rang at the street door; then there\nwas the quick sound of steps--of sullen bolts withdrawn--of low,\nmurmured voices. Light streamed through the chinks of the door to the\napartment--the door itself opened. Two Italians bearing tapers entered,\nand the Count di Peschiera followed.\n\nBeatrice sprang up, and rushed toward her brother. He placed his hand\ngently on her lips, and motioned to the Italians to withdraw. They\nplaced the lights on the table, and vanished without a word.\n\nPeschiera then, putting aside his sister, approached Violante.\n\n\"Fair kinswoman,\" said he, with an air of easy but resolute assurance,\n\"there are things which no man can excuse and no woman can pardon,\nunless that love, which is beyond all laws, suggests excuse for the\none, and obtains pardon for the other. In a word, I have sworn to win\nyou, and I have had no opportunities to woo. Fear not; the worst that\ncan befall you is to be my bride. Stand aside, my sister, stand aside.\"\n\n\"Giulio, no! Giulio Franzini, I stand between you and her: you shall\nstrike me to the earth before you can touch even the hem of her robe.\"\n\n\"What, my sister!--you turn against me?\"\n\n\"And unless you instantly retire and leave her free, I will unmask you\nto the Emperor.\"\n\n\"Too late, _mon enfant_! You will sail with us. The effects you may\nneed for the voyage are already on board. You will be witness to our\nmarriage, and by a holy son of the Church. Then tell the Emperor what\nyou will.\"\n\nWith a light and sudden exertion of his strength, the Count put away\nBeatrice, and fell on his knee before Violante, who, drawn to her full\nheight, death-like pale, but untrembling, regarded him with unutterable\ndisdain.\n\n\"You scorn me now,\" said he, throwing into his features an expression\nof humility and admiration, \"and I can not wonder at it. But, believe\nme, that until the scorn yield to a kinder sentiment, I will take no\nadvantage of the power I have gained over your fate.\"\n\n\"Power!\" said Violante, haughtily. \"You have ensnared me into this\nhouse--you have gained the power of a day; but the power over my\nfate--no!\"\n\n\"You mean that your friends have discovered your disappearance, and\nare on your track. Fair one, I provide against your friends, and I\ndefy all the laws and police of England. The vessel that will bear you\nfrom these shores waits in the river hard by. Beatrice, I warn you--be\nstill--unhand me. In that vessel will be a priest who shall join our\nhands, but not before you will recognize the truth, that she who flies\nwith Giulio Peschiera must become his wife, or quit him as the disgrace\nof her house, and the scorn of her sex.\"\n\n\"Oh, villain! villain!\" cried Beatrice.\n\n\"_Peste_, my sister, gentler words. You, too, would marry. I tell no\ntales of you. Signorina, I grieve to threaten force. Give me your hand;\nwe must be gone.\"\n\nViolante eluded the clasp that would have profaned her, and darting\nacross the room, opened the door, and closed it hastily behind her.\nBeatrice clung firmly to the Count to detain him from pursuit. But just\nwithout the door, close, as if listening to what passed within, stood\na man wrapped from head to foot in a large boat cloak. The ray of the\nlamp that beamed on the man, gleamed on the barrel of a pistol which he\nheld in his right hand.\n\n\"Hist!\" whispered the man in English; and passing his arm round\nher--\"in this house you are in that ruffian's power; out of it, safe.\nAh! I am by your side--I, Violante!\"\n\nThe voice thrilled to Violante's heart. She started--looked up, but\nnothing was seen of the man's face, what with the hat and cloak, save\na mass of raven curls and a beard of the same hue.\n\nThe Count now threw open the door, dragging after him his sister, who\nstill clung round him.\n\n\"Ha--that is well!\" he cried to the man in Italian. \"Bear the lady\nafter me, gently; but if she attempt to cry out--why, force enough to\nsilence her, not more. As for you, Beatrice, traitress that you are,\nI could strike you to the earth--but--no, this suffices.\" He caught\nhis sister in his arms as he spoke, and, regardless of her cries and\nstruggles, sprang down the stairs.\n\nThe hall was crowded with fierce swarthy men. The Count turned to one\nof them, and whispered; in an instant the Marchesa was seized and\ngagged. The Count cast a look over his shoulder; Violante was close\nbehind, supported by the man to whom Peschiera had consigned her, and\nwho was pointing to Beatrice, and appeared warning Violante against\nresistance. Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Peschiera smiled\ncynically, and, preceded by some of his hirelings, who held torches,\ndescended a few steps that led to an abrupt landing-place between the\nhall and the basement story. There, a small door stood open, and the\nriver flowed close by. A boat was moored on the bank, round which\ngrouped four men, who had the air of foreign sailors. At the appearance\nof Peschiera, three of these men sprang into the boat and got ready\ntheir oars. The fourth carefully readjusted a plank thrown from the\nboat to the wharf, and offered his arm obsequiously to Peschiera. The\nCount was the first to enter, and, humming a gay opera air, took his\nplace by the helm. The two females were next lifted in, and Violante\nfelt her hand pressed almost convulsively by the man who stood by\nthe plank. The rest followed, and in another minute the boat bounded\nswiftly over the waves toward a vessel that lay several furlongs adown\nthe river, and apart from all the meaner craft that crowded the stream.\nThe stars struggled pale through the foggy atmosphere; not a word was\nheard within the boat--no sound save the regular splash of the oars.\nThe Count paused from his lively tune, and gathering round him the\nample folds of his fur pelisse, seemed absorbed in thought. Even by the\nimperfect light of the stars, Peschiera's face wore an air of sovereign\ntriumph. The result had justified that careless and insolent confidence\nin himself and in fortune, which was the most prominent feature in the\ncharacter of the man who, both bravo and gamester, had played against\nthe world, with his rapier in one hand, and cogged dice in the other.\nViolante, once in a vessel filled by his own men, was irretrievably in\nhis power. Even her father must feel grateful to learn that the captive\nof Peschiera had saved name and repute in becoming Peschiera's wife.\nEven the pride of sex in Violante herself must induce her to confirm\nwhat Peschiera, of course, intended to state, viz., that she was a\nwilling partner in a bridegroom's schemes of flight toward the altar,\nrather than the poor victim of a betrayer, and receiving his hand but\nfrom his mercy. He saw his fortune secured, his success envied, his\nvery character rehabilitated by his splendid nuptials. Ambition began\nto mingle with his dreams of pleasure and pomp. What post in the Court\nor the State too high for the aspirations of one who had evinced the\nmost incontestable talent for active life--the talent to succeed in\nall that the will had undertaken? Thus mused the Count, half forgetful\nof the present, and absorbed in the golden future, till he was aroused\nby a loud hail from the vessel, and the bustle on board the boat, as\nthe sailors caught at the rope flung forth to them. He then rose and\nmoved toward Violante. But the man who was still in charge of her\npassed the Count lightly, half leading, half carrying, his passive\nprisoner. \"Pardon, Excellency,\" said the man in Italian, \"but the boat\nis crowded, and rocks so much that your aid would but disturb our\nfooting.\" Before Peschiera could reply, Violante was already on the\nsteps of the vessel, and the Count paused till, with elated smile,\nhe saw her safely standing on the deck. Beatrice followed, and then\nPeschiera himself; but when the Italians in his train also thronged\ntoward the sides of the boat, two of the sailors got before them, and\nlet go the rope, while the other two plied their oars vigorously,\nand pulled back toward shore. The Italians burst into an amazed and\nindignant volley of execrations. \"Silence,\" said the sailor who had\nstood by the plank, \"we obey orders. If you are not quiet, we shall\nupset the boat. _We_ can swim; Heaven and Monsignore San Giacomo pity\nyou if you can not.\"\n\nMeanwhile, as Peschiera leapt upon deck, a flood of light poured upon\nhim from lifted torches. That light streamed full on the face and\nform of a man of commanding stature, whose arm was around Violante,\nand whose dark eyes flashed upon the Count more luminously than the\ntorches. On one side this man stood the Austrian Prince; on the other\nside (a cloak, and a profusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood\nLord L'Estrange, his arms folded, and his lips curved by a smile in\nwhich the ironical humor native to the man was tempered with a calm and\nsupreme disdain. The Count strove to speak, but his voice faltered.\nAll around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many Italian faces,\nbut they scowled at him with vindictive hate; in the rear were English\nmariners, peering curiously over the shoulders of the foreigners,\nand with a broad grin on their open countenances. Suddenly, as the\nCount thus stood perplexed, cowering, stupefied, there burst from all\nthe Italians present a hoot of unutterable scorn--\"_Il traditore! il\ntraditore!_\"--(the traitor! the traitor!)\n\nThe Count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his head with a certain\nmajesty.\n\nAt that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence the hoot, came\nforth from the group by which he had been hitherto standing, and toward\nhim the Count advanced with a bold stride.\n\n\"What trick is this?\" he said in French, fiercely. \"I divine that it\nis you whom I can single out for explanation and atonement.\"\n\n\"_Pardieu, Monsieur le Comte_,\" answered Harley in the same language,\nwhich lends itself so well to polished sarcasm and high bred\nenmity--\"let us distinguish. Explanation should come from me, I allow;\nbut atonement I have the honor to resign to yourself. This vessel--\"\n\n\"Is mine!\" cried the Count. \"Those men, who insult me, should be in my\npay.\"\n\n\"The men in your pay, _Monsieur le Comte_, are on shore drinking\nsuccess to your voyage. But, anxious still to procure you the\ngratification of being among your own countrymen, those whom I have\ntaken into my pay are still better Italians than the pirates whose\nplace they supply; perhaps not such good sailors; but then I have taken\nthe liberty to add to the equipment of a vessel, which has cost me too\nmuch to risk lightly, some stout English seamen, who are mariners more\npracticed than even your pirates. Your grand mistake, _Monsieur le\nComte_, is in thinking that the 'Flying Dutchman' is yours. With many\napologies for interfering with your intention to purchase it, I beg to\ninform you that Lord Spendquick has kindly sold it to me. Nevertheless,\n_Monsieur le Comte_, for the next few weeks I place it--men and all--at\nyour service.\"\n\nPeschiera smiled scornfully\n\n\"I thank your lordship; but since I presume that I shall no longer have\nthe traveling companion who alone could make the voyage attractive, I\nshall return to shore, and will simply request you to inform me at what\nhour you can receive the friend whom I shall depute to discuss that\npart of the question yet untouched, and to arrange that the atonement,\nwhether it be due from me or yourself, may be rendered as satisfactory\nas you have condescended to make the explanation.\"\n\n\"Let not that vex you, _Monsieur le Comte_--the atonement is, in much,\nmade already; so anxious have I been to forestall all that your nice\nsense of honor would induce so complete a gentleman to desire. You\nhave ensnared a young heiress, it is true; but you see that it was\nonly to restore her to the arms of her father. You have juggled an\nillustrious kinsman out of his heritage; but you have voluntarily come\non board this vessel, first, to enable his highness, the Prince ----,\nof whose rank at the Austrian Court you are fully aware, to state to\nyour Emperor that he himself has been witness of the manner in which\nyou interpreted his Imperial Majesty's assent to your nuptials with a\nchild of one of the first subjects in his Italian realm; and next, to\ncommence, by a penitential excursion to the seas of the Baltic, the\nsentence of banishment which I have no doubt will accompany the same\nact that restores to the chief of your house his lands and his honors.\"\n\nThe Count started.\n\n\"That restoration,\" said the Austrian Prince, who had advanced to\nHarley's side, \"I already guarantee. Disgrace that you are, Giulio\nFranzini, to the nobles of the Empire, I will not leave my royal\nmaster till his hand strike your name from the roll. I have here your\nown letters, to prove that your kinsman was duped by yourself into the\nrevolt which you would have headed as a Catiline, if it had not better\nsuited your nature to betray it as a Judas. In ten days from this time,\nthese letters will be laid before the Emperor and his Council.\"\n\n\"Are you satisfied _Monsieur le Comte_,\" said Harley, \"with your\natonement so far? if not, I have procured you the occasion to render it\nyet more complete. Before you stands the kinsman you have wronged. He\nknows now, that though for a while, you ruined his fortunes, you failed\nto sully his hearth. His heart can grant you pardon, and hereafter his\nhand may give you alms. Kneel then, Giulio Franzini--kneel, baffled\nbravo--kneel, ruined gamester--kneel, miserable out-cast--at the feet\nof Alphonso, Prince of Monteleone and Duke of Serrano.\"\n\nThe above dialogue had been in French, which only a few of the Italians\npresent understood, and that imperfectly; but at the name with which\nHarley concluded his address to the Count a simultaneous cry from those\nItalians broke forth.\n\n\"Alphonso the Good!--Alphonso the Good! _Viva--viva_--the good Duke of\nSerrano!\"\n\nAnd, forgetful even of the Count, they crowded round the tall form of\nRiccabocca, striving who should first kiss his hand--the very hem of\nhis garments.\n\nRiccabocca's eyes overflowed. The gaunt exile seemed transfigured into\nanother and more kingly man. An inexpressible dignity invested him. He\nstretched forth his arms, as if to bless his countrymen. Even that rude\ncry, from humble men, exiles like himself, consoled him for years of\nbanishment and penury.\n\n\"Thanks, thanks,\" he continued; \"thanks. Some day or other, you will\nall perhaps return with me to the beloved Land!\"\n\nThe Austrian Prince bowed his head, as if in assent to the prayer.\n\n\"Giulio Franzini,\" said the Duke of Serrano--for so we may now call the\nthreadbare recluse of the Casino--\"had this last villainous design of\nyours been allowed by Providence, think you that there is one spot on\nearth on which the ravisher could have been saved from a father's arm?\nBut now, Heaven has been more kind. In this hour let me imitate its\nmercy,\" and with relaxing brow the Duke mildly drew near to his guilty\nkinsman.\n\nFrom the moment the Austrian Prince had addressed him, the Count had\npreserved a profound silence, showing neither repentance nor shame.\nGathering himself up, he had stood firm, glaring round him like one at\nbay. But as the Duke now approached, he waved his hand, and exclaimed,\n\"Back, pedant, back; you have not triumphed yet. And you, prating\nGerman, tell your tales to our Emperor. I shall be by his throne to\nanswer--if, indeed, you escape from the meeting to which I will force\nyou by the way.\" He spoke, and made a rush toward the side of the\nvessel. But Harley's quick wit had foreseen the Count's intention, and\nHarley's quick eye had given the signal by which it was frustrated.\nSeized in the gripe of his own watchful and indignant countrymen,\njust as he was about to plunge into the stream, Peschiera was dragged\nback--pinioned down. Then the expression of his whole countenance\nchanged; the desperate violence of the inborn gladiator broke forth.\nHis great strength enabled him to break loose more than once, to dash\nmore than one man to the floor of the deck; but at length, overpowered\nby numbers, though still struggling--all dignity, all attempt at\npresence of mind gone, uttering curses the most plebeian, gnashing his\nteeth, and foaming at the mouth, nothing seemed left of the brilliant\nLothario but the coarse fury of the fierce natural man.\n\nThen, still preserving that air and tone of exquisite imperturbable\nirony which might have graced the marquis of the old French regime, and\nwhich the highest comedian might have sighed to imitate in vain, Harley\nbowed low to the storming Count.\n\n\"_Adieu, Monsieur le Comte--adieu!_ I am rejoiced to see that you are\nso well provided with furs. You will need them for your voyage; it is\na very cold one at this time of the year. The vessel which you have\nhonored me by entering is bound to Norway. The Italians who accompany\nyou were sent by yourself into exile, and, in return, they now kindly\npromise to enliven you with their society, whenever you feel somewhat\ntired of your own. Conduct the Count to his cabin. Gently there,\ngently. _Adieu, Monsieur le Comte, adieu! et bon voyage._\"\n\nHarley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of his\nstruggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin.\n\n\"A trick for the trickster,\" said L'Estrange to the Austrian Prince.\n\"The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian.\"\n\n\"More than that--he is ruined.\"\n\n\"And ridiculous,\" quoth Harley. \"I should like to see his look when\nthey land him in Norway.\" Harley then passed toward the centre of the\nvessel, by which, hitherto partially concealed by the sailors, who were\nnow busily occupied, stood Beatrice; Frank Hazeldean, who had first\nreceived her on entering the vessel, standing by her side; and Leonard,\na little apart from the two, in quiet observation of all that had\npassed around him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed Frank; her dark\neyes were lifted to the dim starry skies, and her lips were moving as\nif in prayer; yet her young lover was speaking to her in great emotion,\nlow and rapidly.\n\n\"No, no--do not think for a moment that we suspect you, Beatrice. I\nwill answer for your honor with my life. Oh, why will you turn from\nme--why will you not speak?\"\n\n\"A moment later,\" said Beatrice softly. \"Give me one moment yet.\" She\npassed slowly and faltering toward Leonard--placed her hand that\ntrembled, on his arm--and led him aside to the verge of the vessel.\nFrank, startled by her movement, made a step as if to follow, and\nthen stopped short, and looked on, but with a clouded and doubtful\ncountenance. Harley's smile had gone, and his eye was also watchful.\n\nIt was but a few words that Beatrice spoke--it was but by a sentence\nor so that Leonard answered; and then Beatrice extended her hand,\nwhich the young poet bent over, and kissed in silence. She lingered\nan instant; and even by the star-light, Harley noted the blush that\noverspread her face. The blush faded as Beatrice returned to Frank.\nLord L'Estrange would have retired--she signed to him to stay.\n\n\"My lord,\" she said very firmly, \"I can not accuse you of harshness\nto my sinful and unhappy brother. His offense might perhaps deserve a\nheavier punishment than that which you inflict with such playful scorn.\nBut whatever his penance, contempt now, or poverty later, I feel that\nhis sister should be by his side to share it. I am not innocent, if he\nbe guilty; and, wreck though he be, nothing else on this dark sea of\nlife is now left to me to cling to. Hush, my lord! I shall not leave\nthis vessel. All that I entreat of you is, to order your men to respect\nmy brother, since a woman will be by his side.\"\n\n\"But, Marchesa, this can not be; and--\"\n\n\"Beatrice, Beatrice--and me!--our betrothal? Do you forgot me?\"' cried\nFrank in reproachful agony.\n\n\"No, young and too noble lover; I shall remember you ever in my\nprayers. But listen. I have been deceived--hurried on, I might\nsay--by others, but also, and far more, by my own mad and blinded\nheart--deceived, hurried on, to wrong you and to belie myself. My shame\nburns into me when I think that I could have inflicted on you the just\nanger of your family--linked you to my own ruined fortunes, my own\ntarnished name--my own--\"\n\n\"Your own generous, loving heart!--that is all I asked!\" cried Frank.\n\"Cease, cease--that heart is mine still!\"\n\nTears gushed from the Italian's eyes.\n\n\"Englishman, I never loved you; this heart was dead to you, and it\nwill be dead to all else forever. Farewell! You will forget me sooner\nthan you think for--sooner than I shall forget you--as a friend, as a\nbrother--if brothers had natures as tender and as kind as yours! Now,\nmy lord, will you give me your arm? I would join the Count.\"\n\n\"Stay--one word, madam,\" said Frank, very pale, and through his set\nteeth, but calmly, and with a pride on his brow which had never before\ndignified its careless, open expression--\"one word. I may not be worthy\nof you in any thing else--but an honest love, that never doubted, never\nsuspected--that would have clung to you though all the world were\nagainst; such a love makes the meanest man of worth. One word, frank\nand open. By all that you hold most sacred in your creed, did you\nspeak the truth when you said that you never loved me?\"\n\nBeatrice bent down her head; she was abashed before this manly nature\nthat she had so deceived, and perhaps till then undervalued.\n\n\"Pardon, pardon,\" she said, in reluctant accents, half-choked by the\nrising of a sob.\n\nAt her hesitation Frank's face lighted as if with sudden hope. She\nraised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then glanced where Leonard\nstood, mournful and motionless. She shivered, and added, firmly--\n\n\"Yes--pardon; for I spoke the truth; and I had no heart to give. It\nmight have been as wax to another--it was of granite to you.\" She\npaused, and muttered inly--\"Granite, and--broken!\"\n\nFrank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, not even\ngazing after Beatrice as she passed away leaning on the arm of Lord\nL'Estrange. He then walked resolutely away, and watched the boat\nthat the men were now lowering from the side of the vessel. Beatrice\nstopped when she came near the place where Violante stood, answering\nin agitated whispers her father's anxious questions. As she stopped,\nshe leaned more heavily upon Harley. \"It is your arm that trembles now,\nLord L'Estrange,\" said she, with a mournful smile, and, quitting him\nbefore he could answer, she bowed down her head meekly before Violante.\n\"You have pardoned me already,\" she said, in a tone that reached only\nthe girl's ear, \"and my last words shall not be of the past. I see your\nfuture spread bright before me under those steadfast stars. Love still;\nhope and trust. These are the last words of her who will soon die to\nthe world. Fair maid, they are prophetic!\"\n\nViolante shrank back to her father's breast, and there hid her glowing\nface, resigning her hand to Beatrice, who pressed it to her bosom. The\nMarchesa then came back to Harley, and disappeared with him in the\ninterior of the vessel.\n\nWhen Harley reappeared on deck, he seemed, much flurried and disturbed.\nHe kept aloof from the Duke and Violante, and was the last to enter the\nboat, that was now lowered into the water.\n\nAs he and his companions reached the land, they saw the vessel in\nmovement, and gliding slowly down the river.\n\n\"Courage, Leonard, courage!\" murmured Harley. \"You grieve, and nobly.\nBut you have shunned the worst and most vulgar deceit in civilized\nlife; you have not simulated love. Better that yon poor lady should be,\nawhile, the sufferer from a harsh truth, than the eternal martyr of a\nflattering lie! Alas, my Leonard, with the love of the poet's dream are\nlinked only the Graces; with the love of the human heart come the awful\nFates!\"\n\n\"My lord, poets do not dream when they love. You will learn how the\nfeelings are deep in proportion as the fancies are vivid, when you\nread that confession of genius and woe which I have left in your\nhands.\"\n\nLeonard turned away. Harley's gaze followed him with inquiring\ninterest, and suddenly encountered the soft, dark grateful eyes of\nViolante. \"The Fates, the Fates!\" murmured Harley.\n\n  (TO BE CONTINUED.)\n\n\n\n\nA SHORT CHAPTER ON RATS.\n\n\nThe rat is one of the most despised and tormented of created animals;\nhe has many enemies and very few friends; wherever he appears his\nlife is in danger from men, dogs, cats, owls, &c., who will have no\nmercy on him. These perpetual persecutions oblige him to be wary in\nhis movements, and call for a large amount of cunning and sagacity\non his part, which give his little sharp face a peculiarly knowing\nand wide-awake appearance, which the most superficial observer must\nhave noticed. Though, poor creature, he is hated and killed by man,\nhis sworn foe, yet he is to that same ungrateful race a most useful\nservant, in the humble capacity of scavenger; for wherever man settles\nhis habitation, even in the most remote parts of the earth, there, as\nif by magic, appear our friends the rats. He quietly takes possession\nof the out-houses, drains, &c., and occupies himself by devouring the\nrefuse and filth thrown away from the dwelling of his master (under\nwhose floor, as well as roof, he lives); this refuse, if left to\ndecay, would engender fever, malaria, and all kinds of horrors, to\nthe destruction of the children of the family, were it not for the\nunremitting exertions of the rats to get rid of it, in a way no doubt\nagreeable to themselves, namely, by eating it.\n\nThe rat is admirably armed and equipped for the peculiar mode of life\nwhich he is ordained to lead. He has formidable weapons in the shape\nof four small, long, and very sharp teeth, two of which are fixed in\nthe upper and two in the under jaw. These are formed in the shape of a\nwedge, and by the following wonderful provision of Nature, have always\na fine, sharp, cutting edge. On examining them carefully, we find\nthat the inner part is of a soft, ivory-like composition, which may\nbe easily worn away, whereas the outside is composed of a glass-like\nenamel, which is excessively hard. The upper teeth work exactly into\nthe under, so that the centres of the opposed teeth meet exactly in\nthe act of gnawing; the soft part is thus being perpetually worn away,\nwhile the hard part keeps a sharp, chisel-like edge; at the same time\nthe teeth grow up from the bottom, so that as they wear away a fresh\nsupply is ready. The consequence of this arrangement is, that, if one\nof the teeth be removed, either by accident or on purpose, the opposed\ntooth will continue to grow upward; and, as there is nothing to grind\nit away, will project from the mouth and be turned upon itself; or, if\nit be an under-tooth, it will even run into the skull above.\n\nThere is a curious, but little known fact, which well illustrates the\nravages which the rats can inflict on a hard substance with these\nlittle sharp teeth. Many of the elephant's tusks imported into London\nfor the use of the ivory ornament makers, are observed to have their\nsurfaces grooved into small furrows of unequal depths, as though cut\nout by a very sharp-edged instrument. Surely no man would have taken\nthe trouble to do this, for what would be the profit of his labor? The\nrats, however, are at the bottom of the secret, or else, clever fellows\nas they are, they would not have used their chisel-like teeth with such\neffect. They have found out the tusks which contain the most gelatine\nor animal glue, a sweet and delicious morsel for the rat's dainty\npalate; and having gnawed away as much as suited their purpose, have\nleft the rest for the ivory-cutter--he, for his part, is neither unable\nnor unwilling to profit by the fact marked out by the rat's teeth.\nThe ivory that contains a large amount of gelatine is softer and more\nelastic than that which does not; and as elasticity is the thing most\nneedful for billiard balls, he chooses this rat-marked ivory, and turns\nit into the beautiful elastic billiard balls we see on the slate tables\nin St. James's-street. The elasticity of some of these is so great,\nthat if struck down forcibly on a hard pavement, they will rebound into\nthe hand to the height of three or four feet.\n\nRats have a remarkable instinct for finding out where there is any\nthing good for food; and it has been often a subject of wonder, how\nthey manage to get on board ships laden with sugar and other attractive\ncargoes. This mystery has, however, been cleared up, for they have\nbeen seen to come off shore to the ship by means of the rope by which\nshe is moored to the quay, although at some distance from the shore.\nBy the same means they will leave the ship when she comes into port,\nif they find their quarters filling, or filled with water; hence the\nsaying, that \"rats always leave a sinking ship\" is perfectly true. If,\nhowever, the ship be water-tight, they will continue breeding to an\nenormous extent. M. de St. Pierre informs us, that on the return of\nthe \"Valiant\" man-of-war from the Havana, in the year 1766, its rats\nhad increased to such a degree, that they destroyed a hundred weight\nof biscuit daily. The ship was at length smoked between decks in order\nto suffocate them; and six hampers were for some time filled every day\nwith the rats that had thus been killed.\n\nThere is a curious instance of rats losing their lives in quest of\nfood, which has been kindly communicated to me by a friend. When the\natmospheric pump was in use at the terminus of the Croydon railway,\nhundreds of rats lost their lives daily. The unscientific creatures\nused in the night to get into the large iron tube, by exhausting\nthe air from which the railway carriages were put in motion, their\nobject being to lick off the grease from the leather valve, which the\nengineers of the line were so anxious to keep airtight. As soon as the\nair-pump was put to work for the first morning-train, there was no\nresisting, and out they were sucked all dead corpses!\n\nThe rat, though naturally a savage creature, is, by dint of kindness,\ncapable of being tamed and being made obedient to the will of man. Some\nof the Japanese tame rats, and teach them to perform many entertaining\ntricks, and thus instructed they are exhibited as a show for the\ndiversion of the populace.