{Transcriber's note: Spellings are sometimes erratic. A few obviousmisprints have been corrected, but in general the original spelling hasbeen retained. Accents in the French phrases are inconsistent, and havenot been standardised. Greek phrases have been transliterated, and areenclosed in + signs +anekdotoi+. }

BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. 

No. CCCXLVIII. OCTOBER, 1844. VOL. LVI. 

CONTENTS. 

 THE LIFE OF A DIPLOMATIST, 401

 POEMS AND BALLADS OF GOETHE. NO. II. , 417

 THE GREAT DROUGHT, 433

 A TENDER CONSCIENCE, 454

 THIERRY'S HISTORY OF THE GAULS, 466

 THE WITCHFINDER. CONCLUSION, 487

 MY LAST COURTSHIP; OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA, 507

 GREECE UNDER THE ROMANS. 524

 * * * * *

 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. CCCXLVIII. OCTOBER, 1844. VOL. LVI. 

THE LIFE OF A DIPLOMATIST. {A}

This is one of those curious memoirs which, from time to time, startforth from the family archives of public men, for the illustration ofthe past and the wisdom of the future. Nothing can be more important toeither the man of office or the man of reflection. Avoiding all thetheoretical portion of history, on which all men may be mistaken, theygive us its facts, on which no one can be deceived; detailing the courseof personal events, they supply us with the views of the mostintelligent minds directly employed in the transactions, exhibit theportraits of those minds, and point out to those who are to follow, theeffect of vigour, intrepidity, and knowledge, in overcoming thedifficulties of nations. 

The work on which we are about to make some remarks, is one of thoseproductions which do especial honour to the English aristocracy. It isthe diplomatic career of the founder of a peerage; compiled andpublished by the third in succession to the earldom. The noble editor, professing to have done but little in this office of reverence and duty, has done much--he has paid due honour to a manly, wise, and vigorousancestor; and he has set a striking example to the young nobility of histime. The libraries of every noble family of England contain similarrecords of the highest value; and nothing could be at once morehonourable to the memory of the gallant and renowned who have passedaway, or more important to posterity, than to give those documents tothe light, illustrated by the recollections of their noble descendants, and brought before the public with the natural advantages ofauthenticity and authority. 

Lord Malmesbury's career continued through one of the most interestingportions of the last century; that which was the preparative for thegreat catastrophe of its close, the overthrow of the French monarchy. Hewas in the service of his country, as a diplomatist, from 1768 to 1797;and for many succeeding years was in connexion with all the leadingpolitical characters of a time singularly fertile in remarkable men. Hewas born at Salisbury in 1746, the descendant of an old English family, possessed of property in Wiltshire. His father was an eminent scholar, the author of _Hermes_, and other well known treatises on literary andphilosophical subjects. But the scholar was also a man of active publiclife. Entering into parliament, he was appointed a lord of the treasuryin 1763, and secretary and comptroller of the Queen's household someyears after. A _bon-mot_ of one of the Townsends is recorded, on histaking his seat. 

"Who is the new member?" asked Townsend. 

"A Mr Harris, who has written on grammar and harmony. "

"Then what brings him here, where he will hear _neither_?"

The son of such a man had public life before him as his natural sourceof distinction; and Lord Malmesbury, late in life, (in 1800, ) thusgracefully commemorated his gratitude. "To my father's precepts andexample I owe every good quality I have. To his reputation and hischaracter, I attribute my more than common success in life. It was thosethat introduced me with peculiar advantage into the world. It was as hisson that I first obtained friends and patrons. I had nothing in myself;and I speak, at the distance of thirty-five years, not from affectedmodesty, but from a powerful recollection of what there was to entitleme to notice. Once, indeed, placed in a conspicuous and responsiblesituation, I was anxious to act becomingly in it. And even here I recurwith pleasure to the same grateful source; for while my father lived, which was during the first twelve years of my public life, the strongestincentive I had to exert myself was in the satisfaction I knew he wouldderive from any credit I might acquire; and the many and distinguishedhonours which I have since received, have suffered a great diminution inmy esteem, from his being no longer a witness to them. "

He was sent to Winchester, where he remained till he was sixteen. FromWinchester he was transferred to Oxford, where the discipline at thatperiod was so relaxed, that his only surprise in after life was at thesuccess of so many of his companions, among whom were Charles Fox, North, Bishop of Winchester, Lord Robert Spenser, Lord Auckland, and others, whohad risen to rank of various kinds. He left Oxford in 1765, and passedthirty-five years on the Continent. His lordship here makes a strikingobservation on his own experience, which has been authenticated by everyintelligent and honest mind under the same circumstances--remarking thathis foreign residence was so far from making him undervalue England, thatit raised it still higher in his estimation. He adds--"Here I will makean assertion, grounded on experience and conviction, and which may beapplied as a never-failing test, that an Englishman who, after a longabsence from England, returns to it with feelings and sentiments partialto other countries, and adverse to his own, has no _real_ mind--iswithout the powers of discernment and plain easy comparison--and has notitle to enjoy the superior moral and local advantages to which he isborn, but of which he is insensible and unworthy. "

As diplomacy was evidently the career marked out for him by his father, he was sent to study at Leyden, where he remained a year. In thecommencement of the century, Holland was the central point of allEuropean negotiations; and its schools became famous for languages andthe study of international law. The society among the higher orders ofthe country was the most intelligent in Europe, consisting ofambassadors and scholars of the first character. After this year ofvigorous study, and some brief stay at home, he returned to theContinent, and made an extensive tour of the north. In the autumn ofthis year he received his first diplomatic appointment, in the missionto Spain. His success in the Falkland Island negotiation recommended himto government, and he was appointed minister at Berlin--a very unusualdistinction for a diplomatist only twenty-four years old. But a stillmore important distinction now awaited him. In 1777 he was sent asminister to the court of the Empress Catharine, where he found himselfinvolved in all the craft of diplomacy with two of the most artfulsovereigns that ever lived, Frederick and Catharine. But difficultiesonly place talents in a more conspicuous point of view, and he receivedfrom his government the highest reward then conferred upon a foreignminister, the Order of the Bath, in 1780. The climate of Russia was atlength found too severe for his health, and he petitioned for hisrecall, which was granted, but with the honourable offer of his choiceof a mission either to Spain or the Hague; the former was the higher inrank, but the latter the more important in activity. He unhesitatingly, and wisely, chose the embassy to the Hague. In 1784, the Foxiteadministration fell, and Pitt was in the ascendant. Harris had been atall times connected with Fox, and had constantly voted with him in theHouse; but so high was the public sense of his ability, and such was theimpartiality of Pitt's sense of public duty, that he offered him there-appointment to the Hague, which Harris, after consulting Fox and theDuke of Portland as his political leaders, accepted. His services werepeculiarly required at this period, from the violent discussions whichhad arisen in Holland; and he either originated, or perfected, thetreaty of alliance between England, Holland, and Prussia, which savedthe Stadtholder for the time, and Holland probably from being made aFrench province. His conduct was regarded with so much approbation bythe allies, that he received from the Prussian king leave to add thePrussian eagle to his arms, and from the Stadtholder, his motto, "_Jemaintiendrai_. " From England he received the more substantial rewards ofthe peerage, by the title of Baron Malmesbury, and the appointment ofambassador. But though he was a Whig, he was one on the old Englishprinciple, and not on the new. In 1793, when in the midst ofrevolutionary horrors, and after the murder of the unfortunate Frenchking, Fox, in the spirit of infatuation, declared himself ready toacknowledge the French republic, all the chief leaders of the Whigsretired from the Opposition bench. The Duke of Portland, LordLoughborough, Sir Gilbert Elliott, Lord Spenser, and Lord Malmesbury, joined those distinguished persons; yet without any apparent loss offriendship with Fox, whose manners retained personal friends even whenhe had lost their political confidence. Frederick William, king ofPrussia, a prince of singularly undecided character, though of loudprofessions, being at this time suspected of a leaning towards therevolutionists, Lord Malmesbury was immediately sent by Pitt to Berlin, for the purpose of holding him to his good faith. He succeeded, to theextent of making the king sign an additional treaty with England andHolland. 

