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Title: Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine - Volume 55, No. 344, June, 1844

Author: Various

Release date: November 17, 2007 [eBook #23529]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Brendan OConnor, Jonathan Ingram, Louise Pryor
        and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE - VOLUME 55, NO. 344, JUNE, 1844 ***




Produced by Brendan OConnor, Jonathan Ingram, Louise Pryor
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Library of Early
Journals.)





{Transcriber's note: Spellings are sometimes erratic. A few obvious
misprints have been corrected, but in general the original spelling has
been retained. Accents in the French and Spanish passages are
inconsistent, and have not been standardised. Greek phrases have been
transliterated, and are enclosed in + signs +eis Athênas+.}





BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

NO. CCCXLIV.    JUNE, 1844.     VOL. LV.




CONTENTS.


  TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA. NO. I. THE FAIRIES'
    SABBATH,                                                     665

  COLUMBUS. (A PRINT AFTER A PICTURE BY PARMEGGIANO.)
    BY B. SIMMONS,                                               687

  TO SWALLOWS ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. BY THE SAME,              690

  THE DILIGENCE. A LEAF FROM A JOURNAL,                          692

  WHO WROTE GIL BLAS?                                            698

  MICHAEL KALLIPHOURNAS,                                         725

  AFRICA--SLAVE TRADE--TROPICAL COLONIES,                        731

  NARRATION OF CERTAIN UNCOMMON THINGS THAT DID
    FORMERLY HAPPEN TO ME, HERBERT WILLIS, B.D.                  749

  BEAU BRUMMELL,                                                 769

  THE ACTUAL CONDITION OF THE GREEK STATE,                       785

  INDEX,                                                         797

       *       *       *       *       *

  EDINBURGH:
  WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;
  AND 22, PALL-MALL, LONDON.

_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._

SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.




BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No CCCXLIV.     JUNE, 1844.     VOL. LV.




TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA.

No. I.

THE FAIRIES' SABBATH.


WHAT is a fairy?

READ!

["_A Wood near Athens.--Enter a Fairy on one side, and Puck on the
other._{A}]

      "_Puck._ How now, Spirit! whither wander you?

      _Fairy._ Over hill, over dale,
          Thorough bush, thorough brier,
      Over park, over pale,
          Thorough flood, thorough fire,
      I do wander ever where,
      Swifter than the moones sphere;
      And I serve the Fairy Queen,
      To dew her orbs upon the green:
      The cowslips tall her pensioners be;
      In their gold coats spots you see;
      Those be rubies, fairy favours,
      In those freckles live their savours:
    I must go seek some dewdrops here,
    And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
    Farewell, thou lob of spirits, I'll begone;
    Our queen and all our elves come here anon.

    _Puck._ The King doth keep his revels here to-night;
    Take heed, the queen come not within his sight.
    For Oberon is passing fell and wrath,
    Because that she, as her attendant, hath
    A lovely boy, stolen from an Indian king;
    She never had so sweet a changeling.
    And jealous Oberon would have the child
    Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild:
    But she, perforce, withholds the loved boy:
    Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy:
    And now they never meet in grove, or green,
    By fountain clear, or spangled starlight sheen,
    But they do square; that all their elves, for fear,
    Creep into acorn cups, and hide them there."

And there, then, they are!--The blithe and lithe, bright and fine
darlings of your early-bewitched and for ever-enamoured fancy! There
they are! The King and the Queen, and the Two royal Courts of shadowy,
gorgeous, remote, and cloud-walled Elf-land: The fairies of the vision
once wafted, "by moon or star light," upon the "creeping murmur" of the
Avon!--THE FAIRIES IN ENGLAND! YOUR fairies!

Nevertheless you, from of old, are discreet. And you mistrust
information which discountenances itself, by borrowing the magical robe
of verse! Or you misdoubt this medley of our English blood, which in the
lapse of ages must, as you deem, have confounded, upon the soil, the
confluent streams of primitively distinct superstitions! Or your
suspicious inquisition rebels against this insular banishment of ours,
which, sequestering us from the common mind of the world, may, as you
augur, have perverted, into an excessive individuality of growth, our
mythological beliefs: Or--Southwards then!

One good stride over salt water lands you amongst a people, who, from
the old, have kept THEMSELVES TO THEMSELVES; whose warm, bold,
_thorough_-loyal hearts hereditarily believe, after the love and
reverence owed from the children's children to the fathers' fathers.
Here are--for good and for ill--and from a sure hand:--"THE FAIRIES IN
LOWER BRITANNY; _alio nomine_--THE KORRIGANS."

"Like these holy virgins, (the Gallicenæ or Barrigenæ of Mela,) our
Korrigans predict the future. They know the skill of healing incurable
maladies with particular charms; which they impart, it is affirmed, to
magicians that are their friends. Ingenious Proteuses, they take the
shape of any animal at their pleasure. In the twinkling of an eye they
whisk from one end of the world to the other. Annually, with returning
spring, they celebrate a high nocturnal festivity. A tablecloth, white
as the driven snow, is spread upon the greensward, by the margin of a
fountain. It is covered with the most delicious viands; in the midst
sparkles a crystal goblet, which sheds such a splendour as serves in the
stead of torches. At the close of the repast, this goblet goes round
from hand to hand; it holds a miraculous beverage, one drop of which, it
is averred, would make omniscient, like the Almighty. At any least
breath or stir of human kind, all vanishes.

"In truth, it is near fountains that the Korrigans are oftenest met
with; especially near such as rise in the neighbourhood of _dolmens_.{B}
For in the sequestered spots whence the Virgin Mary, who is held for
their chief foe, has not yet driven them, they still preside over the
fountains. Our traditions bestow upon them a strong passion for music,
with sweet voices; but do not, like those of the Germanic nations, make
dancers of them. The popular songs of all countries frequently depict
them combing their fine fair hair, which they seem daintily to cherish.
Their stature is that of the other European fairies: they are not above
two feet in height. Their shape, exquisitely proportioned, is as airy,
slight, and pellucid as that of the wasp. They have no other dress than
a white veil, which they wrap around their body. Seen by night, they are
very beautiful: in the daytime, you perceive that their hair is
grey--that their eyes are red--that their face is wrinkled. Accordingly,
they begin to show themselves only at the shut of eve; and they loathe
the light. _Every thing about them denotes fallen intelligences._ The
Breton peasants maintain that _they are high princesses, who, because
they would not embrace Christianity when the apostles came to preach in
Armorica, were stricken by the curse of God_. The Welsh recognise in
them, souls of Druids doomed to penance. This coincidence is remarkable.

"They are universally believed to feel a vehement hatred for the
clergy, and for our holy religion, which has confounded them with the
spirits of darkness--a grand motive, as it appears, of displeasure and
offence to them. The sight of a surplice, _the sound of bells_, scares
them away. The popular tales of all Europe would, meanwhile, tend to
support the church, in viewing them as maleficent genii. As in Britanny;
the blast of their breath is mortal in Wales, in Ireland, in Scotland,
and in Prussia. They cast weirds.{C} Whosoever has muddied the waters of
their spring, or caught them combing their hair, or counting their
treasures beside their _dolmen_, (for they there keep, it is believed,
concealed mines of gold and of diamonds,) almost inevitably dies;
especially should the misencounter fall upon a Saturday, which day, holy
to the Virgin Mother, is inauspicious for their kind,"{D} &c. &c. &c.

Here, in the stead of the joyously-sociable monarchal hive, you behold a
republic of solitarily-dwelling, and not unconditionally beautiful,
naiads! No dancing! And a stature, prodigiously disqualifying for the
asylum of an acorn cup! You are unsatisfied. Shakspeare has indeed
vividly portrayed one curiously-featured species, and M. De la
Villemarqué another, of the air-made inscrutable beings evoked by your
question; but your question, from the beginning, struck at the GENERIC
notion in its purified logical shape--at the definition, then--of the
thing, a fairy.

Sir _Walter Scott_,{E} writing--the first in time of all men who have
written--at large and scientifically upon the fairies of Western Europe,
steps into disquisition by a description, duly loose for leaving his own
foot unentangled. "The general idea of SPIRITS, of A LIMITED POWER AND
SUBORDINATE NATURE, DWELLING AMONG THE WOODS AND MOUNTAINS, is perhaps
common to all nations."

A little _too_ loose, peradventure!

Dr James Grimm, heroically bent upon rescuing from the throat of
oblivion and from the tooth of scepticism, to his own TEUTONS--yet
heathen--a faith outreaching and outsoaring the gross definite
cognisances of this fleshly eye and hand, sets apart one--profoundly
read and thought--chapter, to WIGHTS AND ELVES.{F}

These terms, WIGHT and ELF, are presented by Dr Grimm as being, after a
rough way, synonymous; and you have above seen another Germanic
writer--a native of Warwickshire--take ELF for equivalent, or nearly so,
with FAIRY.

Of his many-natured Teutonic _wights and elves_, then, but with glances
darted around, northwards and westwards, and southwards and eastwards,
Dr Grimm begins with speaking thus:--

"From the _deified_ and _half-divine_ natures [investigated by this
author in several of his antecedent chapters] _a whole order of other
beings_ is especially herein distinguished, that whilst the former
either proceed of mankind, or seek human intercourse, these form a
segregated society--one might say, a peculiar kingdom of their own--and
are only, by accident or the pressure of circumstances, moved to
converse with men. Something superhuman, approximating them to the gods,
is mingled up in them: they possess power to help and to hurt man. They
are however, at the same time, afraid of him, because they are not his
bodily match. They appear either far below the human stature, or
misshapen. Almost all of them enjoy the faculty of rendering themselves
invisible."

You turn away your head, exclaiming that the weighty words of our
puissant teacher are, for your proficiency, somewhat bewildering, and
for your exigency by much too--TEUTONIC.

Have a care!

However, "Westward Hoe!" Put the old Rhine between the master of living
mythologists and yourself, and listen to Baron Walckenaer unlocking the
fountains of the fairy belief, and showing how it streams, primarily
through France, and secondarily through all remaining Western Europe.
"If there is a specifically characterized superstition, it is that which
regards _the fairies_: those _female genii_,{G} most frequently _without
name_, without descent, without kin, who are incessantly busied
subverting the order of nature, for the weal or the woe of mortals whom
they love and favour _without a motive_, or, as causelessly, hate and
persecute."{H}

What, _female_ only? Where are Oberon and Puck? _Without a name?_ Where
Titania?--Mab? _Without a motive?_ Where the godmother of the
sweet-faced and sweet-hearted Cinderella? Partial, and without a
distinct type in your own recollections, you guessingly pronounce the
characterization of the perpetual secretary too----_French_. Driven
back, disappointed on all sides, you turn round upon your difficulties,
and manfully project beating out _a definition of your own_; to which
end, glancing your eye back affectionately, and now, needle-like,
northwards across the Channel, you "at one slight bound" once more find
yourself at your own fireside, and on your table _The Midsummer Night's
Dream_, open at the second scene of the first act.

Inquirer whosoever! A problem lies large before us--complicated,
abstruse even, yet--suitably to the subject--a delicate one! To hunt
down an elusive word, and a more elusive notion! It is to find a set of
determinings which, laid together, shall form a circle fitted to confine
that inconfinable spirit--a Fairy; or, if you better like plain English,
to find the terms needed for signifying, describing, expounding the
Thought which, lurking as at the bottom of your mind, under a crowd of
thoughts, rises up, in all circumstances, to meet and answer the
name----a fairy; the Thought, which when all accidental and unessential
attributes liable to be attracted to the fairy essence have been
stripped away, remains; the _substrate_, absolute, essential, _generic_
notion, therefore--a fairy; that Thought, which whencesoever acquired,
and held howsoever, enables you to deal to your satisfaction with
proposed fairies, acknowledging THIS one frankly;--THIS, but for a
half-sister; shutting the door upon ANOTHER. You may distinguish these
terms at your pleasure, by sundry denominations: for example, you may
call them Elements of the notion--a fairy--or circumscriptive Lines of
such a notion, or indispensable Fairy-marks, or elfin Criteria, or by
any other name which you may happen to like as well or better; but when
found, call them as you will, they must reveal in essence, the thing
which we look for--the answer to the question with which we first
started, and to which we have as yet found no satisfactory solution.

As for the process of the finding. This notion is to be tracked after
widely, and in intimate recesses; more hopefully, therefore, according
to a planned campaign than a merely wild chance expatiation. The chase
ranges over a material and an intellectual ground. Of either--a word.

I. The _material_--is a _geographical_--region, and may be called,
summarily--_The western half of Europe_. Let us regard it as laid out by
languages at this day spoken. Here is a map, roughly sketched:--

    A.--ABORIGINAL.

  1. NORTH-WESTERN CELTS.--Ireland, Highlands of Scotland, and
       the interjacent Isle of Man.

  2. SOUTH-WESTERN CELTS.--Wales, Britanny, and the, till lately,
       Celtic-speaking Cornwall.

  3. NORTHERN GERMANS, or GERMANS BEYOND THE EIDER, or
       SCANDINAVIANS.--Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Iceland.

  4. SOUTHERN GERMANS, or GERMANS BELOW THE EIDER, or
       TEUTONS.--Netherlands, the German empire, Switzerland.

    B.--LATIN SPEAKING.

  1. ITALY.--Sicily.

  2. SPAIN.

  3. PORTUGAL.

  4. Latin-speaking FRANCE, distinguishing Normandy.

    C.--GERMAN AND LATIN MIXED.

  1. ENGLAND.

  2. SCOTTISH LOWLANDS.

II. From all this tangible territory, we are to sweep up--what? An
overlying _intellectual_ kingdom, _videlicet_--THE KINDS OF THE FAIRIES,
rudely marked out, perhaps, as follows:--

  1. The _community_ of the Fairies, monarchal or republican:--The
       Fairy folk; Fairies proper.

  2. The _solitary_ domestic serviceable Fairy.

  3. In the mines, under the water; a Fairy folk.

  4. The solitary water Fairy.

  5. The Fairy-ancestress.

  6. The Fairy, tutelary or persecuting, of the chivalrous metrical
       romance.

  7. The Fairy, tutelary or persecuting, now giving and now turning
       destinies, of the fairy tale proper.

We have then to ask what are the terms, marks, common traits, or by
whatsoever name they are to be called, which are yielded by a comparison
of such seven kinds. Something like the following eight will possibly
arise:--

  First, A FAIRY IS A SUBORDINATE SPIRIT.

  Secondly, IS ATTRACTED TO THE SURFACE OF OUR PLANET.

  Thirdly, AT ONCE SEEKS AND SHUNS MANKIND.

  Fourthly, HAS A BODY.

  Fifthly, IS ATTENUATE.

  Sixthly, IS WITHOUT PROPER STATION AND FUNCTION IN THE GENERAL ECONOMY
    OF THE UNIVERSE; OR IS MYTHOLOGICALLY DISPLACED.

  Seventhly, IS ENDOWED WITH POWERS OF INTELLIGENCE AND OF AGENCY EXCELLING
    HUMAN.

  Eighthly, STANDS UNDER A DOOM.

To these eight criteria, taken _in the nature of the thing enquired_,
the reflective inquirer will perchance find himself led on to add two
furnished from within himself, as that--

First, Acknowledging, as in these latter days our more delicate
psychologists have called upon us to do, the names FANCY and IMAGINATION
as designating TWO faculties, the fairies belong rather to the FANCY.

Secondly, Accepting for a legitimate thought, legitimately and
cogently signified, the High Marriage which one of these finer
Metaphysicians{I}--instructed no doubt by his personal
experience--prophesies to his kind, between the "intellect of man" and
"this goodly universe," we may say that, regularly, this marriage must
have its antecedent possessing and agitating Love; that this love must,
like all possessing agitated love, have its attendant Reverie. Now,
might one venture to surmise that _this_ REVERIE breathes into the
creating of a fairy?

Does the jealous reader perchance miss in the above proposed eight
several elements the UNITY OF NOTION, which he has all along seemed to
feel in his own spirit and understanding? Let him at once conceive, as
intensely joined, the two permanent characters of _tenuity_ and
_mythological displacement_, and take this compound for the nucleus of
the unity he seeks. About these two every other element will easily
place itself. For a _soul_, he shall infuse into the whole, after in
like manner inseparably blending them--FANCY, and that love-inspired
REVERIE which won its way to us from Grassmere.

And so take, reader, our answer to your question, "_What is a fairy?_"
THIS IS A FAIRY. Are you still unsatisfied? Good. The field of
investigation lies open before you, free and inviting. On, in your own
strength, and Heaven speed you!

       *       *       *       *       *

The eight or nine tales of sundry length, and exceedingly diversified
matter, contained in the two little volumes of Herr Ernst Willkomm,{J}
which have put us a-journeying to Fairy-land, have begun to produce
before the literary world the living popular superstitions of a small
and hidden mountainous district, by which _Cis Eidoran_ Germany leans
upon Sclavonia: hidden, it would seem, for any thing like interesting
knowledge, until this author began to write, from the visiting eye of
even learned curiosity. Nor this without a sufficient reason; since the
mountains do, of themselves, shut in their inhabitants, and, for a
stranger, the temper of the rugged mountaineer, at once shy and mailing
himself in defiance, is, like the soil, inaccessible. To Ernst Willkomm
this hinderance was none. He discloses to us the heart of the country,
and that of the people which have born him, which have bred him up; and
he will, if he is encouraged, write on. Three of these tales, or of
these traditions--for the titles, with this writer, appear to us
exchangeable--regard the fairies properly so called. They are, "_The
Priest's Well_," "_The Fairies' Sabbath_," here given, and "_The Fairy
Tutor_," being the first, the third, and the seventh, of the entire
present series. Upon these three tales the foregoing attempt at fixing
the generic notion of a fairy was intended to bear. Should pretty Maud,
the stone-mason's daughter, our heroine for to-day, find the favour in
English eyes which her personal merit may well claim, the remaining two
are not likely to be long withheld.

The illustrations which shall now follow, drawn from distinguished
authorities, aim at showing the consonancy of Herr Willkomm's pictures
with authentic representations of Elfin superstition already known to
the world. If, however, the criteria which have been proposed, have
been rightfully deduced, the illustrations should as materially serve us
in justifying these by proof.

Amongst the numerous points of analogy which strikingly connect our tale
with popular tales and traditions innumerable, _three_ are main to the
structure of the tale itself. They may be very briefly described as--

    I. The Heathenism of the Fairies.
   II. Their need, thence arising.
  III. Maud's ability to help them.

       *       *       *       *       *

I. The opinion, which sets the fairies in opposition to the established
faith of all Christendom, is widely diffused. To the _Breton_ peasant,
as M. de la Villemarqué has above informed us, his Korrigan is a heathen
princess, doomed to a long sorrow for obstinately refusing the message
of salvation.

The brothers Grimm, speaking of the fairies in _Ireland_, say that "they
are angels cast out from heaven, who have not fallen as low as hell; but
in great fear and uncertainty about their future state, doubt,
themselves, whether they shall obtain mercy at the last day."{K}

Of the fairies in _Scotland_, it is averred by the same learned and
exact writers, that "they were originally angels dwelling in bliss, but
who, because they suffered themselves to be seduced by the archfiend,
were hurled down from heaven in innumerable multitudes. They shall
wander till the last day over mountains and lakes. They know not how
their sentence will run--whether they shall be saved or damned; but
dread the worst."

Tales, in many parts of Europe, which represent the fairies as
exceedingly solicitous about their salvation, and as _inquiring of
priests_ and others concerning their own spiritual prospects, for the
most part with an unfavourable answer, tend to fix upon them a
reproachful affinity with the spirits of darkness.

       *       *       *       *       *

II. That the powerful fairies, who have appeared to us, from childhood
upwards, as irresistible dispensers of good and evil to our kind, should
_need aid_ of any sort from us, is an unexpected feature of the fairy
lore, which breaks by degrees upon the zealous and advancing inquirer.

The two excellent brothers Grimm, in the most elaborate and
comprehensive collection,{L} probably, of national traditions that
Europe possesses, have furnished us with various instances. We select a
very few. In the following graceful Alpine pastoral, the need of human
help attaches to an exigency of life or death:--


GERMAN TRADITIONS.

No. CCXX. _The Queen of the Snakes._

"A herd maiden found upon the fell a sick snake lying and almost
famished. Compassionately she held down to it her pitcher of milk. The
snake licked greedily, and was visibly revived. The girl went on her
way; and it presently happened that her lover sued for her, but was too
poor for the proud wealthy father, who tauntingly dismissed him till the
day when he too should be master of as large herds as the old herdsman.
From this time forwards had the old herdsman no luck more, but sheer
misfortune. Report ran that a fiery dragon was seen passing o' nights
over his grounds; and his substance decayed. The poor swain was now as
rich, and again sued for his beloved, whom he obtained. Upon the
wedding-day a snake came gliding into the room, upon whose coiled tail
there sat a beautiful damsel, who said that it was she to whom formerly
the kind herd maid had, in strait of hunger, given her milk, and, out
of gratitude, she took her brilliant crown from her head, and cast it
into the bride's lap. Thereupon she vanished; but the young couple
throve in their housekeeping greatly, and were soon well at ease in the
world."

Since fairies, like ourselves, are mortal, TWO LIVES may be understood
as at stake in the following:--


No. LXVIII. _The Lady of Alvensleben._

"Some hundred years ago, there lived at Calb, in the Werder, an aged
lady of the house of Alvensleben, who feared God, was gracious to the
people, and willingly disposed to render any one a service: especially
she did assist the burgesses' wives in difficult travail of childbirth,
and was, in such cases, of all desired and highly esteemed. Now,
therefore, there did happen in wise following:--

"In the night season there came a damsel to the castle gate, who knocked
and distressfully called, beseeching that it should not mislike her, if
possible, forthwith to arise, and to accompany her from the town, where
there lay a good woman in travail of child, because the last hour and
uttermost peril was already upon her, and her mistress wist no help for
her life. The noblewoman said, 'It is very midnight; all the town gates
be shut and well barred: how shall we make us forth?' The damsel
rejoined that the gate was ready open, she should come forth only, (but
beware, as do some add, in the place whither she should be conducted, to
eat or to drink any thing, or to touch that should be proffered her.)
Thereupon did the lady rise from her bed, dressed her, came down, and
went along with the damsel which had knocked. The town gate she found
open, and as they came further into a field was there a fair way which
led right into a hillside. The hill stood open, and although she did
well perceive that the thing was darksome, she resolved to go still on,
unalarmed, until she arrived at last where was a _little wifikin_ that
lay on the bed, in great pains of travail. But the noble lady gave her
succour, (by the report of some, _she needed no more than lay her hand
upon her body_,) and a little baby was born to the light of day.

"When she had yielded her aid, desire took her to return from out the
hill, home; she took leave of the sick woman, (without having any thing
touched of the meats and liquors that were offered her,) and the former
damsel anew joined her, and brought her back unharmed to the castle. At
the gateway the damsel stood still, thanked her highly in her mistress's
name, and drew off from her finger a golden ring, which she presented to
the noblewoman with these words, 'Have this dear pledge in right heedful
keeping, and let it not part from you and from your house. They of
Alvensleben will flourish so long as they possess this ring. Should it
ever leave them, the whole race must become extinct.' Herewith vanished
the damsel.

"It is said that the ring, at this day, is rightly and properly kept in
the lineage, and for good assurance deposited at Lubeck. But others,
that it was, at the dividing of the house into two branches, diligently
parted in two. Others yet, that the one half has been melted, since when
it goes ill with that branch: the other half stays with the other branch
at Zichtow. The story moreover goes, that the benevolent lady was a
married woman. When she upon the morrow told her husband the tale of
that had betid her in the night, he would not believe her, until she
said, 'Forsooth, then, an' ye will not trow me, take only the key of yon
room from the table: there lieth, I dare warrant, the ring.' Which was
exactly so. It is marvellous the gifts that men have received of the
fairies."

The most touching by far of the traditions at our disposal for
illustrating at once the dependence of the fairies upon man, and their
anxiety concerning their souls' welfare, is one in which the
all-important hope which we have said that they sometimes solicit from
the grave and authorized lips of priests, appears as floating on the
lightest breath of children. Our immediate author is James Grimm,
speaking in his German _Mythology_ of the water spirit. The tradition
itself is from Sweden, where this mythological being, the solitary
water fairy, bears the name of "The _Neck_."

"Two lads were at play by the river side. The _Neck_ sate and touched
his harp. The children called to him--

"'Why sittest thou here, _Neck_, and playest? Thou wilt not go to
heaven.' Then the _Neck_ began bitterly weeping, flung his harp away,
and sank in the deep water. When the boys came home they told their
father, who was a priest, what had happened. The father said--

"'Ye have sinned towards the _Neck_. Go ye back, and give him promise of
salvation.'

"When they returned to the river, the _Neck_ sate upon the shore,
mourning and weeping. The children said--

"'Weep not so, thou _Neck_. Our father hath said, that thy Redeemer too
liveth.'

"Then the _Neck_ took joyfully his harp, and played sweetly until long
after sundown."

"I do not know," tenderly and profoundly suggests Dr Grimm, "that any
where else in our traditions is as significantly expressed how NEEDY of
the Christian belief the HEATHEN are, and how MILDLY it should approach
them."

       *       *       *       *       *

III. A few words shall here satisfy the claims of a widely-stretching
subject. Is there _one_ order of spirits which, as the Baron Walckenaer
has assured us, lavishes on chosen human heads love unattracted, and
hate unprovoked? We must look well about us ere fixing the imputation.
Spirits, upon the other hand, undoubtedly there are, and those of not a
few orders, fairies of one or another description being amongst them,
who exert, in the choice of their human favourites, a discrimination
challenging no light regard.

A host of traditions, liberally scattered over a field, of which,
perhaps, Ireland is one extremity and China the other, now plainly and
emphatically declare, and now, after a venturous interpretation, may be
understood to point out, _simplicity of will_ and _kindness of heart_ as
titles in the human being to the favour of the spirits. At times a
brighter beam irradiates such titles, to which holiness, purity, and
innocence, are seen to set their seal. We cull a few instances, warning
the reader, that, although of our best, he will possibly find them a
mere working upwards to the most perfect which we have it in our power
to bring before him in the beautiful tale of Maud.

Amongst the searchers who seem to have been roused into activity by the
German traditions of the brothers Grimm, Ludwig Bechstein takes
distinguished place for the diligence with which he has collected
different districts of Germany. Our inquiry shall owe him the two
following


TRADITIONS OF THE GRABFELD.

No. LVII. _The little Cherry-Tree upon Castle Raueneck._

"There prevails, concerning the ruins of the old hill-castle Raueneck, a
quite similar tradition to that which holds of the like named ruined
strength near Baden, in Austria. There lies yet buried here a vast
treasure, over which a spirit, debarred from repose, keeps watch,
anxiously awaiting deliverance. But who is he that can and shall
actually lift this treasure and free the spirit? Upon the wall there
grows a cherry seedling that shall one day become a tree; and the tree
shall be cut down, and out of it a cradle made. He that, being a
Sunday's child, is rocked in this cradle, will grow up, but only
provided that he have kept himself virginally pure and chaste, _at some
noontide hour_ set free the spirit, lift the treasure, and become
immeasurably rich; so as he shall be able to rebuild Castle Raueneck and
all the demolished castles in the neighbourhood round. If the plant
wither, or if a storm break it, then must the spirit again wait until
once more a cherry stone, brought by a bird to the top of the lofty
wall, shoot and put forth leaves, and haply grow to a tree."


No. LXII. _The Hollow Stone._

"In the wood near Altenstein there stands a high rock. The inhabitants
of the neighbourhood say that this rock is hollow within, and filled
with treasure in great store from the olden time. At certain seasons and
hours, it is given _to Sunday children_ to find the rock doors open, or
to open them with _the lucky flower_."

The singular superstition of spiritual favour fixing itself upon the
human child, consecrated, as it were, by the hallowed light upon which
the eyes first open, will shortly return upon us in _The Fairies'
Sabbath_.

Lo! where, from the bountiful hand of the Brothers Grimm, fall two
bright dewdrop of tradition upon the pure opening flower of childhood.


GERMAN TRADITIONS.

NO. CLIX. _The Treasure at Soest._

"In the time of the Thirty Years' war, there was to be seen standing not
far from the town of Soest, in Westphalia, an old ruin, of which the
tradition ran that there was an iron trunk there, full of money, kept by
a black dog and a bewitched maiden. The grandfathers and grandmothers
Who are gone, used to tell that a strange nobleman shall one day arrive
in the country, deliver the maiden, and open the chest with a fiery key.
They said that divers itinerant scholars and exorcists had, within the
memory of man, betaken themselves thither to dig, but been in so strange
sort received and dismissed, that no one since further had list to the
adventure, especially after their publishing that the treasure might be
lifted of none who had once taken woman's milk. It was not long since a
little girl from their village had led her few goats to feed about the
very spot; one of which straying amongst the ruins, she had followed it.
Within, in the castle court, was a damsel who questioned her what she
did there: and when she was informed, pointing to a little basket of
cherries, further said, 'It is good; therefore take of that thou see'st
before thee, with thy goat and all, and go; and come not again, neither
look behind, that a harm befall thee not.' Upon this the frightened
child caught up seven cherries, and made her way in alarm out of the
ruins. The cherries turned, in her hand, to money."


NO. CLX. _The Welling Silver._

"In February of the year 1605, in the reign of Henry Julius, Duke of
Brunswick, at a mile's distance from Quedlinburg, where it is called _at
the Dale_, it happened that a poor peasant sent his daughter into the
next shaw to pick up sticks for fuel. The girl took for this use a
larger basket upon her head, and a smaller in her hand; and when she had
filled them both and was going home, a mannikin clad all in white came
towards her, and asked:--

"'What art carrying there?'

"'Gathered sticks,' the girl made answer, 'for heating and cooking.'

"'Empty the wood out,' said further the little manling, 'take thy basket
and follow me. I shall show thee something that is better and more
profitable than thy sticks.'

"He then took her by the hand, and led her back again to a knoll, and
showed her a place which might be of two ordinary tables' breadth of a
fair pure silver, being smaller and larger coins of a moderate
thickness, with a image stamped like a Virgin Mary, and all round an
impress of exceedingly old writing. As the silver _welled up_, as it
were, abundantly out of the ground, the little girl was terrified and
drew back, neither would she empty out the sticks from her small
hand-basket. Accordingly, the little man in white himself did so, filled
the basket with the money, and gave it back to the little damsel with
saying, 'That shall be better for thee than thy sticks.' She was
confounded and took it; but upon the mannikin's requiring that she
should likewise empty out her larger basket and take silver therein, she
refused and said--'That she must carry fuel home too; for there were
little children at home who must have a warm room, and there must be
wood ready likewise for cooking.' This contented the manling, who said,
'Well, then, go; take it all home,' and thereupon disappeared.

"The girl carried the basket of silver home, and told what had happened
to her. The boors now ran flocking with pickaxes and other tools, and
would have their share of the treasure, but none of them was able to
find the spot where the silver had welled out.

"The Prince of Brunswick had a pound of the coined silver brought him,
as did moreover a burgess of Halberstadt, N. Everkan, purchase the
like."

The quick-sighted reader will not easily have missed detecting the
sudden effect produced upon the two spirits by THE TRUTHFUL
RIGHT-MINDEDNESS OF THE TWO LITTLE GIRLS.

Correspondingly, James Grimm, from surveying collectively the Teutonic
traditions of bewitched or mysteriously hidden treasure, says--

"To the lifting of the treasure is required _silence_ and _innocence_.
* * * Innocent children's hands are able to lay hold upon it, as to draw
the lot. * * * Who has viciously stained himself cannot approach it."{M}

Two short instances more from the copious fraternal collection, and we
have done. With a temper of pure childlike antiquity, they express in
the persons of the dwarfs--_Teutonic approximative, fairies_--the
sympathy of the spirits with unstained and innocent human manners; and
may, if the traditions which exhibit the fairies under a cloud of sin
and sorrow should have been felt by the reader as at all grating upon
his old love of them, help to soothe and reconcile him by a soft gleam
of illumination, here lingering as in a newly revealed Golden Age of his
own.


GERMAN TRADITIONS.

No. CXLVII. _The Dwarfs upon the Tree._

"In the summer, the dwarfs often came trooping from the cliffs down into
the valley, and joined either with help, or as lookers-on at least, the
human inhabitants at their work, especially the mowers, in hay-harvest.
They, then and there, seated themselves at their ease and pleasantly,
upon the long and thick arm of a maple in the embowering shade. But once
there came certain evil-disposed persons, who, in the night, sawed the
bough through, so that it held but weakly on to the trunk; and when the
unsuspecting creatures, upon the morrow, settled themselves down upon
it, the bough cracked in two, the dwarfs tumbled to the ground, were
heartily laughed at, fell into violent anger, and cried aloud--

    'O, how is the heaven high and long!
    And falsehood waxen on earth so strong!
    Here to-day, and for ever away!'

They kept their word, and never again made their appearance in the
country."


No. CXLVIII. _The Dwarfs upon the Crag Stone._

"It was the wont of the dwarflings to seat themselves upon a great crag
stone, and from thence to watch the haymakers; but a few mischievous
fellows kindled a fire upon the stone, made it red-hot, and swept away
embers and ashes. Morning came, and with it the tiny folk, who burned
themselves pitiably. They exclaimed in high anger--

    'O wicked world! O wicked world!'

cried vengeance, and vanished for evermore!"

We have shown,--1. The Anti-christian character imputed by tradition to
the fairies. 2. The occasional dependence of the more powerful spirits
upon the less powerful human beings; and, 3. The strong affectionate
leaning in the will of the spirits towards moral human excellence. Of
the _ability_ which, in virtue of this excellence, the human creature
possesses _to help_, Maud must, for the present, be permitted to stand
for the sole, as she is beyond all comparison our best, example.

       *       *       *       *       *

The book of Ernst Willkomm takes a position in strong contrast to the
corresponding works due to the Brothers Grimm, and other great gatherers
of legendary lore. He has a personal poetic interest in the tales which
they have not. He presents himself as the expositor, not only of his
native superstitions, but also, zealously, of the Upper Lusatian
manners. Himself cradled amongst the mountains, he has drawn with
infinite pains, and by slow degrees, as he best could, from the deep
interior life of the people, their jealously withheld credences, and the
traditions which are sacredly associated with every nook of their craggy
district.

"The tract of country," says Willkomm in his Preface, "the true
Highlands of Upper Lusatia, called by the inhabitants themselves the
Upper Country, to which the tales are native, is one very narrowly
circumscribed. It amounts to scarcely ten square (German) miles. I have,
however, selected it for my undertaking," he continues, "because it is
intimately familiar to me; because the innermost character of the small
population who inhabit it is confidentially known to me; because there
is hardly a road or a path in the country which, on the darkest night, I
could not find. Interesting, romantic, magnificent is the piece of earth
which, at the confines of Bohemia, runs over hilly heights and lofty
hill, tops on to the high mountain-chain. But still more interesting, I
maintain with confidence, is the race of people."

It may seem strange at first, that the wise and profound explorers whom
we have so often had occasion to cite, the brothers Grimm, should have
failed to present us with any traditions from a corner of ground around
which they have so successfully laboured. We have hinted already at the
sufficient reason of the blank. Willkomm tells us, that the rest of the
world, which "the cabin'd cribb'd" Lusatian has himself learned to call
"_o' th' outside_," has taken no cognisance of his beautiful hill
country. Lusatia has a literature of her own, and no one is acquainted
with it. "She had, and partly still has, her own, similar to the
Imperial cities, exceeding free and energetic municipal constitution."
But no one cares about it. Celebrated and learned historians, questioned
by Willkomm on the subject, have acknowledged their ignorance in regard
to the character and laws of its small people. A more cogent reason,
however, lies nearer home, in the impenetrable reserve and
self-insulation of the mountaineers themselves. Willkomm confesses that
their coldness towards strangers is unparalleled; they have no
confidence whatever in foreigners; "and let a Lusatian but suspect," he
says, "that you come a-fishing to him, and to listen out his privacies;
then may you," as we may render the Lusatian proverb, "'Lose yourself
before you find his mushroom.'" He will communicate to strangers little
of his manners and customs; of his superstitious practices, his sacredly
guarded traditions, absolutely nothing. "He is unpliant,
self-sequestered, coarse-grained; beyond all conception easy and
phlegmatic."

Every genuine people, however, is rough-handed; and Willkomm proceeds,
after an ingenuous description of their defects, to vindicate the
natural heart of his brother highlanders. "Let him amongst the gentle,"
he proudly exclaims, "who desire to hear for once something novel,
something right vigorous, sit down beside me. He need not fear that
morals and decency will be cast out of doors. No, no! The people are
thoroughly moral and chaste at heart, if they are somewhat coarse in
expression;--ay, and tender withal. Their imagination glides as
delighted along fragrant threads of gold, as it eagerly descends amongst
the powers of darkness, amidst the dance of will-o'-the-wisps and
horrible ghost-reels. They are, at once, a blunt, good-hearted,
aboriginal stamp of men, with all the advantages and deficiencies
appurtenant."

The Lusatian traditions, brought to light in Germany by Ernst Willkomm,
and now first made known to Englishmen in these pages, were collected by
our author, as we have already observed, with difficulty and labour. A
native only of the mountain district could obtain from the lips of the
people their sacred and well-preserved lore, and even he not easily. The
tales were narrated from time to time in the spinning-room, or in the
so-called "_Hell_" of the boor or weaver, without any determinate
connexion. The listener gathered mere fragments, and these not fully,
when, thrown off his guard, he ventured to interrupt the speaker. Each
narrator conceives his tale differently, and one individual is apt to
garnish the experience of many, or what he has heard from others, with a
little spice of his own invention. Further, the details of ten or twelve
occurrences are associated with one single spot; all of which appear
externally different, and yet internally are connected closely, "so that
when comprehended in one whole picture, and not till then, they form
what, in a strict and literary sense, we are accustomed to call a
TRADITION or TALE. I, at least," adds Ernst Willkomm, "in such an
upgathering of these disjointed tones of tradition, could only
accomplish something that satisfied me by searching out the profound
hidden meaning of the people's poesy: and I have at last gone no further
than attempting to compose these detached fragments of tradition,
Lusatianwise and popularwise, from the people's own telling, into a
whole. Upon this scheme only could alike the poetical worth of the
tales, and the portraiture of the race, be rescued and rightly secured."

That the traditions have been rescued and maintained in their purity and
truth; coloured, no doubt, in the telling, and that unavoidably, under
the pencil of their educated renderer--we have every reason to believe
from internal evidences. Maintaining their own originality, they
correspond in the main to the traditions which come to us from almost
every known country on the globe, concurring to attest the intimate and
necessary relation of the human soul with what would seem to be the
remnants of an ancient and universal mythology. They bear upon their
front the minute impress of reality, not to be mistaken, and beyond the
mere invention of the poet. They are a valuable addition to the common
stock. The style of Willkomm is clear, and to the point; almost always,
as he says, in characterizing the speech of his own Upper Lusatians,
"hitting the nail upon the head." It breathes of his own mountain air,
and possesses a charm, a vigour, and freshness, which we fear that we
shall endeavour in vain to transfer to the following version:--


THE FAIRIES' SABBATH.

"Children born of a Sunday, and bastards, inherit the gift, denied to
other human beings, of beholding spirits, of talking with them, and, if
opportunity befriend, of right intimately communing with them. This was
a truth experienced by pretty Maud, the stone-mason's only daughter,
who, a hundred years ago or so, led, at the foot of the mountain-ridge
yonder, a quiet home-loving life. Maud was born, of all days in the
year, upon Easter Sunday, which is said to be a truly lucky day for a
mortal not otherwise heavily burdened with earthly blessings. In this
last respect, Maud had no reasonable cause of complaint; for her father,
by the labour of his hands, painfully earned just as much as went to a
frugal housekeeping, and the mother kept the little family in order; so
that things looked always neat and clean enough in the abode of the
stone-mason.

"All Sunday's children are very wise, and, if they are maidens, always
uncommonly beautiful. Maud was, as a child, admired by every body; nay,
it once went so far, as that a rich and beautiful, but very
sickly-looking, lady of quality, who was travelling over the mountain in
a fine carriage, tried hard to coax the poor mother out of her pretty
Maud with a large sum of gold. When the maiden had fairly stepped out of
child's shoes, and was obliged to seek employment away from home, there
was a mighty ado. It was for all the world as if a fairy was going
through the place, when Maud, early in the morning, strolled along the
banks of the murmuring stream on her road to a wealthy weaver's. The
young fellows saluted the fair one as they greeted no other. No one
ventured, however, to accost her with unseemly speeches--a kind of
thing, by the way, that young men at all times are very prone to. Maud
was treated by every one like a saint. Maidens even, her equals in
years, prized her highly; and in no way envied her the general
admiration. This might be founded in the behaviour itself of Maud. More
forward to oblige, to do good offices, more sweetly behaved, was no one.
And then she had such a grace with it all, so innocent an eye, that when
you looked into it, heaven itself seemed to shine out upon you. In
short, whoever spoke with Maud, or might walk a few steps with her, that
man was for the whole day another and a happier creature, and whatever
he undertook prospered with him.

"It would have been strange indeed had such a maiden lacked suitors, or
not very early found a sympathizing heart. Now, as for the suitors,
there was no dearth of them, Heaven knows! for there were youngsters of
the queerest fashion. Many without manners, though right well to look
at; others wealthy, but without heart or soul; and others again ready to
burst with rage, if any one but touched his hat to the beautiful
Matilda. To all such, the innocent child had not a word to say; for she
knew well enough, that scant blessing waits on marriages of such a make.
There was but one young fellow who could be said to please her
thoroughly, and he was neither rich nor singularly handsome. She had
become acquainted with him at the weaver's, where he, like herself, went
daily to work. Albert was industrious, well-behaved, and spoke so
sensibly and right-heartedly, that Maud ever listened to him with
delight. Truth to tell, he simply put her own feelings into words. A
very little time passed, before she engaged herself secretly to Albert;
and all would have gone on happily and well with them, had the two
lovers but possessed just money enough to scrape a few matters together,
and to set up housekeeping. But both were poor--poor as church mice;
and, just for that reason, the father of Maud did not look very
favourably upon the settled love-affair of his daughter. He would have
been better satisfied if the silly thing, as he called her, had given
her hand to one of the rich suitors, who would have given their ears to
please her. Since, however, once for all, the mischief was done, he,
like a good man, determined to cause his only child no heartache, and
let matters get on as they might. One condition only he insisted
upon--which was, that Maud should for the future work under her father's
roof; Albert, meanwhile, having leave every evening to pay his visits
there. In this arrangement the two lovers cordially acquiesced; for,
young as they were, they could well afford a little waiting. Meantime,
it must be their endeavour, by incessant labour and careful economy, to
save up as much as they needed for setting themselves up in their humble
dwelling. So they lived on from day to day in quiet content. And so, no
doubt, many days, and many, would have glided by, had not a singular
occurrence disturbed the profound tranquillity. This was the way of
it:--

"Maud's father, the stone-mason, found it too much for him, with his
heavy work and all, when, at noon, he had the long journey to make
between the stone quarry and his own home. Besides, the fine stone-dust
had brought on an inflammation of the eyes, so that he was obliged to
avoid the glare of the sun: no easy thing for him to do, since his road
homeward lay over a green high hill, upon which the sun beat
scorchingly: wherefore, also, the people have given it the name of the
Sun's hill. It was made, in consequence, Maud's duty to take daily her
father's homely dinner to the stone quarry--a road which, although
toilsome, was by no means disagreeable to her; inasmuch as Albert often
found means to get leave of absence, and then always escorted her a part
of the way.

"Over the Sun's hill nobody went willingly alone, either by day or by
night; for the tale ran, that to many persons wondrous things had
happened. Some had even caught, they said, their death-sickness there.
True it is, any more definite report was not easily obtained. Only so
much had Maud heard from her mother, that the GOOD PEOPLE were said, a
very, very long time ago, to have vanished into the green hill; just
when, in all the places around, so many churches had sprung up, and the
sound of bells rang over mountain and wood. These reports
notwithstanding, Maud, unconscious of evil, took her daily walk over the
Sun's hill, where indeed no one ever encountered her; so that the
splendid landscape looked often desolate and awful in the hot midday's
glow.{N} For this reason it was always a great relief to her, when, from
the top of the steep hill, she saw Albert ascending towards her. She
then felt herself more secure, and went with better spirits forward. It
was near Whitsuntide--the father sickly and more peevish than ever, and
work bringing in no supply; for provisions had risen fearfully in price
in consequence of the previous unusually hard winter. Now, as often as
Maud brought the dinner to her father, he complained bitterly, and
reproached her harshly for her folly; so that the poor child was almost
heartbroken, pined, and led a melancholy life.

"She most deeply felt her trouble, when at noon she took her lonely
journey along the desolate path that led to the quarry. Then she often
shed the bitterest tears, and prayed to God to show her an outlet, and
to have pity on their poverty.

"One day--it was just a week to Whitsun-eve--it happened that as she
went upon her way, silently and in sorrow, and in vain looked for the
beloved figure of Albert, she suddenly heard such a marvellously clear
sound of a bell that she stood still to hearken. It was upon the mid
summit of the Sun's hill; the air perfectly calm, and around, far and
near, not a creature to be seen. From the distant hamlet in the valley
clinked only the sharp tones of the whetting scythe. Maud believed that
she had had a ringing in her ears, and walked on. The singular sound was
repeated, resembling the tone exactly of a small silver bell.

"'How strange it is!' said the maiden to herself, casting her eyes upon
the ground; and in the soft moss, right at her feet, she perceived
something glistening like a fragment of blue glass. She stooped and
picked up what in colour and shape resembled a blue harebell, or, as it
is called, _Fairy's hat_; only, where the stalk should have been, there
was a so small and elegantly-wrought little silver bell, that Maud could
not help laughing outright.

"'Bless me!' she exclaimed, 'who can have made that comical thing?' and
thereupon she shook the flower, and the wee little bell began to sound
so prodigiously clear, that the poor damsel let it fall, affrighted.

"'What are thy commands?' asked immediately a slender bright voice.
Before her stood a delicate creature, not higher than her hand; but of a
symmetry of person that was perfectly astonishing. His small expressive
head, round which a grove of curls, like crisped sunbeams, played, was
just of a size, that the flower with the wondrous bell served it for a
covering. For Maud saw how he put on the sparkling hat with much
gravity, and at the same time, very knowingly, giving himself a right
bold and dandy appearance.

"'What are you then?' asked Maud trembling.

"The little fellow made a smart bow, 'Thy servant, with thy good leave,'
replied the strange being. 'I and my people have known thee a long time.
We have heard thy complainings; and because thou hast a kind heart, and
lovest the flowers, and dost not wantonly pull them to pieces, am I
charged to do thee a pleasure, provided thou wilt do the like for me and
my people.'

"'Indeed! you pretty little original!' answered Maud, 'who are thy
people? I'----

"'Hush!' interrupted the little one, with a repelling gesture of the
hand and a very impressive contraction of the brow. 'These are questions
which I cannot answer, and, what is more, cannot suffer. It is not civil
to put questions of the WHENCE and the WHAT. If thou wilt trust me, and
I should think that I have the air of a proper gentleman, then resolve
without delay whether thou wilt do me a pleasure for a reasonable
compensation.'

"'Dear little sir!' replied Maud, overcome, 'I am not mistrustful, but
so beset and afflicted that I really do not know how I am to understand
this strange business. Do not make sport of me, good child; or, if thou
art a spirit, I beseech thee have compassion on me, and let me go my way
in peace. My father is waiting for me. His little bit of dinner is
drying in the heat of the sun.'

"'Silly prattle!' interrupted the little one. 'Thy old father lies under
the rock side, and snores till the fern leaves waggle over him. The good
man's dinner will not take much harm. However, that thou mayest see how
good and honourable my intentions are, take thou my little cap. Be it
the pledge which I shall redeem from thee with a compensation. Only
resolve quickly now whether thou wilt trust me. My time is short.'

"Maud hesitated still. She held the miraculous cap with its silver bell
in her hand. The desire to get rid of the _uncanny_ creature the sooner
the better, and also, perhaps, a particle of female curiosity wrung from
her her consent.

"'Good!' said the little one in great glee. 'Now, hear me! This day
week, upon Whitsun-eve, as ye call it, do thou come here in the evening,
as soon as the moon has mounted this green hill. Be not afraid; for only
good will befall thee. As soon as thou hast reached this spot, ring with
the little bell which I have given thee; and thou wilt not repent having
been serviceable to the good people.'

"Scarcely had the little man given Maud her direction, when the
astonished maiden remarked that the ground before her feet flashed like
molten gold, sunk deeper and deeper, and in this glowing gulf the
extraordinary being vanished, like a silver star. The whole phenomenon
lasted only a few seconds, then every thing was again at rest as before.
The little bell-flower only assured Matilda that she did not dream, and
that something unusual had really taken place.

"Possessed with her feelings, she took her father his meal; and found
him, in sooth, fast asleep under the wall of rock. Of her adventure she
said nothing, but carried the pledge of the little man well secured in
her bosom. And yet how was it possible for her to persevere in her
silence? It is true, Maud knew not if the communication of the incident
was permitted her. She put her trust, however, in the pledge; and, since
she had not been commanded to silence, she hoped to be justified in
making Albert acquainted with what had happened.

"She did it with fear and trembling, and produced to her astonished
lover, as witness, the flower which had withered in the warmth of her
bosom. Singularly enough, let her shake it as often as she would, the
little bell could not be made to ring.

"'And you really mean to go?' asked Albert, when he had a little
recovered from his surprise. 'I should like to see you! To get flirting
with ghosts and hobgoblins, or whatever else the devils may be. No! go
you don't. You will throw that stupid thing into the running stream.
_There_ it won't hurt you; and upon that confounded Sun's hill you will
please never to set foot more.'

"'I have given my word, Albert; and I must keep my word let what will
happen.'

"'Very well,' said the youngster, 'that's enough! Then every thing's at
an end between us--clean at an end!'

"'How you take on now! For whom else, but for you, have I accepted this
pledge? For whom else have I so long endured--so long borne my father's
upbraidings? Dost thou think that, had I wished it, I could not long
since have wedded? And is it my fault that I am a Sunday's child? Is it
not said that all Sunday's children are born to good-luck? If you hinder
me from keeping my word with this miraculous being--and the luck that is
decreed me is meanwhile scattered to all the four winds--you may settle
it with the spirit and face his anger; for I wash my hands in
innocency.'

"Maud began to cry, kissed the shrunken leaf, and hid it again in her
bosom. Albert was not at ease. He was annoyed at the untoward encounter,
a touch of jealousy disquieted and distressed his soul, and yet he
could not say that the girl was in the wrong. At length he said,
dispiritedly--

"'Go through with your folly then. I will, however, be near you, and if
the moon-spun rascal takes improper liberties, I will snap his neck,
though mine too should crack for it.'

"For the first time in his life, Albert parted with Maud in an
ill-humour, and the poor girl herself passed a bad and restless night.

       *       *       *       *       *

"'Mother,' said Maud a few days afterwards, whilst she was getting the
father's dinner ready for her, 'did you ever see a fairy?'

"'God forbid, girl!' cried the worthy and somewhat timid woman, crossing
herself. 'How came that into thy head? What hast thou to do with fairies
and elves, dwarfs and wights? A good Christian has no business with such
things of nothing, or worse.'

"'Why, aunt Nelly was telling the other day such surprising stories of
the people!' Matilda replied; 'but she did not drop a hint of our having
reason to fear any harm from them. She even called them the GOOD
PEOPLE.'

"'Daughter!' the mother seriously rejoined, 'we call them so that they
may do us no mischief. It is safer for us to leave them quite alone.'

"'Can it be true, mother, that they have buried themselves under the
Sun's hill, and keep house and home there? Aunt Nelly would have it that
in the still of the night, by bright moonlight, you may hear them
singing wonderful tunes.'

"The mother fixed her eyes upon Maud, set the old man's morsel of food
upon the hearth stone, and, taking her daughter by the hand, led her to
the stove, and seated her upon the family bench.

"'Listen!' she said, 'and take thou heed to my words. The good people,
or the fairies, which is their proper name, although they do not like to
be called so, do indeed live, though few have the gift of beholding
them, in all the mountains and valleys round about. Very, very seldom,
and only upon the most extraordinary occasions, do they ever show
themselves. When they do, it betokens luck to him that sees them, and
brings it, if he quietly fulfill their wishes. These are certainly often
out of the way, just like the people, who are strange and
incomprehensible enough. Thank Goodness, they never crossed my path! but
your godmother Helen, she had many, many years ago, a curious adventure
with the fairies.'

"'Really, mother! Aunt Nelly spoken to the fairies! O pray, dear mother,
tell me quickly and fully the whole story!'

"'First run to the quarry, and take your father his dinner,' said the
mother. 'I will try in the meanwhile to remember all about it; and if
you will promise me to say not a word to any one--not even to your
godmother, you shall hear what your aunt told me at that time.'

"Maud very naturally promised every thing, took herself off, and was
back again as quickly as possible. She did not loiter for a moment upon
the road, did not even notice the signals which her Albert made as he
came towards her from the distance. She could think only of her mother's
story.

"'Here I am again, mother!' she said breathless. 'I call that running! I
should say that the king's trained runners could do no better. But now
begin, dear mother. I will listen to you as if you were saying mass.'

"'As well as I can remember,' proceeded the mother, 'the case of the
fairies is a very singular one. Your godmother Helen disclosed to me, it
is true, just the chief particulars only; but they were quite enough to
let you understand something of the good people. They told her that,
once in every fifty or a hundred years, they have a kind of church
meeting, which from old time they call a Sabbath. For you must know,
child, that the fairies are properly Jews,{O} right down old chaffering
Jews, from _Olim's_ time.'{P}

"'O bless me! Jews!' cried Maud, frightened out of her wits.

"'Yes, yes, Jews and nothing else,' repeated the mother warmly; 'and
that's the very reason why, up to this day, they are so given to
trafficking in precious stones, pearls, gold, silver, and artful
jewellery. And when they give themselves a holiday, they go running
about above-ground, making presents to new-born babies if they are very
lovely, and playing all kinds of odd pranks. According to your godmother
Helen, the history of the fairies runs thus:--The whole people, and
their name is LEGION, were formerly in heaven.'

"'In heaven!' cried Maud, interrupting her mother, 'then why didn't the
silly creatures stay there? Where else do they hope to be more snug and
comfortable than in heaven! seated under the fur-cap of father Abraham!'

"'How you prate!' said the mother, checking her. 'If you do not
instantly tie up your tongue, and think more respectfully of the good
people, I shall not tell you another syllable.'

"'O pray! I will be quite quiet!'

"'Very well. Then the fairies were a long while ago in heaven,'
continued the mother. 'At that time they were part of the angelic host,
were fine handsome people, went about in glittering robes, and sat at
God's right hand. Now, it befell that the chief angel of all got
dissatisfied with the old management of affairs in heaven, stirred up
discontent, tampered with the half of all the angels, and tried, with
their help, to thrust out the old rightful Master of heaven and earth
from his bright throne. But it fared with him as it does with most
rebels, and rightly should with all. Our Father, in his glory, got the
better of Satan, took him by the hair of his head, and pitched him
head-foremost out of heaven into the pit of darkness, and his whole
sharkish band of retainers after him. Amongst these, however, a good
many had given ear to his fine tales, and had followed him
thoughtlessly, although they were not properly wicked at heart. They
repented their hasty work, even whilst they were falling deeper and
deeper into gloom. They put up a prayer of repentance to their Lord, and
implored his forgiveness; and because God saw that they were not rotten
at the core, he hearkened to their petition, and rescued them out of the
claws of Satan. But since they were not worthy to be received into
heaven again, the Lord banished them back to the earth, with leave given
them to dwell either within it, or in upper air, upon the hills and
rocks. You must know that, during their fall, a surprising change had
gone on in the transgressors. They had kept their forms of
light--dwindled in size, however, immensely. And since they could not
now become men,{Q} and had fooled away their celestial bliss, the Lord
granted them a clear field, with power, until the last day, to make
themselves worthy by good deeds of being re-admitted into heaven. And
thus they have their abodes all about the open hills and the meadow
flats; and only once in every fifty or a hundred years, upon
Whitsun-eve, are they permitted, in their own way, to keep the Sabbath.
And then they can only do it by loading a truly good human being with
the blessings of fortune. For thus only can they hope to expiate their
great offence in the sight of Heaven.'

"'And did godmother Helen hear this from the good people themselves?'
asked Maud, as her mother ceased. 'Was she, then, lucky?'

"'No,' said the mother, 'Nelly was not lucky, because she did not
observe the commandment of the fairies.'

"'Well, if one of the creatures came to me, and should lay a command
upon me, I would keep a quiet tongue within my head, and do readily what
he wished.'

"'Foolish chatter!' said the mother chidingly. 'Thou dost offend the
quiet people with thy empty babbling for they can hear every thing that
human lips utter.'

"Maud went singing to her work, and long mused upon her timid mother's
narrative. What she had heard filled her with so eager a curiosity that
she could scarcely wait for Whitsun-eve, although she took care to let
no one observe it. From time to time she stole a glance at her
bell-flower, tried to make it ring with shaking, but failed to bring, by
any means, one sound from the delicate little bell.

"With a longing dread, Maud saw the promised Whitsun-eve draw near. It
was not easy to leave the parental roof at nightfall. The enamoured
maiden, however, found a becoming excuse which placed a few hours at her
disposal. She went her way with the fairy cap in her bosom, ascended the
green summit of the Sun's hill, now glimmering in the moonlight, and
drew from its hiding-place the pledge that had been entrusted to her. As
if by a miracle, the little flower, touched by the moon's silvery glow,
expanded in an instant. Almost spontaneously it began to oscillate in
her hand, and shrill and clear the little bell rang, so that it
resounded into the adjacent wood, whence a soft echo melodiously
responded.

"The voice of Albert, who with vigorous strides was ascending the hill
to look close after the adventure of his beloved, reached her ear. But
the senses of Matilda were engrossed by the fairies, and to his repeated
calls she gave no answer. And she had good reason. For scarcely had the
little bell rung, when a flash, like a sparkling snake, darted here and
there upon the grass, and out of the quivering light there arose a small
and exceedingly beautiful creature, whom Maud immediately recognised for
the lord of the bell-flower. The little fellow was in Spanish costume.
He wore a doublet of sky-blue butterflies' wings, over which dropped a
magnificent lace collar woven of the gossamer. The delicate feet were
covered with transparent shoes, made of dew-drops.