\n\nA gentleman traveling through Mecklenburg, about forty years ago,\nwas witness to a very singular circumstance in the post-house at New\nHargard. After dinner, the landlord placed on the floor a large dish\nof soup, and gave a loud whistle. Immediately there came into the room\na mastiff, a fine Angora cat, an old raven, and a remarkably large\nrat, with a bell about its neck. They all four went to the dish, and,\nwithout disturbing each other, fed together, after which the dog, cat,\nand rat lay before the fire, while the raven hopped about the room.\nThe landlord, after accounting for the familiarity which existed among\nthese animals, informed his guest that the rat was the most useful of\nthe four, for the noise he made had completely freed the house from the\nother rats and mice with which it had previously been infested.\n\nBut capacity for becoming tame and accustomed to the presence of man\nis not confined to the \"foreigneer\" rats, for, from the following\nstory, it appears that the rats of England are equally susceptible of\nkindness. A worthy whip-maker, who worked hard at his trade to support\na large family, had prepared a number of strips of leather, by well\noiling and greasing them. He carefully laid them by in a box, but,\nstrange to say, they disappeared one by one; nobody knew any thing\nabout them, nobody had touched them.\n\nHowever, one day, as he was sitting at work in his shop, a large black\nrat, of the original British species, slyly poked his head up out of a\nhole in the corner of the room, and deliberately took a survey of the\nwhole place. Seeing all quiet, out he came, and ran straight to the box\nwherein were kept the favorite leather strips. In he dived, and quickly\nreappeared, carrying in his mouth the most dainty morsel he could find.\nOff he ran to his hole, and quickly vanished. Having thus found out\nthe thief, the saddler determined to catch him; he accordingly propped\nup a sieve by a stick, and put a bait underneath; in a few minutes out\ncame the rat again, smelling the inviting toasted cheese, and forthwith\nattacked it. The moment he began nibbling at the bait, down came the\nsieve, and he became a prisoner. Now, thought he, \"my life depends upon\nmy behavior when this horrid sieve is lifted up by that two-legged\nwretch with the apron on, who so kindly cuts the greasy thongs for me\nevery day: he has a good-natured looking face, and I don't think he\nwants to kill me. I know what I will do.\"\n\nThe saddler' at length lifted up the sieve, being armed with a stick\nready to kill Mr. Rat when he rushed out. What was his astonishment to\nsee that the rat remained perfectly quiet, and, after a few moments,\nto walk quietly up on his arm, and look up in his face, as much as\nto say, \"I am a poor innocent rat, and if your wife will lock up all\nthe good things in the cupboard, why I must eat your nicely prepared\nthongs; rats must live as well as saddlers.\" The man then said, \"Tom, I\nwas going to kill you, but now I won't; let us be friends. I'll put you\nsome bread and butter every day if you won't take my thongs and wax,\nand leave the shopman's breakfast alone; but I am afraid you will come\nout once too often; there are lots of dogs and cats about who won't be\nso kind to you as I am; you may go now.\"\n\nHe then put him down, and Mr. Rat leisurely retreated to his hole. For\na long time afterward he found his breakfast regularly placed for him\nat the mouth of his hole, in return for which he, as in duty bound,\nbecame quite tame, running about the shop, and inquisitively turning\nover every thing on the bench at which his protector was at work.\nHe would even accompany him into the stables when he went to feed\nthe pony, and pick up the corn as it fell from the manger, keeping,\nhowever, a respectful distance from the pony's legs. His chief delight\nwas to bask in the warm window sill, stretching his full length to\nthe mid-day sun. This unfortunate, though agreeable habit, proved his\ndestruction, for one very hot day, as he lay at his ease taking his\n_siesta_, the dog belonging to the bird-shop opposite espied him afar\noff, and instantly dashed at him through the window. The poor rat, who\nwas asleep at the time, awoke, alas! too late to save his life. The\ncruel dog caught him, and took him into the road, where a few sharp\nsqueezes and shakings soon finished him. The fatal deed being done, the\nmurderous dog left his bleeding victim in the dusty road, and with ears\nand tail erect, walked away as though proud of his performance. The\ndog's master, knowing the history of the rat, had him stuffed, and his\nimpaled skin, with a silver chain round the neck, forms to this day a\nhandsome addition to the shop-front of the bird-shop in Brompton.\n\nThere is a curious fact connected with the habits of the rat, which\nwarrants a closer observation on the part of those who have the\nopportunity, it is the emigration of rats. It appears that rats, like\nmany birds, fish, &c., are influenced to change their abode by want of\nfood; by necessity of change of temperature; by want of a place for\nincubation, where they may obtain food for their young; and, lastly, by\ntheir fear of man.\n\nA Spanish merchant had forestalled the market of Barcelona filberts on\nspeculation some years ago. He filled his warehouse with sacks of them,\nand refused to sell them to the retail-dealers, but at such a price as\nthey could not afford to give. Thinking, however, that they would be\nobliged to submit to his demand, rather than not procure them for sale,\nhe persisted in exacting his original price, and thus lost nearly all\nhis treasure; for he was informed by an early rising friend, that he\nhad seen, just before sunrise, an army of rats quitting the warehouse.\nHe immediately went to examine his sacks, and found them gnawed in\nvarious places, and emptied of above half their contents, and empty\nshells of filberts strewed over the floor.\n\nPennant relates a story of a burglarious grand-larceny troop of rats,\nwhich nearly frightened a young lady out of her wits, by mistaking her\nchimney for one leading to a cheese-room. She was suddenly wakened by a\ntremendous clatter in her bed-chamber, and on looking up saw a terrific\ntroop of rats running about in wild disorder. She had presence of mind\nenough to throw her candlestick at them (_timor arma ministral_) and to\nher great joy she found that they speedily departed by the way which\nthey had entered her apartment, leaving only a cloud of soot over the\nroom.\n\nForty years ago, the house of a surgeon in Swansea was greatly infested\nwith rats, and he completely got rid of them by burning off all the\nhair from one of them which he had caught alive, and then allowing it\nto return to its hole. It was said that he never afterward saw a rat\non his premises, except the burnt sufferer, which on the following\nday returned, and was caught in the same trap from which he had been\nbut just set at liberty. I suppose that in their \"Advertiser,\" the\ndescription of a ghost, and a notice of haunted premises was given,\nwhich caused the whole colony so unanimously to decamp.\n\n\n\n\nA DARK CHAPTER FROM THE DIARY OF A LAW CLERK.\n\n\nOne Ephraim Bridgman, who died in 1783, had for many years farmed\na large quantity of land in the neighborhood of Lavenham or Lanham\n(the name is spelt both ways), a small market-town about twelve miles\nsouth of Bury St. Edmunds. He was also land agent as well as tenant\nto a noble lord possessing much property thereabouts, and appears\nto have been a very fast man for those times, as, although he kept\nup appearances to the last, his only child and heir, Mark Bridgman,\nfound on looking closely into his deceased father's affairs, that\nwere every body paid, he himself would be left little better than a\npauper. Still, if the noble landlord could be induced to give a _very_\nlong day for the heavy balance due to him--not only for arrears of\nrent, but moneys received on his lordship's account--Mark, who was\na prudent energetic young man, nothing doubted of pulling through\nwithout much difficulty--the farm being low rented and the agency\nlucrative. This desirable object, however, proved exceedingly difficult\nof attainment, and after a protracted and fruitless negotiation, by\nletter, with Messrs. Winstanley, of Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, London,\nhis lordship's solicitors, the young farmer determined, as a last\nresource, on a journey to town, in the vague hope that on a personal\ninterview he should find those gentlemen not quite such square, hard,\nrigid persons as their written communications indicated them to be.\nDelusive hope! They were precisely as stiff, formal, accurate, and\nunvarying as their letters. \"The exact balance due to his lordship,\"\nsaid Winstanley, senior, \"is, as previously stated, \u00a32103 14s. 6d.,\nwhich sum, secured by warrant of attorney, _must_ be paid as follows:\none half in eight, and the remaining moiety in sixteen months from\nthe present time.\" Mark Bridgman was in despair: taking into account\nother liabilities that would be falling due, compliance with such terms\nwas, he felt, merely deferring the evil day, and he was silently and\nmoodily revolving in his mind whether it might not be better to give\nup the game at once rather than engage in a prolonged, and almost\ninevitably disastrous struggle, when another person entered the office\nand entered into conversation with the solicitor. At first the young\nman did not appear to heed--perhaps did not hear what was said--but\nafter a while one of the clerks noticed that his attention was suddenly\nand keenly aroused, and that he eagerly devoured every word that passed\nbetween the new comer and Mr. Winstanley. At length the lawyer, as if\nto terminate the interview, said, as he replaced a newspaper--_The\nPublic Advertiser_--an underlined notice in which had formed the\nsubject of his colloquy with the stranger, upon a side table, by which\nsat Mark Bridgman. \"You desire us then, Mr. Evans, to continue this\nadvertisement for some time longer?\" Mr. Evans replied, \"Certainly, six\nmonths longer, if necessary.\" He then bade the lawyers \"good-day,\" and\nleft the office.\n\n\"Well, what do you say, Mr. Bridgman!\" asked Mr. Winstanley, as soon\nas the door had closed. \"Are you ready to accept his lordship's very\nlenient proposal?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" was the quick reply. \"Let the document be prepared at once, and\nI will execute it before I leave.\" This was done, and Mark Bridgman\nhurried off, evidently, it was afterward remembered, in a high state\nof flurry and excitement. He had also, they found, taken the newspaper\nwith him--by inadvertence, the solicitor supposed, of course.\n\nWithin a week of this time, the good folk of Lavenham--especially\nits womankind--were thrown into a ferment of wonder, indignation,\nand bewilderment! Rachel Merton, the orphan dressmaking girl, who\nhad been engaged to, and about to marry Richard Green, the farrier\nand blacksmith--and that a match far beyond what she had any right\nto expect, for all her pretty face and pert airs, was positively\nbeing courted by Bridgman, young, handsome, rich, Mark Bridgman of\nRed Lodge (the embarrassed state of the gentleman-farmer's affairs\nwas entirely unsuspected in Lavenham); ay, and by way of marriage,\ntoo--openly--respectfully, deferentially--as if _he_, not Rachel\nMerton, were the favored and honored party! What on earth, every body\nasked, was the world coming to?--a question most difficult of solution;\nbut all doubt with respect to the _bon\u00e2 fide_ nature of Mark Bridgman's\nintentions toward the fortunate dressmaker was soon at an end; he and\nRachel being duly pronounced man and wife at the parish church within\nlittle more than a fortnight of the commencement of his strange and\nhasty wooing! All Lavenham agreed that Rachel Merton had shamefully\njilted poor Green, and yet it may be doubted if there were many of them\nthat, similarly tempted, would not have done the same. A pretty orphan\ngirl, hitherto barely earning a subsistence by her needle, and about\nto throw herself away upon a coarse, repulsive person, but one degree\nhigher than herself in the social scale--entreated by the handsomest\nyoung man about Lavenham to be his wife, and the mistress of Red Lodge,\nwith nobody knows how many servants, dependents, laborers!--the offer\nwas irresistible! It was also quite natural that the jilted blacksmith\nshould fiercely resent--as he did--his sweetheart's faithless conduct;\nand the assault which his angry excitement induced him to commit upon\nhis successful rival a few days previous to the wedding, was far too\nseverely punished, every body admitted, by the chastisement inflicted\nby Mark Bridgman upon his comparatively weak and powerless assailant.\n\nThe morning after the return of the newly-married couple to Red Lodge\nfrom a brief wedding trip, a newspaper which the bridegroom had\nrecently ordered to be regularly supplied was placed upon the table.\nHe himself was busy with breakfast, and his wife, after a while,\nopened it, and ran her eye carelessly over its columns. Suddenly an\nexclamation of extreme surprise escaped her, followed by--\"Goodness\ngracious, my dear Mark, do look here!\" Mark did look, and read an\nadvertisement aloud, to the effect that \"If Rachel Edwards, formerly\nof Bath, who, in 1762, married John Merton, bandmaster of the 29th\nRegiment of Infantry, and afterward kept a school in Manchester, or\nany lineal descendant of hers, would apply to Messrs. Winstanley,\nsolicitors, Lincoln's-Inn-Fields, they would hear of something greatly\nto their advantage.\" \"Why, dear Mark,\" said the pretty bride, as her\nhusband ceased reading, \"my mother's maiden name was Rachel Edwards,\nand I am, as you know, her only surviving child!\" \"God bless me, to be\nsure! I remember now hearing your father speak of it. What can this\ngreat advantage be, I wonder? I tell you what we'll do, love,\" the\nhusband added, \"you would like to see London, I know. We'll start by\ncoach to-night, and I'll call upon these lawyers, and find out what\nit all means.\" This proposition was, of course, gladly acceded to.\nThey were gone about a fortnight, and on their return it became known\nthat Mark Bridgman had come into possession of \u00a312,000 in right of his\nwife, who was entitled to that sum by the will of her mother's maiden\nsister, Mary Edwards, of Bath. The bride appears not to have had the\nslightest suspicion that her husband had been influenced by any other\nmotive than her personal charms in marrying her--a pleasant illusion\nwhich, to do him justice, his unvarying tenderness toward her through\nlife, confirmed and strengthened; but others, unblinded by vanity,\nnaturally surmised the truth. Richard Green, especially, as fully\nbelieved that he had been deliberately, and with _malice prepense_,\ntricked out of \u00a312,000, as of the girl herself; and this conviction,\nthere can be no doubt, greatly increased and inflamed his rage against\nMark Bridgman--so much so that it became at last the sole thought and\npurpose of his life, as to how he might safely and effectually avenge\nhimself of the man who was flaunting it so bravely in the world, while\nhe--poor duped and despised castaway--was falling lower and lower in\nthe world every day he lived. This was the natural consequence of\nhis increasingly dissolute and idle habits. It was not long before\nan execution for rent swept away his scanty stock in trade, and he\nthenceforth became a ragged, vagabond hanger-on about the place--seldom\nat work, and as often as possible drunk; during which fits of\nintemperance his constant theme was the bitter hatred he nourished\ntoward Bridgman, and his determination, even if he swung for it, of\nbeing one day signally avenged. Mark Bridgman was often warned to be on\nhis guard against the venomous malignity of Green; but this counsel he\nseems to have spurned, or treated with contempt.\n\nWhile the vengeful blacksmith was thus falling into utter vagabondism,\nall was sunshine at Red Lodge. Mark Bridgman really loved his pretty\nand gentle, if vain-minded wife--a love deepened by gratitude, that\nthrough her means he had been saved from insolvency and ruin; and\nbarely a twelvemonth of wedded life had passed, when the birth of a son\ncompleted their happiness. This child (for nearly three years it did\nnot appear likely there would be any other) soon came to be the idol\nof its parents--of its father, even more than of its mother. It was\nvery singularly marked, with two strawberries, exceedingly distinct, on\nits left arm, and one, less vivid, on its right. There are two fairs\nheld annually at Lavenham, and one of these--when little Mark was\nbetween three and four years old--Mr. Bridgman came in from Red Lodge\nto attend, accompanied by his wife, son, and a woman-servant of the\nname of Sarah Hollins. Toward evening, Mrs. Bridgman went out shopping,\nescorted by her husband, leave having been previously given Hollins to\ntake the child through the pleasure--that is the booth and show part\nof the fair; but with strict orders not to be absent more than an hour\nfrom the inn where her master and mistress were putting up. In little\nmore than the specified time the woman returned, but without the child;\nshe had suddenly missed him, about half an hour before, while looking\non at some street-tumbling, and had vainly sought him through the town\nsince. The woman's tidings excited great alarm; Mr. Bridgman himself\ninstantly hurried off, and hired messengers were, one after another,\ndispatched by the mother in quest of the missing child. As hour after\nhour flew by without result, extravagant rewards, which set hundreds\nof persons in motion, were offered by the distracted parents; but all\nto no purpose. Day dawned, and as yet not a gleam of intelligence\nhad been obtained of the lost one. At length some one suggested that\ninquiry should be made after Richard Green. This was promptly carried\ninto effect, and it was ascertained that he had not been home during\nthe night. Further investigation left no room for doubt that he had\nsuddenly quitted Lavenham; and thus a new and fearful light was thrown\nupon the boy's disappearance. It was conjectured that the blacksmith\nmust have gone to London; and Mr. Bridgman immediately set off thither,\nand placed himself in communication with the authorities of Bow Street.\nEvery possible exertion was used during several weeks to discover the\nchild, or Green, without success, and the bereaved father returned to\nhis home a harassed, spirit-broken man. During his absence his wife\nhad been prematurely confined of another son, and this new gift of\nGod seemed, after a while, to partially fill the aching void in the\nmother's heart; but the sadness and gloom which had settled upon the\nmind of her husband was not perceptibly lightened thereby. \"If I knew\nMark was dead,\" he once remarked to the rector of Lavenham, by whom\nhe was often visited, \"I should resign myself to his loss, and soon\nshake off this heavy grief. But that, my dear sir, which weighs me\ndown--is in fact slowly but surely killing me--is a terrible conviction\nand presentiment that Green, in order fully to work out his devilish\nvengeance, will studiously pervert the nature of the child--lead him\ninto evil, abandoned courses--and that I shall one day see him--but I\nwill not tell you my dreams,\" he added, after stopping abruptly, and\npainfully shuddering, as if some frightful spectre passed before his\neyes. \"They are, I trust, mere fancies; and yet--but let us change the\nsubject.\"\n\nThis morbidly-dejected state of mind was aggravated by the morose,\ngrasping disposition--so entirely different from what Mr. Bridgman\nhad fondly prophesied of Mark--manifested in greater strength with\nevery succeeding year by his son Andrew, a strangely unlovable and\ngloomy-tempered boy, as if the anxiety and trouble of the time during\nwhich he had been hurried into the world had been impressed upon his\ntemperament and character. It may be, too, that he felt irritated at,\nand jealous of his father's ceaseless repinings for the loss of his\neldest son, who, if recovered, would certainly monopolize the lion's\nshare of the now large family property--but not one whit _too_ large in\nhis--Andrew Bridgman's--opinion for himself alone.\n\nThe young man had not very long to wait for it. He had just passed his\ntwentieth year when his father died at the early age of forty-seven\nThe last wandering thoughts of the dying parent reverted to the lost\nchild. \"Hither Mark,\" he faintly murmured, as the hushed mourners round\nhis bed watched with mute awe the last flutterings of departing life;\n\"hither: hold me tightly by the hand, or you may lose yourself in this\ndark, dark wood.\" These were his last words. On the will being opened,\nit was found that the whole of his estate, real and personal, had been\nbequeathed to his son Andrew, charged only with an annuity of \u00a3500 to\nhis mother, during life. _But_, should Mark be found, the property was\nto be _his_, similarly charged with respect to Mrs. Bridgman, and \u00a3100\nyearly to his brother Andrew, also for life, in addition.\n\nOn the evening of the tenth day after his father's funeral, young Mr.\nBridgman sat up till a late hour examining various papers and accounts\nconnected with his inheritance, and after retiring to bed, the exciting\nnature of his recent occupation hindered him from sleeping. While thus\nlying awake, his quick ear caught a sound as of some one breaking into\nthe house through one of the lower casements. He rose cautiously, went\nout on the landing, and soon satisfied himself that his suspicion was\na correct one. The object of the burglars was, he surmised, the plate\nin the house of which there was an unusually large quantity, both his\nfather and grandfather having expended much money in that article of\nluxury. Andrew Bridgman was any thing but a timid person--indeed,\nconsidering that six men altogether slept in the house, there was but\nlittle cause for fear--and he softly returned to his bedroom, unlocked\na mahogany case, took out, loaded and primed, two pistols, and next\nroused the gardener and groom, whom he bade noiselessly follow him. The\nburglars--three in number, as it proved--had already reached and opened\nthe plate-closet. One of them was standing within it, and the others\njust without. \"Hallo! rascals,\" shouted Andrew Bridgman, from the top\nof a flight of stairs, \"what are you doing there?\"\n\nThe startled and terrified thieves glanced hurriedly round, and the two\noutermost fled instantly along the passage pursued by the two servants,\none of whom had armed himself with a sharp-pointed kitchen knife. The\nother was not so fortunate. He had not regained the threshold of the\ncloset when Andrew Bridgman fired. The bullet crashed through the\nwretched man's brain, and he fell forward, stone-dead, upon his face.\nThe two others escaped--one of them after a severe struggle with the\nknife-armed groom.\n\nIt was sometime before the uproar in the now thoroughly-alarmed\nhousehold had subsided; but at length the screaming females were\npacified, and those who had got up, persuaded to go to bed again. The\ncorpse of the slain burglar was removed to an out-house, and Andrew\nBridgman returned to his bedroom. Presently there was a tap at the\ndoor. It was Sarah Hollins. \"I am come to tell you something,\" said the\nnow aged woman, with a significant look. \"The person you have shot is\nthe Richard Green you have so often heard of.\"\n\nThe young man, Hollins afterward said, seemed much startled by this\nnews, and his countenance flushed and paled in quick succession. \"Are\nyou quite sure this is true?\" he at last said.\n\n\"Quite; though he's so altered that, except, Missus, I don't know any\nbody else in the house that is likely to recognize him. Shall I tell\nher?\"\n\n\"No, no, not on any account. It would only recall unpleasant events,\nand that quite uselessly. Be sure not to mention your suspicion--your\nbelief, to a soul.\"\n\n\"Suspicion! belief!\" echoed the woman. \"It is a certainty. But, of\ncourse, as you wish it, I shall hold my tongue.\"\n\nSo audacious an attempt created a considerable stir in the locality,\nand four days after its occurrence a message was sent to Red Lodge from\nBury St. Edmunds, that two men, supposed to be the escaped burglars,\nwere there in custody, and requesting Mr. Bridgman's and the servants'\nattendance on the morrow, with a view to their identification. Andrew\nBridgman, the gardener, and groom, of course, obeyed the summons, and\nthe prisoners were brought into the justice-room before them. One was a\nfellow of about forty, a brutal-visaged, low-browed, sinister-looking\nrascal, with the additional ornament of a but partially closed\nhare-lip. He was unhesitatingly sworn to by both men. The other, upon\nwhom, from the instant he entered, Andrew Bridgman had gazed with\neager, almost, it seemed, trembling curiosity, was a well-grown young\nman of, it might be, three or four and twenty, with a quick, mild,\nalmost timid, unquiet, troubled look, and features originally comely\nand pleasing, there could be no doubt, but now smirched and blotted\ninto ill favor by excess, and other evil habits. He gave the name of\n\"Robert Williams.\"\n\nAndrew Bridgman, recalled to himself by the magistrate's voice, hastily\nsaid \"that he did not recognize this prisoner as one of the burglars.\nIndeed,\" he added, with a swift but meaning look at the two servants,\n\"I am pretty sure he was not one of them.\" The groom and gardener,\ninfluenced no doubt by their master's manner, also appeared doubtful\nas to whether Robert Williams was one of the housebreakers. \"But if he\nbe,\" hesitated the groom, hardly knowing whether he did right or wrong,\n\"there must be some smartish wounds on his arms, for I hit him there\nsharply with the knife several times.\"\n\nThe downcast head of the youthful burglar was suddenly raised at these\nwords, and he said, quickly, while a red flush passed over his pallid\nfeatures, \"Not me, not me--look, my arm-sleeves have no holes--no--\"\n\n\"You may have obtained another jacket,\" interrupted the magistrate. \"We\nmust see your arms.\"\n\nAn expression of hopeless despair settled upon the prisoner's face;\nhe again hung down his head in shame, and allowed the constables to\nquietly strip off his jacket. Andrew Bridgman, who had gone to some\ndistance, returned while this was going on, and watched for what might\nnext disclose itself with tenfold curiosity and eagerness. \"There are\nstabs enough here, sure enough,\" exclaimed a constable, as he turned\nup the shirt-sleeve on the prisoner's left arm. There were, indeed;\nand in addition to them, _natural marks of two strawberries_ were\ndistinctly visible. The countenance of Andrew Bridgman grew ashy pale,\nas his straining eyes glared upon the prisoner's naked arm. The next\nmoment he wrenched himself away, as with an effort, from the sight, and\nstaggered to an open window--sick, dizzy, fainting, it was at the time\nbelieved, from the closeness of the atmosphere in the crowded room. Was\nit not rather that he had recognized his long-lost brother--_the true\nheir to the bulk of his deceased father's wealth_, against whom, he\nmight have thought, an indictment would scarcely lie for feloniously\nentering his own house! He said nothing, however, and the two prisoners\nwere fully committed for trial.\n\nMr. Prince went down \"special\" to Bury, at the next assize, to defend\na gentleman accused of a grave offense, but the grand jury having\nignored the bill, he would probably have returned at once, had not\nan attorney brought him a brief, very heavily marked, in defense of\n\"Robert Williams.\" \"Strangely enough, too,\" remarked the attorney,\nas he was about to go away, \"the funds for the defense have been\nsupplied by Mr. Andrew Bridgman, whose house the prisoner is accused of\nhaving burglariously entered. But this is confidential, as he is very\nsolicitous that his oddly-generous action should not be known.\" There\nwas, however, no valid defense. The ill-favored accomplice, why, I know\nnot, had been admitted king's evidence by the counsel for the crown,\nand there was no resisting the accumulated evidence. The prisoner\nwas found guilty, and sentenced to be hanged. \"I never intended,\" he\nsaid, after the verdict was returned; and there was a tone of dejected\npatience in his voice that affected one strangely, \"I never intended to\ncommit violence against any one in the house, and but that my uncle--he\nthat was shot--said repeatedly that he knew a secret concerning Mr.\nBridgman (he didn't know, I am sure, that he was dead) which would\nprevent us from being prosecuted if we were caught, I should not\nhave been persuaded to go with him. It was my first offense--in--in\nhousebreaking, I mean.\"\n\nI had, and indeed have, some relatives in Mildenhall, in the same\ncounty, whom, at the termination of the Bury assize, I got leave to\nvisit for a few days. While there, it came to my knowledge that Mr.\nAndrew Bridgman, whom I had seen in court, was moving heaven and earth\nto procure a commutation of the convict's sentence to transportation\nfor life. His zealous efforts were unsuccessful; and the Saturday\nCounty Journal announced that Robert Williams, the burglar, would\nsuffer, with four others, on the following Tuesday morning. I reached\nBury on the Monday evening, with the intention of proceeding by the\nLondon night coach, but there was no place vacant. The next morning I\ncould only have ridden outside, and as, besides being intensely cold,\nit was snowing furiously, I determined on postponing my departure\ntill the evening, and secured an inside place for that purpose. I\ngreatly abhor spectacles of the kind, and yet, from mere idleness and\ncuriosity, I suffered myself to be drawn into the human stream flowing\ntoward \"Hang Fair,\" and once jammed in with the crowd in front of the\nplace of execution, egress was, I found, impossible. After waiting a\nconsiderable time, the death-bell suddenly tolled, and the terrible\nprocession appeared--five human beings about to be suffocated by human\nhands, for offenses against property!