His next mission, if not one of more importance, was of still greaterdelicacy--it was to ask the hand of the Duke of Brunswick's daughter forthe Prince of Wales. This was a marriage by compulsion, and the wrath ofthe prince fell upon the noble negotiator. He never forgave LordMalmesbury, and he quickly alienated himself from the princess: theunfortunate result is fully known. In 1796, and 1797, Lord Malmesburywas engaged in the most important negotiation of his life. The FrenchDirectory, probably for the purpose of exciting dissensions betweenAustria and England, made a secret proposal of peace, which led to themission of an ambassador. But while Napoleon was pursuing his conquestsin Italy, France had no actual desire of pacification. The purpose wasevidently to gain time; and Lord Malmesbury, on discovering the truenature of the transaction, demanded his passports, and returned toEngland. It cannot be imputed to Pitt, that he was ever negligent ofthose who had done the state service. Lord Malmesbury had alreadyobtained the Order of the Bath, and a barony; he was now raised to anearldom, with a viscounty, by the title of Lord Fitzharris; and it wasin Pitt's contemplation to send him once more to Paris, when hisministry was suddenly brought to a conclusion, and Mr Addington wasappointed premier; by whom the peace, or rather the unlucky truce ofAmiens, was made. His political life was now at an end. He had been forsome time suffering under deafness, which increased so much, that heregarded it as incapacitating him from public employment; yet he stillloved society, and, dividing his time between London and his seat nearHenley, he passed a pleasant and cheerful time, mingling with the chiefcharacters of the rising political generation. For the last ten years ofhis life, his thoughts seem to have been much directed to religioussubjects; and he kept what he entitled a "self-controlling journal, " inwhich he registered his thoughts. We have probably reason to regret thatthe scrupulous delicacy of his biographer has hitherto withheld it fromthe public. The few sentences transcribed from it, give a strongconception of the piety and clear-headedness of the noble author. Theywere written within a fortnight of his death. They describe him as"having completed his 74th year, and having thus lived longer than anyof his ancestors for the last two centuries; that his existence had beenwithout any great misfortune, and without any acute disease, and that heowed all praise and thanksgiving to the Supreme Being; that the nextstep would probably be his last; that he was now too much exhausted, both in mind and body, to be of service to his country, but wasfortunate in leaving his children well and happy; and that he now waitedthe Divine will with becoming resignation. "

He died without disease, and through mere exhaustion of nature, in his75th year, in 1820, and was buried in Salisbury cathedral. 

Lord Malmesbury's reputation ranked very high in the diplomatic circlesof the Continent. He was a clear-headed, well-informed, and activeminister--sagacious enough to see his way through difficulties whichwould have perplexed inferior men, and bold enough to act according tohis own opinion, where feebler minds would have ruined all, by waitingfor the tardy wisdom of others. Talleyrand, a first-rate judge on suchsubjects, said of him, in his epigrammatic style--"I think that LordMalmesbury was the ablest minister whom you had in his time. It washopeless to get before him; all that could be done was to follow himclose. If one let him have the last word, he contrived always to havethe best of the argument. " He seems to have been a thorough Englishmanin the highest sense of the word, and to have had the loftiest opinionof the power and principles of England; not from any fantasticprejudice, but from the experience of a long life, with the bestopportunities of forming an unprejudiced judgment. We have alreadymentioned his declared opinion after living long abroad, and as a greatdiplomatic functionary, living under the most advantageous circumstancesof foreign society; that any Englishman who, after a residence abroad, prefers the Continent to his own country, is beyond all question a manof gross and contemptible mind, and incapable of taking a "common-senseview" of the subject. We have his constant testimony, that "as there isnothing equal to England on the face of the earth, so no exertion on thepart of her people can be too great in defence of her freedom andhonour. " In conformity with this matured conviction, and reigningprinciple of his heart, he chose as the motto for his coronet--

 "Ubique patriam reminisci. "{B}

Mr Harris's first visit to the Continent was in 1767, when he set out ona tour to Holland, Prussia, and Poland, remaining for some time atBerlin, where he had the advantage of seeing the cleverest, though themost eccentric, of all sovereigns, Frederick the Great. A number oftraits of character are given, of various degrees of force, but allexpressive. The king's chief amusement was playing on the flute, onwhich he performed very well for an amateur, though, compared with theprofessional performers, he necessarily made rather an unkingly figure. Frederick, who was afraid of nothing else, was so much afraid of failurein his flute playing, that whenever he had a new piece of music, he shuthimself up in his closet some hours beforehand, to practise it; andalthough no one was permitted to be present at those concerts except avery few select friends, he was always observed to be remarkably nervousat the commencement. He had a fine collection of flutes, all made by thesame man, and for which he paid a hundred ducats a-piece. He had anattendant whose sole office was to keep those flutes in order. Duringthe war, when his finances were reduced to so low an ebb that he paidbad coin to every one, he took care that his flute-maker should be paidin good coin, lest, for bad money, he should give him bad flutes. Royalarchitecture is not always fortunate. It is observed that Louis XIV. Built his famous Versailles in a swampy hollow, when he had the nobleterrace of St Germain before him. Frederick built his Sans-Souci in amarshy meadow, while he had a fine hill within sight. Unhappily _we_have but little to boast of in the location of our modern palaces. Thesite of Buckingham Palace seems to have been chosen with no other objectthan to discover which was the superior annoyance, the smoke ofsteam-engines or the vapours of a swamp; and this was chosen with one ofthe finest possible situations within half a mile of it, in the centreof Hyde Park. Her Majesty's palace at Brighton has been located withexactly the same curious perversion of taste; the hills to the north ofthat very handsome town offering one of the noblest situations that canbe conceived--a fine land view, and an unobstructed sweep of the ocean:but the evil genius of building prevailed, and the palace is fixed in agloomy bottom, from which it can be overlooked by every body, and fromwhich nothing can be seen. Frederick, though sometimes superb in hisexpenses, was habitually penurious. He seems to have thought that warwas the only thing on which it was worth his while to spend money. Thesalaries of his gentlemen and attendants were all on the narrowestscale. Lord Malmesbury observes that even the Prince of Dessau'smarriage, at which he was present, exhibited this penury. All theapartments, except those immediately used for supper or cards, werelighted with a single candle. The supper had no dessert; the wines werebad; their quantity stinted. On his asking, after dancing, for some wineand water, he was answered--"the wine is all gone, but you may have sometea;" and this was a peculiarly distinguished party. He saw the kinghimself directing the servants in lighting up the ball-room, and tellingthem where to put the candles. Whilst this operation was performing, thequeen, the royal family, and the company, were waiting literally in thedark; as the king did not begin this ceremony till supper was finished, and no one dared to give orders to have it done. Frederick, when a youngman, was intended for the husband of a British princess. This was amatch of his mother's construction. But the old king, who hated GeorgeII. , threatened to cut off his son's head for his presumption. TheEnglish king called the Prussian "my brother the sergeant;" the Prussianretaliated by calling the English king "my brother the dancing-master. "This hostility amounted to a mixture of the profane and the ludicrous. When the old king was seized with his mortal illness, he asked whether"it was necessary to forgive all his enemies. " On receiving the properanswer, he said to the Queen--"Dorothy, write to your brother that Iforgive him all the evil that he has done me; but wait till I'm deadfirst. " A good repartee of Sir Andrew Mitchell on the battle of Quebec, is mentioned. "Is it true, " said the king to him, "that, after all, youhave taken Quebec?" "Yes, sire, " said Sir Andrew Mitchell the envoy, "bythe help of Providence. " "What!" said the king, "is Providence amongyour allies?" "Yes, " said the envoy, "and the only one among then whodemands _no subsidy_. "

Sir Charles Williams wrote to one of the queen's marshals a letterintroducing Lord Essex, ludicrously finishing with--"You may be surethat it is not he who had his head cut off in the time of Elizabeth. "The marshal, not perfectly understanding this, but depending on hisinformation, introduced him in this style to her majesty--"Madam, myLord Essex; and I assure your majesty it is not he who was decapitatedby Queen Elizabeth. "

Frederick, sending a minister to Denmark who complained of the smallnessof his salary, and said that he could keep neither an equipage nor atable; the king's remark to him was--"You are a prodigal; you ought toknow that it is more healthy to go on foot than it is to go in acarriage; and that, so far as eating is concerned, another man's tableis always the best. "

At this period Poland was in a state of great confusion. The Empress ofRussia had marched an army into it for the purpose, as she declared, ofallowing the popular representatives to act freely, while the kingregarded himself as little better than her prisoner. Repnin, the Russianambassador, actually commanded every thing; and the principal nobilityof Poland were compelled to be his agents. Of course, this state ofthings never could have occurred in any country where the tone ofmanners was high; and Poland, though the people were brave, and thenobility in general patriotic, unquestionably fell by its own vices. The portrait drawn of Prince Radzivil is the reverse of flattering, butit is characteristic:--

"Prince Radzivil, the marshal of the confederation, was one of the mostpowerful princes of Poland. His revenues were nearly equal to half amillion sterling a-year, though they were at this period much diminishedby Russian ravages. He had at one time an army of eight thousand man, with which he opposed the Imperial progress. He afterwards became thetool of the Russian policy, and was rewarded with the first palatinateof the kingdom. He gave a masquerade on the empress's birthday to nearthree thousand masks; and it was calculated that, besides the otherwines, they drank a thousand bottles of champagne. " The prodigality of aPolish feast exceeds all comprehension. This prince kept open house onsuch a scale, that his five-and-twenty cooks were scarcely able tosupply his table. The great article of luxury in Poland was Hungarywine, which they had in great perfection, but which was very costly. Champagne was drunk as cider. The multitude of servants in a Polishestablishment must have been ruinous. Prince Czartoriski's personalattendants and servants amounted to three hundred and seventy-five. Those in his country-house were still more numerous. His troops amountedto four thousand men. Prince Repnin, though of the Greek church, whichabounds in forms and ceremonies, and in fasts exceeds all others, had solittle regard for the forms of his religion, that he ordered a play tobe acted on Ash Wednesday at Warsaw. Towards Christmas 1767, LordMalmesbury, then Mr Harris, was at the house of a Polish nobleman in thehunting season. He observed to the king that he had never seen him inbetter spirits. "Ah!" was the royal answer, "it is very pleasant todelude one's self sometimes. "

In 1768 Mr Harris began his diplomatic life as secretary of legationunder Sir James Gray, then British minister at the court of Madrid. 