"Maud stood mute with astonishment, as well at the tiny smallness of the
fairy, as at his truly classical beauty. The little creature was, in his
way, a perfect Adonis.

"'Now, my trembler, art thou resolute to follow me?' whispered the fairy
in a note that came to her like a note of the harmonicon. 'Restore me
the pledge, for we have no time to lose.'

"Maud gave back the bell-flower; the elf seized it in his little
diaphanous alabaster floral hands, waved it three times round his
dazzling head, so that the little bell sent a peal round the hills, and
then threw it upon the ground. It dilated immediately, took the shape of
a galley with masts and yards, although no larger than the moon's disk
as we see it from the earth. In the same instant the elf sat in the
little vessel, which trembled at every step, drew a rush from his
girdle, and steered with it in the air.

"'Now, come, step in!' he called to Maud.

"'In that!' exclaimed the maiden astounded. 'Heaven love you, there's
hardly room for my two feet! Besides, it will tear under me like a
poppy-leaf, for I verily believe it is made of mere air.'

"'Spare your remarks, Miss Pert!' returned the fairy, 'and step in. I
pledge my honour, and will give up my hope of salvation, if this bark of
our master's do not carry thee safely over half the earth ball in less
than no time.'

"It might be that Maud now stood under the mysterious power of a spell,
or that she was urged by an invincible curiosity. Enough: she placed her
feet in the quaking gondola, which swelled aloft like an air-balloon
until it reached the maiden's shoulders. Now the ground sank away, and
Matilda's senses failed her in the dizzy speed with which she was
hurried down into the bowels of the earth. At this precise moment Albert
reached the top of the hill. He had only the pleasure of looking after
them, and hardly that; for it appeared to him as if every thing about
him was immersed in a sea of azure so resplendently clear, that he was
for several minutes robbed of his sight.

"From the magical slumber into which the child had fallen during her
descent into the kingdom of the fairies, she was awakened by a witching
harmony of sounds. She opened her eyes, and observed, with not a little
wonder, that she was lying upon a bed or mat, or whatsoever else it
might be called, of costly emerald. Over her head nodded marvellous
flowers of the most glowing colours; butterflies, of unseen splendour,
flitted on cooling pinions around her couch, and fanned her with an air
so sweet, so invigorating, that the maiden had never breathed before
with such delight. But with all the magnificence, all the spirit and
splendour, every thing was quite other than upon the sunny earth above.
The flowers and herbs glittered indeed; but they seemed to be juiceless,
and looked as if formed of crystal. Even the butterflies had a peculiar
motion, like that of an involuntary sleepwalker. Only the harmonious
strains, which now rang louder and louder, more and more ravishing, were
so ecstatic, so inviting to joyous devotion, that Maud would fain have
shouted aloud for joy; but she felt that she could not speak, could not
cry out, and sight, touch, and hearing, were more alive than ever.

"Thus she lay for some time motionless, pleasingly intent upon the
nodding flowers, the swarming butterflies. At length the winged
multitude dispersed, and two slender fairy-forms approached her bed and
beckoned her to arise and follow them.

"Maud arose; and the fairies, who hardly reached up to her knee, taking
her between them, conducted her through a gate of mother-of-pearl into
an illimitable space, through which throng of countless millions of
elves confusedly moved. The converse of these semi-spirits sounded in
the distance harmonious, like perfect music. Notwithstanding the immense
multitude, there was nothing of tumult, nothing of uproar. They stood
all in the finest concord, and bent, waving their flower-caps
gracefully, towards the abashed, astonished maiden. It bewildered Maud
to see that not only overhead arched a star-bespangled sky, but likewise
underneath her feet the same solemn starry splendour was revealed, as if
the slight fairy people walked, between two heavens, upon the milkwhite
vapour which rolled on under them like clouds. Every fairy had on glass
or crystal shoes, if that which they wore on their feet might be so
called. It is, however, possible that the exquisitely made limbs of
these perplexing beings only deluded the eyes of the poor girl with such
an appearance.

"Nearly in the middle of the immeasurable arena rose a temple of gold,
silver, and precious stones, which, with its lofty pillars reaching to
the sky, was emblazoned in so wondrous a light, that, notwithstanding
the extreme refulgence, it did not dazzle. Within this, upon a
ceaselessly revolving sun-orb, stood the most beautiful and tallest of
the fairies. In her golden hair gleamed stars. Joy and ecstasy radiated
like a glory from her lovely pale face, and vapoury raiment concealed,
but as with a breath, her incomparable figure. Towards her pressed the
innumerable host; for the sublime creature might be the priestess of the
united elfin race. Maud was carried forwards with them, that she might
be a witness of the singular worship that was here solemnized. Not a
word was spoken, no hymn was sung; there was but a looking-up of
supplication, of trustfulness, in which all the fairies, turning round
upon their sparkling little feet, took part. After a few minutes a
joyful expression in the countenance of the worshippers proclaimed the
happy issue of the Sabbath. The stars of the upper sky shot down like
silver spangles, and hung suspended in the luminous hair of the fairies,
giving them the appearance of carrying dancing lights on their heads. A
loud, melodious, strain of rejoicing thrilled through the vast room. The
radiant structure heaved and sank. Overhead a verdurous canopy of leaves
vaulted itself; the elves, entwining arms and legs, flew in a lightning
whirl around the high priestess and the dazzled Maud, who, unawares, had
come close upon the lovely fairy.

"In a little while the slender body-chain of elves gave way; they
grouped themselves into numberless rows; every one took off the star
from his head, and, tripping up, deposited it at the feet of the
priestess, where they at length all united in composing themselves into
a great gold-bright sphere, exactly resembling that upon which the high,
officiating fairy had been borne round in the temple.

"The elfin now extended her hand to Maud and said--

"'We thank thee for the readiness with which thou hast followed my
messenger into this our hidden kingdom. Thou hast, by thy presence,
prospered our Sabbath festival. Receive, for thy reward, the gratitude
of all the fairies; and bear with thee this gift in remembrance of this
day.'

"So speaking, she plucked the coronal of stars from her hair, stretched
it out with both her hands, and hung it upon the head and neck of
Matilda.

"'Whenever thou art in trouble,' she continued, 'think of the good
people; pull one of these stars, throw it in the air by the light of the
moon, and whatsoever thou wishest, provided it be lawful, shall be
granted thee.'

"Maud would have stammered forth her thanks, but she felt herself still
powerless to speak. A kiss of the fairy upon her forehead was the signal
for breaking up. The good people once more waved their caps. The gondola
floated by, Maud mounted it, and, as quickly as she had descended, was
lifted up upon the earth again.

"'There!' said the little pilot fairy, tying the supple rudder about the
wrist of Maud, 'that is my wedding gift to you and Albert. Give him the
half of it if he pouts; and--have a care--no blabbing!'

"With that the gondola dissolved like a cloud in the air. The fairy
vanished; and Maud lay alone upon the fragrant dewy grass of the Sun's
hill.

"Still all-amazed at what had happened, and not yet come rightly to
herself, she slowly rose, intending to go home. It was then she
perceived Albert, who, with folded arms, was staring wildly and savagely
into the wood below. Matilda coughed.

"'Why where, in the name of all that is holy, have you been dancing to?'
was the not very tender greeting of her lover. 'I saw you standing there
as I came up the hill; and then lightning and streams of fire were all
about me, and here I have been full five minutes, running about in all
directions, without being able to find a trace of you.'

"'Only five minutes!' exclaimed Maud; 'that is extraordinary!'

"'Yes; and, no offence to you, not altogether right,' answered Albert.
'Did I not beg of you to wait for me?'

"'That you might wring the fairy's neck for him?' said the maiden,
laughing. 'Set yourself at ease, Albert; it is much better as it is.'

"'What is?' screamed the youngster.

"'Never mind! It is all done now; and indeed, dear boy, we shall neither
of us repent it. Come, let us go home.'

"'O ho!--_dear boy!_--Mighty wise and patronizing truly!'

"'Well, then, good Albert,' said Matilda coaxingly; 'only come away, and
don't be angry. In four weeks we shall be married.'

"'In fo--ur wee--eeks!' stuttered Albert.

"'Yes, and in three, if you like it better,' prated the overjoyed Maud.
'The good people,' she added, almost inaudibly, 'have enabled us to
marry. Therefore behave pretty, be quiet, and don't quarrel--or
else--'_every thing is at an end between us--clean at an end!_' Don't
you know that I am a Sunday's child, and am under the especial
protection of these kind, little, powerful creatures?'

"The jealous youth followed the maiden with reluctance. Whilst he
walked, murmuring in an under-tone at her side, he noticed by the light
of the full moon something flickering in Matilda's hair. He examined it
more closely, and then stood still.

"'What new fashion do you call that?' he asked in a voice of chagrin.
'The idea of hanging dried mushrooms in one's hair! If you will only
walk with that finery by daylight down to the brook, the children will
run after you, and point at you with their finger.'

"'Mushrooms!' replied Maud. 'Why, where are your eyes again?'

"'Well, I suppose you don't mean to call them silver crowns? Thank
Heaven, my eyes are good enough yet to see the difference between dried
funguses and coined money!'

"'They are glittering stars, sir,' said Maud, short and decided.

"'O indeed!' returned Albert. 'Well, then, the next time I would
recommend you to select some that shine rather brighter.'

"The lovers had, in the meanwhile, reached the hut of the stone-mason.
Albert entered with Matilda. The father lay asleep by the stove. The
mother turned her spinning-wheel.

"'Good-evening, mother!" said Albert. 'Have the goodness to tell that
conceited girl there, that her headgear is the most miserable that ever
was seen.'

"'What!' said the old lady wondering, and with a shake of the head.
'Maud has no other gear that I see, but her own beautiful hair, which
may God long preserve to her!'

"Instead of giving any answer, Albert would have set the daughter before
her mother's eyes. But Maud had already, in the doorway, pulled off the
fairy's gift, and turned pale as she saw that she had actually worn
dried mushrooms on a string, twisted of withered rushes. Albert observed
her perplexity, and laughed. He bantered her, and snatched two or three
mushrooms from the chain, to hoard up for future sport. This was the
token of their reconciliation. Maud, although very calmly, assured her
lover, over and over again, that within a month their nuptials should
take place. That the tired old man might not be disturbed, Albert went
home early; and Maud hastened to put carefully away, for a while, the
very meagre-looking fairy gifts.

"On the following morning, Albert was off betimes to his work. Putting
on his jacket, he heard something chinking within. His surprise was
naturally great, knowing that he had no money there. He dived at once
into his pocket, and drew out two large old gold pieces. Then he
suddenly remembered, that the evening before he had pocketed the
mushrooms which he had snatched away from Maud, and the most extravagant
joy possessed him. He forgot his work and every thing else; started off,
and ran, as fast as his legs could carry him, to the house of the
stone-mason.

"Maud stood at the brook, before the door, washing her small white hands
in the clear stream.

"'Good-morrow, dear Maud, and a thousand blessings on thy sweet head!'
cried Albert to her, as he came running. 'Look, look, how thy mushrooms
have changed! If the others turn out as well, I am afraid that, after
all, I must forgive that little shrimp that was so killingly polite to
you!'

"'Delightful! delightful!' exclaimed Matilda, gazing at the gold pieces.
'Mine have not changed yet--but that doesn't matter; for in the night, a
little rush band, with which the fairy steered me into his kingdom of
wonders, has bloomed into precious pearls and brilliants, and two
sparkling wreaths are now lying upstairs in my drawer.'

"Joyful surprise choked Albert's words in his throat; but Maud drew him
on, and displayed to him her glories from the fairy world.

"'Let us leave nothing undone that may help our luck. Do you take the
little wreath for the present. Such is the wish of the mysterious being,
who required my attendance at the Fairies' Sabbath.'

"Albert received the gift with a softened heart. He begged Maud's
forgiveness of his fault; she granted it willingly, and before four
weeks had passed by, the lovers were man and wife.

"Of her adventure on Whitsun-eve, Maud never spoke. So much the more had
her godmother Helen to say about it; for it was not difficult to guess
that the fairies had had their prospering hand in the marriage of her
godchild. The stone-mason now gave up his laborious calling. Albert
became the master of a moderate property, which he diligently cultivated
with his beloved Maud; and, as fair child after child was born to them,
the happy mother laid upon the breast of each a shriveled leaf from the
elfin chain, for so had her little guide counseled her, when she once,
in a doubtful hour, had summoned him to her aid. Albert and Matilda
reached a good old age; their children throve, and carefully preserved,
like their parents, the gifts received from the subterranean folk, who
continued their favour to them and to all their posterity."


FOOTNOTES:

{A} Midsummer Night's Dream.

{B} DOLMEN; literally, _stone table_. Remarkable structures, learnedly
ascribed to the Druids; unlearnedly, to the dwarfs and fairies; and
numerous throughout Western Britanny. One or more large and massive flat
stones, overlaying great slabs planted edgeways in the ground, form a
rude and sometimes very capacious chamber, or grotto. The superstition
which cleaves to these relics of a forgotten antiquity, stamps itself in
the names given to many of them by the peasantry:--_Grotte aux fées_,
_Roche aux fées_, &c.

{C} WEIRDS. The French has--LOTS. "_Elles jettent des SORTS._" For
justifying the translation, see the fine old Scottish ballad of KEMPION;
or KEMP OWAYNE, at the beginning:--

    "Come here, come here, ye _freely fede_, (i. e. _nobly born_,)
    And lay your head low on my knee,
    A heavier WEIRD I shall ye read
    Than ever was read to gay ladye.

    "I WEIRD ye to a fiery beast:
    And released shall ye never be,
    Till Kempion the kinges son
    Come to the crag and thrice kiss thee!"

{D} From the preface to the exceedingly interesting collection by M. Th.
de la Villemarqué, of the transmitted songs that are current amongst his
Bas Breton countrymen.

{E} Essay on _The Fairies of Popular Superstition_, in "The Minstrelsy
of the Scottish Border."

{F} Deutsche Mythologie, von Jacob Grimm. Chap. xiii. Ed. 1. 1835, and
xvii. Ed. 2. 1843.

{G} "_Ces génies femelles._"

{H} From Walckenaer's Dissertation on the Origin of the Fairy Belief;
last printed, in an abridged form, by Jacob, in his edition of the
_Contes des Fées, par Perrault_, (Paris, 1842.)

{I}                   "Paradise and groves
    Elysian, fortunate fields--like those of old
    Sought in the Atlantic main, why should they be
    A history only of departed things,
    Or a mere fiction of what never was?
    For the discerning _Intellect of man,
    When wedded to this goodly Universe
    In love and holy passion_, shall find these
    A simple produce of the common day.
    I long before the blissful hour arrives
    Would chant, in lonely peace, the spousal verse
    Of this great consummation."

WORDSWORTH. _Preface to the Excursion._

{J} _SAGEN UND MAHRCHEN aus der Oberlausitz_. Nacherzahlt von _Ernst
Willkomm_, Hanover, 1843.

{K} IRISCHE ELFENMARCHEN: Uebersetzt von den Brüdern Grimm. Leipzig,
1826. _Introduction._

{L} DEUTSCHE SAGEN: Herausgegeben von den Brüdern Grimm. Berlin, 1816
and 1818.

{M} Grimm's German Mythology, p. 544.

{N}                               "----his look
    Drew audience and attention, STILL AS night
    Or SUMMER'S NOONTIDE AIR."--_Paradise Lost. Book II._

{O} The fairies themselves hardly can have imparted to godmother Helen
the two irreconcilable derivations of their order: that they were Jews,
and that they were fallen angels. But the poet DRAMATICALLY joins, upon
the mother's lip, the two current traditions. With her, fallen angel and
Jew are synonymous, as being both opposed to the faith of the cross.

{P} Who is this unknown OLIM? Our old friend perchance, the Latin
adverb, "_Olim_," _of yore_--gradually slipped from the mouths of
scholars into the people's, and risen in dignity as it descended.

{Q} _Sic._




COLUMBUS.

(_A Print after a Picture by Parmeggiano._)

BY B. SIMMONS.


    I.

    RISE, VICTOR, from the festive board
        Flush'd with triumphal wine,
    And lifting high thy beaming sword,
    Fired by the flattering Harper's chord,
        Who hymns thee half divine.
    Vow at the glutted shrine of Fate
    That dark-red brand to consecrate!
    Long, dread, and doubtful was the fray
    That gives the stars thy name to-day.
    But all is over; round thee now
    Fame shouts, spoil pours, and captives bow,
    No stormier joy can Earth impart,
    Than thrills in lightning through thy heart.

    II.

    Gay LOVER, with the soft guitar,
    Hie to the olive-woods afar,
    And to thy friend, the listening brook,
    Alone reveal that raptured look;
    The maid so long in secret loved--
    A parent's angry will removed--
    This morning saw betrothèd thine,
        That Sire the pledge, consenting, blest,
    Life bright as motes in golden wine,
        Is dancing in thy breast.

    III.

    STATESMAN astute, the final hour
    Arrives of long-contested Power;
    Each crafty wile thine ends to aid,
    Party and principle betray'd;
    The subtle speech, the plan profound,
    Pursued for years, success has crown'd;
    To-night the Vote upon whose tongue,
    The nicely-poised Division hung,
    Was thine--beneath that placid brow
    What feelings throb exulting now!
    Thy rival falls;--on grandeur's base
    Go shake the nations in his place!

    IV.

    FAME, LOVE, AMBITION! what are Ye,
        With all your wasting passions' war,
    To the great Strife that, like a sea,
    O'erswept His soul tumultuously,
        Whose face gleams on me like a star--
    A star that gleams through murky clouds--
    As here begirt by struggling crowds
    A spell-bound Loiterer I stand,
    Before a print-shop in the Strand?
    What are your eager hopes and fears
    Whose minutes wither men like years--
    Your schemes defeated or fulfill'd,
    To the emotions dread that thrill'd
    _His_ frame on that October night,
        When, watching by the lonely mast,
    _He saw on shore the moving light_,
    And felt, though darkness veil'd the sight,
        The long-sought World was his at last?{A}

    V.

    How Fancy's boldest glances fail,
        Contemplating each hurrying mood
    Of thought that to that aspect pale
        Sent up the heart's o'erboiling flood
    Through that vast vigil, while his eyes
    Watch'd till the slow reluctant skies
    Should kindle, and the vision dread,
    Of all his livelong years be read!
    In youth, his faith-led spirit doom'd
        Still to be baffled and betray'd,
    His manhood's vigorous noon consumed
        Ere Power bestow'd its niggard aid;
    That morn of summer, dawning grey,{B}
    When, from Huelva's humble bay,
    He full of hope, before the gale
    Turn'd on the hopeless World his sail,
    And steer'd for seas untrack'd, unknown,
    And westward still sail'd on--sail'd on--
    Sail'd on till Ocean seem'd to be
    All shoreless as Eternity,
    Till, from its long-loved Star estranged,
    At last the constant Needle changed,{C}
    And fierce amid his murmuring crew
    Prone terror into treason grew;
    While on his tortured spirit rose,
    More dire than portents, toils, or foes,
    The awaiting World's loud jeers and scorn
    Yell'd o'er his profitless Return;
    No--none through that dark watch may trace
        The feelings wild beneath whose swell,
    As heaves the bark the billows' race,
        His Being rose and fell!
    Yet over doubt, and pride, and pain,
    O'er all that flash'd through breast and brain,
    As with those grand, immortal eyes
        He stood--his heart on fire to know
    When morning next illumed the skies,
        What wonders in its light should glow--
    O'er all one thought must, in that hour,
    Have sway'd supreme--Power, conscious Power--
    The lofty sense that Truths conceived,
        And born of his own starry mind,
    And foster'd into might, achieved
        A new Creation for mankind!
    And when from off that ocean calm
        The Tropic's dusky curtain clear'd,
    All those green shores and banks of balm
        And rosy-tinted hills appear'd
    Silent and bright as Eden, ere
    Earth's breezes shook one blossom there--
    Against that hour's proud tumult weigh'd,
    LOVE, FAME, AMBITION, how ye fade!

    VI.

    Thou LUTHER of the darken'd Deep!
    Nor less intrepid, too, than He
    Whose courage broke EARTH'S bigot sleep
    Whilst thine unbarr'd the SEA--
    Like his, 'twas thy predestined fate
    Against your grin benighted age,
    With all its fiends of Fear and Hate,
    War, single-handed war, to wage,
    And live a conqueror, too, like him,
    Till Time's expiring lights grow dim!
    O, Hero of my boyish heart!
    Ere from thy pictured looks I part,
    My mind's maturer reverence now
    In thoughts of thankfulness would bow
    To the OMNISCIENT WILL that sent
    Thee forth, its chosen instrument,
    To teach us hope, when sin and care,
        And the vile soilings that degrade
    Our dust, would bid us most despair--
        Hope, from each varied deed display'd
    Along thy bold and wondrous story,
        That shows how far one steadfast mind,
    Serene in suffering as in glory,
        May go to deify our kind.


FOOTNOTES:

{A} October 11, 1492.--"As the evening darkened, Columbus took his
station on the top of the castle or cabin, on the high poop of his
vessel. However he might carry a cheerful and confident countenance
during the day, it was to him a time of the most painful anxiety; and
now, when he was wrapped from observation by the shades of night, he
maintained an intense and unremitting watch, ranging his eye along the
dusky horizon in search of the most vague indications of land. Suddenly,
about ten o'clock, _he thought he beheld a light glimmering at a
distance_. Fearing that his eager hopes might deceive him, he called to
Pedro Gutierrez, gentleman of the king's bedchamber, and enquired
whether he saw a light in that direction; the latter replied in the
affirmative. Columbus, yet doubtful whether it might not be some
delusion of the fancy, called Rodrigo Sanchez of Segovia, and made the
same enquiry. By the time the latter had ascended the roundhouse, the
light had disappeared. They saw it once or twice afterwards in sudden
and passing gleams, as if it were a torch in the bark of a fisherman
rising and sinking with the waves, or in the hand of some person on
shore, borne up and down as he walked from house to house. So transient
and uncertain were these gleams, that few attached any importance to
them; Columbus, however, considered them as certain signs of land, and,
moreover, that the land was inhabited."--IRVING'S _Columbus_, vol. i.

{B} "It was on Friday, the 3d of August 1492, early in the morning, that
Columbus set sail on his first voyage of discovery. He departed from the
bar of Saltes, a small island in front of the town of Huelva, steering
in a south-westerly direction," &c.--IRVING. He was about fifty-seven
years old the year of the Discovery.

{C} "On the 13th September, in the evening, being about two hundred
leagues from the island of Ferro, he, for the first time, noticed the
variation of the needle, a phenomenon which had never before been
remarked. Struck with the circumstance, he observed it attentively for
three days, and found that the variation increased as he advanced. It
soon attracted the attention of the pilots, and filled them with
consternation. It seemed as if the very laws of nature were changing as
they advanced, and that they were entering another world subject to
unknown influences."--_Ibid._




TO SWALLOWS ON THE EVE OF DEPARTURE.

BY THE SAME.

     "The day before V----'s departure for the last time from the
     country--it was the 4th of August, one of the hottest days of the
     season--as evening fell, he strolled with an old school-fellow
     through the cool green avenues and leafy arcades of the
     neighbouring park, where his friend amused him by pointing out to
     his attention vast multitudes of Swallows that came swarming from
     all directions to settle on the roofs and gables of the
     manor-house. This they do for several days preparatory to their
     departing, in one collected body, to more genial climates."--_MS.
     Memoir._


    I.

        Joyous Birds! preparing
          In the clear evening light
        To leave our dwindled summer day
          For latitudes more bright!
            How gay must be your greeting,
            By southern fountains meeting,
    To miss no faithful wing of all that started in your flight!

    II.

        Every clime and season
          Fresh gladness brings to you,
        Howe'er remote your social throngs
          Their varied path pursue;
            No winds nor waves dissever--
            No dusky veil'd FOR EVER,
    Frowneth across your fearless way in the empyrean blue.{A}

    III.

        Mates and merry brothers
          Were ye in Arctic hours,
        Mottling the evening beam that sloped
          Adown old Gothic towers!
            As blythe that sunlight dancing
            Will see your pinions' glancing
    Scattering afar through Tropic groves the spicy bloom in showers!

    IV.

        Haunters of palaced wastes!{B}
          From king-forlorn Versailles
        To where, round gateless Thebes, the winds
          Like monarch voices wail,
            Your tribe capricious ranges,
            Reckless of glory's changes;
    Love makes for ye a merry home amid the ruins pale.

    V.

        Another day, and ye
          From knosp and turret's brow
        Shall, with your fleet of crowding wings,
          Air's viewless billows plough,
            With no keen-fang'd regretting
            Our darken'd hill-sides quitting,
    --Away in fond companionship as cheerily as now!

    VI.

        Woe for the Soul-endued--
          The clay-enthrallèd Mind--
        Leaving, unlike you, favour'd birds!
          Its all--its all behind.
            Woe for the exile mourning,
            To banishment returning--
    A mateless bird wide torn apart from country and from kind!

    VII.

        This moment blest as ye,
          Beneath his own home-trees,
        With friends and fellows girt around,
          Up springs the western breeze,
            Bringing the parting weather--
            Shall all depart together?
    Ah, no!--he goes a wretch alone upon the lonely seas.

    VIII.

        To him the mouldering tower--
          The pillar'd waste, to him
        A broken-hearted music make
          Until his eyelids swim.
            None heeds when he complaineth,
            Nor where that brow he leaneth
    A mother's lips shall bless no more sinking to slumber dim.

    IX.

        Winter shall wake to spring,
          And 'mid the fragrant grass
        The daffodil shall watch the rill
          Like Beauty by her glass
            But woe for him who pineth
            Where the clear water shineth,
    With no voice near to say--How sweet those April evenings pass!

    X.

        Then while through Nature's heart
          Love freshly burns again,
        Hither shall ye, plumed travellers,
          Come trooping o'er the main;
            The selfsame nook disclosing
            Its nest for your reposing
    That saw you revel years ago as you shall revel then.{C}

    XI.

        --Your human brother's lot!
          A few short years are gone--
        Back, back like you to early scenes--
          Lo! at the threshold-stone,
            Where ever in the gloaming
            Home's angels watch'd his coming,
    A stranger stands, and stares at him who sighing passes on.

    XII.

        Joy to the Travail-worn!
          Omnific purpose lies
        Even in his bale as in your bliss,
          Careerers of the skies!
            When sun and earth, that cherish'd
            Your tribes, with you have perish'd,
    A home is his where partings more shall never dim the eyes.


FOOTNOTES:

{A} "They all quit together; and fly for a time east or west, possibly
in wait for stragglers not yet arrived from the interior--they then take
directly to the south, and are soon lost sight of altogether for the
allotted period of their absence. Their rapidity of flight is well
known, and the 'murder-aiming eye' of the most experienced sportsman
will seldom avail against the swallow; hence they themselves seldom fall
a prey to the raptorial birds."--CUVIER, _edited by Griffiths_. Swallows
are long-lived; they have been known to live a number of years in cages.

{B} In the fanciful language of Chateaubriand, "This daughter of a king
(the swallow) still seems attached to grandeur; she passes the summer
amid the ruins of Versailles, and the winter among those of Thebes."

{C} "However difficult to be credited, it seems to be ascertained beyond
doubt, that the same pair which quitted their nest and the limited
circle of their residence here, return to the very same nest again, and
this for several successive years; in all probability for their whole
lives"--_Griffiths'_ CUVIER.




THE DILIGENCE.

A LEAF FROM A JOURNAL.


A diligence is as familiar to our countrymen as a stage-coach; and, as
railroads flourish more amongst us than with our less commercial and
enterprising neighbours, it is probable that, to many English
travellers, it is even more familiar. There is no need, therefore, to
describe the portentous vehicle. Suffice it to say, that, of the three
compartments into which it is divided, I found myself lodged--not in the
_coupée_ which looks out in front, and which has the appearance of a
narrow post-chaise that has been flattened and compressed in the effort
to incorporate it with the rest of the machine--nor in the _rotunde_
behind, where one rides omnibus-fashion--but in the central compartment,
the _interieur_, which answers to the veritable old English stage-coach,
and carries six. I was one of the central occupants of this central
division; for I had not been so fortunate as to secure a corner seat.
Now, for the convenience of the luckless person who occupies this
position, there depends from the roof of the coach, and hangs just
before his face, a broad leathern strap, with a loop through which he
can, if so disposed, place his arms; and, when his arms are thus slung
up, he can further rest his head upon them or upon the strap, and so
seek repose. Whether he finds the repose he seeks, is another matter.
One half of the traveller swings like a parrot on his perch, the other
half jolts on stationary--jolts over the eternal stones which pave the
roads in France. Perhaps there are who can go to roost in this fashion.
And if it is recorded of any one that he ever slept in this state of
demi-suspension--all swing above, all shake below--I should like very
much to know, in the next place, what sort of dreams he had. Did he
fancy himself a griffin, or huge dragon, beating the air with his wings,
and at the same time trotting furiously upon the ground? Or, in order to
picture out his sensations, was he compelled to divide himself into two
several creatures, and be at once the captured and half-strangled goose,
with all its feathers outstretched in the air, and the wicked fox who is
running away with it, at full speed, upon its back? As to myself, in no
vain expectation of slumber, but merely for the sake of change of
position, I frequently slung my arms in this loop, and leaning my head
against the broad leathern strap, I listened to the gossip of my
fellow-travellers, if there was any conversation stirring; or, if all
was still, gave myself up to meditations upon my own schemes and
projects.

And here let me observe, that I have always found that a journey in a
stage-coach is remarkably favourable to the production of good
resolution and sage designs for the future; which I account for partly
on the ground that they cannot, under such circumstances, demand to be
carried into immediate execution, and therefore may be indulged in the
more freely; and partly on this other ground, that one who has become a
traveller has loosened himself from his old customary moorings, and so
gives himself, as it were, a new starting-point in life, from which he
may, if the spirit of delusion is still happily strong within him, draw
a mathematically straight line in the given direction A B, to be the
faithful index of his future career.

What a generous sample of humanity it is that a well filled diligence
carries out of the gates of Paris! The mountain of luggage upon the
roof, consisting of boxes of all shapes and sizes, does not contain in
its numerous _strata_ of stuffs, and implements, and garments, rags and
fine linen, a greater variety of dead material, than does the threefold
interior, with its complement of human beings, of living character and
sentiment. As to the observation not unfrequently made, that Frenchmen
have less variety of character than ourselves, it is one which seems to
me to have little or no foundation. Something there doubtless is of
national character, which pervades all classes and all classifications
of men; and this colouring, seen diffused over the mass, makes us
apprehend, at first view, that there is in the several parts a radical
similarity which, in fact, does not exist. We have only to become a
little more intimate with the men themselves, and this national
colouring fades away; while the strong peculiarities resulting from
social position, or individual temperament, stand out in sharp relief.
And, in general, I will venture to say of national character--whatever
people may be spoken of--that one may compare it to the colour which the
sea bears at different times, or which different seas are said to be
distinguished by: view the great surface at a distance, it is blue, or
green, or grey; but take up a handful of the common element, and it is
an undistinguishable portion of brackish water. It is French, or
Flemish, or Spanish nature in the mass, and at a distance; looked at
closer, and in the individual, there is little else than plain human
nature to be seen.

But I did not open my journal to philosophize upon national character;
but to record, while it is still fresh in my memory, some part of the
conversation to which I was, as I travelled along, of necessity, and
whether willingly or unwillingly, a listener. To the left of me the
corner seats were occupied by two Englishmen--would it be possible to
enter into a diligence without meeting at least two of our dear
compatriots? They were both men in the prime of life, in the full flush
of health, and apparently of wealth, who, from allusions which they
dropt, could evidently boast of being of good family, and what follows
of course--of having received an university education; and whom some one
of our northern counties probably reckoned amongst its most famous
fox-hunters. All which hindered not, but that they proved themselves to
belong to that class of English travellers who scamper about the
Continent like so many big, boisterous, presumptuous school-boys, much
to the annoyance of every one who meets them, and to the especial
vexation of their fellow-countrymen, who are not, in general, whatever
may be said to the contrary, an offensive or conceited race, and are by
no means pleased that the name of Englishmen should be made a by-word
and a term of contempt. Opposite to me sat a Frenchman, of rather formal
and grave demeanour, and dressed somewhat precisely. He was placed in a
similar position in the diligence to myself; he had, however, curled up
his leathern strap, and fastened it to the roof. Apparently he did not
think the posture to which it invited one of sufficient dignity; for
during the whole journey, and even when asleep, I observed that he
maintained a certain becomingness of posture. Beside me, to the right,
sat a little lively Frenchwoman, not very young, and opposite to her,
and consequently in front also of myself, was another lady, a person of
extreme interest, who at once riveted the eye, and set the imagination
at work. She was so young, so pale, so beautiful, so sad, and withal so
exceeding gentle in her demeanour, that an artist who wished to portray
Our Lady in her virgin purity and celestial beauty, would have been
ravished with the model. She had taken off her bonnet for the
convenience of travelling, and her dark brown hair hung curled round her
neck in the same simple fashion it must have done when she was a child.
She was dressed in mourning, and this enhanced the pallor of her
countenance; ill-health and sorrow were also evidently portrayed upon
her features; but there was so much of lustre in the complexion, and so
much of light and intelligence in the eye, that the sense of beauty
predominated over all. You could not have wished her more cheerful than
she was. Her face was a melody which you cannot quarrel with for being
sad--which you could not desire to be otherwise than sad--whose very
charm it is that it has made the tone of sorrow ineffably sweet.

Much I mused and conjectured what her history might be, and frequently I
felt tempted to address myself in conversation to her; but still there
was a tranquillity and repose in those long eyelashes which I feared to
disturb. It was probable that she preferred her own reflections,
melancholy as they might be, to any intercourse with others, and out of
respect to this wish I remained silent. Not so, however, my
fellow-traveller of her own sex, who, far from practising this
forbearance, felt that she acted the kind and social part by engaging
her in conversation. And so perhaps she did. For certainly, after some
time, the beautiful and pensive girl became communicative, and I
overheard the brief history of her sufferings, which I had felt so
curious to know. It was indeed brief--it is not a three-volumed novel
that one overhears in a stage-coach--but it had the charm of truth to
recommend it. I had been lately reading Eugene Sue's romance, _The
Mysteries of Paris_, and it gave an additional interest to remark, that
the simple tale I was listening to from the lips of the living sufferer
bore a resemblance to one of its most striking episodes.

The shades of evening were closing round us, and the rest of the
passengers seemed to be preparing themselves for slumber, as, leaning
forward on my leathern supporter, I listened to the low sweet voice of
the young stranger.

"You are surprised," she said in answer to some remark made by her
companion, "that one of our sex, so young and of so delicate health,
should travel alone in the diligence; but I have no relative in Paris,
and no friend on whose protection I could make a claim. I have lived
there alone, or in something worse than solitude."

Her companion, with a woman's quickness of eye, glanced at the rich
toilette of the speaker. It was mourning, but mourning of the most
costly description.

"You think," she continued, replying to this glance, "that one whose
toilette is costly ought not to be without friends; but mine has been
for some time a singular condition. Wealth and a complete isolation from
the world have been in my fate strangely combined. They married me"----

"What! are you a married woman and so young?" exclaimed the lady who was
addressed.

"I have been; I am now a widow. It is for my husband that I wear this
mourning. They took me from the convent where I was educated, and
married me to a man whom I was permitted to see only once before the
alliance was concluded. As I had been brought up with the idea that my
father was to choose a husband for me, and as the Count D---- was both
handsome and of agreeable manners, the only qualities on which I was
supposed to have an opinion, there was no room for objection on my part.
The marriage was speedily celebrated. My husband was wealthy. Of that my
father had taken care to satisfy himself; perhaps it was the only point
on which he was very solicitous. For I should tell you that my father,
the only parent I have surviving, is one of those restless unquiet men
who have no permanent abode, who delight in travelling from place to
place, and who regard their children, if they have any, in the light
only of cares and encumbrances. There is not a capital in Europe in
which he has not resided, and scarcely a spot of any celebrity which he
has not visited. It was therefore at the house of a maiden aunt--to whom
I am now about to return--that I was married.

"I spent the first years of my marriage, as young brides I believe
generally do, in a sort of trouble of felicity. I did not know how to be
sufficiently thankful to Heaven for the treasure I found myself the
possessor of; such a sweetness of temper and such a tenderness of
affection did my husband continually manifest towards me. After a short
season of festivity, spent at the house of my aunt, we travelled
together without any other companion towards Paris, where the Count had
a residence elegantly fitted up to receive us. The journey itself was a
new source of delight to one who had been hitherto shut up, with her
instructress, in a convent. Never shall I forget the hilarity, the
almost insupportable joy, with which the first part of this journey was
performed. The sun shone out upon a beautiful landscape, and there was
I, travelling alone with the one individual who had suddenly awoke and
possessed himself of all my affections--travelling, too, with gay
anticipations to the glorious city of Paris, of which I had heard so
much, and in which I was to appear with all the envied advantages of
wealth.

"As we approached towards Paris, I noticed that my husband became more
quiet and reserved. I attributed it to the fatigue of travelling, to
which my own spirits began to succumb; and as the day was drawing to a
close, I proposed, at the next stage we reached, that we should rest
there, and resume our journey the next morning. But in an irritable and
impetuous manner, of which I had never seen the least symptom before,
he ordered fresh horses, and bade the postilion drive on with all the
speed he could. Still as we travelled he grew more sullen, became
restless, incommunicative, and muttered occasionally to himself. It was
now night. Leaning back in the carriage, and fixing my eye upon the full
moon that was shining brightly upon us, I tried to quiet my own spirit,
somewhat ruffled by this unexpected behaviour of my husband. I observed,
after a short time, that _his_ eye also had become riveted on the same
bright object; but not with any tranquillizing effect, for his
countenance grew every minute more and more sombre. On a sudden he
called aloud to the postilion to stop--threw open the carriage-door, and
walked in a rapid pace down towards a river that for some time had
accompanied our course. I sprang after him. I overtook, and grasped him
as he was in the very act of plunging into the river. O my God! how I
prayed, and wept, and struggled to prevent him from rushing into the
stream. At length he sat down upon the bank of the river; he turned to
me his wild and frenzied eye--he laughed--O Heaven! he was mad!

"They had married me to a madman. Cured, or presumed to be cured, of
his disorder, he had been permitted to return to society; and now his
malady had broken out again. He who was to be my guide and protector,
who was my only support, who took the place of parent, friend,
instructor--he was a lunatic!

"For three dreadful hours did I sit beside him on that bank--at
night--with none to help me--restraining him by all means I could devise
from renewed attempts to precipitate himself into the river. At last I
succeeded in bringing him back to the carriage. For the rest of the
journey he was quiet; but he was imbecile--his reason had deserted him.

"We arrived at his house in Paris. A domestic assisted me in conducting
him to his chamber; and from that time I, the young wife, who the other
morning had conceived herself the happiest of beings, was transformed
into the keeper of a maniac--of a helpless or a raving lunatic. I wrote
to my father. He was on the point of setting out upon one of his
rambling expeditions, and contented himself with appealing to the
relatives of my husband, who, he maintained, were the proper persons to
take charge of the lunatic. They, on the other hand, left him to the
care of the new relations he had formed by a marriage, which had
interfered with their expectations and claims upon his property. Thus
was I left alone--a stranger in this great city of Paris, which was to
have welcomed me with all its splendours, and festivities, and its
brilliant society--my sole task to soothe and control a maniac husband.
It was frightful. Scarcely could I venture to sleep an hour
together--night or day--lest he should commit some outrage upon himself
or on me. My health is irretrievably ruined. I should have utterly sunk
under it; but, by God's good providence, the malady of my husband took a
new direction. It appeared to prey less upon the brain, and more upon
other vital parts of the constitution. He wasted away and died. I indeed
live; but I, too, have wasted away, body and soul, for I have no health
and no joy within me."

Just at this time a low murmuring conversation between my two
fellow-countrymen, at my left, broke out, much to my annoyance, into
sudden exclamation.

"By God! sir," cried one of them, "I thrashed him in the _Grande Place_,
right before the hotel there--what's its name?--the first hotel in
Petersburg. Yes, I had told the lout of a postilion, who had grazed my
britska against the curbstone of every corner we had turned, that if he
did it again I would _punish_ him; that is, I did not exactly _tell_
him--for he understood no language but his miserable Russian, of which I
could not speak a word--but I held out my fist in a significant manner,
which neither man nor brute could mistake. Well, just as we turned into
the _Grande Place_, the lubber grazed my wheel again. I jumped out of
the carriage--I pulled him--boots and all--off his horse, and how I
cuffed him! My friend Lord L---- was standing at the window of the
hotel, looking out for my arrival, and was witness to this exploit. He
was most dead with laughter when I came up to him."

"I once," said his interlocutor, "thrashed an English postilion after
the same fashion; but your Russian, with his enormous boots, must have
afforded capital sport. When I travel I always look out for _fun_. What
else is the use of travelling? I and young B----, whom you may remember
at Oxford, were at a ball together at Brussels, and what do you think we
did? We strewed cayenne pepper on the floor, and no sooner did the girls
begin to dance than they began incontinently to sneeze. Ladies and
gentlemen were curtsying, and bowing, and sneezing to one another in the
most ludicrous manner conceivable."

"Ha! ha! ha! Excellent! By the way," rejoined the other, "talking of
Brussels, do you know who has the glory of that famous joke practised
there upon the statues in the park? They give the credit of it to the
English, but on what ground, except the celebrity they have acquired in
such feats, I could never learn."

"I know nothing of it. What was it?"

"Why, you see, amongst the statues in the little park at Brussels are a
number of those busts without arms or shoulders. I cannot call to mind
their technical name. First you have the head of a man, then a sort of
decorated pillar instead of a body, and then again, at the bottom of the
pillar, there protrude a couple of naked feet. They look part pillar and
part man, with a touch of the mummy. Now, it is impossible to
contemplate such a figure without being struck with the idea, how
completely at the mercy of every passer-by are both its nose--which has
no hand to defend it--and its naked toes, which cannot possibly move
from their fixed position. One may tweak the one, and tread upon the
other, with such manifest impunity. Some one in whom this idea, no
doubt, wrought very powerfully, took hammer and chisel, and shied off
the noses and the great toes of several of these mummy-statues. And
pitiful enough they looked next morning."

"Well, that was capital!"

"And the best of it is, that even now, when the noses have been put on
again, the figures look as odd as if they had none at all. The join is
so manifest, and speaks so plainly of past mutilation, that no one can
give to these creatures, let them exist as long as they will, the credit
of wearing their own noses. The jest is immortal."

The recital of this excellent piece of _fun_ was followed by another
explosion of laughter. The Frenchman who sat opposite to me--a man, as I
have said, of grave but urbane deportment, became curious to know what
it was that our neighbours had been conversing about, and which had
occasioned so much hilarity. He very politely expressed this wish to me.
If it was not an indiscretion, he should like to partake, he said, in
the wit that was flowing round him; adding, perhaps superfluously, that
he did not understand English.

"Monsieur, I am glad of it," I replied.

Monsieur, who concluded from my answer that I was in a similar
predicament with respect to the French language, bowed and remained
silent.

Here the conversation to my left ceased to flow, or subsided into its
former murmuring channel, and I was again able to listen to my fair
neighbours to the right. The lively dame who sat by my side had now the
word; she was administering consolations and philosophy to the young
widow.

"At your age health," said she, "is not irretrievable, and, sweet madam,
your good looks are left you. A touch of rouge upon your cheek, and you
are quite an angel. And then you are free--you will one day travel back
again to Paris with a better escort than you had before."

And here she gave a sigh which prepared the hearer for the disclosure
that was to follow.

"Now I," she continued, "have been married, but, alas! am _not_ a widow.
I have a husband standing out against me somewhere in the world. In the
commercial language of my father, I wish I could cancel him."

"What! he has deserted you?" said her fair companion, in a sympathizing
tone.

"You shall hear, my dear madam. My father, you must know, is a plain
citizen. He did not charge himself with the task of looking out a
husband for his girls; he followed what he called the English plan--let
the girls look out for themselves, and contented himself with a _veto_
upon the choice, if it should displease him. Now, Monsieur Lemaire was a
perfect Adonis; he dressed, and danced, and talked to admiration; no man
dressed, danced, or talked better; his mirth was inexhaustible--his
good-humour unfailing."

Well, thought I to myself, what is coming now? This lady, at all events,
chose with her own eyes, and had her own time to choose in. Is her
experience to prove, that the chance of securing a good husband is much
the same, let him be chosen how he may?

"No wonder, then," continued the lady, "that I accepted his proposal.
The very thought of marrying him as paradise; and I _did_ marry him."

"And so were really in paradise?" said the widow, with a gentle smile.

"Yes, yes! it _was_ a paradise. It was a constant succession of
amusements; theatre, balls, excursions--all enjoyed with the charming
Lemaire. And he so happy, too! I thought he would have devoured me. We
were verily in paradise for three months. At the end of which time he
came one morning into the room swinging an empty purse in the air--'Now,
I think,' said he with the same cheerful countenance that he usually
wore, 'that I have proved my devotion to you in a remarkable manner.
Another man would have thought it much if he had made some sacrifice to
gain possession of you for life; I have spent every farthing I had in
the world to possess you for three months. Oh, that those three months
were to live over again! But every thing has its end.' And he tossed the
empty purse in his hand.

"I laughed at what I considered a very pleasant jest; for who did not
know that M. Lemaire was a man of ample property? I laughed still more
heartily as he went on to say, that a coach stood at the door to take me
back to my father, and begged me not to keep the coachman waiting, as in
that case the fellow would charge for time, and it had taken his last
sou to pay his fare by distance. I clapped my hands in applause of my
excellent comedian. But, gracious Heavens! it was all true! There stood
the coach at the door, the fare paid to my father's house, and an empty
purse was literally all that I now had to participate with the gay,
wealthy, accomplished Lemaire."

"What!" I exclaimed with rage and agony, as the truth broke upon me, "do
you desert your wife?"

"Desert my charming wife!" he replied. "Ask the hungry pauper, who turns
his back upon the fragrant _restaurant_, if he deserts his dinner. You
are as beautiful, as bright, as lovely as ever--you cannot think with
what a sigh I quit you!"

"But"----and I began a torrent of recrimination.

"'But,' said he, interrupting me, 'I have not a sou. For you,' he
continued, 'you are as charming as ever--you will win your way only the
better in the world for this little experience. And as for me--I have
been in Elysium for three months; and that is more than a host of your
excellent prudent men can boast of, who plod on day after day only that
they may continue plodding to the end of their lives. Adieu! my
adorable--my angel that will now vanish from my sight!' And here, in
spite of my struggles, he embraced me with the greatest ardour, and
then, tearing himself away as if he only were the sufferer, he rushed
out of the room. I have never seen him since."

"And such men really exist!" said the young widow, moved to indignation.
"For so short a season of pleasure he could deliberately compromise the
whole of your future life."

"Is it not horrible? His father, it seems, had left him a certain sum of
money, and this was the scheme he had devised to draw from it the
greatest advantage. _Mais, mon Dieu!_" added the lively Frenchwoman, "of
what avail to afflict one's-self? Only if he would but die before I am
an old woman! And then those three months"----

Here the diligence suddenly stopped, and the conductor opening the door,
invited us to step out and take some refreshment, and so put an end for
the present to this medley conversation.




WHO WROTE GIL BLAS?


In the year 1783, Joseph Francisco De Isla, one of the most eminent of
modern Spanish writers, published a Spanish translation of Gil Blas. In
this work some events were suppressed, others altered, the diction was
greatly modified, the topographical and chronological errors with which
the French version abounded were allowed to remain, and the Spanish
origin of that celebrated work was asserted on such slender grounds, and
vindicated by such trifling arguments, as to throw considerable doubt on
the fact in the opinion of all impartial judges. The French were not
slow to seize upon so favourable an occasion to gratify their national
vanity; and in 1818, M. le Comte François de Neufchateau, a member of
the French Institute and an Ex-minister of the Interior, published a
dissertation, in which, after a modest insinuation that the
extraordinary merit of Gil Blas was a sufficient proof of its French
origin, the feeble arguments of Padre Isla were triumphantly refuted,
and the claims of Le Sage to the original conception of Gil Blas were
asserted, to the complete satisfaction of all patriotic Frenchmen. Here
the matter rested, till, in 1820, Don Juan Antonio Llorente drew up his
reasons for holding the opinion of which Isla had been the unsuccessful
advocate, and, with even punctilious courtesy, transmitted them before
publication to M. Le Montey, by whose judgment in the matter he
expressed his determination to abide. M. Le Montey referred the matter
to two commissioners--one being M. Raynouard, a well-known and useful
writer, the other M. Neufchateau, the author whom Llorente's work was
intended to refute.

This literary commission seems to have produced as little benefit to the
public as if each of the members had been chosen by a political party,
had received a salary varying from £1500 to £2000 a-year, and been sent
into Ireland to report upon the condition of the people, or into Canada
to discover why French republicans dislike the institutions of a Saxon
monarchy. To be sure, the advantage is on the side of the French
academicians; for, instead of sending forth a mass of confused,
contradictory, and ill-written reports, based upon imperfect evidence,
and leading to no definite conclusion, the literary commission, as
Llorente informs us, was silent altogether; whereupon Llorente
attributing, not unnaturally, this preternatural silence on the part of
the three French _savans_, to the impossibility of finding any thing to
say, after the lapse of a year and a half publishes his arguments, and
appeals to literary Europe as the judge "en dernier ressort" of this
important controversy. Llorente, however, was too precipitate; for on
the 8th of January 1822, M. de Neufchateau presented to the French
Academy an answer to Llorente's observations, on which we shall
presently remark.

It is maintained by the ingenious writer, Llorente--whose arguments,
with such additions and remarks as have occurred to us upon the subject,
we propose to lay before our readers,

1st, That Gil Blas and the Bachiller de Salamanca were originally one
and the same romance.

2dly, That the author of this romance was at any rate a Spaniard.

3dly, That his name was Don Antonio de Solis y Ribadeneira, author of
_Historia de la Conquista de Méjico_.

4thly, That Le Sage turned the single romance into two; repeating in
both the same stories slightly modified, and mixing them up with other
translations from Spanish novels.

As the main argument turns upon the originality of Le Sage considered as
the author of Gil Blas, we shall first dispose in a very few words of
the third proposition; and for this purpose we must beg our readers to
take for granted, during a few moments, that Gil Blas was the work of a
Spaniard, and to enquire, supposing that truth sufficiently established,
who that Spaniard was.

Llorente enumerates thirty-six eminent writers who flourished in 1655,
the period when, as we shall presently see, the romance in question was
written. Of these Don Louis de Guevarra, author of the Diablo Cojuelo,
Francisco de Santos, José Pellicer, and Solis, are among the most
distinguished. Llorente, however, puts all aside--and all, except
Pellicer perhaps, for very sufficient reasons--determining that Solis
alone united all the attributes and circumstances belonging to the
writer of Gil Blas. The writer of Gil Blas was a Castilian--this may be
inferred from his panegyric on Castilian wit, which he declares equal to
that of Athens; he must have been a dramatic writer, from his repeated
criticisms on the drama, and the keenness with which he sifts the merit
of contemporary dramatic authors; he must have been a great master of
narrative, and thoroughly acquainted with the habits and institutions of
his age and country; he must have possessed the art of enlivening his
story with caustic allusions, and with repartees; he must have been
perfectly conversant with the intrigues of courtiers, and have acquired
from his own experience, or the relation of others, an intimate
knowledge of the private life of Olivarez, and the details of Philip
IV.'s court. All these requisites are united in Solis:--he was born at
Alcalá de Henares, a city of Castile; he was one of the best dramatic
writers of his day, the day of Calderon de la Barca. That he was a great
historical writer, is proved by his _Conquista de Méjico_; his comedies
prove his thorough knowledge of Spanish habits; and the retorts and
quiddities of his Graciosos flash with as much wit as any that were ever
uttered by those brilliant and fantastic denizens of the Spanish stage.
He was a courtier; he was secretary to Oropezo, viceroy successively of
Navarre and of Valencia, and was afterwards promoted by Philip IV. to be
"Oficial de la Secretaria" of the first minister Don Louis de Haro, and
was allowed, as an especial mark of royal favour, to dispose of his
place in favour of his relation. This happened about the year
1654--corresponding, as we shall see, exactly with the mission of the
Marquis de Lionne. Afterwards he was appointed Cronista Mayor de las
Indias, and wrote his famous history. These are the arguments in favour
of Solis, which cannot be offered in behalf of any of his thirty-six
competitors. It is therefore the opinion of Llorente that the honour of
being the author of Gil Blas is due to him; and in this opinion,
supposing the fact which we now proceed to investigate, that a Spaniard,
and not Le Sage, was the author of the work, is made out to their
satisfaction, our readers will probably acquiesce.

The steps by which the argument that Gil Blas is taken from a Spanish
manuscript proceeds, are few and direct. It abounds in facts and
allusions which none but a Spaniard could know: this is the first step.
It abounds in errors that no Spaniard could make--(by the way, this is
much insisted upon by M. de Neufchateau, who does not seem to perceive
that, taken together with the preceding proposition, it is fatal to his
argument:) this is the second step, and leads us to the conclusion that
the true theory of its origin must reconcile these apparent
contradictions.

A Spanish manuscript does account for this inconsistency, as it would
furnish the transcriber with the most intimate knowledge of local
habits, names, and usages; while at the same time it would not guard him
against mistakes which negligence or haste, or the difficulty of
deciphering a manuscript in a language with which the transcriber was by
no means critically acquainted, must occasion. Still less would it guard
him against errors which would almost inevitably arise from the
insertion of other Spanish novels, or the endeavour to give the work a
false claim to originality, by alluding to topics fashionable in the
city and age when the work was copied.

The method we propose to follow, is to place before the reader each
division of the argument. We shall show a most intimate knowledge with
Spanish life, clearly proving that the writer, whoever he is, is
unconscious of any merit in painting scenes with which he was habitually
familiar. Let any reader compare the facility of these unstudied
allusions with the descriptions of a different age or time, even by the
best writers of a different epoch and country, however accurate and
dramatic they may be--with _Quentin Durward_ or _Ivanhoe_, for instance;
or with Barante's _Histoire des Ducs de Bourgogne_, and they will see
the force of this remark. In spite of art, and ability, and antiquarian
knowledge, it is evident that a resemblance is industriously sought in
one case, and is spontaneous in the other; that it is looked upon as a
matter of course, and not as a title to praise, by the first class of
writers, while it is elaborately wrought out, as an artist's pretension
to eminence, in the second. If Le Sage had been the original author of
Gil Blas, he would have avoided the multiplication of circumstances,
names, and dates; or if he had thought it necessary to intersperse his
composition with them, he would have contented himself with such as were
most general and notorious; the minute, circuitous, and oblique
allusions, which it required patient examination to detect, and vast
local knowledge to appreciate, could not have fallen within his plan.

Secondly--We shall point out the mistakes, some of them really
surprising even in a foreign writer, with regard to names, dates, and
circumstances, oversetting every congruity which it was manifestly Le
Sage's object to establish. We shall show that the Spanish novels
inserted by him do not mix with the body of the work; and moreover we
shall show that in one instance, where Le Sage hazarded an allusion to
Parisian gossip, he betrayed the most profound ignorance of those very
customs which, in other parts of the work passing under his name, are
delineated with such truth of colouring, and Dutch minuteness of
observation.

If these two propositions be clearly established, we have a right to
infer from them the existence of a Spanish manuscript, as on any other
hypothesis the claims of an original writer would be clashing and
contradictory.

M. Neufchateau, as we have observed, reiterates the assertion that the
errors of Gil Blas are such as no Spaniard could commit, leaving
altogether unguarded against the goring horn of the dilemma which can
only be parried by an answer to the question--how came it to pass that
Le Sage could enumerate the names of upwards of twenty inconsiderable
towns and villages, upwards of twenty families not of the first class;
and in every page of his work represent, with the most punctilious
fidelity, the manners of a country he never saw? Nay, how came it to
pass that, instead of avoiding minute details, local circumstances, and
the mention of particular facts, as he might easily have done, he
accumulates all these opportunities of mistake and contradiction,
descends to the most trifling facts, and interweaves them with the web
of his narrative (conscious of ignorance, as, according to M.
Neufchateau, he must have been) without effort and without design.

Let us begin by laying before the readers the _pièces du procès_. First,
we insert the description of Le Sage given by two French writers.

     "Voici ce que disoit Voltaire à l'article de Le Sage, dans la
     première édition du Siècle de Louis XIV.:--

     "'Son roman de Gil Blas est demeuré, parcequ'il y a du naturel.'

     "Dans les editions suivantes du Siècle de Louis XIV., Voltaire
     ajoute un fait qu'il se contente d'énoncer simplement, comme une
     chose hors de doute; c'est que Gil Blas est pris entièrement d'un
     livre écrit en Espagnol, et dont il cite ainsi le tître--La vidad
     de lo Escudero Dom Marco d'Obrego--sans indiquer aucunement la
     date, l'auteur, ni l'objet de cette vie de l'écuyer Dom Marco
     d'Obrego."

     "Extrait du Nouveau Porte-feuille historique, poetique, et
     litteraire de Bruzen de La Martinière.

     "'Baillet n'entendoit pas l'Espagnol. Au sujet de Louis Velés de
     Guevarra, auteur Espagnol, dans ses jugements des savants sur les
     poètes modernes, § 1461, il dit: On a de lui plusieurs comedies qui
     ont été imprimées en diverses villes d'Espagne, et une pièce
     facétieuse, sous le tître El Diabolo Cojuelo, novella de la otra
     vida: sur quoi M. de La Monnoye fait cette note. Comment un homme
     qui fait tant le modeste et le reservé a-t-il pu écrire un mot tel
     que celui-la? Cette note n'est pas juste. Il semble que M. de La
     Monnoye veuille taxer Baillet de n'avoir pas sontenu le caractère
     de modestie, qu'il affectoit. Baillet ne faisoit pas le modeste, il
     l'étoit véritablement par état et par principe; et s'il eût entendu
     le mot immodeste, ce mot lui auroit été suspect; il eut eu recours
     à l'original, où il auroit trouvé Diablo, et non Diabolo, Cojuelo
     et non Cojudo, et auroit bien vîte corrigé la faute. Mais comme il
     n'entendoit ni l'un ni l'autre de ces derniers mots, il lui fut
     aisé, en copiant ses extraits, de prendre un _el_ pour un _d_, et
     de changer par cette légère différence Cojuelo, qui veut dire
     boiteux, en Cojudo, qui signifie quelqu'un qui a de gros
     testicules, et sobrino l'exprime encore plus grossièrement en
     François. M. de La Monnoye devoit moins s'arrêter à l'immodestie de
     l'épithète, qu'à la corruption du vrai tître le Guevarra."