--the dreadful and deliberate\nsacrifice preluded and accompanied by sonorous sentences from the\nGospel of mercy and compassion! Hardly daring to look up, I saw little\nof what passed on the scaffold, yet one furtive, quickly-withdrawn\nglance, showed me the sufferer in whom I took most interest. He was\nwhite as if already coffined, and the unquiet glare of his eyes was,\nI noticed, terribly anxious! I did not again look up--I could not;\nand the surging murmur of the crowd, as it swayed to and fro, the\nnear whisperings of ribald tongues, and the measured, mocking tones\nof the minister, promising eternal life through the mercy of the most\nhigh God, to wretches whom the _justice_ of man denied a few more\ndays or years of mortal existence--were becoming momently more and\nmore oppressive, when a dull, heavy sound _boomed_ through the air;\nthe crowd swayed violently from side to side, and the simultaneous\nexpiration of many pent-up breaths testified that all was over, and to\nthe relief experienced by the coarsest natures at the consummation of a\ndeed too frightful for humanity to contemplate. It was some time before\nthe mass of spectators began to thoroughly separate, and they were\nstill standing in large clusters, spite of the bitter, falling weather,\nwhen a carriage, furiously driven, with the body of a female, who was\nscreaming vehemently and waving a white handkerchief, projected half\nout of one of the windows, was seen approaching by the London Road.\nThe thought appeared to strike every one that a respite or reprieve\nhad come for one or more of the prisoners, and hundreds of eyes were\ninstantly turned toward the scaffold, only to see that if so it had\narrived too late. The carriage stopped at the gate of the building. A\nlady dressed in deep mourning, was hastily assisted out by a young man\nwith her, similarly attired, and they both disappeared within the jail.\nAfter some parleying, I ascertained that I had sufficient influence\nto obtain admission, and a few moments afterward I found myself in\nthe press-room. The young man--Mr. Andrew Bridgman--was there, and\nthe lady, who had fallen fainting upon one of the benches, was his\nmother. The attendants were administering restoratives to her, without\neffect, till an inner door opened, and the under-sheriff, by whom she\nwas personally known, entered; when she started up and interrogated,\nwith the mute agony of her wet, yet gleaming eyes, the dismayed and\ndistressed official. \"Let me entreat you, my dear madam,\" he faltered,\n\"to retire. This is a most painful--fright--\"\n\n\"No--no, the truth!--the truth!\" shrieked the unfortunate lady, wildly\nclasping her hands, \"I shall bear that best!\"\n\n\"Then I grieve to say,\" replied the under-sheriff, \"that the marks you\ndescribe--two on the left, and one on the right arm, are distinctly\nvisible.\"\n\nA piercing scream, broken by the words, \"My son!--oh God!--my son!\"\nburst from the wretched mother's lips, and she fell heavily, and\nwithout sense or motion, upon the stone floor. While the under-sheriff\nand others raised and ministered to her, I glanced at Mr. Andrew\nBridgman. He was as white as the lime-washed wall against which he\nstood, and the fire that burned in his dark eyes was kindled--it was\nplain to me--by remorse and horror, not by grief alone.\n\nThe cause of the sudden appearance of the mother and son at the\nclosing scene of this sad drama was afterward thus explained:--Andrew\nBridgman, from the moment that all hope of procuring a commutation\nof the sentence on the so-called Robert Williams had ceased, became\nexceedingly nervous and agitated, and his discomposure seemed to but\naugment as the time yet to elapse before the execution of the sentence\npassed away. At length, unable longer to endure the goadings of a\ntortured conscience, he suddenly burst into the room where his mother\nsat at breakfast, on the very morning his brother was to die, with an\nopen letter in his hand, by which he pretended to have just heard that\nRobert Williams was the long-lost Mark Bridgman! The sequel has been\nalready told.\n\nThe conviction rapidly spread that Andrew Bridgman had been from the\nfirst aware that the youthful burglar was his own brother; and he found\nit necessary to leave the country. He turned his inheritance into\nmoney, and embarked for Charleston, America, in the bark Cleopatra,\nfrom Liverpool. When off the Scilly Islands, the Cleopatra was chased\nby a French privateer. She escaped; but one of the few shots fired at\nher from the privateer was fatal to the life of Andrew Bridgman. He\nwas almost literally cut in two, and expired instantaneously. Some\nfriends to whom I have related this story deem his death an accident;\nothers, a judgment: I incline, I must confess, to the last opinion.\nThe wealth with which he embarked was restored to Mrs. Bridgman, who\nsoon afterward removed to London, where she lived many years--sad ones,\nno doubt, but mitigated and rendered endurable by the soothing balm\nof a clear conscience. At her decease, not very many years ago, the\nwhole of her property was found to be bequeathed to various charitable\ninstitutions of the metropolis.\n\n\n\n\nMonthly Record of Current Events\n\n\nTHE UNITED STATES.\n\nCongress adjourned, _sine die_, on the 31st of August. During the\nlast month of its session several important public laws were passed,\nand various subjects of public interest were discussed at length.\nSubstantial amendments to the Postage Law have been adopted, by which\nthe rates of postage upon printed matter sent by mail, have been\ngreatly reduced. The new law takes effect on the 30th of September.\nAfter that date each newspaper, periodical, or other printed sheet\nnot exceeding three ounces in weight, will be sent to any part of the\nUnited States for _one cent_--one cent additional being charged for\neach additional ounce or fraction but when the postage is paid yearly\nor quarterly, in advance, at the office where the paper is mailed or\ndelivered, _one half_ of these rates only will be charged. Newspapers\nand periodicals weighing not over an ounce and a half, when circulated\nwithin the State where they are published, will pay only half these\nrates. Small newspapers and periodicals published once a month or\noftener, and pamphlets of not more than sixteen pages each, when sent\nin single packages weighing at least eight ounces, to one address, and\nprepaid by affixing postage-stamps thereto, are to be charged only\n_half a cent_ for each ounce. The postage on all transient matter must\nbe prepaid by stamps or otherwise, or double the rates first mentioned\nwill be charged. Books weighing not over four pounds may be sent by\nmail at _one cent_ an ounce for all distances under 3000 miles, and at\n_two_ cents an ounce for all distances over 3000 miles, to which fifty\nper cent. will be added if not prepaid. Publishers of periodicals and\nnewspapers are to receive their exchanges free of postage; and weekly\nnewspapers may also be sent to subscribers free within the county\nwhere they are published. These are the essential provisions of the\nnew law: others are appended requiring the printed papers to be sent\nopen, without any other communications upon them than the address, and\nwithout any other inclosures.----A bill was also passed, making large\nappropriations for the improvement of rivers and harbors in various\nsections of the country: the vote upon it in the Senate was 35 yeas and\n23 nays: in the House of Representatives it was passed by the casting\nvote of the Speaker, there being 69 votes for and 69 votes against\nit. Bills were also passed providing measures of greater security for\nsteamboat navigation, by requiring various precautions on the part of\nowners: granting to the State of Michigan land to aid the construction\nof a ship canal around the Sault St. Marie, and granting lands to\nthe States of Arkansas and Missouri, to aid in the construction of\nrailroads within those States: establishing a trimonthly mail between\nNew Orleans and Vera Cruz: and making appropriations for the various\nbranches of the public service. The whole number of public acts passed\nduring the session was 64; of private acts 52: of joint resolutions\n17. The French Spoliation bill, the bill granting public lands to the\nseveral States, and several other measures of importance, upon which\nextended debate had been had, were postponed until the next session.\n\nOn the 10th of August, the President transmitted a message to Congress,\ncommunicating to that body all the documents relating to the dispute\nconcerning the Fisheries on the British Colonial coast. In the Senate,\non the 12th, Mr. Soule of Louisiana, spoke in very warm censure of the\nproceedings of the English government, and criticising the measures\nof the Administration as deficient in energy and determination. He\ndeprecated any negotiations with Great Britain on the subject, so long\nas any part of her fleet should be in those waters, and predicted the\nspeedy separation of the Colonies from the British empire. Mr. Butler\nof South Carolina, as well as several other Senators, expressed their\nearnest hopes that the difficulty would be satisfactorily adjusted,\nand at their suggestion the debate was postponed until the 14th, when\nMr. Seward made an extended and elaborate speech, setting forth the\nwhole history of our negotiations with England upon the Fisheries,\nshowing that England has presented no new claims, and that she has not\nindicated any purpose to use force or menaces in support of pretensions\nshe has hitherto urged, and vindicating the President and Secretary\nof State from the attacks made upon them.----On the 16th, while the\nbill appropriating lands for the construction of a ship canal around\nthe Falls of St. Mary was under discussion, Mr. Cass supported it on\nthe ground of its being essential to the defenses of the country in\ntime of war, and took occasion to say he would have no objection to\nthe annexation of Canada and the acquisition of Cuba, if these objects\ncould be accomplished without a war. Mr. Douglas spoke also in favor\nof the grant for the work, not as a necessary means of defense, but\nfor the purpose of augmenting the value of the public lands lying\nfurther to the west: he said that he would not vote a donation of money\nfor such a purpose, but would support a bill granting public lands.\nA motion to substitute $400,000, instead of land, was rejected by a\nvote of 21 to 32: and the bill was passed in its original form.----On\nthe 17th, a message was received from the President, in reply to a\nresolution offered a day or two previously by Senator Seward, inquiring\nwhether any proposition had been made to the United States by the\nKing of the Sandwich Islands, to transfer the sovereignty of those\nislands to the United States. The President declines to communicate any\ninformation on the subject, since to do so would be incompatible with\nthe public interest. Mr. Seward then offered a resolution providing\nfor the appointment of a Commissioner, to inquire into the expediency\nof opening negotiations upon that subject. The resolution and the\nmessage was referred to the Committee on Foreign Relations.----On\nthe 23d, while the River and Harbor Bill was under debate, Senator\nDouglas offered a resolution giving the States power to levy tonnage\nduties upon their commerce, for the purpose of carrying on works of\ninternal improvement. He supported this proposition at length. Mr. Cass\nopposed it on the ground that the duties thus levied would in fact be\npaid by the agricultural consumers. Mr. Smith of Connecticut opposed\nit, because it would throw the whole burden of these duties upon the\nfarmers of the West. The amendment was rejected by 17 to 25.\n\nOn the 28th, in reply to a resolution, a Message was received from\nthe President, transmitting sundry documents relating to the right of\nforeign nations to take guano from the Lobos islands, off the coast\nof Peru. On the 2d of June, Captain Jewett wrote to Mr. Webster,\ninquiring whether these islands were the possession of any single\npower, or whether they were open to the commerce of the world. Mr.\nWebster replied that the islands were uninhabited, that they had never\nbeen enumerated among the possessions or dependencies of any of the\nSouth American states, and that citizens of the United States would\nbe protected in removing the valuable deposits upon them. At the same\ntime the Secretary of the Navy ordered a vessel of war to be dispatched\nfor the protection of American vessels engaged in this traffic. Under\nthese assurances Captain Jewett and his associates fitted out some\ntwenty vessels which were immediately dispatched to the islands in\nquestion. Mr. Webster's letter to Captain Jewett, meantime, having\naccidentally been made public, the Peruvian Minister, Senor Osma, in\nthree successive notes, represented to the Government that the Lobos\nislands were dependencies of Peru, and that the United States could\nhave no rightful claim to remove their valuable deposits. Mr. Webster\nreplied to this claim on the 21st of August, by an elaborate argument\nshowing that Peru had hitherto, by repeated acts, sustained the\nposition that the islands do not belong to any of the South American\nstates. They lie about thirty miles from the shore, and are uninhabited\nand uninhabitable. Citizens of the United States have visited them\nin pursuit of seals for half a century; and no complaint was made\nof this until 1833, when Peru issued a decree forbidding foreigners\nfrom visiting them for any such purpose. The United States Charg\u00e9 at\nLima immediately remonstrated against this decree, and requested its\nmodification, so far as to permit citizens of the United States to\ncontinue pursuits in which they had been engaged for so many years. No\nreply was made to this remonstrance, and the citizens of the United\nStates continued their avocations without any further interruption. Mr.\nWebster insists, therefore, that while these islands lie in the open\nocean, so far from the coast of Peru as not to belong to that country\nby the law of proximity or adjacent position, the Government of Peru\nhas not exercised any such acts of absolute sovereignty and ownership\nover them as to give to her a right to their exclusive possession as\nagainst the United States and their citizens by the law of indisputable\npossession. The Government of the United States is, however, disposed\nto give due consideration to all the facts of the case, and the\nPresident will therefore give such orders to the naval forces on that\ncoast as will prevent collision until the case can be examined.\n\nAn important report was made in the Senate, on the 30th of August, by\nMr. Mason, of Virginia, from the Committee on Foreign Relations, upon\nthe subject of the right of way across the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,\ngranted to Don Jose de Garay, in March, 1842, by Santa Anna, then\nvested with supreme power as President of Mexico. The report, after\nmentioning this grant, and the stipulation contained in it that he,\nas well as any private individual or company succeeding him, native\nor foreign, should be protected in undisturbed enjoyment of all the\nconcessions granted, states that on the 9th of February, 1843, a decree\nwas issued by General Bravo, who had succeeded to the Presidency,\nrecognizing and affirming this grant, and directing the departments of\nOaxaca and Vera Cruz to put Garay in possession of the lands ceded to\nhim by its provisions. On the 6th of October, 1843, Santa Anna, being\nrestored to power, issued a further decree, directing the departments\nto furnish 300 convicts to be employed on the work; and by another\ndecree of December 28, 1843, the time for commencing it was extended\na year--until July 1, 1845. In November, 1846, General Salas, having,\nby the course of revolution, become invested with supreme power as\nDictator, promulgated a decree, extending the time still further,\nnamely, until November 5, 1848; and the work was actually commenced\nprior to that date. This is the history of the grant so long as it\nremained in the hands of Garay. During the year 1846 various contracts\nwere entered into by which he transferred the grant, with all its\nrights and privileges, to Messrs. Manning and Mackintosh, subjects of\nGreat Britain: and on the 28th of September, 1848, these contracts\nwere formally recognized and consummated at the city of Mexico. On the\n5th of February, 1848, this grant was assigned to Peter A. Hargous,\na citizen of the United States, who subsequently entered into a\ncontract to assign the same to certain citizens of New Orleans, on\nterms intended to secure the capital necessary to execute the work.\nIn December, 1850, a party of engineers was sent out by the American\nassignees, to complete the necessary surveys--who continued so employed\nuntil the month of June following, when they were ordered by the\nMexican government to discontinue the work and leave the country--a\nlaw having been passed by the Mexican Congress, and approved by the\nPresident, May 22, 1851, declaring the Garay grant to be null and\nvoid. Upon this statement of facts concerning the origin and history\nof the grant, the Report proceeds to show that its validity had been\nrepeatedly recognized by the Mexican government. In 1846, President\nHerrera issued orders to prevent cutting mahogany from these lands. In\n1847, while the treaty of peace was under discussion, Mr. Trist, by\ndirection of our Government, offered a large sum for the right of way\nacross the Isthmus; and was answered that \"Mexico could not treat of\nthis subject because she had, several years before, made a grant to one\nof her own citizens, who had transferred his right, by authorization\nof the Mexican government, to English subjects, of whose right Mexico\ncould not dispose.\" After the assignment of the grant to American\ncitizens, moreover, the Mexican government issued orders to the\nGovernors of the Departments, directing them to afford all needed aid\nto the engineers, who were accordingly sent, the ports thrown open for\ntheir supplies, and over a hundred thousand dollars was expended upon\nthe work. Negotiations for a treaty of protection to the workmen were\nalso opened, and the draft of a Convention was concluded at Mexico,\nin June, 1850, and sent to the United States. Certain modifications\nbeing suggested at Washington, this draft was returned to our Minister\nin Mexico and a new Convention was signed January 28, 1851, with the\napproval of President Herrera. This convention was ratified by the\nSenate of the United States, and returned to Mexico, and finally\nrejected by the Mexican Congress, in April, 1852.--It is not pretended\nthat this rejection of the Convention affects in the slightest degree\nthe validity of the grant. The sole ground upon which its annulment is\nclaimed, is, that the decree of Salas of November, 1846, extending the\ntime for commencing the work, was null and void, inasmuch as he held\nthe supreme power by usurpation, or that he transcended his powers.\n\"Respect for the Mexican Government alone,\" says the Report, \"restrains\nthe Committee from treating of this position in the terms it deserves.\"\nThe government of Salas was acknowledged and submitted to by the people\nof Mexico:--his decrees, this one included, were submitted to the\nCongress--and not one of them was ever approved by Congress, nor was\nhis authority ever questioned at any other time, or in reference to\nany other decree. \"The doctrine that the Government _de facto_ is the\nGovernment responsible, has been fully recognized by Mexico herself, in\nthe case of the Dictatorship of Salas, as of those who preceded him. It\nis a principle of universal law governing the intercourse of nations,\nwith each other and with individuals, and this Government can not, nor\nought not, treat with indifference a departure from it by Mexico in the\npresent instance.\" The report concludes by referring to the unfriendly\nfeeling which the proceedings of Mexico indicate toward the United\nStates, and by recommending the adoption of the following resolutions:\n\n\"_Resolved_, As the judgment of the Senate, that in the present posture\nof the question on the grant of a right of way through the territory\nof Mexico at the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, conceded by that Republic to\none of its citizens, and now the property of citizens of the United\nStates, as the same is presented by the correspondence and documents\naccompanying the Message of the President, it is not compatible with\nthe dignity of this Government to prosecute the subject further by\nnegotiation.\n\n\"_Second_, Should the Government of Mexico propose a renewal of such\nnegotiations, it should be acceded to only upon distinct propositions\nfrom Mexico, not inconsistent with the demands made by this Government\nin reference to said grant.\n\n\"_Third_, That the Government of the United States stands committed to\nall its citizens to protect them in their rights abroad, as well as at\nhome, within the sphere of its jurisdiction; and should Mexico, within\na reasonable time, fail to reconsider her position concerning this\ngrant, it will then become the duty of this Government to review all\nexisting relations with that Republic, and to adopt such measures as\nwill revive the honor of the country and the rights of its citizens.\"\n\nIn Louisiana a new Constitution has been prepared by a State\nConvention, which introduces several new features of importance into\nthe fundamental law of that state. The right of suffrage and of\neligibility to office has been considerably enlarged. Every free,\nwhite male citizen of the United States, over twenty-one years of age,\nwho has resided in the State a year, and in the parish six months\nprevious to the election, is a qualified voter; and every qualified\nvoter is eligible to either branch of the Legislature. The Legislature\nis to hold annual sessions--elections being held biennially.--The\nJudges of the Supreme Court and of all the inferior courts are made\nelective;--the Supreme Court is to consist of a Chief Justice and\nfour associates--their term of office to be ten years. The credit of\nthe State may be pledged for corporations formed for the purpose of\nmaking internal improvements within the State, by subscriptions of\nStock, or by loans to the extent of one-fifth of the capital. All\nCorporations with banking or discounting privileges are prohibited, as\nare all special laws for creating Corporations. Banking and discounting\nassociations may be created either by general or special laws--but\nample security must be required for the redemption of their notes\nin specie. The Constitution may be amended by the concurrence of\ntwo-thirds of the members elected to both Houses, and a ratification of\nthe people at the next election, by a vote on every proposed amendment\ntaken separately. The new Constitution is to be submitted to the vote\nof the people on the first Tuesday of November.\n\nA dreadful steamboat catastrophe occurred on Lake Erie on the 19th\nof August. The steam-propeller Ogdensburgh ran into the steamer\nAtlantic, striking her just forward of the wheel-house, and injuring\nher so seriously that, after going a mile or two toward the shore,\nshe sunk. The propeller, not understanding the full damage of the\ncollision, and anxious for her own safety, did not go to the rescue\nof her passengers until half an hour after the accident. More than a\nhundred persons lost their lives, the greater portion of them being\nNorwegian emigrants huddled together on the forward deck, and unable,\nthrough their ignorance of English, to avail themselves of the means of\nsafety suggested. Very conflicting statements in regard to the cause of\nthe collision have been published;--the night was not very dark, both\nvessels had signal lights and a watch on deck. The matter is undergoing\njudicial investigation.----On the Hudson River still another accident\noccurred on the 4th of September. As the steamer _Reindeer_ lay at the\nwharf at Bristol landing, about forty miles below Albany, one of her\nconnection pipes burst, and _twenty-seven_ persons, mainly those in the\nafter-cabin, were killed--fifty more being considerably injured.----A\nNational Convention of the Free-Soil party was held at Pittsburgh\non the 11th of August, at which John P. Hale, of New Hampshire,\nwas nominated for President, and George W. Julian, of Indiana, for\nVice-President, as the candidates of that party.----A meeting of\ndelegates is to be held at Macon, Georgia, on the 20th of October, for\nthe purpose of calling an Agricultural Congress of the Slaveholding\nStates--the chief objects of which are declared to be to develope the\nresources, combine the energies, and promote the prosperity of the\nSouthern States, and to cultivate the aptitudes of the negro race for\ncivilization; so that when slavery shall have fulfilled its mission,\na system may be authorized which shall relieve the race from its\nservitude, without sinking it to the condition of the free negroes at\nthe North and in the West Indies.\n\nFrom CALIFORNIA we have intelligence to the 1st of August. The\nintelligence is without any feature of special novelty. The mining\nprospects continue to be good, and very large amounts of gold continue\nto be procured. The whole amount shipped from California during the\npast year was over sixty-six millions of dollars. The miners in every\nsection of the gold districts continue to receive abundant returns\nfor their labor.----Every mail brings a deplorable list of casualties\nand crimes in various parts of the State, the details of which it\nis unnecessary here to repeat. Nearly all of the outrages occur in\nthe more distant and thinly-settled sections of the country; and in\nmost cases the perpetration of crime is followed by the speedy, and\noften the lawless infliction of chastisement.----The celebration of\nthe Fourth of July at San Francisco was marked by the attendance in\nprocession of a large body of Chinese, who bore richly-decorated\nbanners, got up in the style of their own country. The Chinese\ncontinued to arrive in the country in great numbers, nearly four\nthousand having reached San Francisco within a fortnight. The hostility\nof the miners toward them was abating. The arrival of emigrants\nfrom all quarters continued to be very great, 22,000 having landed\nbetween June 1st and July 9th. Difficulties have arisen in the San\nJoaquin district between the American miners and a party of French and\nSpaniards, who were thought to have trespassed upon private rights:\nserious collisions were apprehended at one time, but a better state\nof feeling has been induced. It was currently reported that fresh\nmovements were on foot for the conquest and annexation of Southern\nCalifornia.\n\nIn OREGON, it is stated, valuable coal-mines have been discovered\nnear St. Helens, on the Columbia river. The vein has been opened, and\npromises to be very extensive;--it is about two and a half feet thick,\nand has been traced for half a mile. The coal is remarkably pure. Other\nmines have been discovered in the vicinity, but they have not yet been\nexplored.----The agricultural prospects of the territory were very\ngood. The population is stated at 20,000, and is said to be rapidly\nincreasing. A special session of the Legislature had been called by\nGovernor Gaines for July 29th. The gold mines in the Southern part of\nthe territory continued to yield fair returns. Complaints are made by\nrecently arrived emigrants of ill-treatment received at the hands of\nthe Mormons during their passage through the Salt Lake country.\n\nFrom the extreme NORTH WEST--the British possessions near Lake\nWinnipeg--accounts of very disastrous floods have been received. The\nsettlement established by the Earl of Selkirk in 1812, which had grown\ninto considerable importance as a point from which supplies were\nfurnished to the Fur Companies of that region, and which contained\nabout ten thousand inhabitants, had been nearly destroyed by freshets\nin the Red River of the North, which began on the 5th of May, and\nreached their height about the 20th. Dwellings, crops, and nearly all\nthe products of twenty-five years' labor have been swept away: the\ndamage is estimated at about a million of dollars.\n\n\nSOUTH AMERICA.\n\nFrom the _Argentine Republic_ we have intelligence of fresh political\ndisturbances, indicating at least the temporary failure of the new and\nmoderate system introduced by Urquiza after the defeat and expulsion of\nRosas. The Convention from the several provinces summoned by Urquiza,\nmet at San Nicholas--ten of the thirteen provinces being represented\nby their governors, and adopted a Constitution for the federation. It\nprovided for abolishing the transit duties, and for the assembling of\na Congress at Santa F\u00e9, which was to consist of two delegates from\neach province, to be selected by the popular vote, to be untrammeled\nby instructions, and the minority to conform to the decision of\nthe majority, without dissent or protest. In order to defray the\nnational expenses, the provinces agreed to contribute in proportion\nto the product of their foreign Custom-houses, and that the permanent\nestablishment of the duties shall be fixed by Congress. To secure\nthe internal order and peace of the republic, the provinces engage\nto combine their efforts in preventing open hostilities or putting\ndown armed insurrections, and the better to promote these objects,\nGeneral Urquiza was recognized as General-in-chief of the armies of the\nConfederation, with the title of Provisional Director of the Argentine\nConfederation. In the Chambers of Buenos Ayres, very warm opposition\nwas manifested to this Convention: bitter and violent debates took\nplace, and the popular clamor became so high that the Governor Lopez\nresigned his office; whereupon General Urquiza dissolved the Chambers,\nand took the supreme power into his own hands. In a communication sent\nby his order to the British Charg\u00e9, he states that the anarchy into\nwhich the province was thrown, compelled him to take this step, and\ndeclares that he shall not extend the authority with which he is vested\nbeyond the time and the measures necessary for the re-establishment of\norder in the province. He also issued a brief address to the Governors\nof the provinces of the Confederation, declaring that he should use\nthe power they had conferred upon him in rendering effective the\nsovereign will of the nation, in repelling foreign aggressions, and\nin restraining the machinations of those who might seek to awaken the\npassions which had so often brought disaster upon them. He promised\nthat, with their assistance, the Argentine people should be presented\nbefore the world constituted, organized, and happy. \"My political\nprogramme,\" he adds, \"which is founded on the principles of order,\nfraternity, and oblivion of all the past--and all the acts of my\npublic life, are the guarantee that I give you of the promise which\nI have just made, and, with it you may rest assured, that when the\nNational Congress has sanctioned the Constitution of the State, and the\nconfederated communities have entered into the constitutional path,\nI will deliver up to it the deposit you have confided to me, with a\ntranquil conscience, and without fearing the verdict of public opinion,\nor the judgment of posterity.