He set out from Paris on the last day of the year, and aftersix-and-twenty days' journey, in which he loitered but two days on theroad, accomplished the eleven hundred miles without accident. 

Though accustomed to Popish countries, the Spanish ceremonials of theHoly Week seem to have surprised him. In the streets was kept a secondcarnival, with a peculiar costume. The court and the higher orders woreblack velvet, with flame-coloured waistcoats and sleeves trimmed withgold; the citizens left their shops, and spent the day in the streets. The king on Holy Thursday visited seven churches, washed the feet oftwelve paupers, and afterwards served them at dinner. From Friday tillSaturday all was silence, and no coaches were permitted in the streets. On Saturday at noon the bells rang, the people shouted, the coachesmoved again, and all was clamour. From a personal knowledge of thepeople, Mr Harris pronounced that their defects arose from theirreligion and from their priests; both of which, by keeping the lowerorders in a state of mendicity and the higher in a state of ignorance, prevent the progress of the nation. Even at this period, their dislikeof the French was contemptuous and strongly marked. 

The life of a diplomatic man is not unlike the life of a naval officer. He has frequent opportunities of signalizing himself in a small way. Thecabinet is the admiral, commanding a large force, and acting on a largescale. The diplomatist is the captain of the frigate, thrown out at adistance to make his observations, and enabled to exhibit hisintrepidity and talent, through, from the smallness of his means, theresults may be equally small. In 1769, Sir James Gray returning toEngland, left Mr Harris behind him as _chargé d'affaires_. In the nextyear Spain, always jealous of any foreign approach to her South Americanpossessions, fitted out a fleet for the purpose of expelling the Britishcolony from the Falkland Isles. Harris acted spiritedly on thisoccasion. He instantly made so strong a representation to the Spanishminister, the Marquis Grimaldi, that he threw him into evident alarm. The letter to the British ministry which Harris wrote on the subject, satisfied them of the advantage of making a vigorous remonstrance. Theresult to the country was, that the colony, which had been seized, wasrestored, and that the officer who seized it was disgraced by theSpanish government. To Harris the whole transaction was regarded ashonourable, and entitling him to the favour of his government. Theresult was, his being appointed, in 1771, as minister at the court ofthe most subtle and busy monarch of Europe, Frederick the Second. 

We now come to the partition of Poland, the most momentous transactionof modern times; excepting the French Revolution, if even thatrevolution was not its consequence. Mr Harris makes his firstcommunication on this important subject in March 1772. If we read hiswhole letter, the brevity of his announcement is a model even todiplomacy. He thus states the event to Lord Suffolk, then secretary ofstate. 

"Just as I am going to make up my packet, I am informed that a treaty ofpartition, disposing of several parts of Poland, was signed atPetersburg on the 15th of last month, and that as soon as thecertificates can be exchanged between the courts of Vienna, Berlin, andRussia, a congress will be held at Warsaw. " A few statements respectingthe Prussian officers dispatched to the Polish frontier are given; andthis seems to be the whole announcement of one of the most atrociousacts of perfidy and blood in the memory of Europe. 

The French Revolution was begun on grounds independent of foreigndisturbances. But no man can read the annals of the French war, withouta conviction, that one of its providential purposes was the punishmentof the three monarchies which had perpetrated this atrocity. Within abrief period from the first ruin of Polish independence, the Frencharmies began those sweeping conquests which were destined especially toravage Prussia, Austria, and Russia. The punishment seemed even to bearsomething like a proportion to the degree of guilt in each of theparties. The original proposer of the partition was Frederick, thestrenuous participator was Catharine, and the unwilling, thoughconsenting accomplice, was Joseph. Before that war was over, Napoleonreduced Prussia to the lowest condition of a conquered country, plundered her of millions of gold, held her fortresses by his garrisons, and treated her like a province. His invasion of Russia was next inhavoc: the ravage of the country, the repulse and slaughter of her braveand patriotic armies, and the destruction of her ancient capital, were_her_ share of the punishment. Austria suffered, but her suffering wasof a lighter order--defeat in the field, havoc of the people, and thedouble capture of her capital; yet those wounds were rapidly healed, andthe close of the war saw Austria taking a higher rank in Europe. Thosestruggles and sufferings extended over nearly a quarter of a century ofunexampled bloodshed. It is remarkable that a project so fully entitledto excite the vigilance of all courts, seems to have been almost whollyoverlooked by the English ministry; Lord Suffolk, in his confidentialanswer to the ambassador, simply styling it a curious transaction; andeven in the more advanced stage of the affair, when the attention of thecabinet was called to it by the memorials of the Polish king and people, all that could be obtained was a verbal answer, evidently declining anyinterference on the subject, and contenting itself with the avoidance ofapprobation. The result of this singular negligence distinctly pointsout the course which should be taken by England in her continentalpolicy. Her natural office is that of mediator and protector. Entertaining no views of conquest for herself, it is her duty to repressthem in all others. If, in 1772, she had instantly issued a strongremonstrance to the three governments, it would have acted as an appealto the reason of Europe. A fleet sent to the Baltic in support of thatremonstrance would have acted upon the fears of the aggressors, andPoland would have been saved. The blood of the thousands shed in the warof independence would have been spared--the great crime of the centurywould have been partially avoided--and its punishment, in the shape ofthe revolutionary war, might never have been inflicted. The diplomaticand formal portion of this fatal event was thus announced by theambassador to the British cabinet:--"Berlin, 19th September 1772. --Ireceived a message from Count Finckenstein yesterday morning, desiringto speak to me between twelve and one. On my waiting on him, heinformed me that his Prussian majesty having come to an agreement withthe courts of Vienna and Petersburg to renew certain ancient claims theyhad on parts of the kingdom of Poland, they had instructed theirrespective ministers at the court of Warsaw to signify their intentionsto the king and republic, by presenting him with a declaration on thissubject. 

"That his Prussian majesty, desirous of seizing every opportunity ofshowing his friendship and attention to the king, had ordered him, CountFinckenstein, to take the earliest moment of acquainting me with thisevent, and at the same time to give me a copy of the declaration, whichI here enclose--that his _chargé d'affaires_ in London had likewisereceived orders to inform the king's ministers on this subject, and tocommunicate to them the declaration. "

The reply of the English minister to this momentous announcement, exhibits, perhaps, one of the most extraordinary instances ofministerial negligence on record. On a subject which might have movedthe very stones to mutiny, and which, in its consequences, involved theinterests of all Europe, the only answer of the King of England wascontained in the following note, written in French:--"The king iswilling to suppose that the three courts have convinced themselves ofthe justice of their respective pretensions, although his majesty is notinformed of the motives of their conduct. " "You will observe, " adds LordSuffolk, "in the terns in which I express myself, that though this modeof expression was preferable to an absolute silence, the utmost cautionhas been used. " The caution was indeed sufficiently circumspect, for itwas wholly useless; and the consequence was perfect impunity to theperpetrators. 

Frederick was the great infidel of his day. He had been so long involvedin hostilities with Austria, the most superstitious court in Europe, that he adopted "free-thinking" as a part of his policy; and hiseagerness for European fame connected him with Voltaire and the Frenchinfidels, whose wit and wickedness had made them the leaders ofphilosophical fashion. But there is a principle of belief in humannature which revenges itself on the infidel. There are no men moreliable to groundless fears, than those who reject the object oflegitimate awe. The man who will not believe in a deity, has oftenbelieved in witchcraft; and those who will not acknowledge a Providence, have often trembled before a conjurer. At this period, Frederick hadgrown peculiarly anxious and irascible--a temper for which theambassador accounts by a sudden impulse of superstition. Hesays--"Amongst several other incredible follies in so great a character, he has that of not entirely disbelieving judicial astrology; and I amtold, from one whose authority is not despicable, that the fear of aprediction being this year fulfilled, which was pronounced by a Saxonfortune-teller whom his majesty was weak enough some time ago toconsult, dwells on his mind, and augments the sourness of a dispositionnaturally crabbed. I should have paid no attention to these reports, which savour so much of the nursery, had I not myself observed himdispleased at a mourning coat at his levee, and seen his countenancevisibly alter on being informed of any man's dying a sudden death. "

We then have a curious letter from Lord Grantham, the ambassador atMadrid, giving an account of an expedition to Algiers, which derives aninterest from the present state of African affairs. 