     "Au reste, c'est le même ouvrage que M. La Sage nous a fait
     connoître sous le tître du Diable Boiteux; il l'a tourné, à sa
     manière, mais avec des différences si grandes que Guevarra ne se
     reconnoîtroit qu'à peine dans cette pretendue traduction. Par
     exemple, le chapitre xix de la seconde partie contient une aventure
     de D. Pablas, qui se trouve en original dans un livre imprimé à
     Madrid en 1729, (sic.) L'auteur des lectures amusantes, qui ne
     s'est pas souvenu que M. Le Sage, en avoit inséré une partie dans
     son Diable Boiteux, l'a traduite de nouveau avec assez de liberté,
     mais pourtant en s'écartant moins de l'original, et l'a insérée
     dans sa première partie à peu près telle qu'elle se lit dans
     l'original Espagnol. Mais M. Le Sage l'a traitée avec de grands
     changements, c'est sa manière d'embellir extrêmement tout ce qu'il
     emprunte des Espagnols. C'est ainsi qu'il en a usé envers Gil Blas,
     dont il a fait un chef-d'oeuvre inimitable."--(Pages 336-339,
     édition de 1757, dans les _Passetemps Politiques, Historiques, et
     Critiques_, tome 11, in 12.)

As an example of the accuracy with which Le Sage has imitated his
originals, we quote the annexed passages from Marcos de Obregon--Page 3.

     "En leyendo el villete, dixo al que le traia: Dezilde a vuestro
     amo, que di goyo, que para cosas, que me inportan mucho gusto no me
     suelo leuantar hasta las doze del dia: que porque quiere, que pare
     matarme me leuante tan demañana? y boluiendose del otro lado, se
     tornô a dormir."

         "Don Mathias prit le billet, l'ouvrit, et, après l'avoir lu, dit
         an valet de Don Lope. 'Mon enfant, je ne me leverois jamais avant
         midi, quelque partie de plaisir qu'on me pût proposer; juge si je
         me leverai à six heures du matin pour me battre. Tu peux dire à
         ton maître que, s'il est encore à midi et demi dans l'endroit où
         il m'attend, nous nous y verons: va, lui porter cette réponse.' A
         ces mots il s'enfonça dans son lit, et ne tarda guère à se
         rendormir."

     "No quereys que siéta ofensa hecha a un corderillo, como este? a
     una paloma sin hiel, a un mocito tan humilde, y apazible que, aun
     quexarse no sabe de una cosa tan mal hecha? cierto y quisiera ser
     hombre en este punto para végarle."

         "'Pourquoi,' s'écria-t-elle avec emportement--pourquoi ne
         voulez-vous pas que je ressente vivement l'offense qu'on a fait à
         ce petit agneau, à cette colombe sans fiel, qui ne se plaint
         seulement pas de l'outrage qu'il a reçu? Ah! que ne suis-je homme
         en ce moment pour le venger!"

After this we think we are fairly entitled to affirm, that Le Sage was
not considered by his contemporaries as a man of original and creative
genius; although he possessed, in an eminent degree, the power of
appropriating and embellishing the works of others, that his style was
graceful, his allusions happy, and his wit keen and spontaneous. If any
one assert that this is to underrate Le Sage, and that he is entitled to
the credit of an inventor, let him cite any single work written by Le
Sage, except _Gil Blas_, in proof of his assertion. Of course _Gil Blas_
is out of the question. Nothing could be more circular than an argument
that Le Sage, because he possessed an inventive genius, might have
written _Gil Blas_; and that because he might have written _Gil Blas_,
he possessed an inventive genius. This being the case, let us examine
his biography. Le Sage was born in 1668 at Sargan, a small town near
Vannes in Bretagne; at twenty-seven he published a translation of
Aristoenætus; and declining, from his love of literature, the hopes of
advancement, which, had he taken orders, were within his reach, he came
to Paris, where he contracted an intimate friendship with the Abbé de
Lyonne, who settled a pension on him, taught him Spanish, and bequeathed
to him his library--consisting, among other works, of several Spanish
manuscripts--at his death. His generous benefactor was the third son of
Hugo, Marquis de Lyonne, one of the most accomplished and intelligent
men in France. In 1656 he was set on a secret mission to Madrid; the
object of this mission was soon discovered in the peace of the Pyrenees
1650, and the marriage of Maria Theresa of Austria, eldest daughter of
Philip IV., with Louis XIV. During his residence in Spain the Marquis de
Lyonne lived in great intimacy with Louis de Haro, Duke of Montoro. The
Marquis de Lyonne was passionately fond of Spanish literature; he not
only purchased all the printed Spanish works he could procure, but a
vast quantity of unprinted manuscripts in the same language, all which,
together with the rest of his library, became at his death the property
of his son, the Abbé de Lyonne--the friend, patron, and testator of Le
Sage. To these facts must be added another very important circumstance,
that Le Sage never entered Spain. Of this fact, fatal as it is to Le
Sage's claims, Padre Isla was ignorant; but it is stated with an air of
triumph by M. Neufchateau, is proved by Llorente, and must be considered
incontestable. The case, then, as far as external evidence is concerned,
stands thus. Le Sage, a master of his own language, but not an inventive
writer, and who had never visited Spain, contracts a friendship which
gives him at first the opportunity of perusing, and afterwards the
absolute possession of, a number of Spanish manuscripts. Having
published several elegant paraphrases and translations of printed
Spanish works, he published _Gil Blas_ in several volumes, at long
intervals, as an original work; after this, he published the _Bachelier
de Salamanque_, which he calls himself a translation from a Spanish
manuscript, of which he never produces the original. Did the matter rest
here, much suspicion would be thrown upon Le Sage's claims to the
authorship of _Gil Blas_; but we come now to the evidence arising, "ex
visceribus causæ," from the work itself, and the manner of its
publication.

The chief points of resemblance between Gil Blas and the Bachelier de
Salamanque, are the following:--

1. The Bachelier de Salamanque is remarkable for his logical
subtilty--so is Gil Blas.

2. The doctor of Salamanque, by whom the bachelor is supported after his
father's death, is avaricious--so is Gil Blas's uncle, the canon of
Oviedo, Gil Perez.

3. The doctor recommends the bachelor of Salamanca to obtain a situation
as tutor--the canon gives similar advice to Gil Blas.

4. The bachelor is dissuaded from becoming a tutor--Fabricio dissuades
Gil Blas from taking the same situation.

5. A friar of Madrid makes it his business to find vacant places for
tutors--a friar of Cordova, in Gil Blas, does the same.

6. The bachelor is obliged to leave Madrid because he is the favoured
lover of Donna Lucia de Padilla--Gil Blas is obliged to leave the
Marquise de Chaves for the same reason.

7. Bartolome, the comedian, encourages his wife's intrigues--Melchier
Zapata does the same.

8. The lover of Donna Francisca, in Granada, is a foreign nobleman kept
there by important business--the situation of the Marquis de Marialva is
the same.

9. The comedian abandons an old and liberal lover, for Fonseca, who is
young and poor--Laura prefers Louis de Alaga to his rival, for the same
reason.

10. Bartolome, to deceive Francisca, assumes the name of Don Pompeio de
la Cueva--to deceive Laura, Gil Blas pretends to be Don Fernando de
Ribera.

11. _Le Bachelier_ contains repeated allusions to Dominican friars, and
particularly to Cirilo Carambola--similar allusions abound in _Gil
Blas_, where Louis de Aliaga, confessor of Philip III., is particularly
mentioned.

12. The character of Diego Cintillo, in the _Bachelier de Salamanque_,
is identical with that of Manuel Ordoñez in _Gil Blas_.

13. An aunt of the Duke of Uzeda obtains for the bachelor the place of
secretary in the minister's office--Gil Blas obtains the same post by
means of an uncle of the Count of Olivarez.

14. The bachelor, whilst secretary at Uzeda, assists in bringing about
his patron's daughter's marriage--Gil Blas does the same whilst
secretary of the Duke of Olivarez.

15. Francisca, the actress, is shut up in a convent at Carthagena,
because the corregidor's son falls in love with her--Laura, in _Gil
Blas_, is shut up in a convent, because the corregidor's only son falls
in love with her.

16. The adventures of Francisca and Laura resemble each other.

17. So do those of Toston and Scipio.

18. Toston and Scipio both lose their wives; and both disbelieve in
reality, though they think proper to accept, the excuses they make on
their return.

19. _Finally_, in _Gil Blas_ we find a vivid description of the habits
and manners prevalent in the European dominions of Spain during the
reigns of Philip III. and Philip IV. But in no part of _Gil Blas_ do we
find any allusion to the habits and manners of the viceroy's canons,
nuns, and monks of America; and yet Scipio is dispatched with a
lucrative commission to New Spain. It may fairly be inferred, therefore,
that so vast a portion of the Spanish monarchy did not escape the notice
of the attentive critic who wrote _Gil Blas_; and the silence can only
be accounted for by the fact, that the principal anecdotes relating to
America, were reserved to make out the _Bachelier de Salamanque_, from
the remainder of which _Gil Blas_ was taken.

Now, the dates of _Gil Blas_ and the Bachelier de Salamanque were
these:--the two first volumes of _Gil Blas_ were published in 1715, the
third volume in 1724, which, it is clear, he intended to be the last.
First, from the Latin verses with which it closes; and secondly, from
the remark of the anachronism of Don Pompeyo de Castro, which he
promises to correct if his work gets to a new edition. In 1735 he
published a fourth volume of _Gil Blas_, and, in 1738, the two volumes
of the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ as a translation. Will it be said that
Le Sage's other works prove him to have been capable of inventing _Gil
Blas_? It will be still without foundation. All his critics agree, that,
though well qualified to embellish the ideas of others, and master of a
flowing and agreeable style, he was not an inventive or original writer.
Such is the language of Voltaire, M. de la Martinière, and of Chardin,
and even of M. Neufchateau himself; and yet, it is to a person of this
description that the authorship of _Gil Blas_, second only to _Don
Quixote_ in prose works of fiction, has been attributed.

Among the topics insisted upon by the Comte de Neufchateau as most
clearly establishing the French origin of _Gil Blas_, an intimate
acquaintance with the court of Louis XIV., and frequent allusions to the
most remarkable characters in it, are very conspicuous. But to him who
really endeavours to discover the country of an anonymous writer, such
an argument, unless reduced to very minute details, and contracted into
a very narrow compass, will not appear satisfactory. He will recollect
that the extremes of society are very uniform, that courts resemble each
other as well as prisons; and that, as was once observed, if King
Christophe's courtiers were examined, the great features of their
character would be found to correspond with those of their whiter
brethren in Europe. The abuses of government, the wrong distribution of
patronage, the effects of clandestine influence, the solicitations and
intrigues of male and female favourites, the treachery of confidants,
the petty jealousies and insignificant struggles of place-hunters, are
the same, or nearly so, in every country; and it requires no great
acuteness to detect, or courage to expose, their consequences--the name
of Choiseul, or Uzeda, or Buckingham, or Bruhl, or Kaunitz, may be
applied to such descriptions with equal probability and equal justice.
But when the Tiers Etat are portrayed, when the satirist enters into
detail, when he enumerates circumstances, when local manners, national
habits, and individual peculiarities fall under his notice; when he
describes the specific disease engendered in the atmosphere by which his
characters are surrounded; when, to borrow a lawyer's phrase, he
condescends to particulars, then it is that close and intimate
acquaintance with the scenes and persons he describes is requisite; and
that a superficial critic falls, at every step into errors the most
glaring and ridiculous. There are many passages of this description in
_Gil Blas_ to which we shall presently allude; in the mean time let us
follow the advice of Count Hamilton, and begin with the beginning--

     "Me voila donc hors d'Oviédo, sur le chemin de Peñaflor, au milieu
     de la campagne, maître de mes actions, d'une mauvaise mule, et de
     quarante bons ducats, sans compter quelques réaux que j'avois volés
     à mon très-honoré oncle.

     "La première chose que je fis, fut de laisser ma mule aller à
     discrétion, c'est-à-dire au petit pas. Je lui mis la bride sur le
     cou, et, tirant mes ducats de ma poche, je commençai à les compter
     et recompter dans mon chapeau. Je n'étois pas maître de ma joie; je
     n'avois jamais vu tant d'argent; je ne pouvois me lasser de le
     regarder et de le manier. Je la comptois peut-être pour la
     vingtième fois, quand tout-à-coup ma mule, levant la tête et les
     oreilles, s'arrêta au milieu du grand chemin. Je jugeai que quelque
     chose l'effrayoit; je regardai ce que ce pouvoit être. J'aperçus
     sur la terre un chapeau renversé sur lequel il y avoit un rosaire à
     gros grains, et en meme temps j'entendis une voix lamentable qui
     prononça ces paroles: Seigneur passant, ayez pitié, de grace, d'un
     pauvre soldat estropié: jetez, s'il vous plait, quelques pièces
     d'argent dans ce chapeau; vous en serez recompensé dans l'autre
     monde. Je tournai aussitôt les yeux du côté d'où partoit la voix.
     Je vis au pied d'un buisson, à vingt ou trente pas de moi, une
     espèce de soldat qui, sur deux batons croisés, appuyoit le bout
     d'une escopette, qui me parut plus longue qu'une pique, et avec
     laquelle il me couchoit en joue. A cette vue, qui me fit trembler
     pour le bien de l'église, je m'arretai tout court; je serrai
     promptement mes ducats; je tirai quelques reaux, et, m'approchant
     du chapeau, disposé à recevoir la charité des fidèles effrayés, je
     les jetai dedans l'un après l'autre, pour montrer au soldat que
     j'en usois noblement. Il fut satisfait de ma generosité, et me
     donna autant de bénédictions que je donnia de coups de pieds dans
     les flancs de ma mule, pour m'eloigner promptement de lui; mais la
     maudite bête, trompant mon impatience, n'en alla pas plus vite; la
     longue habitude qu'elle avoit de marcher pas à pas sous mon oncle
     lui avoit fait perdre l'usage du galop."

In France, the custom of travelling on mules was unknown, so was the
coin ducats, so was that of begging with a rosary, and of extorting
money in the manner in which Gil Blas describes. In fact, the "useful
magnificence," as Mr Burke terms it, of the spacious roads in France,
and the traffic carried on upon them, would render such a manner of
robbing impossible. How then could Le Sage, who had never set his foot
in Spain, hit upon so accurate a description? Again, Rolando explains to
Gil Blas the origin of the subterraneous passages, to which an allusion
is also made by Raphael; now such are in France utterly unknown.

Rolando, giving an account of his proceedings, says, that his
grandfather, who could only "_dire son rosaire_," "_rezar su rosario_."
This is as foreign to the habits of a "vieux militaire François," as any
thing that can be imagined; and, on the other hand, exactly conformable
to those of a Spanish veteran:--

     "Nous demeurâmes dans le bois la plus grande partie de la journée,
     sans apercevoir aucun voyageur qui pût payer pour le religieux.
     Enfin nous en sortîmes pour retourner an souterrain, bornant nos
     exploits à ce risible événement, qui faisoit encore le sujet de
     notre entretien, lorsque nous decouvrîmes de loin un carrosse à
     quatre mules. Il venoit à nous au grand trot, et il étoit
     accompagné de trois hommes à cheval qui nous parurent bien armés."

In this statement are many circumstances irreconcilable with French
habits. 1st, A whole day passing without meeting a traveller on the
high-road of Leon, an event common enough in Spain, but in France almost
impossible; 2d, the escort of the coach, a common precaution of the
Spanish ladies against violence--the fact that the coach is drawn by
mules, not horses, of which national trait six other instances may be
found in the same story:--

     "Plusieurs personnes me voulurent voir par curiosité. Ils venoient
     l'un après l'autre se présenter à une petite fenêtre par où le jour
     entroit dans ma prison; et lorsqu'ils m'avoient considéré quelque
     temps, ils s'en alloient. Je fus surpris de cette nouveauté: depuis
     que j'étois prisonnier, je n'avois pas vu un seul homme se montrer
     à cette fenêtre, qui donnoit sur une cour où regnoient le silence
     et l'horreur. Je compris par là que je faisois du bruit dans la
     ville, mais je ne savois si j'en devois concevoir un bon ou mauvais
     presage." ... "Là dessus le juge se retira, en disant qu'il alloit
     ordonner au concierge de m'ouvrir les portes. En effet, un moment
     après, le geolier vint dans mon cachot avec un de ses guichetiers
     qui portoit un paquet de toile. Ils m'otèrent tous deux, d'un air
     grave et sans me dire un seul mot, mon pourpoint et mon
     haut-de-chausses, qui étoit d'un drap fin et presque neuf; puis,
     m'ayant revêtu d'une vieille souquenille, ils me mirent dehors par
     les épaules."

This is an exact description of the manner in which prisoners were
treated in Spain, but bears not the slightest resemblance to any abuse
that prevailed at that time in France:--

     "Une fille de dix ans, que la gouvernante faisoit passer pour sa
     nièce, en depit de la médisance, vint ouvrir; et comme nous lui
     demandions si l'on pouvoit parler au chanoine, la dame Jacinte
     parut. C'étoit une personne deja parvenue à l'âge de discretion,
     mais belle encore; et j'admirai particulièrement la fraîcheur de
     son teint. Elle portoit une longue robe d'un étoffe de laine la
     plus commune, avec une large ceinture de cuir, d'où pendoit d un
     côté un trousseau de clefs, et de l'autre un chapelet à gros
     grains"--"Rosario de cuentas gordas."--_Lib. II._ _c._ 1.

This is an exact description of a class of women well known in Spain by
the name Beata, but utterly unknown in France till the Soeurs de
Charité were instituted:--

     "Pendant qu'ils étoient ensemble j'entendis sonner midi. Comme je
     savois que les secretaires et les commis quittoient à cette heure
     la leurs bureaux, pour aller diner où il leur plaisoit, je laissai
     là mon chef-d'oeuvre, et sortis pour me rendre, non chez
     Monteser, parcequ'il m'avoit payé mes appointemens, et que j'avois
     pris congé de lui, mais chez le plus fameux traiteur du quartier de
     la cour."-_Lib. III._

During the reign of Philip III. and Philip IV., and even till the time
of Charles IV., twelve was the common hour of dinner, and all the public
offices were closed: this is very unlike the state of things in Paris
during the reign of Louis XV., when this romance was published.

In Spain, owing in part to the hospitality natural to unsettled times
and a simple people, in part to the few strangers who visited the
Peninsula, inns were for a long time almost unknown, and the occupation
of an innkeeper, who sold what his countrymen were delighted to give,
was considered degrading: so dishonourable indeed was it looked upon,
that where an executioner could not be found to carry the sentence of
the law into effect upon a criminal, the innkeeper was compelled to
perform his functions: therefore the innkeepers, like usurers and other
persons, who follow a pursuit hostile to public opinion, were profligate
and rapacious. Don Quixote teems with instances to this effect; and
there are other allusions to the same circumstance in _Gil Blas_. It
must be observed that if M. Le Sage stumbled by accident upon so great a
peculiarity, he was fortunate; and if it was suggested to him by his own
enquiries, they were more profound in this than in most other instances.
The Barber, describing his visit to his uncle's, (1, 2, 7,) mentions the
narrow staircase by which he ascended to his relation's abode. Here,
again, is a proof of an intimate acquaintance with the structure of the
hotels of the Spanish grandees: in all of them are to be found a large
and spacious staircase leading to the apartments of the master, and a
small one leading to those of his dependents. So the hotel in which
Fabricio lives, (3, 7, 13,) and that inhabited by Count Olivarez, are
severally described as possessing this appurtenance. It is singular that
Le Sage, who seems to have been almost as fond of Paris as Socrates was
of Athens, should have picked up this intimate knowledge of the hotels
of Madrid. The knowledge of music and habit of playing upon the guitar
in the front of their houses, is another stroke of Spanish manners which
no Frenchman is likely to have thought of adding to his work (1, 2, 7.)
Marcelina puts on her mantle to go to mass. This custom prevailed in
Spain till the sceptre passed to the Bourbons--in many towns till the
time of Charles III., and in small villages till the reign of Charles
IV. Gil Blas joins a muleteer, (1, 3, 1,) with four mules which had
transported merchandise to Valladolid--this method of carrying goods is
not known in France. The same observation applies to 3, 3, 7. Rolando
informs Gil Blas, (1, 3, 2,) "Lorsqu'il eut parlé de cette sorte, il
nous fit enfermer dans un cachot, où il ne laissa pas languir mes
compagnons; ils en sortirent au bout de trois jours pour aller jouer un
rôle tragique dans la grande place."

This exactly corresponds with the Spanish custom, which was to allow
prisoners, capitally convicted, three days to prepare for a Christian
death. Rolando continues, "Oh! je regrette mon premier metier, j'avoue
qu'il y a plus de sûreté dans le nouveau; mais il y a plus d'agrément
dans l'autre, et j'aime la liberté. J'ai bien la mine de me defaire de
ma charge, et de partir un beau matin pour aller gagner les montagnes
qui sont aux sources du Tage. Je sais qu'il y a dans cet endroit une
retraite habitée par une troupe nombreuse, et remplie de sujets
Catalans: c'est faire son éloge en un mot. Si tu veux m'accompagner,
nous irons grosser le nombre de ces grands hommes. Je serai dans leur
compagnie capitaine en second; et pour t'y faire recevoir avec agrément,
j'assurerai que je t'ai vu dix fois combattre à mes côtés."

The chain of mountains of Cuença Requena Aragon y Abaracin, in which the
Tagus rises, does contain such excavations as Rolando employed for such
purposes as Rolando mentions, (1, 3, 11.) The grace of Carlos Alfonso de
la Ventolera in managing his cloak, was an Andalusian accomplishment,
and an accomplishment which ceased to prevail when the Bourbons entered
Spain. It could not have been applied to describe a Castilian, as it was
confined to the inhabitants of Murcia, Andalusia, Valencia, and la
Mancha. How could Le Sage have known this? When the Count Azumar dines
with Don Gonzalo Pacheco, the conversation turns on bull-fights, (2, 4,
7.)

     "Leur conversation roula d'abord sur une course de taureaux qui
     s'étoit faite depuis peu de jours. Ils parlèrent des cavaliers qui
     y avoient montré le plus d'adresse et de vigueur; et la-dessus le
     vieux comte, tel que Nestor, à qui toutes les choses presentes
     donnoient occasion de louer les choses passées, dit en
     soupirant--Hélas! je ne vois point aujourd'hui d'hommes comparables
     à ceux que j'ai vus autrefois, ni les tournois ne se font pas avec
     autant de magnificence qu'on les faisoit dans ma jeunesse."

This alludes to the "Caballeros de Plaza," as they were called,
gentlemen by birth animated by the love of glory, very different from
the hired Picadors. This custom of the Spanish gentlemen, which many of
our fox-hunting and pheasant-shooting squires will condemn for its
cruelty, was very common during the reigns of Philip III. and IV., but
gradually declined, and was at last only prevalent at the _Fiestas
Reales_. The last example was known in 1789, to celebrate the _jura_ of
the Prince of Asturia, afterwards the pious and exemplary Ferdinand VII.
This must have been before his attempted parricide. Ambrosio de Lamela,
in order to accomplish his designs on Simon, (2, 6, 1,) purchases
articles at Chelva in Valencia, among others--

     "Il nous fit voir un manteau et une robe noire fort longue, deux
     pourpoints avec leurs hauts-de-chausses, une de ces écritoires
     composées de deux pièces liées par un cordon, et dont le cornet est
     séparé de l'etui où l'on met les plumes; une main de beau papier
     blanc un cadenas avec un gros cachet, et de la cire verte; et
     lorsqu'il nous eut enfin exhibé toutes ses emplettes, Don Raphael
     lui dit en plaisantant: Vive Dieu! Monsieur Ambroise, il faut
     avouer que vous avez fait là un bon achat."

Now this is a faithful portrait of the inkstand, called Tintero de
Escribano, which the Spanish scriveners always carry about with them,
and which it is most improbable that M. Le Sage should ever have seen in
his life, or indeed have heard of but through the medium of a Spanish
manuscript. The account proceeds; and the distinction, which the reader
will find taken with so much accuracy, between the inquisitor and
familiar of the holy office, is one which, however familiar to every
Spaniard, it is not likely a Frenchman should be acquainted with. In
France the inquisitor was confounded with the commissary, and all were
supposed to be Dominican friars.

     "Là, mon garçon barbier étala ses vivres, qui consistoient das cinq
     ou six oignons, avec quelques morceaux de pain et de fromage: mais
     ce qu'il produisit comme la meilleure pièce du sac, fut une petite
     outre, remplie, disoit-il, d'un vin delicat et friand," (2, 6.)

This custom of carrying wine in a leathern bag, is a peculiar trait of
Spanish manners.

Catalena, the chambermaid of Guevarra, nurse of Philip IV., obtains from
her mistress, for Ignatio, the archdeaconry of Granada, which, as "pais
de conquista," was subject to the crown's disposal:--

     "Cette soubrette, qui est la même dont je me suis servi depuis pour
     tirer de la tour de Segovie le seigneur de Santillane, ayant envie
     de rendre service à Don Ignacio, engagea sa maîtresse à demander
     pour lui un bénéfice an Duc de Lerme. Ce ministre le fit nommer à
     l'archidiaconat de Granade, lequel étant en pays conquis; est à la
     nomination du roi."

Now, that Le Sage should have been acquainted with this fact, for fact
it unquestionably is, does appear astonishing. Till the concordat of
1753, the kings of Spain could only present to dignities in churches
subject to the royal privilege, among which was this of Granada, by
virtue of particular bulls issued at the time of its conquest. This is a
fact, however, with which very few Spaniards were acquainted. Antonio de
Pulgar, in his _Cronica de Los Reyes Catholicos_, c. 22, tells us that
Isabella, "En el proueer de las yglesias que vacaron en su tiempo, ouo
respecto tan recto, que pospuesta toda afficion siempre supplico al Papa
por hombres generosos, y grandes letrados, y de vida honesta; lo que no
se lee que con tanta diligencia ouiesse guardado ningun rey de los
passados." Another remarkable passage, and to us almost conclusive, is
the following--

     "Je le menai au comte-duc, qui le reçut très poliment, et lui dit
     qu'il s'étoit si bien conduit dans son gouvernement de la ville de
     Valence, que le roi, le jugeant propre à remplir une plus grande
     place, l'avoit nommé à la viceroyauté d'Aragon. D'ailleurs,
     ajouta-t-il, cette dignité n'est point au-dessus de votre
     naissance, et la noblesse Aragonoise ne sauroit murmurer contre le
     choix de la cour."

This alludes to a dispute between the Spanish government and the
Aragonese, which had continued from the days of Charles V. The Aragonese
claimed either that the king himself should reside among them, or be
represented by some person of the royal blood. Charles V. appointed, as
viceroy of Aragon, his uncle, the Archbishop of Zaragoza, and then Don
Fernando de Aragon, his cousin. Philip II. appointed a Castilian to that
dignity. This produced great disturbances in Aragon, and the dispute
lasted till 1692, when the Aragonese settled the matter by putting the
Castilian viceroy, Inigo de Mendoza, to death. His successor was an
Aragonese, Don Miguel de Luna, Conde de Morata, and he was succeeded by
Don John of Austria, his brother. It is most improbable that M. Le Sage,
whose knowledge of Spanish literature was very superficial, and whose
ignorance of Spanish history was complete, should have understood this
allusion. This, therefore, leads to the conclusion that it must have
been taken from a Spanish manuscript.

In conformity with this we find Mariana saying, in the days of Ferdinand
and Isabella--"Los Aragoneses no querian recebir por Virrey a D. Ramon
Folch, Conde de Cardona, que el rey tenia señalado para este cargo;
decian era contra sus fueros poner en el gobierno de su reyno hombre
extrangero. Hobo demandas y respuestas, mas al fin el rey temporizo con
ellos, y nombro por Virrey a su hijo D. Alonso de Aragon, Arzobispo de
Zaragoza."

Can any one doubt that the writer of the following passage had seen the
spot he describes?

     "Il me fit traverser une cour, et monter par un escalier fort
     étroit à une petite chambre qui étoit tout an haut de la tour. Je
     ne fus pas peu surpris, en entrant dans cette chambre, de voir sur
     une table deux chandelles, qui bruloient dans des flambeaux de
     cuivre, et deux couverts assez propres. Dans un moment, me dit
     Tordesillas, on va nous apporter à manger: nous allons souper ici
     tous deux. C'est ce reduit que je vous ai destiné pour logement.
     Vous y serez mieux que dans votre cachot; vous verrez de votre
     fenêtre les bords fleuris de l'Erêma, et la vallée delicieuse qui,
     du pied des montagnes qui separent les deux Castilles, s'étend
     jusqu'à Coca. Je suis bien que vous serez d'abord peu sensible à
     une si belle vue, mais quand le temps aura fait succeder une douce
     mélancolie à la vivacité de votre douleur, vous prendrez plaisir à
     promener vos regards sur des objets si agréables."

These notices of reference, taken at random, are all adapted to the
places at which they are found--the narrative leads to them by regular
approximation, or they are suggested by the subject and occasion which
it draws forth. To introduce a given story into the body of a writing
without abruptness, or marks of unnatural transition,

        "Ut per læve moventes,
    Effundat junctura ungues."

is, as Paley observes, one of the most difficult artifices of
composition; and here are upwards of a hundred Spanish names,
circumstances, and allusions, incorporated with the story written, as M.
Neufchateau assures us, by a Frenchman concerning the court of Louis
XIV. A line touching on truth in so many points, could never have been
drawn accidentally; it is the pencil thrown luckily full upon the
horse's mouth, and expressing the foam which the painter, with all his
skill, could not represent without it. Let the reader observe how
difficult Le Sage has found the task of connecting the anecdotes taken
from Marcos de Obregon, and put into the mouth of Diego, with the main
story. How awkward is this transition? "Le _seigneur_ Diego de La Fuente
me raconta d'autres aventures encore, qui lui étoient arrivées depuis;
mais elles me semblent si peu dignes d'être rapportées, que je les
passerai sous silence."

The next branch of the argument which we are called upon to consider,
relates to the Spanish words in _Gil Blas_, which imply the existence of
a Spanish manuscript. The names Juan, Pedro, often occur in Le Sage's
work, and Pierre, Jean, are sometimes used in their stead. The word
_Don_ is prefixed by the Spaniards to the Christian, and never to the
surname, as Don Juan, Don Antonio, not Don Mariana, Don Cervantes. In
France, _Dom_, its synonyme, is, on the contrary, prefixed to the
surname--as Dom Mabillon, Don Calmet. Le Sage always adheres to the
Spanish custom. The robber who introduces Gil Blas to the cavern, says,
"Tenez, Dame Leonarde, voici un jeune garçon," &c. Again, "On dressa
dans le salon une grande table, et l'on me renvoya dans la cuisine, où
la _Dame_ Leonarde m'instruisit de ce que j'avais a faire.... Et comme
depuis sa mort c'étoit la _Senora Leonarda_ qui avoit l'honneur de
présenter le nectar à ces dieux infernaux," &c. This expression "Señora
Leonarda," is much in favour of a Spanish original; why should not Le
Sage have repeated the expression "Dame Leonarde," on which we have a
few observations to offer, had it not been that he thought the word
under his eyes at the moment would lend grace and vivacity to the
narrative. A French writer would have said, "Tenez, Leonarde," or
perhaps, "Tenez, Madame Leonarde;" but such a phrase as "Tenez, Dame
Leonarde," in a French writer, can be accounted for only by the
translation of "señora." So we have "la Señora Catalena," (7, 12)--"la
Señora Sirena," (9, 7)--and "la Señora Mencia," (8, 10) of the French
version, and instead of "une demoiselle," "une jeune dame," which is a
translation of "señorita." In giving an account of his projected
marriage with the daughter of Gabriel Salero, Gil Blas says, (9,
1)--"C'étoit un bon bourgeois qui étoit comme nous disons poli hasta
porfiar. Il me présenta la Señora Eugenia, sa femme, et la jeune
Gabriela, sa fille." Here are three Spanish idioms--"hasta porfiar,"
which Le Sage thinks it necessary to explain, "la Señora Eugenia,"
"Gabriela." Diego de la Fuente tells his friend, "J'avois pour maître de
cet instrument un vieux 'señor escudero,' à qui je faisois la barbe. Il
se nommoit Marcos Dôbregon." A French author, instead of "señor
escudero," would have said, "vieux ecuyer;" a Spanish transcriber would
have written "Marcos de Obregon." We have (x. 3, 11) "Señor Caballero
des plus lestes," "romances" instead of "romans," (1, 5,) "prado"
instead of "pré," twice, (4, 10; 7, 13.)

Laura says--"Un jour il nous vint en fantaisie à Dorothée et à moi
d'aller voir joner les comédiens de Seville. Ils avaient affiché qu'ils
representaient _la famosa comedia_, et Embajador de si mismo, de Lope de
Vega Carpio.... En fin le moment que j'attendais étant arrivé,
c'est-à-dire, la fin de _la famosa comedia_, nous nous en allâmes." We
have "hidalgo" instead of "gentilhomme" three times; "contador mayor"
twice, once used by Chinchillo, again by the innkeeper at Suescas,
"oidor" instead of "juge" or "membre de la cour royale," "escribano"
instead of "notaire," (8, 9.) "Hospital de niños" instead of "hospice
des enfans orphelins," "olla podrida" three times "marmalada de
berengaria," (9, 4,) and "picaro" instead of "fripon," (4, 10, 12.)
Scipio says, "un jour comme je passois auprès de l'église de los reyes."
There is at Toledo a church named "San Juan de los Reyes." How could Le
Sage, who never had been in Spain, know this fact? Gil Blas thus relates
an event at Valencia--"Je m'en approchai pour apprendre pourquoi je
voyois là un si grand concours d'hommes et de femmes, et bientôt je fus
au fait, en lisant ces paroles écrites en lettres d'or sur une table de
marbre noir, qu'il-y avait audessus de la porte, '_La posada de los
representantes_,' et les comédiens marquaient dans leur affiche qu'ils
joueraient ce jour-là pour la première fois une tragédie nouvelle de Don
Gabriel Triaguero." This passage is an attestation of the fact, that
during the reign of Philip IV. the buildings of the Spanish provinces in
which dramatic performances were represented were at the same time the
residence, "posada," of the actors--a custom even now not altogether
extinguished; but which Le Sage could only know through the medium of a
Spanish manuscript. Gil Blas, imprisoned in the tower of Segovia, hears
Don Gaston de Cavallos sing the following verses--

    "Ayde nie un año _felice_
    Parece un soplo ligero
    Pero sin duda un instante
    Es un siglo de tormento."

Where did Le Sage find these verses, sweet, gracious, and idiomatic as
they are? The use of the word "felice" for "feliz" is a poetical
license, and displays more than a stranger's knowledge of Spanish
composition. It has been said that Smollett has left many French words
in his translation of Gil Blas, and that too strong an inference ought
not to be drawn from the employment of Spanish phrases by Le Sage. But
what are the words? Are they words in the mouth of every one, and such
as a superficial dilettante might easily pick up; or do they, either of
themselves or from the conjunctures in which they are employed, exhibit
a consummate acquaintance with the dialect and habits of the people to
which they refer? Besides, it should be remembered that French is a
language far more familiar to well-educated people in England, than
Spanish ever was to the French, and that Smollett had lived much in
France; whereas Le Sage knew from books alone the language which he has
employed with so much colloquial elegance and facility. We now turn to
the phrases and expressions in French which Le Sage has manifestly
translated.

The first word which occurs in dealing with this part of the subject is
"seigneur" as a translation for "señor;" "seigneur" in France was not a
substitute for "monsieur," which is the proper meaning of "señor." On
the use of the word "dame" we have already commented. Instead of Dame
Leonarde and Dame Lorenzo Sephora, a French writer would have put
"Madame" or "la cuisinière," or "la femme de chambre," as the case might
be. So the exclamation of the highwayman, "Seigneur passant," &c., must
be a translation of "Señor passagero." Describing the parasite at
Peñaflor, Gil Blas says, "le cavalier portait une longue rapière, et il
s'approcha de moi d'un air empressé, _Seigneur_ écolier, me dit-il, je
viens d'apprendre que vous êtes le _seigneur_ Gil Blas de Santillane.
Je lui dis, _seigneur_ cavalier, je ne croyois pas que mon nom fût connu
à Penáflor." "Le cavalier" means a man on horseback, which is not a
description applicable to the parasite; "chevalier" is the French word
for the member of a military order. "Cet homme," or "ce monsieur," would
have been the expression of Le Sage if "este caballero" had not been in
the manuscript to be copied. "Carillo" for "Camillo," "betancos" for
"betangos," "rodillas" for "revilla;" and yet M. Le Sage is not
satisfied with making his hero walk towards the Prado of Madrid, but
goes further, and describes it as the "pré de Saint Jerome"--Prado de
Ste Geronimo, which is certainly more accurate. Again he speaks of "la
Rue des Infantes" at Madrid, (8, 1)--"De los Infantos is the name of a
street in that city--and in the same sentence names "une vieille dame
Inesile Cantarille." Inesilla is the Spanish diminutive of Ines, and
Cantarilla of Cantaro. The last word alludes to the expression "mozas de
Cantaro," for women of inferior degree. Philip III. shuts up Sirena
"dans la maison des repenties." This is also the name of a convent at
Madrid, called "casa de las arrepentidas." But a still stronger argument
in favour of the existence of a Spanish manuscript, is to be found in
the passage which says that Lucretia, the repentant mistress of Philip
IV., "quitte tout à coup le monde, et se ferme dans le monastère de la
_Incarnacion_;" that having been founded by Philip III. in compliance
with the will of Doña Margarita, his wife, it was reserved expressly for
nuns connected in some way with the royal family of Spain; and that
therefore Lucretia, having been the mistress of Philip IV., was entitled
to become a member of it.

"Nous aperçumes _un réligieux de l'ordre de Saint Domingue_, monté,
_contre l'ordinaire de ces bons pères, sur une mauvaise mule_.{A} _Dieu
soit loué_, s'écria le capitaine." In this sentence all the passages in
Italics are of Spanish origin. "_Seigneur cavalier_, vous êtes bien
heureux qu'on se soit adressé à moi plutôt qu'à un autre: je ne veux
point décrier mes confrères: à _Dieu ne plaise_ que je fasse le moindre
tort à leur réputation: mais, entre nous, il n'y en a pas un qui ait de
la conscience--_ils sont tous plus durs que des Juifs_. Je suis le seul
fripier qui ait de la morale: je ne borne à un prix raisonable; je me
contente de la livre pour sou--je veux dire du sou pour livre. _Grâces
au ciel_, j'exerce rondement ma profession." Here we find "Seigneur
cavalier," "à Dieu ne plaise," which is the common Spanish phrase, "no
permita Dios," "Grâces an ciel," instead of "Dieu merci," from "Gracias
a Dios." A little further we find the phrase "_Seigneur gentilhomme_,"
which can only be accounted for as a translation of "Señor hidalgo;"
"garçon de famille," (1, 17,) "bénéfice simple," (11, 17) are neither of
them French expressions. "The virtuous Jacintha," says Fabricio, "mérite
d'être la gouvernante du patriarche des Indes." Now, it is impossible
that the existence of such a dignity as this should have been known at
Paris. It was of recent creation, and had been the subject of much
conversation at Madrid. "Garçon de bien et d'honneur," (1, 2, 1,) "un
mozo, hombre de bien y de honor." "Je servis un potage qu'on auroit pu
présenter _au plus fameux directeur de Madrid_, et deux entrées qui
auroient eu de quoi piquer la sensualité _d'un viceroi_." It is
impossible not to see that the first of the phrases in italics is a
translation "del director mas famoso de Madrid;" first, because a
Frenchman would have used "célèbre," and secondly, because the word
"director" in a different sense from that of confessor was unknown at
Madrid. The allusion to the Viceroy, a functionary unknown to the French
government, also deserves notice. The notaire, hastening to Cedillo,
takes up hastily "son manteau et son chapeau." This infers a knowledge
on the part of the writer that the Spanish scrivener never appeared,
however urgent the occasion, without his "capa." We have the word
"laboureurs" applied to substantial farmers, (1, 2, 7.) This is a
translation of "labradores," to which the French word does not
correspond, as it means properly, men dependent on daily labour for
their daily bread. "J'ai fait éléver," says the schoolmaster of Olmedo,
"un théatre, sur lequel, Dieu aidant, je ferai réprésenter par mes
_disciples_ une pièce que j'ai composée. Elle a pour titre les jeunes
amours de Muley Bergentuf Roi de Moroi." "_Disciples_" is a translation
of "discipulos." A French writer would have said "élèves." Again, the
title of the Pedant's play is thoroughly Spanish. It was intended to
ridicule the habit which prevailed in Spain, after the expulsion of the
Moriscoes in 1610, of adapting for the stage Moorish habits and
amusements, by making a stupid pedant in an obscure village, select them
as the subject of his tragedy.

Describing the insolence of the actors, Gil Blas says, "Bien loin de
traiter d'excellence les seigneurs, elles ne leur donnoient pas même _de
la seigneurie_." This would hardly be applicable to the manners of the
French. The principal of Lucinde's creditors, "se nommoit Bernard
Astuto, qui meritoit bien son nom." The signification of the name is
clear in Spanish; but in French the allusion is totally without meaning.
This probably escaped Le Sage in the hurry of composition, or it would
have been easy to have removed so clear a mark of translation. The
following mark is still stronger. Speaking of Simon, the bourgeois of
Chelva, he says--"Certain Juif, qui s'est fait Catholique, mais dans le
fond de l'âme il est encore _Juif comme Pilate_." Now, the lower classes
of Spain perpetually fall into this error of calling Pilate a Jew; and
this is a trait which could hardly have occurred to a foreign writer,
however well acquainted with Spain, much less to a writer who had never
set his foot in that country. Here we cannot help observing, that the
whole scene from which this passage is taken is eminently Spanish. In
Spain only was such a proceeding possible as the scheme for deprecating
Simon, executed by Lucinda and Raphael. The character of the victim, the
nature of the fraud, the absence of all suspicion which such proceedings
would necessarily provoke in any other country, are as conclusive proofs
of Spanish origin as moral evidence can supply. Count Guliano is found
playing with an ape, "pour dormir _la siesta_." Lucretia says to Gil
Blas, "Je vous rends de très humbles grâces," "doy a usted muy umildes
gracias." A French writer would have said, "Je vous remercie
infiniment." Melendez is described as living "à la Porte du Soleil du
coin de la Rue des Balustrées," "esquina de la Calle de Cofreros." There
is such an alley as this, but it is unknown to ninety-nine Spaniards in
a hundred. Beltran Moscada tells Gil Blas, "Je vous reconnois bien,
moi--nous avons joué mille fois tous deux _à la Gallina ciega_." This Le
Sage thinks it necessary to explain by a note, to inform his readers
that it is the same as "Colin Maillard." From all these various phrases
and expressions, scattered about in different passages of Gil Blas, and
taken almost at random from different parts of the work, the conclusion
that it was copied from a Spanish manuscript appears inevitable.

Le Sage has named Sacedon, Buendia, Fuencarrat, Madrid, Campillo,
Aragon, Penaflor, Castropot, Asturias; Salcedo, Alava; Villaflor,
Cebreros, Avila; Tardajos, Kevilla, Puentedura, Burgos; Villar-de-saz;
Almodovar, Cuença; Almoharin, Monroy, Estremadura; Adria, Gavia, Vera,
Granada; Mondejar, Gualalajara; Vierzo, Ponferrada, Cacabelos, Leon;
Calatrava, Castilblanco, Mancha; Chinchilla, Lorque, Murcia; Duenas,
Palencia; Colmenar, Coca, Segovia; Carmona, Mairena, Sevilla; Cobisa,
Galvez, Illescas, Loeches, Maqueda, Kodillas, Villarejo, Villarrubia,
Toledo; Bunol, Chelva, Chiva; Gerica, Liria Paterna, Valencia;
Ataquines, Benavente, Mansilla, Mojados, Olmedo, Penafiel, Puente de
Duero, Valdestillas, Valladolid.

The story of _Gil Blas_ contains the names of no less than one hundred
and three Spanish villages and towns of inferior importance, many of
them are unknown out of Spain--such as Albarracin, Antequera, Betanzos,
Ciudad Real, Coria, Lucena, Molina, Mondonedo, Monzon, Solsona,
Trujillo, Ubeda.

There are also cited the names of thirteen dukes--Alba, Almeida,
Braganza, Frias (condestable de Castilia,) Lerma, Medina-celi, Medina de
Rioseco, (almirante de Castilia,) Medina-Sidonia, Medina de las Tarres
(Marques de Toral,) Mantua, Osuna, Sanlucar la Mayor y Uceda. Eleven
marquises--De Almenara, Carpia, Chaves, Laguardia, Leganes, Priego,
Santacruz, Toral, Velez, Villa-real y Zenete. Eight condes--De Azumar,
Galiano, Lemos, Montanos, Niebla, Olivares, Pedrosa y Polan. Of these
four only are fictitious. It is remarkable also, that one title cited in
_Gil Blas_, that of Admirante de Castilia, did not exist when Le Sage
published his romance--Felipe V. having abolished it, to punish the
holder of that dignity for having embraced the cause of the house of
Austria. Nor are there wanting the names of persons celebrated in their
day among the inhabitants of the Peninsula. Such are Fray Luis Aliago,
confessor of Philip III., Archimandrite of Sicily, and inquisitor-general,
Don Rodrigo Calderon, secretary of the king, Calderon de la Barca,
Antonio Carnero, secretary of the king, Philip IV., Cervantes, Geronimo
de Florencia, Jesuit preacher of Philip IV., Fernando de Gamboa, one of
the gentlemen of his bedchamber, Luis de Gongora, Aña de Guevarra, his
nurse, Maria de Guzman, only daughter of Olivarez, Henry Philip de
Guzman, his adopted son, Baltasar de Zuniga, uncle of Olivarez, Lope de
Vega Carpio, Luis Velez de Guevarra, Juana de Velasco, making in all
nineteen persons. There are the names of not only thirty-one families of
the highest class in Spain, as Guzman, Herrera, Mendoza, Acuna, Avila,
Silva, &c., but twenty-five names belonging to less illustrious, but
still distinguished families; and twenty-nine names really Spanish, but
applied to imaginary characters. This makes a list of eighty-five names,
which it seems impossible for any writer acquainted only with the lighter
parts of Spanish literature to have accumulated. Nor should it be
forgotten that there are forty-five names, intended to explain the
character of those to whom they are given, like Mrs Slipslop and Parson
Trulliber, retained by Gil Blas, notwithstanding the loss of their
original signification. Doctor Andros don Añibal de Chinchilla, Alcacer,
Apuntador, Astuto, Azarini, Padre Alejos y Don Abel, Buenagarra,
Brutandof, Campanario Chilindron, Chinchilla, Clarin, Colifichini, Cordel,
Coscolina, Padre Crisostomo, Doctor Cuchillo, Descomulgado, Deslenguado,
Escipion, Forero, Guyomar, Ligero, Majuelo, Mascarini, Melancia, Mogicon,
Montalban, Muscada, Nisana, Doctor Oloroso, Doctor Oquetos, Penafiel,
Pinares, Doctor Sangrado, Stheimbach, Samuel Simon, Salero, Talego, Touto,
Toribio, Triaquero, Ventolera, Villaviciosa, are all names of this sort.
Who but a Spaniard, then, was likely to invent them? Were there no other
argument, the case for Spain might almost safely be rested on this issue.
But this is not all, since the mistakes, orthographical and geographical,
which abound in the French edition of _Gil Blas_, carry the argument
still further, and place it beyond the reach of reasonable contradiction.
The reader will observe, that much of the question depends upon the fact,
admitted on all sides, that Le Sage did not transcribe his version from
any printed work, but from a manuscript. Had Le Sage merely inserted
stories here and there taken from Spanish romances, his claims as an
original writer would hardly be much shaken by their discovery, supposing
the plot, with which they were skilfully interwoven, and the main bulk
and stamina of the story, to be his own. But where the errors are such as
can only be accounted for by mistakes, not of the press, but of the
copies of a manuscript, and are fully accounted for in that manner--where
they are so thickly sown, as to show that they were not errors made by a
person with a printed volume before his eyes, but by a person deciphering
a manuscript written in a language of which he had only a superficial
acquaintance, no candid enquirer will hesitate as to the inference to
which such facts lead, and by which alone they can be reconciled with the
profound and intimate knowledge of Spanish literature, habits, and
manners, to which we have before adverted. The innkeeper of Peñaflor is
named _Corcuelo_ in the French version, an appellation utterly without
meaning. The real word was _Corzuelo_, a diminutive from _corzo_, which
carries a very pointed allusion to the character of the person. It was
usual to write instead of the _z_--_c_ with a cedilla, and this was
probably the origin of the mistake. The innkeeper of Burgos is called in
the French text _Manjuelo_, which is not Spanish, and is equally
unmeaning. The original undoubtedly was _Majuelo_, the diminutive of
_Majo_, which is very significant of the class to which the person
bearing the name belonged. The person to whom Gil Blas applies for a
situation at Valladolid, is called in the French text _Londona_. The real
word is Londoño, the name of a village near Orduña, in Biscay. _Inesile_
is the name given to the niece of Jacinta. This is instead of _Inesilla_,
and corresponds with the French Agnés. Castel Blargo is used for Castel
Blanco. Rodriguez says to his master, "Je ne touche pas un maravé_dis_ de
vos finances." The word in the manuscript was _marivedi_. Le Sage has
used the plural for the singular. "Seguier," a proper name, is used for
"Seguiar." "De la Ventileria" is the unmeaning name given to a frivolous
coxcomb, instead of "De la Ventilera." Le Sage, speaking of the same
person, sometimes calls her "Doña _K_imena de Guzman," and sometimes
"Doña _Ch_imena," a manifest proof that "Doña _X_imena" was written in
the work from which he transcribed; as the French substitute sometimes
_k_ and sometimes _ch_, for the Spanish _x_.

  Pedros is used for Pedroga, (the name of a noble family.)
  Moyades for Miagades, (a village.)
  Zendero for Zenzano, (do.)
  Salceda for Salcedo, (do.)
  Calderone for Calderon.
  Oliguera for Lahiguera.
  Niebles for Niebla.
  Jutella for Antella.
  Leiva for Chiva.

After Gil Blas's promotion, he says that his haughty colleague treated
him with more respect; and this is expressed in such a way as to show
that Le Sage was ignorant of Spanish etiquette, and did not understand
thoroughly the meaning of what he transcribed. "Il Don Rodrigo de
Calderone ne m'appela plus que Seigneur de Santillane, lui qui
jusqu'alors ne m'avoit traité que de _vous_, sans jamais se servir du
terme de seigneurie," supposing the meaning equivalent--whereas, in
fact, though Gil Blas might complain of not being addressed in the third
person, which would draw with it the use of señor, and was a common form
of civility--it would have been ridiculous to represent him as addressed
by a name, señoria, to which none but people of high station and
illustrious rank were entitled. But Le Sage supposed that every one
addressed as señor, might also be spoken of by the term señoria; a
mistake against which a very moderate knowledge of Spanish usages would
have guarded him. We may illustrate this by a quotation from Navarete:--

     "En este estado enviaron a decir a Magallanes.... Que si se queria
     avenir a lo que cumpliese, al servicio de S. M. estarian a lo que
     les mandase, y que si hasta entonces le dieron tratamiento de
     merced, _en adelante se lo darian de senoria_, y le besarian pies y
     manos."

This was intended as a proof of the greatest reverence by the mutineers,
whom, notwithstanding this submission, Magallanes took an early
opportunity to destroy.

Gil Blas relates the absurd resolution of the Conde Duque D'Olivarez, to
adopt the son of a person with whom he, among others, had intrigued as
his own. This anecdote was well known in Spain. The supposed father of
this youth was an alcalde de corte, called Valcancel; and _he_ had been
rivaled by an alguazil. The son was called in the early part of his life
Julian Valcancel. When adopted by Olivarez, he took the name of Eurique
Felipe de Guzman, which the people said ought to be exchanged for that
of Del Alguazil del Alcalde de Corte. Olivarez divorced him from the
woman to whom he was certainly married, and obliged him to marry the
daughter of the Duca de Frias. He was called by the people of Madrid a
man with two names, the son of three fathers, and the husband of two
wives. Le Sage, by substituting the name of Valdeasar for that of
Valcancel, proves that he was ignorant of the whole transaction. In the
_auto da fé_ which Gil Blas sees at Toledo, and in which his old friends
terminate their adventures in so tragical a manner--some of the guilty
are represented as wearing _carochas_ on their heads. This is a word
altogether without meaning; the real word was _corozas_, a cap worn by
criminals as a badge of degradation.

Another mistake deserves attention, as supplying the strongest proof of
an inaccurate transcriber. "J'espère," says Maître Joachim to his
master, "que je vous servirai tantôt un ragout digne d'un _can_tador
mayor." The word was not "_can_tador," but "_con_tador mayor," the
"ministro de hacienda," or chancellor of the exchequer; a situation
under a despotic government of the highest dignity and opulence. So Don
Annibal de Chinchilla exclaims--"Me croit-elle un contador mayor," when
repelling a demand of a rapacious prostitute. But Le Sage mistook the
_o_ of his manuscript for an _a_, and turned a phrase very intelligible
into nonsense. We now come to the passage which M. Neufchateau quotes as
decisive in favour of Le Sage's claims. It certainly was to be found in
no Spanish manuscript.

     "Don Louis nous mena chez un jeune gentilhomme de ses amis, qu'on
     appeloit don Gabriel de Pedros. Nous y passâmes le reste de la
     journée; nous y soupâmes même, et nous n'en sortîmes que sur les
     deux heures après minuit pour nous en retourner au logis. Nous
     avions peut-être fait la moitié du chemin, lorsque nous
     rencontrâmes sous nos pieds dans la rue deux hommes étendus par
     terre. Nous jugeâmes que c'étoient des malheureux qu'on venoit
     d'assassiner, et nous nous arretâmes pour les secourir, s'il en
     étoit encore temps. Comme nous cherchions à nous instruire, autant
     que l'obscurité de la nuit nous le pouvoit permettre, de l'état où
     ils se trouvoient, la patrouille arriva. Le commandant nous prit
     d'abord pour des assassins, et nous fit environner par ses gens;
     mais il eut meilleure opinion de nous lorsqu'il nous eut entendus
     parler, et qu'à la faveur d'une lanterne sourde, il vit les traits
     de Mendoce et de Pacheco. Ses archers, par son ordre, examinèrent
     les deux hommes que nous nous imaginions avoir été tués; et il se
     trouva que c'étoit un gros licencie avec son valet, tous deux pris
     de vin, ou plutôt ivres-morts. 'Messieurs,' s'écria un des archers,
     'je reconnois ce gros vivant. Eh! c'est le seigneur licencie
     Guyomar, recteur de notre université. Tel que vous le voyez, c'est
     un grand personnage, un génie superieur. Il n'y a point de
     philosophe qu'il ne terrasse dans une dispute; il a un flux de
     bouche sans pareil. C'est dommage qu'il aime un peu trop de vin, le
     procès, et la grisette. Il revient de souper de chez son Isabella,
     où, par malheur, son guide s'est enivre comme lui. Ils sont tombes
     l'un et l'autre dans le ruisseau. Avant que le bon licencie fut
     recteur, cela lui arrivoit assez souvent. Les honneurs, comme vous
     voyez, ne changent pas toujours les moeurs.' Nous laissâmes ces
     ivrognes entre les mains de la patrouille, qui eut soin de les
     porter chez eux. Nous regagnâmes notre hôtel, et chacun ne songea
     qu'à se reposer."

Now this story pierces to the heart the theory which M. Neufchateau
cites it in order to establish. It is an anecdote incorporated by Le
Sage with the rest of the work; and how well it tallies with a Spanish
story, and the delineation of Spanish manners, let the reader judge. The
rector of the university of Salamanca was required to unite a great
variety of qualifications. In the first place, his birth must have been
noble for several generations; not perhaps as many as a canon of
Strasburg was required to trace, but more than it was possible for the
great majority even of well born gentlemen to produce. The situation,
indeed, was generally conferred upon the members of the second class of
nobility, and very often upon those of the first. He was a judge, with
royal and pontifical privileges, exempt from the authority of the bishop
in ecclesiastical, and from the royal tribunals in secular, matters. His
morals were sifted with the strictest scrutiny; and yet this dignified
ecclesiastic is the person whom Le Sage represents as lying in the
streets stupefied with intoxication, and this not from accident, but
from habitual indulgence in a vice which, throughout Spain, is
considered infamous, and which none but those who are below the
influence of public opinion, and even those but in rare instances, are
ever known to practise. To call a man a drunkard in Spain, is considered
a worse insult than to call him a thief; and the effect of the story is
the same as if a person, pretending to describe English manners, were to
represent the Lord Chancellor as often in custody on a charge of
shoplifting, and permitted, in consideration of his abilities, still to
remain in office and exercise the duties of his station.

The principal topographical errors are the following:--Doña Mencia names
to Gil Blas two places on the road near Burgos--these she calls Gofal
and Rodillas; the real names are Tardagal and Revilla, (1, 11;) Ponte de
Mula is put for Puenta Duro, (1, 13;) Luceno for Luyego; Villardera for
Villar del Sa, (5, 1;) Almerim for Almoharia, (5, 1;) Sliva for Chiva,
(7, 1;) Obisa for Cobisa, (10, 10;) Sinas for Linas; Mililla for
Melilla; Arragon for Aragon. Describing his journey from Madrid to
Oviedo, Gil Blas says they slept the first night at Alcala of Henares,
and the second at Segovia. Now Alcala is not on the road from Madrid to
Segovia, nor is it possible to travel in one day from one of these
cities to the other--probably Galapagar was the word mistaken. Penafiel
is mentioned as lying on the road from Segovia to Valladolid, (10, 1;)
this is for Portillo. Now, if Le Sage had invented the story, and
clothed it with names of Spanish cities and villages, taken from
_printed_ books, can any one suppose that he could have fallen into all
these errors?