\" After the dissolution of the Chambers\nthere were some symptoms of rebellion, but this proclamation restored\norder, and was well received. He ordered all the printing offices to\nbe closed for a few days, and banished five of the leading opposition\nrepresentatives from the country. The provisional government had been\ntemporarily reinstalled: and in this position affairs were awaiting the\nmeeting of Congress, which was to take place in August.----In _Brazil_,\nimportant steps have been taken toward commencing works of internal\nimprovement. A company has been empowered to construct railways from\nRio Janeiro to several towns in the interior, and an agreement is in\nprogress between the Imperial Government and a private company for the\nregular navigation, by steamboats, of the Amazon. The public revenue of\nBrazil continued to increase. A project for granting government credit\nto aid in purchasing steamers to cruise against African slave-traders,\nwas under discussion in the Chambers, with a fair prospect of its\npassage.----From _Ecuador_, we learn that the expedition planned\nand led by General Flores against Guyaquil, has been defeated and\ndispersed. The troops comprising it, consisting of Chilians and\nAmericans, and numbering about nine hundred, deserted Flores, and went\nover to General Urbina, the President of Ecuador, to whom the six\nvessels of the expedition were also given up. General Flores himself\nescaped to Tumbez. From the partial narrative of an officer engaged\nin the expedition, which is the only account of it yet published, the\narmy of Flores seems to have been singularly deficient in energy,\ndiscretion, and valor. One of the vessels was blown up on the 3d of\nJuly, by the discharge of a pistol by one of the men, who were drunk\nin the cabin: about thirty lives were lost by this casualty.----In\n_Chili_, Congress was in session at our latest date, July 1st. Bills\nwere under discussion to levy a direct tax on all property in cities\nand towns for municipal purposes: subjecting all schools to the control\nof the parish priests; and providing for the maintenance of the clergy.\nThe telegraph from Valparaiso to Lima was in operation, and another\nline was projected to Copiapo--which is at the head of the province\nwhose silver deposits have yielded so abundantly of late: it is said\nthat the export from that province for the year will amount to six\nmillions of dollars. Coal, said to be very little inferior to the best\nEnglish coal, is found at Talcahuana. Labor and the necessaries of life\nwere very high at Valparaiso.----From _Montevideo_, accounts to the 5th\nof June, state that the ratification of the Brazilian treaties puts an\nend to all fear of another foreign war. The principal clauses of the\nConvention agreed upon are the abandonment of the line of frontier\nwhich the treaties of October, 1851, conceded to Brazil, and the\ncession of the right of free navigation on Lake Merim to the Oriental\nflag.\n\n\nMEXICO.\n\nThe Mexican Republic is again agitated by threatening insurrections in\nvarious quarters, which the central government finds itself powerless\nto quell. In Mazatlan and Guadalajara strong bodies of insurgents,\nsupported by the National Guard, have maintained themselves against the\ngovernment, which opposes them by decrees and commercial regulations\ninstead of troops. Upon the frontier the ravages of the Indians\ncontinue to be most destructive. The government has invited proposals\nfor the construction of a road across the isthmus of Tehuantepec, and\nseems determined to resist the demands of the United States for the\nrecognition of the Garay grant. The Mexican papers contain copious\naccounts of local disturbances and insurrections, the details of\nwhich it is needless here to repeat. The condition of the country is\ndifficult and precarious in the extreme. Rumors have been circulated of\nendeavors to secure the intervention of England and France, in order to\ngive greater strength and stability to the government, and enable it to\nresist encroachments constantly apprehended from the United States: but\nthere is no reason to believe they have as yet proved successful.\n\n\nCUBA.\n\nThe colonial government of Cuba has discovered new and formidable\nconspiracies against the Spanish authority in that island, and has\nmade numerous arrests of suspected parties. During the months of June\nand July several numbers were clandestinely published and widely\ncirculated, of a paper called _The Voice of the People_, the object\nof which was to arouse the Cubans to resistance of the Spanish rule.\nFor some time the efforts of the authorities to detect its editors, or\nthe place of its publication, were ineffectual: but both were finally\nbetrayed by parties who had become acquainted with them. The principal\neditor, however, had previously escaped to the United States. Nearly\nall engaged upon it, so far as known, were either native Cubans or\nSpaniards. The cholera was very prevalent and destructive at Havana, at\nour latest dates.\n\n\nGREAT BRITAIN.\n\nParliament has been still farther prorogued until the 18th of October,\nwhen, it is announced, it will positively meet for the dispatch of\nbusiness. With the close of the elections, political discussion\nseems to have been for the time suspended. There is great difficulty\nin deciding upon the party complexion of the new House of Commons,\nowing to the mixed character of the contest. The most disinterested\nauthorities, however, seem to warrant the belief that of the whole\nnumber of seats (658), 314 are filled by Ministerialists, 25 by Free\nTrade Conservatives, 186 by Whigs proper, 53 by Radical reformers, 57\nIrish members, and 13 Independents, while there are 10 vacancies. Upon\nthe question of Protection, the Ministry seems to be in a hopeless\nminority; while upon other subjects, their majority is not large enough\nto be very reliable.----The Queen left London on the 9th of August,\nfor Belgium: she returned on the 17th.----The dispute with the United\nStates concerning the Fisheries, has engrossed a good deal of public\ndiscussion in England--the greatest variety of views, of course,\nprevailing. The general current of opinion seemed to be, that, although\na strict construction of treaties would sustain the course pursued\nby the English government, yet the fact that the rights claimed had\nlain in abeyance for many years, required a more considerate course\nof proceeding, and some longer notice of an intended change to the\nAmerican parties interested. The latest advices represent that a mutual\nunderstanding had been had, which would obviate all present difficulty,\nand lead to the peaceful adjustment of the dispute. As to its basis\nor general tenor we have no intelligence sufficiently authentic to\nwarrant publication here.----Kossuth had reached London, where he was\nliving in privacy. The English government is reported to have given\nAustria satisfactory assurances that all due measures of precaution\nwould be taken to prevent his presence in England from disturbing the\nfriendly relations of the two countries.----News of fresh defeats\ncontinues to arrive from the Cape of Good Hope. The natives not only\nkeep the military at bay, but have in several instances acted with\nsuccess on the offensive.----Emigration to Australia is still on the\nincrease. No fewer than 117 ships and vessels were entered outwards\nin Great Britain at one time, of which 73 were loading at London\nalone.----Active measures were in progress for enrolments under the new\nMilitia Act.----The first column of the new Crystal Palace was erected\nat Sydenham on the 5th of August, with becoming ceremonies. A large\ncompany was present, and speeches were made by several distinguished\npersons.\n\n\nTHE CONTINENT.\n\nSince the adjournment of the Legislative Assembly, events in FRANCE\nhave had less than usual interest. The President left Paris on\nthe 17th of July, to celebrate the opening of the railway between\nParis and Strasbourg, which is now completed. He was received with\neclat, reviewed the troops, and went to Baden-Baden, his main object\nbeing, according to rumor, to arrange for a matrimonial alliance\nwith a daughter of Prince Gustave de Vasa. He returned to Paris on\nthe 24th, where he had a military reception, generally described as\nlacking enthusiasm.----A change has been made in the Ministry by the\nappointment of M. Achille Fould, Minister of State, in place of M.\nCasabianca. M. de Cormenin, the well known pamphleteer, M. Giraud, and\nM. Persil have also become Members of the Council of State, in place\nof Maillard, Cornudet, and Reverchon, resigned.----M. Odillon Barrot,\ndeclines to be a candidate for the Assembly, asking, in his letter,\nwhat he can have to do with public affairs, \"now that on the ruins\nof the constitutional and Parliamentary Government of his country,\nthe most absolute power that exists in the world is establishing\nitself, not as a transient or a casual dictatorship but as a permanent\nGovernment, when the mendacious forms of universal suffrage and popular\nelection serve only to secure the return of candidates designated by\nthe Administration, and have only been preserved to give a false air\nof liberty to the sad and humiliating reality of despotism.\"----A\ndecree has been issued authorizing to return immediately to France\nthe ex-representatives Creton, Duvergier, Thiers, Chambolle, Remusat,\nLasteyrie, Laidet, and Thouret. Another decree removes the interdiction\nof January 10, to reside in France, against Renaud, Signard, Joly,\nTheodore Bac, Belin, Besse, Milloste, ex-representatives of the\nMountain.----The municipal elections that have recently been held are\nmarked by the failure of voters to attend the polls. Upon an average\nnot one-fourth of the legal ballots have been cast; and this proves to\nbe the case in those departments where a second election was ordered\nexpressly to supply the defect in the first. This very general absence\nfrom the polls is noted as a significant indication of the little\ninterest felt in the new government by the mass of the people.----The\nLondon Chronicle has published the text of a treaty alleged to have\nbeen signed on the 20th of May, by the sovereigns of Austria, Russia,\nand Prussia, in regard to the present and prospective condition\nof the French government. The contracting parties declared that,\nalthough they would respect the rule of Louis Napoleon as a temporary\ngovernment, they would not recognize any French dynasty except the\nHouse of Bourbon, and that they would reserve to themselves, in case of\nopportunity, the right to aid the restoration of the representative of\nthe elder branch of that family. The authenticity of the document has\nbeen generally discredited, and, indeed, denied by Austrian official\njournals.----Addresses have been freely circulated throughout France\nurging the President to restore the Empire. They are issued under\nthe special direction of the authorities of the departments, who are\nappointed by the President; and yet it is represented that they are by\nno means numerously signed, and that but a small proportion of them are\ndecidedly and frankly Imperialist.----The 15th of August, Napoleon's\nbirthday, was signalized by _f\u00eates_ of extraordinary magnitude and\nsplendor. The most elaborate and protracted preparations had been made\nfor it; thousands and tens of thousands came in from all sections\nof the country to witness the display; and the occasion was one of\nunwonted brilliancy and splendor. Grand exhibitions of the military,\nfireworks, scenes and shows skillfully calculated to recall the memory\nand the glory of Napoleon, and a great ball at St. Cloud signalized\nthe occasion. The people of Paris had been invited by official\nproclamation to illuminate their houses; but the noticeably sparse\ncompliance with the request is remarked as more truly indicative of the\nsentiments of the people, than the elaborate exhibitions arranged by\nthe government.----The anniversary of the taking of the Bastile on the\n14th of July, an occasion often commemorated by assembled thousands,\nand with great eclat, was celebrated this year by the deposit of a\nsingle crown on the railings of the column, performed by a lady;\nthe symbol was instantly removed, and the lady and her husband were\narrested.----Marshal Excelmans, a soldier of the Empire, specially\nattached to Murat, and a witness of the disaster of Waterloo, was\nkilled in Paris by a fall from his horse, on the 21st of July. His\nfuneral was numerously attended. Count D'Orsay, noted in the circles of\nfashion, and distinguished also for literary and artistic abilities,\ndied on the 4th of August.\n\nFrom ITALY there is little intelligence beyond that of a system of\nwholesale arrests of suspected persons. At Venice, Mantua, and other\ncities, great numbers of influential persons have been thrown into\nprison, mainly in the hope, as is believed, that they may be induced or\nforced to reveal suspected conspiracies. Warm disputes have occurred at\nRome between the French and Roman soldiers. The mother of Mazzini died\nof apoplexy, at Genoa, on the 9th of August; her funeral was attended\nby a very large concourse of people.----In Piedmont the Government\nhas resolved to resist and punish the abuse of the right of petition\nagainst the marriage bill, which, it is alleged, is made the pretext\nfor agitating the country. Several instances of severity toward the\npress have occurred.----In Naples, Mr. Hamilton, an English Protestant,\nrelying on an article in the treaty of 1845, set up a school in 1848,\nfor the education of Swiss and English children. By degrees, Government\ninfluence was used to drive away his pupils. The Police have now\nforcibly closed the school. Sir William Temple was informed of the\nact, but it is not known what course the British Government will pursue.\n\nIn AUSTRIA the most marked event of the month was the Emperor's return\nto Vienna, after his tour through Hungary, where he is represented\nto have been received with the general enthusiasm of the people. The\nliberal papers allege that much of the cordiality with which he was\ngreeted in the Hungarian portion of his dominions, was prearranged,\nand that the real sentiments of the people were in no wise indicated\nby it. He reached Vienna on the 14th of August, and had a magnificent\nreception. He was to leave on the 16th for Ischl.----The budget for the\nyear shows a deficit of over fifty-five millions of florins.\n\nIn SWITZERLAND nothing of special interest has occurred. The National\nCouncil, after three days' debate, has rejected a petition presented by\nconservatives of the Canton of Fribourg, praying for an alteration of\nthe Cantonal Constitution, by a vote of 79 to 18. It was regarded as\nan attempt to renew the troubles of the Sonderbund, under the guise of\nreforming the Constitution. At the same sitting, on the 5th of August,\nthe Council decided upon remitting to the Cantons the remainder of the\ndebt created by the troubles of 1847. The money is to be applied to the\ncompletion of certain scholastic institutions, or to the extinction of\npauperism, or to the construction of railways, common roads and canals,\nsubject to the approbation of the Federal Executive. It is stated that\nthe Prussian Minister at the Helvetic confederation, has formally\ndemanded the re-establishment of the ancient political relations with\nPrussia in the Canton of Neufchatel. The Grand Council of that Canton,\non the 30th of July, decreed the suppression of a society of the\npartisans of Prussia by 69 votes to 11.\n\nFrom BELGIUM intelligence has been received that a convention has\nbeen concluded between the Belgian and Dutch governments for the\namalgamation of the railways of the two countries. The great trunk line\nbeginning at Antwerp will be continued to Rotterdam, and so be put\ninto communication with the whole of the Netherlands. It is stated,\nupon good authority, that the Bavarian government has engaged to pay\n1,400,000 florins to the administration of the Palatinate Railway,\non condition that the latter shall undertake to execute the works on\nthe line from Ludwigshafen to Wissemburg speedily. This is the point\nto which the Strasburg Railway is to be continued beyond the French\nfrontier.----A change has occurred in the Belgian Ministry. The\ncommercial regulations between France and Belgium are placed under the\n_r\u00e9gime_ of the common law, the treaty of 1845 not having been renewed.\n\nFrom TURKEY we learn that Mr. MARSH, the American Minister, left\nConstantinople on the 30th of July for Athens, whither he goes to\ninvestigate the circumstances attending the arrest and imprisonment\nof the American missionary, Dr. KING. Previous to leaving he had an\naudience with the Sultan.----Numerous and very destructive fires have\nrecently occurred in Constantinople--two or three thousand houses\nhaving been burned.----Fresh and interesting discoveries are said to\nhave been made at Nineveh by M. Place, the French Consul at Mosul; he\nis said to have found a series of paintings upon marble in vermillion\nand marine blue.----Steam navigation has lately increased greatly\nat Constantinople. More than twenty steamers now ply daily in the\nBosphorus and the Sea of Marmora. It is said that a Russian company is\nabout to be formed, which will have twenty vessels to run in opposition\nto these now established.\n\n\n\n\nEditor's Table.\n\n\nThe Sabbath presents the most purely religious, and, at the same time,\nthe least sectarian of all moral questions. It has, however, been\ngenerally regarded under two aspects, and defended on two distinct if\nnot opposing grounds. One of these may be called the Scriptural or\ntheological, the other the physical or secular. One class of advocates\nwould lay the greatest stress on its divine appointment, the other\nupon its worldly advantages. One would magnify its ecclesiastical, the\nother its political and social importance. Without entering at length\nupon either of these arguments, in our present editorial musings, it is\nenough for us to state that those who would defend it as a permanent\ndivine institution, rely mainly on the remarkable passage in Genesis\nannouncing the divine rest from creation, and the sanctification of the\nseventh period of time, the Fourth Commandment as confirmatory of the\nsame, and the early and continued example of the primitive Christian\nchurch, as evidence of a divinely-authorized change from the seventh\nday of the Jewish calendar to that on which Christ rose from the dead.\n\nThe other argument, which may be denominated the physical or secular,\nis a great favorite with writers and speakers of a certain class, who\nwould be thought to be friends of the observance of the Sabbath, and\nall moral institutions connected with it, and yet would prefer to\nadvocate them on grounds less strictly religious. These dwell much on\nthe physical advantages of a day of rest. They enter into calculations\nrespecting the maximum time of human and animal exertion, and the\nminimum period of relaxation required to counterbalance its effects\nupon the physical system. It is with them mainly a problem of political\neconomy,--a question of production,--of prices,--of the increase or\ndiminution of individual or national wealth. In these respects the\nvalue of the Sabbath is carefully measured by statistical tables.\nFigures \"which can not lie\" prove it to be a very useful institution,\nand the divine wisdom is greatly lauded in the contrivance of such\nan admirable means for preserving a healthful equilibrium in the\nindustrial and business world.\n\nWe would, however, by no means speak slightingly of such supposed ends,\nor of such an argument in support of them. \"Does God take care for\noxen?\" The language of the Apostle is not an ironical negative, as some\nmight suppose, but an _a fortiori_ argument to show his higher care for\nman, and above all, for man's spiritual well-being. We may rationally\nsuppose that higher purposes are harmoniously conjoined with lower in\nthe divine mind. It is not unworthy of the author of the universe to\nhave established such a harmony between the physical and the spiritual\nworlds. The Bible plainly speaks of things which \"have the promise\nboth of this life and of that which is to come,\" and among these the\nright observance of the Sabbath would doubtless hold a distinguished\nplace. It is the great connecting bond between the political and the\nreligious, between social virtue and the individual devoutness, between\nthe kingdom of nature and the kingdom of grace,--in short, between\nall secular and all spiritual moralities. We can not well conceive of\neither squalid poverty or debasing vice in a community distinguished\nfor its intelligent reverence of the Sabbath. Such reverence, however,\ncould not well exist or long be maintained, where the secular\nutilities, true and valuable as they may be, are the only or even\nthe chief motives appealed to. The temporal loses not only its moral\nexcellence, but its power even for temporal good, when wholly severed\nfrom the spiritual.\n\nNeither is there sufficient support for sabbatical institutions\nin the merely merciful idea of bodily relaxation. We are still in\nthe region of secular benevolence, and without some influence from\na higher world of motive and feeling, the sacred idea of _rest_\nwill inevitably degenerate, and give place to its demoralizing\ncounterfeits--idleness--dissipation--and vice. Thus could it be\nshown, that even for the best secular ends, a Sabbath divested of the\nreligious element would be far worse that unintermitted labor.\n\nBut we would hasten to another and a third view, which may be\ncharacterized as being more catholic, or rather less sectarian, than\nthe first, and, at the same time, more spiritual, or less secular,\nthan the second. To firm believers in the positive divine institution\nof the Sabbath (among whom we have no hesitation in avowing ourselves)\nthe merely worldly argument would appear, sometimes, to betray, rather\nthan support, the very cause it professes to advocate. On the other\nhand, there are, doubtless, many inquiring minds to whom the Scriptural\nargument seems more or less defective, but who would, nevertheless,\naccept a more elevated and more religious view than the one we have\ndenominated the physical or the secular. There are good men, very good\nmen, and honest believers, too, in the written revelation, who have a\nprejudice against any thing positively outward and ritual in religion,\non the ground of its savoring too much of what they deem the obsolete\nJewish economy. There are others who do not so accept the plenary\ninspiration of the Scriptures, that they would regard as conclusive any\nmerely exegetical or traditionary argument. There are those, again, who\nwholly reject the authority of the commonly-received revelation. There\nare men who go farther than this--pantheists,--scientific theists,\nwho recognize only an impersonal Power and Wisdom--men on the very\nverge of atheism, and some beyond all limits that the most tender\ncharity can regard as separating us from that doleful region. And yet\namong them all--may we not say it without giving just offense to the\nstrictest believer--among them all there may be sober men, thinking\nmen, deeply serious men, for whom it is possible, and, if possible,\nmost desirable, to frame an argument for a Sabbath that may steer clear\nof the apparent difficulties in the one view, and the really lowering\nand unspiritualizing tendency of the other.\n\nLet those, then, who feel strong in that position, ground their\nreverence for the Sabbath in a positively revealed divine appointment.\nAmong them would we class ourselves, even while endeavoring so to\nwiden the platform as to embrace as many others as possible. Let\nthose, again, who can take no higher view than that derived from its\nphysical benefits, hold fast to such a faith. Frail as the plank may\nseem, it may deliver them from the shipwreck of total unbelief. The\nview indeed is a low one, and yet, if honestly held, may conduct the\nmind to a higher estimate. It is something,--it is much,--to believe\ntruly that in the physical arrangements of the world, God has shown\nthis kind care for our material well-being. If the soul is not utterly\nburied in earthliness, the thought of such a concern for the body must\n_tend_, at least, to the higher idea of a still higher concern for the\nblessedness of our spiritual nature.\n\nNow it is in this thought we find that third view of the Sabbath\nwhich must have an interest, we would charitably hope, for all the\nclasses that have been mentioned. Many believe that we need a day for\nspecial religious _worship_; others hold to the necessity of a day\nof _bodily rest_. But do we not all--whatever may be our creed, our\nbelief or our unbelief--need a day, an oft-recurring day, of _serious\nthought_? Whatever may be our faith, or want of faith, every man who\nhas not wholly sunk down into the mere animal nature, needs periods,\noft-recurring and stated periods, in which he shall yield his whole\nsoul to the questions--- _What_ am I? _Where_ am I? _Whence_ came I?\n_Why_ am I here? _What_ have I to do? _How_ am I doing it? _Whither_\nam I going? The tremendous interest of these questions is not to be\nmeasured by the excess or deficiency of our creeds, unless it be\nthat the very lack of belief invests them with a more immeasurable\nimportance, or that each presents a more serious problem for serious\nminds, until we come down to that \"horror of great darkness,\" the death\nof all faith in a supernatural or truly spiritual world.\n\nTake the man who calls himself the liberal or free-thinking Christian.\nWe have no objection to the title, or want of charity toward him who\nassumes it. He needs a Sabbath for intense thought, not so much on\nthe argumentative evidence of particular dogmas, as on the great yet\nsimple questions, whether the liberality of his opinions, and the few\ndifficulties they present to his own mind, may not be evidence of their\nhaving no foundation in any wide system of eternal truth,--whether\na religious creed that has no profound awe for the soul, no fearful\napprehensions, no deep moral anxieties, no absorbing interest in a life\nto come, does not, from the very fact of such deficiency, prove itself\na contradiction and a lie. So too the man who is but beginning to doubt\nthe full inspiration of the Scriptures needs a period of most earnest\nmeditation on the risk he may be running of giving up an only guide,\nwhose place can never be made good by any thing in nature, philosophy,\nor science. The professed infidel needs a Sabbath, an oft-recurring\nSabbath, of serious thought on that question of questions--Has God\nindeed ever spoken to man, or spoken at all, except through physical\nlaws?--Has the awful stillness of nature been ever broken by a true\nvoice from a true supernatural world?--And the atheist, too,--has he\nno need of a Sabbath, a frequent day of thought and thoughtfulness, in\nwhich he may call up and spread before his mind, in all their fearful\nimportance, the sombre articles of his own dark creed? For creed\nindeed he has, unsurpassed in solemnity by that of any religionist.\nIt has been quite common to deny the possibility of atheism, but the\nhistory of the world and of the church is showing that it is the\nonly legitimate antagonism to a true belief in positive revelation.\nThe shallow sciolist may not perceive it, and yet this is the dark\nconclusion in which some of his favorite speculations must inevitably\nterminate. There is no man, therefore, who has a stronger demand upon\nour most tender charity than the atheist. No belief presents greater\ndifficulties, and yet there is no one to which the thinking mind is\nmore strongly impelled, when it has once learned to distrust the lamp\nof revelation, and to see only shadows and spectres in that \"_light\nshining in a dark place_, and to which we do well to take heed, until\nthe day dawn and the eternal day star arise in our souls.\"\n\nNo man, then, we repeat it, stands more in want of a Sabbath than\nthe atheist. No man has greater need of some such seasons in which\nhe may perhaps find a cure for his dreadful spiritual blindness by\ngiving himself up to all the terrific consequences of his gloomy\ncreed. Let him devote one day in seven to the sober contemplation of a\nuniverse without a God, without a providence, without prayer, without\na moral government,--religion, reverence, and worship forever dead and\ngone,--buried with them in their graves all that was most touching\nin poetry, beautiful in art, elevating in science, or sublime in\nphilosophy,--all moral distinctions perished, of course, except those\nbase counterfeits which resolve themselves into the pursuit of physical\npleasure, or the avoidance of physical pain. Let him think of worlds\non worlds teeming with life, yet all surrendered to the wheels of a\nblind and inexorable nature crushing on eternally with her mindless\nlaws,--revolving in her slow but endlessly-recurring cycles,--making\nevery seeming advance but the forerunner of the direst catastrophes\nof ruin,--or else in an apparent endless progression ever sacrificing\nindividual parts and individual personalities to soulless wholes,\nyet furnishing to our philosophy no satisfactory ground on which to\ndecide the question, whether the eternal drama in its most universal\nestimate is any more likely to be one of happiness than of intense and\nhopeless misery. Let the atheist, and the unbeliever who is on the\nroad to atheism, fix his mind on thoughts like these until he begins\nto have some conception of what it is to be \"without God and without\nhope in the world.\" Let him dwell on this sad orphanage, until in the\nintolerable loneliness of his spirit he is driven for shelter to the\nidea of a personal law-making, law-executing Deity, and is forced to\nadmit that no doctrine of moral retribution, however stern, no creed,\neven of the most gloomy and fanatical religionist, ever presented so\nmany difficulties as a rejection of those ideas on which all religion\nis founded.