"You will learn that a very unsuccessful attempt has been made atAlgiers, and that the Spanish troops have been repulsed with a loss anddisablement of upwards of 5000 men. The fleet, consisting of 450 sail, and carrying about 40, 000 men, sailed from Carthagena, and reachedAlgiers the 1st inst. , (July 1775. ) On the night of the 7th, theinfantry, and two detachments of about 8000 men each, landed. The firstdetachment advanced too eagerly, could not be supported to any purpose, and, after thirteen hours' engagement, all that could regained theships. But the loss of killed and wounded, first estimated at 3000, certainly exceeded five or six. The transports with the army arereturned to Carthagena and Alicante. I leave you to judge how deep animpression this severe failure makes here. The Marquis de la Romana iskilled--all the generals, except Buck, are wounded. Among the woundedare twenty-eight officers of the Spanish guards, and twelve out ofseventeen engineers. "

The court of Frederick would form a singular contrast to what is calledthe British Household, composed of the great officers of state. "You arenot ignorant, " says Harris, writing to William Eden, "that the greatofficers of the court are merely titular, and never allowed to have anyauthority annexed to their office. This is given to some menialservants, who are constantly about the king's person, and his treasurerwas a Russian named Deiss, in whom his Majesty placed more confidencethan he appears to have deserved; since for maladministration, or someequally notorious fault, his majesty a few days ago, dismissed him fromhis high post, and ordered him to be employed as a drummer in a marchingregiment. Deiss affected to submit patiently to his sentence, and, onbeing arrested, begged leave of the officer only to go into his room, adjoining the king's writing-closet, to fetch his hat. This beinggranted, he immediately locked the door, took a pistol from his pocket, and shot himself through the head. The king heard and was alarmed by thereport of a pistol so near him, and being told what had happened, hepitied Deiss, said that he was out of his senses, and ordered all thathe died worth to be distributed equally among his children. Deiss hadcharged the pistol with small-shot and crooked nails, and put the muzzleof it into his mouth. "

A striking anecdote is given of General Seidlitz, the officer who formedthe Prussian cavalry. When only a lieutenant, he happened to be near theking on a bridge which crossed the Oder. The king asked him, "if boththe avenues of the bridge were possessed by the enemy, what he would doto disengage himself. " Seidlitz, without making an answer, immediatelyleaped his horse over the rails into the river, and notwithstanding itsbreadth and rapidity, swam safe ashore. The king, who took it forgranted that he must be drowned, on seeing him come towards him, said inFrench, "_Major_, I beg of you not to run such hazards in future. "

Despotic power has certainly great advantages, in its rapidadministration of justice, and sometimes in its reaching offences whichwould altogether baffle trial by jury. Frederick was ridiculously fondof exhibiting his musical attainments; and among the other preparativesfor the reception of the Russian grand-duke (afterwards the EmperorPaul) at Berlin, was a piece of music composed by the king. The husbandof the first singer at the opera, the well-known Madame Mara, wasimprudent enough to observe of this performance, that "the composer knewmore about soldiers than music. " The king ordered him to be instantlymade over to the _corps-de-garde_, with orders to punish him, enough tomake him more cautious of criticism in future. The soldiers accordingly, as there happened to be no punishment in the military regulations forimpertinent remarks on royal amateurs, took the affair into their ownhands. They began by dressing him in a uniform, covering his face with ahuge pair of whiskers, and loading him with the heaviest firelock whichthey could find, they then made him perform the manual exercise for twohours--accompanying the lesson with all the usual discipline of thecane--then ordered him to dance and sing, finishing their discipline bymaking the surgeon take from him a large quantity of blood, obviously toreduce the heat of temper which had given rise to such impertinence. After this lesson he was sent back to his wife. Severe as it may haveappeared, Harris regarded it as earned by many previous impertinences ofthe same kind, but of which it may fairly be presumed this was the last. 

At last the grand-duke arrived, and was received with the most unusualpomp and ceremony by the Prussian court. By some curious instance ofchoice, Sunday is selected on the Continent as the day for every thingin the shape of show. The Russian prince made his public entry intoBerlin on Sunday, and was met by the trading companies in uniform, byescorts of cavalry, and the equipages of the king and royal family. Inthe evening, after a sumptuous dinner, there was a concert and ball. The rest of the week was similarly occupied. The grand-duke had come todemand the Princess of Wirtemberg in marriage. When we recollect thefate of this unhappy monarch, murdered on the Russian throne, andcontrast it with the brilliancy of his early reception in the world, andhis actual powers when master of the diadem, a deeper lesson of theinstability of human fortune has seldom been given to man. 

A laughable anecdote of Russian and Prussian discipline is told. All thedomestics belonging to the Imperial family of Russia have military rank;the grand-duke's coachman and the king's going one evening to drinktogether, a dispute arose about precedence. "What is your rank?" saidthe Prussian. "A lieutenant-colonel, " said the other. "Ay, but I am acolonel, " said the German, and walked first into the ale-house. Thiscame to the king's ears. The _colonel_ was sent for three days toprison, and received fifty blows of the cane. 

The ambassador now obtained a new instance of the favour of his court. He was recalled from Prussia in 1776, and shortly after was appointed tothe most important of our embassies at that period, the embassy toRussia. 

The politics of England at this period bore an appearance of perplexity, which evidently alarmed her cabinet, and which as evidently excited thehopes of her enemies. At this period she had two enemies in Europe, hostile in every thing except to the extent of open war--France, alwaysjealous and irreconcilable; and Prussia, which, from her dread ofEngland's interference in her Polish usurpations, pretended to believethat England was conspiring with Austria against the safety of herdominions. The feebleness with which the American war was carried on, had deceived Europe into the belief that the power of England was reallyon the point of decay. Foreigners are never capable of appreciating thereality of English power. In the first place, because they prefer theromantic to the real; and in the next, because, living under despotisms, they have never seen, nor can comprehend, the effect of liberty uponnational resources. Thus, when they see a nation unwilling to go towar--or, what is the next thing to reluctance, waging it tardily--theyimagine that this tardiness has its origin in national weakness; and itis not until the palpable necessity of self-defence calls out the wholeenergy of the people, that the foreigner ever sees the genuine strengthof England. The capture of two small armies in America, neither of themmore numerous than the advanced guard of a continental army, had giventhe impression that the military strength of England was gone for ever. Thus the European courts thought themselves entitled to insult her; andthus so diminutive a power as Prussia, however guided by an able andpolitic prince, was suffered to despise her opinion. But the Englishministry themselves of that day palpably shared the general delusion;and, to judge from their diplomatic correspondence, they seemed actuallyto rely for the safety of England on the aid of the foreign courts. Theyhad yet to learn the lesson, taught them by the Revolutionary war, thatEngland is degraded by dependence of any kind; that she is a match forthe world in arms; that the cause of Europe is dependent on _her_; andthat the more boldly, directly, and resolutely she defies France, andits allies and slaves, the more secure she is of victory. In the pursuitof this false policy of conciliation and supplication, Harris was sentto Petersburg, to counteract Prussia with the empress, and to form anoffensive and defensive alliance with Catharine. Count Panin was at thattime prime minister--a man of the old ministerial school, who regardeddiplomacy as the legitimate science of chicane, was a master of all thelittleness of his art, and was wholly under the influence of the King ofPrussia. The count was all consent, and yet contrived to keep theambassador at arm's-length; while the empress, equally crafty, andequally determined not to commit herself, managed him with still greatersubtlety. 

In speaking of the Empress Catharine, it is impossible to avoid alludingto the scandals of her court. The death of her husband, suspicious as itwas, had left her sole mistress of an empire, and of the power of publicopinion, in a country where a sneer might send the offender to Siberia. The wretchedly relaxed religion of the Greek church, where a trivialpenance atones for every thing, and ceremonial takes the place ofmorals, as it inevitably does wherever a religion is encumbered withunnecessary forms, could be no restraint on the conduct of a daring andimperious woman. By some of that easy casuistry which reconciles thepowerful to vice, she had fully convinced herself that she ought, forthe sake of her throne, never to submit to matrimonial ties again; andshe adopted the notorious and guilty alternative of living with asuccession of partners. The ambassador's letters frequently allude tothis disgraceful topic, and always with the contempt and reprobationwhich were so amply its due. "The worst enemies"--such is hisexpression--"which the empress has, are flattery and her own passions. She never turns a deaf ear to the first, let it be ever so gross; andher inclination to gratify the latter appears to grow upon her withage. "

The policy of Russia had two grand objects, both of them whollyinconsistent with the policy of England; and therefore rendering theambassador's zeal wholly useless. The King of Prussia favoured both, andtherefore commanded the highest influence with the empress. It was thusthe impossible task of the unfortunate diplomatist, to convince ahaughty and self-sufficient woman against her will. Of course, failurewas the necessary consequence. But in the mean time, dining and dancing, feasting and frivolity, went on with Asiatic splendour. The birth of thegrand-duke's son, "Constantine, " (expressly so named with a view toTurkish objects, ) gave occasion to fêtes which it tasked the whole powerof Russian panegyric to describe. The empress gave one in the period ofthe Carnival, ultra-imperially magnificent. The dessert and supper wereset out with jewels to the amount of upwards of two millions sterling!and at the tables of macao, the fashionable game, besides the stake inmoney, a diamond of fifty rubles' value was given by her majesty to eachof those who got _nine_, the highest point of the game. One hundred andfifty diamonds were distributed in this manner. 