A thread of Spanish history winds through the whole story of _Gil Blas_,
and keeps every circumstance in its place; therefore the date of the
hero's birth may be fixed with the greatest precision. He tells us he
was fifty-eight at the death of the Count Duke of Olivarez, that is,
1646; Gil Blas was therefore born 1588, and this corresponds altogether
with different allusions, which show that when the romance was written
the war between Spain and Portugal was present to the author's mind, and
the subject of his constant animadversion. Portugal, as our readers may
recollect, became subject to the Spanish yoke in 1580, the Duke of
Braganza was raised to the throne of that kingdom in 1640; and the war
to which that event gave rise was not terminated till 1668; when Charles
II. acknowledged Alphonso VI. as the legitimate ruler of Portugal. That
when the work was written the war between Spain and Portugal continued,
may be inferred from the fact, that the mention of Portugal is
perpetually accompanied with some allusion to hostilities which were
then carried on between the two countries. The romance must therefore
have been written between the disgrace of the Count Duke, 1646, and the
recognition of Portuguese independence, 1668. But we may contract the
date of the work within still narrower limits. It could not have been
written before 1654, as the works of Don Augustini Moreto, none of which
were published before 1654, are cited in it--it is not of later date,
because there is no allusion in any part of the work to the death of
Philip IV., to the peace of the Pyrenees, or to any other ministers but
Lerma, Uzeda, and Olivarez. Don Louis de Haro, Marquis of Carpio, and
Duke of Montora, is not mentioned moreover. Gil Blas, describing himself
to Laura, says that he is the only son of Fernando de Ribera, who fell
in a battle on the frontiers of Portugal fifteen years before. This is a
prolepsis; for the battle was fought in 1640. But this manifest
anachronism, which entirely escaped Le Sage, was intended by the author
as an autograph, a sort of "chien de Bassano," to point out the real
date of the work. Bearing in mind, then, that Gil Blas was born in 1588;
that Portugal was annexed to Spain in 1580 without a struggle; and
remained subject to its dominion till 1640; let us consider the
anachronisms in which Le Sage has plunged himself, partly through his
ignorance of Spanish history, partly from the attempt to interpolate
other Spanish novels with the main body of the work he has translated.
One of these is confessed by Le Sage himself, and occurs in the story of
Don Pompeio de Castro, inserted in the first volume. Don Pompeio is
supposed to relate this story at Madrid in 1607; in it a king of
Portugal is spoken of at that time as being an independent sovereign.
Now in the third volume of the seventh book, in the year 1608, Pedro
Zamora tells Laura, with whom he has eloped, that they were in security
in Portugal, a foreign kingdom, though actually subject to the crown of
Spain. Now this is quite correct, and here Le Sage's attention was
called to the anachronism above cited in his preceding volume, which he
undertakes to correct in another edition--a promise which he fulfilled
by the clumsy expedient of transferring the scene from Portugal to
Poland. But how comes it to pass that Le Sage, who singles out with such
painful anxiety the error to which we have adverted, suffers others of
equal importance to pass altogether unnoticed? For instance, in the
twelfth book, eighth chapter, Olivarez speaks of a journey of Philip IV.
to Zaragoza; which took place indeed, but not until two years after the
disgrace of Olivarez. Cogollos, speaking in 1616, alludes to a
circumstance connected with the revolt of Portugal in 1640; Olivarez,
sixteen months afterwards, mentions the same circumstance, saying to
Cogollos--"Your patron, though related to the Duke of Braganza, had, I
am well assured, no share in his revolt." In 1607, Gil Blas, being the
servant of Don Bernardo de Castel Blanco, says, that some suppose his
master to be a spy of the king of Portugal, a personage who at that time
did not exist. Now, if Le Sage intended to leave to posterity a lasting
and unequivocal proof of his plagiarism, how could he do so more
effectually than by dwelling on one anachronism as an error which he
intended to correct, in a work swarming in every part with others
equally flagrant, of which he takes no notice? We have mentioned these
mistakes, particularly as being mistakes into which the original author
had fallen, and which, as his object was not to give an exact relation
of facts, he probably disregarded altogether. And here again we must
repeat our remark, that these perpetual allusions indicate a writer not
afraid of exposing himself by irretrievable blunders, and certain of
being understood by those whom he addressed. A Spaniard writing for
Spaniards, would of course take it for granted that his countrymen were
acquainted with those very facts and allusions which Le Sage sometimes
formally endeavours to explain, and sometimes is unable to detect; while
a writer conscious, as the French author was, of a very imperfect
acquaintance with the language and usages of Spain, would never indulge
in those little circumstantial touches which a Spaniard could not help
inserting.

We now come to errors of Le Sage himself. Doña Mencia speaks of her
first husband dying in the service of the king of Portugal, five or six
years after the beginning of the seventeenth century. Events are
described as taking place in the time of Philip II., under the title of
Le Mariage de Vengeance, which happened three hundred years before, at
the time of the Sicilian Vespers, 1283. Gil Blas, after his release from
the tower of Segovia, tells his patron, Alonzo de Leyva, that four
months before he held an important office under the Spanish crown; while
he tells Philip IV. that he was six months in prison at Segovia. But the
following very remarkable error almost determines the question, as it
discovers demonstrably the mistake of a transcriber. Scipio, returning
to his master in April 1621, informs Gil Blas that Philip III. is dead;
and proceeds to say that it is rumoured that the Cardinal Duke of Lerma
has lost his office, is forbidden to appear at court, and that Gaspar de
Guzman, Count of Olivarez, is prime minister. Now, the Cardinal Duke of
Lerma had lost his office since the 4th October 1618, three years before
the death of Philip III. How is this mistake explained? By the
transcriber's omission of the words "Duke of Uzeda, son of," which
should precede the cardinal duke, &c., and which makes the sentence
historically correct; for the Duke of Uzeda was the son of the Cardinal
Duke of Lerma, did succeed his father, and was turned out of office at
the death of Philip III., when he was succeeded by Olivarez. If there
was no other argument but this, it would serve materially to invalidate
Le Sage's claims to originality; as the omission of these words makes
nonsense of a sentence perfectly intelligible when corrected, and causes
the writer, in the very act of alluding to a most notorious fact in
Spanish history, with which, even in its least details, he appears in
other places familiar, to display the most unaccountable ignorance of
the very fact he makes the basis of his narrative. Surely if plagiarism
can ever be said "digito monstrari et dicier hic est," it is here.

If we consider the effect of all these accumulated circumstances--the
travelling on mules, the mode of extorting money, the plunder of the
prisoners by the jailer, the rosary with its large beads carried by the
Spanish Tartuffe, instead of the "haire and the discipline" mentioned by
Molière, the description of the hotels of Madrid, the inferior condition
of surgeons, the graceful bearing of the cloak, the notary's inkstand,
the posada in which the actors slept as well as acted, the convent in
which Philip's mistress is placed with such minute propriety, the
Gallina Ciega, the lane in Madrid, the dinner hour of the clerks in the
minister's office, the knowledge of the ecclesiastical rights of the
crown over Granada, and of the Aragonese resistance to a foreign
viceroy, the number of words left in the original Spanish, and of others
which betray a Spanish origin, the names of cities, villages, and
families, that rise spontaneously to the hand of the writer, and the
perpetual mistakes which their enumeration occasions, among which we
will only here specify that of C_a_ntador for C_o_ntador, and the
omission of the words "Duc d'Uzeda," which can alone set right a
flagrant anachronism--if we consider the effect of all these
circumstances, we shall look in vain for any reason to doubt the result
which such a complication of probabilities conspires to fortify.

The objections stated by M. Neufchateau to this overwhelming mass of
evidence, utterly destructive as it is to the hypothesis of which he was
the advocate, are so feeble and captious, that they hardly deserve the
examination which Llorente, in the anxiety of his patriotism, has
condescended to bestow on then. M. Neufchateau objects to the minute
references on which many of Llorente's arguments are built; but he
should remember that, in an examination of this sort, it is "one thing
to be minute, and another to be precarious;" one thing to be oblique,
and another to be fantastical. On such occasions the more powerful the
microscope is that the critic can employ, the better; not only because
all suspicion of contrivance or design is thereby further removed, but
because proofs, separately trifling, are, when united, irresistible; and
the circumstantial evidence to which courts of justice are compelled, by
the necessity of human affairs, to recur, in matters where the lives and
fortunes of individuals are at stake, is not only legitimate, but
indispensable, before tribunals which have not the same means of
investigation at their command. In this, however, the evidence is as
full, positive, and satisfactory as any evidence not appealing to the
senses or mathematical demonstration for its truth, can possibly be; and
any one in active life who was to forbear from acting upon it, would
deserve to be treated as a lunatic. Let us, however, consider the
admissions of M. Neufchateau. He admits, 1st, That Le Sage was never in
Spain. 2dly, Le Sage, in 1735, acknowledged the chronological error into
which he had fallen, from inserting the story of Don Pompeyo de Castro,
and announced his intention to correct it. 3dly, He allows, in 1724,
when the third volume of _Gil Blas_ was published, Le Sage annexed to it
the Latin distich, implying that the work was at an end--

    "Inveni portum, spes et fortuna, valete;
    Sat me lusistis, ludite nunc alios."

He allows, therefore, that the publication of the fourth volume, eleven
years after the third volume of _Gil Blas_ was published, was as far
from the original intention of the author as it was on the expectation
of the public. 4thly, That, from the introduction of the Duke of Lerma
on the stage at the close of the work, the history of Spain is adhered
to with exact fidelity. 5thly, He allows that the description of Spanish
inns, (10, 12,) is taken from the "Vida del Escudero Marcos de Obregon."
6thly, He allows that the novel of "Le Mariage de Vengeance," related
by Doña Elvira, is inconsistent with all the rest of the story of _Gil
Blas_. The anachronisms in which Le Sage is entangled, by applying a
story to the seventeenth century that relates to the thirteenth, prove
his ignorance of Spanish history. On this M. Neufchateau remarks as
usual, that no Spaniard would have fallen into such an error. True; but
how does it happen that the person making it is so intimately acquainted
with the topography and habits of Spain? and how can this contradiction
be solved, but by supposing that Le Sage incorporated a Spanish story
which caught his fancy with the manuscript before him? 7thly, He allows
that the story of Doña Laura de Guzman is taken from a Spanish comedy
entitled, "Todo es enredos amor y el diablo son las mugeres." 8thly, He
allows that the expression, "et je promets de vous faire tirer pied ou
aile du premier ministre,"{B} is not French; it is in fact the
translation of a Spanish proverb, "Agarrar pata o alon." 9thly, He
admits that the intimate acquaintance with the personal history of the
Count Duke, displayed by Le Sage, is astonishing. 10thly, He admits that
the stories of--

Doña Mencia de Mosquera, contained in 1st book, 11th, 12th, 13th, and
14th chapters,

  Of the story of Diego de la Fuente, contained in the 2d book,
                    7th chapter,
     --           Don Bernardo de Castelblanco, contained in the 2d book,
                    1st chapter,
     --           Don Pompeyo de Castro, contained in the 2d book, 7th
                    chapter,
     --           Doña Aurora de Guzman, contained in the 4th book, 2d, 3d,
                    5th, and 6th chapters,
     --           Matrimonio por Venganza, contained in the 4th book, 4th
                    chapter,
     --           Doña Serafina de Polan and Don Alfonso de Leiva,
                    contained in 10th book,
     --           Rafael and Lucinda, contained in 5th book, 1st chapter,
     --           Samuel Simon en Chelva, contained in 6th book, 1st
                    chapter,
     --           Laura, contained in 7th book, 7th chapter,
     --           Don Añibal de Chinchilla, contained in 7th book, 12th
                    chapter,
     --           Valerio de Luna and Inesilla Cantarilla, contained in
                    8th book, 1st chapter,
     --           Andres de Tordesillas, Gaston de Cogollos, and Elena de
                    Galisteo, contained in 9th book, 4th, 11th, and 13th
                    chapters,
     --           Scipio, contained in 10th book, 10th, 11th, and 12th
                    chapters,
     --           Laura and Lucrecia, contained in 12th book, 1st chapter,
     --           And the Histories of Lerma and Olivarez, contained in
                    11th book, 5th, 6th, 8th, 9th, 11th, 12th, 13th; and
                    2d book, 3d, 4th, 5th, 6th, 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th,
                    12th, and 13th chapters.

Composing more than two-thirds of _Gil Blas_--are taken from the
Spanish. Such are the admissions of Le Sage's advocates.

Even after these important deductions, there remains enough to found a
brilliant reputation. To this remainder, however, Le Sage is not
entitled. It is, we trust, proved to every candid reader, that, with the
exception of one anecdote, entertaining in itself, but betraying the
greatest ignorance of Spanish manners, two or three allusions to the
current scandal and topics of the day, and the insertion of several
novels avowedly translated from other Spanish writers; all the merit of
Le Sage consists in dividing a manuscript placed by his friend, the Abbé
de Lyonne, in his possession, into two stories--one of which was _Gil
Blas_, and the other, confessed by himself to be a translation and
published long after the former, was the _Bachelier de Salamanque_. To
the argument of chronological error, the sole answer which M.
Neufchateau condescends to give is, that they are incomprehensible; and
on his hypothesis he is right. As to the Spanish words and phrases
employed in _Gil Blas_, the names of villages, towns, and families which
occur in it, he observes that these are petty circumstances--so they
are, and for that very reason the argument they imply is irresistible.
The story of the examination of Gaspar, the servant of Simon, in the
Inquisition scene, is gravely urged by M. Neufchateau as a proof that
the writer was a Frenchman, as no Spaniard would dare to attack the
Inquisition. This is strange confusion. Not a word is uttered against
the Inquisition in the scene. Some impostors disguise themselves in the
dress of inquisitors to perpetrate a fraud. If a French novel describe
two or three swindlers, assuming the garb of members of the old
Parliament of Paris in execution of their design, is this an attack on
the Parliament of Paris? Is the "Beaux' Stratagem" an attack on our army
and peerage? The argument, however, may be retorted; for had a Frenchman
been the author of the story, it is more than probable that he would
have introduced some attack upon the Inquisition, and quite certain that
the characters brought forward would have deviated from the strict
propriety they now preserve. Some confusion would have been made among
them--an error which M. Neufchateau, in the few lines he has written
upon the subject, has not been able to avoid. We may add that this whole
scene was printed in Spanish, under the eye of the Inquisition, without
any interference on the part of that venerable body, who, though
tolerably quick-sighted in such matters, were not, it should seem, aware
of the attack upon them which M. Neufchateau has been sagacious enough
to discover. To the argument drawn from the geographical blunders, M.
Neufchateau mutters that they are excusable in a writer who had never
been in Spain. The question, how such a writer came wantonly to incur
them, he leaves unanswered. M. Neufchateau asserts, that there is in
Spanish no proverb that corresponds to the French saying, "A quelque
chose le malheur est bon." But a comedy was written in the time of
Philip IV., entitled, "No hay man que por bien no venga." He argues that
_Gil Blas_ is not the work of a Spaniard, because it does not, like _Don
Quixote_, abound with proverbs; by a parity of reasoning, he might infer
_The Silent Lady_ was not written by an Englishman; as there is no
allusion to Falstaff in it.

But it may be said, if Le Sage was so unscrupulous as to appropriate to
himself the works of another writer in _Gil Blas_, how came he to
acknowledge the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ as a translation?

This is a fair question, but the answer we can give is satisfactory. The
originals of all his translations, except _Gil Blas_ and the _Bachelier
de Salamanque_, were printed; and therefore any attempt at wholesale
plagiarism must have been immediately detected. The _Bachelier de
Salamanque_, it is true, was in manuscript; but it had been long in the
possession of the Marquis de Lerma and his son, before it became the
property of Le Sage; and although tolerably certain that it had never
been diligently perused, Le Sage could not be sure that it had not
attracted superficial notice, and that the name was not known to many
people. Now, by eviscerating the _Bachelier de Salamanque_ of its most
entertaining anecdotes, and giving them a different title, and then
publishing the mutilated copy of a work, the name of which, with the
outline of its story, was known to many people as an acknowledged
translation, he took the most obvious means of disarming all suspicion
of plagiarism, and setting, as it seems he did, on a wrong track the
curiosity of enquirers. How came the original manuscript not to be
printed by its author? Because it could not be printed with impunity
within the jurisdiction of the Spanish monarchy: the allusions to the
abuses of the court and the favourites of the day are so obvious--the
satire upon the imbecility of the Spanish government so keen and
biting--the personal descriptions of Philip III. and Philip IV. so
exact--the corruption of its ministers of justice, and the abuses
practised in its prisons, branded in terms so lively and vehement--the
attacks upon the influence of the clergy, their hypocrisy, their
ambition, and their avarice, so frequent and severe--that while Philip
IV. and Don John of Austria, the fruit of his intrigue with the actress
Marie Calderon, so carefully pointed out, were still alive, and before
the generation to which it alludes had passed away, its publication, in
Spain at least, was impossible. The _Bachelier de Salamanque_ was not
published for the same reason; and for the same reason, even in a
country with perhaps more pretensions to freedom than Spain possessed,
no one has yet acknowledged himself the writer of _Junius_. But why do
you not produce the Spanish manuscript, and set the question at rest?
exclaims with much _naïveté_ M. Neufchateau. Does such an argument
deserve serious refutation? That is, why do not you Spaniards produce a
manuscript given to one Frenchman by another at Paris, in the 18th
century, which of course, if our theory be true, he had the strongest
temptation to destroy? Rather may the Spaniards ask, why do not _you_
produce the original manuscript of the _Bachelier de Salamanque_, which
would overthrow at least one portion of our hypothesis?

The object of _Gil Blas_ is to exhibit a vivid representation of the
follies and vices of the successive administrations of Lerma, Uzeda, and
Olivarez; to point out the actual state of the drama in Spain under the
reign of Philip IV., who, indolent as he was, possessed the taste of a
true Spaniard for dramatic representation; to criticise the absurd
system pursued by the physicians, abuses of subordinate officers of
justice, the follies of false pretenders to philosophy, the disorders
and corruptions which swarm in every department of a despotic and
inefficient government, the multitude of sharpers and robbers in the
towns and highways, the subterranean habitations in which they found
shelter and security, the ingenuity of their frauds, and daring outrages
of their violence--in short, to hold up every species of national error,
and every weakness of national folly, to public obloquy and derision. In
dwelling upon such topics the writer will, of course, describe scenes
and characters common to every state of civilized society. The broad and
general features of the time-serving courtier, of the servile coxcomb,
of the rapacious mistress, of the expecting legatee, the frivolous man
of fashion, and the still more frivolous pedant, will be the same,
whatever be the country in which the scene is laid, and by whatever
names they happen to be distinguished. France had, no doubt, her
Sangrados and Ochetos, her Matthias de Silva and Rodrigo, her Lauras and
her Archbishops of Granada.

    "Pictures like these, dear madam, to design,
    Asks no firm hand, and no unerring line;
    Some wandering touches, some reflected light,
    Some flying stroke, alone can hit 'em right."

Where the touches are more exact and delicate, where the strokes are
laid on with the painful labour of a Flemish pencil, where the business
and the bosoms of men are addressed more directly, there it is we shall
find proofs of the view and purpose of the author; such traits are the
key with the leather strap that verified the judgment of Sancho's
kinsmen. To what purpose should a Frenchman, writing in the time of
Louis XIV., censure the rapacity of innkeepers, and the wretchedness of
their extorted accommodation, when France, from the time of Chaucer to
the present hour, has been famous for the civility of the one and the
convenience of the other? To what purpose, if the French government were
to be criticised, enumerate the danger of high-roads, and the caverns
unexplored by a negligent administration, in which bandits found a
refuge? If France was aimed at, how does it happen that the literature
of its golden age is the subject of attack, and a perverted and
fantastic style of writing assigned to an epoch remarkable for the
severity and precision of its taste? If Spain is meant, the attack is
perfectly intelligible, as the epoch is exactly that when Spanish taste
began to degenerate, and the style of Spanish writers to become vicious,
inflated, and fantastic, in imitation of Gongora, who did so much to
ruin the literature of his country; as other writers of much less
ability, but who addressed themselves to a public far inferior in point
of taste to that of Gongora, have recently done in England. Nothing
could be worse chosen than such a topic. As well might England be
attacked now for its disregard of commerce and its enthusiastic love of
genius, or France for its contempt of military glory. When _Gil Blas_
was published, France was undoubtedly the model of civilized Europe, the
fountain from whence other stars drew light. To ridicule the bad taste
of the age of Malebranche, the master of Addison, and of Boileau, the
master of Pope, will appear ridiculous to an Englishman. To accuse the
vicious style which prevailed in the age of Bossuet, Fénélon, and
Pascal, will appear monstrous to every one with the least tincture of
European literature.

Let us apply this mode of reasoning to some instance in which national
prejudice and interest cannot be concerned. Let us suppose that some one
were to affirm that the _Adelphi_ of Terence was not a translation from
Menander; among the incorrigible pedants who think Niebuhr a greater
authority on Roman history than Cicero, he would not want for
proselytes. Let us see what he might allege--he might urge that Terence
had acknowledged obligations to Menander on other occasions, and that on
this he seemed rather studiously to disclaim it, pointing out Diphilus
as his original--he might insist that Syrus could only have been the
slave of a Roman master, that Sannio corresponded exactly with our
notions of a Roman pander, that Æschinus was the picture of a dissolute
young patrician--in short, that through the transparent veil of Grecian
drapery it was easy to detect the sterner features of Roman manners and
society; nay more, he might insist on the marriage of Micio at the close
of the drama, as Neufchateau does upon the drunkenness of Guyomar, as
alluding to some anecdote of the day, and at any rate as the admitted
invention of Terence himself. He might challenge the advocates of
Menander to produce the Greek original from which the play was borrowed;
he might reject the Greek idioms which abound in that masterpiece of the
Roman stage with contempt, as beneath his notice; and disregard the
names which betray a Grecian origin, the allusions to the habits of
Grecian women, to the state of popular feeling at Athens, and the
administration of Athenian law, with supercilious indifference. All this
such a reasoner might do, and all this M. Neufchateau has done. But
would such a tissue of cobweb fallacies disguise the truth from any man
of ordinary taste and understanding? Such a man would appeal to the
whole history of Terence; he would show that he was a diligent
translator of the Greek writers of the middle comedy, that his language
in every other line betrayed a Grecian origin, that the plot was not
Roman, that the scene was not Roman, that the customs were not Roman; he
would say, if he had patience to reason with his antagonist, that a
fashionable rake, a grasping father, an indulgent uncle, a knavish
servant, an impudent ruffian, and a timid clown, were the same at Rome,
at Thebes, and at Athens, in London, Paris, or Madrid. He would ask, of
what value were such broad and general features common to a species,
when the fidelity of an individual likeness was in question? He would
say, that the incident quoted as a proof of originality, served only, by
its repugnance to Grecian manners, and its inferiority to the work in
which it was inserted, to prove that the rest was the production of
another writer. He would quote the translations from fragments still
extant, which the work, exquisite as it is, contains, as proofs of a
still more beautiful original. Lastly, he would cite the "Dimidiate
Menander" of Cæsar, as a proof of the opinion entertained of his genius
by the great writers of his own country; and when he had done this, he
might enquire with confidence whether any one existed capable of forming
a judgment upon style, or of distinguishing one author from another, who
would dispute the position for which he contended.

The sum and substance of all M. Neufchateau's argument is the slight
assumption, that every allusion to a man eminent for wit and genius,
must be intended for a Frenchman. Of this nature is the affirmation that
Triaquero is meant for Voltaire; and the still more intrepid
declaration, that Lope de Vega and Calderon de la Barca are cited, not
as Spanish authors, but as types by which Corneille and Racine are
shadowed out. It is true that the passage is exactly applicable to
Calderon and Lope de Vega; and for that reason, as they are great comic
writers, can hardly apply equally well to Corneille and Racine. But such
trifling difficulties are as dust when placed in the balance with the
inveterate opinion to which we have already alluded.

According to the principles adopted by M. Neufchateau, _Gil Blas_ might
be adapted to any court, or age, or country. For instance, if Triaquero,
meaning a charlatan, (which, by the way, it does not,) refers of
necessity to Voltaire, might not any Englishman, if the work had been
published recently, insist that the work must have been written by an
Englishman, as the allusion could apply to no one so well as him, who,
having been a judge without law, and a translator of Demosthenes without
Greek, had, to his other titles to public esteem, added that of being an
historian without research?

The difference between Dr Sangrado and our hydropathists is merely that
between hot and cold water, by no means excluding an allusion to the
latter, under the veil, as M. Neufchateau has it, of Spanish manners.
Would it be quite impossible to find in St James's Street, or in certain
buildings at no great distance from the Thames, the exact counterparts
of Don Matthias de Silva and his companions? Gongora, indeed, in spite
of his detestable taste, was a man of genius; and therefore to find his
type among us would be difficult, if not impossible, unless an excess of
the former quality, for which he was conspicuous, might counterbalance a
deficiency in the latter. Are our _employés_ less pompous and empty than
Gil Blas and his companions? our squires less absurd and ignorant than
the hidalgoes of Valencia? Let any one read some of the pamphlets on
Archbishop Whately's Logic, or attend an examination in the schools at
Oxford, and then say if the race of those who plume themselves on the
discovery, that Greek children cried when they were whipped is extinct?
To be sure, as the purseproud insolence of a _nouveau riche_, and indeed
of _parvenus_ generally, is quite unknown among us, nobody could rely on
those points of resemblance. But with regard to the other topics, would
it not be fair to say, in answer to such an argument--All this is mere
commonplace generality; such are the characters of every country where
European institutions exist, or European habits are to be found?
Something more tangible and specific is requisite to support your claim.
You are to prove that the picture is a portrait of a particular
person--and you say it has eyes and a nose; so have all portraits. But
where are the strokes that constitute identity, and determine the
original?--There is no mention of Crockford's or of the Missionary
Society, of the Old Bailey or the Foundling Hospital; and if Ordonez is
named, who gets rich by managing the affairs of the poor, this can never
be meant for a satire on the blundering pedantry of your Somerset-house
commissioners.--Here is no hint that can be tortured into a glance at
fox-hunters, or game-preservers, of the society for promoting rural
deans, at your double system of contradictory law, at special pleading
at quarter-sessions,{C} at the technical rigour of your institutions,
at the delay, chicanery, and expense of your judicial proceedings, at
the refinement, ease, wit, gayety, and disinterested respect for merit,
which, as every body knows, distinguish your social character; nothing
is said of the annual meeting of chemists, geologists, and
mathematicians, so beneficial to the real interests of science, by
making a turn for tumid metaphor and the love of display necessary
ingredients in the character of its votaries, extirpating from among
them that simplicity which was so fatal an obstacle to the progress of
Newton,--and turning the newly discovered joint of an antediluvian
reptile into a theme of perennial and ambitious declamation; nothing is
said about those discussions on baptismal fonts, those discoveries of
trochees for iambics, or the invention of new potatoe boilers, which in
the days of Hegel, Berryer, Schlosser, Savigny, and Cousin, are the
glory and delight of England; in short, there is nothing to fix the
allusions on which you rely on to distinguish them from those which
might be applicable to Paris, Vienna, or Madrid.

There are no people less disposed than ourselves to detract from the
merit of eminent French writers; they are always clear, elegant, and
judicious; often acute, eloquent, and profound. There is no department
of prose literature in which they do not equal us; there are many in
which they are unquestionably our superiors. Unlike our authors, who, on
those subjects which address the heart and reason jointly, adopt the
style of a treatise on the differential calculus; and when pure science
is their topic, lead us to suppose (if it were not for their disgusting
pomposity) they had chosen for their model the florid confusion of a
tenth-rate novel;--the French write on scientific subjects with
simplicity and precision, and on moral, æsthetic, and theoretical
questions with spirit, earnestness, and sensibility. Having said so
much, we must however add, that a liberal and ingenious acknowledgment
of error is not among the shining qualities of our neighbours. When a
question is at issue in which they imagine the literary reputation of
their country to be at stake, it is the dexterity of the advocate,
rather than the candour of the judge, that we must look for in their
dissertations. He who has argued on the guilt of Mary with a Scotchman,
or the authenticity of the three witnesses with a newly made archdeacon,
and with a squire smarting under an increasing poor-rate or the
corn-laws, may form a just conception of the task he will undertake in
endeavouring to persuade a French critic that his countrymen are in the
wrong. The patient, if he does not, as it has sometimes happened in the
cases to which we have referred, become "pugil et medicum urget," is
sure, as in those instances, to triumph over all the proofs which reason
can suggest, or that the hellebore of nine Anticyras could furnish him
with capacity to understand. Of this the work of M. Neufchateau is a
striking proof. Truth is on one side, Le Sage's claim to originality on
the other; and he supports the latter: we do not say that he is willing,
rather than abandon his client, to assert a falsehood; but we are sure
that, in order to defend him, he is ready to believe absurdities.

The degree of moral guilt annexed to such conduct as that which we
attribute to Le Sage, is an invidious topic, not necessarily connected
with our subject, and upon which we enter with regret.

Lessing accused Wieland of having destroyed a palace, that he might
build a cottage with its materials. However highly we may think of the
original, we can hardly suppose such an expression applicable to _Gil
Blas_. Of the name of the author whose toil Le Sage thus appropriated,
charity obliges us to suppose that he was ignorant; but we should not
forget that the case of Le Sage is not precisely that of a person who
publishes, as an original, a translation from a printed work, as Wieland
did with his copy of Rowe's Lady Jane Grey, and Lord Byron with his copy
of the most musical lines in Goethe. The offence of Le Sage more
resembles that imputed (we sincerely believe without foundation) to
Raphael; namely, that after the diligent study of some ancient frescoes,
he suffered them to perish, in order to conceal his imitation. But we
hasten to close these reflections, which tenderness to the friend and
companion of our boyhood, and gratitude to him who has enlivened many an
hour, and added so much to our stock of intellectual happiness, forbid
us to prolong. Let those who feel that they could spurn the temptation,
in comparison with which every other that besets our miserable nature is
as dross--the praise yielded by a polished and fastidious nation to rare
and acknowledged genius--denounce as they will the infirmity of Le Sage.
But let them be quite sure, that instead of being above a motive to
which none but minds of some refinement are accessible, they are not
below it. Let them be sure that they do not take dulness for integrity,
and that the virtue, proof to intellectual triumphs, and disdaining "the
last infirmity of noble minds," would not sink if exposed to the ordeal
of a service of plate, or admission in some frivolous coterie. For
ourselves we will only say, "Amicus Plato sed magis amica veritas."

For these reasons, then, which depend on the nature of the thing, and
which no testimony can alter--reasons which we cannot reject without
abandoning all those principles which carry with them the most certain
instruction, and are the surest guides of human life--we think the main
fact contended for by M. Llorente, that is, the Spanish origin of _Gil
Blas_, undeniable; and the subordinate and collateral points of his
system invested with a high degree of probability; the falsehood of a
conclusion fairly drawn from such premises as we have pointed out would
be nearer akin to a metaphysical impossibility; and so long as the light
of every other gem that glitters in a nation's diadem is faint and
feeble when compared with the splendour of intellectual glory, Spain
will owe a debt of gratitude to him among her sons who has placed upon
her brow the jewel which France (as if aggression for more material
objects could not fill up the measure of her injustice towards that
unhappy land) has kept so long, and worn so ostentatiously.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} So in Don Quixote the friars are described "Estando en estas
razones, aslomaron por el camino dos Frayles de la Orden de san Benito,
Cavalleros _sobre dos Dromedarios, que no eran mas pequneas dos mulas en
que venian_."

{B} It occurs, however, in Madame de Sevigné's letters. But that most
charming of letter-writers understood Spanish, which Anne of Austria had
probably made a fashionable accomplishment at the court of France. The
intrigue for which Vardes was exiled, shows, that to write in Spanish
was an attainment common among the courtiers of Louis XIV.

{C} We call ourselves a _practical_ people! A man incurred, a _few
months_ ago, an expense of £70, for saying that he was "ready," instead
of saying that he was "ready and _willing_" to do a certain act. The
man's name was Granger. Another unfortunate creature incurred costs to
the amount of £3000, by one of the most ordinary proceedings in our
courts, called a motion, of course, and usually settled for a guinea. A
clergyman libelled two of his parishioners in a Bishop's Court. The
matter never came to be heard, and the expense of the _written_
proceedings was upwards of £800! Can any system be more abominable than
one which leads to such results?




MICHAEL KALLIPHOURNAS.


Few of the events of our life afford us greater pride than revisiting a
well-known and celebrated city after many years' absence. The pleasure
derived from the hope of enjoyment, the self-satisfaction flowing from
the presumption of our profound knowledge of the place, and the feeling
of mental superiority attached to our discernment in returning to the
spot, which, at the moment, appears to us the particular region of the
earth peculiarly worthy of a second visit--or a third, as the case may
be--all combine to stuff the lining of the diligence, the packsaddle of
the Turkish post-horse, or the encumbrance on the back of the camel
which may happen to convey us, with something softer than swandown. Time
soon brings the demon of discontent to our society. The city and its
inhabitants appear changed--rarely for the better, always less to our
taste. Ameliorations and improvements seem to us positive evils; we sigh
for the good old times, for the dirty streets of Paris, the villanous
odours of Rome, the banditti of Naples, the obsequiousness of Greece,
and the contempt, with the casual satisfaction of being spit upon, of
Turkey. In short, we feel the want of our youth every where.

I enjoyed all the delights and regrets which mere local associations can
call up, a few months ago, on revisiting Athens after many years'
absence. On the 6th of May 1827, I had witnessed the complete defeat of
the Greek army. I had beheld the delhis of Kutayia sabring the flying
troops of Lord Cochrane and General Church, and seen 1500 men slain by
the sword in less than half an hour, amidst the roll of an ill-sustained
and scattered fire of musketry. The sight was heartbreaking, but grand.
The Turkish cavalry came sweeping down to the beach, until arrested by
the fire of the ships. Lord Cochrane and his aide-de-camp, Dr Goss,
themselves had been compelled to plunge more than knee-deep in the Ægean
ere they could gain their boat. On the hill of the Phalerum I had heard
General Gueheneuc criticise the manoeuvres of the commander-in-chief,
and General Heideck disparage the quality of his coffee. As the Austrian
steamer which conveyed me entered the Piræus, my mind reverted to the
innumerable events which had been crowded into my life in Greece. A new
town rose out of the water before my eyes as if by enchantment; but I
felt indignant that the lines of Colonel Gordon, and the tambouria of
Karaiskaki, should be effaced by modern houses and a dusty road. As soon
as I landed, I resolved to climb the Phalerum, and brood over visions of
the past. But I had not proceeded many steps from the quay, lost in my
sentimental reverie, ere I found that reflection ought not to begin too
soon at the Piræus. I was suddenly surrounded by about a dozen
individuals who seemed determined to prevent me from continuing my walk.
On surveying them, they appeared dressed for a costume ball of
ragamuffins. Europe, Asia, and Africa had furnished their wardrobe. The
most prominent figure among them was a tall Arab, in the nizam of
Mehemet Ali, terminated with a Maltese straw hat. His companions
exhibited as singular a taste in dress as himself. Some wore sallow
Albanian petticoats, carelessly tied over the wide and dusky nether
garments of Hydriots, their upper man adorned by sailors' jackets and
glazed hats; others were tightly buttoned up in European garments, with
their heads lost in the enormous fez of Constantinople. This antiquarian
society of garments, fit representatives to a stranger of the
Bavaro-Hellenic kingdom of Otho the gleaner, and the three donative
powers, informed me that it consisted of charioteers. Each member of the
society speaking on his own account, and all at the same time--a
circumstance I afterwards found not uncommon in other antiquarian and
literary societies at Athens--asked me if I was going to Athens:
+eis Athênas+ was the phrase. The Arab and a couple of Maltese alone said
"Ees teen Atheena." Entrapped into a reply by the classic sound, I
unwittingly exclaimed "Malista--Verily I am."

The shouts my new friends uttered on hearing me speak Greek cannot be
described. Their volubility was suddenly increased a hundredfold; and
had all the various owners of the multitudinous garments before me
arisen to reclaim their respective habiliments, it could hardly have
been greater. I could not have believed it possible that nine Greeks,
aided by two Maltese and a single Arab, could have created such a din.
The speakers soon perceived that it was utterly impossible for me to
hear their eloquent addresses, as they could no longer distinguish the
sounds of their own voices; so with one accord they disappeared, and ere
I had proceeded many steps again surrounded me, rushing forward with
their respective vehicles, into which they eagerly invited me to mount.
If their habiliments consisted of costumes run mad, their chariots were
not less varied, and afforded an historical study in locomotion. Distant
capitals and a portion of the last century must have contributed their
representatives to the motley assemblage. The tall Arab drove a superb
fiacre of the days of hoops, a vehicle for six insides; phaetons,
chariots, droschkies, and britskas, Strong's omnibus, and Rudhart's
stuhlwagen, gigs, cars, tilburies, cabriolets, and dogcarts, were all
there, and each pushing to get exactly before me. Lord Palmerston's
kingdom is doubtless a Whig satire on monarchy; the scene before me
appeared a Romaic satire on the Olympic games. I forgot my melancholy
sentiment, and resolved to join the fun, by attempting to dodge my
persecutors round the corners of the isolated houses and deep lime-pits
which King Otho courteously terms streets. I forgot that barbarians were
excluded from the Olympic games, not on account of the jealousy of the
Greeks, but because no barbarian could display the requisite skill. The
charioteers and their horses knew the ground so much better than I did,
that they blockaded me at every turn; so, in order to gain the rocky
ground, I started off towards the hill of the Phalerum pursued by the
_pancosmium_ of vehicles. On the first precipitous elevation I turned to
laugh at my pursuers, when, to my horror, I saw Strong's omnibus
lumbering along in the distance, surrounded by a considerable crowd, and
I distinguished the loud shouts of the mob:--+Pou einai ho trelos
ho Anglos+; "Where is the mad Englishman?" So my melancholy was
conducting me to madness.

My alarm dispelled all my reminiscences of Lord Cochrane, and my visions
of the Olympic games. I sprang into the droschky of a Greek sailor, who
drove over the rocks as if he only expected his new profession to endure
for a single day. We were soon on the Piræus road, which I well knew
runs along the foundations of one of the long walls; but I was too glad
to escape, like Lord Palmerston and M. Thiers, unscathed from the
imbroglio I had created, to honour even Themistocles with a single
thought. My charioteer was a far better specimen of the present, than
foundations of long walls, ruined temples, and statues without noses,
can possibly be of the past. He informed me he was a sailor: by so
doing, he did not prove to me that he estimated my discernment very
highly, for that fact required no announcement. He added, however, what
was more instructive; _to wit_, that he had received the droschky with
the horses, that morning, from a Russian captain, in payment of a bad
debt. He had resolved to improviso the coachman, though he had never
driven a horse before in his life--+eukolon einai+--"it is an
easy matter;" and he drove like Jehu, shouted like Stentor, and laughed
like the Afrite of Caliph Vathek. He ran over nobody, in spite of his
vehemence. Perhaps his horses were wiser than himself: indeed I have
remarked, that the populace of Greece is universally more sagacious than
its rulers. In taking leave of this worthy tar at the Hotel de Londres,
I asked him gravely if he thought that, in case Russia, England, or
France should one day take Greece in payment of a bad debt, they would
act wisely to drive her as hard as he drove his horses? He opened his
eyes at me as if he was about to unskin his head, and began to reflect
in silence; so, perceiving that he entertained a very high opinion of my
wisdom, I availed myself of the opportunity to advise him to moderate
his pace a little in future, if he wished his horses to survive the
week.

During my stay at Athens, King Otho was absent from his capital; so
that, though I lost the pleasure of beholding the beautiful and graceful
queen, I escaped the misfortune of being dishonoured by receiving the
cross of an officer of the order of the Redeemer. His Hellenic majesty
takes a peculiar satisfaction in hanging this decoration at the
buttonholes of those who served Greece during the revolutionary war;
while he suspends the cross of Commander round the necks, or ornaments
with the star of the order the breasts, of all the Bavarians who have
assisted him in relieving Greece of the Palmerstonian plethora of cash
gleaned from the three powers. For my own part, I am not sure but that I
should have made up my mind to return the cross, with a letter full of
polite expressions of contempt for the supposed honour, and a few hints
of pity for the donor; as a very able and distinguished friend of
Greece, whose services authorized him so to act, did a few days before
my arrival.

On attempting to find my way through Bavarian Athens, I was as much at a
loss as Lady Francis Egerton, and could not help exclaiming, "Voila des
rues qui ont bien peu de logique!" After returning two or three times to
the church Kamkarea, against whose walls half the leading streets of the
new city appear to run bolt up, I was compelled to seek the assistance
of a guide. At length I found out the dwelling once inhabited by my
friend Michael Kalliphournas. A neat white villa, with green Venetian
blinds, smiling in a court full of ruins and rubbish, had replaced the
picturesque but rickety old Turkish kouak of my former recollections. I
enquired for the owner in vain; the property, it was said, belonged to
his sister; of the brother nobody had heard, and I was referred for
information to the patriotic and enterprising Demarch, or mayor, who
bears the same name.

In the end my enquiries were successful, and their result seemed
miraculous. To my utter astonishment I learned that Michael had become a
monk, and dwelt in the monastery of Pentelicus; but I could obtain no
explanation of the mystery. His relations referred me to the monk
himself--strangers had never heard of his existence. How often does a
revolution like that of Greece, when the very organization of society is
shaken, compress the progress of a century within a few years! There
remained nothing for me but to visit the monastery, and seek a solution
of the singular enigma from my friend's own mouth; so, joining a party
of travellers who were about to visit the marble quarries of Pentelicus,
and continue their excursion to the plain of Marathon, I set out on such
a morning as can only be witnessed under the pure sky of Attica.

The scenery of our ride is now familiar to tourists. Parnes or Parnethus
with its double top,{A} Brilessus or Pentelicus with its numerous rills
and fountains, and Hymettus with its balmy odours, have been "hymned by
loftier harps than mine." My companions proved gay and agreeable young
men. They knew every body at Athens, and every thing, and willingly
communicated their stores of knowledge. I cannot resist recounting some
of the anecdotes I heard, as they do no discredit to the noble princes
to whom they relate.

When an English prince visited Athens, King Otho, who it seems is his
own minister, and conducts business quite in a royal way, learned that
he was no Whig, and instantly conceived the sublime idea of making use
of his royal highness's services to obtain Lord Palmerston's dismissal
from office. The monarch himself arranged the plan of his campaign. The
prince was invited to a _fête champêtre_ at Phyle, and when the party
was distributed in the various carriages, he found himself planted in a
large barouche opposite the king and queen. King Otho then opened his
intrigue; he told the prince of the notes in favour of constitutional
government and economical administration which Lord Palmerston had
written, and Sir Edmund Lyons had presented; and he exclaimed, "I assure
you, my dear prince, all this is done merely to vex me, because I would
not keep that speculating charlatan Armansperg! Lord Palmerston cares no
more about a constitution, nor about economy, than Queen Victoria, or
you and I. When the Duc de Broglie, who has really more conscience than
our friend the Viscount, proposed that Greece should be pestered with a
constitution and such stuff, Palmerston answered very judiciously,
'Greece--bah!--Greece is not fit for a constitution, nor indeed for any
other government but that of my nabob!' Now, my dear prince, Queen
Victoria can never mean to offend me, the sovereign of Greece, when the
Ottoman empire is so evidently on the eve of dismemberment; and," quoth
Otho the gleaner, "I am deeply offended, at which her British majesty
must feel grievously distressed." The prince doubtless thought her
majesty's distress was not inconsolable; but he only assured his
Hellenic majesty that he could be of no possible use to him in his
delicate intrigue at the court of St James's. He tried to get a view of
the scenery, and to turn the conversation on the state of the country;
but Otho was not so easily repulsed. He insisted that the prince should
communicate his sentiments to Queen Victoria; and, in spite of all the
assurances he received of the impossibility of meddling with diplomatic
business in such a way, his Hellenic majesty, to this very day, feels
satisfied that Lord Palmerston was sent to the right-about for offending
him; and he is firmly persuaded that, unless Lord Aberdeen furnish him
with as many millions as he demands to secure his opposition to Russia,
the noble earl will not have a long tenor of office.

A young Austrian of our party shouted, "Ah, it requires to be truly _bon
garçon_, like the English prince, to submit to be so bored, even by a
king! But," added he, "our gallant Fritz managed matters much better.
The Archduke Frederick, who behaved so bravely at Acre, and so amiably
lately in London, heard, it seems, of the treatment the prince had met
with, and resolved to cure his majesty of using his guests in such
style. Being invited to a party at Pentelicus, he was aware that he
would be placed alone on the seat, with his back to the horses, and
deprived of every chance of seeing the country, if it were only that the
diplomatic intrigue at the court of Queen Victoria might remain
concealed from the lynx-eyed suspicion of the _corps diplomatique_ of
Athens; for King Otho fancies his intrigues always remain the
profoundest secrets. When the archduke handed the lovely queen into the
carriage, politeness compelled King Otho to make a cold offer to the
young sailor to follow; the archduke bowed profoundly, sprang into the
carriage, and seated himself beside her majesty. The successor of
Agamemnon followed, looking more grim than Hercules Furens: he stood for
a moment bolt upright in the carriage, hoping his guest would rise and
vacate his seat; but the young man was already actively engaged in
conversation. The Emperor of the East--in expectancy--was compelled to
sit down with his back to the horses, and study the landscape in that
engaging manner of viewing scenery. Never was a fête given by a sulkier
host than King Otho that day proved to be. In returning, the archduke
had a carriage to himself. When questioned on the subject of his ride,
he only remarked that he always suffered dreadfully from sickness when
he rode with his back to the horses. He was sure, therefore, that King
Otho had placed him beside the queen to avoid that horrible
inconvenience."

Other anecdotes were recounted during our ride, and our opinion of his
Hellenic majesty's tact and taste did not become more favourable, when
it was discovered that his proceedings had utterly ruined the immense
quarries of Pentelicus--

    "Still in its beam Pentele's marbles glow,"

can now only be said of the ruins, not of the quarries. In order to
obtain the few thousand blocks required for the royal palace at Athens,
millions of square feet of the purest statuary marble have been shivered
to atoms by the random process of springing mines with gunpowder. If
King Otho had done nothing worse in Greece than converting the marble
quarries of Pentelicus into a chaos of rubbish, when he found them
capable of supplying all Europe for ages with the most beautiful
material for the sculptor, he would have merited the reputation he so
justly bears, of caring as little about the real welfare of Greece as
Lord Palmerston himself. My companions quitted me at the quarries,
making pasquinades on the royal palace and its royal master; while I put
up my horse and walked slowly on to the ancient monastery of Pentele,
not Mendele, as Lord Byron has it.

I was soon sitting alone in the cell of Michael, and shall now recount
his history as I had it from his own mouth. Michael Kalliphournas was
left an orphan the year the Greek revolution broke out. He was hardly
fourteen years old, and yet he had to act as the guardian and protector
of a sister four years younger than himself. The storm of war soon
compelled him to fly to Ægina with the little Euphrosyne. The trinkets
and gold which his relations had taught him to conceal, enabled him to
place his sister in a Catholic monastery at Naxos, where she received
the education of a European lady. Michael himself served under Colonel
Gordon and General Fabvier with great distinction. In 1831, when the
Turks were about to cede Attica to Greece, Michael and Euphrosyne
returned to Athens, to take possession of their family property, which
promised to become of very great value. At that time I had very often
seen Phróssa, as she was generally called; indeed, from my intimacy with
her brother, I was a constant visitor in the house. Her appearance is
deeply impressed on my memory. I have rarely beheld greater beauty,
never a more elegant figure, nor a more graceful and dignified manner.
She was regarded as a fortune, and began to be sought in marriage by all
the young aristocracy of Greece. It was at last conjectured that a young
Athenian, named Nerio, the last descendant of the Frank dukes of Athens,
had made some impression on her heart. He was a gay and spirited young
man, who had behaved very bravely when shut up with the troops in the
Acropolis during the last siege of Athens, and he was an intimate friend
of her brother. I had left Athens about this time, and my travels in the
East had prevented my hearing any thing of my friends in Greece for
years.

There is a good deal of society among the Greek families at Athens for a
few weeks before the Carnival. They meet together in the evenings, and
amuse themselves in a very agreeable way. At one of these parties the
discourse fell on the existence of ghosts and spirits; Michael, who was
present, declared that he had no faith in their existence. With what
groans did he assure me his opinion was changed, and conjured me never
to express a doubt on the subject. All the party present exclaimed
against what they called his free-masonry; and even his sister, who was
not given to superstition, begged him to be silent lest he should offend
the _neraiïdhes_, who might punish him when he least expected it. He
laughed and ridiculed Phróssa, offering to do any thing to dare those
redoubted spirits which the company could suggest. Nerio, a far greater
sceptic than Michael, suddenly affected great respect for the invisible
world, and by exciting Michael, gradually engaged him, amidst the
laughing of his companions, to undertake to fry a dozen of eggs on the
tomb of a Turkish _santon_, a short distance beyond the Patissia
gate--to leave a pot of charcoal, to be seen next morning, as a proof of
his valour, and return to the party with the dish of eggs.

The expedition was arranged, in spite of the opposition of the ladies;
four or five of the young men promised to follow at a little distance,
unknown to Michael, to be ready lest any thing should happen. Michael
himself, with a _zembil_ containing a pot of charcoal, a few eggs and a
flask of oil in one hand, and a frying-pan and small lantern in the
other, closely enveloped in his dusky capote, proceeded smiling to his
task. The tomb of the Turk consisted of a marble cover taken from some
ancient sarcophagus, and sustained at the corners by four small pillars
of masonry--the top was not higher than an ordinary table, and below the
marble slab there was an empty space between the columns. It has long
since disappeared; but that is not wonderful, since King Otho and his
subjects have contrived to destroy almost every picturesque monument of
the past in the new kingdom. The thousands of Turkish tombs which not
many years ago gave a historic character to the desert environs of
Negrepont, and the splendid _sérail_ of Zeitouni, with its magnificent
marble fountains and baths, have almost disappeared--the storks have bid
adieu to Greece--nightly bonfires, caused by absurd laws, destroy the
few trees that remain; and in short, unless travellers make haste and
visit Greece quickly, they will see nothing but the ruins which King
Otho cannot destroy nor Pittaki deface, and the curiosities which Ross
cannot give to Prince Pückler, added to the pleasure they will derive
from beholding King Otho's own face and the façade of his new palace.

The night was extremely dark and cold, so that the friends of Michael,
familiar as they were with their native city, found some difficulty in
following him without a lantern through the mass of ruins Athens then
presented. As they approached the tomb, they perceived that he had
already lighted his charcoal, and was engaged in blowing it vigorously,
as much to warm his hands as to prepare for his cooking operations.
Creeping as near to him as possible without risking a discovery, they
heard, to their amazement, a deep voice apparently proceeding from the
tomb, which exclaimed, "Bou gedje kek sohuk der adamlera.--It must be a
cold night for mankind." "To pisevo effendi," said Michael in a careless
tone, but nervously proceeded to pour a whole bottle of oil into the
frying-pan. As soon as the oil was boiling and bubbling, the voice from
the tomb again exclaimed, "Gaiour ne apayorsun, mangama
pisheriorsun--yuckle buradam--aiyer yiklemassun ben seni kibab
ederem, tahamun yerine seni yerim," signifying pretty nearly,
"Infidel, what are you doing here? You appear to be cooking; fly hence,
or I will eat my supper of thy carrion." And at the instant a head
covered by an enormous white turban protruded itself from under the
tombstone with open mouth. Michael, either alarmed at the words and the
apparition, or angry at the suspicion of a premeditated trick on the
part of his companions, seized the panful of boiling oil, and poured the
whole contents into the gaping mouth of the spectre, exclaiming, "An
echeis toson orexin, na to ladhi, Scheitan oglou!--If you are so hungry,
take the oil, son of Satan!" A shriek which might have awakened the dead
proceeded from the figure, followed by a succession of hideous groans.
The friends of Michael rushed forward, but the lamp had fallen to the
ground and was extinguished in the confusion. Some time elapsed ere it
was found and lighted. The unfortunate figure was dragged from the tomb,
suffocated by the oil, and evidently in a dying state, if indeed life
was not already extinct. Slowly the horrible truth became apparent.
Nerio had separated himself from the rest of the party unperceived,
disguised himself, and gained the tomb before the arrival of Michael,
who thus became the murderer of his sister's lover. I shall not attempt
to describe the feelings of Michael in recounting this dreadful scene.

The affair never made much noise. The Turks did not consider themselves
authorized to meddle in the affairs of the Greeks. Indeed, the infamous
murder of the Greek _bakalbashi_, a short time before by Jussuf-bey,
with his own hand, had so compromised their authority, that they were in
fear of a revolution. The truth was slowly communicated to Euphrosyne by
Michael himself--she bore it better than he had anticipated. She
consoled her brother and herself by devoting her life to religious and
charitable exercises; but she never entered a monastery nor publicly
took the veil. She still lives at Athens, where her charity is
experienced by many, though few ever see her. When I left Greece on a
visit to Mount Athos, my friend Michael insisted on accompanying me;
and, after our arrival on the holy mountain, he exacted from me a
promise that I would never discover to any one the monastery into which
he had retired, nor even should we by chance meet again, address him as
an acquaintance, unless he should speak to me. His sister alone is
entrusted with his secret.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} The _par_, which indicates the double or equal summit, is only found
in Latin, though unquestionably Æolic; the other two derivations are
classic Greek. Parnes, Parnettus, Parnassus. The name of the two
mountains is precisely the same.




AFRICA--SLAVE TRADE--TROPICAL COLONIES.


The readers of this magazine will readily remember the part which it
took, at an early period, in discussing and in delineating the
geographical features of Africa. In the number for June 1826 there is an
article, accompanied by a map, showing from undoubted authorities the
course and termination of the great river Niger in the sea in the Bight
of Benin, where, from similar authorities, it was placed by me in 1820
and 1821, and where actual observation by Englishmen has lately clearly
established the fact that it does terminate. In the upper and middle
parts of its course the longitudes were erroneous, having adopted Major
Rennell's delineation of Western Africa as a guide; but in 1839 the
whole of that quarter of Africa was narrowly examined, and the courses
of the western rivers reduced to their proper positions, as delineated
in my large map of Africa constructed in that year, to which, with the
"Geographical Survey of Africa," for which it was made, the reader is
referred for further and particular information on all these subjects.

With these observations, I proceed to bring before the reader
geographical information concerning eastern and central Africa of the
highest and most gratifying importance, and obtained by the researches
of different voyagers and travellers within the last four years.
Foremost amongst these ranks, the expedition sent by the present Viceroy
of Egypt to explore the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White River, above its
junction with the Blue River, from Khartoum upwards and southwards;
after it, the interesting travels of Messrs Krapf and Isenberg, two
missionaries from the Church Missionary Society, from Tajura to Ankobar,
from Ankobar south-west to the neighbourhood of the sources of the
Hawash; and after that, Mr Krapf's journey from Ankobar north by Lake
Haik, through Lasta to Antalow, and thence to Massouah on the Red Sea.
Next, the interesting accounts collected by M. Lefebvre and M.
D'Abbadie, concerning the countries in some parts of the more eastern
horn of Africa; and last, and the most specific and important of the
whole, the accounts received of the country of Adel, and the countries
and rivers in and south of Shoa, and those from the Blue Nile in Gojam
and Damot to the sea at the mouth of the Jub, under the equator, by
Major Harris, late British ambassador to the King of Shoa.

As the present article is accompanied by a map, constructed after great
labour, and engraved most carefully by Mr Arrowsmith, the general
outline of the whole may here be deemed sufficient, without lengthened
discussion and observation.

The Egyptian expedition alluded to started from Khartoum (now become a
fine town) at the close of the wet season in 1839. It consisted of four
or five small sailing vessels, some passage boats, and four hundred men
from the garrison of Senaar, the whole commanded by an able officer,
CAPTAIN SELIM. They completed their undertaking, and returned to
Khartoum at the end of 135 days, during which time, in obedience to the
commands of their master, they explored the Bahr-el-Abiad to the
distance southwards of 1300 miles, (turnings and windings included,) to
three degrees thirty minutes north latitude, and thirty-one east
longitude, from Greenwich, where it divided into two streams; the
smaller, and it is very small, coming from the south-west, and the
larger, still even at the close of the dry season a very considerable
river, which came from the south-east, upwards from the east, and still
more upwards from the north-east. A subsequent voyage in 1841 gained the
information that the stream descended past Barry, and there can be no
doubt that another, if not the chief branch, comes from the south-east,
in the bearing which Ptolemy gave it, and, as he states, from amongst
mountains covered with perpetual snow, of which Bruce also heard, and
which we now learn from Major Harris really stand in that quarter of
Africa.

The longitude of the river at the bifurcation is exactly the same as
Ptolemy has given it, which is very remarkable. The sources of the
White River will therefore be found where Ptolemy and Bruce have placed
them. The latter, in his notes, states expressly that the Bahr-el-Abiad
rose to the south of Enarea, not far from the equator, and that it had
no great western branch, nor was any necessary to give the river its
magnitude. (Vol. vii. App. p. 92.)

The expedition in question found no very large affluents from the west
side; but they found two of very considerable magnitude on the east
side--one the Blue River, and the other the Red River, or Bahr-Seboth,
which latter they navigated upwards of 150 miles in a direct line, and
left it a considerable stream, nearly as large as the eastern branch of
the White River, where they had left it. The banks of the Bahr-Seboth
were precipitous and high, whereas those of the Bahr-el-Abiad were low,
and on both sides covered with lakes, the remains probably of the
preceding inundation. Scarcely a hill or mountain was in sight from the
river till approaching the bifurcation, when the country became
mountainous, the climate more cool, and the vegetation and trees around
those of the temperate zone. The country on both sides is a high
table-land, the scenery every where very beautiful, well peopled by
different tribes, copper-coloured, and some of them even fair. Every
where the banks are covered and ornamented with beautiful trees, and
cattle, sheep, goats, elephants, &c., are numerous and abundant. Amongst
the Bhours, they found Indian goods brought from the shores of the
Indian ocean. Day by day, the breadth, depth, and current of the river
were observed and marked. For a considerable distance above Khartoum,
the breadth was from one and a half to one and a quarter mile, the depth
three or four fathoms, and the current about one and a half mile per
hour. Above the parallel of nine degrees, the river takes a remarkable
bend due west for about 90 miles, when it passes through a large lake,
the waters of which emitted an offensive smell, which might proceed from
marshy shores.{A} Above the lake, the breadth decreases to one-third or
one-fourth of a mile, the depth to twelve or thirteen feet, with a
current of one and a half mile per hour, the bottom every where sand,
with numerous islands interspersed in the stream. The mountainous
country around the upper part abounds with iron mines.