\n\nAgain, we need seasons of thought and thoughtfulness, not only on\nthe ground that they are rational and demanded by the dignity of our\nrational nature, but because, moreover, they constitute the _true\nrest_ of the soul. It is a gross and pernicious error that would\nmake the idea of rest, especially spiritual rest, the same with\nthat of indolence and passivity. It is as false as it would be in\nphysics to confound rest with inertia. The former is the opposite\nof motion simply, the latter the negation of strength and force.\nRest is equilibrium, a duality of forces;--indolence the loss of the\nsoul's balance, and the consequent prostration of its power. Rest\nis refreshing; renewing, strengthening, recuperative;--indolence\nthe generator of a greater and still greater lassitude. Rest is a\npositive,--indolence a negative state. Rest is resistance (_re-sto_),\nrecovery, internal energy,--indolence a base and effeminate yielding,\never followed by a loss of spiritual vitality.\n\nIt is in the light of such a contrast we see how very different a thing\nis this true rest of the soul from that dissipation, or vacancy of all\nthought, with which some would confound it. Else it would not be held\nout to us, in the Scriptures, as the peculiar bliss, or blessedness,\nof the heavenly world. The idea this sweet and holy word presents to\nthe contemplative mind is, indeed, the opposite of a busy, bustling,\n_restless_ progress, the highest conception of which is an ever lasting\nmovement of the intellect adding fact to fact, each as unsatisfactory\nas the preceding, and never bringing the soul nearer to any perfect\nquietude; but then, on the other hand, it is not the vacant passivity\nof which the transcendental Buddhist dreams, any more than the indolent\nlassitude of the Epicurean paradise. It is a contemplative energy,\nfinding repose in itself, and deriving sustaining strength from its\ncalm upward gaze upon the highest and most invigorating truth. In such\nan _upward_ rather than _onward_ movement is found the proper end and\nhighest value of the Christian Sabbath.\n\n    Suave tempus consecratum\n        Spiritus ad requiem.\n\nIt is the nature of this elevated communion to strengthen instead of\nwearying the soul, and hence to impart to it a new energy for the\nperformance of the duties of life.\n\nWe would confidently test the truth of these positions by an appeal\nto practical experience. There is exhibited now and then, a vast deal\nof sentimental philanthropy in decrying what are called the religious\nabuses of the Sabbath. It proceeds generally from those who would\nconfine themselves to the physical or purely secular view. Great\nstress is laid on mere bodily relaxation. Utter vacancy, too, of mind,\nor what is worse, mere pleasure-seeking is held forth as the source\nof refreshment from past labors, and of recovered strength for those\nto come. The toil-worn mechanic is invited to the place of popular\namusement, or to convey himself and his family to some scene of rural\nenchantment and festivity. We are pointed for appropriate examples to\nthe parks of London, and the boulevards of Paris. The Sabbath, they\nsay, is a noble institution; but then there should be great care to\nguard against the perversions of Pharisaic or Puritanical bigotry. It\nmay be well to give a part of the day to the services of religion;\nbut then, the purest religion consists in admiring God's works in the\nnatural world; and the poor laborer who can take his wife and children\non a ride to Bloomingdale, or indulges them with a walk in the Elysian\nFields, is performing a more acceptable service than he who makes\nthe Sabbath a weariness by confining himself to his own dwelling, or\nspending any considerable part of it within the still more gloomy walls\nof some religious conventicle.\n\nWe would not impeach the motives or the philanthropy of those who talk\nin this style. Doubtless they are sincere; for there is certainly\nan extreme plausibility in such a view of the matter, especially as\nrespects that class who have no other day of relaxation. There are\nparts of the picture, too, to which the sternest Sabbatarian would take\nno objection, if in any way they could be practically separated from\nthe rest. Pure air is certainly favorable, not only to the physical,\nbut to the moral health. The observation of nature, to say the least,\nis not opposed to devotion, although it requires some previous devotion\nto make that observation what it ought to be, or to prevent its being\nconsistent with the most profane and godless state of the mind and\nheart. Where these can be enjoyed without danger of perverted example,\nor other evils, which, in respect to our crowded city population are\nalmost inseparable from such indulgence, he must be a bigot indeed who\nwould deny them to the poor, or regard them as a desecration of the\nSabbath.\n\nBut there is another side to this picture, and other truths having a\nbearing upon the argument, in support of which we might let go all\na priori reasoning, and appeal directly to facts of observation. We\nwill not take an extreme case, or rather, what is well known to be\na common case with the Sabbath haunters of Hoboken and other rural\npurlieus. We will not take the intemperate, the gambling, or the\ndebauched. Let two sober and industrious families be selected from\nthe ranks of the laboring poor. One man devotes the day to pleasant\nrural excursions with his wife and children. We would not pass upon\nhim a sanctimonious censure, although we might doubt the philosophy as\nwell as the piety of his course. He has abstained from intoxicating\ndrinks, from the lower sensual indulgences, from profane and vicious\ncompany. But he has sought simply relaxation for the body, and the\nnegative pleasure of vacancy or of passive musing for the mind. The\nother pater-familias would, indeed, desire pure air for himself and\nlittle ones, purer air than can be obtained in the confined and\npopulous street, and under other circumstances he would, doubtless,\nfreely indulge in such a luxury; but then he knows there is a higher\natmosphere still--a spiritual atmosphere--and that this, above all\nothers, is the day in which he is to breathe its purity, and inhale\na new inspiration from its invigorating life. He kneels with his\nchildren around the morning household altar--he goes with them to\nthe Sabbath-school and to church--the remainder of the day is spent\nin devotion or meditation--and the evening, perhaps, is given to the\nsocial prayer-meeting. Oh, the gloomy drudgery! some would be ready to\nexclaim. We would not deny that there might be excess even here; but\ncan we hesitate in deciding which of these two families will proceed\nto their weekly toil on Monday morning with more invigoration of\nspirit--ay, and of body, too, derived from the soul's refreshment? To\nwhich has the day been the truest _Sabbath_, the most real _test_? In\ndeciding this question, we need only advert to our former analysis.\nThere has been, in the one case, an utter mistaking of the true idea\nof rest. Experience has shown, and ever will show, that all mere\npleasure-seeking, for its own sake, all vacancy or passivity of soul,\never exhausts, ever dissipates, and, in the end, renders both mind and\nbody less fitted for the rugged duties of life than continued labor\nitself. In the train of these evils come also satiety, disappointment,\na sense of personal degradation that no philosophy can wholly separate\nfrom idle enjoyment; and all these combined produce that aversion to\nregular labor, which is so often to be observed as the result of an\nill-spent Sabbath. The body, it is true, belonging as it does wholly to\nthe world of material nature, needs the repose of passivity; but the\nspirit can never indulge itself long in conscious indolence without\nrisking the loss of spiritual power as well as moral dignity. Its true\nrest--we can not too often repeat it--is not the rest of _inertia_,\nbut that which comes from an intercommuning with a higher world of\nthought and a higher sphere of spiritual life. This it finds in those\ngreat truths Christianity has brought down to us, and by the weekly\nexhibition of which, more than any thing else, our modern world is\ndistinguished from the ancient.\n\nThe picture we have presented of the Sabbath-keeping laborer is no rare\nor fancy sketch. The socialist, indeed, ignores his existence. Such\nwriters as Fourier, and Prudhom, and Louis Blanc, and Victor Hugo, and\nMartineau, know nothing about him. They see, and are determined to see,\nin the condition of the poor only a physical degradation, from which\ntheir own earthy and earthly-minded philosophy can alone relieve him.\nNothing is more wholly inconceivable to a philanthropist of this class\nthan what Chalmers styles \"the charm of intercourse\" with the lowly\npious, or the moral sublime of that character--_the Christian poor\nman_. And yet it is neither rare nor strange. We make bold to affirm\nthat it may be realized in almost every church in our city.\n\nIn this thought, too, do we find the surest test of all true social\nreforms. A dislike of the Sabbath, and especially of its religious\nobservance, is an indication of their character that can not be\nmistaken. It is the Ithuriel's spear to detect every species of\nspurious philanthropy. We would not impeach the benevolent sincerity\nof these warm advocates of socialism. We would commend their zeal to\nthe imitation of our Christian churches. But still it is for us a\nsufficient objection to the phalanx and the social commune that _they\nknow no Sabbath_. Periods of festivity and relaxation they acknowledge,\nbut no fixed days of holy spiritual rest, of serious thought, of\nsoul-expanding and soul-invigorating meditation on the great things of\nanother life. Radical as they boast to be, they present no recognition\nof that most radical truth, the ground of all real reforms, and so full\nof encouragement to the real reformer, that physical depression can not\npossibly continue for any length of time where there has been a true\nspiritual elevation--or, in other words, that this world can only be\nlifted from its sunken, miry social degradation by keeping strong and\nfirmly fastened every chain that binds it to the world above.\n\nTo these ends it is not enough that each one should determine for\nhimself the portion and proportion of his own Sabbatical times. \"Six\ndays shalt thou labor; but the seventh is the Sabbath of the Lord.\"\nWe urge it not as Scriptural proof--which would be contrary to the\nleading design and method of our argument--but as illustrative of the\nimportance of one recurring period for all, and of the benefits to be\nderived from a community of act and feeling in its observance. We need\nall the strength that can come from a common prejudice, if any should\nchoose so to call it, in favor of certain stated and well-known times.\nIn distinction from the profanity that would utterly deny a Sabbath,\nthere is a false hyper-spiritualism that would make all seasons, all\nplaces, and all acts, alike _holy_--or, in its sentimental cant, every\nday a Sabbath, every work a worship, and every feeling a prayer. Now,\nbesides destroying the radical sense of the word _holy_, this is in\nopposition alike to Scripture and to human experience. Both teach\nus that there must be (at least in our present state) alternations\nof the holy and the common, the spiritual and the worldly, and that\neach interest is periled, as well by their false fusion, as by that\ndestruction of the true analogy which would cause the one to be out\nof all proportion to the other. A stated period, too, is required to\ngive intensity to thought and warmth to devotion. The greatest pleasure\nof a truly devout mind, is in the idea of contemporary communion with\nothers, and nothing is more repugnant to it than a proud reliance upon\nits own individual spirituality.\n\nTo give the day, then, all its rightful power over the soul, there\nis needed that hallowed character which can only come from what may\nbe called a sacred conventionality. Every one who has been brought\nup in a religious community must feel the force of this, even if he\ndoes not understand its philosophy. In consequence of it, the Sabbath\nseems to differ, physically, as well as morally, from all other days.\nIn its deep religiousness every thing puts on a changed appearance.\nNature reposes in the embrace of a heavenly quietude. There seems to\nbe a different air, a different sky; the clouds are more serene; the\nsun shines with a more placid glory. There is a holiness in the trees,\nin the waters, in the everlasting hills, such as the mind associates\nwith no other period. Thousands have felt it, but never was it better\ndescribed than in the lines of Leyden:\n\n    With silent awe I hail the sacred morn,\n    That scarcely wakes while all the fields are still;\n    A soothing calm on every breeze is borne,\n    A graver murmur echoes from the hill,\n    And softer sings the linnet from the thorn,\n    The sky-lark warbles in a tone less shrill--\n    Hail light serene! hail sacred Sabbath morn!\n\nOr in those verses of Graham, which, if an imitation, are certainly an\nimprovement--especially in the moral conception which forms the close\nof his entrancing picture:\n\n    Calmness seems throned on yon unmoving cloud,\n    The black-bird's note comes mellower from the dale;\n    And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark\n    Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook\n    Murmurs more gently down the deep-sunk glen;\n    While from yon lowly roof whose curling smoke\n    O'ermounts the mist, is heard at intervals\n    The voice of psalms, the simple song of praise.\n\n\n\n\nEditor's Easy Chair.\n\nAN OLD GENTLEMAN'S LETTER.\n\nTHE STORY OF \"THE BRIDE OF LANDECK.\"\n\n\nThe small town of Landeck, in the Vorarlberg, is surrounded by\nmountains, which take exceedingly picturesque forms from their peculiar\ngeological structure. I can not stop in my tale to enter into any\ndetails regarding the geology of the country; but I remember once\ntalking to Buckland about it, when I met him with Professor Sedgwick\nat the English Cambridge, some two or three-and-twenty years ago.\nPoor Buckland has, I hear, since fallen into indifferent health; but\nat the period I speak of he was full of life and energy, and one of\nthe most entertaining men I ever met. Our acquaintance was of no long\nduration; for I was hurrying through that part of the world with great\nrapidity, and had hardly time to accomplish all that I proposed. I\nsaw a great deal of him, however, and heard a great deal of him then,\nand once afterward; and there was a certain sort of enthusiastic\nsimplicity about him, not uncommon in men of science, which made\nhim the subject of many good stories, whether true or false I will\nnot pretend to say. His fondness for every thing connected with the\nsubject of Natural history amounted to a complete passion; and he was\nnot at all scrupulous, they said, as to whom it was exercised upon. I\nheard a laughable anecdote illustrative of this propensity. There had\nbeen, shortly before, a great meeting at Oxford of scientific men,\nand of those fashionable hangers-on upon the skirts of science, who\nfeeling themselves but so many units in the mass of the _beau monde_,\nseek to gain a little extrinsic brilliancy from stars and comets,\nstrata, atoms, and machinery. Buckland asked a good number of the most\ndistinguished of all classes to dine with him on one of the days of\nthis scientific fair. During the morning he delivered a lecture in his\nlecture-room before all his friends upon Comparative Anatomy--showed\nthe relation between existing and extinct species of animals--exhibited\nseveral very perfect specimens of fossil saurians--dissected a\nvery fine alligator sent to him from the Mississippi--washed his\nhands--walked his friends about Oxford, and went home to dinner. His\nhouse and all his establishment were in good style and taste. His\nguests congregated; the dinner table looked splendid, with glass,\nchina, and plate, and the meal commenced with excellent soup.\n\n\"How do you like that soup?\" asked the Doctor, after having finished\nhis own plate, addressing a famous _gourmand_ of the day.\n\n\"Very good, indeed,\" answered the other; \"Turtle, is it not? I only\nask because I did not find any green fat.\"\n\nThe Doctor shook his head.\n\n\"I think it has somewhat of a musky taste,\" said another; \"not\nunpleasant, but peculiar.\"\n\n\"All alligators have,\" replied Buckland. \"The Cayman peculiarly so.\nThe fellow whom I dissected this morning, and whom you have just been\neating--\"\n\nThere was a general rout of the whole guests. Every one turned pale.\nHalf-a-dozen started up from table. Two or three ran out of the room\nand vomited; and only those who had stout stomachs remained to the\nclose of an excellent entertainment.\n\n\"See what imagination is,\" said Buckland. \"If I had told them it was\nturtle, or terrapin, or birds'-nest soup--salt water amphibia or fresh,\nor the gluten of a fish from the maw of a sea bird, they would have\npronounced it excellent, and their digestion been none the worse. Such\nis prejudice.\"\n\n\"But was it really an alligator?\" asked a lady.\n\n\"As good a calf's head as ever wore a coronet,\" answered Buckland.\n\nThe worthy Doctor, however, was sometimes the object, as well as the\npracticer of jokes and hoaxes. I remember hearing him make a long\ndescriptive speech regarding some curious ancient remains which had\nbeen displayed to him by Mr. B----, who was neither more nor less than\na notorious _charlatan_. They consisted in conical excavations, at the\nbottom of which were found various nondescript implements, which passed\nwith the worthy Doctor as curious relics of an almost prim\u00e6val age. One\nthird of the room at least was in a laugh during the whole time; for\nthe tricks of the impostor who had deceived the professor--very similar\nto those of Doctor Dousterswivel--had been completely exposed about a\nyear before at Lewis, in Sussex; and witty Barham, the well-known Tom\nIngoldsby, handed about the room some satirical verses struck off upon\nthe occasion. Indeed, though eminent as a geologist and pal\u00e6ontologist,\nBuckland went out of his depth when he dabbled in antiquarian science.\nBut with a weakness common to many Englishmen of letters, he aimed\ngreatly at universality; and in the same day I have heard him deliver a\nlong disquisition upon the piercing of stone walls by a peculiar sort\nof snail, and a regular oration upon the spontaneous combustion of\npigeons' dung.\n\nThe celebrated Whewell, whom I met at the same time, was another who\naimed at universal knowledge, but with better success. There was no\nsubject could be started which he was not prepared to discuss on the\ninstant, and I heard of an attempt made to puzzle him, which recoiled\nwith a severe rap upon the perpetrators thereof. Four young but\nsomewhat distinguished men determined to put Whewell's readiness at\nall points to the test the first time they should meet him together,\nby starting some subject agreed upon between them, the most unlikely\nfor a clergyman and a mathematician to have studied. The subject\nselected, after much deliberation, was Chinese musical instruments. The\nlast edition of the Encyclop\u00e6dia Britannica was obtained, and studied\ndiligently; and then Whewell was invited to dinner. Music, musical\ninstruments, Chinese musical instruments, were soon under discussion.\nWhewell was perfectly prepared, entered into all the most minute\ndetails, and gave the most finished description of every instrument,\nfrom a Mandarin gong to a one-stringed lute. At length, however, the\nyoung men thought they had caught him at fault. He differed from the\nEncyclop\u00e6dia, and the statements of that great work were immediately\nthrown in his teeth.\n\n\"I know that it is so put down,\" answered Whewell, quietly; \"but it\nwill be altered in the next edition. When I wrote that article, I was\nnot sufficiently informed upon the instrument in question.\"\n\nEnglish Universities are often very severely handled by would-be\nreformers. But one thing is perfectly certain, whatever may be the\nfaults in their constitution, they have produced, and do still produce,\nmen of deeper, more extensive, and more varied information than any\nsimilar institutions in the world. Too much license, indeed, is\nsometimes allowed to the young men, and sometimes, especially in former\nages, this has produced very sad and fatal results. At a small supper\nparty, to which I was invited at St. John's College, during my visit to\nCambridge, a little story of College life in former times was related,\nwhich made a deep impression upon me.\n\nTwo young men, the narrator said, matriculated in the same year at\none of the colleges--I think it was at St. John's itself; but am not\nquite sure. The one was a somewhat fiery, passionate youth, of the\nname of Elliot: the other grave, and somewhat stern; but frank, and no\nway sullen. His name was Bailey. As so frequently happens with men of\nvery dissimilar character, a great intimacy sprang up between them.\nThey were sworn friends and companions; and during the long vacation\nof the second year, Bailey spent a great portion of his time at the\nhouse of Elliot's mother. In those days, before liberal notions began\nto prevail, this was considered as an honor; for Bailey was a man of\naristocratic birth, and Elliot a plebeian. There was a great attraction\nin the house, however; for besides his mother, a sickly and infirm\nwoman, Elliot's family comprised a sister, \"the cynosure of neighboring\neyes.\"\n\nAfter their return to College, in one of their drinking bouts, then\nbut too common, a quarrel took place among a number of the College\nyouths: the officers of the University interfered, and one of them\nreceived a dangerous blow from Bailey, which put his life in jeopardy.\nIt was judged necessary for him to fly immediately, and at the entreaty\nof his friend he sought an asylum in the house of Elliot's mother.\nAfter the lapse of several days, the wounded officer of the College\nwas pronounced out of danger, and Elliot set out to inform his friend\nof the good tidings. Precaution, however, was still necessary, as\nthe college officers were still in pursuit; and he went alone, and\non horseback, by night, with pistols at his saddle bow, as was then\ncustomary. The distance he had to ride was some two-and-thirty miles\nand he arrived about midnight.\n\nLike all young men of his temperament, Elliot was fond of dreaming\ndreams. He had remarked the admiration of his friend for his sister,\nto whom he was devotedly attached, and her evident love for him, and\nhe had built up a little castle in the air in regard to their union,\nand her elevation to station and fortune. As he approached the house,\nno windows showed a light but those of his sister's room, and putting\nthe horse in the stable himself, he took the pistols from the holsters,\napproached the house, and quietly opened the door. A great oak\nstaircase, leading from the hall to the rooms above, was immediately\nwithin sight with the top landing, on the right of which lay his\nmother's chamber, and on the left that of his sister. The young man's\nfirst and natural impulse was to look up; but what was his surprise,\nindignation, and horror, when he beheld the door of his sister's room\nquietly open, and the figure of Bailey glide out upon the landing. For\na moment there was a terrible struggle within him; but he restrained\nhimself, and in as calm a tone as he could assume, said, \"Come down--I\nwant to speak with you.\"\n\nWithout the slightest hesitation or embarrassment, Bailey came down,\nand followed him out into an avenue of trees which led up to the house.\nThe only question he asked was--\"Is the man dead?\"\n\n\"Come on, and I will tell you,\" answered the other; and when they had\ngot some hundred yards from the house, he suddenly turned, and struck\nBailey a violent blow on the face, exclaiming, \"Villain and scoundrel!\ngive me instant satisfaction for what you have done this night. There's\na pistol.--No words; for by ---- either you or I do not quit this\nground alive!\"\n\nBailey attempted to speak; but the other would not hear him, and struck\nhim again with the butt end of the pistol. The young man's blood was\nroused. He snatched the weapon from his hand, and retired a few paces\ninto the full moonlight. Elliot gave the words, \"One, two, three,\" and\nthe two pistols were fired almost at the same moment.\n\nThe next morning, at an early hour, Mrs. Elliot, now very ill, said to\nher daughter, who had been watching by her bedside all night, \"I wish,\nmy dear child, you would send some one to Mr. Bailey, to say I desire\nto speak with him. After what passed between us three the day before\nyesterday, I am sure he will willingly relieve a mother's anxiety, and\nlet me see you united to him before I die. It must be very speedy,\nEmma; for my hours are drawing to a close, and I fear can not even be\nprotracted till your dear brother can be sent for.\"\n\nEmma Elliot gazed at her mother for a moment with tearful eyes, and\nthen answered, as calmly as she could, \"I can call him myself, mamma.\nHe sleeps in my old room now, since the wind blew down the chimney of\nthat he had formerly.\"\n\n\"No, send one of the servants,\" said her mother; and in a few minutes\nafter, Mr. Bailey was in the room. He was a man of a kind heart, and\ngenerous feelings, and but the slightest shade of hesitation in the\nworld was visible in the consent he gave to an immediate union with\nEmma Elliot; but both she and her mother remarked that he was deadly\npale.\n\nThe laws of England were not so strict in those times as they are\nnow in regard to marriage. The clergyman's house was not more than a\nstone's throw from the dwelling, and the priest was instantly summoned\nand came.\n\n\"It is strange,\" he said. \"Mr. Bailey,\" just before the ceremony. \"As I\nwalked up the avenue, I saw a great pool of blood.\"\n\n\"Nothing else?\" asked Mr. Bailey, with a strange and bewildered look.\n\n\"There were poachers out last night,\" said the old housekeeper, who had\nbeen brought into the room as one of the witnesses; \"for I heard two\nshots very close to the house.\"\n\nNever was a joyful ceremony more melancholy--in the presence of the\ndying--with the memory of the dead. After it was over, one little\ncircumstance after another occurred to arouse fears and suspicions. A\nstrange, hired horse was found in the stable. Then came the news from\nCambridge that young Elliot had set out the night before, no one knew\nwhither. Then two pistols were found in the grass by the side of the\navenue. Then drops of blood, and staggering steps were traced across\nthe grass court to a small shrubbery which led to the back of the\nhouse, and there the dead body of the son and brother was found, lying\non its face, as if he had fallen forward in attempting to reach a door\nin the rear of the building.\n\nMrs. Elliot died that night, without having heard of her son's fate.\nInvestigations followed: every inquiry was made; and a coroner's jury\nwas summoned. They returned what is called an open verdict, and the\nmatter passed away from the minds of the general public.\n\nBut there was one who remembered it. There was one upon whose mind\nit wore and fretted like rust upon a keen sword blade. His home\nwas bright and cheerful; his wife was fond, faithful, and lovely;\nbeautiful children grew up around his path like flowers; riches were\nhis, and worldly honors fell thick upon him; but day by day he grew\nsterner and more sad; day by day the cloud and the shadow encompassed\nhim more densely. Of his children he was passionately fond; and his\nwife--oh, how terribly he loved her! Happy for him, she was not like\nmany women--like too many--whom affection spoils, whom tenderness\nhardens, who learn to exact in proportion to that which is given, and\nwho, when the utmost is done, still, \"like the horse-leeches' daughter,\ncry 'more, more!'\" He adored, he idolized her. Her lightest wish, her\nidlest fancy--her caprices, if she had any--were all gratified as soon\nas they were formed. Opposition to her will seemed to him an offense,\nand disobedience to her lightest command by any of her household, was\nimmediately checked or punished. Was he making retribution?--Was he\ntrying to atone?--Was he seeking to compensate for a great injury? God\nonly knows. But happy, happy for him that Emma Bailey was not like\nother women; that spoiling could not spoil her: that indulgence had no\ndebasing effect.\n\nStill he grew more sad. It might be that every time he held her to\nhis heart, he remembered that he had slain her brother. It might be,\nthat when she gazed into his eyes, with looks of undiminished love and\nconfidence, he felt that there was a dark secret hidden beneath the\nvail through which he fancied she saw him, which, could she have beheld\nit, would have turned all that passionate affection to bitterness and\nhate. It might be that he knew he was deceiving--the saddest, darkest,\nmost despairing consciousness that can overload the heart of man.\n\nAt length, a time came, when confidence--if ever confidence was to be\ngiven upon this earth--was necessary upon his part. He was struck with\nfever. He had over-exerted himself in some works of humanity among\nhis poorer neighbors. It was a sickly season. God had given one of\nthose general warnings, which he sometimes addresses to nations and to\nworlds--warnings, trumpet-tongued; but against which men close their\nears. He fell sick--very sick. The strength of the strong man was gone:\nthe stout heart beat feebly though quick: the energies of the powerful\nbrain were at an end; and wild fancies, and chaotic memories reveled\nin delirious pranks, where reason had once reigned supreme. He spoke\nstrange words in his wanderings; but Emma sat by his bedside night and\nday, gazing upon his wan, pale face and glazed eye, smoothing his hot\npillow, holding his clammy hand, moistening his parched lip. Sometimes\noverpowered with weariness, a moment's slumber blessed her away from\ncare; and then, when the critical sleep came, how she watched, and\nwept, and prayed!\n\nHe woke at length. A nurse and physician were in the room; and the\nfirst said he looked much better; the second said he hoped the crisis\nwas past. But the husband beckoned the wife to him, and she kneeled\nbeside him, and threw her arms over him, and leaned her head with its\nbalmy tresses upon his aching bosom.\n\n\"I have something to tell you,\" he said, in a faint voice. \"It will be\nforth. It has torn and rent me for many a year. Now, that the presence\nof God is near to me, it must be spoken. Bring your ear nearer to me,\nmy Emma.