But a new event occurred to stir the lazy politics of Europe--that act ofinfinite treachery on the part of the French government--the breach oftreaty with England, and the alliance with America. The menaces of warwhich are held out at this moment by the Jacobin party, and its insolenteagerness to turn every trivial incident into a mortal quarrel, give anew and additional interest to this former act of desperate perfidy. Butlet it be remembered with what tremendous vengeance that perfidy waspunished--that the American alliance was the precursor of the Frenchrepublic; and that the long train of hideous calamities which broke downthe French throne, banished the nobility, and decimated the population, dates its origin from the day when that fatal treaty was signed. A letterfrom Sir Gilbert Elliott (afterwards Lord Minto) to the ambassador, (March 20, 1778, ) thus briefly communicates the intelligence:--"We hadjust passed the bills for repealing some of the obnoxious American acts, and for enabling the king to appoint his commissioners to treat withAmerica with very large powers, when the report of the French treaty withthe colonies became very prevalent, and obtained credit here. Government, however, had certainly obtained no authentic account of it which issingular enough; and Lord North positively disclaimed all knowledge ofit. A loan of six millions was made on very hard terms for the public, much owing to the report of the French treaty; the three per cent consolsbeing at 66½--monstrously low. The first payment was fixed for Tuesdaylast. On the Friday before, the Marquis de Noailles delivered a paper toLord Weymouth, communicating the 'treaty of commerce and alliance' withthe colonies, and acknowledging their independency. The manner and styleof the communication were inexpressibly insolent, and were no doubtmeant as a studied affront and challenge. On Saturday, all the French inLondon were sent to the opera, plays, clubs, coffee-houses, andale-houses, to publish the intelligence, which they did with theirnatural impertinence. On Tuesday, the two Houses received a message fromthe king, informing them of the communication from the Frenchambassador--that he had recalled his ambassador from Versailles; andassuring them that he would exert every means in his power to protectthe honour and interest of his kingdom. In answer to which, the twoHouses voted an address, promising to support him with our lives andfortunes. Opposition, like _good patriots_, in answer to this message, proposed to address the king to remove his ministers; and C. Fox assuredus, 'he thought an invasion a _much better thing_ than the continuanceof the present administration. ' When this proposal was negatived, theytherefore refused their assent to our address. There is no declarationof war yet; but as it is quite certain, and as France will undoubtedlyact immediately, I do not see what we gain by delaying it. I hope atleast we shall begin taking their ships immediately. The militia is tobe called out; credit is dreadfully low--stock was a few days ago at 60. The French are poorer than we--that's something. "

Exaggeration is a propensity which seems common to ambassadors. Wecertainly have never seen an ambassadorial correspondence, in which themost groundless views did not make a large part of its communications. The British diplomatist in Russia was unquestionably a shrewd man, andyet his letters abound in predictions of Russian ruin. His descriptionsrun in this style:--"Great expenses, and nothing to show for them. Thearmy in a state of decay; the navy incomplete and ill-equipped; thepolitical system languid, and such as, if pursued, must ultimatelyreduce this immense mass of power to that state of Asiaticinsignificancy from which it so lately emerged. "

And this high-coloured and rash statement, it is to be remembered, wasnot a page in a popular novel or in a summer's "Tour, " but was given asthe deliberate opinion of a statesman conversant in continentalpolitics, and addressed to the government of this country. He seems tohave altogether overlooked the boundless territory and growingpopulation of Russia, her forty millions of men--a number alreadyexceeding that of any other kingdom in Europe--the inaccessible natureof her dominions, the implicit and Asiatic devotion of her subjects, theunrivaled vigour of her despotism, and the fact that she had but thatmoment secured an immense tract of Polish territory, and was strippingthe Turks on the other side--that to the north she was touching on theVistula, and to the south had nearly reached the Danube. The subsequentcareer of Russia is a still stronger refutation. Every war, instead ofshaking her power, has only given it additional strength and stability. Like England, she has gone on with almost involuntary but rapidprogress; and the period may arrive when there will be but two nationsleft in Europe--England the ruler of the seas, and Russia holding thekingdoms of the Continent in vassalage. It is true, that the ambassadoradverts now and then to the inaccessible nature of the Russianterritory, and the success of the national arms; but the former would bebut a negative source of power, and the latter he uniformly attributedto good-luck. He ought to lave attributed them to the causes which wouldhave produced the same effect in any age of the world--to the mastery ofan immense population; to the daring of a head of empire possessed ofremarkable ability, and filled with projects of unbounded supremacy; andto the growth of a new generation of soldiers and statesmen, encouragedto the highest exertion of their talents by the most munificentrewards--the policy of the empress making the evidence of courage andgenius in the soldier the only requisite for promotion; and exhibitingthe strongest personal interest of the sovereign in the elevation ofthose able servants of the crown. The consequence was, success in allthe enterprises of Catharine, the rapid advance of the nation inEuropean influence, the establishment of an insecure throne on thestrongest footing of public security, the popularity of a despotism, thecomparative civilization of a people half Asiatic, and who but half acentury before had been barbarians, and the personal attachment of thenation to Catharine in a degree scarcely less than adoration. The chiefcause of this triumphant state of things, beyond all question, was thehigh spirit, the generosity, and the affability of the empress. Theunhappy transactions of her private life are matters of painful record;and the letters of the ambassador are full of the reprobation which thememoirs of the time authenticate. But we have no gratification indwelling on such topics. We infinitely prefer paying the tribute due togreat talents splendidly exercised, to the public achievements of apowerful intellect, and to the superiority which this munificentpromoter of the genius of all classes of her people exhibited to all thehaughty, exclusive, and selfish sovereigns of her time. 

The ambassador now found it necessary to look for support against thePrussian propensities of the minister; and he had recourse to Potemkinand the Orloffs, as the antagonists of Panin. Potemkin was one of themost extraordinary men whom the especial circumstances of the court andcountry raised into public distinction. He had been but a cornet ofcavalry on the memorable night when Catharine, uncertain whether she wasmounting a throne or a scaffold, put herself at the head of the guards, and deposed her husband. As she rode along, observing that she had not amilitary plume in her hat, she turned to ask for one; the cornetinstantly plucked out his own, and presented it to her--as Raleigh threwhis cloak on the ground for Elizabeth to walk over. These gallant actsare never lost upon a woman of the superior order of mind. The favour ofthe throne followed alike in both instances; and Potemkin soon becamethe guide of the Russian councils. It was the custom of the Frenchmemoir writers--a race who always aimed at pungency of narrative inpreference to truth, and who, for their generation, performed the partof general libellers--to represent Potemkin as a savage, devoted todrinking, and whose influence was solely the result of his grossness. But the conferences which he held with this British ambassador, and theextracts of his opinions given in these letters, show him to have been aman of remarkable clearness of comprehension, dexterity of resource, andreadiness of knowledge. It is obvious that nothing but the exertion ofdistinguished skill in the ways of courts, could have accomplished theobjects which no other man of his time attained with such completesuccess. In a court of contention and favouritism, he retained supremeinfluence to the last; released from the labours of office, he possessedmore than the power of a minister--and nominally a subject, he wasscarcely less than emperor. Boundless wealth, the highest rank, andevery honour which the empire could lavish on its first noble, were theprizes of Potemkin. 

People at home are in the habit of looking upon the diplomatic bodyabroad as a collection of very subtle and sagacious personages--acollection of sages. A nearer view sometimes strips the idea down tohumble dimensions. Sir James Harris (he had now obtained the Order ofthe Bath, which he seems to have deserved by his diligence) thussketches the new ambassadorial body--a general change having just takenplace. "The Imperial, Danish, French, Prussian, and Spanish ministersare all altered, and one from Naples is added to our corps. " TheNeapolitan he describes as "utterly unfit for business;" Count Cobenzel, the Austrian ambassador, "as a man of excellent parts and greatactivity;" Goertz, the Prussian, "a very able and artful man. " So far asthis point, the honour of the corps is sustained; but then come theciphers. Monsieur Verac, the cunning French envoy, is "more amiable incompany than formidable in cabinet. " The Swede and the Saxon ministers, "most perfectly insignificant and overpowered with debts. " The Dutchresident, Swartz, "a man neither of birth nor character, totallyimproper for the post he fills. The Swiss resident, having no otherbusiness than the lawsuits of his countrymen, " &c. 

Of the culpable habits of the empress we shall say no more. The respectwhich this country feels for the character of Emperor Nicholas, and thetotal contrast which that character presents to the especial failings ofhis ancestor, justly prevent our wandering into those observations. Butwe have a curious instance of the skill and adroitness of this memorablewoman, in an interview in which she was wholly left to herself, and yetsucceeded perfectly in what is presumed to be the _chef-d'oeuvre_ ofdiplomacy--the art of disguising her intentions. The Britishambassador, after a long period of comparative failure, had succeeded inobtaining an audience through Potemkin--who always pretended to bepowerless, yet who could do every thing which he desired. Theappointment to meet the ambassador was made, and Potemkin prefaced hisservice by the following singular sketch of his sovereign. "Do notexpect that it is in the power of any living being to prevent her fromconcluding her favourite plan of armed neutrality. Content yourself withdestroying the effects--the resolution is immovable. As it was conceivedby _mistake_ and perfected by _vanity_, it is maintained by _pride_ and_obstinacy_. You well know the hold of those passions on a _femalemind_; and if you attempt to slacken, you will only tighten the knot. "

One of the imperial valets then came to lead the ambassador to theinterview; which he gives in French, and which he commenced in a strainwhich we hope will never be imitated again by any cabinet of England. 