Going eastward, we come to the elevated mountainous ranges which give
birth to the Bahr-el-Abiad to the south, the Gochob, the Kibbee, and
their numerous tributary streams to the east and south-east, and the
Toumat, the Yabous, the Maleg, and other rivers which flow north into
the Abay. This vast chain is very elevated, and in many places very
cold, especially to the west of Enarea, and to the west and south of
Kaffa. From the sources of the Kibbee and the Yabous, it stretches
eastwards to Gurague, and thence, still eastward, by the Aroosi, Galla,
and Hurrur or Harrar, to Cape Guardafui, approaching in some places to
within sixty miles or less of the sea of Babel-Mandeb; the elevation to
the east of Berbera decreases to about 5000 feet, and from which
numerous streams flow both to the north and to the south. Eastward of
the meridian of Gurague, a branch from the chain strikes off due north
through Shoa, by Ankobar and Lake Haik, to the northward of which it
separates, and runs one branch N.N.W. to Samen, and another by Angot,
N.E. by east, to the Red Sea, at Assab, and the entrance of the straits
of Babel-mandeb. The whole of this chain is very elevated; near Ankobar
some peaks being 14,000 feet high, and constantly white with snow or
hail; and round the sources of the Tacazzè and the Bashilo, near the
territory of the Edjow Galla, the mountains are covered with snow. Mr
Krapf, in his journey more to the east, found the cold exceedingly keen,
the elevation exceeding 10,000 feet; and still more eastward, near the
little Assanghe lake, Pearce found hoar frost in the mornings in the
month of October. From the ranges mentioned, numerous other ranges
branch off in different directions, forming the divisions between tribes
and rivers, the latter of which are very rapid, and their borders or
banks very high and precipitous, and rugged.

From the province of Bulga or Fattygar, this chain, running
northwards, rises to a great height, springing like the walls of a
fortification from the western bank of the Hawash, from whence numerous
small streams descend to increase that river. All to the eastward of
that river is comparatively low, (called Kôlla, or the low hot country,)
and to the sea-shore is one continued sheet of volcanic strata and
extinct volcanoes, dry and poor, especially during the dry season, when
travelling is difficult and dangerous owing to the want of water. It is
inhabited chiefly by wild beasts and by fierce tribes of the wandering
Dancali, and, more to the south-east, by the Mohammedan Somauli. In
early times this country, however, was rich and powerful, from being the
channel of commerce between Abyssinia when powerful, and the countries
to the east, Arabia, Persia, and India. From Zeila and Erur southward,
the country improves, and becomes fertile and well watered.

Before turning our attention to the interesting countries round the
sources of the Gochob and its tributary streams, and those through which
it subsequently flows, so clearly brought to our knowledge by Major
Harris, (he is certainly the first who has done so,) and the survey of
the coast near its mouth by Lieutenant Christopher of the Indian navy,
and by him given to the gallant major--it is necessary, for the better
understanding of our subject, to turn our attention to the explanation
of the names of some countries and places given so differently by
different informants, and which, thus given and not sufficiently
attended to, create great confusion and great errors in African
geography.

By the aid of Mr Bruce, Mr Krapf, Major Harris, and information
collected from native travellers, (see _Geographical Bulletins of
Paris_, Nos. 78 and 98,) we are enabled to rectify these points, and
clear away heaps of inaccuracies and confusion.

First, then, Enarea and Limmu are the same. The country is called Enarea
by the Abyssinians, and Limmu by the Gallas, having been conquered by a
Galla tribe of that name, which tribe came originally from the
south-west. There is another Limmu, probably so named from another
portion of the same tribe. It is near or the same as Sibou, which,
according to Bruce, is ten days' journey from the capital of Enarea,
and, according to the French Geographical Bulletin, (No. 114,) not far
from Horro and Fazoglo. But the first Limmu is the Limmu of Jomard's
Galla Oware, because he states distinctly that Sobitche was its capital;
that, in marching northwards from it, he crossed the Wouelmae river; and
that Gingiro, to which he had been, lay to the right, or east, of his
early route; and further, that the river which passed near Sobitche ran
to the south. Enarea is not very extensive, but a high table-land, on
every side surrounded by high mountain ranges, and is situated (see
_Geographical Bulletin_, 1839) at the confluence of two rivers, the Gibe
and the Dibe.

Kaffa, in its restricted sense, is a state on the upper Gochob; but, in
its ancient and extended meaning, it is a large country, extending from
north to south a journey of one month, and includes in it several states
known by separate names, although the whole of these are often referred
to in the name Kaffa by native travellers. It is known also by the names
of Sidama and Susa, and the people of Dauro call it Gomara; but the
Christians in Southern Abyssinia call it Kaffa, and Sidama or Susa,
which latter, properly speaking, forms its southern parts.

Dawro, Dauro, or Woreta, are the same; it is a large country, and
divided into three states--namely, Metzo or Metcho, Kulloo, and Goba;
and is a low and hot, but fertile country, situated to the east of
Kaffa, and to the west of the Gochob.

Major Harris is the only individual who has given us the bearings and
distances connected with this portion of Africa, and without which the
geographical features of the country could not have been fixed with any
precision; but which, having been obtained, act as pivots from which the
correct positions of other places are ascertained and fixed with
considerable accuracy.

Let us now attend to the sources and the courses of the principal
rivers. The Kibbee, or Gibe, has three sources. The chief branch springs
to the west of Ligamara, and southwards of that place it runs east,
(_Geographical Bulletin_, No. 105, _and also_ No. 78,) when suddenly
turning upon itself; as it were, it bends its course westward to Limmu,
having below Leka received the Gwadab, coming from the west and passing
to the south of Lofe. The Kibbee waters the small but elevated country
of Nono, and passes very near Sakka. Westward of Sakka it is joined by
two other branches coming from the north-west and west, one called
Wouelmae, the Wouelmae of Oware, and the other Dibe. From thence it
flows eastward, and bounds Gingiro on the north. The early Portuguese
travellers expressly state, that six days' journey due east from Sakka,
and at one day's journey from the capital of Gingiro, having first
crossed a very high mountain, they crossed the Kibbee, a rapid rocky
stream, and as large as the Blue River where they had crossed it in the
country of the Gongas. On the third day after leaving the capital of
Gingiro, pursuing their course due east to the capital of Cambat, they
again crossed the Zebee, or Kibbee, _larger_ than it was to the westward
of Gingiro, but less rapid and rocky; its waters resembling _melted
butter_, (hence its name,) owing, no doubt, to the calcareous ridges
through which it flowed. From thence it bends its course to the
southward, and is soon after joined by the Gochob, which bounds the
empire of Gingiro to the south. Bruce particularly and emphatically
mentions the extraordinary angle which the Kibbee here makes.

To the north of Gingiro the Kibbee is joined by the Dedhasa, (pronounced
Nassal,) and which is considered to be the same as Daneza or Danesa,
which, according to Lieutenant Christopher, is a Galla name for the Jub
or Gochob. This river is passed (see _Geographical Bulletin of 1839_)
before coming to Ligamara and Chelea, and one and a half day's journey
from Gouma, in the route from Gooderoo to Enarea. In its lower course it
abounds with crocodiles. Below the junction with the Dedhasa, the Kibbee
receives the Gala river, coming from the north-east, and from the
confines of Gurague and Kortshassie.

The separation of the waters in these parts takes place to the north of
Gonea and Djimma, or Gouma. The rivers that flow to the Blue Nile or
Abay, with the exception of the Yabous, which is, according to Bruce, a
considerable stream descending from the south and south-east, are all
small streams. Shat, the province where the tea-plant is produced, is
situated to the north of Enarea, and is watered by the river called
Giba, the fish of which are said to be poisonous, (_Bruce_, vol. iii. p.
254.) Bruce states most pointedly that the capital of Enarea is fifty
leagues distant from the passage of the Abay at Mine, "due south, a
little inclining to the west," (Vol. iii. page 324;) and which bearing
and distance corresponds very correctly with several very clear and
satisfactory itineraries lately obtained. Without any high peaks or
mountains, the country round the sources of these rivers is very
elevated, and from the grain and fruits which they produce, cannot be
less than 7500 feet above the level of the sea.

The Toumat is a small stream. Above Cassan, says the _Geographical
Bulletin_, No. 110, it has water all the year, thus indicating that
below that place the water fails in the dry season. It runs between two
high chains of mountains; the east Bank, that chain being known as the
country called Bertat. The rains, according to Bruce, (the _Geographical
Bulletin_ agrees in this,) commence in April; but they do not fall heavy
at that time, and but little affect the rivers. Beyond the chain, on the
western bank of the Toumat, the country is level to Denka and the banks
of the White River, which is stated to be eleven days' journey due west
from Fazoglo. Iron is very abundant in the countries round the Toumat
and the Yabous, and caravans of Arabian merchants regularly traverse the
country from Ganjar near Kuara, and two days' journey south of
Kas-el-Fael, by Fazoglo and Fadessi, to Kaffa and Bany; the road, as the
latter places are approached, being described as hilly and very woody,
with numerous small streams.

The Gochob rises in Gamvou, a high, wild, and woody country, part of
Limmu; and bending its course south-east, next east, and then
south-east, it forms the lake Tchocha, and afterwards rolls over the
great cataract Dumbaro, soon after which it joins the Kibbee, when the
united stream tales the name of the Gochob, or Jub, by which it is known
till it enters the sea. Where crossed in the road from Sakka to Bonga,
it is described as larger than any other stream which flows to join it
from the country more to the south; much larger, indeed, than either the
Gitche or Omo, its subsequent tributaries. These are the principal
rivers of Kaffa, which is described as a high, cold country, as cold as
Samen, or Simien, as Major Harris writes it, in Abyssinia. Bonga, the
capital of Kaffa, or Susa, is one of the largest cities in these parts,
and coffee of superior quality is produced every where, both in Kaffa
and Enarea, in the greatest abundance. So also is civet and ivory.

The Omo, where crossed in the road to Tuftee, is passed by a bridge of
wood sixty yards in length, which shows that it is not a very large
river, nor can it be, this place being so near the district where its
sources must lie. In the dry season it is described as a very small
stream. The mountains in the south of Kaffa or Susa, are covered with
snow, and to the south of this place they are said to rise to a
stupendous height, "to reach the skies," and are clothed with eternal
snow!

Malo, or Malee, (as Major Harris spells it,) is westward from Koocha,
and not far from Jajo, (certainly the Jedo of Salt,) and which is at a
considerable distance from the sea, (_Geographical Bulletin_, No. 114.)
Malee touches upon both Goba and Doko, and the latter again touches upon
Kulloo. It is in Malee that the Omo, now a considerable stream, joins
the Gochob, after having received from the mountains of Souro and
valleys of Sasa the Toreesh or Gotze, a considerable stream. Doko and
Malee, like Dauro or Woreta, are very hot low countries, abounding in
cotton. In Doko, bamboo forests are frequent and extensive. The
population are represented to be of a diminutive stature, exceedingly
rude and ignorant, and are a prey to all their surrounding neighbours,
who invade their country at pleasure, and carry off the wretched people
into slavery. In this portion of Africa, or very near it, the early Arab
writers and Portuguese navigators placed a nation of pigmies; and in
this it would appear that they were correct. After the junction of the
Omo, the Gochob pursues its way by Ganana to the sea at Juba, a few
miles to the south of the equator. The western bank is inhabited by
Galla tribes, and the eastern by Somauli. In this part of its course it
is called Jub by the Arabians, Gowend or Govend by the Somauli, Yumbu by
the Souahilis, and Danesa by the Gallas.

The Gochob below Wolama is joined on the east side by a considerable
stream called the Una, which rises to the south of Gurague; and in
Koocha and on the same side by a still larger stream, which comes from
the country of the Ara or Ala Galla to the east of Gurague, and near the
western sources of the Wabbe or Webbe. Koocha is thirty days' navigation
upwards and fifteen downwards from the sea, with which it has a
considerable trade; white or fair people coming up the river to that
place; but these are not allowed to proceed further inland. The
inhabitants of Koocha carry on a great trade by means of the Gochob with
Dauro in slaves, ivory, coffee, &c. the Galla of Dauro bringing these
down the Gochob in rafts with high gunwales, which indicates that the
Gochob is a river of considerable magnitude, and may become of great
importance in the future communications with Africa; the soil and
climate around it being very fine, particularly in the lower parts near
the sea, where the land is level, and the soil a fine deep red mould.

After Bruce, Salt had delineated with considerable accuracy the source
of the Webbe and the countries around it; but, except his map, we had no
further particulars. These are, however, supplied by Major Harris and Mr
Krapf in the countries south-east of Shoa, about Harrar and its sources;
and further by accounts collected by D'Abbadie at Berbera from
intelligent natives, travellers regarding the countries more to the
south, and over the remainder of the north-eastern coast of Africa.

The principal source of the Webbe is to the east of the Aroosi
mountains, and in the country of the Ala Galla; whence, running
eastward, it passes Imi and Karanle, (the Karain of Krapf;) it runs
south-east and afterwards south in a winding course towards the Indian
ocean. To the north of six degrees of latitude, it is joined by several
streams from the neighbourhood of Harrar and places more to the east;
and in about six degrees of latitude, by a large stream which rises near
Lake Souaie, and runs through the country of Bergama or Bahr Gama. The
various countries through which the Webbe and his tributaries flow, are
distinctly marked on the map. The country around its sources is very
hilly and cold, the mountains resembling in height and appearance the
boldest in Abyssinia; and to the eastward of its middle course, the
mountains in Howea are very high and cold. In these springs the river
Doaro, which flows into the sea, a considerable river during the rains;
but at other times its mouth is nearly blocked up with sand, which is
the case with some streams more to the northward.

North of Mount Anot the country is fine and well watered, and during the
rains a very large river, according to Christopher, flows through it,
descending from the range to the south-east of Berbera, and entering the
sea in about eight degrees thirty minutes north latitude. Around Capes
Halfoon and Guardafui the country is fine and well watered with small
streams, and the climate delicious, as is the coast from Cape Guardafui
westward to Berbera.

Harrar stands in a beautiful, fertile, and well-watered valley,
surrounded with hills, the soil rich, and producing fine coffee
abundantly. It is strictly Mahommedan, and, comparatively speaking, a
considerable place, though much shorn of its dominion and power from
those days when it had become the capital of that portion of eastern
Africa ruled by the Mahommedans; and when under Mahommed _Gragne_,
(left-handed,) it overran and desolated the whole Abyssinian empire,
then under that unfortunate sovereign King David. In the county south of
Berbera there is abundance of fine wells of excellent water. Waggadeyn
is a very beautiful country, and produces abundance of myrrh and
frankincense, as in fact every portion of the eastern horn, from Enarea
inclusive, also does. It is the great myrrh and frankincense country,
from which Arabia, Egypt, Judea, Syria, and Tyre were supplied in early
days of Scripture history. The Webbe is only six fathoms broad and five
feet deep in the dry season in Waggadeyn; but in the rainy season the
depth is increased to five fathoms. It is navigated by rafts lower down.
Incense, gum, and coffee, are every where abundant around the Webbe and
its tributary streams. Harrar contains about 14,000 inhabitants, and
Berbera 10,000; Sakka about 12,000.

All the early Arabian writers pointedly state, and so also do the
Portuguese discoverers, that the Webbe entered the sea _near Mukdishu_
or Magadoxo. This was no doubt the fact; but from what cause we know
not, the river, after approaching within a short distance of Magadoxo to
the north, turns south-west, and approaching in several places very near
the sea, from which it is only separated by sandhills, it terminates in
a lake about halfway between Brava and the Jub. This is Christopher's
account; but my opinion is, that this lake communicates with the sea
during the rainy season, and even in a small stream in the dry season
also. Christopher pointedly states, that besides filtrating through the
sandhills, it communicates with the sea in two places, between Merka and
Brava; and that this is correct, is proved from the fact, that while the
river near Merka is 175 feet broad, it is reduced to seventy-five feet
near Brava; while the _Geographical Bull._, No. 98, p. 96, states, that
a small river enters the sea to the south of Brava, a branch
unquestionably from the Webbe.

The country between Magadoxo and the Jub is called Ber-el-Banader, and
north of Magadoxo, and situated between the Webbe and the Doaro, is the
considerable province called Hamer. Christopher describes the Somauli
inhabiting the lower Webbe as civil and obliging, the soil fine and
fruitful, and the climate the most delicious he had ever visited. The
inhabitants offered to conduct him in safety to Abyssinia, and into very
remote districts in the interior. The name of England is beginning to be
well known, respected, and feared in this fine portion of Africa; and it
is not a little to be regretted and lamented that this has not been the
case at a much earlier period.

The early Arabian writers, such as Batouta, write Magadoxo, Mukdishu;
Christopher states that it is now divided into two parts, in a state of
hostilities with each other, and that the southern part is called
Mukutshu, and the northern Mukkudeesha.

According to the _Geographical Bulletin_, No. 98, p. 98, the word
_ganana_ signifies _queue_, or tail, which explains at once the river
which Christopher makes enter the Webbe near Galwen, coming from the
north-westward, to be in reality a branch flowing off from the Jub at
that place. It is a thing unknown to find a river rising in a low
alluvial country.

To the east of the Webbe the country is inhabited by Somauli tribes, who
are Mahommedans and considerable traders. The country seems every where
to have a considerable population; and instead of being a blank and a
waste, as hitherto supposed and represented on maps, it is found to be
one of the finest portions of Africa, or of the world. Grain of every
kind known in the temperate zones, especially wheat of superior
qualities, is most abundant, and so cheap that the value of a dollar can
purchase as much as will maintain a man for a whole year!

The sources of the Hawash approach within about thirty miles of the
Abay. The lake Souaie in Gurague is about thirty miles in circumference,
and contains numerous islands. In these are lodged some ancient and
valuable Abyssinian records. It is fed by five small rivers, and empties
itself into the Hawash, (see _Ludolf_.) Gurague is a Christian state,
but reduced to great misery and poverty by the Galla tribes which
surround it on every side. The elevation of Ankobar above the sea is
8200 feet, and of Augollalla about 200 more; so that the climate is very
moderate. The country is every where very mountainous; but at the same
time is in many places well cultivated. The rivers run in deep valleys
or dells, and are very rocky and rapid. The present kingdom of Shoa
contains about 2,500,000 of inhabitants, chiefly Christians of the
Alexandrian Church.

In March 1842, Mr Krapf set out from Ankobar, to proceed to Egypt, by
way of Gondar and Massuah; but, after traversing the mountainous parts
of Northern Shoa, and the countries of the Woollo-Galla, and reaching a
short distance beyond the Bashilo, (then only five days' journey from
Gondar,) he was compelled, from hostilities prevailing among the chiefs
in that quarter, to retrace his steps to Gatera. In the journey which he
had so far accomplished, Mr Krapf traversed the country near the sources
of the numerous rivers which flow to form the Jimma and the Bashilo. The
mountains were high and cold, (especially in the province of Mans,) and
exceedingly precipitous, ascending and descending 3000 feet in the
course of a few hours. The soil in the valleys was good, and tolerably
well cultivated. Sheep, with long black wool, were numerous; the
population in general rude and ignorant. From Gatera he took his course
to Lake Haik, and from thence, pursuing his route north-eastward, he
crossed the numerous streams which rise in the mountainous range to the
westward, and pursue their course to the country of Adel, north of
Aussa. Crossing the very elevated range on the western frontier of
modern Angot, he pursued his journey to Antalon, leaving at Lat the
Tacazzè four days' journey to the west, and crossing in his course the
numerous streams, such as the Tarir, the Ghebia, Sumshato, and the
Tyana, (this last a considerable river,) which flow northward from the
mountains of Angot and Woggerat to form the Areequa, a large tributary
to the Tacazzè. Mr Krapf's route lay a little to the westward of Lake
Assanghe, and considerably in this portion thereof to the west of the
route of Alvaraez, who passed on the south side of Mount Ginnamora, from
whence the streams descended to the south-east.

Lake Haik is a fine sheet of water about forty-five miles in
circumference, with an island near the north-west corner, and an outlet
in the west, which runs to the Berkona. On the east and the south sides
it is surrounded with high mountains. Mount Ambassel or Amba Israel, the
celebrated mountain in Geshen where the younger branches of the royal
family of Abyssinia were imprisoned in early times, is a little to the
north of Lake Haik, and beyond the Mille. It runs north and south, in
length about twelve or thirteen miles, and is exceedingly high and
steep, the sides thereof being almost perpendicular. Mr Krapf, amongst
the most considerable rivers which he passed in this quarter, mentions
the Ala, which he states runs to, and is lost in, the deserts of the
country of Adel. This is important, and this river is no doubt the Wali
of Bruce, which he mentions (vol. iii. p. 248) as the scene of a
remarkable engagement between the sovereigns of Abyssinia and Adel in
1576, during the reign of the Abyssinian king Sertza Denghel. The
Abyssinian army descended from Angot, and crossing the Wali, a
considerable river, cut off the army of Adel from Aussa, drove a portion
thereof into the stream, where they were drowned, while the remainder
flying crossed the stream lower down, and thus effected their escape to
Aussa. This confirms in a remarkable manner the position of this river,
and would almost go to establish the fact that it cannot unite with Lake
Aussa, the termination of the Hawash.

At the Ala Mr Krapf states that he was then seven days' journey from
Aussa. Aussa, according to Bruce, or rather the capital of Aussa, was in
former times situated on a rock on the bank of the river Hawash. It is
called Aussa Gurel in the old Portuguese maps, and is no doubt the Aussa
Guraiel of Major Harris, laid down on the Arabic map which he obtained
from a native of that place. When low, the termination of the Hawash may
be said to form three lakes; but during the rainy season the land is
flooded round to a great extent, the circumference of the lake then
extending to 120 geographical miles. When the waters retire they leave,
like the Nile in Egypt, a quantity of fine mud or slime, which,
cultivated as it immediately is, produces abundant crops, and on this
account the valley of Aussa is, and always has been, the granary of
Adel. From the southern boundary of the lake to the place where the
Hawash finally extricates itself from the mountainous ranges, the
distance is about five days' journey, or from sixty to seventy miles.
The length of the fine valley of Aussa is about one hundred miles.

From the summit of the chain which separates the waters which flow
south-east to Adel, and north-west to the Tacazzè, Mr Krapf says, that
looking over Lasta to the towering snow-clad peaks of Samen or Simien,
the whole country had the appearance of the raging waves of the sea in a
terrible tempest. The soil around the upper branches of the Tacazzè is
very good, especially in Wofila, Boora, and Enderta, adjoining the fine
river Tyana; but it is only indifferently cultivated, owing to the
perpetual wars and feuds amongst the chieftains and tribes in these
parts, and the bad and unsettled governments which now exist in Tigre,
and, in fact, in all Abyssinia. Travelling in these parts is difficult
and insecure, owing to the plundering dispositions of the people, and
the rapacity of the chiefs, who live beyond the control of any
commanding or great sovereign power. At Gatera Mr Krapf was robbed of
every thing that he had by the ferocious Woollo-Galla chief, _Adara
Bille_, from whose clutches he escaped with some difficulty.

But time and space forbids me going more at length into the interesting
journeys of these late eastern travellers, amongst which those of Major
Harris is certainly the most important. He has accurately determined,
and been the first to determine, the longitude and latitude of Tajoura,
Lake Assal or the Salt Lake, and Ankobar, &c., and thus given correct
starting points from which to regulate the bearings and distances of the
other very interesting places in the interior. The bay of Tajoura
affords good anchorage; but the best point to start for the interior is
Zeila, the route thence to Shoa running along the edges of the watered
and more cultivated districts.

Amongst the travellers who visited this quarter of Africa lately is Dr
T. C. Beke. He, however, went over the same ground as the others in his
journey from Tajoura to Ankobar, (Messrs Krapf and Isenberg had preceded
him a considerable time;) therefore his letters and communications, so
far as yet known, contain little that is new. The only portion connected
with Shoa which the others had not visited, is about thirty-five miles
of the lower course of the Jimma, near its junction with the Abay, where
the latter stream is about 600 feet broad, and from three to five feet
deep. His subsequent travels in this part of Africa were confined to
Gojam, Damot, and part of Agow Medre, and to the source of the Nile; but
except being more minute in minor details regarding these provinces and
their numerous small streams and rivers, they add little to the
information given by Bruce. Still his journey, when given to the world,
may supply us with some interesting particulars regarding what he
actually saw.

Dr Beke travelled individually for information; but, in aid of his
laudable enterprise, received some pecuniary assistance from the African
Civilization Society and the Royal Geographical Society. Being a member
of the former society, and while engaged in constructing the maps for
the journals of the Church Missionary Society in the summer of last
year--not for personal gain, but solely to benefit Africa--the
communications and maps which from time to time came from Dr Beke to
that society, were readily put into my hands to use, where they could be
used, to advance the cause of Africa. Amongst the maps there was one of
the countries to the south of the Abay, including Enarea, Kaffa, and
Gingiro, constructed at and sent from Yaush in Gojam, September 6, 1842,
together with some of the authorities on which it had been made. In that
map the whole of the rivers, even to the south of Enarea and Kaffa, the
Gojob, (as the Doctor writes it,) the Omo, the Kibbee or Gibe, the
Dedhasa, and Baro, are all made, though rising beyond, that is, to the
south of Gingiro and to the south and south-east of Kaffa and Woreta,
(Woreta is placed to the south of Kaffa,) to run north-westward into the
Abay. In fact, the Gojob is represented on that map to be the parent
stream of the Bahr-el-Azreek or Blue River, and quite a distinct stream
from the Abay, which it is made to join by the Toumat, having from the
south-east received in its middle course the Geba, the Gibe, the
Dedhasa, and the Baro, and from the south-west the Omo or Abo. The whole
delineation, a copy of which I preserved, presented a mass so contrary
to all other authorities, ancient and modern, that to rectify or reduce
it to order was found impracticable, or where attempted only tended to
lead into error.

The error of bringing such an influx of water as the rivers mentioned,
and so delineated, would bring to the Blue Nile, is evident from the
fact, that this river at Senaar in the dry season is, according to
Bruce, only about the size of the Thames at Richmond. His words are
specific and emphatic, (Vol. vii. App. p. 89)--"The Nile at Babosch is
like, or greater than the Thames at Richmond"--"has fine white sand on
its banks"--"the water is clear, and in some places not more than two
feet deep." Dumbaro (or Tzamburo, as the Doctor calls it in the map
alluded to) is laid down between eight degrees and nine degrees north
latitude, and west of Wallega; Tuftee is placed more to the north on the
river designated the Blue River, and Gobo still further north upon it,
in fact adjoining to its junction with the Abay. Doko is not noticed on
the map.

The intelligent native Abyssinian Gregorius, without referring to
numerous other credible, early, and also modern authorities, determines
this important point quite differently and accurately; for he assured
Ludolf, (A. D. 1650, see _Ludolf_, p. 38,) that all those rivers that
are upon the borders of Ethiopia, in the countries of "Cambat, Gurague,
Enarea, Zandera, Wed, Waci, Gaci, and some others," do not flow into the
Nile or any of his tributaries, but "enter the sea, every one in his
distinct region," that is, the Indian ocean.

Since his return to England Dr Beke has, I have reason to believe, found
out his great error; and will alter the course of all these rivers in
Enarea and Kaffa, and bend their courses to the south-east and south.{B}

With these observations I proceed to a more important portion of my
subject; namely, the position and capabilities of Africa, as these
connect themselves with the present position and prospects of the
British Tropical possessions, and the position and prospects of the
Tropical possessions of other powers.

The support of the power and the maintenance of the political
preponderance of Great Britain in the scale of nations, depend upon
colonial possessions. To render colonies most efficient, and most
advantageous for her general interests, it is indispensably necessary
that these should be planted in the Tropical world, the productions of
which ever have been, are, and ever will be, eagerly sought after by the
civilized nations of the temperate zones.

One of the greatest modern French statesmen, Talleyrand, understood and
recommended this fact to his master. In his celebrated memorial
addressed to Bonaparte in 1801, speaking specially of England and her
colonies, he says:--

     "Her navy and her commerce are at present all her trust. France may
     add Italy and Germany to her dominions with less detriment to Great
     Britain then will follow the acquisition of a navy and the
     extension of her trade. Whatever gives colonies to France supplies
     her with ships, sailors, manufactures, and husbandmen. Victories by
     land can only give her mutinous subjects, who, instead of
     augmenting the national force by their riches or numbers,
     contribute only to disperse and enfeeble that force; but the growth
     of colonies supplies her with zealous citizens, and the increase of
     real wealth; and increase of effective numbers is the certain
     consequence."

     "What could Germany, Italy, Spain, and France, combining their
     strength, do against England? They might assemble in millions on
     the shores of the Channel, but THERE would be the limits of their
     enmity. Without ships to carry them over, and without experienced
     mariners to navigate these ships, Britain would only deride the
     pompous preparation. The moment we leave the shore her fleets are
     ready to pounce upon us, to disperse and to destroy our ineffectual
     armaments. There lies her security; in her insular situation and
     her navy consists her impregnable defence. Her navy is in every
     respect the offspring of her trade. To rob her of that, therefore,
     is to BEAT DOWN her LAST WALL, AND TO FILL UP HER LAST
     MOAT. To gain it to ourselves is to enable us to take advantage of
     her deserted and defenceless borders, and to complete the
     humiliation of our only remaining competitor."

These are correct opinions, and merit the constant and most serious
attention of every British statesman. The increased cultivation and
prosperity of foreign Tropical possessions is become so great, and is
advancing so rapidly the power and the resources of other nations, that
these are embarrassing this country in all her commercial relations, in
her pecuniary resources, and in all her political relations and
negotiations.

During the fearful struggle of a quarter of a century, for her existence
as a nation, against the power and resources of Europe, directed by the
most intelligent but remorseless military ambition against her, the
command of the productions of the torrid zone, and the advantageous
commerce which that afforded, gave to Great Britain the power and the
resources which enabled her to meet, to combat, and to overcome, her
numerous and reckless enemies in every battle-field, whether by sea or
by land, throughout the world. In her the world saw realized the fabled
giant of antiquity. With her hundred hands she grasped her foes in every
region under heaven, and crushed them with resistless energy.

Who, it may be asked, manned those fleets which bore the flag, and the
fame, and the power, of England over every sea and into every land--who
swept fleets from the sea, as at Aboukir, and navies from the ocean, as
at Trafalgar?

It may pointedly and safely be stated--the seamen supplied by the
colonial trade, and chiefly by the West Indian colonial trade of Great
Britain. About 2000 seamen, for example, were every year drawn into the
West Indian trade of the Clyde from the herring fisheries on the west
coast of Scotland, and just as regularly transferred from that colonial
trade into British men-of-war, such men being the best seamen that they
had, because they were men accustomed to every climate from the arctic
circle to the equator.

In the event of any future war, men of this description will more than
ever be wanted; because the torrid regions are become more populous and
more powerful, either in themselves or as connected with great nations
in the temperate zones, and consequently the sphere of European
conflicts will be more extended in them.

The world, especially Europe and America, is vastly improved since 1815.
Great Britain must look at and attend to this. She must march and act
accordingly. The world will not wait for her if she chooses to stand
still; on the contrary, other nations will "go ahead," and leave her
behind to repent of her folly.

"England," said her greatest warrior, "cannot have a little war;"
neither can she exist as a little nation.

The natives of the torrid zone can only labour in the cultivation of the
soil of that zone. In no other zone can the special productions of the
torrid zone be produced in perfection.

There now remains no portion of the tropical world where _labour can be
had on the spot_, and whereon Great Britain can so conveniently and
safely plant her foot, in order to accomplish the desirable
object--extensive Tropical cultivation--but Tropical Africa. Every other
part is occupied by independent nations, or by people that may and will
soon become independent.

British capital and knowledge will abundantly furnish the means to
cultivate her rich fields. This is the only rational and lasting way to
instruct and to enlighten her people, and to keep them enlightened,
civilized, and industrious. By adopting this course also, that British
capital, both commercial and manufacturing, which in one way or other
finds its way, and which will continue to find its way, especially while
money is so cheap in this country, into foreign possessions to assist
the slave trade and to support slavery--will be turned to support the
cause of freedom in Africa, and at the same time to increase instead of
tending to diminish the trade and the power of this country.

The principle which Great Britain has adopted in her future agricultural
relations with the Tropical world is, that colonial produce must be
produced, and that it can be produced in that region cheaper by free
African and East Indian labour than by slave labour. This great
principle she cannot deviate from, nor attempt to revoke.

If the foreign slave trade be not extinguished, and the cultivation of
the Tropical territories of other powers opposed and checked by British
Tropical cultivation, then the interests and the power of such states
will rise into a preponderance over those of Great Britain; and the
power and influence of the latter will cease to be felt, feared, and
respected, amongst the civilized and powerful nations of this world.

Civilization and peace can only be brought round in Africa by the
extension of cultivation, accompanied by the introduction of true
religion. Commerce will doubtless prove a powerful auxiliary; but to
render it so, and to raise commerce to any permanent or beneficial
extent, cultivation upon an extensive scale must precede commerce in
Africa.

It is, therefore, _within_ Africa, and by African hands and African
exertions chiefly, that the slave trade can be destroyed. It is IN
Africa, not OUT of Africa, that Africans, generally speaking, can and
must be enlightened and civilized. Teach and show her rulers and her
people, that they can obtain, and that white men will give them, more
for the productions of their soil than for the hands which can produce
these--and the work is done. All other steps are futile, can only be
mischievous and delusive, and terminate in disappointment and defeat. To
eradicate the slave trade will not eradicate the passions which gave it
birth.

In attempting to extinguish the African slave trade and to benefit
Africa, Great Britain has, in one shape or other, expended during the
last thirty-six years above £20,000,000; yet, instead of that traffic
being destroyed, it has, as regards the possessions of foreign powers,
been trebled, and is now as great as ever, while Africa has received no
advantage whatever. Since 1808, about 3,500,000 slaves have been
transported from Africa to the Brazils and Cuba. The productions of what
is technically denominated colonial Tropical produce has, in
consequence, been increased from £15,000,000 to £60,000,000 annually,
augmented in part, it is true, from the natural increase of nearly one
million slaves more in the United States of America.

In abolishing slavery in the West Indies, Great Britain has besides
expended above £20,000,000; still that measure has hitherto been so
little successful, that £100,000,000 of fixed capital additional,
invested in these colonies, stand on the brink of destruction; while, in
addition to the former sums, the people of Great Britain have, from the
enhanced price of produce, paid during the last six or seven years
£10,000,00 more, and which has gone chiefly, if not wholly, into the
pockets of the negro labourers in excessive high wages, the giant evil
which afflicts the West Indies.

When the emancipation of the slaves in the West Indies was carried
amidst feeling without judgment, the nation was so ready to pay
£20,000,000, and the West Indians, especially those in England, so
anxious to receive it, each considering that act all that was requisite
to be done, that neither party ever thought for a moment of what foreign
nations had done, were doing, and would do, in consequence. The warnings
and advice of local knowledge were scouted in England, till these evils,
which prudence might and ought to have prevented, now stare all parties
in the face with a strength that puzzles the wisest and appals the
boldest.

Instead of supplying her own wants with Tropical produce, and next
nearly all Europe, as she formerly did, it is the fact that, in some of
the most important articles, she has barely sufficient to supply her own
wants; while the whole of her colonial possessions, east, west, north,
and south, are at this moment supplied with--and, as regards the article
of sugar, are consuming--foreign slave produce, brought direct, or,
refined in bond, exported and sold in the colonies at a rate as cheap,
if not really cheaper, than British muscovado, the produce of these
colonies.

Such a state of things cannot continue, nor ought it any longer to be
permitted to continue, without adopting an effectual remedy.

The extent of the power and the interests which are arrayed against each
other, in this serious conflict, must be minutely considered to be
properly understood in a commercial and in a political point of view.
Unless this is done the magnitude of the danger, and the assistance
which is necessary to be given, and the exertions which are requisite in
order to bring the contest to a successful issue, cannot be properly
appreciated or correctly understood.

The value of what is technically called colonial produce at present
produced in the British colonial possessions, the East Indies included,
is about £10,000,000 yearly, from a capital invested to the extent of
£150,000,000. The trade thus created employs 800 ships, 300,000 tons,
and 17,000 seamen yearly. This is the yearly value of the property and
produce of the British Tropical agricultural trade, now dependent upon
free labour.

Against this we have opposed, in the western world alone, nearly
£60,000,000 of agricultural produce, exportable and exported yearly,
requiring a trade in returns equal to £56,000,000, and a proportionate
number of ships' tonnage and seamen. In the trade with Cuba and Port
Rico alone, the United States have 1600 vessels employed yearly,
(230,000 tons of shipping,) making numerous and speedy voyages, and from
which trade only, these states, in case of emergency, could man and
maintain from twenty to thirty sail of the line.

On the part of foreign nations there has, since 1808, been £800,000,000
of fixed capital created in slaves, and in cultivation wholly dependent
upon the labour of slaves. On the other hand, there stands on the part
of Great Britain, altogether and only, about £130,000,000 (deducting the
value paid for the slaves) vested in Tropical cultivation, and formerly
dependent upon slave labour, and which has in part been swept away,
while the remainder is in danger of being so.

Let us have recourse to a few returns and figures, in order to show what
is going on, especially by slave-labour in other countries, as compared
with British possessions, in three articles of colonial produce, namely,
sugar, (reducing the foreign clayed sugar into muscovado to make the
comparison just,) coffee, and cotton; and as regards a few foreign
countries only, nearly three-fourths of which produce, be it observed,
has been created within the last thirty years.


SUGAR--1842.

    _British possessions._              _Foreign possessions._

                          cwts.                          cwts.
  West Indies,          2,508,552     Cuba,            5,800,000
  East Indies,            940,452     Brazils,         2,400,000
  Mauritius, (1841,)      544,767     Java,            1,105,757
                        ---------     Louisiana,       1,400,000
               Total,   3,993,771                     ----------
                                             Total,   10,705,757


COFFEE--1842.

                           lbs.                            lbs.
  West Indies,          9,186,555     Java,           134,842,715
  East Indies,         18,206,448     Brazils,        135,000,800
                       ----------     Cuba,            33,589,325
               Total,  27,393,003     Venezuela,       34,000,000
                                                      -----------
                                             Total,   337,432,840


COTTON--1840.

                           lbs.                            lbs.
  West Indies,            427,529     United States,  790,479,275
  East Indies,         77,015,917     Java,           165,504,800
  To China from do.,   60,000,000     Brazils,         25,222,828
                      -----------                     -----------
               Total, 137,443,446            Total,   981,206,903

The above figures require only to be glanced at, to learn the increased
wealth and productions of foreign nations, in comparison with the
portion which England has in the trade and value of such articles, now
become absolutely necessary for the manufactures, the luxuries, and the
necessaries of life amongst the civilized nations of the world.

In the enormous property and traffic thus created in foreign
possessions, by the continuance and extension of the slave trade,
British merchants and manufacturers are interested in the cause of their
lawful trade to a great extent. The remainder is divided amongst the
great civilized nations of the world, maintaining in each very
extensive, very wealthy, very powerful, and, as opposed to Great
Britain, very formidable commercial and political rival interests.

Further, it is the very extensive and profitable markets which the
above-mentioned yearly creation of property gives to the manufacturers
of foreign countries, that have raised foreign manufactures to their
present importance, and which enables these, in numerous instances, to
oppose and to rival our own.

The odds, therefore, in agricultural and commercial capital and
interest, and consequently in political power and influence, arrayed
against the British Tropical possessions are very fearful--SIX TO ONE.

This is a most serious but correct state of things. Alarming as it is to
contemplate, still it must be looked at, and looked at with firmness;
for even yet it may be considered without terror or alarm.

The struggle, both national and colonial, is clearly therefore most
important, and the stake at issue incalculably great.

It is by the assistance of African free labour, and by the judicious and
just application thereof, both in Africa and in the West Indian
colonies, that the victory of free labour over slave labour, freedom
over slavery, can be achieved and maintained.

The abundant population of Africa, properly directed, and a small
portion gradually taken from judiciously selected districts of that
continent, and under proper regulations, will be found sufficient to
cultivate, not only her own fertile fields, but also to supply in
adequate numbers free labourers to maintain the cultivation of the
British West Indian colonies. It must always be borne in mind, that in
the maintenance of cultivation, civilization, and industry, in those
possessions, the cultivation, industry, and civilization of Africa
depend. _The cause of both is henceforth the same, and cannot, and ought
not, and must not be separated._ Whatever sources the West Indian
colonies may and must look to for immediate relief, it is in civilized
and enlightened Africa that they can only depend for a future and
permanent support. Abandon this principle and this course, and the error
committed will, at an early day, be fatal and final.

Yet if the labour of Africa is continued to be abstracted to any
considerable extent by Europeans, and from any points except from free
European settlements in Africa, in order to cultivate other quarters of
the world, all hope of improving the condition of Africa is at an end;
because the abstraction of such labour can only be obtained by the
continuation of internal slavery and a slave trade within Africa;
because labour, if generally abstracted from Africa as heretofore,
whether in freemen or slaves, will tend to enhance the cost of that
which remains to such an extent, as will render it all but impossible
for any industrious capitalist, whether European or native, to extend
and maintain successfully cultivation in Africa.

Had the 9,000,000 of slaves which, from first to last, have been torn
from Africa to cultivate America, been employed in their native land,
supported by European (British) capital, and guided by British
intelligence, how much more beneficial and secure than it is, would
every thing have been to Africa, to England, and to the world?

Europe has been acting wrong: let her not continue in error; and, at the
same time, let England meet and grapple with the question with enlarged
and liberal views--views that look to future times and future
circumstances--views such as England ought to entertain, and such as
Great Britain only can yet see carried into effect.

We first established cultivation in the West Indies by a population not
natives of the soil, but which required to be imported from another and
distant quarter of the globe. This, politically and commercially
speaking, was a great error; but it has been committed, and it would be
a greater error to leave those people, now free British subjects, and
the large British capital there vested, to decay, misery, and general
deterioration. They must be supported, and it is fortunate that they can
be supported, through their present difficulties, without inflicting a
grievous wrong on Africa, by taking her children from her by wholesale
to cultivate distant and foreign lands.

If European nations generally adopt the system of transporting labourers
as freemen from Africa, then Africa would continue to be as much
distressed, tortured, and oppressed, as ever she has been; while with
the great strength of slave labour which those vast and fertile
countries, Brazils, Cuba, &c., possess, they would, by the unlimited
introduction of people called free from Africa, but which, once got
into their power, they could coerce to labour for stated hire, overwhelm
by increased production all the British colonies both in the west and in
the east.

Such abstraction of the African population from their country, would
give a fearful impulse to an internal slave trade in Africa. The
unfeeling chiefs on the coast, the most profligate, debased, and
ferocious of mankind, would by fraud, force, or purchase, in the
character of emigration agents, drag as many to the coast as they
pleased and might be wanted; and while they did not actually sell, nor
the European, technically speaking, buy, the people so brought from
interior parts, these chiefs, by simply fixing high port charges and
fiscal regulations for revenue purposes, would obtain from the transfer
of the people--a transfer which these people could not resist or
oppose--a much higher income than they before received from the _bona
fide_ sale of slaves; and with which income they could, and they would,
purchase European articles from European traders, to enable them to
furnish additional and future supplies.

In this way, millions after millions of Africans--for millions after
millions would most unquestionably be demanded--would certainly be
carried away. The poor creatures, unable to pay their own passage, would
no more be their own masters from the moment they got on board the
foreign ship, than if they were really slaves.

Such a traffic as this on the part of foreign nations, Great Britain
could neither denounce nor oppose while she herself resorted to a
similar course. In one way only she could reasonably resist and oppose
it; namely, by urging that she only took people from her own African
settlements, which are free, to her West Indian settlements, which are
free also; while foreign nations, such as Brazils, had no possessions of
any kind on the coast of Africa, and at the same time retained slavery
in their dominions. Great Britain could only urge this plea in
opposition to such proceedings on the part of other powers; but would
such reasoning, however proper and just, be admitted or listened to? I
do not think that it would. The consequences of the adoption of such a
course by the nation alluded to, or by any other European power which
has Tropical colonies, (France, Spain, Denmark, and Holland have,) will
prove fatal to the best interests of Great Britain.

Already the people in the Brazils have begun to moot the question--that
they ought in sincerity to put an end to the African slave trade, and in
lieu thereof to bring labourers from Africa as free people. The supply
of such that will be required, both to maintain the present numbers of
the black population and to extend cultivation in that country, will
certainly be great and lasting. The disparity of the sexes in Brazils is
undoubtedly great. In Cuba it is in the proportion of 275,000 males to
150,000 females, and, amongst the whole, the number of young persons is
small. To keep up the population only in these countries will probably
require 130,000 people from Africa yearly; while interest will lead the
agricultural capitalist in those countries to bring only effective
labourers, and these as a matter of course chiefly males; which will
tend to perpetuate the evils arising from the inequality of the sexes,
and thus continue, to a period the most remote, the demand from Africa,
and consequently a continued expense, equal perhaps to £30 each, for
every effective free labourer brought from that continent.

It is thus obvious that African immigration in any shape, and to any
nation, is a most serious matter. Unless the subject is considered in
all its bearings, with reference not only to the present but to future
times, and above all with reference to the steps which France, Portugal,
or any other European power, may take in Africa, and also with reference
to the steps which Great Britain may or may not take with regard to that
great continent--most embarrassing results must follow; while, on the
steps which may be taken by other nations, the British colonial
interests henceforward depend.

There remains but one certain and efficient way to prevent fatal evils
and destructive results, and that is the simple, and ready, and rational
course; namely, to oppose free labour _within_ Africa, and the West
Indies and the East Indies, to African labour, whether free or bond,
abstracted from her soil and carried by foreign nations to distant parts
of the globe. In Africa, where the soil, the climate, the productions
are equal and the same, _one-sixth_ part of the capital in labour would
obtain labour equally efficient, nay more efficient, because removing
Africans from their own country, either as slaves or freemen, even to
other Tropical climates, must be attended with considerable risk and
loss.

Produce, supplied cheaper from Africa than it can be obtained from the
places above alluded to, would speedily and completely terminate, not
only the foreign African slave trade, but the slave trade and slavery in
Africa itself. This is the only safe, secure, and certain way to
accomplish the great object. It is safe because it is just; it is secure
because it is profitable to all concerned, the giver as well as the
receiver of the boon.

It is neither prudent, patriotic, nor safe, to attempt to confine the
productions of colonial commodities to the present British Tropical
possessions; while the production of these in other countries and places
will be increased by the capital and industry of other nations, and even
by British capital and skill, more especially while capital cannot find
room for profitable employment in England. During the war, Great Britain
exported to the continent of Europe colonial produce to the extent of
five millions yearly; and which in every case, but especially in bad
seasons, when large supplies of continental grain were necessary for the
food of her population, always secured a large balance of trade in her
favour, and which would again be the case if she adopts the course here
pointed out.

Adopting the course recommended, Great Britain at an early day would be
able to supply, not only her own extensive markets, both home and
colonial, with sugar, coffee, cotton, and dye-stuffs, &c. &c., but, in
every other market of the world, she would come in for a large share of
the external traffic. Her ships and her seamen would carry, both to her
own and to foreign markets, the productions raised by British subjects
and British capital, instead of carrying from foreign port to foreign
port, as her ships and her seamen do at this moment, the productions
raised by foreign people, capital, and industry. Great additional wealth
would thus be drawn to this country; Tropical produce of every
description would be obtained at a reasonable, yet remunerating rate;
now, extensive, and profitable markets would be opened up to our
manufactures. They would become and remain prosperous; and all classes
of the community would be benefited and relieved. Prosperity would
increase the power of the people to consume; increased consumption would
produce increased revenue; and the government would be relieved from
unceasing applications for relief, which, under existing circumstances,
they have it not in their power to give.

The point under consideration also, important as it is, becomes still
more important when the fact is considered, that if Great Britain does
not set about the work to raise that produce in Africa, and command the
trade proceeding from it, other nations most assuredly will; when she
will lose, not only the advantages which that cultivation and trade
would give her, but that trade also which she at present holds with her
own colonies; for it is plain that the proceedings of foreign countries,
such as have been adverted to, both in Africa, America, and other
places, would cover the British colonies with poverty and ruin.

The geographical position of Africa is peculiarly favourable for
commerce with all other countries, and especially with Great Britain and
her vast and varied possessions. Africa, or rather Tropical Africa, is
equally distant from America, and Europe, and the most civilized parts
of Asia, besides her proximity to Arabia, and, by means of the Red Sea,
with Egypt and the Mediterranean. Africa, whether we look to the Cape of
Good Hope or the Red Sea, is the impregnable halfway house to India--the
quarter to make good the loss of an Indian empire. She has numerous good
harbours, many navigable rivers, a most fruitful soil, valuable
productions of every kind, known in every other quarter of the Tropical
world, besides some peculiarly her own; and a climate and a country,
take it all in all, equal, if not superior, to any other Tropical
quarter of the world in point of salubrity. Her population are indeed
ignorant and debased; but generally speaking, and especially over large
portions of her surface, they are even more active, and intelligent, and
industrious, than the Indians of America, or the people in some parts of
Asia are, or than the population of Europe was, before the arms of Rome
coerced and civilized them. Why, then, is Africa overlooked and
neglected?

Let us attend to the following facts. They are, both in a political and
commercial point of view, of great importance, as showing the progress
of the opinions and efforts of foreign nations as directed towards
Africa.

The great energies of France are, it is well known, at present strongly
directed to the more important points of Tropical Africa, for the
purpose of extending colonization, cultivation, and commerce therein, in
order that she may thereby obtain supplies of colonial produce from the
application of her own capital, and at the same time, and by this
measure, to raise up a more extensive commercial marine, and
consequently a more powerful and commanding navy.

Under such circumstances, the real question to be solved is--Shall Great
Britain secure and keep, as she may do, the superiority in Tropical
cultivation, commerce, and influence? or, Shall foreign countries be
suffered to acquire this supremacy, not only as regards themselves
specifically, but even to the extent of supplying British markets with
the produce of their fields, their labour, and their capital, to the
abandonment and destruction of her own?

This is the true state of the case; and the result is a vital question
as regards the future power and resources of Great Britain.

France is already securely placed at the mouth of the Senegal, and at
Goree, extending her influence eastward and north-eastward from both
places. She has a settlement at Albreda, on the Gambia, a short distance
above St Mary's, and which commands that river. She has just formed a
settlement close by Cape Palmas, and another at the mouth of the Gaboon,
and a third by this time near the chief mouth of the Niger, in the Bight
of Benin. She has fixed herself at Massuah and Buro, on the west shore
of the Red Sea, commanding the inlets into Abyssinia. She is
endeavouring to fix her flag at Brava and the mouth of the Jub; and she
has just taken permanent possession of the important island of Johanna,
situated in the centre of the northern outlet of the Mozambique channel,
by which she acquires the command of that important channel. Her active
agents are placed in Southern Abyssinia, and are traversing the borders
of the Great Bahr-el-Abiad; while the northern shores of Africa will
speedily be her own.

Spain has planted herself in the island of Fernando Po, which commands
all the outlets of the Niger, and the rivers from Cameroons to the
equator; and from which she can readily obtain at any time any number of
people from the adjacent coasts for her West Indian possessions, either
as slaves or freemen.

About six years ago, the government of Portugal appointed a commission
to enquire into the state and condition of her once fine and still
important colonies in Tropical Africa, and to report upon the best
course to adopt to render them beneficial to the mother country. They
have reported and wisely recommended, that Portuguese knowledge and
capital should, as far as possible, be again sent to Africa, in order to
instruct, enlighten, and cultivate these valuable possessions; and
instead of allowing, as heretofore, labour in slaves to be abstracted
from Africa, that native labourers should be retained and employed in
Africa itself; and further, that it should to the utmost be aided and
directed by European skill, capital, and labour. Thus, fourteen degrees
of latitude on the east coast, and twenty degrees of latitude on the
west coast, will, at an early day, be set free from the slave trade.
From these points the Brazil markets were chiefly supplied with slaves;
but Brazils being now separated from Portugal, the latter has and can
have no interest in allowing the former to carry on the slave trade from
her African dominions, but quite the reverse.

The discovery of the route to India by the Cape of Good Hope changed the
course of eastern commerce. The exertions of Portugal in the manner
proposed, will now, and most certainly and severely, affect Tropical
productions and commerce in every market. In this case, England ought to
encourage and support Portugal, and, by following her footsteps in other
eligible parts of Africa, share in the advantages which such a state of
things, and the cultivation and improvement of Africa, is certain to
produce.

The Iman of Muscat, the sovereign of Zanzibar, has lately put an end to
the slave trade in his dominions in Africa, extending northwards from
the Portuguese boundary eight degrees of latitude on the eastern coast.
His envoy, who was lately in England, was so delighted with the
treatment which he received, and with all that he heard and saw here,
that he has influenced his master to carry out sincerely the views and
objects recommended by England. I have in my possession a most
interesting account of the country, extending into the interior of
Africa, from the coast opposite Zanzibar all the way to the great lake
Maravi. The country is intersected with noble rivers, one especially
which issues out of the lake; is generally healthy and well cultivated,
especially as the lake is approached. The population are generally of
Arabian descent, industrious, and clothed. A wide field, therefore, for
commercial operations is open in this quarter.

The powerful sovereign of Dahomey has agreed to abolish the slave trade.
Independent of his considerable dominions, his fine country was one of
the greatest high-roads for the slave caravans from the interior. He has
received, welcomed, and encouraged the Wesleyan missionaries lately sent
to that quarter. The missionaries from this society, and also one from
the Church Missionary Society, have penetrated to Abekuta, a town
containing 40,000 inhabitants, and about 106 miles north-east of Lagos,
and north of Benin. The country, immediately after quitting the coast,
becomes most fertile, pleasant, and healthy, as all that country to the
north of the Formosa is well known to be. The population are eager for
instruction; they are comparatively industrious and civilized; they
manufacture all their necessary agricultural implements, bits for
bridles, hoes, &c., from their own iron; they tan their own leather, and
manufacture therefrom saddles, bridles, shoes, &c.

The great sovereign of Ashantee has also received with royal honours,
and welcomed, the ministers of the gospel, encouraged them, and listened
to them in the most gratifying manner. The Almamy of Teembo--a state
which commands the fine districts around the Niger in its early course,
and the roads from populous interior parts on the east to the western
coast--has lately evinced the strongest desire to extend cultivation and
commerce in lieu of the slave trade, and to have a ready communication
with Europeans, and especially with the English. In other portions of
Africa important movements are also going on, most gratifying to the
friends of humanity and religion.

The United States of America, as a nation, is about to incorporate with
her dominions the whole coast of Africa on Cape Palmas to the borders of
the Gallinas--a fertile and healthy part of that continent, and wherein
several settlements have of late years been made by the free people of
colour from those states. This effected, there will hardly remain a spot
of any consequence in Tropical Africa worth looking after for Great
Britain to plant her foot, either for the purpose of obtaining labourers
for her West Indian colonies, or to extend agriculture and commerce with
Africa. The present British Tropical African possessions have been, and
are, very badly selected for any one of the purposes alluded to, or for
extending political power and influence in Africa. Still much more may
be made of them than has ever hitherto been done.

But there is a still higher and more important consideration as regards
Africa alone--the eternal salvation of her people. This consideration is
addressed to the rulers of a Christian nation. The appeal cannot fall on
deaf ears. The debt which Great Britain owes to Africa, it is
undeniable, is incalculably great. The sooner it is put in course of
liquidation the better. To spread Christianity throughout Africa can
only atone for the past. Our duty as Christians, and our interests as
men, call on us to undertake the work. It is the cause, the safety, the
improvement, and the salvation of a large portion of the human race; it
is the cause of our country, the cause of our colonies, the cause of
truth, the cause of justice, the cause of Christianity, the cause and
the pleading of a Christian nation--and a cause like this cannot plead
in vain.

To secure these important objects no great or immediate expenditure is
necessary; nay, if properly gone about, a saving in the present African
expenditure may be effected.

  JAMES MACQUEEN.
  LONDON, _3d May 1844_.


FOOTNOTES:

{A} This bend is represented in a map constructed in Paris, and said to
be from information obtained in a second voyage; but no such bend is
indicated in the journal of the original voyage by Captain Selim.

{B} Under date Yaush, September 21, 1842, Dr Beke states the curious and
important fact, that the people of Enarea and Kaffa communicate with the
west coast of Africa, and that one of the articles of merchandise
brought from that coast to these places was salt.




NARRATION OF CERTAIN UNCOMMON THINGS THAT DID FORMERLY HAPPEN TO ME,
HERBERT WILLIS, B.D.