\"\n\nShe obeyed; and he whispered to her earnestly for a few moments. None\nsaw what passed upon her countenance; for it was partly hidden on the\nclothes of the bed, partly concealed by her beautiful arm. None heard\nthe words he uttered in that low, murmuring tone. But suddenly, his\nwife started up with a look of horror indescribable. She had wedded\nthe slayer of her brother. She had clasped the hand which had shed her\nkindred blood. She had loved, and caressed, and clasped with eager\npassion the man who had destroyed the cradle-fellow of her youth--she\nhad borne him children!\n\nOne look of horror, and one long, piercing shriek, and she fell\nsenseless upon the floor at the bedside. They took her up: they\nsprinkled water in her face; they bathed her temple with essences; and\ngradually light came back into her eyes. Then they turned toward the\nbed. What was it they saw there? He had seen the look. He had heard the\nshriek. He had beheld the last ray of hope depart. The knell of earthly\nhappiness had rung. The gates of another world stood open, near at\nhand; and he had passed through to that place where all tears are wiped\nfrom all eyes. There was nothing but clay left behind.\n\nSuch was one of the tales told across the College table; and yet it\nwas not a very sad or solemn place; and many a lighter and a gayer\nanecdote served to cheer up the heart after such sad pictures. There\nwas a great deal of originality, too, at the table, which amused, if it\ndid not interest. There was Doctor W---- there, who afterward became\nheadmaster of a celebrated public school, and who was in reality a very\neccentric man always affecting a most commonplace exterior. The most\nextraordinary, however, was Mr. R----, celebrated for occupying many\nhours every morning in shaving himself, an operation, all the accidents\nof which we generally, in this country, avoid by the precaution of\ntrusting it to others. The process, however, of Mr. R---- who never\nconfided in a barber, was this. He lathered and shaved one side of his\nface: then read a passage of Thucydides. Then he lathered and shaved\nthe other side, read another passage, and then began again; and so\non ad infinitum, or until somebody came in and dragged him out. His\nnotions, however, were more extraordinary even than his habits. He used\nto contend, and did that night, that man having been created immortal,\nand having only lost his immortality by the knowledge of good and\nevil, it was in reality only the fear engendered by that knowledge\nwhich caused him to decay, or die. In vain gray hairs, a shriveled\nskin, defaulting teeth, warned him of the fragility of himself and his\nhypothesis: he still maintained dogmatically, that unless man were fool\nenough to be afraid, there would be no occasion for him to die at all.\nHe actually carried his doctrine to the grave with him; for during\nanother visit to Cambridge, many years after, I heard the close of his\nstrange history. Feeling himself somewhat feeble, he went, several\nyears after I saw him, to reside at Richmond, near London, where \"the\nair is delicate.\" There a chronic disease under which he had been\nlong laboring, assumed a serious form; and his friends and relations\npersuaded him to send for a physician. The physician giving no heed to\nhis notions regarding corporeal immortality, prescribed for him sagely,\nbut without effect. The disease went on undiminished, and it became\nnecessary to inform him that his life was drawing to an end.\n\n\"Fiddlestick's ends,\" said Mr. R----. \"Life has no end, but in\nconsequence of fear. I am not the least afraid in the world; and hang\nme if I die, in spite of you all. Give me my coat and hat, John. I will\ngo out and take a walk.\"\n\n\"By no means,\" cried the doctor. \"You will only hasten the catastrophe,\nmy dear sir, before any of your affairs are settled.\"\n\n\"Why, sir, you have hardly been able to walk across the room for this\nfortnight. You will never get half way up the hill;\" said his faithful\nservant.\n\n\"Sir, you are at this moment in a dying state,\" said the provoked\ndoctor.\n\n\"I will soon show you,\" cried Mr. R----; and walking to the door in his\ndressing gown, without his hat, down the stairs he went, and out into\nthe busy streets of Richmond. For a hundred yards he tottered on; but\nthen he fell upon the pavement, and was carried into a pastry-cook's\nstore, where he expired without uttering one word, even in defense of\nhis favorite theory.\n\nThe small town of Landeck, in the Vorarlberg, is surrounded by\nmountains, which--\n\nI am afraid they are too high for me to get over in the short space\nwhich remains of this sheet, though I have written as small as\npossible, in order to leave myself room to conclude the tale of the\nBride of Landeck. I must therefore put it off until I can find time to\nwrite you another epistle, in which I trust to be able to conclude all\nI have to say upon the subject; and in the mean time, with many thanks\nfor your polite attention in printing these gossiping letters, I must\nbeg you to believe me,\n\n  Your faithful servant,\n\n  P.\n\n\n\n\nEditor's Drawer.\n\n\nPerhaps no two of the \"Mysteries of Science,\" as they are sometimes\ncalled, excite more interest among all classes of curiosity-mongers,\nthan the _Balloon_ and the _Diving-bell_. They are the very antipodes\nof each other, and yet the interest felt in each partakes of a very\nkindred character. To descend to the bottom of the sea, \"where never\nplummet sounded;\" to sink quietly and solemnly down into the chambers\nof the Great Deep; to see the \"sea-fan\" wave its delicate wings, and\nthe coral groves, inhabited by the beautiful mer-men and maidens, who\ntake their pastime therein; to gloat over rich argosies, the treasures\nof gold and silver, that brighten the caverns of the deep; to watch\nthe deep, deep green waves of softened light that come shimmering\nand trembling down the dense watery walls--these make up much of the\n_Poetry of the Diving-bell_, of which all imaginative people are\nenamored, and which is not without a certain influence upon all sorts\nand conditions of men.\n\nOn the other hand, to rise suddenly above the earth; to look down\nupon the gradually lessening crowds and vanishing cities beneath;\nto glance over the tops of mountains upon the vast inland plains,\nsprinkled with villages and towns; to sail on and on, exhausting\nhorizon after horizon; to look down upon even the clouds of heaven,\nand thunder-storms and rainbows rolling and flashing beneath your\nfeet, and upon glimpses of the heaving bosom of the \"Great and wide\nSea\"--_these_, again, are the elements of the aeronaut, that may well\nbe termed the \"_Poetry of Ballooning_.\"\n\nBut leaving the \"Poetry of the Diving-bell\" for another \"Drawer,\" let\nus narrate an incident which we find in one of its compartments, or,\nrather, the synopsis of an incident, reduced from a more voluminous\naccount, given at the time by a London writer of rare and varied\naccomplishments. It may, indeed, be termed, from the scanty materials\npreserved from the original record, a \"_Memory_ of Ballooning.\"\n\nMr. Green, the great London aeronaut, who has ascended some hundred\nand fifty times from Vauxhall Gardens, London; who has taken his\nair-journeys at all times of the day and night; who has sailed over a\ncontinent with passengers in his frail bark, when it was so dark, that,\naccording to the testimony of one of his fellow-voyagers, it seemed\nas though the balloon was making its noiseless way through a mass of\nimpenetrable black marble--this same Mr. Green--to come back from our\nlong sentence--once gave out, by hand-bills and the public prints, that\non a certain afternoon in July, he would ascend from Vauxhall Gardens,\nLondon, at four o'clock in the afternoon, with a distinguished lady and\ngentleman, who had volunteered to accompany him on that occasion.\n\nThe day and the hour at length arrived. The spacious inclosures of the\nGarden were crowded with an excited multitude, awaiting with the utmost\nimpatience for the tossing, rolling globe to mount up and be lost in\nthe blue creation that spread out far above the giant city, pavilioned\nby its clouds of smoke. But the hour passed by, and the \"distinguished\nlady and gentleman\" came not.\n\n\"It's an 'oax!\" exclaimed hundreds, simultaneously among the crowd:\n\"There isn't no sich persons.\"\n\nMr. Green assured them of his good faith; read the letter that he had\nreceived from \"the parties,\" and his answer: but still the \"madness of\nthe people\" increased, and still the \"distinguished lady and gentleman\"\ncame not. Matters were growing more and more serious, and a \"row\"\nseemed inevitable.\n\nAt this crisis of affairs, a solemn-visaged man, dressed in black, with\na white neckcloth, stepped forth from the dense crowd, to the edge of\nthe boundary which inclosed the balloon, and beckoning to Mr. Green,\nsaid, in a very modest manner, and in a low tone:\n\n\"_I_ will go with you, sir, with pleasure; I should be _glad_ to go. I\nwish to escape, for a while, at least, from this infernal noisy town.\"\n\nThe aeronaut was only too glad to accept the proposition, as some sort\nof salvo to his disappointed auditory, whose denunciatory vociferations\nwere increasing every moment.\n\nMr. Green, standing up in the car of his tossing and impatient\nvessel, now announced, that \"a gentleman present, in the kindest\nmanner, had volunteered to make the ascent with him,\" and that the\n\"monster-balloon\" would at once depart for the vague regions of the\nupper air.\n\nThis announcement was hailed with acclamations by the assembled\nmultitudes; and giving some necessary orders to his assistants, who\nhad become fatigued with holding the groaning ropes that had until\nnow confined the \"monster\" to the earth, the balloon was liberated,\nand rose slowly and majestically over the vast crowd of spectators\nand the wilderness of brick and mortar, and towers and steeples, and\nspacious parks, that lay spread out below, and gradually melted into\nthe celestial blue.\n\nWhat followed is best represented by the partially remembered words\nof the aeronaut himself, as shadowed forth in the memorandum already\nreferred to.\n\n\"As we rose above the metropolis, and its mighty mass began to melt\ninto indistinctness, my companion, whose bearing and manner had\nhitherto most favorably impressed me, began to manifest symptoms of\ngreat uneasiness. As we were passing over Hanwell, dimly seen among\nthe extended suburbs of the great city, his anxiety seemed to increase\nin an extraordinary degree. Pointing, with trembling finger, in that\nimmediate direction, he said:\n\n\"'Can they _see us_ from THERE? can they _reach_ us in any way? can\nthey telegraph us?--CAN they, I say?'\n\n\"Surprised at the excitement, and at the abrupt alarm of one who had\nbeen so remarkably cool and self-possessed at starting, I replied:\n\n\"'Certainly not, my dear sir; we are half a mile from the earth, at\nleast.'\n\n\"'Ah, ha! then I am safe! they can't catch me _now_! I escaped from\nthem only this morning!'\n\n\"With a vague sense of some impending evil, I asked:\n\n\"'Escaped!--how!--from where?'\n\n\"'From the lunatic asylum! They thought I was crazed, and sent me there\nto be confined. Crazed! Why, there's not a man in London so sane as I\nam, and they knew it. It was a trick, sir--a trick! A trick to get my\nestate! But I'll be even with 'em! _I'll_ show 'em! _I'll_ thwart em!'\n\n\"Good Heavens! I was now a mile from the earth, with a madman for my\ncompanion!--in a frail vessel, where the utmost caution and coolness\nwere necessary, and where the least irregularity or carelessness would\nsend us, through the intervening space with the speed of thought, to\nlie, crushed and bleeding masses of unrecognizable humanity, upon the\nearth.\n\n\"But I had not long to think of even this apparently inevitable fate;\nfor my companion had seized upon the sand-bags, and, one after another,\nwas throwing them over the side of the car.\n\n\"'Hold! rash man!' I exclaimed: 'what would you do? You are endangering\nboth our lives!'\n\n\"All this time the balloon was ascending with such rapidity, that the\nrush of the air through the net-work was like the wild whistling of the\nwind in the cordage of a ship under bare poles, in a gale at sea.\n\n\"'What do I _do_?' repeated the madman; 'I am getting away! I am going\nto the moon!--I am going to the moon!--ha! ha! They can't catch us in\nthe moon!'\n\n\"He had exhausted nearly all the ballast except what was under or\nnear me, and we were rising at such an astounding speed that I\nexpected every moment that the balloon would burst from the increasing\nexpansion, when I observed him loosening his garments and taking off\nhis coat.\n\n\"'It's two hundred thousand miles _now_ to the moon!' said he, 'and we\nmust throw over some more ballast or we shan't be home till morning.'\n\n\"So saying he tore off his coat and threw it over--next his\nwaistcoat--and was fumbling at his pantaloons, evidently for a similar\npurpose. But a new thought seemed to strike him:\n\n\"'_Two_ are too _many_ for this little balloon,' he said; 'she's going\ntoo slow! We shall not reach the moon before morning at _this_ rate.\n_Get out of this!_'\n\n\"I was wholly unnerved. I could have calmed the fears, or reasoned down\nthe apprehensions of a reasonable companion; but my present _compagnon\ndu voyage_ 'lacked discourse of reason' as much as the brute that\nperisheth, and remonstrance was of no avail.\n\n\"'GET OUT OF THIS!' he repeated, in tones strangely piercing, in the\nhush of the upper air; and thereupon I felt myself seized by a grasp,\nso often superhumanly powerful in madmen, and found myself suddenly\npoised over the side of the tilting car, and heard the _hum_ of the\ntortured gas in its silken prison above us:\n\n\"'Good-night!' said the infuriated wretch; 'you'll hear from me by\ntelegraph from the moon! They can't catch me now! Ha! ha!--not now!\n_not now!_'\"\n\nIt was but a dream of an aeronaut, reader, after all, on the night\nbefore his ascension; and this sketch is but a dream _of_ that dream;\nfor it is from memory, and not \"from the record.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs the fall rains may be expected, as the almanacs predict, \"about\nthese days\" of autumn, we put on early record, for the next month,\nthe fact, that umbrellas are not protected by the laws of the United\nStates. They are not property, save that of the man of whom you buy\nthem. They constitute an article which, by the morality of society,\nyou may steal from friend or foe, and which, for the same reason, you\nshould not lend to either. The coolest thing--the most doubly-iced\nimpudence--we ever heard of, was in the case of a man who borrowed a\nnew silk umbrella of a town-neighbor, which, as a matter of course,\nhe forgot to return. One morning, in a heavy rain, he called on his\nneighbor for it. He found him on the steps, going out with the borrowed\numbrella. He met him with that peculiar smile that one man gives\nanother who suddenly claims his umbrella on a wet day, and said:\n\n\"Where are you going, Mr. B----?\"\n\n\"I came for my umbrella,\" was the brief reply.\n\n\"But don't you see I am going out with it at this moment? It's a very\nnasty morning.\"\n\n\"Going _out_ with my umbrella! What am _I_ to do, I should like to\nknow?\"\n\n\"_Do?_--do as _I_ did--_borrow_ one!\" said the borrower, as he walked\naway, leaving the lender well-nigh paralyzed at the great height of his\nneighbor's impudence.\n\nA church is the place, of a rainy Sunday, where many indifferent and\nvaluable \"exchanges\" are made, in the article of umbrellas. Perhaps\nmany of our readers will remember the remark made at the close of\nmorning service, on a drizzly Sabbath, by a pious brother:\n\n\"My friends, there was taken from this place of worship this morning\na large black silk-umbrella, nearly new; and in place of it was left\na small blue cotton umbrella, much tattered and worn, and of a coarse\ntexture. The black silk umbrella was undoubtedly taken by mistake, but\nsuch mistakes are getting a leetle too common!\"[6]\n\n[6] \"Ollapodiana;\" Knickerbocker Magazine.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs we shall very soon have a new President coming into office for a\nnew four-year's lease of care and \"glory,\" we venture to insinuate\nwhat he may expect from the throngs of office-seekers by whom he will\nbe surrounded; and we shall take but a single instance out of many\nhundreds that might be offered. A man writing from Washington at the\ncoming in of our last National Chief Magistrate, gave this graphic\nsketch of a \"Sucker\" office-seeker:\n\nDickens might draw some laughable sketches, or caricatures, from the\nlive specimens of office-seekers now on hand here. The new President\nhas just advised them all to go home and leave their papers behind\nthem; and such a scattering you never saw! One fellow came here\nfrom Illinois, and was introduced to a wag who, he was told, had\n\"great influence at court,\" and who, although destitute of any such\npretensions, kept up the delusion for the sake of the joke. The\n\"Sucker\" addressed the man of influence something in this wise:\n\n\"Now, stranger, look at them papers. Them names is the first in our\nwhole town. There's Deacon Styles--there ain't no piouser man in all\nthe county; and then there's Rogers, our shoemaker--he made them boots\nI got on, and a better pair never tramped over these diggins. You\nwouldn't think them soles had walked over more than three hundred miles\nof Hoosier mud, but they _hev_ though, and are sound yet. Every body in\nour town knows John Rogers. Just you go to Illinois, and ax about _me_.\nYou'll find how I stand. Then you ask Jim Turner, our constable--_he_\nknows me; ask _him_ what I did for the party. He'll tell you I was\na screamer at the polls--nothing else. Now, I've come all the way\nfrom Illinois, and a-foot too, most of the way, to see if I can have\njustice. They even told me to take a town-office to--hum! but I must\nhave something that pays aforehand--such as them '_char-gees_,' as they\ncall 'em. I hain't got only seven dollars left, and I can't wait. Jist\ngit me one o' them '_char-gees_,' will ye? Them'll do. Tell the old man\nhow it is; _he'll_ do it. Fact is, he _must_! I've airnt the office,\nand no mistake!\"\n\nDoubtless he _had_ \"airnt\" it; few persons who go to Washington and\n_wait_ for an office, but _earn_ their office, whether they obtain it\nor not.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is HORACE WALPOLE, in his egotistical but very amusing\ncorrespondence, who narrates the following amusing anecdote:\n\n\"I must add a curious story, which I believe will surprise your\nItalian surgeons as much as it has amazed the faculty here. A sailor\nwho had broken his leg was advised to communicate his case to the\nRoyal Society. The account he gave was, that having fallen from the\ntop of the mast and fractured his leg, he had dressed it with nothing\nbut tar and oakum, and yet in three days was able to walk as well as\nbefore the accident. The story at first appeared quite incredible, as\nno such efficacious qualities were known in tar, and still less in\noakum; nor was a poor sailor to be credited on his own bare assertion\nof so wonderful a cure. The society very reasonably demanded a fuller\nrelation, and, I suppose, the corroboration of evidence. Many doubted\nwhether the leg had been really broken. That part of the story had\nbeen amply verified. Still it was difficult to believe that the man\nhad made use of no other applications than tar and oakum; and how\n_they_ should cure a broken leg in three days, even if they could cure\nit at all, was a matter of the utmost wonder. Several letters passed\nbetween the society and the patient, who persevered in the most solemn\nasseverations of having used no other remedies, and it does appear\nbeyond a doubt that the man speaks truth. It is a little uncharitable,\nbut I fear there are surgeons who might not like this abbreviation of\nattendance and expense; but, on the other hand, you will be charmed\nwith the plain, honest simplicity of the sailor. In a postscript to his\nlast letter, he added these words:\n\n\"I forgot to tell your honors that the leg was a wooden one!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere was great delicacy in the manner in which a foreigner, having a\nfriend hung in this country, broke the intelligence to his relations on\nthe other side of the water. He wrote as follows:\n\n\"Your brother had been addressing a large meeting of citizens, who had\nmanifested the deepest interest in him, when the platform upon which he\nstood, being, as was subsequently ascertained, very insecure, gave way,\nowing to which, he fell and broke his neck!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf you will take a bank-note, and while you are folding it up according\nto direction, peruse the following lines, you will arrive at their\nmeaning, with no little admiration for the writer's cleverness:\n\n    \"I will tell you a plan for gaining wealth,\n      Better than banking, trading or leases;\n    Take a bank-note and fold it up,\n      And then you will find your wealth in-creases.\n\n    \"This wonderful plan, without danger or loss,\n      Keeps your cash in your hands, and with nothing to trouble it,\n    And every time that you fold it across,\n      'Tis plain as the light of the day that you double it.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf your \"Editor's Drawer,\" writes a correspondent, is not already full,\nyou may think the inclosed, although an old story, worthy of being\nsqueezed in.\n\n\"Soon after the close of the American Revolution, a deputation of\nIndian chiefs having some business to transact with the Governor, were\ninvited to dine with some of the officials in Philadelphia. During\nthe repast, the eyes of a young chief were attracted to a castor of\n_mustard_, having in it a spoon ready for use. Tempted by its bright\ncolor, he gently drew it toward him, and soon had a brimming spoonful\nin his mouth. Instantly detecting his mistake, he nevertheless had the\nfortitude to swallow it, although it forced the tears from his eyes.\n\n\"A chief opposite, at the table, who had observed the consequence, but\nnot the cause, asked him 'What he was crying for?' He replied that he\nwas 'thinking of his father, who was killed in battle.' Soon after, the\nquestioner himself, prompted by curiosity, made the same experiment,\nwith the same result, and in turn was asked by the younger Sachem 'What\n_he_ was crying for?' '_Because you were not killed when your father\nwas_,' was the prompt reply.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOld Matthews, the most comic of all modern comic _raconteurs_, when in\nthis country used to relate the following illustration of the manner in\nwhich the cool assumption of a \"flunkey\" was rebuked by an eccentric\nEnglish original, one Lord EARDLEY, whose especial antipathy was, to\nhave his servants of the class called \"fine gentlemen:\"\n\n\"During breakfast one day, Lord Eardley was informed that a person\nhad applied for a footman's place, then vacant. He was ordered into\nthe room, and a double refined specimen of the _genus_ so detested by\nhis lordship made his appearance. The manner of the man was extremely\naffected and consequential, and it was evident that my lord understood\nhim at a glance; moreover, it was as evident he determined to lower him\na little.\n\n\"'Well, my good fellow,' said he, 'you want a lackey's place, do you?'\n\n\"'I came about an upper footman's situation, my lord,' said the\ngentleman, bridling up his head.\n\n\"'Oh, do ye, do ye?' replied Lord Eardley; 'I keep no upper servants;\nall alike, all alike here.'\n\n\"'Indeed, my lord!' exclaimed this upper footman, with an air of\nshocked dignity. 'What _department_ then am I to consider myself\nexpected to fill?'\n\n\"'Department! department!' quoth my lord, in a tone like inquiry.\n\n\"'In what _capacity_, my lord?'\n\n\"My lord repeated the word capacity, as if not understanding its\napplication to the present subject.\n\n\"'I mean, my lord,' explained the man, 'what shall I be expected to do,\nif I take the _situation_?'\n\n\"'Oh, you mean if you take the place. I understand you now,' rejoined\nmy lord; 'why, you're to do every thing but sweep the chimneys and\nclean the pig-sties, and _those I do myself_.'\n\n\"The _gentleman_ stared, scarcely knowing what to make of this, and\nseemed to wish himself out of the room; he, however, grinned a ghastly\nsmile, and, after a short pause, inquired what _salary_ his lordship\ngave!\n\n\"'Salary, salary?' reiterated his incorrigible lord ship, 'don't know\nthe word, don't know the word, my good man.'\n\n\"Again the gentleman explained; 'I mean what wages?'\n\n\"'Oh, wages,' echoed my lord; 'what d'ye ask? what d'ye ask?'\n\n\"Trip regained his self-possession at this question, which looked\nlike business, and considering for a few moments, answered--first\nstipulating to be found in hair-powder, and (on state occasions) silk\nstockings, and gloves, bags and bouquets--that he should expect thirty\npounds a year.\n\n\"'How much, how much?' demanded my lord rapidly.\n\n\"'Thirty pounds, my lord.'\n\n\"'Thirty pounds!' exclaimed Lord Eardley, in affected amazement; 'make\nit guineas, and _I'll live with_ YOU;' then ringing the bell, said to\nthe servant who answered it, 'Let out this _gentleman_, he's too good\nfor me;' and then turning to Matthews, who was much amused, said, as\nthe man made his exit, 'Conceited, impudent, scoundrel! Soon sent him\noff, soon sent him off, Master Matthews.'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAs specimens of the _retort courteous_ and the _retort uncourteous_,\nobserve the two which ensue:\n\n\"Two of the guests at a public dinner having got into an altercation,\none of them, a blustering vulgarian, vociferated: 'Sir, you're no\ngentleman!' 'Sir,' said his opponent, in a calm voice, 'you are no\njudge!'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTALLEYRAND, being questioned on one occasion by a man who squinted\nawfully, with several importunate questions, concerning his leg,\nrecently broken, replied:\n\n\"It is quite _crooked_--as you _see_!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf you have ever been a pic-nicking, reader, you will appreciate the\nannoyances set forth in these lively lines by a modern poet. We went\non one of these excursions in August, not many years ago, and while\naddressing some words that we intended should be very agreeable, to\na charming young lady in black, seated by our side, on the bank of a\npleasant lake, in the upper region of the Ramapo mountains, a huge\ngarter-snake crept forth at our feet, hissing at our intrusion upon his\ndomain! How the young lady did scamper!--and how we did the same thing,\nfor that matter! But we must not forget the lines we were speaking of:\n\n    Half-starved with hunger, parched with thirst,\n      All haste to spread the dishes,\n    When lo! we find the soda burst,\n      Amid the loaves and fishes;\n    Over the pie, a sudden sop,\n      The grasshoppers are skipping,\n    Each roll's a sponge, each loaf a mop,\n      And all the meat is dripping.\n\n    Bristling with broken glass you find\n      Some cakes among the bottles,\n    Which those may eat, who do not mind\n      Excoriated throttles:\n    The biscuits now are wiped and dried,\n      When shrilly voices utter:\n    \"Look! look! a toad has got astride\n      Our only plate of butter!\"\n\n    Your solids in a liquid state,\n      Your cooling liquids heated,\n    And every promised joy by Fate\n      Most fatally defeated:\n    All, save the serving-men, are soured,\n      _They_ smirk, the cunning sinners!\n    Having, before they came, devoured\n      Most comfortable dinners.\n\n    Still you assume, in very spite,\n      A grim and gloomy gladness;\n    Pretend to laugh--affect delight--\n      And scorn all show of sadness\n    While thus you smile, but storm within,\n      A storm without comes faster,\n    And down descends in deafening din\n      A deluge of disaster!\n\n    So, friend, if you are sick of _Home_,\n      Wanting a new sensation,\n    And sigh for the unwonted ease\n      Of un-accommodation;\n    If you would taste, as amateur,\n      And vagabond beginner,\n    The painful pleasures of the poor,\n     _Get up a Pic-Nic Dinner_!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is a good deal of talk, in these latter days, about the article\nof guano: the right of discovery of the islands where it is obtained,\nand the like. We remember to have heard something about the discovery\nand occupation of the first of these islands, that of Ichaboe, which\nmade us \"laugh consumedly;\" and we have been thinking that a thorough\nexploration of the Lobos islands might result in a similar discomfiture\nto the \"grasping Britishers.\"\n\nIt seems that a party of Englishmen, claiming to have discovered the\nisland of Ichaboe, landed from a British vessel upon that \"rich\" coast,\nand appreciating the great agricultural value of its minerals, walked\nup toward the top of the heap, to crow on their own dung-hill, and take\npossession of it in the name of Her Majesty the Queen, with the usual\nform of breaking a bottle of Madeira, and other the like observances.\nWhile they were thus taking possession, however, one of the party,\nmore adventurous than the rest, made his way to the farther slope of a\nhigher eminence, and saw, to his utter discomfiture and consternation,\na Bangor schooner rocking in a little cove of the island, a parcel\nof Yankees digging into its sides, and loading the vessel, and a\nweazen-faced man administering the temperance-pledge to a group of the\nnatives on a side-hill near by!\n\nHe went back to his party, reported what he had seen, and the ceremony\nof taking possession, in the name of Her Majesty, of an uninhabited\nisland, was very suddenly interrupted and altogether done away with.