"I have come to represent to your imperial majesty the _criticalsituation_ in which our affairs are at present. You know our reliance onyou. We venture to _flatter_ ourselves that you will _avert the storm_, and reassure us as to our fears of having lost your friendship. " If theexpressions were not in print, we should scarcely have thought itpossible that such crouching language could have been used. Theambassador, of course, is but the mouthpiece of his government. Theblame must fall, not on the intelligent servant, but on the feeblemasters. Who can wonder if the daring and haughty spirit of Catharinescoffed at the remonstrances, and despised the interests of a country, whose cabinet adopted language so unfitting the dignity and real powerof the mighty British empire? The expressions of this dialogue wouldhave been humiliating to the smallest of the "square-league"sovereignties of the Continent. The answer of the empress was preciselywhat she might have addressed to the envoy of Poland or the Crimea. "Sir, you are aware of my sentiments relative to your nation; they areequally sincere and invariable. But I have found so little return onyour part, that I feel I ought not to consider you any longer among myfriends. "

To this haughty tone, what is the reply of the ambassador?

"It is in the hope that those sentiments were not _entirely effaced_, that I wished to address myself directly to your Majesty. But it was not_without fear_ that I approached you. Appearances only too stronglyprove the impressions which you have received from our enemies. " And sogoes on the dialogue, like a scene in a play, see-sawing through sixintolerable pages. How differently would Pitt's cabinet have acted, andhow differently did it act! When the Russian councils menaced theseizure of even a paltry Turkish fortress on the Black Sea, the greatminister ordered a fleet to be ready as _his_ negotiators; and thoughthe factiousness of Opposition at the time prevented this manlydemonstration of policy and justice, the evidence was given, in thereign of Paul, when a British fleet crushed the armed neutrality--thattrick of French mountebanks imposing on the ambition of the north--andrestored Russia to so full a sense of the power and the honour ofEngland, that she sent her fleet into her safe keeping at the approachof Napoleon's invasion, and has been her fast and honourable ally eversince. "Cromwell's ambassador" is the true one for England at all times. A stout British squadron sent to the Baltic in 1780 would havewonderfully solved the difficulties of the British negotiation, havecompletely cleared the empress's conscience, have enlightened CountPanin's brains, and have convinced even the wily Potemkin himself thatthe art of political delusion was too dangerous a game to be triedagainst England. 

But the true value of history is to instruct the future. We are now innearly the same relative position to France in which we were sixty-fouryears ago relative to Russia. We are exhibiting the same dilatorinesswhich we exhibited then, and we shall be fortunate if we escape the sameconsequences. A strong fleet sent to the Mediterranean would do more tocalm the elements of strife effectually, than all the remonstrances ofall our negotiators. Or, if the French were foolish enough to provoke abattle, a repetition of the 1st of June or the 21st of October would bethe tranquillizer of a restless people, who can never suffer Europe torest in peace but when they themselves have been taught the miseries ofwar. 

In justice to the cabinet of 1780, it must be acknowledged that thepersonal tone of the ambassador was criticised; and we thus find himmaking his diplomatic apology to Lord Stormont, then secretary forforeign affairs:--

"I have often been conscious of the remark your lordship makes, and havemyself felt that I was not acting up to the character of an Englishminister, in bestowing such _fulsome incense_ on the empress. But here, too, I was drawn from my system and principles by the conduct of myadversaries. They ever addressed her as a being of a superior nature;and as she goes near to think herself infallible, she expects to beapproached with all the reverence due to a divinity. " No excuse could bemore unsatisfactory. If other men chose to bow down, there would haveonly been the more manliness, and the more effect too, in refusing tofollow such an example. 

In 1783, the ambassador obtained permission to return to England. Hiscorrespondence at the period immediately previous, is remarkablyinteresting; and it is striking to see that the successive secretariesfor the foreign department, under all changes of administration, formedthe same view of the substantial policy of England. When, in 1783, Foxassumed the foreign seals, he thus writes to Harris, in the course of along letter on the foreign policy of the cabinet:--"You will readilybelieve me, that my system of foreign politics was too deeply rooted tomake it likely that I should have changed it. Alliances with thenorthern powers _ever have been, and ever will be, the system of everyenlightened Englishman_. "

In the year following, Sir James Harris was appointed by Pitt to theDutch embassy, to which he had been previously nominated by Fox, hisfriend and political leader. The appointment by the new cabinet was thusthe strongest testimony to his talents. His letters from the Haguecontain a very intelligent statement of the parties and principles whichagitated Holland in 1787. The object was the establishment of ademocracy and the extinction of the Stadtholderate, or at least itssuppression as a hereditary dignity. The court of France was busy inthis democratic intrigue; and its partial success unquestionably addednew combustibles to the pile on which that unfortunate monarchy, in thehour of infatuation, was preparing to throw itself. The ambassador'slanguage on this occasion is characteristic and memorable. In one of hisdespatches to the Marquis of Carmarthen, then secretary of state, hethus says:--

"The infamy and profligacy of the French make me long to change myprofession, and to fight them with a sharper instrument than a pen. Itmust be with those (not our pens, but our swords) that we must carry themediation through, if we mean it should be attended with any success. There are strong reports of a popular insurrection in France:"--"_Si_Dieu voulait les punir par où ils ont peché, comme j'admirerais lajustice divine!" The remark was natural; it was almost prophetic; and itwas on the eve of realization. In 1789, but two years after, theRevolution began. 

These volumes contain a great deal of extremely curious material, especially important to every man who may in future be employed in theforeign service of our diplomacy. They supply a model of the manner inwhich those offices may be most effectively sustained. We have alreadyexpressed dissatisfaction at the submissive style used in addressing theRussian empress. But in other instances, the language of the ambassadorseems to have been prompt and plain. It is remarkable that England has, at the present time, arrived at a condition of European affairs bearingno slight resemblance to that of the period between 1783 and 1789. It istrue that there will be no second French Revolution; one catastrophe ofthat terrible extent is enough for the world. But there are strongsymptoms of those hostilities which the Bourbons were endeavouring tokindle against this country, for at least a dozen years before theRevolution which crushed their monarchy. 

Without any provocation on the part of England, any actual claim, orany desire whatever of war, this country finds itself suddenly made anobject of perpetual insult on the part of all the active mind of France. The cry from every organ of public opinion seems to be, war withEngland, whether with or without cause. A violent clamour is raised forour national ruin; the resources of France are blazoned in all quarters;and the only contemplation popular in France is, how most suddenly andeffectually French armies may be poured on our shores, our fieldsravaged, our maritime cities burned, and our people massacred! It mustbe hoped that this detestable spirit does not reach higher than theJacobin papers, and the villains by whom that principal part of theFrench press is conducted. Yet we find but little contradiction to it ineven the more serious and authentic portion of the national sentiments. In such circumstances, it is only right to be prepared. We find also thestill more expressive evidence of this spirit of evil, in the generalconduct of the agents of France in her colonies--a habit of suddenencroachment, a growing arrogance, and a full exhibition of that bitterand sneering petulance, which was supposed to have been scourged out ofthe French by their desperate defeats towards the close of the war. Allthis insolence may, by possibility, pass away; but it also may go on tofurther inflammation, and it may be necessary to scourge it again; andthis discipline, if once begun, must be carried through more effectuallythan when the Allies last visited Paris. The respect felt for the Frenchking and his prime minister, as the friends of peace, naturallyrestrains the language with which aggression deserves to be reprobated. But the French government, if it desires to retain that respect, mustexhibit its sincerity in making some substantial effort to preservepeace. No man of sense in Europe can believe in the necessity of theseizure of Algiers, nor in the necessity of the war with Morocco. Butevery man can see the influence of both on the freedom of theMediterranean. The seizure of the British consul at Otaheite shows aspirit which must be summarily extinguished, or the preservation ofpeace will be impossible. In the mean time, we hear from France nothingbut a cry for steam-ships, and threats of invasion. We ask, what hasEngland done? Nothing to offend or injure: there is not even anallegation of any thing of the kind. But if war must come, woe be tothose by whom it is begun! The history of all the wars of England withFrance, is one of French defeat. We have beaten the French by land, wehave beaten them by sea; and, with the blessing of Heaven on therighteous cause and our own stout hands, we shall always beat them. Wehave beaten them on the soil of the stranger--we have beaten them ontheir own. From the fourteenth century, when English soldiers weremasters of the half of France, down to Waterloo, we have always beatenFrance; and if we beat her under Napoleon, there can be no fear of ournot beating her under a race so palpably his inferiors. All Englanddeprecates war as useless, unnatural, and criminal. But the crime issolely on the head of the aggressor. Woe to those who begin the nextwar! It may be final. 

The late visit of the Emperor of Russia to this country, which so muchperplexed the political circles of both France and England, now probablyadmits of elucidation. The emperor's visit has been followed by that ofthe ablest and most powerful diplomatist in his dominions, the CountNesselrode, his foreign minister. For this visit, too, a speedyelucidation may be found. The visits of the King of Saxony, and thePrinces of Prussia and Holland, also have their importance in this pointof view; and the malignant insults of the French journals may have had avery influential share in contributing to the increased closeness of ourconnexion with the sovereignties of Germany and Russia. The maxim ofFox, that the northern alliances are the true policy of England, is assound as ever. Still, we deprecate war--all rational men deprecate war;and we speak in a feeling which we fully believe to be universal inEngland, that nothing would be a higher source of rejoicing in GreatBritain, than a _safe_ peace with France, and harmony with all thenations of the world. 

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _Diaries and Correspondence of James Harris, First Earl ofMalmesbury. _ Edited by his GRANDSON, the Third Earl. 2 vols. 

{B} "Every where to remember his country. "

POEMS AND BALLADS OF GOETHE. 

No. II. 