It had pleased Heaven in the year 1672, when I had finished my studies
in Magdalen College, Oxford, whereof I was a Demy, and had taken my
degree of bachelor of arts in the preceding term, to visit me with so
severe an affliction of fever, which many took at first for the
commencement of the small-pox, that I was recommended by the physicians,
when the malady had abated, to return to my father's house and recover
my strength by diet and exercise. This I was fain to do; and having
hired a small horse of Master John Nayler in the corn market, to take me
as far as to the mansion of a gentleman, an ancient friend of my
father's, who had a house near unto Reading in Berkshire, and in those
troubled times, when no man knew whereunto things might turn from day to
day, did keep himself much retired. I bade adieu to the university with
a light heart but a weakened habit of body, and turned my horse's head
to the south. I performed the journey without accident in one day; but
the exertion thereof had so exhausted my strength, that Mr Waller,
(which was the name of my father's friend, and of kin to the famous poet
Edmund Waller, Esquire, who hath been ever in such favour with our
governors and kings,) perceiving I was nigh discomfited, did press me to
go to my chamber without delay. He was otherwise very gracious in his
reception of me, and professed great amity to me, as being the son of
his fast friend and companion; but yet I marked, as it were, a cloud
that lay obscure behind his external professions, as if he was uneasy in
his mind, and was not altogether pleased with having a stranger within
his gates. Howbeit I thanked him very heartily for his hospitality, and
betook myself to the chamber that was assigned for my repose. It was a
pretty, small room, whereof I greatly admired the fashion; and the
furnishing thereof was extreme gay, for the bed hangings were of bright
crimson silk, and on a table was placed a mirror of true Venetian glass.
Also, there were chests of mahogany wood, and other luxurious devices,
which my weariness did not hinder me from observing; but finally I was
overcome by my weakness, and I threw myself on the bed without removing
my apparel, and sustained as I believe, though I have no certain
warranty thereof, an access of deliquium or fainting. When I did recover
my senses after this interval of suspended faculty, (whether proceeding
from sleep or the other cause above designated,) I lay for many minutes
revolving various circumstances in my mind. I resolved, if by any means
my bodily powers were thereunto sufficient, to depart on the morrow, and
borrow one of Mr Waller's horses to convey me on my way, for I was
uneasy to be thought an intruder; but when I had settled upon this in my
mind, a new incident occurred which altered the current of my thoughts,
for I perceived a slight noise at the door of my chamber as of one
stealthily turning the handle, and I lay, without making any motion, to
watch whereunto this proceeding would tend. The door was put gently
open, and a figure did enter the room, so disguised with fantastical
apparel, that I was much put to it to guess what the issue would be. It
was of a woman, tall and majestical, with a red turbaund round her head,
and over her shoulders a shawl much bedizened with needlework. Her gown
was of green cloth, and I was made aware by the sound, as she passed
along the floor, that the heels of her shoes were more than commonly
high. With this apparition, of which I took only a very rapid
observation through my half-closed eyelids, I was greatly astonished;
for she was an exact resemblance to those bold Egyptian queans who were
at first called Bohemians, but are nothing better than thieves and
vagabonds, if indeed they be not the chosen people of the prince of
darkness himself. She looked carefully all round the room, and after
opening one of the drawers of mahogany wood, and taking something
therefrom which I could not discern, she approached to the side of my
bed, and looked earnestly upon me as I lay. I could not keep up the
delusion any longer, and opened my eyes. She continued gazing
steadfastly upon me without alteration of her countenance or uttering
any word, whether of apology or explanation; and I was so held in by the
lustre of her large eyes, and the fixed rigidity of her features, that
for some time I was unable to give utterance to my thoughts.

"Woman," I said at last, "what want you with me?"

"Your help, if you will be gracious to poor mourners such as we."

I interrogated her much and curiously as to what service she required at
my hands; for I had a scrupulosity to promise any thing to one whose
external made me think her a disciple of Mahomet, as those gipsies are
said to be. After much hesitating, she could not conceal from me that
she was in this disguise for some special and extraordinary purpose;
nevertheless, she condescended on no particulars of her state or
condition; but when I finally promised to satisfy her demand, if it
might be done by a Christian gentleman, and a poor candidate for the
holy ministry, she cautioned me not to be startled by whatever I should
see, and beckoned me to follow her--the which I did in no easy frame of
mind. Opening a little door which I had not seen when I took observation
of the apartment, she disappeared down two or three steps, where I
pursued the slight sound of her footfall; for there was great darkness,
so that I could see nothing. We went, as I conjectured, through several
passages of some length, till finally she paused; and knocked very
gently three times at a door. The door was speedily opened; and in
answer to a question of my guide, whether godly Mr Lees was yet arrived,
a voice answered that he was there, and expecting us with impatience.
When I passed through the door, I found myself in a small chamber, dimly
lighted by one small lamp, which was placed upon a table by the side of
a bed; and when I looked more fixedly I thought I perceived the figure
of a person stretched on the bed, but lying so fixed and still, that I
marvelled whether it was alive or dead. At the foot of the bed stood a
venerable old man, in the dress of a clergyman of our holy church, with
a book open in his hand, and my strange guide led me up to where he was
standing, and whispered to him, but so that I could hear her words,
"This gentleman hath promised to assist us in this matter."

But hereupon I interposed with a few words to the same revered divine.
"Sir," I said, "I would be informed wherefore I am summoned hither, and
in what my assistance is needful?"

"He hath not then been previously informed?" he said to the Egyptian;
and receiving some sign of negation from her, he closed the book, and
leading me apart into a corner of the apartment, discovered the matter
in a very pious and edifying manner.

"It is to be godfather in the holy rite of baptism, to one whom it is
our duty, as Christian men, to rescue from the dangerous condition of
worse than unregenerate heathenism."

"The child of that Egyptian woman?" I asked; but he said, "No. She who
is now disguised in that attire is no Egyptian, but a true Samaritan,
who hath been the means of working much good in the evil times past, and
is likely to be a useful instrument in the troubled times yet to come.
If this dissolute court, and Popish heir-presumptive, do proceed in
their attempts to overthrow our pure Reformed church, depend on it,
young man, that that woman will not be found wanting in the hour of
trial. But for the matter in hand, will you be godfather to the person
now to be received into the ark?"

I told him I could not burden my conscience with so great and important
duties, without some assurance that I should be able to fulfil them.
Whereto he replied, that such scrupulosities, however praiseworthy in
calmer tines, ought now to yield to the paramount consideration of
saving a soul alive.

A faint voice, proceeding from the bed, was here heard mournfully asking
if the ceremony was now to begin, for death was near at hand.

I went up to the bed and saw the face of a pale dying woman, whose
eyes, albeit they encountered mine, had no sense of sight in them, for
the shadows of the Great King were already settled upon her countenance.
"Begin then," I said to the clergyman; and on a motion from him, the
woman who had conducted me went out, and shortly returned, leading by
the hand a child of two, or haply three years of age, exceeding
beautiful to look on, and dressed in the same style of outlandish
apparel as her conductor. I had little time to look attentively at her,
for her hand was put into mine, while the other was held by the
Egyptian, (as I still call her, notwithstanding I knew she was a devout
woman,) and another person, whom I guessed to be an attendant on the
sick lady, stationed herself near; whereupon the clergyman commenced
from our book of common prayer the form of baptism. The lady seemed to
acquire strength at the sound of his low solemn voice, and half raised
herself in the bed, and looked anxiously towards where we were; when the
name was given, which was Lucy Hesseltine, she stretched herself back on
her pillow with a faint smile. The ceremony was soon over, and the
Egyptian took the new Christian to the side of the bed, and whispered in
the lady's ear, "Jessica, the child is now one of the Christian flock;
she prays your blessing." She waited for an answer, during which time
the clergyman took me apart, and had again entered into discourse. But
the Egyptian came to us. "Hush!" she said, "the ways of God are
inscrutable; our friend is gone to her account." Hereupon she hurried me
through the same passages by which we had come, and bidding me God-speed
at the hidden door of my chamber, told me to keep what I had seen a
secret from all men, yea, if possible, to forget it myself, as there
might be danger in having it spread abroad.

Tormented with many thoughts, and uneasy at the great risk I ran of
bringing guilt on my own soul by having made sponsorial promises which I
could not execute, I rested but indifferently that night. The next day I
pursued my journey home in the manner I had proposed, and was glad to
avoid the chance of being interrogated by Mr Waller as to what had
occurred. In a short time my good constitution and home restored me to
my former strength, and the memory of that strange incident grew more
faint as other things came to pass which made deeper impressions on my
heart and mind. Among these is not to be forgotten the death of my
father, which happened on the 14th of June in the following year,
_videlicet_ 1673; and the goodness of the lord bishop of Oxford in
giving me priests' orders on my college Demyship, whereby I was enabled
to present myself to this living, and hold it, having at that time
attained the canonical age. My courtship also and marriage, which befell
in the year 1674, had great effect in obliterating past transactions. I
was married on Thursday, the 24th day of June.

       *       *       *       *       *

(Here several pages are omitted as irrelevant, containing family
incidents for some years.)

Howbeit things did not prosper with us so much as we did expect; for the
payers of tithes were a stiff-necked generation, as were the Jews of
old, and withheld their offerings from the priest at the very time when
Providence sent a plentiful supply of mouths to which the offerings
would have been of use. Charles was our only son, and was now in his
third year--the two girls, Henrietta and Sophia, were six and seven--my
eldest girl was nine years past, and I had named her, in commemoration
of my father's ancient friend, by the prenomen of Waller. It hath been
remarked by many wise men of old, and also by our present good bishop,
that industry and honesty are the two Herculeses that will push the
heaviest waggon through the mire; and more particularly so, if the
waggoner aids also by putting his shoulder to the wheel. And easy was it
to see, that the wheel of the domestic plaustrum--wherein, after the
manner of that ancient Parthians, I included all my family, from the
full beauty of my excellent wife to the sun-lighted hair of my prattling
little Charles, (the which reminds me of those beautiful lines which are
contained in a translation of the _Iliad_ of Homer by Mr Hobbes,
descriptive of the young Astyanax in his mother Andromache's arm--

    "And like a star upon her bosom lay
      His beautiful and shining golden head")--

It was easy, I say, to see, that with such an additional number of
passengers, the domestic plaustrum would sink deeper and deeper in the
miry ways of the world. And consultations many and long did my excellent
wife and I hold over the darkening prospect of our future life. At last
she bethought her of going to take counsel of her near friend and most
kind godfather, Mr William Snowton of Wilts, which was a managing man
for many of the nobility, and much renowned for probity and skilful
discernment. He was steward on many great estates, and gave plentiful
satisfaction to his employers, without neglecting his own interest,
which is a thing that does always go with the other, namely, a care for
your master's affairs; for how shall a man pretend to devote his time
and services to another man's estate, and take no heed for himself? The
thing is contra the nature of man, and the assertion thereof is fit only
for false patriots and other evil men. It was with much weariness of
heart and anxious tribulation that I parted from that excellent woman,
even for so short a period of time; but Master George Sprowles of this
parish having it in mind to travel into the village where the said Mr
William Snowton kept his abode, I availed myself of his friendly offer
to conduct my wife thither upon a pillion; and thereupon having sent
forward her luggage two days before by a heavy waggon which journeyeth
through Sarum, I took leave of the excellent woman, commending her
heartily unto the care of Providence and Master George, which
(Providence I mean) will not let a sparrow fall to the ground, much less
the mother of a family, which moreover was riding on a strong
sure-footed horse, which also was bred in our parish, and did sometimes
pasture on the glebe. It was the first time we had been separated since
our wedding-day. I took little Charles into my room that night, and did
carefully survey the other children before I went to rest. They did all
sleep soundly, and some indeed did wear a smile upon their innocent
faces as I looked upon them, and I thought it was, perhaps, the
reflection of the prayers which their mother, I well knew, was pouring
out for them at that hour. That was on a Tuesday, and as the distance
was nearly sixty miles, I could not hear of her safe arrival till the
return of Master George, which could not be till the following Monday;
not being minded, (for he was a devout man, and had imbibed his father's
likings in his youth, which was a champion for the late Man,) and would
rather have done a murder on a Thursday than have travelled on the
Sabbath-day. "Better break heads," he was used to say, "than break the
Sabbath." I did always find him, the father I mean, a sour hand at a
bargain; and when he was used to drive me hard upon his tithes and
agistments, I could fancy he took me for one of the Amalekites, or one
of the Egyptians, whom he thought it a meritorious Christian deed to
spoil. The Monday came at last, and Master George Sprowles, before he
rode to his own home, trotted his horse up our church avenue, and
delivered into my hands a packet of writing carefully sealed with a
seal, whereof the device was a true-love knot. Great was my delight and
great my anxiety to read what was written therein, and all that evening
I pored over the manuscript, on which she had bestowed great pains, and
crossed all the t's without missing one. But it is never an easy task to
decipher a woman's meaning, particularly when not addicted to
penmanship; and although my excellent wife had attended a penman's
instructions, and had acquired the reputation, in her native place, of
being an accomplished clerk, still, since her marriage, she had applied
her genius to the making of tarts and other confections, rather than to
the parts of scholarship, and it was difficult for me to make out the
significance of her epistle in its whole extent. Howbeit, it was a
wonderful effort of calligraphy, considering she had only had two days
wherein to compose and write it, and she had been so little used to this
manner of communication, and it consisted of three whole sides of a
large sheet of paper. She said therein that Mr Snowton was a father unto
her in his affection and urbanity, and that he highly approved the
motion for us to make provision of the meat that perishes, seeing it is
indispensable for young children and also for adults; and that he had
already bethought him of a way wherein he might be serviceable to
us--viz. in procuring for me certain youth of the upper kinds, to be by
me instructed in the learned tongues, and such other branches as I had
proficiency in; and, in addition thereto, he said, that peradventure he
might obtain a similar charge for my excellent wife in superintending
the perfectionment of certain young ladies of his acquaintance in
samplers, and millinery, and cookery, and such other of the fine and
useful arts as she was known to excel in; and he subjoined thereto, that
the charges for each pupil would be so large, being only those of
consideration which he recommended unto me, that a few years would be
sufficient wherein to consolidate portions for all my children. Such,
with some misgivings touching my own interpretation, did I make out to
be the substance of my excellent wife's letter; and I rejoiced greatly
that such an opening was made for me, by the which I might attain to
such eminence of estate that I might place my Charles in the first ranks
of the law, yea, might live to see him raised to the fulness of temporal
grandeur, and sitting, as Lord High Keeper, among the peers and princes
of the land, with a crown of pure gold upon his head. But there was no
crown but a heavenly one, that fadeth not nor groweth dim, that could
have added a fresh beauty to the fair head of my Charles. But the
sweetest part of her missive was contained in the _post scriptum_.
Therein she said, and in this I could not be wrong, that Mr Snowton had
undertaken to forward her in his light wheeled cart, by reason of the
conveniency it would be of to her in the transportation of herself and
luggage, and also of Miss Alice Snowton, of Mr Snowton's kindred, a
young lady which he had adopted, (being the only child of his only
brother, Mr Richard Snowton, deceased,) and advised my wife to accept
the care of her as a beginning, and for the charges of the same he would
be answerable for fifty golden Caroluses at Ladyday and Michaelmas. A
hundred Caroluses each year! My heart bounded with joy. Great were my
preparations for the reception of my new inmate, and busy were we all
from my busy Waller down to Charles. He with much riotousness did
superintend all, and rejoiced greatly at the noise caused by the
hammering, and taking down and putting up of bed-hangings, and did in no
slight measure add thereto by strange outbreaks of riotous mirth, such
as whooping and screaming; causing confusion, at the same time, by
various demonstrations of his enjoyments, such as throwing nails against
the windows, beating on the floor with the poker, and occasionally
interrupting our operations by tumbling down stairs, and causing us for
a moment to believe him killed outright, or at least maimed for life.
But there is a special providence over happy children; and save that he
fell on one occasion into the bucket of soap and water, wherewith a
domestic was scowering the chintz room floor, and suffered some
inconvenience from the hotness thereof, he escaped in a manner truly
miraculous from any accident affecting life or limb. When the time drew
near in the which I expected the return of my excellent wife, I took all
the children to the upper part of the church field which faces the
high-road, upon which the large stones have recently been laid down, in
the manner of a causeway, but which, at that period, was left to the
natural hardness, or rather softness, of the soil, and was, in
consequence thereof, dangerous to travel on by reason of the ruts and
hollows; to that portion, I say, of the church field I conveyed all my
little ones, to give the gratulations necessary on such an occasion to
their excellent mother. The spot whereon we were stationed commanded a
view of the hill which superimpends our village, and we were therefore
gratified to think that we should have an early view of the expected
travellers; and many quarrels and soft reconcilements did take place
between my younger ones, upon the point of who would be the first to
see their approach. In the midst of these sweet contentions, whilst I
was in the undignified and scarcely clerical act of carrying little
Charles upon my shoulder, having decorated his head with my
broad-brimmed hat, in order to enable him--vain imagination, which
pleased the boy's heart--to see over and beyond the hill, there did
pass, in all her wonted state and dignity, with two outriders in the
Mallerden livery, two palfreniers at her side, and four mounted
serving-men behind, the ancient Lady Mallerden, which was so famous an
upholder of our venerated church in the evil days through which it so
happily passed; and with no little perturbation of mind, and great
confusion of face, did I see the look of astonishment, not to say
disdain, with which she regarded my position; more particularly as
little Charles, elevated, as I have said, upon my shoulders, with his
legs on each side of my neck, did lift up the professional hat, which
did entirely absorb his countenance, with great courtesy, and made a
most grave and ceremonious obeisance unto the lofty lady. She pursued
her path, returning the salutation with a kind of smile, and at the same
easy ambling pace as was her wont, proceeded up the hill. Just as she
reached the summit thereof our eyes were gladdened with the sight, so
long desired, of the light equipage on two wheels of the kind Mr
Snowton, containing my excellent wife and her young charge, and also
various boxes of uncommon size, in which were laid great store of bodily
adornment for both the ladies; as was more fully seen thereafter, on the
opening of the boxes, by reason of Mr Snowton having privily conveyed
into them various changes of apparel for the use of my excellent wife,
as also for each of the three girls. To Charles he also sent the image
of an ass, which, by touching a certain string, did open its mouth and
wave its ears in a manner most curious to behold, wherewith the infant
was infinitely delighted, as was I, without enquiring at that time into
the exquisite mechanism whereby the extraordinary demonstrations were
produced. But in the course of little more than a month he was led, by
his enquiring turn of mind, to pry into the mystery; and in the pursuit
of knowledge--laudable surely in a person of his years, and
demonstrative of astonishing sagacity and research--he did take the
animal entirely to pieces, and saw the inward parts thereof. The great
lady, with all the retinue, stopped short as she encountered with my
excellent wife at the top of the hill, and did most courteously make
tender enquiries of her state of health, and also of her plans--whereof
she seemed some little instructed--and expressed her satisfaction
therein, and did make many sweet speeches to her, and also to the pupil,
and trusted that she would be good and dutiful, and an earnest and
affectionate daughter of the Church of England. To all which my
excellent wife replied in fitting terms, and Alice Snowton--so was she
named--made promise so to do, God being her helper and I her teacher;
and thereupon the great lady bended her head with smiles, and rode on.
When they got down to where we stood in the church field, the flush of
modesty, and perhaps of pride, at being spoken to in such friendly guise
by the haughty Lady Mallerden, had not yet left the cheek of my
excellent wife, upon which I impressed a kiss of true love, and held up
little Charles as high as I could, to enable him to do likewise, which
he did, with a pretty set speech which I had taught him, in gratulation
of her return. Alice Snowton also did blush, and held out her cheek,
whereon I pressed my lip, with fervent prayers for her advance in
holiness and virtue, and also in useful learning, under my excellent
wife's instructions. She was a short girl, not much taller than my
Waller, though she seemed to be three or even four years more advanced
in age. She was a sweet engaging child of thirteen, and I loved her as
one of my flock from the moment I saw her, as in duty bound. My children
were divided between joy at seeing their excellent mother, and wonder at
the stranger. But a short period wore off both these sentiments of the
human mind, or rather the outward manifestation of them; and I will
venture to assert that the quietude of night, and the clearness of the
starry heavens, fell on no happier household on that evening than the
parsonage of Welding. And next day it was the same; and next, and next,
and a great succession of happy, useful days. Alice was a dear girl, and
we loved her as our own; and she loved Charles above all, and was his
friend, his nurse, his playfellow. Their gambols were beautiful to
behold; and, to complete the good work which was so well begun, good Mr
Snowton did send to my care, at the same remuneration, two young
gentlemen of tender years, Master Walter Mannering and Master John
Carey--the elder of them being eight and the other seven; and, as if
fortune never tired of raining down on us her golden favours, the great
Lady Mallerden herself did use her interest on my behalf, and obtained
for me the charge of a relative of her noble house--the honourable
Master Fitzoswald, of illustrious lineage in the north, of the age of
nine years. But doubtless, as the philosopher has remarked, there is no
sweet without its bitter, or, as the poet has said, "no rose without its
thorn," or, better perhaps, as another great poet of antiquity has
clothed the sentiment--

    ----"Medio de fonte leporum
    Surgit amari aliquid;"

for it was made an express stipulation of the latter office--namely, the
charge of the honourable young gentleman, being the second son of the
noble Earl Fitzoswald, in Yorkshire--that the great Lady Mallerden
should have joint superintendence of his studies with me, and the
direction of his conduct, and also his religious education. And this was
a sore drawback to the pleasure I experienced, for I knew her to be
proud and haughty beyond most women, or even men; and also that she was
of so active and inquisitive a turn of mind, that she would endeavour to
obtain all power and authority unto herself, whereto I determined by no
means to submit. Two hundred golden guineas was the _honorarium_ per
annum for his education; and my excellent wife, who was addicted, like
the most of her sex, to dreams and omens, did very often have a vision
in the night, of the Right Hon. the Earl Fitzoswald presenting me to a
great office in the church--yea, even a seat among the right reverend
the lord bishops of the Upper House of Parliament. Nor were portents and
auguries wanting, such as this--which made an uncommon impression on my
excellent wife's mind--_videlicet_, it chanced that Alice Snowton did
make a hat of paper, to be placed on Charles's head when he was more
than usually naughty, to be called the fool's-cap out of derision; but
this same paper hat, which was of a fantastic shape, being conical and
high, the boy with scissors did dexterously mutilate and nearly destroy,
and, coming quietly behind me when I was meditating the future with my
excellent wife, he placed it on my head; and, to all our eyes, there was
no mistaking the shape into which, fortuitously, and with no view or
knowledge of such emblems, he had cut the paper-cap. It was evidently a
mitre, and nothing else! But this, and various other concurring
incidents, I pass over, having frequently rebuked my excellent wife for
thinking more highly of such matters than she ought to think.

The course pursued in our studies was the following, which I
particularly write down, having had great experience in that sort, and
considering it may be useful, if perchance this account should fall into
the hands of any who follow the honourable and noble calling of
educating the rising generation. The _Colloquies_ of Corderius, as also
the _Fables_ of Æsopus, with those also of Phædrus his Roman
continuator....

       *       *       *       *       *

(Many pages are here omitted as irrelevant.)

... And my excellent wife, after much entreaty, consented thereto.
Accordingly, on the very next Sunday, the great Lady Mallerden attended
at my house after church, and did closely question, not only the young
gentlemen on the principles of their faith, but also Alice Snowton, and
did, above all, clearly and emphatically point out to them the
iniquities of the great Popish delusion; and exhorted them, whatever
might be their future fate or condition, to hold fast by the pure
Reformed church. And so much did my eldest daughter, who was now a great
tall girl of twelve years of age, win upon the heart of the great lady,
that she invited her to come up for several days and reside with her at
Mallerden Court, which was a great honour to my daughter, invitations
not being extended to any to enter that noble mansion under the degree
of nobility. Nor did her beneficence end here; for she did ask Alice
Snowton, who was now a fine young woman of fifteen or thereby, to be her
guest at the same time. Alice was not so stout in proportion to her
years as my Waller; but there was a certain gracefulness about her when
she moved, and a sweet smile when she spoke, which was very gainful on
the affections, as Charles could testify; for he loved her, and made no
secret thereof, better than any of his sisters, and also, I really and
unfeignedly believe, better than that excellent woman his mother. And so
great was the impression made on the great lady by my Waller's
cleverness and excellent manner of conducting herself, that, on her
return at the end of three days, a letter, in the noble lady's own land,
bore testimony to her satisfaction, and a request, or rather a command,
was laid on me, to send her, under charge as she expressed it, of Alice
Snowton, to the Court for a longer period the following week. And such
was the mutual happiness of the noble lady, and of that young girl, (my
Waller, I mean,) who could now write a beautiful flowing hand, and spell
with uncommon accuracy and expedition, that erelong it was an arranged
thing, that three days in each week were spent by the two children at
Mallerden Court; and a horse at last, on every Wednesday, was in waiting
to convey them, on a double pillion, to the stately mansion.

I have not alluded to the state of public affairs, of which I was far
from cognizant, saving that the writhings and strugglings which this
tortured realm did make, shook also the little parsonage of Welding. We
heard, at remote intervals of time, rumours of dangers and difficulties
hanging over this church and nation; but were little alarmed thereat,
putting faith in the bill of exclusion, and the honour of our most
gracious and religious lord the king. Nor did I anticipate great harm
even if the Duke of York, in the absence of lawful posterity of his
brother, should get upon the throne, trusting in the truth of his royal
word, and the manifold declarations of favour and amicableness to the
church, which he from time to time put forth. But Æsopus hath it, when
bulls fight in a marsh the frogs are crushed to death. It was on the
tenth day of February, in the year of our Lord 1685, I was busy with my
dear friends, the youths under my charge, in the Campus Martius, (which
was a level space of ground in one of the glebe fields by the side of
the river, whereon we performed our exercises of running, jumping,
wrestling, and other athletic exercitations,) when we were startled by
the hearing the sound of many horses galloping up the hill above the
village; and looking over the hedge on to the road, we saw a cavalier
going very fast on a fine black horse, which had fire in its eyes and
nostrils, as the poet says, followed by a goodly train of serving-men,
all well mounted, and proceeding at the same rate. We went on with our
games for an hour or two, when all at once I was peremptorily sent for
to go to my house without delay; and accordingly I hurried homewards,
much marvelling what the summons could portend. I went into my study,
and sitting in my arm-chair I saw the great Lady Mallerden; but she was
so deep in thought, that for some minutes she kept me standing, and
waiting her commands. At last she started to herself, and ordered me to
be seated, and in her rapid glancing manner began to speak--

"I have been visited by my son, who rode post haste from London to tell
me the king was dead. He has been dead four days."

I was astonished and much saddened at the news.

"Sorry--yes--but there is no time for sorrow," said the noble lady; "we
must be up and doing. We are betrayed."

"Did your son, the noble Viscount Mallerden, tell you this?"

"He is one of the betrayers--know you not what manner of man he
is?--Then I will tell you." And here a strange light flashed from her
eyes, and her lips became compressed till all the colour
disappeared--"He is a viper that stung me once--and would sting me
again if I took him to my bosom, and laid it open for his poisonous
tooth. I tell you the Lord Mallerden is a godless, hopeless, faithless,
man--bound hand and foot to the footstool of the despotic, cruel
monster--the Jesuit who has now his foot upon the English throne. He is
a Papist, fiercer, bitterer, crueller, because he has no belief neither
in priest nor pope--but he is ambitious, reckless, base, a courtier. He
prideth himself in his shame, and says he has openly professed. It is to
please the hypocritical master he serves. And he boasts that our late
king--defender of the faith--was shrived on his deathbed by a Popish
friar."

"I cannot believe it, my lady."

"You are a good man--a good simple man, Master Willis," she said; and
although the words of her designation were above my deserts, seeing that
simplicity and goodness are the great ornaments of the Christian
character, still the tone in which she spoke did not pertake of the
nature of a compliment, and I bowed, but made no observation in reply.

"But it needs men of other minds in these awful times which I see
approaching--men of firmness, men of boldness--yea, who can shed blood
and shudder not; for great things are at stake."

"I trust not, my lady--albeit the shedding of blood"----

"I know, is generally condemned; yet be there texts which make it
imperative, and I think I foresee that the occasion for giving them
forth is at hand. All means in their power they will try; yes, though
James of York has been but four days a king, he had already made
perquisition for such as may be useful to him, not in settling the crown
upon his head, but in carrying off this people and kingdom, a bound
sacrifice to the blind idol which he worshippeth at Rome. You know not
the history of that man; no, nor of my son. Alas! that a mother's lips
should utter such words about her own flesh and blood! The one of them I
tell you is a bigot, a pursuer, a persecutor--the other a sensualist, a
Gallio, a tool. For many years he has never beheld his mother's face; he
married in his youth; he injured, deserted, yea, he killed his wife--not
with his own hand or with the dagger, but by the surer weapons of
hatred, neglect, unkindness. And she died. He has but one child; that
child was left in charge of my honoured and loving daughter, the Lady
Pevensey of Notts, and hath been brought up in a Christian manner; but
now, he--this man of Belial--wishes to get this infant in his own hands;
nay, he boldly has made a demand of her custody both on me and Pevensey,
my daughter. We will not surrender her; he is now great and powerful.
The king will back his efforts with all the weight of the crown; and we
have considered, if we could confide the persecuted dove to the hands of
some assured friend--some true son of our holy church--some steady,
firm-hearted, strong-nerved man, who in such cause would set lord and
king at defiance"----

Here she paused, and looked upon me with her eyes dilated, and her
nostrils panting with some great thought which was within her; and I
availed myself of the pause to say--

"Oh, my lady! if you did mean me for such charge, I confess my
deficiency for such a lofty office; for I do feel in me no stirrings of
an ambitious spirit. Sufficient is it for me to take care of the
innocent flock committed to my care, in the performance of which charge
I have the approbation of my own heart, and also, I make bold to hope
it, of your ladyship, seeing that I have instructed them in the true
principles both of faith and practice; and although there are
shortcomings in them all, by reason the answers in the Catechism are not
adapted to the capacities of the younger ones, especially of Charles,
(who, notwithstanding, has abilities and apprehensions above his years,)
yet are they all embued with faithful doctrine, from Alice Snowton,
which is the most advanced in stature, to the honourable Master
Fitzoswald, which is somewhat deficient in growth, being only three
inches taller than my little Charles."

The great lady looked at me while I spoke, and made no answer for long
time. At last she said with a sort of smile, which at the same time was
not hilarious or jocular in its nature--

"Perhaps 'tis better as it is. There is a providence in all things, and
our plans and proposals are all overruled for the best--for which may
God be praised! Therefore I will press you no more on the subject of the
guardianship of my grandchild. But Mallerden will move heaven and earth
to get her into his power--yes, though he has neglected her so long,
never caring to see her since her childhood; yet now, when he sees
'twill gain him the treasurership of the royal household to sell the
greatest heiress and noblest blood in England to the Papists, he will
make traffic of his own child, and marry her to some prayer-mumbler to a
wooden doll. Let us save her, good sir--but I forgot. No--I will save
her myself. I, that have steered her through so many quicksands, will
not let her make shipwreck at last. I will guard her like the apple of
my eye, and possess my soul in patience until this tyranny be overpast."
And so ended the interview, during which my heart was tossed to and fro
with the utmost agitation, and my whole frame so troubled that I various
times lost all mastery of myself, and only saw before me a great black
gulf of ruin, into which some invisible power was pushing me and all my
little ones. Great, therefore, was my delight, and sweet the relief to
my soul, when the great lady left me unconnected with her quarrels. For,
in the crash of such contending powers, there was no chance of escape
for such a weak instrument as I was; and fervent were my hopes, and deep
my prayers, that the perils and evils prognosticated by the religious
fears of my great protectress might be turned aside, and all good
subject and sincere churchmen left each under his own vine and his own
fig-tree, with nobody to make them afraid. But vain are the hopes of
men. We read in no long time in all men's looks the fate we were
condemned to; for it seemed as if a great cloud, filled with God's
wrath, was spread out over this realm of England, and the faces of all
men grew dark. We heard the name of Jeffreys whispered in corners, and
trembled as if it had been a witch's spell to make our blood into water.
The great lady kept herself much in solitude in the ancient Court, and
saw not even her favourite companion, my daughter Waller, for many
months; but did ever write affectionate letters to her, and sent
presents of rich fruits, and other delectations in which the young take
pleasure. There was much riding to and fro of couriers, but whither, or
whence, she did never tell, and it was not my province to enquire; but
at last an order came for me to send up my Waller and her friend to the
mansion. And at evening they were conveyed on horseback as before; but
on this occasion their escort was not Master Wilkinson the under butler,
but no less a person than my lady's kinsman, the senior brother of my
honourable pupil, the honourable Master Fitzoswald of Yorkshire, a
stately young cavalier as could be seen, strong and tall, and his style
and title was the Lord Viscount Lessingholm--being the eldest son and
heir to that ancient earldom. He was an amiable and pleasant gentleman,
full of courtesies and kindness, and particularly pleased with the
newfangled fashion of a handsome cap which formed the headpiece of my
excellent wife. He said also many handsome things about the brightness
of my Waller's eyes, and assured my excellent wife that he saw so
promising an outsprout of talent in my Charles, that he doubted not to
see him one of the judges of the realm, if so be he applied his
intellectuals to the bar. He was also extreme civil to Alice Snowton,
which answered his civilities in like manner; and seldom in so short a
space as half an hour has any person made so favourable an impression as
he did, particularly on his brother, by reason of his bestowing on him a
large Spanish doubloon, and promising him a delicate coloured maneged
horse immediately on his return to Yorkshire. It is a pleasant sight to
see (and reflected some credit on my ministration of the moralities in
this particular instance) the disinterested love of brethren, one
towards another, and I failed not to ascertain that the Lord Lessingholm
had been boarded in the house of an exemplary divine, to wit, Mr Savage
of Corpus Christi College, Oxford--a fact which I think it proper to
mention to the honour of that eloquent member of our church--inasmuch
as any man might be proud of having had the training up in the way he
should go, of so excellent and praiseworthy a youth.

It was many days before my young ones came back, (I would be understood
to include in this Alice Snowton, whom I looked upon with the tenderness
of a father and the pride of a teacher all in one;) and when they
returned to me, I thought I perceived that they were both more sorrowful
than of wont. Alice (and my Waller also) looked oppressed with some
secret that weight upon their hearts, and I was fearful the great lady
had made them partakers of her cares in the matter of her son and her
grandchild. Yet did I not think such a thing possible as that either of
them should have been taken into her confidence on so high and momentous
a concernment, by reason of my Waller being so young, though thoughtful
and considerate, and also fuller grown than persons much more advanced
in life; and Alice Snowton was of so playful and gentle a disposition,
that she seemed unfitted for the depository of any secret, unless those
more strictly appertaining to her youth and sex, and moreover was a
stranger to this part of the country, being of a respectable family, as
I have observed, in Wilts--namely, a brother of Mr Snowton, my kind
patron and friend. I called them into my study, after my labours were
over with the other pupils, and I said to them--

"Dear children, ill would it become me to pry into the secrets of my
honoured lady, the Lady Mallerden; yet may there arise occasions wherein
it is needful for one in my situation, (parent to the one of you, and
_in loco parentis_ to the other,) to make perquisition into matters of
weight and importance to your well-being, even at the risk of appearing
inquisitive into other peoples' affairs. Answer me, therefore, Alice, my
dear child, has the Lady Mallerden instructed you in any portion of her
family story?"

"She has in some degree, Sir," said Alice Snowton, "but not deeply."

"You know of her disagreement on certain weighty points with her son,
the Lord Viscount, and how that he is a wicked man, seeking to break
into the pasture of the Lord, and tear down the hedges and destroy the
boundaries thereof; and that in this view he is minded to get his
daughter into his power, to use her as an instrument towards his
temporal elevation?"

"Something of all this we have heard, but not much," said Alice Snowton.

"And furthermore, I must tell you that overtures were made to me to aid
and assist in the resistance to be offered to this man of sin, and I
did, for deep and wholesome reasons, refuse my assent thereto, and in
this refusal I meant you, my children, to be included; therefore,
whatever propositions may be made to you, to hear, or know, or receive,
or in any manner aid, in the concealment of the Lord Viscount's
daughter--which is at present in charge of an honourable lady in the
north--I charge you, refuse them; they may bring ruin on an unambitious
and humble household, and in no case can do good. We must fear God ever,
and honour the king while he is entrusted with the sword of power; and
family arrangements we must leave to the strong hands and able head of
the great Lady Mallerden herself. In this caution I know I fulfil the
intentions of my honoured friend, your esteemed uncle, Mr William
Snowton, which is concerned with too many noble families to desire to
get into enmity with any--and therefore be grateful for all the kindness
you experience from my honoured lady; but if perchance she brings her
grandchild to the Court, and wishes to make you of her intimates, inform
me thereof; and greatly as it would be to be regretted, I would break
off the custom of your visits to the noble house, for even that honour
may be too dearly purchased by the enmity of powerful and unscrupulous
men--if with sceptres in their hands, so much the more to be held in
awe." And I ended with Æsopus his fable of the frogs and bulls. This
discourse (whereof I had prepared the heads in the course of the
morning) I delivered with the full force of my elocution, and afterwards
I dismissed them, leaving to my excellent wife the duty of enlarging on
the same topic, and also of giving such advice to Alice, which was now
a full grown young woman, and very fair to look on, in respect of the
young cavaliers she might see at the great house, particularly the noble
lord, the Lord Lessingholm. Such advice I considered useless in regard
to my Waller, she being only about fourteen years of age, but in other
respects a fair and womanly creature to see; for her waist was nearly
twice as large as Alice Snowton's, and her shoulders also, and in weight
she would have been greatly an overmatch; and certes, putting aside all
parental fondness, which we know to be such a beautifier of one's own
kindred as to make the crow a more lovely animal than the dove, (in the
eyes of the parent crow,) I will confess that in my estimation, and also
in that of my excellent wife, there was no comparison between the two
fair maidens, either in respect of fulness of growth or redness of
complexion, the advantage being, in both these respects, on the side of
the junior. Some sentiment of this sort I saw at the time must have
possessed the honourable breast of the Viscount Lessingholm; for
although he made much profession of visiting at the parsonage for the
sake of seeing his juvenile brother, still there were certain looks and
tokens whereby I was clearly persuaded that the magnet was of a
different kind; and whereas it would have been vain and ambitious in me
to lift my eyes so high, in view of matrimonial proposals, as to nearly
the topmost branch in the peerage of England, (the Earls Fitzoswald
being known to have been barons of renown at the period of the Norman
Conquest;) still it would ill have become me to prevent my daughter from
gathering golden apples if they fell at her feet, because they had grown
on such a lofty bough of the tree; and I will therefore confess, that it
was with no little gratification I saw the unfoldings of a pure and
virtuous disposition in the honourable young nobleman. And I will
further state, that it seemed as if his presence when he came, (and that
was often, nay, sometimes twice in one day,) did make holiday in the
whole house; and Charles was by no means backward in his
friendship--receiving the fishing-rods presented unto him by the right
honourable with so winning an eagerness, and pressing Alice (his
constant friend) to go with him and the noble donor with so much zeal to
the brook, therein to try the virtues of the gift, that I found it
impossible to refuse permission; and therefore did those three often
consume valuable hours, (yet also I hope not altogether
wasted)--_videlicet_, Alice and Charles, and the honourable Viscount--in
endeavouring to catch the finny tribe, yet seldom with much success. But
whatever was the result of their industry--yea, though it was but a
minnow--it was brought and presented to my Waller by the honourable
hands of the young man, with so loving an air, that it was easy to
behold how gladly he would have consented, if she had been the companion
of their sports, if by any means Charles could have been persuaded to
have exchanged Alice Snowton for her. But the very mention of such an
idea did throw the child into such wrathful indignation, that the right
honourable was fain to bestow on him whole handfuls of sugar-plums, and
promise that Alice should not be left behind. So fared the time away;
and at last I began to hope that the fears of the great lady were
unfounded, and that nothing would occur to trouble her repose. The
manner of living had been resumed again, with the difference that, on
the days the young maidens did not visit the noble mansion, the
honourable viscount was, as it were, domiciled in the parsonage; and I
perceived that, by this arrangement, the great lady was highly pleased;
perhaps because the presence of a kinsman, a courageous gentleman, gave
her some security against the rudenesses she seemed to be afraid of on
the part of her own son--a grievous state of human affairs when the
fifth commandment is not held in honour, and reducing us below the level
of puppy-dogs and kittens, to whom that commandment, along with the rest
of the decalogue, is totally unknown. Sundry times I did observe
symptoms of alarm; and care did write a sad story of mental suffering on
the brow of the great lady, which was a person of the magnanimity of an
ancient matron, and bore up in a manner surprising to behold in one who
stood, as it were, with one hand upon her coffin, while her other
stretched backward through the shadow of fourscore years to touch her
cradle. And ever, from time to time, couriers came to the noble mansion,
while others flew in various directions on swift horses at utmost speed;
and looking up into that lofty atmosphere, we saw clouds and ominous
signs of coming storms, before we could hear the voice of the thunder.
And once a royal messenger (called a pursuivant-at-arms) came down in
person, and carried the great lady to London, and there she stayed many
days, and was threatened with many things and great punishments, yea,
even to be tried by the Lord Jeffreys for high treason, in resisting the
king's order to deliver up her grandchild to its natural guardian--which
was its father, the Viscount Mallerden, now created by royal favour
Marquis of Danfield. But even this last danger she scorned; and after
months of confinement near the royal court, her enemies gave up
persecuting her for that season, and at last she came back to Mallerden
Court. In the meanwhile, we went on in a quiet and comfortable manner in
the parsonage--the Viscount Lessingholm frequently with us, (almost as
if he were a pupil of the house;) and on one or two occasions we had a
visit for an evening from my honoured friend, Mr William Snowton of
Wilts. He was pleased to use great commendations, both of my excellent
wife and me, for the mode in which we attended to the mind and manners
of his niece, the culinary and other accomplishments, and the rational
education wherein he saw her advanced. He never stayed later than
day-dawn on the following morning, and kept himself reserved, as one
used to the intimacy of the great, and not liking to make his news
patent to humble people such as we; and he would on no account open his
mouth on the quarrels of our great lady and her son, the new Marquis of
Danfield, but kept the conversation in equable channels of everyday
matters, and expounded how my glebe lands might be made to yield a
greater store of provision by newer modes of cultivation--the which I
considered, however, a tampering with Providence, which gives to every
field its increase, and no more. But by this time my glebe was not the
only land on which I could plant my foot and say, Lo, thou art mine! for
I had so prospered in the five years during which I had held a ladder
for my pupils to the tree of knowledge, that much golden fruit had
fallen to my share, (being kicked down, as it were, by their climbing
among the branches;) so that I had purchased the fee simple of the
estate of my friend, Master George Sprowles, who had taken some alarm at
the state of public affairs, and gone away over the seas to the
plantation called, I think, Massachusets, in the great American
continent.

It was in the beginning of October 1688, that another call was made on
the great lady to make her appearance within a month from that time in
the city of London, to give a final answer for her contumacy in refusing
obedience to the King and the lord high Treasurer. I felt in hopes the
object of their search (namely, the young maiden his daughter, for it
was bruited they rummaged to find her out in all directions) was safe
with some foreign friends which the great lady possessed in the republic
of Holland, where the Prince of Orange was then the chief magistrate;
but of this I had no certain assurance. For some days no preparations
were made at the noble mansion for so momentous a journey; but at length
there were great signs of something being in prospect. First of all, the
Viscount Lessingholm rode up from Yorkshire, whither he had been gone
three weeks, attended by near a score of fine dressed serving-men, and
took up his abode at Mallerden Court; then came sundry others of the
great lady's kinsfolk, attended also by their servants in stately
liveries; and we did expect that the proud imperial-minded lady was to
go up with such great escort as should impress the king with a just
estimate of her power and dignity. With this expectation we kept to
ourselves ready to see the noble procession when it should start on its
way; but far other things were in store for me, and an instrument called
a pea-spitter, wherewith Charles had provided himself for the purpose
of saluting various of the serving-men as they passed, was rendered
useless. It was on the first day of November that the Lord Viscount
Lessingholm, (who had conveyed the young maidens, _videlicet_ Alice
Snowton and my Waller, to the Court on the previous day,) did ride post
haste up to my door, making his large grey horse jump over the gate at
the end of the walk, as if he had been Perseus flying on his winged
steed to the rescue of Andromede, (as the same is so elegantly described
in the ancient poet,) and did summon me to go that moment to the noble
mansion on matter of the highest import. Much marvelling, and greatly
out of breath, I followed the noble gentleman's motions as rapidly as
was beseeming one of my responsible situation, in regard to the
spiritual ministrations in the parish, while in sight of any of my
flock; for nothing detracts more from the dignity of the apostolical
character than rapid motions--such as running, or jumping, or an
unordered style of apparel, without hatband or cassock. When out of the
village street, I put (as the vulgar phrase expresses it) my best foot
foremost, and enacted the part of a running serving-man in the track of
my noble conductor; and finally I arrived, in such state as may be
conceived, at the entrance-hall of the noble mansion. In the court-yard
were numerous serving-men mounted in silent gravity, and ranged around
the wall. Each man was wrapped up in a dark-coloured cloak; and
underneath it I saw, depending from each, the clear polished extremity
of a steel sword-sheath. They did bear their reins tightened, and their
heels ornamented with spurs, as if ready to spring forth at a word, and
great tribulation came over my soul. Howbeit I mounted the grand
staircase, and, following the western corridor, I opened the door of the
green-damask withdrawing-room, and found myself in the middle of a large
and silent company. There were, perhaps, a dozen persons there
assembled--motionless in their chairs; and at the further end of the
apartment sat the great lady in whispered conversation with a tall dark
gentleman of mature years, say fifty or thereabouts, and with a wave of
her hand, having instructed me to be seated, she pursued her colloquies
in the same under tones as before. When I had placed myself in a chair,
and was in somewhat recovering my breath, which much hurrying and the
surprising scene I saw had greatly impaired, a hand was laid upon my
shoulder, and I turned round, and, sitting in the next chair to me, I
beheld my honoured friend Mr William Snowton of Wilts.

"Good Master Willis," he said, "you little expected to see me here, I do
well believe; but it was but lately I was summoned."

"And know you wherefore we are here assembled?" I enquired.

"Somewhat I know, but not all. The persons here be men of great power,
some of them being those by whom I am employed in managing their worldly
affairs, and shortly we shall hear what is determined on."

"On what subject do they mean to consult us? I shall be ready," said I,
"to give what advice may be needed, if peradventure it suits with my
sacred calling."

"I fear they will hardly consult a person of your holy profession," said
Mr Snowton with a sober kind of smile. "It is of life or death we are
now to take our choice."

A great fear fell upon me, as a great shadow falls upon the earth before
a thunder storm. "What mean ye?" I whispered. "There is no shedding of
blood."

"There will be _much_ shedding of blood, good Master Willis; yea, the
rivers in England will run red with the same, unless some higher power
interferes to deliver us."

"And wherefore am I summoned to such fearful conference? I am no man of
blood. I meddle not with lofty matters. I"----

But here I was interrupted by Mr Snowton in a low grave tone. "Then you
have not heard that the wicked man of sin, the false Papist, the Marquis
of Danfield, hath discovered his child?"

"No, I have not been informed thereof. And hath he gained possession of
her?"

"No, nor shall not!" and hereupon he frowned a great frown, and let his
sword-sheath strike heavily upon the floor. All the company looked
sharply round; but seeing it was by hazard, they took no notice of what
occurred.

"And where, then, is the maiden bestowed?" I demanded.

"In this house; you shall see her soon."

"And what have I to do with these matters? They are above my
concernment!" I exclaimed, in great anguish of mind.

"You have to unite her in the holy bands of wedlock."

"Nay, that is clearly impossible! Where, I pray thee, is the license?"

"All that has been cared for by means of a true bishop of our church.
There can be no scruple on canonical grounds; and if there be hesitation
in obeying the Lady Mallerden's orders, (provided she finally takes up
her mind to deliver the same,) I would not answer for the recusant's
life, no, not for an hour."

"But wherefore in such secrecy, with such haste?" I said, in dreadful
sort.

"Because we know that the father slept at Oxford last night with store
of troops, and that he will be here this night with a royal warrant to
enforce his right to the bestowal of his child; and he hath already
promised her to the leader of the malignant Papists."

"And are we here to resist the king's soldiers and the mandate of the
king?"

"Yea, to the death!" he said, and sank into gloomy thoughts and said no
more.

I looked around among the assembly, and recognized no other faces that I
knew, and in a short space the great lady, having finished her colloquy
with her next neighbour, rose up and said--"My lords, I believe ye be
all of kin to this house, and the other gentlemen be its friends--a
falling house, as represented by a feeble woman of fourscore years and
five. Yet in the greatness of the cause, may we securely expect a gift
of strength even to so frail an instrument as I am. I have consulted
with you all, and finally have taken counsel with my kind cousin and
sweet friend, the Earl of Fitzoswald, now at my side, and he hath agreed
to what I have proposed. It now, then, but remains to carry our project
into effect; and for that purpose I have summoned hither a good man and
excellent divine, Master Willis of this neighbourhood, to be efficacious
in that behalf."

I started up, and said in great agitation--"Oh, my lady!"--but had not
proceeded further when I was broken in upon by a voice of thunder--

"Silence, I say! What, is it for the frailness of a reed like you that
such noble enterprise must perish? Make no remonstrance, sir, but do
what is needed, or"----

Although the great lady did not finish her words, I felt an assurance
steal like ice over my soul that my hours were numbered if I hesitated,
and I bowed low, while Mr William Snowton did privily pull me down into
my seat by the hinder parts of my cassock.

"You--you, Master Willis, of all men, should least oppose this godly
step. For the noise thereof will sound unto the ends of the earth, and
make the old Antichrist on his seven hills quake and tremble, and shake
the pitiful spirit of the apostate of Whitehall. Say I not well, my
lords?"

"You say well," ran round the room in a murmur of consent.

"And you--you, Master Willis," she went on, "least of all, should object
to keep a lamb within the true fold--yea, a lamb which you did see with
your own eyes introduced into the same. Remember you nought of godly
Master Waller's in Berkshire, or of the scene you saw in a certain
chamber, where the baptismal waters were poured forth, and murmured like
a pleasant fountain in the dying ears of a devout Christian woman?"

I was so held back with awe that I said not a word, and she went on--

"Oh, if good Master Lees had yet been spared, we should not have asked
for the ministry of trembling and unwilling hands like yours! And now,
my lords--and you, kind gentlemen, my plan as arranged with good Lord
Fitzoswald is this:--I give my grandchild's hand where her heart has
long been bestowed; I then go with her through lanes and byways; under
good escort, to the city of Exeter, where erelong we shall cast in our
lot with certain friends. The bridegroom shall see nought of his bride
till happier days arrive, except at this altar; and you shall go
directly to your respective stations, and be ready at the first blowing
of the horns before which the walls of this Jericho are to fall. In the
next chamber I have made preparation for the ceremony, and in a few
minutes, when I have arranged me for the journey, I will summon you."

Something of this I heard--the sense namely forced its way into my
brain; but I was confused and panic-stricken. The whole sad scene
enacted so many years before, at the house of good Master Waller, on my
way home from Oxford, came back upon my heart, and I marvelled at the
method whereby the great lady had acquired a knowledge of the secret. I
was deep sunk in these cogitations when the door of the inner library
was at last thrown open, and such light flashed upon us from the
multitude of candles, which were illuminated in all parts of the
chamber, that my eyes were for some time dazzled. When I came to myself
I looked, and at a table under the eastern window, on which was spread
out a golden-clasped prayer-book, opened at the form of solemnization of
matrimony, I saw, along with two young men of about his own age, (all
girt with swords, and booted and spurred,) the right honourable the
Viscount Lessingholm, which I at once concluded was acting as
bridegroom's man to one of the other youths. The company, which had been
assembled in the withdrawing-room, placed themselves gravely, as if some
solemn matter was in hand, at the side of the table; and I took my place
by a motion from the Earl Fitzoswald, and laid my hand upon the
prayer-book, as ready to begin. The door at the other end of the room,
which leadeth to the outer staircase, was opened, and there came
noiselessly in a tall woman, dressed in the same fantastical apparel,
like the apparel of the Bohemians or gipsies, which I remembered so well
on the fatal night of the christening; and, when she cast her eyes on
me, I could not have thought an hour had passed since that time, and I
recognised in her, with awe and wonderment, the features of the great
lady, the Lady Mallerden herself. In each hand she led a young person,
in her left my daughter Waller, and I will not deny that at the sight my
heart leapt up with strange but not unpleasing emotion, as, remembering
the habitudes of the noble Viscount Lessingholm, I thought there was a
possibility of a double wedding; and in her other hand, dressed as for a
journey, with close fitting riding-coat, and a round hat with sable
feathers upon her head, she conducted Alice Snowton, the which looked
uncommon lovely, though by no means so healthy or stout-looking as her
other companion--_videlicet_, my Waller. They walked up to the place
whereat we stood, and the Lord Viscount springing forward, did give his
hand to Alice Snowton, and did not let it go for some time; but looked
upon her with such soft endearing looks that she held down her head, and
a red blush appeared upon her cheek, as if thereupon there had been
reflected the shadow of a rose. For it was not of the deep tinge which
formed the ornament of the complexion of my Waller.

"This is no time for useless dalliance," said the great lady; "let us to
work. By no other means can we root out for ever the hopes of our
enemies."

"Where then, madam," I said, "is the bride?--and who, I pray you, is the
bridegroom?"

"The bridegroom is the Viscount Lessingholm. This maiden is the bride."

"But Alice Snowton, my lady. I did think it was your honourable
grandchild who was to be united to this noble gentleman."

"And so it is--and so it is! She is Alice Snowton no longer. Our good
friend, Master Snowton, the steward on my daughter Pevensey's Wiltshire
manor, was good enough to adopt her as his niece; and for her better
concealment we placed her in the charge of a person whose character for
meekness and simplicity was too notorious to raise suspicion of his
being concerned in such a plot. Even to herself, till lately, her
parentage was unknown, as Master Snowton kept well the secret."

"And one other question," I said; "the child to whom I became bound as
godfather?"

"'Tis the same. This is the poor Lucy Hesseltine, whose orphanship you
witnessed in that lone and yet comfortable death."

The lady Lucy Hesseltine, or rather Alice Snowton, for by that name I
loved her best, did throw her arms about my neck, and kissed my cheek,
and said I had been a kind godfather to her, yea, had been a father to
her, and my excellent wife a mother. At this my heart was much moved,
and I saw tears come to the eyes of several of the bystanders, but no
tear came to the eyes of the great lady herself.

"Let this be enough," she said. "Let us finish what we have yet to do."

And thereupon, all being ready and in their due places, I began; but
when I came to the question--"Lucy Hesseltine, wilt thou have this man
to be thy lawful husband?"--a sudden noise in the court-yard under the
window made me pause; but the great lady commanded me with a frown to go
on, and I concluded the question, and received in reply a sweet but
audible "yes." But the noise was again repeated, and the assistants
sprang to their feet, for it was the sound of the sharp shooting off of
pistols.

"Stir not for your lives till the ceremony is over!" cried the great
lady; and I hurried with trembling lips over the remainder of the
service. A loud voice in the yard was heard amid the trampling of much
horse. "In the king's name, surrender!" the voice said. "We have a
warrant here, and soldiers!"

"For as much as Frederick and Lucy Hesseltine," (I said as calmly as I
could, though with my heart quaking within me) "have consented together
in holy wedlock, and have witnessed the same before God and this
company, and thereto have given and pledged their troth either to other,
and have declared the same by giving and receiving of a ring, and by
joining of hands--I pronounce that they be man and wife together!"

"Now then, my lords and gentlemen," cried the great lady, springing to
her feet, "to the defence! We are witnesses of this marriage, and
clashing swords must play the wedding peel. If need be, fear not in such
quarrel to do your best; yea, to the shedding of blood! Though the blood
were my son's, it were well shed in such a holy cause. Now then, Lucy,
come! Guard the front entrance but an hour, and we shall be beyond
pursuit."

And so saying she glided rapidly, with the nearly fainting bride,
towards the hidden stairs, while Viscount Lessingholm rushed rapidly
with drawn sword down the grand flight, and sprang on his grey horse. In
the confusion my Waller had disappeared, and in great agonies of fear I
slipped into the court-yard. Oh, what a sight met my eyes! There were
several men lying dead, which had been shot or otherwise killed, and
their horses were galloping hither and thither with loose reins and
stirrups flapping; other men were groaning, and writhing in great pains,
tearing the ground with bleeding hands, and dragging themselves, if such
were possible, away from the _mêlée_. Meanwhile, horsemen drawn up on
either side were doing battle with sword and pistol; and the trampling
and noise of the shouting, the groans and deep execrations, all
resounding at once in that atmosphere of smoke and approaching night,
were fearful to listen to, and I bethought me of some way of escape. I
slipped within the piazza of the servants' court, and made my way
towards the gate; but here the battle raged the fiercest, the noble
Viscount Lessingholm being determined to keep it closed, and the furious
Marquis resolute to force it open, whereby an accession of men might
come to him which were shut out on the other side--the warder of the
door having only admitted the marquis himself, and about fifty of the
king's dragoons. The retainers which I had seen on my entrance amounted
to seventy or more; and seeing they had most of them been soldiers, yea,
some which had grizzled locks, having been among the shouters at Dunbar,
and on many fields besides, under the cruel eye of the ferocious Oliver
himself, they did cry "Ha, ha! at the spear of the rider, and smelt the
battle afar off." The Marquis of Danfield did spur his black war-horse,
with his sword poised high in air towards the noble Viscount of
Lessingholm, and with fierce cries the noble viscount raised also his
sword, and was in act to strike the undefended head of his assailant.
"Stop, Frederick!" cried a voice, which proceeded from the Earl
Fitzoswald; "it is Danfield himself!" whereupon the young gentleman did
ward off the blow aimed at him by the marquis, and passed on. All this I
saw ere I gave up hopes of getting out by the gate; but seeing this was
hopeless, I pursued my way back again, with intent to get out by one of
the postern windows, and hurry homeward across the fields; and having
opened a window near unto the buttery, I hung by my hands, and then
shutting my eyes and commending my soul to Heaven, I let go, and dropt
safely down upon the greensward. But ere I could recover myself
sufficiently, I was set upon as if I had been an armed enemy, by a large
number of mounted men, which were of the company of the marquis, whereby
I saw that the house was surrounded, and feared the great lady and Alice
(I would say the Viscountess Lessingholm) were intercepted in their
retreat. Howbeit, I gave myself up prisoner, by reason of various blows
with the flats of sabres, and sundry monitions to surrender or die. I
was led in great fear to the front of the court, and brought before a
proud, fierce-browed commander, which interrogated me "of all that was
going on, and whether the Lady Lucy Mallerden was in the Court?" Whereto
I answered, that I was so overcome with terror that I knew little of
what I had seen, and, with regard to the noble lady, I was persuaded she
was not within the walls. "If you answer me," he said, "truly, and tell
me what road she has taken, I will send you away in safety, and secure
you his majesty's pardon for any thing you may have done against his
crown and dignity; but if you refuse, I will assuredly hang you on the
court-yard gate the moment we gain possession thereof. Now, say which
way went they?" I was sore put to it, for it was like betraying innocent
blood to tell these savage men the course my godchild pursued in her
escape; and yet to tell an untruth was repugnant to my nature, and I
said to the captain, "It is a hard matter for me to point out where my
friends are fleeing unto."

"Then you'll be hung as high as Haman at daybreak; so you can take your
choice," said he.

"If I direct you unto the place whereunto she is gone," I said, "it will
be a hard matter to find her."

"That's our business, not yours. Tell us where it is."

"For, suppose she were in hiding in a city, a large busy place like
Bristol, and waited for a conveyance to a foreign land"----

"In Bristol! Oho, say no more! Ensign Morley, take ten of the best
mounted of the troop and scour the northern roads towards Bristol. You
will overtake them ere they are far advanced."