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe readers of \"The Drawer,\" who may have noticed the numerous signs\nof _Ladies' Schools_ which may be seen in the suburban streets\nand thoroughfares of our Atlantic cities, will find the following\nexperience of a Frenchman in London not a little amusing:\n\n\"Sare, I shall tell you my impressions when I am come first from\nParis to London. De English ladies, I say to myself, must be de\nmost best educate women in de whole world. Dere is schools for dem\nevery wheres--in a hole and in a corner. Let me take some walks in\nde Fauxbourgs, and what do I see all around myself? When I look dis\nway I see on a white house's front a large bord, with some gilded\nletters, which say, 'Seminary for Young Ladies.' When I look dat way\nat a big red house, I see anoder bord which say, 'Establishment for\nYoung Ladies,' by Miss Someones. And when I look up at a little house,\nat a little window, over a barber-shop, I read on a paper, 'Ladies'\nSchool.' Den I see 'Prospect House,' and 'Grove House,' and de 'Manor\nHouse,' so many I can not call dem names, and also all schools for\nde young females. Day-schools besides. Yes; and in my walks always I\nmeet some schools of Young Ladies, eight, nine, ten times in one day,\nmaking dere promenades, two and two and two. Den I come home to my\nlodging's door, and below de knocker I see one letter. I open it, and\nI find 'Prospectus of a Lady School.' By-and-by I say to my landlady,\n'Where is your oldest of daughters, which used to bring to me my\nbreakfast?' and she tell me, 'She is gone out a governess!' Next she\nnotice me I must quit my apartement. 'What for?' I say: 'what have I\ndones? Do I not pay you all right, like a weekly man of honor?' 'O\ncertainly, Mounseer,' she say, 'you are a gentleman, quite polite, and\nno mistakes, but I wants my whole of my house to myselfs for to set\nhim up for a Lady School!' Noting but Ladies' Schools--and de widow of\nde butcher have one more over de street. 'Bless my soul and my body!'\nI say to myself, 'dere must be nobody borned in London except leetil\ngirls!'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHere is a very beautiful thought of that strange compound of Scotch\nshrewdness, strong common sense, and German mysticism, or _un_-common\nsense--Thomas Carlyle:\n\n\"When I gaze into the stars, they look down upon me with pity from\ntheir serene and silent spaces, like eyes glistening with tears over\nthe little lot of man. Thousands of generations, all as noisy as our\nown, have been swallowed up of Time, and there remains no record of\nthem any more: yet Arcturus and Orion, Sirius and the Pleiades are\nstill shining in their courses, clear and young, as when the shepherd\nfirst noted them in the plain of Shinar! 'What shadows we are, and what\nshadows we pursue!'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere is probably not another word in the English language that can\nbe worse \"twisted\" than that which composes the burden of the ensuing\nlines:\n\n    WRITE we know is written right,\n    When we see it written write:\n    But when we see it written wright,\n    We know 'tis not then written right;\n    For write, to have it written right,\n    Must not be written right nor wright,\n    Nor yet should it be written rite,\n    But WRITE--for so 'tis written right.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe commend the following to the scores of dashing \"spirited\" belles\nwho have just returned disappointed from \"the Springs,\" Newport, and\nother fashionable resorts. The writer is describing a dashing female\ncharacter, whose \"mission\" she considered it to be, to take the world\nand admiration \"by storm:\"\n\n\"With all her blaze of notoriety, did any body _esteem_ her\nparticularly? Was there any one man upon earth who on his pillow could\nsay, 'What a lovely angel is Fanny Wilding!' Had she ever refused an\noffer of marriage? No; for nobody ever had made her one. She was like a\nfine fire-work, entertaining to look at, but dangerous to come near to:\nher bouncing and cracking in the open air gave a lustre to surrounding\nobjects, but there was not a human being who could be tempted to take\nthe dangerous exhibition into his own house! _That_ was a thing not to\nbe thought of for a moment.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"In your Magazine for July,\" writes a city correspondent, \"I notice\nin the '_Editor's Drawer_,' an allusion to and quotation from '_The\nExecution of Montrose_,' the author of which you state is unknown\nor not named. You seem not to be aware that this is one of Aytoun's\nBallads, which, with others, was published in London, under the title\nof 'Lays of the Cavaliers.' But why did you not give the most beautiful\nverse:\n\n    'He is coming! He is coming!\n    Like a bridegroom from his room,\n    Came the hero from his prison,\n    To the scaffold and the doom.\n    There was glory on his forehead,\n    There was lustre in his eye,\n    And he never went to battle\n    More proudly than to die!'\n\n\"I quote only from memory, but the original has 'walked to battle'--is\nnot 'went' a better word? The book is full of gems: let me give you\none more, which would make a fine subject for an artist. It is from\n'Edinburgh after Flodden;' when Randolph Murray returns from the\nbattle, to announce to the old burghers their sad defeat:\n\n    'They knew so sad a messenger,\n    Some ghastly news must bring;\n    And all of them were fathers,\n    And their sons were with the King.'\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"How do you spell Feladelfy?\" asked a small city grocer of his partner\none day, as he was sprinkling sand upon a letter which he was about to\ndispatch to the \"City of Brotherly Love.\"\n\n\"Why, _Fel-a_, Fela, _del_, Feladel, _fy_--Feladelfy.\"\n\n\"Then I've got it right,\" said the partner (in ignorance as well as in\nbusiness), \"I thought I might have made a mistake!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDICKENS, in a passage of his Travels in Italy, describes an\nembarrassing position, and a pursuit of knowledge under difficulties\nthat would have discouraged most learners: \"There was a traveling party\non board our steamer, of whom one member was very ill in the cabin next\nto mine, and being ill was cross, and therefore declined to give up\nthe dictionary, which he kept under his pillow; thereby obliging his\ncompanions to come down to him constantly, to ask what was the Italian\nfor a lump of sugar, a glass of brandy-and-water, 'what's o'clock?' and\nso forth; which he always insisted on looking out himself, with his own\nsea-sick eyes, declining to trust the book to any man alive. Ignorance\nwas scarcely 'bliss' in this case, however much folly there might have\nbeen in being 'wise.'\"\n\n\nCONTRIBUTIONS TO OUR DRAWER.\n\nOn the 25th December, 1840, when the excitement in diplomatic circles\nupon the subject of the so-called Eastern question was at its height,\nan English friend dined with Sir Hamilton Seymour and Lady Seymour, in\nBrussels. Seymour's note of invitation ran \"Will you and your wife come\nand eat a turkey with us.\" The dinner was a very good one, but there\nwas no turkey; and on the following day our friend sent him the lines\nbelow:\n\n\"On the notorious breach of political faith committed by Sir G.\nHamilton Seymour, G.C.H., &c., &c., &c. Her Britannic Majesty's\nMinister Plenipotentiary at the Court of Belgium, on the 25th\nDecember, 1840.\n\n    \"Most perfidious, most base of all living ministers,\n    You deserve to fall back to the rank of plain Misters,\n    Your star taken off, and your chain only serving\n    To fetter your ankles _selon_ your deserving.\n    Don't think that my charge is some trumpery matter\n    Of court etiquette. It is greater, and fatter;\n    Fit cause throughout Europe to spread conflagration,\n    Set King against Kaiser, and nation 'gainst nation.\n    'Tis a fraud diplomatic--a protocol broken--\n    The breach of a treaty both written and spoken--\n    A matter too bad for e'en Thiers' digestion--\n    The loss of an empire, the great Eastern question!\n    In vain would you move my ambition or pity--\n    In vain do you offer the province or city--\n    Neither Bordeaux nor Xeres, nor eke all Champagne,\n    Can make me forgetful of promises vain.\n    Such pitiful make-weights I send to perdition;\n    'Twas _Turkey_ you promised--at least a partition.\n    'Twas _Turkey_ you promised--you've broken your word.\n    'Twas _Turkey_ you promised: and where is the bird?\"\n\nSeymour's answer the same day:\n\n    \"Of eastern affairs most infernally sick,\n    No wonder I failed to my promise to stick.\n    With the subject of _Turkey_ officially cramm'd,\n    If Turkey I dined on, I swore I'd be d--d.\n    But at least, my good friend, and the thought should bring peace,\n    If I gave you no _Turkey_, I gave you no Greece (grease).\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt is related of ex-President Tyler, that from the time of his election\nto the Vice-Presidency until the death of General Harrison, he kept no\ncarriage on account of the insufficiency of his salary. When, however,\nhe found himself accidentally elevated to the chief Magistracy, the\nformer difficulty being removed, he at once determined to set up\nan equipage. He accordingly bought a pair of horses, and engaged a\ncoachman, and then began to look about for a vehicle. Hearing of one\nfor sale which belonged to a gentleman residing in Washington, and\nwhich had only been driven a few times, the President went to look at\nit. Upon examination he was perfectly satisfied with it himself, but\nstill he thought it more prudent, before purchasing it, to take the\nopinion of his Hibernian coachman upon it. Pat reported that it was\n\"jist the thing for his honor.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Mr. Tyler, \"do you think it would be altogether proper for\nthe President of the United States to drive a second-hand carriage?\"\n\n\"And why not?\" answered the Jehu; \"_sure and ye're only a second-hand\npresident!_\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWe have seen many lazy men (and women, too, for that matter) in our day\nand generation, but we _do_ think that a little the laziest individual\nwe ever did meet, is a certain bald-headed, oldish gentleman, who\nlives somewhere in Fourteenth-street near the Fifth Avenue. Standing\nthe other day with a friend, at the southeast corner of Broadway and\nUnion-square, waiting for a Fourth Avenue omnibus, upward bound, we\nnoticed the subject of this paragraph crossing the street, with his arm\nin a sling. Turning to our companion, who was well acquainted with him,\nwe asked,\n\n\"Why, what in the world has happened to Mr. ----'s arm?\"\n\n\"Oh, nothing at all,\" was the reply, \"he only wears it in a sling,\nbecause he is _too lazy to swing it_!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following commencement to a legal document, to which our attention\nwas once called in a business-matter is curious enough. The parties\nmentioned were English people, the names not being uncommon on the\nother side of the water:\n\n\"James Elder, the younger, in right of Elizabeth Husband, his wife,\n&c., &c.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHENRY ERSKINE is reputed to have been quite as clever a man as his\nmore famous brother. His wit was ready, pungent, and at times somewhat\nbitter. Another brother, Lord Buchan, as is well known, was pompous,\nconceited, and ineffably stupid. Upon one occasion, having purchased a\nnew estate in a very picturesque section of the country, he took his\nbrother Henry down to see it. When they arrived at the park gate, Lord\nBuchan, climbing upon the gate-post, commenced a vehement and florid\ndiscourse upon the beauty of the surrounding scenery. After a while his\nlanguage became so hyperbolical and his gesticulations so violent that\nHenry, being tired of so extravagant a performance, called out to him,\n\"I say, Buchan, if your gate was as high as your _style_ (_stile_), and\nyou were to happen to fall, you would most certainly break your neck!\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOne evening Henry Erskine accompanied the notorious Duchess of Gordon,\nand her daughter, a sweet girl, who afterward became the Marchioness of\nAbercorn, to the Opera. At the close of the performance, the duchess's\ncarriage was sought for in vain--the coachman had failed to return for\nthem. No other carriage was to be found, and there was no alternative\nfor the ladies but to walk home in their laced and be-spangled evening\ndresses. A few minutes after they had started, the duchess, turning to\nErskine, said,\n\n\"Harry, my dear, what must any one take us for, who should meet us\nwalking the streets at this hour of the night in Opera costume?\"\n\n\"Your grace would undoubtedly be taken _for what you are_, and your\ndaughter for _what she is not_,\" was the caustic reply.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA lady, who had a propensity for Newport last summer, but who found it\nvery difficult to induce her husband to take her there, called upon the\neminent Doctor Francis, of Bond-street, for the purpose of procuring\nhis certificate of the importance of sea-bathing for the preservation\nof her health.\n\n\"Are you ill, madam?\" asked the doctor.\n\n\"Not at all, doctor,\" the lady answered, \"but I am afraid that I shall\nbecome so, in this extremely hot weather, unless I have the opportunity\nto bathe in the sea, and thus preserve my health.\"\n\n\"Very well, madam,\" replied the doctor, \"if you are sure that you\n_can not keep without pickling_, the sooner you start for Newport the\nbetter, and I shall have much pleasure in giving you my certificate to\nthat effect.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following inscription upon a tombstone is to be found in Mechlem\nchurch-yard, in England. The poet evidently was of the opinion that so\nlong as he made use of the proper verb, what part of it he employed was\nof very little consequence:\n\n    Long time she strove with sorrow and with care,\n    Died like a man, and like a Christian bear!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere once lived in Scotland a man named John Ford, who abused\nand maltreated his wife in every possible way. Poor Mrs. Ford, in\nconsequence of injuries to which she was subjected, finally died. Soon\nafter his wife's decease, John came to the sexton of the kirk and\nexpressed a desire to have an epitaph written for the \"puir body.\"\n\"Ye're the mon to do it, Maister Sexton, and an ye'll write one, I'll\ngie ye a guinea,\" said the bereaved widower. The sexton was somewhat\nsurprised at the request, and so stated to the petitioner. He said that\nit was well known that Mrs. Ford's matrimonial life had been any thing\nbut a happy one, and if he wrote any thing, his conscience would only\npermit him to write the truth. John told him to write exactly what he\npleased--that decency required some inscription over the \"gudewife's\"\ngrave, and that he'd \"gie the guinea\" for whatever the sexton saw\nfit to compose. Upon these conditions, the man of the spade finally\nconsented to invoke his muse, and it was agreed that Johnny should call\nthe next evening to receive the epitaph. Accordingly at the appointed\ntime, the following composition was placed in his hands and met with\nhis unbounded approval:\n\n    Here lies the body of Mary Ford,\n    We hope her soul is with the Lord,\n    But if for Tophet she's changed this life,\n    Better be there than John Ford's wife.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe only known house-settlement of Gipsies in the world is in Scotland,\nnot very far from Edinburgh. When Sir Walter Scott was a young man\nhe was sent down from the capital to the \"Egyptian village\" for the\npurpose of collecting the rents. He was directed upon his arrival\nto report himself to a certain person whose address was given him\nand then to follow in all respects this person's instructions. He\naccordingly upon reaching his destination, at once sent his letter of\nintroduction to the place indicated, and was soon afterward waited\nupon by the individual to whom he was recommended. The advice which he\nthen received was, to let his presence in the village be known, but to\nremain at home and by no means attempt to collect any of the rents by\ncalling at the houses. This advice he followed for three days, during\nwhich time only two of the gipsies called and paid. After this he was\nadvised to return to Edinburgh, leaving word at the settlement that\nhe had gone back to town where he would be happy to see any of the\ntenants. In less than a week nearly all made their appearance and paid\nwhat they owed. They were unwilling to do under the slightest semblance\nof coercion what they cheerfully did voluntarily.\n\nThe first public recognition of the gipsies as a people in England, is\nin a proclamation of Queen Elizabeth, in which she directs all sheriffs\nand magistrates to \"aid, counsel, and assist our loving cousin John,\nPrince of Thebes and of Upper Egypt, in apprehending and punishing\ncertain of his subjects guilty of divers crimes and misdemeanors.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nHOGG, the Ettrick shepherd, was an eccentric genius. He was once dining\nat a table where he was seated next to a daughter of Sir William\nDrysdale. His companion was a charming young lady--unaffected, affable,\nand yet withal gifted with considerable shrewdness and cleverness.\nTo some remark which he made, she replied, \"You're a funny man, Mr.\nHogg,\" to which he instantly rejoined, \"And ye, a nice lassie, Miss\nDrysdale. Nearly all girls are like a bundle of pens, cut by the same\nmachine--ye're not of the bundle.\"\n\nWe have a friend who knew Hogg well. Our friend once arranged a party\nfor an excursion to Lake St. Mary's, and it was proposed to stop at\nHogg's house on the way, and take him up. Before they reached it,\nhowever, they saw a man fishing in the \"Yarrow,\" not very far from\nthe high-road. The fisherman the moment that he noticed a carriage\nfull of people whose attention was apparently attracted to himself,\ngathered up his rod and line and began to run in an opposite direction\nas fast as his legs could carry him. Our friend descended from the\ncarriage, and shouted after him at the top of his voice. But it was\nof no use--the fugitive never stopped until he reached an elevated\nspot of ground, when he turned round to watch the movements of the\nintruders. Recognizing our friend, he laughingly returned his greeting,\nand, approaching him, said--we translate his Scotch dialect into the\nvernacular--\"Why, S----, my boy, how are you? Do you know, I took you\nfor some of those rascally tourists, who come down upon me in swarms,\nlike the locusts of Egypt, and eat me out of house and home.\" His fears\nremoved, he accompanied the party to the lake, and they had a merry day\nof it.\n\nHogg's egotism and conceit were very amusing. Witness the following\nextract from his \"Familiar anecdotes of Sir Walter Scott.\"\n\n\"One of Sir Walter's representatives has taken it upon him to assert,\nthat Sir Walter held me in the lowest contempt! He never was further\nwrong in his life, but Sir Walter would have been still further wrong,\nif he had done so. Of that, posterity will judge.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThere are many engraved portraits of Lord Byron afloat, but it is\nsaid that none of them resemble him. A friend of ours, who knew him\nintimately, assures us that the face of the Macedonian monarch in Paul\nVeronese's celebrated picture of \"Alexander in the tent of Darius\" at\nVenice, is the exact image of his lordship. Standing before it one day\nwith a lady, he mentioned the extraordinary likeness to her in English,\nwhen the _cicerone_ who accompanied them, said, \"Ah, sir, I see that\nyou knew my old master well. Many a time since his death have I stood\nand gazed upon that face which recalled his own so strongly to my\nrecollection.\"\n\nBy-the-by, the history of this picture is rather curious.\n\nThe artist, whose real name was Paul Caliari, was invited by a\nhospitable family to spend some time with them at their villa, on the\nbanks of the Brenta. While in the house his habits were exceedingly\npeculiar. He remained in his room the greater part of the time, and\nrefused to allow any one to enter it on any pretext. The maid was\nnot even permitted to make his bed--and every morning she found the\nsweepings of the room at the door, whence she was at liberty to remove\nthem. One day the painter suddenly disappeared. The door of the room\nwas found open. The sheets were gone from the bed. The frightened\nservant reported to the master that they had been stolen. A search\nwas instituted. In one corner of the room was found a large roll of\ncanvas. Upon opening it, it proved to be a magnificent picture--the\nfamous \"Alexander in the tent of Darius.\" Upon close inspection, it was\ndiscovered that it was painted upon the sheets of the bed! The artist\nhad left it as a present to the family, and had taken this curious\nmethod of evincing his gratitude.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMost travelers in Italy make a pilgrimage to the tomb of Juliet, at\nVerona. Verona and Shakspeare are, of course, inseparable; but when you\nare on the spot, little can be found to identify the creations of the\npoet. We have no more traces of Valentine and Proteus at Verona, than\nwe possess of Launce and his dog at Milan. The _Montecchi_ belonged\nto the Ghibellines; and as they _joined_ with the _Capelletti_ in\nexpelling Azo di Ferrara (shortly previous to 1207), it is probable\nthat both were of the same party. The laconic mention of their\nfamilies, which Dante places in the mouth of Sordello, proves their\ncelebrity\n\n    \"O Alberto tedesco, ch' abbandoni\n    Costei ch' \u00e8 fatta indomita e selveggia,\n    E dovresti inforcar li suoi arcioni;\n    Giusto guidicio dalle stelle coggia\n    Sovra 'l tuo sangue, e sia nuovo e asserto,\n    Tal che 'l tuo successor temenza n' aggia:\n    Ch' avete, tu e 'l tuo padre, sofferto\n    Per cupidigia di cost\u00e1 distretti,\n    Che 'l giardin dell' 'mperio sia diserto.\n    Vieni a veder Montecchi e Capuletti,\n    Monaldi e Filippeschi, nom senza cura,\n    Color gi\u00e1 tristi, e costor con sospetti.\"\n\n  Purgatorio VI. 97, 109\n\n    \"O Austrian Albert! who desertest her,\n    (Ungovernable now and savage grown),\n    When most she needed pressing with the spur--\n    May on thy race Heaven's righteous judgment fall;\n    And be it signally and plainly shown,\n    With terror thy successor to appal!\n    Since by thy lust yon distant lands to gain,\n    Thou and thy sire have suffered wild to run\n    What was the garden of thy fair domain.\n    Come see the Capulets and Montagues--\n    Monaldi--Filippeschi, reckless one!\n    These now in fear--already wretched those.\"\n\n  Wright's _Dante_.\n\nBut the tragic history of Romeo and Juliet can not be traced higher\nin writing than the age of Lungi di Porto; and as this novelist of\nthe 16th century has borrowed the principal incident of the plot from\na Greek romance, it is probable that the whole is an amplification\nof some legendary story. The _Casa de Capelletti_, now an inn for\nvetturini, may possibly have been the dwelling of the family; but since\nthat circumstance, if established, would only prove that the _house_\nhad a _house_, it does not carry us much further in the argument.\nWith respect to the tomb of Juliet, it certainly was shown in the\nlast century, before \"the barbarian _Sacchespir_\" became known to the\nItalians. The popularity of the novel would sufficiently account for\nthe localization of the tradition, as has already been the case with\nmany objects described by Sir Walter Scott. That tomb, however, has\nlong since been destroyed; but the present one, recently erected in the\ngarden of the _Orfanotrofio_, does just as well. It is of a reddish\nmarble, and, before it was promoted to its present honor, was used as\na watering trough. Maria Louisa got a bit of it, which she caused to\nbe divided into the _gems_ of a very elegant necklace and bracelets,\nand many other sentimental young and elderly ladies have followed her\nexample.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt the extremity of the Piazzetta in Venice are the _two granite\ncolumns_, the one surmounted by the lion of St. Mark, the other by\nSt. Theodore. The lion is somewhat remarkable, as having been the\nfirst victim, as far as objects of art are concerned, of the French\nrevolution. From the book which he holds, the words of the Gospel\nwere effaced, and \"_Droits de l'homme et du citoyen_\" (\"rights of man\nand of the citizen\") substituted in their stead. Upon this change a\ngondolier remarked that St. Mark, like all the rest of the world, had\nbeen compelled to turn over a new leaf. The lion was afterward removed\nto the _Invalides_ at Paris, but was restored after the fall of the\ncapital.\n\nThe capitals of the columns speak their Byzantine origin. Three were\nbrought from Constantinople. One sunk into the ooze as they were\nlanding it; the other two were safely landed on the shore; but, as\nthe story goes, there they lay; no one could raise them. Sebastiano\nZiani, 1172-1180, having offered as a reward that he who should succeed\nshould not lack any \"_grazia onesta_,\" a certain Lombard, yclept\nNicolo Barattiero, or Nick the Blackleg, offered his services; and,\nby the device or contrivance of wetting the ropes, which contracted\nas they dried, he placed the columns on their pedestals. Nicolo was\nnow entitled to claim his guerdon: and what did he ask? That games of\nchance, prohibited elsewhere by the wisdom of the law, might be played\nwith full impunity between the columns. The concession once made could\nnot be revoked; but what did the wise legislature? They enacted that\nthe public executions, which had hitherto taken place at the _San\nGiovanni Bragola_, should be inflicted in the privileged gambling spot,\nby which means the space \"between the columns\" became so ill-omened,\nthat even crossing it was thought to be a sure prognostication,\nforetelling how the unlucky wight who had ventured upon the fated\npavement, would, in due time be suspended at a competent height above\nthe forbidden ground.\n\n\n\n\nLiterary Notices.\n\n\n_Parisian Sights and French Principles, seen through American\nSpectacles_, Illustrated (published by Harper and Brothers), is the\ntitle of one of the most graphic descriptions of life in the French\nmetropolis which have yet been given by any English or American\ntraveler. The author blends reflection and narrative in a very\neffective manner, depicting the prominent features of French society\nwith a vivid pencil, and deducing the inferences suggested by his\nvaried experience. Short of a personal visit to the great focus of\nEuropean fashion, there is no way in which one can obtain such a mass\nof information on the subject, and in so agreeable a manner, as by\ndipping into this lively volume.\n\n_The Blithedale Romance_, by NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE (published by Ticknor,\nReed and Fields), in point of artistic construction is not equal to\nthe \"Scarlet Letter,\" nor the \"House of Seven Gables.\" As a whole,\nit leaves an unsatisfied and painful impression, as if the author\nhad failed to embody his own ideal in the development of the story.\nIt contains many isolated passages of great vigor, and occasionally\nsome of remarkable sweetness. In his pictures of natural scenery,\nMr. Hawthorne often draws from the life, and always reproduces the\nlandscape with startling fidelity. The characters in the story are\nintended to be repulsive; they illustrate the dark side of human\nnature; and no reader can recall their memory without a feeling of\nsepulchral gloom.\n\n_The Discarded Daughter_, by Mrs. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH. (Published\nby A. Hart.) The author of this novel possesses a singularly vivid\nimagination, and a rare command of picturesque expression. She evinces\noriginality, depth and fervor of feeling, vigor of thought, and\ndramatic skill; but so blended with glaring faults, that the severest\ncritic would be her best friend. In the construction of her plots,\nshe has no regard for probability: nature is violated at every step;\nimpossible people are brought into impossible situations; every thing\nis colored so highly that the eye is dazzled; there is no repose, no\nperspective, none of the healthy freshness of life; we are removed\nfrom the pure sunshine and the forest shade into an intolerable glare\nof gas-light; truth is sacrificed to melo-dramatic effect; and the\ndenouement is produced by ghastly contrivances that vie in extravagance\nwith Mrs. Radcliffe's most superfine horrors. With the constant effort\nto surprise, the language becomes inflated, and at the same time\nis often careless to a degree, which occasions the most ludicrous\nsense of incongruity. It is a pity to see so much power as this lady\nevidently is endowed with, so egregiously wasted. Let her curb her\nfiery Pegasus with unrelenting hand--let her consult the truthfulness\nof nature, rather than yield to a rage for effect--let her tame the\ngenial impetuosity of her pen by a due reverence for classical taste\nand common sense--and she will yet attain a rank worthy of her fine\nfaculties, from which she has hitherto been precluded by her outrages\non the proprieties of fictitious composition.\n\n_The Mormons, or Latter-day Saints_, by Lieut. J. W. GUNNISON.\n(Published by Lippincott, Grambo, and Co.) The author of this little\nwork has succeeded in the difficult task of doing justice to a new\nreligious sect. Residing for several months in the Great Salt Lake\nValley, as a member of the United States Exploring Expedition, and\nlooking upon the singular condition of society that came under\nhis notice with an eye of philosophical curiosity, he had a rare\nopportunity for studying the history, opinions, and customs of the\nremarkable people, whose rapid progress is among the note-worthy\nevents of the age. His book contains a lucid description of the\ncountry inhabited by the Mormons, a statement of their religious faith\nand social principles, and a succinct narrative of the origin and\ndevelopment of the sect. Without aiming to excite prejudice against the\nMormons, he keeps nothing back, which is essential to a correct view of\ntheir position, as respects either belief or practice. His disclosures\nin regard to the prevalence of polygamy among the \"Latter-Day Saints,\"\nso called, are of the most explicit character, showing that a plurality\nof wives is adopted, as a part of their social economy, from a sense\nof religious duty. The view presented of their theology furnishes\nthe materials for an interesting chapter on the history of mental\ndelusions. We have no doubt that this book will be widely read, and,\nin the hands of the intelligent and reflecting thinker, will prove\nfruitful in valuable suggestions.