Goethe's love for the Fine Arts amounted almost to a passion. In hisearlier years, he performed the painter's customary pilgrimage throughItaly, and not merely surveyed, but studied with intense anxiety, theworks of the great modern masters. A poet, if he understands the theoryof his own calling, may learn much from pictures; for the analogybetween the sister arts is very strong. The secret of preservingrichness without glare, fulness without pruriency, and strength withoutexaggeration, must be attained alike by poet and painter, before eitherof them can take their rank among the chosen children of immortality. Itis a common but most erroneous idea, that an artist is more indebted forsuccess to inspiration, than to severe study. Unquestionably he mustpossess some portion of the former--that is, he must have within him thepower to imagine and to create; for if he has not that, the fundamentalfaculty is wanting. But how different are the crude shapeless fancies, how meagre and uncertain the outlines of the mental sketch, from thewarm, vivid, and glowing perfection of the matured and finished work! Itis in the strange and indescribable process of moulding the rude idea, of giving due proportion to each individual part, and combining thewhole into symmetry, that the test of excellence lies. _There_inspiration will help but little; and labour, the common doom of man inthe loftiest as well as the lowest walks of life, is requisite toconsummate the triumph. 

No man better understood, or more thoroughly acted upon the knowledge ofthis analogy, than Goethe. He wrought rigidly by the rule of the artist. Not one poem, however trifling might be the subject, did he suffer toescape from his hands, until it had received the final touches, andundergone the most thorough revision. So far did he carry thisprinciple, that many of his lesser works seem absolutely meretranscripts or descriptions of pictures, where the sentiment is ratherinferred than expressed; and in some, for example that which we areabout to quote, he even brings before the reader what may be called theprocess of mental painting. 

CUPID AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER

 Once I sate upon a mountain, Gazing on the mist before me; Like a great grey sheet of canvass, Shrouding all things in its cover, Did it float 'twixt earth and heaven. 

 Then a child appear'd beside me; Saying, "Friend, it is not seemly, Thus to gaze in idle wonder, With that noble breadth before thee. Hast thou lost thine inspiration? Hath the spirit of the painter Died within thee utterly?"

 But I turn'd and look'd upon him, Speaking not, but thinking inly, "Will he read a lesson now!"

 "Folded hands, " pursued the infant, "Never yet have won a triumph. Look! I'll paint for thee a picture Such as none have seen before. "

 And he pointed with his finger, Which like any rose was ruddy, And upon the breadth of vapour With that finger 'gan to draw. 

 First a glorious sun he painted, Dazzling when I look'd upon it; And he made the inner border Of the clouds around it golden, With the light rays through the masses Pouring down in streams of splendour. Then the tender taper summits Of the trees, all leaf and glitter, Started from the sullen void; And the slopes behind them rising, Graceful-lined in undulation, Glided backwards one by one. Underneath, be sure, was water; And the stream was drawn so truly That it seem'd to break and shimmer, That it seem'd as if cascading From the lofty rolling wheel. 

 There were flowers beside the brooklet; There were colours on the meadow-- Gold and azure, green and purple, Emerald and bright carbuncle. Clear and pure he work'd the ether As with lapis-lazuli, And the mountains in the distance Stretching blue and far away-- All so well, that I, in rapture At this second revelation, Turn'd to gaze upon the painter From the picture which he drew. 

 "Have I not, " he said, "convinced thee That I know the painter's secret? Yet the greatest is to come. "

 Then he drew with gentle finger, Still more delicately pointed, In the wood, about its margin, Where the sun within the water Glanced as from the clearest mirror, Such a maiden's form! Perfect shape in perfect raiment, Fair young cheeks 'neath glossy ringlets, And the cheeks were of the colour Of the finger whence they came. 

 "Child, " I cried, "what wond'rous master In his school of art hath form'd thee, That so deftly and so truly, From the sketch unto the burnish, Thou hast finish'd such a gem?"

 As I spoke, a breeze arising Stirr'd the tree-tops in the picture, Ruffled every pool of water, Waved the garments of the maiden; And, what more than all amazed me, Her small feet took motion also, And she came towards the station Where I sat beside the boy. 

 So, when every thing was moving, Leaves and water, flowers and raiment, And the footsteps of the darling-- Think you I remain'd as lifeless As the rock on which I rested? No, I trow--not I!

This is as perfect a landscape as one of Berghem's sunniest. 

An artist is, to our mind, one of the happiest creatures in God'screation. Now that the race of wandering minstrels has passed away, yourpainter is the only free joyous denizen of the earth, who can give wayto his natural impulses without fear of reproach, and who can indulgehis enthusiasm for the bright and beautiful to the utmost. He has histroubles, no doubt; for he is ambitious, and too often he is poor; butit is something to pursue ambition along the natural path with unwarpedenergies, and ardent and sincere devotion. As to poverty, that is afault that must daily mend, if he is only true to himself. In a fewyears, the foot-sore wanderer of the Alps, with little more worldlygoods than the wallet and sketch-book he carries, will be the royalacademician, the Rubens or the Reynolds of his day, with the most_recherché_ studio in London, and more orders upon his list than he haseither time or inclination to execute. Goethe has let us into the secretof the young German artist's life. Let us look upon him in the dawningsof his fame, before he is summoned to adorn the stately halls of Munichwith frescoes from the Niebelungen Lied. 

 * * * * *

THE ARTIST'S MORNING SONG. 

 My dwelling is the Muses' home-- What matters it how small? And here, within my heart, is set The holiest place of all. 

 When, waken'd by the early sun, I rise from slumbers sound, I see the ever-living forms In radiance group'd around. 

 I pray, and songs of thanks and praise Are more than half my prayer, With simple notes of music, tuned To some harmonious air. 

 I bow before the altar then, And read, as well I may, From noble Homer's master-work, The lesson for the day. 

 He takes me to the furious fight, Where lion warriors throng; Where god-descended heroes whirl In iron cars along. 

 And steeds go down before the cars; And round the cumber'd wheel, Both friend and foe are rolling now, All blood from head to heel!

 Then comes the champion of them all, Pelides' friend is he, And crashes through the dense array, Though thousands ten they be!

 And ever smites that fiery sword Through helmet, shield, and mail; Until he falls by craft divine, Where might could not prevail. 

 Down from the glorious pile he rolls, Which he himself had made, And foemen trample on the limbs From which they shrank afraid. 

 Then start I up, with arms in hand, What arms the painter bears; And soon along my kindling wall The fight at Troy appears. 

 On! on again! The wrath is here Of battle rolling red; Shield strikes on shield, and sword on helm, And dead men fall on dead!

 I throng into the inner press, Where loudest rings the din; For there, around their hero's corpse, Fight on his furious kin!

 A rescue! rescue! bear him hence Into the leaguer near; Pour balsam in his glorious wounds, And weep above his bier. 

 And when from that hot trance I pass, Great Love, I feel thy charm; There hangs my lady's picture near-- A picture yet so warm!

 How fair she was, reclining there; What languish in her look! How thrill'd her glance through all my frame! The very pencil shook. 

 Her eyes, her cheeks, her lovely lips, Were all the world to me; And in my breast a younger life Rose wild and wantonly. 

 Oh! turn again, and bide thee here, Nor fear such rude alarms; How could I think of battles more With thee within my arms!

 But thou shalt lend thy perfect form To all I fashion best; I'll paint thee first, Madonna-wise, The infant on thy breast. 

 I'll paint thee as a startled nymph, Myself a following fawn; And still pursue thy flying feet Across the woodland lawn. 

 With helm on head, like Mars, I'll lie By thee, the Queen of Love, And draw a net around us twain, And smile on heaven above. 

 And every god that comes shall pour His blessings on thy head, And envious eyes be far away From that dear marriage-bed!

There is abundance of spirit here. For once, in describing the battleand fall of Patroclus, Goethe seems to have caught a spark of Homericinspiration, and the lines ring out as clearly as the stroke of thehammer on the anvil. There is no rhyme in the original, which, weconfess, appears to us a fault; more especially as the rhythm is that ofthe ordinary ballad. We have, therefore, ventured to supply it, with aslittle deviation otherwise as possible. It is for the reader to judgewhether the effect is diminished. 

Our next selection shall be "The God and the Bayaderé"--a poem which islittle inferior in beauty to the Bride of Corinth, and which, from itsstructure, opposes to the translator quite as serious a difficulty. Thesubject is taken from the Hindoo mythology, and conveys a very touchingmoral of humanity and forbearance; somewhat daring, perhaps, from itsnovelty, and the peculiar customs and religious faith of an easternland, yet, withal, most delicately handled. 

 * * * * *

THE GOD AND THE BAYADERÉ. 

AN INDIAN LEGEND. 

 I. 

 Mahadeh, earth's lord, descending To its mansions comes again, That, like man with mortals blending, He may feel their joy and pain; Stoops to try life's varied changes, And with human eyes to see, Ere he praises or avenges, What their fitful lot may be. He has pass'd through the city, has look'd on them all; He has watch'd o'er the great, nor forgotten the small, And at evening went forth on his journey so free. 

 II. 

 In the outskirts of the city, Where the straggling huts are piled, At a casement stood a pretty Painted thing, almost a child. "Greet thee, maiden!" "Thanks--art weary? Wait, and quickly I'll appear!" "What art thou?"--"A Bayaderé, And the home of love is here. " She rises; the cymbals she strikes as she dances, And whirling, and bending with grace, she advances, And offers him flowers as she undulates near. 