"I pray you, captain," I said, "to observe--I have not told you she is
gone towards Bristol."

"I know you haven't," he said smiling, "I will bear witness you have
kept her secret well; but here we are about to enter the Court, for the
firing is finished. The rebels will be on gibbets within twenty-four
hours, every one."

But there was no sign of the gate being opened. Contrariwise there did
appear, in the dimness of the evening-sky, certain dark caps above the
outside wall, which I did recognize as being worn by the serving-men of
the great lady's friends; and while we were yet talking a flight of
bullets passed close over our heads, and three or four of the troopers
fell off dead men, leaving their saddles empty and their horses
masterless.

"Draw close my men," cried the captain, "right wheel;" and setting his
men an example, he did gallop with what speed he might from the
propinquity of the wall. As for myself, I was in some sort relieved by
the knowledge that the noble mansion still continued in possession of
the Viscount Lessingholm; and comforting myself with the assurance that
no evil could befall my daughter Waller while under his protection, I
did contrive to seize by the bridle one of the dragoons' horses, (a
stout black horse, which, being never claimed, did do my farming work
for fifteen years,) and, climbing up into the saddle, betook me home to
inform my excellent wife of all these dreadful events. All next day, and
all the next--yea, for three whole days--I stayed in my quiet home,
receiving information quietly by means of a note brought to me by my
servants, that the mansion still held out, that Waller was quite safe,
and that, provided no artillery was brought to bear against them, that
they could hold out _till the time came_. What was the meaning of the
latter phraseology, I did not know; but considering it desirable at that
period to cut down certain trees on my recently purchased estate, I
proceeded with Thomas Hodge the carpenter, and various other artificers
of my parishioners, (all being friends and dependents of the great
lady,) and with saws and other instruments did level the whole row of
very large oaks and elm trees which bordered the only high-road from
Oxford; and, by some strange accident, all the trees did fall exactly
across the same, and made it utterly impossible to move thereupon with
cart or waggon; so that it was much to be suspected that the guns, which
we heard were ordered to come up from Wallingford, could by no means get
over the obstruction. It is also to be observed that Master George
Railsworth, the mason, who had contracted to repair the strong bridge
over our stream, did take this opportunity of taking down two of the
arches of the same, and could find no sufficient assistance to enable
him to restore them, which made the road impassable for horse or man. On
the following day, namely, the fifth day of November, we heard that all
the king's soldiers were suddenly ordered from all parts up to London,
and that the Marquis of Danfield had been left to his imprisonment in
Mallerden Court. Whereupon I bethought me it would be safe to venture up
once more, and bring my daughter Waller to the securer custody of my
excellent wife. Next morning, at early dawn, I accordingly did go up,
and was admitted, after a short parley, by the gate-keeper, which had a
helmet on his head and a sword in his hand. Speedily I was in the arms
of my daughter Waller, who looked as happy as if none of these scenes
had been transacted before her eyes; and moreover did refuse, in very
positive terms, to leave the Court till her dear friend Alice--I would
say the Lady Lucy--returned. I reasoned with her, and reprimanded her,
and showed her in what a fearful state of danger we all were, by reason
of the rebellion we had been guilty of against his majesty the king.
Whereupon the child did only laugh, and told me, "Here she would abide
until the time came." And with this enigmatical expression I was fain to
be content; for she would vouchsafe me no other. And, corroborative of
all which, she said, she relied on the assurances made unto her to that
effect by Sir Walter Ouseley, one of the young gentlemen which had acted
as bridegroom's man to the noble Viscount Lessingholm, and was now in
the Court as his lieutenant in the defence of the same. A goodly young
gentleman he was, and fair to look upon, and extraordinary kind to me,
soothing my fears, and encouraging me to hope for better things than
those my terrors made me anticipate. I enquired of the behavings of the
Marquis of Danfield, and learned to my surprise that it was expected
that before this day was over, if he did receive a courier, as was
thought, from the Lord Churchill, one of the king's favourite officers,
he would withdraw all his objections to the marriage, and rather be an
encourager and advocate of the same. In these discourses the time passed
away, and about three of the clock, after we had dined in the great
hall, we were looking out from the battlements and saw a dust on the
western road.

"It is Churchill's letter," said the noble Viscount Lessingholm, "and he
has kept his promise for once."

"There is too much dust for only one courier's heels--there be twenty in
company at least," replied Sir Walter Ouseley, which had the arm of my
Waller closely locked in his.

"There may be a surprise intended," cried the noble viscount. "Hoist the
flag, man the walls, treble the watchers, and sound for the men into the
yard."

We of the peaceful professions--_videlicet_, my daughter Waller and
I--did descend from the bartizan, and betook ourselves to the great
withdrawing room, to wait for the result of the approach. We had not
waited long when the door opened, and no other than the great lady
herself, and my loved and lovely godchild, the Viscountess Lessingholm,
came into the apartment. The great lady was now appareled as became her
rank, having discarded those Bohemian habiliments which were her
disguise in times of danger. Oh! it was a great sight to behold, the
meeting between the Lady Lucy and my daughter Waller; but when hurried
steps sounded on the stairs, and the door opened, and the noble viscount
rushed into her arms, it was impossible to keep from tears. My feeble
pen can venture on no such lofty flights of description, and therefore I
will not attempt it. Meanwhile, in the outer court, great shouting was
heard. Sir Walter Ouseley came up to us, and announced that the Marquis
of Danfield "presented his respects to his noble mother, and
congratulated her on the glorious news."

"I knew how it would be," she said, "with base natures such as his and
Churchill's. We accept their assistance, but despise the instrument. He
will now be fierce against his benefactor, (who, though a bad king, was
tender to his friends,) and bitterer against his faith than if he had
never been either a courtier or a bigot. I receive his congratulations,
Sir Walter Ouseley, but I decline an interview for some time to come."

"He desired me also, my lady," said Sir Walter, "to convey his blessing
to the bride, and his tender love to his new son, the Viscount
Lessingholm."

"Well, let them not reject it. The blessing even of such a father has
its value. But we must now make preparation, for the celebration of the
happy nuptials, in a style fitting the rank of the parties. The prince
is pleased with what we have done"----

The young man, Sir Walter Ouseley, who had been whispering in my ear,
here broke in on the great lady's speech.

"If it would please you, madam, at the same time, to permit two others
to be happy, I have obtained Master Willis's consent thereto, and also
the consent of this fair maiden."

The viscountess took Waller in her arms, and kissed her cheek, and the
great lady smiled.

"I knew not, Sir Walter Ouseley, that you were so perfect a soldier as
to sustain an attack and lay siege at the same time; but since in both
you have been successful, I give you my hearty good wishes. And so, dear
friends and true supporters, let us be thankful for the great
deliverance wrought for this land and nation, as well as for ourselves.
Our defender, the noble William, landed three days ago at Torbay, and is
now in Hampton Court. The king has taken flight, never to be restored.
Therefore, God save the Prince of Orange and the Lady Mary, the props
and ornaments of a true Protestant throne!"




BEAU BRUMMELL.{A}


All things change; ours is the age of masses and classes, the last was
the age of individuals. Half a dozen remarkable men then represented the
London world, in politics, poetry, bon-mots, dining out, and gaming.
Pitt and Fox, the Dukes of Queensberry and Norfolk, Sheridan and General
Scott, were the substitutes for mankind in the great metropolis. George
Brummell was the last of the beaus. The flame of beauism was expiring;
but it flamed in its socket brighter than ever, and Beau Brummell made a
more conspicuous figure in the supreme _bon-ton_ of elegant absurdity,
than any or all his predecessors. The only permanent beau on earth is
the American savage. The Indians, who have been lately exhibiting their
back-wood deformities in our island at shilling a-head, were prodigious
dressers; Greek taste might probably have dissented from their
principles of costume, but there could be no doubt of the study of their
decoration. Their _coiffeur_ might not altogether supersede either the
Titus or the Brutus in the eye of a Parisian, but it had evidently been
twisted on system; and if their drapery in general might startle Baron
Stulz, it evidently cost as dexterous cutting out, and as ambitious
tailoring, as the most _recherché_ suit that ever turned a "middling
man" into a figure for Bond Street.

But the charm which is the very soul of European fashion, is scorned by
the Indian. Change--the "Cynthia of the minute," the morning thought and
midnight dream of the dilettanti in human drapery--has no captivation
for the red man. He may like variety in his scalps or his squaws; but
not a feather, not a stripe of yellow on one cheek, or of green on
another, exhibits a sign of the common mutabilities of man. He struts in
the plumes which his fathers wore, is attired in the same nether
garments, exhibits the same head-gear, and decorates his physiognomy
with the sane proportion of white-wash, red-lead, bear's-grease, and
Prussian blue.

Beauism, in England, scarcely goes farther back than the days of Charles
II. It may be said that Elizabeth had her beaux; but the true beau being
an existence of which no man living can discover the use, and which is,
in fact, wholly useless except to his tailor and the caricaturists, the
chevaliers of the time of Queen Bess are not entitled to the honour of
the name. Raleigh, no doubt, was a good dresser; but then he could write
and fight, and was good for something. Leicester is recorded as a superb
dresser; but then he dabbled in statesmanship, war, and love-making, and
of course had not much time on his hands. The Sedleys, Rochesters, and
their compeers, had too much actual occupation, good and bad, to be
fairly ranked among those gossamery ornaments of mankind; they were idle
enough in their hearts for the purpose, but their lives were _not_
shadows, their sole object was _not_ self. They were more nice about
swords than snuff-boxes and, if they were spendthrifts, their profusion
was not limited to a diamond ring or a Perigord pie. They loved, hated,
read, wrote, frolicked and fought; they could frown as well as smile,
and see the eccentricity of their own follies as well as enjoy them. But
the true beau is a _beau-ideal_, an abstraction substantialized only by
the scissors, a concentrated essence of frivolity, infinitely sensitive
to his own indulgence, chill as the poles to the indulgence of all
others; prodigal to his own appetites, never suffering a shilling to
escape for the behoof of others; magnanimously mean, ridiculously wise,
and contemptibly clever; selfishness is the secret, the spring, and the
principle of, _par excellence_, the beau.

In the brief introduction prefixed to the "Life," some of those
individuals who approached closest to perfection of old times are
mentioned. One of those was Sir George Hewitt, on whom Etheridge, the
comic writer, sketched his Sir Fopling Flutter. This beau found a place
in poetry as well as in prose,

    "Had it not better been than thus to roam,
    To stay, and tie the cravat-string at home?
    To strut, look big, strike pantaloon, and swear
    With Hewitt--D----me, There's no action here?"

Wilson followed. He was a personage who first established the fashion of
living by one's wits. Returning from the army in Flanders with forty
shillings in his pocket, he suddenly started into high life in the most
dashing style, eclipsed every body by his equipage, stud, table, and
dress. As he was not known at the gaming-table, conjecture was busy on
the subject of his finances; and he was charitably supposed to have
commenced his career by robbing a Dutch mail of a package of diamonds.
Still he glittered, until involved in a duel with Mississippi Law; the
latter financier, probably jealous of so eminent a rival, ran a rapier
through his body.

The next on the list is Beau Fielding. He was intended for the bar, but
intending himself for nothing, his pursuit was fashion. He set up a
showy equipage, went to court, and led the life of "a man about town."
He was remarkably handsome, attracted the notice of Charles II., and
reigned as the monarch of beauism. He was rapidly ruined, but repaired
his fortune by marrying an heiress. She died; and the beau was duped by
an Englishwoman, whom he married under the idea that she was a Madame
Delaune, a widow of great wealth. Finding out the deception, he cast her
off, and married the Duchess of Cleveland, though in her sixty-first
year. For this marriage he was prosecuted, and found guilty of bigamy.
He then became reconciled to his former wife, and died, in 1712, at the
age of sixty-one. He was the Orlando of the _Tatler_.

Beau Edgeworth lives only in the record of Steele, in the 246th number
of the _Tatler_, as a "very handsome youth who frequented the
coffeehouses about Charing-Cross, and wore a very pretty ribbon with a
cross of jewels on his breast." Beau Nash completes the list of the
ancient heroes, dying in 1761, at the age of eighty-eight--a man of
singular success in his frivolous style; made for a master of the
ceremonies, the model of all sovereigns of water-drinking places; absurd
and ingenious, silly and shrewd, avaricious and extravagant. He
_created_ Bath; he taught decency to "bucks," civility to card-players,
care to prodigals, and caution to Irishmen! Bath has never seen his like
again. In English high life, birth is every thing or nothing. Men of the
lowest extraction generally start up, and range the streets arm-in-arm
with the highest. Middle life alone is prohibited to make its approach;
the line of demarcation there is like the gulf of Curtius, not to be
filled up, and is growing wider and wider every day. The line of George
Brummell is like that of the Gothic kings--without a pedigree; like that
of the Indian rajahs--is lost in the clouds of antiquity; and like that
of Romulus--puzzles the sagacious with rumours of original irregularity
of descent. But the most probable existing conjecture is, that his
grandfather was a confectioner in Bury Street, St James's. We care not a
straw about the matter, though the biographer is evidently uneasy on the
subject, doubts the trade, and seems to think that he has thrown a shade
of suspicion, a sort of exculpatory veil over this fatal rumour, by
proving that this grandfather and his wife were both buried, as is shown
by a stone, still to be seen by the curious, in St James's church-yard.
We were not before aware that Christian burial was forbidden to
confectioners. The biographer further adds the convincing evidence of
gentility, that this grandfather was buried within a few feet of the
well-known ribald, Tom Durfey. Scepticism must now hang down its head,
and fly the field.

We come to a less misty and remote period. In the house of this
ancestor, who (_proh dedecus!_) let lodgings, lived Charles Jenkinson,
then holding some nondescript office under government. We still want a
history of that singularly dexterous, shy, silent, and successful man;
who, like Jupiter in Homer, did more by a nod than others by a
harangue--made more as a scene-shifter than any actor on the stage of
Westminster--continually crept on, while whole generations of highfliers
dropped and died; and at length, like a worm at the bottom of a pool,
started up to the surface, put on wings, and fluttered in the sunshine,
Earl of Liverpool! The loss of such a biography is a positive injury to
all students of the art of rising. Jenkinson was struck by the neatness
of the autograph in which "Apartments to be Let" was displayed on the
door; and probably, conscious that the "art of letting" was the true
test of talents, made the young writer his amanuensis, and finally
obtained for him a clerkship in the treasury. He was next in connexion
with Lord North for the twelve years of that witty and blundering
nobleman's unhappy administration, and enjoyed no less than _three
offices_, by which he netted L.2500 a-year. He was abused a good deal by
the party-ink of his time; but the salary enabled him to bear spattering
to any amount, and probably only increased Lord North's sympathy for his
fellow-sufferer, until that noble lord was suffocated in the public
mire.

But after the crush of the minister, the man felt that his day was done;
and he retired to "domestic virtue" as it is termed, took a good house
in the country, enjoyed himself, and in 1794 died, leaving two sons and
a daughter, and L.65,000 among them.

George Bryan Brummell, the second son, was born in June 1778. The
biographer observes characteristically, that the beau avoided the topic
of his genealogical tree with a sacred mystery. It appears that he
avoided with equal caution all mention of the startling fact, that one
of his Christian names was _Bryan_. It never escaped his lips; it never
slipped into his signature; it was never suffered to "come between the
wind and his nobility." If it had by any unhappy chance transpired, he
must have fainted on the spot, have fled from society, and hid his
discomfiture in

    "Deserts where no men abide."

Brummell was a dandy by instinct, a good dresser by the force of
original genius; a first-rate tyer of cravats on the _in_voluntary
principle. When a boy at Eton, in 1790, he acquired his first
distinction not by "longs and shorts," but by the singular nicety of his
stock with a gold buckle, the smart cut of his coat, and his finished
study of manners. Others might see glory only through hexameters and
pentameters; renown might await others only through boating or cricket;
with him the colour of his coat and the cut of his waistcoat were the
materials of fame. Fellows and provosts of Eton might seem to others the
"magnificoes" of mankind--the colossal figures which overtopped the age
by their elevation, or eclipsed it by their splendour--the "dii majorum
gentium," who sat on the pinnacle of the modern Olympus; but Brummell
saw nothing great but his tailor--nothing worthy of respect among the
human arts but the art of cutting out a coat--and nothing fit to ensure
human fame with posterity but the power to create and to bequeath a new
fashion.

But the name of dandy was of later date; the age had not attained
sufficient elegance for so polished a title; it was still buck or
macaroni; the latter having been the legacy of the semi-barbarian age
which preceded the eighteenth century. Brummell was called Buck Brummell
when an urchin at Eton--a preliminary evidence of the honours which
awaited him in a generation fitter to reward his skill and acknowledge
his superiority. Dandy was a thing yet to come, but which, in his
instance, was sure to come.

    "The force of title could no further go--
    The 'dandy was the heirloom of the beau.'"

Yet even in boyhood the sly and subtle style, the Brummellism of his
after years, began to exhibit itself. A party of the boys having
quarreled with the boatmen of the Thames, had fallen on one who had
rendered himself obnoxious, and were about to throw him into the river.
Brummell, who never took part in those affrays, but happened to pass by
at the time, said, "My good fellows, don't throw him into the river;
for, as the man is in a high state of perspiration, it amounts to a
certainty that he will catch cold." The boys burst into laughter, and
let their enemy run for his life.

At Eton, however, he was a general favourite for his pleasantry, the
gentleness of his manner, and the smartness of his repartee. He had
attained tolerable scholarship, was in the fifth form in 1793, the year
in which he left Eton, and wrote good Latin verses, an accomplishment
which he partially retained to his last days. From Eton he went to
Oriel, and there commenced that cutting system of which he so soon
became the acknowledged master. He cut an old Eton acquaintance simply
because he had entered at an inferior college, and discontinued visiting
another because he had invited him to meet two students of a hall which
he was pleased to consider obnoxious. In his studies he affected to
despise college distinctions, but yet wrote for the Newdigate prize, and
produced the second best poem. But his violation of college rules was
systematic and contemptuous. He always ordered his horse at hall time,
was the author of half the squibs, turned a tame jack-daw with a band on
into the quadrangle to burlesque the master, and treated all proctors'
and other penalties with contempt. Such, at least, is the character
given him by Mr Lister in Granby.

But he was now to commence a new career. In 1794 he was gazetted to a
cornetcy in the Tenth Hussars, the gift of its colonel the Prince of
Wales. Brummell's own account of this origin of his court connexions is,
that when a boy at Eton he had been presented to the Prince, and that
his subsequent intimacy grew out of the Prince's notice on that
occasion. But a friend of his told the biographer that the Prince,
hearing of the young Etonian as a second Selwyn, had asked him to his
table, and given him the commission to attach him to his service. This
was a remarkable distinction, and in any other hands would have been a
card of fortune. He was then but sixteen; he was introduced at once into
the highest society of fashion; and he was the favourite companion of a
prince who required to be amused, delighted in originality, and was fond
of having the handsomest and pleasantest men of the age in his regiment.

Brummell, though an elegant appendage to the corps, was too much about
the person of the Prince to be a diligent officer. The result was, that
he was often late on parade, and did not always know his own troop.
However, he evaded the latter difficulty in general, by a contrivance
peculiarly his own. One of his men had a large blue-tinged nose.
Whenever Brummell arrived late, he galloped between the squadrons till
he saw the blue nose. There he reined up, and felt secure. Once,
however, it happened unfortunately that during his absence there was
some change made in the squadrons, and the place of the blue nose was
shifted. Brummel, on coming up late as usual, galloped in search of his
beacon, and having found his old friend he reined up. "Mr Brummell,"
cried the colonel, "you are with the wrong troop." "No, no," said
Brummell, confirming himself by the sight of the blue nose, and adding
in a lower tone--"I know better than that; a pretty thing, indeed, if I
did not know my own troop!"

His promotion was rapid; for he obtained a troop within three years,
being captain in 1796. Yet within two years he threw up his commission.
The ground of this singular absurdity is scarcely worth enquiring into.
He was evidently too idle for any thing which required any degree of
regularity. The command of a troop requires some degree of attention
from the idlest. He had the prospect of competence from his father's
wealth; and his absolute abhorrence of all exertion was probably his
chief prompter in throwing away the remarkable advantages of his
position--a position from which the exertion of a moderate degree of
intellectual vigour, or even of physical activity, might have raised him
to high rank in either the state or the army.

Of course, various readings of his resignation have been given; some
referred it to his being obliged to wear hair-powder, which was then
ceasing to be fashionable; others, more probably, to an original love
for doing nothing. The reason which he himself assigned, was comic and
characteristic. It was his disgust at the idea of being quartered, for
however short a time, in a manufacturing town. An order arrived one
evening for the hussars to move to Manchester. Next morning early he
waited on the Prince, who, expressing surprise at a visit at such an
hour from him, was answered--"The fact is, your royal highness, I have
heard that we are ordered to Manchester. Now, you must be aware how
disagreeable this would be to _me_; I really could not go. _Think!
Manchester!_ Besides, you would not be there. I have therefore, with
your permission, determined to sell out."--"Oh, by all means, Brummell!"
said the Prince; "do as you please." And thus he stripped himself of the
highest opportunity in the most showy of all professions before he was
twenty-one.

He now commenced what is called the bachelor life of England; he took a
house in Chesterfield Street, May Fair; gave small but exquisite
dinners; invited men of rank, and even the Prince, to his table; and
avoiding extravagance--for he seldom played, and kept only a pair of
horses--established himself as a refined voluptuary.

Yet for this condition his means, though considerable, if aided by a
profession, were obviously inadequate. His fortune amounted only to
L.30,000, though to this something must be added for the sale of his
troop. His only resources thenceforth must be play, or an opulent
marriage.

Nature and art had been favourable to him; his exterior, though not
distinguished, was graceful, and his countenance, though not handsome,
was intelligent. He possessed in a certain degree the general
accomplishments, and exactly in the degree, which produce a flattering
reception in society. He was a tolerable musician, he used his pencil
with tolerable skill, and he wrote tolerable verses; more would have
been worse than useless. He dressed admirably, and, as his _cheval de
battaile_, he talked with a keenness of observation and a dexterity of
language, scarcely less rare than wit, and still more exciting among the
exhausted minds, and in the vapid phraseology, of fashion.

His person was well formed, and his dress was a matter of extreme study.
But it is rather libellous on the memory of this man of taste to
suppose, that he at all resembled in this important matter the strutting
display which we have seen in later times, and which irresistibly
strikes the beholder with surprise, that any man capable of seeing
himself in the glass could exhibit so strong a temptation to laughter;
while to the more knowing in the affairs of costume, it betrays
instantly the secret that the exhibitor is simply a walking placard for
a tailor struggling for employment, and supplying the performer on the
occasion with a wardrobe for the purpose. Brummell's dress was finished
with perfect skill, but without the slightest attempt at exaggeration.
Plain Hessian boots and pantaloons, or top boots and buckskins, which
were then more the fashion than they are now; a blue coat, and a buff
coloured waistcoat--for he somewhat leaned to Foxite politics for
form's-sake, however he despised all politics as unworthy of a man born
to give the tone to fashion--was his morning dress. In the evening, he
appeared in a blue coat and white waistcoat, black pantaloons closely
fitting, and buttoning tight to the ankle, striped silk stockings, and
opera hat. We may thus observe how much Brummell went _before_ his age;
for while he thus originated a dress which no modern refinement has yet
exceeded, and which contained all that is _de bon ton_ in modern
equipment, he was living in the midst of a generation almost studiously
barbarian--the Foxite imitators of the French republicans--where every
man's principle was measured by the closeness of his approach to
savagery; and nothing but the War interposed to prevent the
_sans-culottism_ alike of the body and the mind.

Brummell, though not possessing the patronage of a secretary of state,
had the power of making men's fortunes. His principal tailors were
Schweitzer and Davidson of Cork street, Weston, and Meyer of Conduit
street. Those names have since disappeared, but their memory is dear to
dandyism; and many a superannuated man of elegance will give "the
passing tribute of a sigh" to the incomparable neatness of their "fit,"
and the unrivaled taste of their scissors. Schweitzer and Meyer worked
for the Prince, and the latter was in some degree a royal favourite, and
one of the household. He was a man of genius at his needle; an inventor,
who even occasionally disputed the palm of originality with Brummell
himself. The point is not yet settled to whom was due the happy
conception of the trouser opening at the ankle and closed by buttons.
Brummell laid his claim openly, at least to its improvement; while
Meyer, admitting the elegance given to it by the tact of Brummell,
persisted in asserting his right to the invention. Yet if, as was said
of gunpowder and printing, the true inventor is the man who first brings
the discovery into renown, the honour is here Brummell's, for he was the
first who _established_ the trouser in the Bond street world.

The Prince, at this period, cultivated dress with an ardour which
threatened to dethrone Brummell himself, and his wardrobe was calculated
to have cost L.100,000. But his royal highness had one obstacle to
encounter which ultimately drove him from the field, and restricted all
his future chances of distinction to wigs; he began to grow corpulent. A
scarcely less formidable evil arose in his quarreling with Brummell. In
the course of hostilities, the Prince pronounced the beau a tailor's
block, fit for nothing but to hang clothes on; while the retaliation
came in the shape of a caricature, in which a pair of leather breeches
is exhibited lashed up between the bed-posts, and an enormously fat man,
lifted up to them, is making a desperate struggle to get his limbs
properly seated in their capacity: another operation of a still more
difficult nature, the making the waistband meet, still threatening to
defy all exertion.

Brummell's style was in fact simplicity, but simplicity of the most
studied kind. Lord Byron defined it, "a certain exquisite propriety of
dress." "_No_ perfumes," the Beau used to say, "but fine linen, plenty
of it, and _country_ washing." His opinion on this subject, however,
changed considerably in after time; for he used perfumes, and attributed
a characteristic importance to their use. Meeting a gentleman at a ball
with whom he conversed for a while, some of the party enquired the
stranger's name. "Can't possibly tell," was the Beau's answer. "But he
is evidently a gentleman--his perfumes are good." He objected to country
gentlemen being introduced into Watier's, on the ground "that their
boots always smelt of horse-dung and bad blacking."

His taste in matters of _virtu_ was one of the sources of his profusion;
but it always had a reference to himself. He evidently preferred a
snuff-box which he could display in his hand, to a Raphael which he
could exhibit only on his wall. His snuff-boxes were numerous and
costly. But even in taking snuff he had his style: he always opened the
box with _one_ hand, the left. The Prince imitated him in this _tour de
grace_.

A fashion always becomes more fashionable as it becomes more ridiculous.
People cling to it as they pet a monkey, for its deformity. The high
head-dresses of France, which must have been a burden, made the tour of
Europe, and endured through a century. The high heels, which almost
wholly precluded safe walking, lasted their century. The use of powder
was universal until it was driven out of France by republicanism, and
out of England by famine. The flour used by the British army alone for
whitening their heads was calculated to amount to the annual provision
for 50,000 people. Snuff had been universally in use from the middle of
the seventeenth century; and the sums spent on this filthy and foolish
indulgence, the time wasted on it, and the injury done to health, if
they could all have been thrown into the common form of money, would
have paid the national debt of England. The common people have their
full share in this general absurdity. The gin drunk in England and Wales
annually amounts to nearly twenty millions of pounds sterling; a sum
which would pay all the poor rates three times over, and, turned to any
public purpose, might cover the land with great institutions--the
principal result of this enormous expenditure now being to fill the
population with vice, misery, and madness.

In the matter of coats Brummell had but one rival, the Prince, whose
rank of course gave him a general advantage, yet whose taste was clearly
held as inferior by the royal _artistes_ themselves. A baronet, who went
to Schweitzer's to get himself equipped in the first style, asked him
what cloth he recommended. "Why, sir," was the answer, "the Prince wears
superfine, and Mr Brummell the Bath coating. Suppose, sir, we say Bath
coating; I think Mr Brummell has a trifle the preference." Brummell's
connexion with the Prince, his former rank in the hussars, and his own
agreeable manners, introduced him to the intercourse of the principal
nobility. In the intervals of his visits to the Prince at Brighton, he
visited Belvoir, Chatsworth, Woburn, &c. But he was absolutely _once_ in
town in the month of November, as is proved by the following note from
Woburn:--

     MY DEAR BRUMMELL,--By some accident, which I am unable to account
     for, your letter of Wednesday did not reach me till Wednesday. I
     make it a rule never to lend my box; but you have the _entrée
     libre_ whenever you wish to go there, as I informed the boxkeeper
     last year. I hope Beauvais and you will do great execution at
     Up-Park. I shall probably be there shortly after you.--Ever yours
     sincerely,

       "BEDFORD."

At Belvoir he was _l'ami de la famille_, and at Cheveley, another seat
of the Duke of Rutland's, his rooms were as sacred as the Duke of
York's, who was a frequent visitor there. On the Duke of Rutland's
coming of age, in 1799, great rejoicings took place at Belvoir, and
Brummell was one of the distinguished party there, among whom were the
Prince of Wales, the late Duke of Argyll, the Marquis of Lorn, and the
other chief fashionable people of the day. This _fête_ was memorable,
for it was said to have cost L.60,000. Brummell was not altogether
effeminate; he could both shoot and ride, but he liked neither: he was
never a Melton man. He said that he could not bear to have his tops and
leathers splashed by the greasy galloping farmers. The Duke of Rutland
raised a corps of volunteers on the renewal of the war in 1803; and as
Brummell had been a soldier the duke gave him a majority. In the course
of the general inspections of the volunteer corps, an officer was sent
from the Horse Guards to review the duke's regiment, the major being in
command. On the day of the inspection every one was on parade except the
major-commandant. Where is Major Brummell, was the indignant enquiry? He
was not to be found. The inspection went on. When it was near its close,
Brummell was soon coming full gallop across the country in the uniform
of the Belvoir Hunt, terribly splashed. He apologized for himself by
saying, that having left Belvoir quite early, he had expected to be on
the parade in time, the meet being close at hand. However, his favourite
hunter had landed him in a ditch, where, having been dreadfully shaken
by the fall, he had been lying for an hour. But the general was
inexorable, and Brummell used to give the worthy officer's speech in the
following style--"Sir, this conduct is wholly inexcusable. If I remember
right, sir, you once had the honour of holding a captain's commission
under his royal highness the Prince of Wales, the heir-apparent himself,
sir! Now, sir, I tell you; I tell you sir, that I should be wanting in a
proper zeal for the honour of the service; I should be wanting, sir, if
I did not this very evening report this disgraceful neglect of orders to
the commander-in-chief, as well as the state in which you present
yourself in front of your regiment; and this shall be done, sir. You may
retire, sir."

All this was very solemn and astounding; but Brummell's presence of mind
was not often astounded. He had scarcely walked his horse a few paces
from the spot, when he returned, and said in a subdued tone--"Excuse me,
general; but, in my anxiety to explain this most unfortunate business, I
forgot to deliver a message from the Duke of Rutland. It was to request
the honour of your company at dinner." The culprit and the
disciplinarian grinned together; the general coughed, and cleared his
throat sufficiently to express his thanks in these words--"Ah! why,
really I feel and am very much obliged to his grace. Pray, Major
Brummell, tell the duke I shall be most happy;" and melodiously raising
his voice, (for the Beau had turned his horse once more towards
Belvoir,) "Major Brummell, as to this little affair, I am sure no man
can regret it more than you do. Assure his grace that I shall have great
pleasure in accepting his very kind invitation;" and they parted amid a
shower of smiles. But Brummell had yet but half completed his
performance; for the invitation was extempore, and he must gallop to
Belvoir to acquaint the duke of the guest he was to receive on that day.

Brummell always appeared at the cover side, admirably dressed in a white
cravat and white tops, which latter either he, or Robinson his valet,
introduced, and which eventually superseded the brown ones. The subtlety
of Brummell's sneers, which made him so highly amusing to the first rank
of society, made him an object of alarm if not of respect to others. "Do
you see that gentleman near the door?" said a woman of rank to her
daughter, who had been brought for the first time to Almack's. "Yes! Who
is he?" replied the young lady. "A person, my dear, who will probably
come and speak to us; and if he enters into conversation, be careful to
give him a favourable impression of you, for he is the celebrated Mr
Brummell." The _debutante_ was the daughter of a duke. It has been said
that Madame de Stael considered herself as having failed to attract his
approval, and that she spoke of it as the greatest _malheur_ which had
occurred to her during her stay in London, the next in point of calamity
being that the Prince had not called on her in person. The Beau
perfectly knew his own value. In reply to a nobleman who charged him
with involving his son in a gaming transaction, he said--"Really I did
my best for the young man; I gave him my arm all the way from White's to
Watier's." However, there can be no doubt that he was very often
intolerably impudent; and, as impudence is always vulgar, he was guilty
of vulgarity. Dining at a gentleman's house in Hampshire, where the
champagne did not happen to suit his taste, he refused his glass when
the servant came to help him a second time, with--"No, thank you, I
don't drink cider!" The following anecdote is rather better known.
"Where were you yesterday, Brummell?" said one of his club friends. "I
think," said he, "I dined in the city." "What! you dined in the city?"
said his friend. "Yes, the man wished me to bring him into notice, and I
desired him to give a dinner, to which I invited Alvanley, Mills,
Pierrepoint, and some others." "All went off well, of course?" said the
friend. "Oh yes! perfectly, except one _mal-à-apropos_: the fellow who
gave the dinner had actually the assurance to seat himself at the
table."

Dining at a large party at the house of an opulent but young member of
London society, he asked the loan of his carriage to take him to Lady
Jersey's that evening. "I am going there," said his entertainer, "and
will be happy to take you." "Still, there is a difficulty," said
Brummell in his most delicate tone. "You do not mean to get up behind,
that would not be quite right in your own carriage; and yet, how would
it do for me to be seen in the same carriage with you?" Brummell's
manner probably laughed off impertinences of this order; for, given
without their colouring from nature, they would have justified an angry
reply. But he seems never to have involved himself in personal quarrel.
He was intact and intangible. Yet he, too, had his mortifications. One
night, in going to Lady Dungannon's, he was actually obliged to make use
of a hackney coach. He got out of it at an unobserved distance from the
door, and made his way up her ladyship's crowded staircase, conceiving
that he had escaped all evidence of his humiliation; however, this was
not to be. As he was entering the drawing-room a servant touched his
arm, and to his amazement and horror whispered--"Beg pardon, sir,
perhaps you are not aware of it, that there is a straw sticking to your
shoe." His style found imitations in the public prints, and one
sufficiently characteristic thus set forth the merits of a new patent
carriage step:--"There is an art in every thing; and whatever is worthy
of being learned, cannot be unworthy of a teacher." Such was the logical
argument of the professor of the art of stepping in and out of a
carriage, who represented himself as much patronised by the sublime
Beau Brummell, whose deprecation of those horrid coach steps he would
repeat with great delight:--

     "Mr Brummell," he used to say, "considered the sedan was the only
     vehicle for a gentleman, it having no steps; and he invariably had
     his own chair, which was lined with white satin quilted, had down
     squabs, and a white sheepskin rug at the bottom, brought to the
     door of his dressing-room, on that account always on the
     ground-floor, from whence it was transferred with its owner to the
     foot of the staircase of the house that he condescended to visit.
     Mr Brummell has told me," continued the professor, "that to enter a
     coach was torture to him. 'Conceive,' said he, 'the horror of
     sitting in a carriage with an iron apparatus, afflicted with the
     dreadful thought, the cruel apprehension, of having one's leg
     crushed by the machinery. Why are not the steps made to fold
     _outside_? The only detraction from the luxury of a _vis à vis_, is
     the double distress! for _both_ legs--excruciating idea!'"

Brummell's first reform was the neckcloth. Even his reform has passed
away; such is the transitory nature of all human achievements. But the
art of neckcloths was once more than a dubious title to renown in the
world of Bond Street. The politics of the time were disorderly; and the
dress of politicians had become as disorderly as their principles. The
fortunes of Whiggism, too, had run low; and the velvet coat and
embroidered waistcoat, the costly buckles and gold buttons of better
days, were heavier drains on the decreasing revenues of the party than
could be long sustained with impunity. Fox had already assumed the
sloven--the whole faction followed; and the ghosts of the old
oppositionists, in their tie wigs and silver-laced coats, would have
been horrified by the sight of the shock-headed, leather-breeched, and
booted generation who howled and harangued on the left side of the
Speaker's chair from 1789 to 1806. All was _canaille_. Fox could
scarcely have been more shabby, had he been the representative of a
population of bankrupts. The remainder of the party might have been
supposed, without any remarkable stretch of imagination, to have emerged
from the workhouse. All was sincere squalidness, patriotic
pauperism--the _un_washing principle. One of the cleverest caricatures
of that cleverest of caricaturists, the Scotchman Gilray, was his sketch
of the Whigs preparing for their first levee after the Foxite accession
on the death of Pitt. The title was, "_Making decent!_" The whole of the
new ministry were exhibited in all the confusion of throwing off their
rags, and putting on their new clothing. There stood Sheridan,
half-smothered in the novel attempt to put on a clean shirt. In another
corner Fox, Grey, and Lord Moira, straining to peep into the same
shaving-glass, were all three making awkward efforts to use the
long-forgotten razor. Others were gazing at themselves in a sort of
savage wonder at the strangeness of new washed faces. Some _sans
culottes_ were struggling to get into breeches; and others, whose feet
were accustomed to the ventilation of shoes which let their toes
through, were pondering over the embarrassment of shoes impervious to
the air. The minor apparatus of court costume scattered round on the
chairs, the bags and swords, the buckles and gloves, were stared at by
the groups with the wonder and perplexity of an American Indian.

Into this irregular state of things Brummell made his first stride in
the spirit of a renovator. The prevailing cravat of the time was
certainly deplorable. Let us give it in the words of history:--"It was
without stiffening of any kind, and bagged out in front, _rucking_ up to
the front in a roll." (We do not precisely comprehend this expression,
whose _precision_, however, we by no means venture to doubt.) Brummell
boldly met this calamity, by slightly starching the too flexible
material--a change in which, as his biographer with due seriousness and
truth observes--"a reasoning mind must acknowledge there is not much
objectionable."

Imitators, of course, always exceed their model, and the cravat adopted
by the dandies soon became _excessively_ starched; the test being that
of raising three parts of their length by one corner without bending.
Yet Brummell, though he adhered to the happy medium, and was moderate in
his starch, was rigorous in his tie. If his cravat did not correspond to
his wishes in its first arrangement, it was instantly cast aside. His
valet was seen one morning leaving his chamber with an armful of tumbled
cravats, and on being asked the cause, solemnly replied, "These are our
_failures_."

Perfection is slow in all instances; but talent and diligence are sure
to advance. Brummell's "tie" became speedily the admiration of the _beau
monde_. The manner in which this dexterous operation was accomplished
was perfectly his own, and deserves to be recorded for the benefit of
posterity.

The collar, which was always fixed to his shirt, was so large, that,
before being folded down, it completely hid his head and face, and the
neckcloth was at least a foot in height. The first _coup d'archet_ was
made with the shirt-collar, which he folded down to its proper size; but
the delicate part of the performance was still to come. Brummell
"standing before the glass, with his chin raised towards the ceiling,
now, by the gentle and gradual declension of his lower jaw, creased the
cravat to reasonable dimensions; the form of each succeeding crease
being perfected with the shirt which he had just discarded." We were not
aware of the nicety which was demanded to complete the folds of this
superior swathing; but, after this development, who shall pronounce a
dandy idle?

Brummell was as critical on the dress of others as he was _recherché_ in
his own, and this care he extended to all ranks. He was once walking up
St James's Street, arm-in-arm with a young nobleman whom he condescended
to patronize. The Beau suddenly asked him, "what he called _those
things_ on his feet."--"Why, shoes."--"Shoes are they?" said Brummell
doubtfully, and stooping to look at them; "I thought they were
slippers?"

The late Duke of Bedford asked him his opinion of a new coat. "Turn
round," said Mr Beau. When the examination was concluded in front and
rear, the Beau, feeling the lapel delicately with his finger and thumb,
asked in a most pathetic manner, "Bedford, do you call this _thing_ a
coat?"

Somebody told him, among a knot of loungers at White's, "Brummell, your
brother William is in town. Is he not coming here?"--"Yes," was the
reply, "in a day or two; but I have recommended him to walk the _back
streets_ till his new clothes come home."

Practical jokes are essentially vulgar, and apt to be hazardous besides;
two reasons which should have prevented their performance by an
individual whose object was to be the standard of elegance, and whose
object at no time was to expose himself to the rougher remonstrances of
mankind; but the following piece of sportiveness was at least amusing.

Meeting an old _emigré_ marquis at the seat of some noble friend, and
probably finding the Frenchman a bore, he revenged himself by mixing
some finely powdered sugar in his hair-powder. On the old Frenchman's
coming into the breakfast-room next morning, highly powdered as usual,
the flies, attracted by the scent of the sugar, instantly gathered round
him. He had scarcely begun his breakfast, when every fly in the room was
busy on his head. The unfortunate marquis was forced to lay down his
knife and fork, and take out his pocket-handkerchief to repel these
troublesome assailants, but they came thicker and thicker. The victim
now rose from his seat and changed his position; but all was in
vain--the flies followed in fresh clusters. In despair he hurried to the
window; but every fly lingering there was instantly buzzing and
tickling. The marquis, feverish with vexation and surprise, threw up the
window. This unlucky measure produced only a general invasion by all the
host of flies sunning themselves on the lawn. The astonishment and
amusement of the guests were excessive. Brummell alone never smiled. At
last M. le Marquis gave way in agony, and, clapping his hands on his
head, and followed by a cloud of flies, rushed out of the room. The
secret was then divulged, and all was laughter.

"Poodle B--g," so well known in the world of fashion, owed his
_soubriquet_ to Brummell. B--g was fond of letting his hair, which was
light-coloured, curl round his forehead. He was one day driving in his
curricle, with a poodle by his side. The Beau hailed him with--"Ah,
B--g, how do you do?--A _family_ vehicle, I see."

Some of those oddities of expression are almost too well known now for
effect; but they must have sparkled prodigiously among the exhausted
circles of his West-end day.

"You seem to have caught cold, Brummell," said a lounging visitor on
hearing him cough. "Yes--I got out of my carriage yesterday, coming from
the Pavilion, and the wretch of an innkeeper put me into the coffee-room
with a damp stranger."

In a stormy August--"Brummell, did any one ever see such a summer
day?"--"Yes, _I_ did, last winter."

On returning from a country mansion, of which he happened to disapprove,
he defined it "An exceedingly good house for stopping a _single_ night
in."

On the whole, the biographer has given a tolerable selection of
Brummell's _hits_, some of which, however, were so intolerably
impertinent, that he must have either thoroughly "known his man," or he
must have smoothed down their severity by some remarkable tone of voice
or pleasantry of visage. Without those palliations, it is not easy to
comprehend his occasional rudeness even to friends. One day, standing
and speaking at the carriage-door of a lady, she expressed her surprise
at his throwing away his time on so quiet and unfashionable a
person.--"My dear friend, don't mention it: there is _no one to see
us_."

But his admiration for the sex must have often brought him close on the
edge of serious inconvenience. Once, at the house of a nobleman, he
requested a moment's interview in the library, and then and there
communicated the formidable intelligence, "that he must immediately
leave the house--on that day."

"Why, you intended to stay a month," said his hospitable entertainer.

"True--but I must be gone--I feel I am in love with your countess."

"Well, my dear sir, I can't help that. I was in love with her myself
twenty years ago," said the good-humoured husband. "But is she in love
with you?"

The Beau cast down his eyes, and, in all the modesty of impudence, said
faintly, "I believe she is."

"Oh! that alters the case. I shall send for your post-horses. Good
morning."

His life was flirtation, a matter which could not be indulged in
matrimony, and he therefore never married. Yet once he went so far as to
elope with a young person of rank from a ball: the pair were, however,
immediately overtaken. The affair was, of course, the talk of the clubs.
But Brummell had his own way of wearing the willow. "On the whole," said
he, "I consider I have reason to congratulate myself. I lately heard
from her favourite maid that her ladyship had been seen--_to drink
beer_!"

Some of the Beau's letters at this period are given; but they are not
fortunate specimens of his taste: even in writing to women they are
quaint, affected, and approaching to that unpardonable crime, dulness.
His letters written in his wane of life, and under the realities of
suffering, are much more striking, contain some pathetic and even some
powerful language, and show that fashion and his own follies had
obscured a mind of natural talent, if not of original tenderness.

The following letter we look upon as quite sufficient to have excluded
him from the recollections of any Lady Jane on earth, if she happened to
know the difference between coxcombry and common feeling:--

     "MY DEAR LADY JANE,--With the miniature, it seems, I am not to be
     trusted even for two _pitiful_ hours. My own memory must be then my
     only _disconsolate_ expedient to obtain a resemblance.

     "As I am unwilling to merit the imputation of committing myself by
     too flagrant a liberty in retaining your glove, which you
     charitably sent at my head yesterday, as you would have extended an
     _eleemosynary sixpence_ to the _supplicating hat_ of a mendicant, I
     restore it to you. And, allow me to assure you, that I have too
     much regard and respect for you, and too little practical vanity
     myself, (whatever appearances may be against me,) to have
     entertained, for one _treacherous_ instant, the impertinent
     intention to defraud you of it. You are angry, perhaps irreparably
     incensed against me for this _petty larceny_. I have no defence to
     offer in mitigation but that of _frenzy_. But you know that you are
     an _angel_ visiting these sublunary spheres, and therefore your
     first quality should be that of mercy. Yet you are sometimes
     wayward and volatile in your _seraphic_ disposition. Though you
     have no wings yet you have weapons, and those are resentment and
     estrangement from me.--With sentiments of the deepest
     _compunction_, I am always your _miserable slave_,

       "GEORGE BRUMMELL."

We have not a doubt that he perused this toilsome performance a dozen
times before he folded it up, advanced to his mirror to see how so
brilliant a correspondent must look after so astonishing a production,
moved round the room in a minuet step; and, when he sent it away at
last, followed it with a sigh at the burial of so much renown in a
woman's escritoire, and a regret that it could not be stereotyped to
make its progress round the world. And yet, as it appeared that the lady
had thrown the glove at him, and even lent him her miniature, it would
be difficult to discover any ground for her wrath or his compunction.
Both were evidently equally imaginary.

The Beau always regarded the city as a _terra incognita_. A merchant
once asked him to dine there. Brummell gave him a look of intense
enquiry. The merchant pressed him. "Well," said the Beau, (who probably
had excellent reasons for non-resistance to the man of money;) "well, if
it _must_ be--but you must first promise faithfully _never_ to say a
word on the subject."

A visitor, full of the importance of a tour in the north of England,
asked him which of the lakes he preferred. "I can't possibly remember,"
was the reply; "they are a great way from St James's Street, and I don't
think they are spoken of in the clubs." The visitor urged the question.
"Robinson," said the Beau, turning in obvious distress to his valet,
"Robinson, pray tell this gentleman which of the lakes I
preferred."--"Windermere, sir, I think it was," said the valet. "Well,"
added Brummell, "probably you are in the right, Robinson. It may have
been. Pray, sir, will Windermere do?"

"I wonder, Brummell, you take the trouble of driving to the barracks of
the 10th with four horses. It certainly looks rather superb," said one
of the officers. "Why, I dare say it does; but that is not _the_ point.
What could I do, when my French valet, the best dresser of hair in the
universe, gave me warning that he must leave me to myself, unless I gave
up the vulgarity of posting with _two_?"

We come, in the course of this goodly history, to the second great event
of the Beau's life--the first being his introduction to Carlton House.
The second was his being turned out of it. Brummell always denied, and
with some indignation, the story of "Wales, ring the bell!"--a version
which he justly declared to be "positively vulgar," and therefore, with
due respect for his own sense of elegance, absolutely impossible for
_him_. He gave the more rational explanation, that he had taken the part
of lady who was presumed to be the rival of Mrs Fitzherbert, and had
been rash enough even to make some remarks on Mrs Fitzherbert's _en bon
point_, a matter of course never to be forgiven by a belle. This
extended to a "declining love" between him and the Prince, whose foible
was a horror of growing corpulent, and whom Brummell therefore
denominated "Big Ben," the nickname of a gigantic porter at Carlton
House; adding the sting of calling Mrs Fitzherbert Benina. Moore, in one
of his satires on the Prince's letter of February the 13th, 1812, to the
Duke of York, in which he _cut_ the Whigs, thus parodies that celebrated
"sentence of banishment:"--

    "Neither have I resentments, nor wish there should come ill
    To mortal, except, now I think on't, Beau Brummell,
    Who threaten'd, last year, in a super-fine passion,
    To cut _me_, and bring the old king into fashion."

Brummell now, since the sword was drawn, resolved to throw away the
sheath, and his hits were keen and "damaging," as those things are now
termed. In this style he said to little Colonel M'Mahon, the Prince's
secretary--"I made him, and I shall unmake him."

The "fat friend" hit was more pungent in reality than in its usual form.
The Prince, walking down St James's Street with Lord Moira, and seeing
Brummell approaching arm-in-arm with a man of rank, determined to show
the openness of the quarrel, stopped and spoke to the noble lord with an
apparent unconsciousness of ever having seen the Beau before. The
moment he was turning away, Brummell asked, in his most distinct voice,
"Pray, _who_ is your _fat_ friend?" Nothing could be more dexterously
impudent; for it repaid the Prince's pretended want of recognition
precisely in his own coin, and besides stung him in the very spot where
he was known to be most thin-skinned.

It is sufficiently remarkable, that the alienation of the Prince from
Brummell scarcely affected his popularity with the patrician world, or
his reception by the Duke and Duchess of York. He was a frequent guest
at Oatlands, and seems to have amused the duke by his pleasantry, and
cultivated the taste of the duchess by writing her epigrams, and making
her presents of little dogs. The Duke of York, though not much gifted
with the faculty of making jests, greatly enjoyed them in others. He was
a good-humoured, easy-mannered man, wholly without affectation of any
kind; well-intentioned, with some sagacity--mingled, however, with a
good deal of that abruptness which belonged to all the Brunswicks; and
though unfortunate in his domestic conduct, a matter on which it would
do no service to the reader to enlarge, yet a brave soldier, and a
zealous and most useful commander-in-chief at the Horse Guards. He, too,
could say good things now and then. One day at Oatlands, as he was
mounting his horse to ride to town, seeing a poor woman driven from the
door, he asked the servant what she was. "A beggar, your royal highness:
nothing but a soldier's wife."--"Nothing but a soldier's wife! And pray,
sir, what is your mistress?" Of course, the poor woman was called back
and relieved.

Still Brummell continued in high life, and was one of the four who gave
the memorable _fête_ at the Argyll Rooms in July 1813, in consequence of
having won a considerable sum at hazard. The other three were, Sir Henry
Mildmay, Pierrepoint, and Lord Alvanley. The difficulty was, whether or
not to invite the Prince, who had quarrelled with Mildmay as well as
with Brummell. In this solemn affair Pierrepoint sounded the Prince, and
ascertained that he would accept the invitation if it were proposed to
him. When the Prince arrived, and was of course received by the four
givers of the _fête_, he shook hands with Alvanley and Pierrepoint, but
took no notice whatever of the others. Brummell was indignant, and, at
the close of the night, would not attend the Prince to his carriage.
This was observed, and the Prince's remark on it next day was--"Had
Brummell taken the cut I gave him last night good-humouredly, I should
have renewed my intimacy with him." How that was to be done, however,
without lying down to be kicked, it would be difficult to discover.
Brummell however, on this occasion, was undoubtedly as much in the right
as the Prince was in the wrong.

Brummell, in conformity to the habits of the time, and the proprieties
of his caste, was of course a gambler, and of course was rapidly ruined;
but we have no knowledge that he went through the whole career, and
turned swindler. One night he was playing with Combe, who united the
three characters of a lover of play, a brewer, and an alderman. It was
at Brookes's, and in the year of his mayoralty. "Come, Mash Tub, what do
you set?" said the Beau. "Twenty-five guineas," was the answer. The Beau
won, and won the same sum twelve times running. Then, putting the cash
in his pocket, said with a low bow, "Thank you, alderman; for this, I'll
always patronize your porter."--"Very well, sir," said Combe dryly, "I
only wish every other blackguard in London would do the same."

At this time play ran high at the clubs. A baronet now living was said
to have lost at Watier's L.10,000 at one sitting, at _ecarté_. In 1814,
Brummell lost not only all his winnings, but "an unfortunate L.10,000,"
as he expressed it, the last that he had at his bankers. Brummell was
now ruined; and, to prevent the possibility of his recovery at any
future period, he raised money at ruinous interest, and finally made his
escape to Calais. Still, when every thing else forsook him, his odd way
of telling his own story remained. "He said," observed one of his
friends at Caen, when talking about his altered circumstances, "that, up
to a particular period of his life, every thing prospered with him, and
that he attributed this good luck to the possession of a silver sixpence
with a hole in it, which somebody had given him some years before, with
an injunction to take good care of it, as every thing would go well with
him so long as he kept it, and everything the contrary if he happened to
lose it." And so it turned out; for having at length, in an evil hour,
given it by mistake to a hackney coachman, a complete reverse of his
affairs took place, and one misfortune followed another until he was
obliged to fly. On his being asked why he did not advertise a reward for
it, he answered--"I did; and twenty people came with sixpences with
holes in them for the reward, but not _my_ sixpence." "And you never
heard any more of it?" "No," he replied; "no doubt that rascal
Rothschild, or some of that set, have got hold of it." But the Beau's
retreat from London was still to be characteristic. As it had become
expedient that he must make his escape without _eclat_, on the day of
his intended retreat he dined coolly at his club, and finished his
London performances by sending from the table a note to his friend
Scrope Davies, couched in the following prompt and expressive form:--

     "MY DEAR SCROPE,--Lend me two hundred pounds: the banks are shut,
     and all my money is in the 3 per cents. It shall be repaid
     to-morrow morning.--Yours, GEORGE BRUMMELL."

The answer was equally prompt and expressive--

     "MY DEAR GEORGE,--It is very unfortunate, but all _my_ money is in
     the 3 per cents.--Yours, S. DAVIES."

Such is the story;

    "I cannot tell how the truth may be,
    I tell the tale as 'twas told to me."

Nothing daunted, the Beau went to the opera, allowed himself to be seen
about the house, then quickly retiring, stepped into a friend's chaise
and met his own carriage, which waited for him a short distance from
town. Travelling all night with four horses, he reached Dover by
morning, hired a vessel to carry him over, and soon left England and his
creditors behind. He was instantly pursued; but the chase stopped on
reaching the sea. Debtors could not then be followed to France, and
Brummell was secure.

The little, rude, and thoroughly comfortless town of Calais was now to
be the place of residence, for nearly the rest of his life, to a man
accustomed to the highest luxuries of London life, trained to the
keenest sensibility of London enjoyment, and utterly absorbed in London
objects of every kind. Ovid's banishment among the Thracians could
scarcely be a more formidable change of position. Yet Brummell's
pleasantry did not desert him even in Calais. On some passing friend's
remark on the annoyance of living in such a place--"Pray," said the
Beau, "is it not a general opinion that a gentleman might manage to
spend his time pleasantly enough _between_ London and Paris?"

At Calais he took apartments at the house of one Leleux, an old
bookseller, which he fitted up to his own taste; and on which, as if
adversity had no power to teach him common prudence, he expended the
greater part of the 25,000 francs which, by some still problematical
means, he had contrived to carry away with him. This was little short of
madness; but it was a madness which he had been practising for the last
dozen years, and habit had now rendered ruin familiar to him. At length
a little gleam of hope shone across his fortunes. George IV. arrived at
Calais on his way to Hanover. The Duke d'Angoulême came from Paris to
receive his Majesty, and Calais was all in a tumult of loyalty. The
reports of Brummell's conduct on this important arrival, of the King's
notice of him, and of the royal liberality in consequence, were of every
shape and shade of invention. But all of them, except the mere
circumstance of the King's pronouncing his name, seem to have been
utterly false. Brummell, mingling in the crowd which cheered his Majesty
in his progress, was observed by the King, who audibly said, "Good
heavens, Brummell!" But the recognition proceeded no further. The Beau
sent his valet, who was a renowned maker of punch, to exhibit his talent
in that art at the royal entertainment, and also sent a present of some
excellent maraschino. But no result followed. The King was said to have
transmitted to him a hundred pound note; but even this is unluckily
apocryphal. Leleux, his landlord, thus gives the version. The English
consul at Calais came to Mr Brummell late one evening, and intimated
that the King was out of snuff, saying, as he took up one of the boxes
lying on his table, "Give me one of yours."--"With all my heart," was
the reply; "but not that box, for if the King saw it I should never have
it again"--implying that there was some story attached to it. On
reaching the theatre the consul presented the snuff, and the King
turning, said, "Why, sir, where did you get your snuff? There is only
one person that I know that can mix snuff in this way!"--"It is some of
Mr Brummell's, your Majesty," replied the consul. The next day the King
left Calais; and, as he seated himself in the carriage, he said to Sir
Arthur Paget, who commanded the yacht that brought him over, "I leave
Calais, and have not seen Brummell." From this his biographer infers
that he had received neither money nor message, and his landlord is of
the same opinion. But slight as those circumstances are, it seems
obvious that George IV. had a forgiving heart towards the Beau
notwithstanding all his impertinences, that he would have been glad to
forgive him, and that he would, in all probability, have made some
provision for his old favourite if Brummell had exhibited any signs of
repentance. On the other hand, Brummell was a man of spirit, and no man
ought to put himself in the way of being treated contemptuously even by
royalty; but it seems strange that, with all his adroitness, he should
not have hit upon a middle way. There could have been no great
difficulty in ascertaining whether the King would receive him, in
sending a respectful message, in offering his loyal congratulations on
the King's arrival, or even in expressing his regret at his long
alienation from a Prince to whom he had been once indebted for so many
favours, and who certainly never harboured resentment against man.
Brummell evidently repented his tardiness on this occasion; for he made
up his mind to make a more direct experiment when the King should visit
the town-hall on his return. But opportunities once thrown away are
seldom regained. The king on his return did not visit the town-hall, but
hurried on board, and the last chance of reconciliation was gone.