\n\nHarper and Brothers have published a new edition of _Cicero's Tusculan\nDisputations_, with English Notes by CHARLES ANTHON, LL.D. In preparing\nthis edition, use has been made of the text and notes of Tischer, with\noccasional reference to the commentaries of Wolf, Moser, and K\u00fchner.\nBoth in the text and notes, however, the erudite Editor has relied on\nhis own judgment, not slavishly adhering to any authority, but freely\nconsulting the suggestions of the most eminent philologists from the\ntime of Bentley to our own days. The work is a model for a college\ntext-book. In the careful supervision which it has received at the\nhands of Dr. Anthon, he has added to the many valuable services that\nidentify his name with the progress of classical learning in this\ncountry.\n\nDerby and Miller have issued a new edition of SARGENT'S _Life of\nHenry Clay_, revised and brought down to the death of the illustrious\nstatesman, by HORACE GREELY. The leading incidents in Mr. Clay's life\nare here described in a lively and flowing narrative; his public career\nis fully exhibited; copious extracts are given from his speeches and\nletters; and the whole biography is executed with manifest ability,\nand as great a degree of impartiality as could be demanded, with\nthe decided personal predilections of both author and editor. The\nproceedings in Congress on the announcement of Mr. Clay's decease,\nwhich are given at length, form a very interesting portion of the\nvolume.\n\n_Stray Meditations, or Voices of the Heart_, by JOSEPH P. THOMPSON.\n(Published by A. S. Barnes and Co.) A collection of fugitive pieces,\nsome of which have already appeared in the columns of various religious\njournals. They are of a grave, meditative character, deeply tinged with\npersonal feeling--of an elevated devotional spirit--giving a highly\nfavorable impression of the author as a man of great earnestness of\npurpose, and usually expressed in choice and vigorous language. Mr.\nThompson has happily avoided the dangers incident to this style of\ncomposition. His volume breathes an air of soft and pious sentiment,\nbut betrays no weak effeminacy; it unvails the most private emotions of\nthe heart, but can not be charged with egotism; and appeals to the most\nawful sanctions of religion, without indulging in dogmatic severity. As\na companion in hours of retirement and thoughtfulness, it can not fail\nto be welcome to the religious reader.\n\n_Anna Hammer_, translated from the German of TEMME, by ALFRED H.\nGUERNSEY, is a good specimen of the contemporary popular fiction of\nGerman literature. Its author, Temme, is a man of ability; he writes,\nhowever, more from the heart than the head; drawing the materials of\nromance from the sufferings of his country. He took an active part in\nthe late German revolutionary movements, and his political feelings\ntincture his writings. The present work gives a vivid picture of the\ninterior of German life, and is filled with passages of exciting\ninterest. The translation, by an accomplished scholar of this city,\nevery where shows conscientious fidelity, and is in pure and idiomatic\nEnglish.\n\n_An Olio of Domestic Verses_, by EMILY JUDSON. This volume composes a\ncollection of the earlier poetry of Mrs. Judson, with several pieces of\na more recent date. It shows a rich poetical temperament, a graceful\nfancy, and a natural ease of versification, which, with more familiar\npractice and a higher degree of artistic culture, would have given\nthe authoress an eminent rank among the native poets of this country.\nThe admirers of her sweet and brilliant productions, in another line,\nwill find much to justify the enthusiasm with which they greeted the\nwritings of Fanny Forester. Many of these little poems have already\nbeen the rounds of the newspapers, where they have won lively applause.\n(Published by Lewis Colby.)\n\nThe Third Volume of CHAMBERS' edition of _The Life and Works of Robert\nBurns_ (republished by Harper and Brothers), is replete with various\ninterest. No admirer of the immortal peasant-bard should be without\nthis excellent tribute to his genius.\n\n_The Master-Builder_, by DAY KELLOGG LEE. (Published by Redfield.) A\nstory of purely American origin, drawn from the experience of actual\nlife, and containing several happy delineations of character. It\ndescribes the fortunes of one who by industry and enterprise, guided\nby strong native intelligence, rose to honor and prosperity, in the\nexercise of a useful mechanical vocation. The author frequently shows\nuncommon powers of description; he is a watchful observer of life and\nmanners; is not without insight into the mysteries of human passion;\nand, if he could check his tendency to indulge in affectations of\nlanguage, expressing himself with straight-forward simplicity, he might\ngain an enviable distinction as a writer.\n\nA. S. Barnes and Co., have issued a new volume of Professor BARTLETT'S\n_Elements of Natural Philosophy_, containing treatises on Acoustics and\nOptics. The principles of these sciences are explained with clearness\nand elegance, the views of the best recent writers being embodied in\nthe work, and accompanied with a variety of apposite illustrations.\nThe portion relating to sound, based on the admirable monograph of Sir\nJohn Herschel, will be found to possess much popular interest, in spite\nof its scientific rigidity of expression, explaining, as it does, the\nmutual relations of mathematics and music.\n\nUPJOHN'S _Rural Architecture_ (published by G. P. Putnam), forms a\nuseful book of reference for parish-committees, or whoever is intrusted\nwith the charge of erecting new churches, parsonages, or school-houses,\nmore particularly in the country. It gives a number of estimates and\nspecifications, with ample directions for practical use.\n\n_The Dodd Family Abroad_, by CHARLES LEVER. One of the most piquant\nproductions of this side-splitting author is now publishing in numbers\nby Harper and Brothers. Whoever wishes to be forced into a laugh, in\ndefiance of all sorts of lugubrious fancies, should not fail to read\nthis rich outpouring of genuine Irish humor.\n\n_The Old Engagement_, by JULIA DAY, is a brilliant story of English\nsociety, reprinted from the London edition by James Munroe and Co.\n\n_Single Blessedness_, is the title of an appeal in favor of unmarried\nladies and gentlemen. An incoherent rhapsody, aiming at every thing and\nhitting nothing. (C. S. Francis and Co.)\n\n_Lydia; a Woman's Book_, by Mrs. NEWTON CROPLAND, is the title of a\npopular English work, remarkable for its natural character-drawing,\nreprinted by Ticknor, Reed, and Fields.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nJ. D. B. De Bow, Professor of Political Economy in the University of\nLouisiana, New Orleans, has in press, and will issue in a few days, a\nwork of which we have been permitted to see the sheets, in three large\noctavo volumes, small and neat print, entitled, _Industrial Resources,\nStatistics, etc., of the Southern and Western States, with Statistics\nof the Home and Foreign Trade of the Union, and the Results of the\nCensus of 1850_. The work will be a valuable addition to the library\nof the merchant, manufacturer, planter, and statesman, and the public\nhave every guarantee of its ability in the active and intelligent\nservices rendered by Professor De Bow to the Industrial Interests of\nthe country, for many years past, in the pages of his invaluable and\nwidely circulated Review.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe following pensions have recently been granted by the British\nGovernment in consideration of services in literature or science.\nTo Mrs. Jameson, \u00a3100 for her literary merits; to Mr. James Silk\nBuckingham, \u00a3200 for literary merits and useful travels in various\ncountries; Mr. Robert Torrens, F.R.S., \u00a3200 for his valuable\ncontributions to the science of political philosophy; to Professor\nJohn Wilson, of the University of Edinburgh (Christopher North of\n\"Blackwood\"), \u00a3300 for his eminent literary merits; to Mrs. Reid,\nthe widow of Dr. James Reid, Professor of Ecclesiastical and Civil\nHistory in the University of Glasgow, \u00a350, and \u00a350 to his family, in\nconsideration of Dr. Reid's valuable contributions to literature; to\nMrs. Macarthur, widow of Dr. Alexander Macarthur, Superintendent of\nModel Schools, and Inspector of Irish National Schools, \u00a350; to Mr.\nJohn Britton, \u00a375; to Mr. Hinds, the astronomer, \u00a3200; to Dr. Mantell,\nthe geologist, \u00a3100; and to Mr. Ronalds, of the Kew Observatory, \u00a375.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA bibliographical work on theology and kindred subjects, _Cyclop\u00e6dia\nBibliographica_, is being published in London, which will be a useful\nindex to general theological literature. In the first volume the\narrangement of authors and works is alphabetical; in the second, a\n_catalogue raisonn\u00e9e_ of all departments of theology under commonplaces\nin scientific order will be presented. Of special value to theological\nstudents, this \"Cyclop\u00e6dia\" will also prove an important contribution\nto general literature.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMr. STILES'S _Austria in 1848_ has been republished in London. The\n_Athen\u00e6um_ says, \"it may be recommended as a plain, continuous, and\nconscientious narrative to all those who would like to have the events\nto which it refers brought before them in the compass of one book, so\nas to be saved the trouble of turning over many.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDuring the recent discussion among the London booksellers regarding the\ndiscount on new books, Mr. William Longman stated that the publishing\nfirm of which he is a partner had long been anxious to publish a new\nedition of Johnson's _English Dictionary_, that they were willing\nto pay almost any sum for the literary labor, but that they had not\nsucceeded in procuring a man fully qualified as editor. \"The want,\nhowever, has been supplied, and the boon has been conferred,\" says a\nLondon journal, \"not by an English, but by an American lexicographer,\nwho has produced a Dictionary suitable to the present state of our\ncommon language. This is Dr. Goodrich's octavo edition of WEBSTER'S\nDICTIONARY, which is published at a price which places it within the\nreach of all the classes to whom it is indispensable; and whether in\nthe school or the counting-house, the library or the parlor, we are\nconfident that this work will be found of the highest value.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nM. GUIZOT is about to bring out a _History of the Republic in England,\nand of the Times of Cromwell_; and he has allowed some of the Paris\njournals to give a foretaste of it by the publication of a long extract\nunder the title, \"Cromwell sera-t-il roi?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe _Glasgow Citizen_ mentions that an interesting relic of ROBERT\nBURNS, the poet, is at present for sale at a booksellers in that city.\nIt is a manuscript of the poet, a fasciculus of ten leaves, written on\nboth sides, containing _The Vision_, as originally composed, _The Lass\nof Ballochmyle_, _My Nannie O_, and others of his most popular songs.\nThe manuscript was sent by Burns to Mrs. General Stewart, of Stair,\nwhen he expected to have to go to the West Indies.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nGeneral G\u00d6RGEY'S _Memoir of the Hungarian Campaign_ is translated, and\nwill be shortly published. So stringent is the prohibition against\nthis book in Austria, that Prince Windischgr\u00e4tz, who asked for special\npermission to purchase a copy, has received a positive refusal.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nDr. HANNA, the editor of the _Biography of Dr. Chalmers_, is engaged\nin the preparation of a Selection from the Correspondence for early\npublication.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"It will be pleasant news to our readers,\" says the _London Leader_,\n\"to hear that MACAULAY has finished two more volumes of his _History_,\nwhich may be expected early next season. A more restricted circle\nwill also be glad to hear that GERVINUS is busy with a new work, the\n_History of the South American Republics_.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nLAMARTINE'S sixth volume, of the _Histoire de la Restauration_, seems\nby far the most excellent in composition. It embraces the period from\nthe execution of Lab\u00e9doy\u00e8re to the death of Napoleon at St. Helena.\nThe narrative is full, yet rapid; and the volume contains, among other\nthings, a most curious and interesting paper hitherto unpublished,\nwritten by Louis XVIII., giving a private history of the agitations of\na change of Ministry.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA list has been published in the French papers of the Professors of\nthe University of Paris who have either been deposed, or have resigned\nsince the 2d of December. Some of the names best known in literature\nand science to foreign countries are in the list. At the Coll\u00e9ge\nde France, MM. Michelet, Professor of History and Ethics; Quinet,\nProfessor of Germanic Literature; Mikiewicz, of Sclavonic Literature;\nM. Barth\u00e9lemy Saint-Hilaire, Professor of Greek and Roman Philosophy.\nAt the Sorbonne, M. Jules Simon, Interior Professor of the History\nof Ancient Philosophy, has been superseded; and M. Cousin, Titular\nProfessor of that chair, has retired. M. Villemain, Professor of French\nEloquence; M. Pouillet, Professor of Physics; Cauchy, of Mathematical\nAstronomy, have refused the oath of allegiance to the President. At\nthe School of Medicine, M. Chomel, Professor of Clinical Medicine,\nhas resigned. At the Ecole Normale, MM. Jules Simon, and Vacherot,\nProfessors of Philosophy, and M. Magy, Superintendent, have refused\nthe oath. Lists are also given of the _d\u00e9missionnaires_ in the various\ncolleges of Paris. These announcements may have historical as well as\nbiographical interest in after days of French revolutions.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nFrench literature and literary men are beginning to adjust themselves\nto the new condition of things, and if the Legislative tongue and the\nJournalistic pen are obliged to submit to restraints, the historian,\nthe novelist, the political economist, and the political philosopher\nare allowed pretty full swing. A great noise has been made about\nVICTOR HUGO'S exile, but it seems that he has permission to return,\nof which he refuses to avail himself, and is settling down in cheap\nand healthful Jersey. His expulsion, or exile, or voluntary removal,\nmay be a loss to Parisian society, but will probably be a gain to\nFrench literature. PROUDHON, just released from prison, is taking pen\nin hand, a sadder and a wiser man; for his approaching book is to\ndemonstrate, in his own peculiar fashion, the theorem which events\nhave been reciting to France, namely, that its government is not to\nbe conclusively a republic of any set kind, but to belong to him or\nthem whom Providence may have endowed with force and cunning enough\nto grasp and retain it. HEINRICH HEINE himself, not paralyzed by his\nfrightful illness, works an hour or two daily at a book which will be\none of his most interesting--pictures of Parisian men and things, to\nwhich he is to prefix a sketch of Parisian society since the Revolution\nof 1848. MICHELET, in rural solitude, is employed upon his History\nof the Revolution, while LOUIS BLANC, in London, has just published a\nnew volume of his. BARANTE has brought forth another portion of his\npictorially unpicturesque History of the National Convention; LAMARTINE\nanother of his History of the Restoration. The astute GUIZOT fights shy\nof the history of his own country, and is contributing to some of the\nchief Paris periodicals fragments on the men and times of the \"Great\nRebellion\" in England. One that is forthcoming is to be entitled,\n\"Cromwell--shall he be King?\" which, being translated, means: Louis\nNapoleon--shall he be Emperor? His old rival, THIERS, is adding another\nliterary association to the many that connect themselves with the Lake\nof Geneva, and is delighting the good people of that region by his\nlavish expenditure of Napoleons and general affability.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nA translation into French of the works of SAINT THERESA is about to\nbe published; it has been made by a Jesuit. The saint's writings are\nmuch admired by her own church; but from the little we know of them, we\nshould think them too rhapsodical and mystical for the public.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMadame GEORGE SAND has addressed a furious letter to a Belgian\nnewspaper, indignantly denying that, as asserted by it, she is in\nreceipt of a pension, or has accepted any money whatever from the\npresent government. Even, she says, if her political opinions permitted\nher to receive the bounty of Louis Bonaparte, she should think it\ndishonorable to take it when there are so many of her literary brethren\nwho have greater need of it.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nBUFFON'S mansion and grounds at Montbard, in Burgundy, are advertised\nfor sale. In the grounds is an ancient tower of great height,\ncommanding a view for miles around of a beautiful and mountainous\ncountry. It was in a room, in the highest part of this tower, that the\ngreat naturalist wrote the history which has immortalized his name.\nIt is known that he was accustomed to write in full dress, but, by a\nstriking contradiction, nothing could be more simple than his lofty\nstudy; it was a vast apartment with an arched roof, painted entirely\ngreen, and the only furniture it contained consisted of a plain wood\ntable and an old arm-chair. The labor which that room witnessed was\nimmense--as Buffon wrote his works over and over again, until he got\nthem to his taste. The \"Epoques de la Nature,\" for example, were\nwritten not fewer than eighteen times. He always began his day's work\nin the tower between five and six o'clock in the morning, and when he\nrequired to reflect on any matter he used to walk about his garden.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe French journals report the death of the distinguished artist, TONY\nJOHANNOT, and also of Count D'ORSAY, who in the later period of his\nlife displayed considerable artistic talent and taste both as a painter\nand sculptor. But he is more generally known, and will be longer\nremembered, as a man of fashion, and of public notoriety from his\nalliance with the Blessington family, the circumstances of which are so\nwell known, and have been recalled at present by the public journals\nat such length, as to render it needless for us to enlarge upon the\nsubject. Having shown kindness and hospitality to Louis Napoleon when\nan exile in London, the Prince President was not ungrateful to his\nformer friend, and he has latterly enjoyed the office of Directeur des\nBeaux Arts, with a handsome salary, and maintained a prominent position\nin the Court of the Elys\u00e9e.\n\nGeneral GOURGAUD, the aid-de-camp of Napoleon, and one of his\ncompanions at St. Helena, who has recently died at an advanced age,\nwas an author as well as a soldier, having written what he called a\nrefutation of Count S\u00e9gur's \"History of the Russian Campaign,\" and\nhaving got into a pamphlet dispute with Sir Walter Scott, respecting\nsome of the latter's statements in his \"History of Napoleon.\" With\nS\u00e9gur he fought a duel to support his allegations, and with Sir Walter\nwas very near fighting another. Scott, it may be remembered, showed\nhim up most unmercifully, and made known that, notwithstanding all\nhis professed zeal for Napoleon, there were documents in the English\nWar-Office, written by him at St. Helena, which proved him to have been\nnot one of the most faithful of servants.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe third centenary commemoration of the treaty of Passau was\ncelebrated on the 2d of August in Darmstadt, and in connection with\nit Dr. Zimmerman, a divine of some celebrity, intends to revise and\ncomplete an entire edition of the works of Martin Luther, to be ready\nfor publication on the 26th of September, 1855, the three hundredth\nanniversary of the \"religious peace\" established by Charles V.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn German literature of late, there have been very few publications\nworth announcing. Two works recently published, however, deserve a\npassing mention. The first is a volume attributed by vague rumor\nto SCHELLING, upon what authority we can not say, and bearing this\ncomprehensive title, _Ueber den Geist und sein Verh\u00e4ltniss in der\nNatur_--running rapidly through the whole circle of the sciences\nphysical and social; the second is a history of German Philosophy since\nKANT, by FORTLAGE of Jena--_Genetische Geschichie der Philosophie\nseit Kant_. He is a popular expositor, and as his work embraces KANT,\nJACOBI, FICHTE, SCHELLING, OKEN, STEFFENS, CARUS, SCHLEIERMACHER,\nHEGEL, WEISSE, FRIES, HERBART, BENEKE, REINHOLD, TRENDELENBURG, &C.,\nit will be interesting to students of that vast logomachy named German\nPhilosophy.\n\nIn science we have to note one or two decidedly interesting\npublications. A massive, cheap, and popular exposition of the Animal\nKingdom, by VOGT, under the title of _Zoologische Briefe_--the numerous\nwoodcuts to which, though very rude, are well drawn and useful as\ndiagrams: VORTISCH _Die J\u00fcngste Katastrophe des Erdballs_, and LOTZE\n_Medicinische Psychologie oder Physiologie der Seele_ will attract two\nvery different classes of students. While the lovers of German Belles\nLettres will learn with tepid satisfaction that a new work is about\nto appear from the converted Countess HAHN-HAHN, under the mystical\ntitle of _Die Liebhaber des Kreuzes_, and a novel also by L. MUHLBACH\n(wife of THEODORE MUNDT) upon Frederick the Great, called _Berlin und\nSans Souci_, which CARLYLE is _not_ very likely to consult for his\ndelineation of the Military Poetaster.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNorway has been deprived of one of her most learned historians, Dr.\nNIELS WULFSBERG, formerly Chief Keeper of the Archives of the Kingdom.\nThe doctor was in the sixty-seventh year of his age. Dr. Wulfsberg\nwas the founder of the two earliest daily papers ever published: the\n_Mergenbladet_ (\"Morning Journal\") and the _Fider_ (\"Times\"); both of\nwhich still exist--one under its original title, and the other under\nthat of the _Rigstidenden_ (\"Journal of the Kingdom\").\n\n\n\n\nComicalities, Original and Selected.\n\n\n[Illustration: NEW ILLUSTRATIONS TO THE POETS.--BYRON\n\n    Shrine of the mighty! can it be\n    That _this_ is all remains of thee?\n\n  _Giaour_, 106.]\n\n[Illustration:\n\n    But in thy lineaments I trace\n    What time shall strengthen, nor efface.\n\n  _Giaour_, 192.]\n\nTHE DOG AND HIS ENEMIES, BIPED AND WINGED.\n\n[Illustration: SMALL JUVENILE (_with an eye to the Reward for killing\nDogs_).--\"Doggy, doggy, Here's a Rat! Catch him--Stu-boy!\"]\n\n[Illustration: FOUR SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A DOG IN THE DOG-DAYS.]\n\n\n\n\nAutumn Fashions.\n\n\n[Illustration: FIGURES 1 AND 2.--WALKING AND HOME TOILET.]\n\nOur report for October varies but little from that of September,\nstyle and texture being similar. In the above engraving we give\nrepresentations of very elegant modes of toilet for the promenade\nand the parlor. The figure with the bonnet shows a promenade toilet.\nBonnet of lisse crape and tulle puffed. It is covered with white lace,\nreaching beyond the edge of the brim, falling in front, after what is\ncalled the Mary Stuart style. The brim inside is trimmed on the one\nhand with a tuft of roses mixed up with narrow white blondes; and on\nthe other it has a feather of graduated shades, which is placed outside\nand then turns over the edge and comes inside near the cheek; strings\nof white gauze ribbon.\n\nBarege dress, trimmed with taffeta ribbons and fringes bordering the\ntrimmings. Body lapping over, the right on the left, having a flat\nlapel parallel to the edge. The body is gathered at the waist, on the\nshoulders, and at the bottom of the back. A No. 22 ribbon forms a\nwaistband, and ties on the left side at the bottom of the lapels. This\nribbon matches that used for the trimming of the dress. The sleeve is\ncomposed of four frills one over the other. The skirt, which is very\nfull, has seven graduated flounces. All are bordered with a narrow\nfringe. The lapel of the body, the frills of the sleeves, and flounces\nof the skirts are ornamented with ribbons; those on the body are No. 9,\nthose on the skirt No. 12. On the lapels and sleeves the No. 9 ribbons\nare placed at intervals of three inches. On the flounces the No. 12\nribbons, 2-3/4 inches wide, are placed further apart. The white lace\nwhich replaces the habit-shirt follows the outline of the body. The\nunder-sleeve is composed of a large _bouillonn\u00e9_ of thin muslin, tight\nat the wrist, but falling full over it in the shape of a bell. Two rows\nof lace fall on the hand.\n\nThe other figure represents a HOME TOILET. Taffeta redingote with\n_moire_ bands; the _moire_ trimmings are edged on each side with a\ntaffeta biais, rather under half an inch wide, and which stands in\nrelief. The joining of the _biais_ and the _moire_ is concealed by a\nbraid about the width of a lace. A _moire_ band with its edges trimmed\nwith _biais_ follows the outline of the body. Three inches wide at\ntop, it narrows to half the width at the waist, and is then continued\nabout 2-1/2 inches wide on the lappet. The skirt is trimmed with five\n_moire_ bands with _biais_ at their edges. These bands are of graduated\nwidth; the top one is 8 inches from the waist, and two inches wide.\nThe interval between each one and the next is 4 inches; the lowest\nband, which is 4 inches wide, is placed 2 inches from the bottom of the\nskirt. On the body there are two rows of _moire_ and three on each\nband of the skirt. These gradually diverge toward the bottom. These\nlast form a width of apron of 32 inches. (The posture of this figure\nmasks the right side of the skirt, and consequently only the middle\nrow and that on the left side are to be seen.) The sleeves, half wide,\nare terminated by a cuff turned up with _moire_ and a _biais_ on the\nedge. A row of white lace follows the outline of the body. We see the\nchemisette composed of a row of lace, an insertion, and round plaits\nfrom top to bottom of thin muslin. A muslin _bouillon_ plaits. All the\nfullness is thrown behind, beginning at the side trimming. The sleeve\nis open behind, ornamented with buttons, and then edged with _guipure_.\nA cardinal collar of Venice _guipure_ falls on the neck. The under\nsleeves are composed of two rows of white _guipure_ following the\noutline of the sleeve.\n\n[Illustration: FIGURE 3.--GIRL'S TOILET.]\n\nFIG. 3 represents a pretty toilet for a girl from nine to eleven years\nof age. Hair parted down the middle and rolled in plaits at the sides.\nFrock of white muslin. Short sleeves, body low. Six small-pointed\nflounces on the skirt. A wide pink silk ribbon passed under the sleeve,\nis tied at the top in a large bow, so that the sleeve is drawn together\nin it, and leaves the shoulder visible. A plain band runs along the top\nof the body, which is plaited lengthwise, in very small plaits.\n\nFIG. 4 represents a graceful cap for the parlor. It is made of\n_guipure_, ornamented with apple blossoms, and having wide pale-green\nsilk ribbon bows and streamers.\n\nThis is a pleasant season for traveling, after the equinoctial storms\nhave passed by. Appropriate dresses are very desirable. None is more so\nthan the foulard dress of a dark color, with branches of foliage and\nlarge bouquets of flowers. The same may be said of valencia and poplin\nde laine, either with Albanese stripes on a plain ground, or a large\nplaid pattern. A traveling dress should be made like a morning gown,\nbut not exactly; for strings are put in underneath, both before and\nbehind, for the purpose of drawing it, so as to form a pretty plaited\nbody when they are pulled tight. Over the gathers either a ribbon or a\nband with a buckle must be added. The body may be either low or high,\nwith a small collar having two rows of cambric plaited very fine, or\nwith a jaconet collar having open plaits, or again with a Charles V.\ncollar, made of frieze well starched and lustred. The under sleeves\nshould be always in harmony with the collar.\n\n[Illustration: FIGURE 4.--CAP.]\n\nThe bonnet is made half of straw, half of taffeta. The brim is straw\nveined with black or mixed with aloes, and the crown has a soft top\nof ruffled taffeta, with a bow of ribbon. On this capote, it is\nindispensable to put a Cambrai lace vail, that lace being at once\nsubstantial, light, and rich in pattern.\n\nAs to the feet they are provided with boots of bronze leather, and\nhaving low heels and button-holes in vandykes.\n\nThe gloves are Swedish leather, dark color, as for instance Russia\nleather, iron-gray, maroon, or olive.\n\nThe traveling corset, called the _nonchalante_, is an article every way\nworthy of the name. From its extreme elasticity and clever combination\nit yields to every motion of the body, and supports it without the\nleast compression or inconvenience. This corset is therefore extremely\nagreeable for travels.\n\nAs a general rule, round waists are daily gaining ground; but you\nmust not confound round waists with short waists: for the former, the\ndressmaker ought, on the contrary, to endeavor to make the sides as\nlong as possible, and merely suppress the point in front.\n\nVests are still worn, but only to accompany linen and lace waistcoats.\nThe under-sleeves are always wide and floating; the wrists are\nornamented with ribbon bracelets matching the colors of the dress.\n\nBoots and shoes are both in very good wear. The shoe is more suitable\nfor the carriage than for walking. Boots of bronze leather, and of a\nsoft light color, are much sought after by the more elegant ladies.\nThese boots have low heels, and are fastened with enamel buttons of the\nsame color as the material of the boots.\n\n\n\n\n Transcriber's Notes:\n\n\n Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant\n preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed.\n\n Simple typographical and spelling errors were corrected.\n\n Italics markup is denoted by _underscores_.","title":"Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol. V, No. XXIX., October, 1852","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":134782}