Yet during his long residence in Calais, the liberality of his own
connexions in England enabled him to show a good face to poverty. He
paid his bills punctually whenever the remittance came, and was
charitable to the mendicants who, probably for the last thousand years,
have made Calais their headquarters. The general name for him was the
_Roi de Calais_. An anecdote of his pleasantry in almsgiving reached the
public ear. A French beggar asked him for a two-sous piece. "I don't
know the coin," said Brummell, "never having had one; but I suppose you
mean a franc. There, take it." His former celebrity had also spread far
and wide among the population. A couple of English workmen in one of the
factories of the town, one day followed a gentleman who had a
considerable resemblance to Brummell. He heard one of them say to the
other, "Now, I'll bet you a pot that's him." Shortly after, one of them
strolled up to him, with, "Beg pardon, sir--hope no offence, but we two
have got a bet--now, a'n't you George Ring the Bell?" Brummell's habits
of flirtation did not desert him in France; and in one instance he paid
such marked attention to a young English lady, that a friend was deputed
to enquire his purposes. Here Brummell's knowledge of every body did him
good service. The deputy on this occasion having once figured as the
head of a veterinary hospital, or some such thing, but being then in the
commissariat,--"Why, Vulcan!" exclaimed Brummell, "what a humbug you
must be to come and lecture me on such a subject! You, who were for two
years at hide-and-seek to save yourself from being shot by Sir T. S. for
running off with one of his daughters." "Dear me," said the astonished
friend, "you have touched a painful chord; I will have no more to do
with this business." The business died a natural death.

His dressing-table was _recherché_. Its _batterie de toilette_ was
curious, complete, and of silver; one part of it being a spitting-dish,
he always declaring that "it was impossible to _spit in clay_." His
"making up" every morning occupied two hours. When he first arrived in
Caen he carried a cane, but often exchanged it for a brown silk
umbrella, which was always protected by a silk case of remarkable
accuracy of fit--the handle surmounted by an ivory head of George the
Fourth, in well-curled wig and gracious smile. In the street he _never_
took off his hat to any one, not even to a lady; for it would have been
difficult to replace it in the same position, it having been put on with
peculiar care. We finish by stating, that he always had the _soles_ of
his boots blackened as well as the upper leathers; his reason for this
being, that, in the usual negligence of human nature, he never could be
sure that the polish on the _edge_ of the sole would be accurately
produced, unless the whole underwent the operation. He occasionally
polished a single boot himself, to show how perfection on this point was
to be obtained. Clogs, so indispensable in the dirt of an unpaved French
street, he always abhorred; yet, under cover of night, he _could_, now
and then, condescend to wear them. "Theft," as the biographer observes,
"in Sparta was a crime--but only when it was _discovered_."

But after this life of fantasy and frivolity, on which so much
cleverness was thrown away, the unfortunate Beau finished his career
miserably. On his application to the Foreign Office, representing his
wish to be removed to any other consulate where he might serve more
effectually, and of course with a better income; the former part of his
letter was made the ground of abolishing the consulate, while the latter
received no answer. We say nothing of this measure, any further than
that it had the effect of utter ruin on poor Brummell. The total loss of
his intellect followed; he was reduced to absolute beggary, and finally
spent his last miserable hours in an hospital for lunatic mendicants.
Surely it could not have been difficult, in the enormous patronage of
office, to have found some relief for the necessities of a man whose
official character was unimpeached; who had been expressly put into
government employ by ministers for the sake of preserving him from
penury; who had been the companion, the _friend_ of princes and nobles;
and whose faults were not an atom more flagrant than those of every man
of fashion in his time. But he was now utterly ruined and wretched. Some
strong applications were made to his former friends by a Mr Armstrong, a
merchant of Caen, who seems to have constantly acted a most humane part
to him, and occasional donations were sent. A couple of hundred pounds
were even remitted from the Foreign Office; and, by the exertions of
Lord Alvanley and the present Duke of Beaufort, who never deserted him,
and this is much to the honour of both, a kind of small annuity was paid
to him. But he was already overwhelmed with debt, for his income from
the consulate netted him but L.80 a-year, the other L.320 being in the
hands of the banker, his creditor; and it seems probable that his
destitution deprived him of his senses after a period of wretchedness
and even of rags. Broken-hearted and in despair, concluding with
hopeless imbecility, this man of taste and talent, for he possessed both
in no common degree, was left to die in the hands of strangers--no
slight reproach to the cruel insensibility of those who, wallowing in
wealth, and fluttering from year to year through the round of fashion,
suffered their former associate, nay their envied example, to perish in
his living charnel. He was buried in the Protestant cemetery of Caen,
under a stone with this inscription:--

            In
        Memory of
    GEORGE BRUMMELL, ESQ.,
   who departed this life
  On the 29th of March 1840.
      Aged 62 years.

Mr Jesse deserves credit for his two volumes. There is a good deal in
them which has no direct reference to Brummell; but he has collected
probably all that could be known. The books are _very_ readable, the
anecdotes pleasantly told, the style is lively, and frequently shows
that the biographer could adopt the thought as well as the language of
his hero. At all events he has given us the detail of a character of
whom every body had heard something, and every body wished to hear more.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _The Life of George Brummell, Esq._ By Captain Jesse. 2 volumes.




THE ACTUAL CONDITION OF THE GREEK STATE.

                                     "Say why
    That ancient story of Prometheus chain'd?
    The vulture--the inexhaustible repast
    Drawn from his vitals? Say what meant the woes
    By Tantalus entail'd upon his race,
    And the dark sorrows of the line of Thebes?
    Fictions in form, but in their substance truths--
    Tremendous truths!--familiar to the men
    Of long past times; nor obsolete in ours."--_Excursion._


In an article on the bankruptcy of the Greek kingdom, (No. CCCXXXV.,
September 1843,) we gave an account of the financial condition of the
new state; and we ventured to suggest that a revolution was unavoidable.
That revolution occurred even sooner than we expected; for our number
had hardly reached Athens ere King Otho was compelled to summon a
national assembly to aid him in framing the long promised constitution.

As our former number explained the immediate causes of the discontent in
Greece, we shall now furnish our readers with a description of the
revolution, of its results, and of the great difficulties which still
oppose serious barriers to the formation of an independent _kingdom_ in
Greece. The late revolution was distinguished by an open rebellion of
the army; and as a rebellion, in which the troops have been covered with
decorations, and have received a gratification of some months' pay, is
not the era from which we should wish to date the civil liberty and
national prosperity of a monarchy founded by Great Britain, France, and
Russia, we shall use great delicacy in describing the movement, and
record no fact which we cannot substantiate by legal or documentary
evidence.

It is not to be supposed when we in Edinburgh were informed of the
approaching storm in Greece, that the people of the country were without
anxiety. The _Morning Post_, (23d September 1843,) which has generally
contained very accurate information from Athens, published a letter
written from that city on the 5th September. This Athenian correspondent
declared "that the Greeks have so fully made up their minds to put an
end to the Bavarian dynasty, as to be resolved not even to accept a
constitution at the hands of the king. They declare that they will
abstain from all outrage and personal violence; and that they only
desire the embarkation of King Otho and his German followers, who shall
be free to leave the country without the slightest injury."

We solicit the attention of her majesty's ministers to these memorable
words, written before the revolution.

The danger, in short, was visible to every body but King Otho, his
German camarilla, and his renegade Greek ministers. At this time Kalergy
was inspector of the cavalry. He had always expressed his
dissatisfaction with the system of Bavarian favouritism in the army; and
his gallant and disinterested conduct during the war against the Turks,
rendered him universally popular. Infinitely more of a gentleman and a
man of the world than any of the court faction, it is said that he was
viewed with feelings of personal as well as political aversion. It
happened that, about a week before the revolution, the king reviewed the
garrison of Athens, and in the order of the day which followed this
review, General Kalergy was noticed in such a way that he felt himself
deeply insulted. A Bavarian, Captain Hess, then marshal of the palace,
was supposed to be the author of this document. As the attack on Kalergy
was evidently caused by his political conduct, the whole Greek army took
his part, and the cry was raised that the Bavarians must be driven out
of Greece.

The prominent part which General Kalergy has taken in the late
revolution, and the romantic incidents of his life, induce us to offer
our readers a short sketch of his earlier career. We have known him in
circumstances when intercourse ensures intimacy; for we have sat
together round the same watch-fires, on the mountains of Argolis and
Attica. To parody the words of Anastasius, we saw him achieve his first
deed of prowess, and we were present when he heard his first praises.
Hastings's lips have long been silenced by death, but the music of his
applause still rings in our ears.

Demetrius Kalergy is descended from a Cretan family, whose name is
famous in the annals of Candia. He was born in Russia, and was studying
in Germany when the Greeks took up arms against the Turks. His elder
brothers, Nicolas and Manolis, having resolved to join the cause of
their countrymen, repaired to Marseilles, where, with the assistance of
their uncle, a man of great wealth in Russia, they freighted a vessel,
and purchased a small train of artillery, consisting of sixteen guns,
and a considerable supply of muskets and ammunition. Demetrius, though
then only fifteen years of age, could not be restrained from joining
them, and the three brothers arrived in Greece together. The young
Kalergy soon gave proofs of courage and military talents. His second
brother, Manolis, was killed during the siege of Athens; but the eldest,
Nicolas, a man who unites the accomplishments of a court to the
sincerest feelings of patriotism, still resides in Greece, universally
respected. During the Bavarian sway he took no part in political
affairs; but he was elected a member of the national assembly, which has
just terminated its labours in preparing the constitution.

Demetrius Kalergy was first entrusted with an independent command in
1824, when the Peloponnesian chiefs and primates, Kolokotroni, Londos,
Notaras, Deliyani, Zaimi, and Sessini, endeavoured to divide the Morea
into a number of small principalities, of which they expected to secure
the revenues for themselves. In spite of Kalergy's youth, he was ordered
to take the field against the first corps of the rebels that had acted
in open hostility to the existing government. With his usual promptitude
and decision, he attacked Panos Kolokotroni, the son of the old Klepht,
and Staïkos, a Moreote captain of some reputation, in the plain of
Tripolitza, where they were posted for the despicable purpose of
intercepting the trains of mules laden with merchandise for the supply
of the shops of Tripolitza, then the great market of all the central
parts of the Morea.

The affair was really brilliant. The rebels were encamped on a low hill,
and, not expecting that Kalergy would depart from the usual practice of
carrying on a long series of skirmishes, they had paid no attention to
their position. The attack opened in the usual way by a fierce fire at a
very long distance; but Kalergy, on perceiving the careless arrangements
of his enemy, soon induced his troops to creep up pretty close to the
Moreotes, when he suddenly jumped up, and shouted to his followers, "The
shortest way is the best. Follow me!" and rushed forward. His whole band
was within the hostile lines in an instant. The manoeuvre was so
unexpected, that few of the rebels fired; many were loading their
muskets, and none had time to draw their swords or yatagans. About 170
were slain, and, if report may be trusted, one of the rebel chiefs was
struck down by Kalergy, and the other taken prisoner after receiving a
wound in personal combat with the young hero. The faction of the Moreote
barons, as these greedy plunderers of the Greek shopkeepers would fain
have been called, was dissolved by this unexpected victory. Many laid
down their arms, and made peace with the government.

General Kalergy was afterwards present in the town of Navarin when it
was besieged by Ibrahim Pasha, and marched out with his band when the
place capitulated. This defeat, though he had only held a subordinate
command, afflicted him greatly, and he looked round for some means of
avenging his country's loss on the Turks. He resolved at last to
endeavour to make a diversion by recommencing the war in Crete; but
without a strong fortress to secure the ammunition and supplies
necessary for prosecuting a series of irregular attacks, it was evident
that nothing important could be effected. In this difficulty, Kalergy
determined to attack the impregnable island-fortress of Grabusa, as it
was known that the strength of the place had induced the Turks to leave
it with a very small garrison. Kalergy having learned that the greater
part of this garrison was absent during the day, disguised a few of his
men in Turkish dresses, and appeared on the beach at the point from
which the soldiers of the garrison crossed to this island Gibraltar. The
commander of Grabusa ordered the boat to transport them over as usual,
and the Greeks entered the fort before the mistake was discovered. The
place was in vain attacked by all the forces of Mohammed Ali; the Greeks
kept possession of it to the end of the war. The sagacity and courage
displayed by Kalergy in this affair placed him in the rank of the ablest
of the Greek chiefs.

When General Gordon (whose excellent history of the Greek revolution we
recommend to our readers{A}) attempted to relieve Athens, then besieged
by Kutayhi, (Reschid Pasha,) Kalergy and Makriyani commanded divisions
of the troops which occupied the Piræus. Subsequently, when Lord
Cochrane and General Church endeavoured to force the Turkish lines,
Kalergy was one of the officers who commanded the advanced division. In
the engagement which ensued, his adventures afford an illustration of
the singular vicissitudes of Eastern warfare. The Greek troops landed at
Cape Kolias during the night, and pushed forward to within a mile and a
half of the Turkish lines, where they formed a slight intrenchment on
some undulating hills. They threw up some ill-constructed tambouria, (as
the redoubts used in Turkish warfare are termed,) and of these some
remains are still visible. A ravine descending from the lower slopes of
Hymettus ran in front of this position, deep enough to shelter the
Turkish cavalry, and enable them to approach without exposing themselves
to the Greek artillery. This movement of the Turks was distinctly seen
from the Greek camp at the Piræus, and the approaching attack on the
advanced posts of the army was waited for in breathless anxiety. The map
of the plain of Athens is sufficiently familiar to most of our readers
to enable then to picture to themselves the scene which ensued with
perfect accuracy.

The Greek troops destined for the relief of Athens amounted to about
3000 men, and of these about 600 were posted far in advance of their
companions, in three small redoubts. The main body drawn up in a long
line remained inactive with the artillery, and a smaller corps as a
rear-guard seemed destined to communicate with the fleet of Lord
Cochrane at Cape Kolias. At the Piræus, about 700 men were scattered
about in all the disorder of an Eastern encampment, without making the
slightest attempt to distract the attention of the Turkish troops. The
French General Gueheneuc and the Bavarian General Heideck, both
witnessed the battle.

The Turkish cavalry, to the number of about 700, having formed in the
ravine, rode slowly up towards the brow of the hill on which the
tambouria of the Cretans, the Suliots, and the regular regiment were
placed. As soon as their appearance on the crest of the ridge exposed
them to the fire of the Greeks, they galloped forward. The fire of the
Greeks, however, seemed almost without effect, yet the Turks turned and
galloped down the hill into the shelter of the ravine. In a short time
they repeated their attack with a determination, which showed that the
preceding attempt had been only a feint to enable them to examine the
ground. As they approached this time very near the intrenchments, the
fire of the Greeks proved more effectual than on the former occasion,
and several of the Delhis, horse and man, rolled on the ground. Again
the Turks fled to conceal themselves in the ravine, and prepared for
another attack by dividing their force into three divisions, one of
which ascended and another descended the ravine, while the third
prepared to renew the assault in the old direction. The vizier Kutayhi
himself moved forward to encourage his troops, and it became evident
that a desperate struggle would now be made to carry the Greek
position, where the few troops who held it were left unsupported.

The Turkish cavalry soon rushed on the Greeks, assailing their position
in front and flanks; and, in spite of their fire, forced the horses over
the low intrenchments into the midst of the enemy.{B} For the space of
hardly three minutes pistol shots and sabre cuts fell so thick, that
friends and foes were in equal danger. Of the Greeks engaged not one had
turned to flee, and but few were taken alive. The loss of the Turks was,
however, but trifling--about a dozen men and from fifteen to twenty
horses.

The centre of the Greek army, on beholding the destruction of the
advanced guard, showed little determination; it wavered for a minute,
and then turned and fled towards the shore in utter confusion,
abandoning all its artillery to the Turks. The Delhis soon overtook
their flying enemies, and riding amongst them, coolly shot down and
sabred those whose splendid arms and dresses excited their cupidity. The
artillery itself was turned on the fugitives, who had left the
ammunition undestroyed as well as the guns unspiked. But our concern
with the battle of the 6th May 1827, is at present confined to following
the fortunes of Kalergy. He was one of the prisoners. His leg had been
broken by a rifle-ball as the Turks entered the tambouri of the Cretans,
and as he received an additional sabre cut on the arm, he lay helpless
on the ground, where his youthful appearance and splendid arms caught
the eye of an Albanian bey, who ordered him to be secured and taken care
of as his own prisoner.

On the morning after the battle, the prisoners were all brought out
before the tent of Kutayhi, who was encamped at Patissia, very near the
site of the house subsequently built by Sir Pulteney Malcolm. George
Drakos, a Suliot chief, had killed himself during the night; and the
Pasha, in consequence, ordered all the survivors to be beheaded,
wishing, probably, to afford Europe a specimen of Ottoman economy and
humanity, by thus saving the lives of these Greeks from themselves. Two
hundred and fifty were executed, when Kalergy, unable to walk, was
carried into the circle of Turkish officers witnessing the execution, on
the back of a sturdy Albanian baker. Kutayhi calmly ordered his instant
execution; but the prisoner having informed his captor that he would pay
100,000 piastres for his ransom; the Albanian bey stepped forward and
maintained his right to his prisoner so stoutly, that the Pasha, whose
army was in arrears, and whose military chest was empty, found himself
compelled to yield. As a memento of their meeting, however, he ordered
one of Kalergy's ears to be cut off. The ransom was quickly paid, and
Kalergy returned to Poros, where it was some time before he recovered
from his wounds.

Capodistrias on his arrival in Greece named Kalergy his aide-de-camp,
and as he was much attached to the president, he was entrusted with the
command of the cavalry sent against Poros and Nisi, when those places
took up arms against the arbitrary and tyrannical conduct of
Capodistrias. We are not inclined to apologize for the disorders which
the Greek cavalry then committed; they were unpardonable even during the
excitement of a civil war.

The marriage of Kalergy was as romantic as the rest of his career. Two
chiefs, both of the family of Notaras, (one of the few Greek families
which can boast of territorial influence dating from the times of the
Byzantine empire,) had involved the province of Corinth in civil war, in
order to secure the hand of a young heiress. The lady, however, having
escaped from the scene of action, conferred her hand on Kalergy, whose
fame as a soldier far eclipsed that of the two rivals.

As soon as the Bavarians arrived in Greece, they commenced persecuting
Kalergy. An unfounded charge of treason was brought against him; but he
was honourably acquitted by a court-martial, of which our country-man,
General Gordon of Cairness, was the president; and from that period
down to the publication of the order of the day, last September, he has
been constantly an object of Bavarian hatred.

About twenty-four hours before the revolution of the 15th of September
broke out, the court of Greece received some information concerning the
extent and nature of the plot, and orders were given by King Otho to
hold a council of his trusted advisers. The Bavarians Hess and Graff,
and the Greeks Rizos, Privilegios, Dzinos, and John the son of Philip,
(for one of the courtly councillors of the house of Wittelspach rejoices
in this primitive cognomen,) met, and decided on the establishment of a
court-martial to try and shoot every man taken in arms. Orders were
immediately prepared for the arrest of upwards of forty persons.

A good deal has been said about the revolution as having been a mere
military movement. This, however, is not a correct view of the matter,
either with reference to the state of parties, or to the intensity of
the national feeling at the time. Sir Robert Inglis most justly observed
in Parliament--"That revolution in Greece had been prepared during years
of intolerable despotism, and the soldiery merely shared in, and did not
by any means lead, the proceedings of the great body of the nation." The
fact is, that a plot for seizing the king and sending him to Trieste,
had been formed by the Philorthodox or Russian party, in the early part
of 1843; but the party, from some distrust of its own strength, and from
the increasing unpopularity of King Otho, was induced to admit a few of
the most determined of the constitutionalists into the plot, without
intending to entrust them with the whole of the plan. The rising was at
last fixed for the month of September. This occurred in consequence of
the universal outcry raised by the Greeks, on finding that the
representations of Great Britain in favour of the long-promised
constitution, and the warnings which Sir Robert Peel threw out on the
discussion of Greek affairs on Mr Cochrane's motion, were utterly
neglected by King Otho. This indignation was reduced to despair when it
was known that Mr Tricoupis, on his recall from London, had assured the
king that the English cabinet was so determined to maintain the _statu
quo_, that the constitutional party would meet with no countenance from
England. Every party in Greece then prepared for action, and entered
into negotiations, in which the opinions of the constitutionalists
prevailed, because they were actively supported by the great body of the
people.

In order to prevent the country from becoming a scene of anarchy, in
case a civil war proved unavoidable, it was necessary to employ all the
regular authorities who could be induced to join the national cause, in
their actual functions, without any reference to party feelings. This
was done; and the fact that it was so, proves the intenseness of the
public feeling. The constitutional party decided that the recognition of
Greece as a constitutional state, and the immediate convocation of a
national assembly, were to be the demands made on King Otho. The Russian
party allowed these two questions to be first mooted in the firm
persuasion that the king would be induced by his own pride, his despotic
principles, and the mistaken views of several of the foreign ministers
at Athens, to refuse these demands; and, in that case, the throne would
infallibly have been declared vacant.

About midnight, on the 14th of September, the _gendarmes_ were ordered
to surround the house of General Makriyani, an officer of irregulars on
half-pay, and to arrest him on a charge of treason. On approaching the
house they were warned off; but pressing forward they were fired on, and
one _gendarme_ was killed and one or two wounded. In consequence of the
alarm given by the minister of war, for the purpose of supporting the
arrests to be made, the garrison was all in readiness. In the mean time
the greater part of the officers had been admitted into the secret, that
a general movement of all Greece was to be made that night, and that
their duty would be to maintain the strictest order and enforce the
severest discipline.

Kalergy, therefore, as soon as he was informed that the movement had
been made to arrest Makriyani, assembled all the officers, and, in a few
words, declared to them that the moment for saving their country from
the Bavarian yoke had arrived; and that they must now, if they wished to
be free, call on the king to adopt a constitutional system of
government. The importance of this step, which Kalergy adopted with his
usual decision, can only be understood when it is recollected, that
there existed a strong party determined to avail itself of every
opportunity of driving King Otho from the throne. Had Kalergy,
therefore, delayed pledging the officers and the army to the
constitution, or allowed them to march out of their barracks before
making the constitution the rallying word of the revolution, there can
be no doubt that the agents of the Russian and Philorthodox parties
would have raised the cry of "Death to the Bavarians! down with the
tyrant!" Kalergy, however, put the garrison in motion amidst shouts of
_Long live the constitution_; and as the cavalry moved from their
barracks, these shouts were echoed enthusiastically by the citizens who
were waiting anxiously without.

As soon as Kalergy had taken the command he marched all the troops to
the square before the palace. Two squadrons of cavalry, two battalions
of infantry, a company of Greek irregulars, and a number of half-pay
officers and pensioners, were soon drawn up under King Otho's windows.
His monstrous palace had begun to produce its effects. Strong patrols
were detached to preserve order in the town, and to compel the
_gendarmes_ to retire to their quarters. Makriyani, on being relieved
from his blockade, repaired to the square, collecting on the way as
large a body of armed citizens as he was able.

The king had been waiting at one of the windows of the palace in great
anxiety to witness the arrest of Makriyani; and on seeing the shots
fired from the house, and the suspension of the attack by the
_gendarmes_, he had dispatched a Bavarian aide-de-camp, named
Steinsdorff, to order the artillery to the palace. The young and
inexperienced Bavarian returned without the guns; but assured his
Majesty that they would soon arrive. In the mean time, the whole
garrison appeared in the square, and was ranged opposite the palace: the
king, however, expected that the arrival of the artillery would change
their disposition. In a short time, the guns came galloping up; but to
the utter dismay of King Otho, they were ranged in battery against the
palace, while the artillerymen, as soon as the manoeuvre was executed,
gave a loud shout of "long live the constitution."

His Majesty, after a long period of profound silence, appeared at a
window of the lower story of the palace, attended by the Bavarian
captain, Hess--the most unpopular man in Greece, unless Dzinos, the
agent in the celebrated cases of judicial torture, could dispute with
him that "bad eminence." One of the servants of the court called for
General Kalergy in a loud voice; and when he approached the window the
king asked--"What is the meaning of this disturbance? What am I to
understand by this parade of the garrison?" To this Kalergy replied, in
a loud and clear voice, "The people of Greece and the army desire that
your Majesty will redeem the promise that the country should be governed
constitutionally." King Otho then said, "Retire to your quarters; I
shall consult with my ministers, with the council of state, and the
ambassadors of the three protecting powers, and inform you of my
determination." This appeared to the audience to be acting the absolute
sovereign rather too strongly under the circumstances, and a slight
movement of the officers, who overheard the king's words, was conveyed
like lightning to the troops, so that the king received a distinct reply
from the whole army in a sudden clang of sabres and noise of arms.
Kalergy, however, immediately replied in the same distinct tone in which
he had before spoken--"Sire, neither the garrison of Athens, nor the
people will quit this spot, until your Majesty's decisions on the
proposals of the council of state, which will be immediately laid before
you, is known." At this moment Captain Hess put himself forward beside
the king, and said--"Colonel Kalergy; that is not the way in which it
becomes you to speak to his Majesty." But to this ill-timed lesson in
politeness Kalergy replied sharply--"Draw your head back, sir: you and
such as you have brought the king and the country into their present
unfortunate circumstances. You ought to be ashamed of your conduct." The
Bavarian hero at these words disappeared; and this was the last occasion
in which this champion of Bavarianism appeared in a public character.

At this time, Count Metaxas, Lieutenant-General Sir Richard Church, and
Major-General Londos, members of the council of state, who had been in
the square with the troops, were engaged preparing the council for its
share in the revolution. At the meeting which took place, Spiro Milios,
the commandant of the military school, and an active member of the
Russian party, was present as a representative of the army. It was
evident that the council of state comprised three parties. One was
willing to support King Otho and the actual system. This party included
Kondouriotis, the president; Tricoupis, the late minister in London; and
a German Greek named Theocharis. Another party was eager to drive King
Otho from the throne, in order to proceed to the nomination of a regency
preparatory to the choice of an orthodox prince. We are not sure that
any individual is now anxious to identify his name with this party. The
third party made the demand for a constitution their primary object; and
as this party was led by Metaxas, Londos, Church, Palamidhis, and
Mansolas, it was soon joined by the majority.

The meeting was long, and it is said that the conduct of the members was
much more disorderly than that of the people and the troops in the
square; but at last, a proclamation and an oath were drawn up, by which
the council of state, the army, and the people, all pledged themselves
to support the constitution. A committee consisting of Metaxas, Londos,
and Palamidhis, was also charged to prepare an address to the king,
recommending his majesty to convoke a national assembly, in order to
prepare a constitution for the state; at the same time they invited his
majesty to appoint new ministers, and in the list presented they of
course took care to insert their own names. As soon as this business was
terminated, the council dispatched a deputation to wait on his majesty,
consisting of the president and five members, who were to obtain the
king's consent.

The conduct of King Otho on receiving this deputation was neither wise
nor firm. He delayed returning any answer for two hours, and attempted
to open a negotiation with the council of state, by means of one of the
members of the camarilla. The delay excited some distrust even among the
best disposed in the square, and the report was spread that the king was
endeavouring to communicate with the _corps diplomatique_, in order to
create a diversion. At this very time a train of carriages suddenly
appeared at the gates of the palace, and the ministers of the three
protecting powers--Sir Edmund Lyons, Mr Katakazy, and Mr Piscatory,
accompanied by General Prokesch d'Osten, and Mr Brassier de St Simon,
the representatives of Austria and Prussia--requested to be admitted to
see the king. General Kalergy, however, declared that he had orders to
refuse all entry to the palace, until his majesty had terminated his
conference with the deputation of the council of state; and repeated, in
the presence of the ministers of Austria and Prussia, the assurance he
had given at an early hour of the morning to Sir Edmund Lyons, Mr
Katakazy, and Mr Piscatory, that the greatest respect would be shown to
the person of his majesty. Mr Katakazy, the _doyen_ of the _corps
diplomatique_, satisfied that any parade of foreign interference could
only increase the difficulties of the king's position, accepted the
answer of Kalergy and began to withdraw. The representatives of the
powers which had never protected Greece, deemed the moment favourable
for a display of a little independent diplomacy, and accordingly the
Prussian minister asked Kalergy in a tone, neither mild nor low, if he
durst refuse to admit him to see his majesty. To this Kalergy, who was
extremely anxious to avoid any dispute with the foreign ministers at
such a moment, politely replied that he was compelled to refuse even
the minister of Prussia. Mr Brassier, however, returned to the charge
aided by his Austrian colleague; but as the Greeks place all Germans in
the category of Bavarians, they gave some manifestations of their
dislike to any German interference, which could not be otherwise than
displeasing to the Prussian, who addressed Kalergy in a very rough tone.
His words were lost to the spectators, but they were supported by
General Prokesch d'Osten with a good deal of gesticulation. The patience
of Kalergy gave way under these repeated attacks, and he turned to Mr
Brassier, saying--"Monsieur le ministre, you are generally unlucky in
your advice, and I am afraid his majesty has heard too much of it
lately."

The thrust was a home one, and the Prussian minister, rather
discomposed, addressed himself to Sir Edmund Lyons, who, while waiting
till his carriage drew up, had been quietly contemplating the scene, and
said--"Colonel Kalergy is insolent; but he only repeats what he has
heard in the drawing-rooms of Athens." Sir Edmund Lyons replied--"I do
not see, Mr Brassier, how that makes your case better," and withdrew to
his carriage, leaving Austria and Prussia to battle out their dispute
with Greece in the presence of the mob. The spectators considered the
scene a very amusing one, for they laughed heartily as the _corps
diplomatique_ retired; but, if all the reports current in diplomatic
circles be true, Mr Katakazy, the _doyen_ of the Athenian diplomatists,
was made to suffer severely for his prudent conduct; for it is said that
his recall took place because he did not support with energy the foolish
attempt of his enterprising colleagues. It is certain that any very
violent support given to any feeling, in direct hostility to the
national cause at the time, could hardly have failed to vacate the
throne, or at least to push the people on to commit some disorders, of
which the Russian court, and the friends of despotism at Vienna and
Berlin, might have taken advantage.

The king, finding at last that there was no hope of his deriving any
assistance from without, signed the ordinances appointing a new
ministery, and convoking a national assembly. The troops, after having
remained more than thirteen hours under arms, were marched back to their
barracks, as if from a review; and every thing at Athens followed its
usual course. Thus was a revolution effected in the form of government
in Greece without any interruption in the civil government--without the
tribunals' ceasing to administer justice for a single day--without the
shops' remaining closed beyond the usual hours, or the mercantile
affairs of the country undergoing the slightest suspension. Such a
people must surely be fit for a constitution.

The national assembly has now met, and terminated its labours; and
Greece is in possession of a constitution made by Greeks. In three
months the first representative chamber will meet. It will consist of
about 120 members. The senate, which is to consist of members named by
the king for life, cannot exceed one-half the number of the
representatives elected by the people. Faults may be found with some of
the details of the constitution; but, on the whole, it must be regarded
as a very favourable specimen of the political knowledge of the Greeks;
and the manner in which the different articles were discussed, and the
care with which every proposal and amendment were examined, gave all
those who witnessed the debates a very high opinion of the legislative
capacity of the people.

The form of the Greek government, as a constitutional monarchy, may now
be considered as settled. We shall therefore proceed to examine the
difficulties, of a social and political nature, which still obstruct the
advancement of the nation, and render its prosperity problematical. Some
of our statements may appear almost paradoxical to travellers, whose
hasty glance at distant countries enables them to come to rather more
positive conclusions than those who devote years to study the same
subject. We shall, however, strive to expose our facts in such a way as
to show that we state the plain truth, nothing but the truth, and, as
far as our subject carries us, the whole truth.

That Greece has not hitherto improved, either in her wealth, population,
or civilization, as fast as the energy of her people led her friends to
expect would be the case after she was freed from the Turks, is
universally admitted. The great bar to improvement exists in an evil
rooted in the present frame of social life, but fortunately one which
good and just government would gradually remove. In Greece there is no
clear and definite idea of the sacred right of property in land. The god
Terminus is held in no respect. No Greek, from the highest to the
lowest, understands the meaning of that absolute right of property
"which," as Blackstone says, "consists in the free use, enjoyment, and
disposal by every Englishman of all his acquisitions, without control or
diminution, save only by the laws of the land."

The appropriation of Mr Finlay's land by King Otho, without measurement,
valuation, or payment, to make a garden for his palace--the formation of
a great road leading to the French minister's house, by the municipality
of Athens, without indemnifying the owners of the land, though a road
sufficiently good already existed--and the confiscation of half the
estates purchased by foreigners from the Turks by Maurocordatos, when
Minister of Finance under the Bavarian Regency, in a ministerial
circular deciding on rights of property, are mere trifling examples of
the universal spirit. When Maurocordatos wrote his memorable
declaration, "that every spot where wild herbs, fit for the pasturage of
cattle, grow, is national property, and that the Greek government
recognises no individual property in the soil except the exclusive right
of cultivation," he only, in deference to the Bavarian policy of the
time, which wished to copy Mohammed Ali's administration in Egypt,
caricatured a misconception of the right of property equally strong in
every Greek, whether he be the oppressor or the oppressed. Even the late
National Assembly has not thought it necessary to correct any of the
invasions of private property by the preceding despotism. Individuals,
almost ruined by the plunder of their land, have not even received the
offer of an indemnity, though the justice of their claims is not
denied.{C}

The origin of this national obtuseness of mind on a question of
interest, is to be found in the system of taxing the land. A Greek
really views land somewhat as English labourers view game. The owner of
the soil is absolute proprietor only during those months in which he is
engaged in the labours of preparing the land and sowing the seed. As
soon as the harvest time arrives, he ceases to be master of his estate,
and sinks into the condition of a serf of the revenue officer, or of the
farmer of the land revenue. It is true, that the government tax only
amounts to a tenth of the gross produce of the soil; but, in virtue of
this right to a tenth, government assumes the entire direction of all
the agricultural operations relating to the crops, and the cultivator's
nine-tenths (for it is really a misnomer to call him proprietor) become
a mere adjunct of the government tenth.

Many of our readers, who are unacquainted with Eastern life, may suppose
that we colour our picture too strongly. In order, therefore, to divest
our statement of all ornament, we shall describe the whole of the events
of an agricultural year. Our classic readers will then comprehend
practically how the vulture could feast on the perpetually growing heart
of Prometheus--why Tantalus tempted the gods by murdering Pelops--and
they will see that the calamities of the Theban race are an allegorical
representation of the inevitable fate which awaits a people groaning
under the system of taxation now in force in Greece.

The tenths in Greece are usually farmed to speculators, and, as the
collection is a matter of difficulty, extraordinary powers are conferred
on the farmers; hence it happens, that the social position of the
cultivators and the farmers is one of constant hostility. If the
cultivator has it in his power, he cheats the farmer of the revenue,
and if the farmer is able to do so he cheats the cultivator. The result
is, that probably not one individual in the Greek kingdom really pays
the exact tenth of the produce of his land. A few of the most active
rogues contrive to cheat the farmers of the revenue; but these
gentlemen, in virtue of the great powers with which the law invests
them, contrive to cheat the greater part of the proprietors. As soon as
the grain is ripe, the cultivator is compelled to address himself to the
tax-farmer for permission to cut his crop; but as the farmer must keep a
very sharp look-out after his interest, he only grants such permissions
as accord with the arrangements he may have established for watching the
cultivators at the smallest possible expense to himself, making the
over-ripeness of the crop of the majority a very secondary
consideration. It happens, consequently, that in Greece two-thirds of
the grain are not gathered until it is over-ripe, and the loss is
consequently very great.

When the grain is cut, it must be carried to a certain number of
authorized threshing-floors collected together, in order that the tax
farmer may take every possible care to secure his tenth. To these
threshing-floors the whole grain of a district must be transported from
the fields in the straw, though the straw may be wanted as fodder for
cattle at the very spot from which it is taken, and will require to be
carried back a very great distance. An immense loss of grain and labour
is sustained by this regulation; but it is a glorious season for the
donkeys;--long trains of these animals, lively under their heavy loads
of sheaves, may be seen galloping one after the other, each endeavouring
to seize a mouthful from his neighbour. The roads are strewed with grain
and the broken-hearted cultivators follow, cursing man and beast.

The grain is at last collected in immense stacks round the
threshing-floors--a cultivator perched on the top of each stack,
defending it from the attacks of man and beast; and a tax-gatherer,
seated with his pipe cross-legged in the middle of the circle, is
watching the manoeuvres of the cultivators. No person who has not
examined the subject with attention can imagine the scenes of fraud and
violence which a Greek harvest produces. The grain is usually kept piled
round the threshing-floors under various pretexts, for at least two
months, unless the cultivator pay the farmer an additional sum, to
facilitate the housing of his crops. Even in the vicinity of Athens, the
operations of the wheat and barley harvest generally occupy the
exclusive attention of the agricultural population for three months. The
grain is trodden out by cattle; and a Greek who bought a winnowing
machine at Athens, was not allowed to make use of it, as the farmers of
the revenue contended that the introduction of such instruments would
facilitate frauds.

The farmers of the tenths likewise increase the evils of this ruinous
system, by throwing every difficulty in the way of the cultivators, in
order to compel them to consent to pay for each facility they may
require. We have known regular contracts entered into with the
peasantry, by which they agreed to pay from 3 to 5 per cent more than
the legal tenth. We believe no honest man ever paid less than from 12 to
13 per cent on his crop, even in the neighbourhood of the capital. It
may be supposed that some redress can be obtained, in cases of gross
oppression, by applying to the courts of law; but this is not the case.
A special tribunal, consisting of administrative officers of the Crown,
and municipal authorities, and from which lawyers have been always
carefully excluded, is appointed to judge summarily all cases relating
to the tenths. The infamous conduct of these administrative tribunals
excited general discontent, and an article has been inserted in the
constitution abolishing them, and sending all the pending cases to the
ordinary courts of law. Government, however, defended them to the last,
and even pressed for decisions down to the very hour in which King Otho
took his oath to the constitution. There is here, however, some ground
for consolation; for it is clear that the Greek ministers fear the
ordinary administration of justice as being above their control.

It is needless to say, that under such laws the improvement of
agriculture in Greece is impossible. No green crops can be grown with
profit at any distance from a large town. The tenth of garden produce
and green crops being generally valued and paid for in money, the
disputes concerning the valuation, and the impossibility of obtaining
any redress, in case of injustice, have induced the cultivators to give
up such cultivation. We have known proprietors pay half the value of a
crop of potatoes as the value of the tenth; and in one case, on our
asking the farmer of the tenths, who after all was not a bad fellow at
heart, though he wished to make his farming of the revenues turn out a
good speculation in his hands, what he would recommend a proprietor to
do in order not to lose money by cultivating potatoes; he looked grave,
and after a few moments' thought, candidly replied--"Never to plant them
as long as the present law remains in force!" Vineyards which have been
planted with care, and cultivated for eight years, have been lately
abandoned, as the high valuation of their produce renders them
unprofitable. The only agriculture which can be pursued in Greece
without loss, is that in which only the simplest and rudest methods of
cultivation are followed. The land only yields a rent when it is in the
immediate vicinity of a large market, or when it is of the richest
quality; the employment of capital in improvements only opens new
channels for the extortions of the farmers of the revenue. No money can
be safely invested on mortgage in such a country, and no loans by the
Three Allied powers to the Government, no national bank, no manufactory
of beet-root sugar, no model farms, and no schools of agriculture can
introduce prosperity into a country taxed in such a manner.

We do not intend to discuss any plan for ameliorating the condition of
the Greeks; but we can easily point out what it is necessary for them to
do before they can, by any possibility, better their condition. The
system of selling the tenths must be abolished; for a government so
inefficient as to be unable to collect them by its own officers, is
incompetent to perform the functions for which it was created, and ought
to be destroyed. The owners of the land must be rendered the real
masters of their property. They must be allowed to reap their crops when
they are ripe, and to thresh their grain when and where they please.
Until this is the case, we can assure the Three Protecting Powers, they
count without the people if they suppose that they have established a
permanent monarchy in Greece. We do not hesitate to say that the royal
dignity, even with the support of England and France, is not worth ten
years' purchase until this is accomplished.

Every traveller who visits Greece declaims against the number of
coffee-houses throughout the country, and the hosts of idle people with
which they are filled. But nothing else can be expected in a country
where the system of agriculture keeps the cultivators idle for three
months annually, and deprives the proprietor of all profit from his
land. Under such circumstances the demand for labour becomes extremely
irregular. Many of the lower classes turn brigands and plunder their
neighbours; the educated and higher classes turn government _employés_
and plunder the country. This evil has arrived at an alarming pitch; the
Greek army contains almost as many officers as privates; the navy has
officers enough to man a fleet twice as large as that which Greece
possesses, for she has three admirals, a hundred and fifty captains, and
two hundred and seventy commanders. It has been in vain pressed on every
successive administration, that a list of the army, navy, and civil
_employés_ ought to be published, in order to put an end to the shameful
system of jobbing which has always existed. No minister would, however,
adopt a principle which would so effectually have put an end to his own
arbitrary power of quartering his friends and relations on the public.
The loans of the three powers might be doubled to-morrow, and it is
evident that, unless all the population of Greece were made pensioners,
no surplus would be found to employ for any public improvement.

Indeed the national revenues of the Greek kingdom, as of old those of
Athens and Rome, seem to be considered the property of that body of
citizens who pursue no useful occupation, and possess no taxable
property; while the unlucky proprietors are viewed as a species of
serfs, existing to supply a revenue to the state. This political
principle has been exemplified in a decree of the late national
assembly, excluding every Greek or foreigner from public employment who
happens not to be a born subject of the new kingdom, or who did not take
part in the war against the Turks before the end of 1827, and perhaps
even more strongly in a very unconstitutional private vote of a
committee of the whole house, giving 800 drachmas to each member--this
vote being in direct violation of one of the articles of the
constitution, which requires that all grants of money should originate
from the crown. We do not deny the necessity of allowing the deputies
this small grant; many of them were poor, and their conduct had been
disinterested; but we are bound to complain of the slightest infraction
of constitutional principles by those who frame a constitution.

The length of this article compels us to leave a few observations we
desire to make on the municipal government of the Greeks, and on the
state of education, and of their judicial and ecclesiastical affairs, to
another opportunity. The late debates in the House of Commons, and the
able statement which Sir Robert Peel gave of the principles of our
policy with regard to Greece, render it unnecessary for us to say one
word on that subject. We can assure our readers that the policy of our
present ministers has been applauded by every party in Greece, except
the Philorthodox; and they, as they could find no fault, remained
silent. We believe that no two governments ever acted more
disinterestedly to a third than Great Britain end France have lately
done to Greece, and that no ministers ever acted more fairly, in any
international question, than Lord Aberdeen and M. Guizot have done on
the subject of the Greek revolution; but for this very reason we feel
inclined to warn our countrymen against the leaven of old principles,
which still exists in the palace at Athens. Let us judge of the new
government of Greece by its acts, and let Great Britain and France
remember that they are not looked on without some suspicion.

    +Enesti gar pôs touto tê tyrannidi
    Nosêma, tois philoisi mê pepoithenai+.

FOOTNOTES:

{A} 2 vols. 8vo. Edinburgh, 1832.

{B} The tambouria are always constructed with the ditch in the inside,
in order that they may afford a better cover from artillery.

{C} One English sufferer has for several years vainly attacked the king
for justice, even with the assistance of the English Minister in Greece
and the Foreign Office at home.




INDEX TO VOL. LV.


Aborigines of New Holland, the, 193.

Achilles Tatius, account of his romance of Clitophon and Leucippe, 33.

Actual condition of the Greek state, the, 785.

Aden, the British position of, 272.

Adventures in Texas.--No. III. the Struggle, 18.

Adventures of Clitophon and Leucippe, the, 33.

Africa, ignorance of the interior of, 269.

Africa--the Slave Trade--and Tropical Colonies, 730
  various expeditions to explore, 731
  its principal rivers, and countries watered by them, 734.

Agriculture, causes of the decline of, in the Roman empire, 391.

Ameer Ali, a Thug, account of, 326.

Ameers of Scinde, case of the, 580.

Anti-corn-law League, measures of the, 121.

Ancient Greek romances--Clitophon and Leucippe, 33.

Arabs of Cordova, sketch of the history of the, 431.

Australia, statistics of the various colonies of, 184.


Banking in Australia, on, 186.

Banking-House, the, a history in three part. Part III. Chap. I., Symptoms
    of rottenness, 50
  Chap. II., A meeting, 56
  Chap. III., A chapter of loans, 61
  Chap. IV., A dissolution of partnership, 65
  Chap. V., The crisis, 69
  Chap. VI., The crash, 75
  Chap. VII., The vicarage, 79.

Beau Brummell, Jesse's memoirs of, reviewed, 769.

Beauclerk, Topham, 182.

Beke, Dr. T. C., his travels in Africa, 740.

Belfront castle, a retrospective review, 334.

Benton, Mr, on the treaty of Washington, 112.

Bewailment from Bath, a, or Poor Old Maids, 199.

Bristol, the Earl of, 180.

British fleet, the, 462.

Brummell, Jesse's memoirs of, reviewed, 769.

Bumbo Khan, sketch of, 223.

Bundelcund, Colonel Davidson's travels in, 325.


Canadian insurgents, trials of the, 3.

Catholicism, effects of in Ireland, 520.

Chartists, state trials of the, in 1842, 5.

Cheap labour and cheap bread, connection of, 125.

Chudleigh, Miss, career of, 180.

Church of Scotland, the secession from the, 221.

Churkaree, town of, 327.

Circulating libraries, on, 556.

Circulating medium of Great Britain, amount of the, 388.

Clitophon and Leucippe, account of the romance of, 33.

Cobden, Mr, on the effects of corn-law repeal, 125.

Colonies, importance of, to England, 740.

Columbus, a poem, by B. Simmons, 687.

Conservatism, advance of, since the passing of the reform bill, 103
  as exhibited by the general elections, 104.

Cordova, history of the Moorish kingdom of, 431.

Corn-law, the new, and its effects, 116.

Corn-laws, on the, 385
  viewed in connexion with the manufacturing distress, 105
  effects of their repeal on wages, &c., 125.

Corn question, letter from Lemuel Gulliver on the, 98
  Sir Robert Peel on the, 106.

Crime, the increase of, 533
  table of it since 1805, 534
  not attributable to its surer detection by a more efficient police, 535
  nor to defects in the law, 540
  nor to deficiency in education, 541
  its diminution in India and France, 538.

Cry from Ireland, review of the, 638.

Customs revenue, improvement of the, since the new tariff, 114.


Davidson's travels in India, review of, 321.

Delta, lines by, on the snow, 617.

Dhacca, account of the city of, 331.

Difficulties of the present government on its accession, the, 108.

Diligence, the, a leaf on a journal, 692.

Disruption of the Scottish church, the, 221.

Dublin state trials, the, 1.

Duelling in Germany, 555.

Dumas, Alexander; thrush-hunting, a tale by, 150
  extracts from his work on Italy, 347
  and from his Rhine and Rhinelanders, 546.


Education, statistics of, with reference to crime, 541.

Elections, results of the, since 1832, 104.

Ellenborough, Lord, his Indian policy, 113.

Emigration to Australia, letter on, 184
  from Africa, on, 745.

England, efforts made by, in favour of free trade, 261.

Ethiopia, Harris's Highlands of, reviewed, 269.

Europe, diminution of, British exports to, 263.

Eusebius, letter to, on sitting for a portrait, 243.

Exports, diminution of, to Europe, 263.


Fairies' Sabbath, the, a tradition of Upper Lusatia, 665.

Fireman's Song, the, 101.

Foreign policy of the government, the, 111.

France, increased commercial restrictions of, 261
  statistics of crime in, 538.

Freethinker, the, a tale, 593.

Free trade and protection, on, 259
  efforts made by England to introduce free trade, 261
  protective system pursued by France, Germany, &c., _ib._
  true principles of, 268. No. II.
  The corn-laws, 385
  failure of the reciprocity system, _ib._
  comparison of a young and old state as to manufacturing and agricultural
    productiveness, 386
  effects of free trade on the Roman empire, 391
  impracticability of that system, 396
  and its inexpediency, 397.

Frost and others, the trials of, 4.


Gama, circumnavigation of Africa, by, 271.

General elections, results of the, since 1832, 104.

Germany Customs League, the, 262.

Germany, Dumas in, 546.

Gil Blas, on the authorship of, 698.

Glum, Tabitha, letter from, 199.

Goethe, lines to, 380.

Gopal, a Hindu robber, account of, 326.

Government, position and prospects of the, 103.

Greece, the actual condition of, 785.

Greek romances, the ancient: Clitophon and Leucippe, 33.

Gulliver, letter from, on the corn question, 98.

Gunnings, career of the, 176.

Gwalior, history and present state of, 579.


Hackman, murder of Miss Ray, by, 178.

Harris's Highlands of Ethiopia, review of, 269
  notices of it, 730.

Hawash river, the, 277.

Henley, orator, notices of, 171.

Heretic, the, a novel translated from the Russian of Lajétchnikoff, review
    of, 133.

Hervey, Captain, 180.

High life in the last century, 164.

Hill's Fifty days on board a Slave vessel, review of, 425.

Home policy of the government, the, 110.

Hurdwar, account of the fair of, 324.

Huskisson, Mr, first attempts to introduce the free trade system, 262.

Hydrabad, battle at, 580.

Hymn of a hermit, the, 382.


Imprisonment and transportation--No. I.; the increase of crime, 533.

Increase of crime, the, since 1808, 534
  not attributable to greater number of detections, 535
  nor to defect in the law, 540
  nor to deficiency of education, 541.

India, Colonel Davidson's travels in, review of, 321
  diminution of crime in, 538.

Indian affairs, Gwalior, 579.

Ireland, its present position, and effects of the government measures
    on, 127
  its present state, and policy of ministers, 518
  objections brought against the ministerial measures, 519
  defence of them, 524
  the landlord and tenant question, 638.

Irish state trials, the, 1.


J. S., poems by; the Olympic Jupiter, 378
  a Roman idyl, 379
  Goethe, 380
  hymn of a hermit, 382
  the luckless lover, 383.

Jervis, Sir John, career of, 465.

Jesse's Memoirs and Correspondence of George Selwyn, review of, 164
  of George Brummell, 769.


Kalergy, General, sketch of the life of, 785.

Kieff, a poem, translated from the Russian of Iván Kozlóff, by T. B.
    Shaw, 80.

Kingston, the Duchess of, 180.

Krapf, Mr, notices of his mission to Africa, 730.


Labour, gradual reduction in the cost of, in Great Britain, 125.

Lahore, revolution at, 581.

Lajétchnikoff, the Heretic by, reviewed, 133.

Lanarkshire, statistics of crime in, and its police, 537, 539.

Land of slaves, the, a poem, 257.

Landlord and tenant question in Ireland, the, 638.

Larresse on Portrait Painting, extracts from, 246.

Law, administration of the, in India, 333.

Lazzaroni of Naples, anecdotes of the, 354.

League, measures of the, 121.

Lemuel Gulliver, letter from, to the editor, 98.

Le Sage not the author of Gil Blas, 698.

Letter from an exiled contributor, 184.

Literature, the monster misery of, 556.

Llorente, M. on the authorship of Gil Blas, 698.

Lorgnon; a word or two of the opera-tive classes by, 292.

Love in the wilderness. Chap. I., 621
  Chap. II., 624
  Chap. III., 627
  Chap. IV., 631
  Chap. V., 635.

Luckless lover, the, a poem, 383.

Lusatia, traditions and tales of; No. I., the Fairies' Sabbath, 665.


Mahratta war, origin, &c., of the, 584.

Manufacturing distress, Sir Robert Peel on the causes of the, 105.

Marston, or, Memoirs of a Statesman. Part VII., 81
  Part VIII., 202
  Part IX., 362
  Part X., 483
  Part XI., 561.

Meeanee, battle of, 580.

Melbourne in Australia, letter from, with account of the colony, &c., 184.

Memoirs of a Statesman--_see_ Marston.

Memoirs of Earl St Vincent, review of, 462.

Mexico, two nights in, 449.

Michael Kalliphournas, a tale, 725.

Monster misery of literature, the, 556.

Monmouthshire rioters, trial of the, 4.

Moslem histories of Spain; the Arabs of Cordova, 431.

My friend; a poem, 256.


Naples, account of, by Dumas, 347.

Narration of certain uncommon things that did formerly happen to me,
    Herbert Willis, B. D., 749.

Nelson, notices of the early services of, 477.

New art of printing, by a designing devil, 45.

News from an exiled contributor, a letter from New Holland, 184.

Non-intrusionists, secession of the, from church of Scotland, 221.


O'Connell and others, trial of, 1
  his trial in 1831, 3
  his present trial and demeanour during it, 7
  his probable policy in agitating for Repeal, 128.

O'Connor, Fergus, state prosecutions of, 6.

Olympic Jupiter, the, a poem, 378.

Opera-tive classes, a word or two of the, 292.

Oude, a sporting excursion to, 329.

Oxford, trial of, 5.


Peel, Sir Robert, on the progress of Conservatism, 103, 104
  on the causes of the manufacturing distress, 105
  defence of his conduct on the corn-law question, 107.

Phenicians, circumnavigation of Africa by the, 271.

Pirates of Segna, the, a tale of Venice and the Adriatic. Part I. Chap. I.,
    The Studio, 299
  Chap. II., The Cavern, 303
  Chap. III., The Jewels, 310
  Chap. IV., The Ball, 316.
  Part II. Chap. I., The Battle of the Bridge, 401
  Chap. II., The Picture, 409
  Chap. III., The Pirates, 415
  Chap. IV., The Recognition, 421.

Poetry:--Kieff, from the Russian of Kozlóff, 80
  The Proclamation, 100
  the Fireman's Song, 101
  The Prophecy of the Twelve Tribes, 196
  My Friend, 256
  The Land of Slaves, 257
  the Priest's Burial, _ib._
  Prudence, 258
  The Olympic Jupiter, 378
  A Roman Idyl, 379
  Goethe, 380
  Hymn of a Hermit, 382
  The Luckless Lover, 383
  The Snow, by Delta, 617
  Columbus, by B. Simmons, 687
  To Swallows on the eve of departure, by the same, 690.

Police, repugnance to assessment for, 536.

Poor old maids, a bewailment from Bath, 199.

Porter, Mr, on the decrease of our European exports, 263.

Portrait painting, in a letter to Eusebius, 213.

Portugal, restrictive commercial system adopted by, 262.

Portuguese, circumnavigation of Africa by the, 271.

Position and Prospects of the government, on the: its position on the
    secession of the Whigs, 103
  advance of Conservatism since the passing of the Reform Bill, _ib._
  the manufacturing distress, 105
  the sugar and corn question, 106
  difficulties with which it had to contend, 108
  its home policy, and what it has done, 110
  its foreign policy, 111
  the new tariff and corn-law, 113
  results of its measures in the revival of trade, tranquillity, &c., 120
  its measures with reference to Ireland, 127.

Priest's burial, the, a poem, 257.

Printing, the new art of, by a designing devil, 45.

Proclamation, the, 100.

Prophecy of the twelve tribes, the, poem, 196.

Prosecution, the State, 1.

Prudence, a poem, 258.


Rampore, city of, 322.

Ray, Miss, murder of, by Hackman, 178,

Rebeccaites, trials of the, 6.

Reciprocity system, effect of, in diminishing the exports to Europe, 263
  failure of the, 385.

Repeal agitation, the, 128.

Revenue, improvement of the, 114.

Reviews: the Heretic, 133
  George Selwyn and his contemporaries, 164
  Harris's Highlands of Ethiopia, 269
  Davidson's Travels in India, 321
  Hill's Fifty days on board a Slave Ship, 425
  Tucker's Memoirs of Earl St Vincent, 462
  Cry from Ireland, 638
  Jesse's memoirs of Beau Brummell, 769.

Rhine, the, and Rhinelanders, 546.

Rigby, Richard, notices of, 172.

Roman empire, effects of free trade on the, 391.

Roman Idyl, a, 379.


Sahela Selassee, King of Abyssinia, British mission to, 282.

St Vincent, Earl, Tucker's Memoirs of, reviewed, 462.

Sandwich, Lord, notices of, 177.

Scinde, subjugation of, by the British, 580.

Segna, Pirates of--_see_ Pirates.

Selim, Captain, expedition under, to explore Central Africa, 731.

Selwyn and his contemporaries, review of, 164.

Shaw, T. B., translation of Kieff, a poem, from the Russian by, 80
  review of his translation of the Heretic, 133.

Shoa, mission to the kingdom of, 275.

Simmons, B., poems by:--Columbus, 687
  To swallows on the eve of departure, 690.

Sindiah, history of the house of, 582.

Sitting for a portrait, on, in a letter to Eusebius, 243.

Slave trade, the, 425, 730, 741.

Sliding scale, effects of the, 119.

Snow, the, a poem by Delta, 617.

Song of the Fireman, the, 101.

Southern Mexico, two nights in, 449.

Spain, condition of, under the Arabs of Cordova, 431.

Speculation in grain, diminution of, under the new corn law, 118.

State prosecutions, comparison of, in ancient and modern times, 1
  that of O'Connell in 1831, 3
  those of the Canadian insurgents, _ib._
  of the Monmouthshire rioters, 4
  of Oxford, 5
  of the Chartists in 1842, _ib._
  of the Welsh rioters, 6
  the present, of O'Connell and others, for conspiracy, 7.

Statesman, memoirs of a--_see_ Marston.

Struggle in Texas, the, 18.

Sugar question, Sir Robert Peel on the, 106.

Swallows on the eve of departure, address to, by B. Simmons, 690.


Tariff, the new, and its results, 113.

Tatius, Achilles, account of his romance, Clitophon and Leucippe, 33.

Texas, adventures in. No. III.; the struggle, 18.

Thrush-hunting, a tale; by Alexander Dumas, 150.

Traditions and tales of Upper Lusatia. No. I., The Fairies' Sabbath, 665.

Tropical colonies, on, 730, 741.

Tucker's Memoirs of Earl St Vincent, review of, 462.

Twelve tribes, prophecy of the, a poem, 196.

Two nights in Southern Mexico, a fragment from the journal of an American
    traveller, 449.

Two patrons, the, a tale. Chapter I., 500
  Chap. II., 503
  Chap. III., 505
  Chap. IV., 509
  Chap. V., 511
  Chap. VI., 514
  Chap. VII., 515.


Vardarelli, account of the, 358.


Wages, gradual reduction of, in Great Britain, 125.

Washington, the treaty of, 112.

Welsh rioters, trial of the, 6.

Who wrote Gil Blas? 698.

Wiggins' Cry from Ireland, review of, 638

William, John, letter from, to the editor, 184.

Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 174
  Gilly, 175.

Willis, Herbert, B. D., narration of, 749.

Word or two of the opera-tive classes, a, 292.


END OF VOL. LV.

       *       *       *       *       *

_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work._








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