 III. 

 O'er the threshold gliding lightly In she leads him to her room. "Fear not, gentle stranger; brightly Shall my lamp dispel the gloom. Art thou weary? I'll relieve thee-- Bathe thy feet, and soothe their smart; All thou askest I can give thee-- Rest, or song, or joy impart. " She labours to soothe him, she labours to please; The Deity smiles; for with pleasure he sees Through deep degradation a right-loving heart. 

 IV. 

 And he asks for service menial, And she only strives the more, Nature's impulse now is genial Where but art prevail'd before. As the fruit succeeds the blossom, Swells and ripens day by day, So, where kindness fills the bosom, Love is never far away. But he, whose vast motive was deeper and higher, Selected, more keenly and clearly to try her, Love, follow'd by anguish, and death, and dismay. 

 V. 

 And her rosy cheeks he presses, And she feels love's torment sore, And, thrill'd through by his caresses, Weeps, that never wept before. Droops beside him, not dissembling, Or for passion or for gain, But her limbs grow faint and trembling, And no more their strength retain. Meanwhile the still hours of the night stealing by, Spread their shadowy woof o'er the face of the sky, Bringing love and its festival joys in their train. 

 VI. 

 Lately roused, her arms around him, Waking up from broken rest, Dead upon her breast she found him, Dead--that dearly-cherish'd guest! Shrieking loud, she flings her o'er him, But he answers not her cry; And unto the pile they bore him, Stark of limb and cold of eye. She hears the priests chanting--she hears the death-song, And frantic she rises, and bursts through the throng. "Who is she? what seeks she? why comes she so nigh?"

 VII. 

 But the bier she falleth over, And her shrieks are loud and shrill-- "I _will_ have my lord, my lover! In the grave I seek him still. Shall that godlike frame be wasted By the fire's consuming blight? Mine it was--yea mine! though tasted Only one delicious night!" But the priests, they chant ever--"We carry the old, When their watching is over, their journeys are told; We carry the young, when they pass from the light!

 VIII. 

 "Hear us, woman! Him we carry Was not, could not be, thy spouse. Art thou not a Bayaderé? So hast thou no nuptial vows. Only to death's silent hollow With the body goes the shade; Only wives their husbands follow: Thus alone is duty paid. Strike loud the wild turmoil of drum and of gong! Receive him, ye gods, in your glorious throng-- Receive him in garments of burning array'd!"

 IX. 

 Harsh their words, and unavailing, Swift she threaded through the quire, And with arms outstretch'd, unquailing Leap'd into the crackling fire. But the deed alone sufficeth-- Robed in might and majesty, From the pile the god ariseth With the ransom'd one on high. Divinity joys in a sinner repenting, And the lost ones of earth, by immortals relenting, Are borne upon pinions of fire to the sky!

 * * * * *

Let us now take a poem of the Hartz mountains, containing no commonallegory. Every man is more or less a Treasure-seeker--a hater oflabour--until he has received the important truth, that labour alone canbring content and happiness. There is an affinity, strange as it mayappear, between those whose lot in life is the most exalted, and thehaggard hollow-eyed wretch who prowls incessantly around the crumblingruins of the past, in the belief that there lies beneath theirmysterious foundations a mighty treasure, over which some jealous demonkeeps watch for evermore. But Goethe shall read the moral to us himself. 

THE TREASURE-SEEKER. 

 I. 

 Many weary days I suffer'd, Sick of heart and poor of purse; Riches are the greatest blessing-- Poverty the deepest curse! Till at last to dig a treasure Forth I went into the wood-- "Fiend! my soul is thine for ever!" And I sign'd the scroll with blood. 

 II. 

 Then I drew the magic circles, Kindled the mysterious fire, Placed the herbs and bones in order, Spoke the incantation dire. And I sought the buried metal With a spell of mickle might-- Sought it as my master taught me; Black and stormy was the night. 

 III. 

 And I saw a light appearing In the distance, like a star; When the midnight hour was tolling, Came it waxing from afar: Came it flashing, swift and sudden; As if fiery wine it were, Flowing from an open chalice, Which a beauteous boy did bear. 

 IV. 

 And he wore a lustrous chaplet, And his eyes were full of thought, As he stepp'd into the circle With the radiance that he brought. And he bade me taste the goblet; And I thought--"It cannot be, That this boy should be the bearer Of the Demon's gifts to me!"

 V. 

 "Taste the draught of pure existence Sparkling in this golden urn, And no more with baneful magic Shalt thou hitherward return. Do not dig for treasures longer; Let thy future spellwords be Days of labour, nights of resting; So shall peace return to thee!"

 * * * * *

Pass we away now from the Hartz to Heidelberg, in the company of ourglorious poet. We all know the magnificent ruins of the Neckar, thefeudal turrets which look down upon one of the sweetest spots that everfilled the soul of a weary man with yearning for a long repose. Many ayear has gone by since the helmet of the warder was seen glancing onthese lofty battlements, since the tramp of the steed was heard in thecourt-yard, and the banner floated proudly from the topmost turret; butfancy has a power to call them back, and the shattered stone is restoredin an instant by the touch of that sublimest architect:--

THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

 There stands an ancient castle On yonder mountain height, Where, fenced with door and portal, Once tarried steed and knight. 

 But gone are door and portal, And all is hush'd and still; O'er ruin'd wall and rafter I clamber as I will. 

 A cellar with many a vintage Once lay in yonder nook; Where now are the cellarer's flagons, And where is his jovial look?

 No more he sets the beakers For the guests at the wassail feast; Nor fills a flask from the oldest cask For the duties of the priest. 

 No more he gives on the staircase The stoup to the thirsty squires, And a hurried thanks for the hurried gift Receives, nor more requires. 

 For burn'd are roof and rafter, And they hang begrimed and black; And stair, and hall, and chapel, Are turn'd to dust and wrack. 

 Yet, as with song and cittern, One day when the sun was bright, I saw my love ascending With me the rocky height;

 From the hush and desolation Sweet fancies did unfold, And it seem'd as we were living In the merry days of old. 

 As if the stateliest chambers For noble guests were spread, And out from the prime of that glorious time A youth a maiden led. 

 And, standing in the chapel, The good old priest did say, "Will ye wed with one another?" And we smiled and we answer'd "Yea!"

 We sung, and our hearts they bounded To the thrilling lays we sung, And every note was doubled By the echo's catching tongue. 

 And when, as eve descended, We left the silence still, And the setting sun look'd upward On that great castled hill;

 Then far and wide, like lord and bride, In the radiant light we shone-- It sank; and again the ruins Stood desolate and lone!

 * * * * *

We shall now select, from the songs that are scattered throughout thetale of Wilhelm Meister, one of the most genial and sweet. It is anin-door picture of evening, and of those odorous flowers of life whichexpand their petals only at the approach of Hesperus. 

PHILINE'S SONG. 

 Sing not thus in notes of sadness Of the loneliness of night; No! 'tis made for social gladness, Converse sweet, and love's delight. 

 As to rugged man his wife is, As his fairest half decreed, So dear night the half of life is, And the fairest half indeed. 

 Canst thou in the day have pleasure, Which but breaks on rapture in, Scares us from our dreams of leisure With its glare and irksome din?

 But when night is come, and glowing Is the lamp's attemper'd ray, And from lip to lip are flowing Love and mirth, in sparkling play;

 When the fiery boy, that wildly Rushes in his wayward mood, Calms to rest, disporting mildly, By some trivial gift subdued;

 When the nightingale is trilling Songs of love to lovers' ears, Which, to hearts with sorrow thrilling, Seem but sighs and waken tears;

 Then, with bosom lightly springing, Dost thou listen to the bell, That, with midnight's number ringing, Speaks of rest and joy so well?

 Then, dear heart, this comfort borrow From the long day's lingering light-- Every day hath its own sorrow, Gladness cometh with the night!

We are somewhat puzzled as to the title which we ought to prefix to ournext specimen. Goethe rather maliciously calls it "Gegenwart, " which maybe equivalent to the word "Presentiality, " if, indeed, such a wordbelongs to the English language. We, therefore, prefer dedicating it toour own ladye love; and we could not find for her any where a sweeterstrain, unless we were to commit depredation upon the minor poems of BenJonson or of Shakspeare. 

TO MY MISTRESS. 

 All that's lovely speaks of thee! When the glorious sun appeareth, 'Tis thy harbinger to me: Only thus he cheereth. 

 In the garden where thou go'st, There art thou the rose of roses, First of lilies, fragrant most Of the fragrant posies. 

 When thou movest in the dance, All the stars with thee are moving, And around thee gleam and glance, Never tired of loving. 

 Night!--and would the night were here! Yet the moon would lose her duty, Though her sheen be soft and clear, Softer is thy beauty!

 Fair, and kind, and gentle one! Do not moon, and stars, and flowers Pay that homage to their sun That we pay to ours?

 Sun of mine, that art so dear-- Sun, that art above all sorrow! Shine, I pray thee, on me here Till the eternal morrow. 

Another little poem makes us think of "poor Ophelia. " We suspect thatGoethe had the music of her broken ballad floating in his mind, when hecomposed the following verses:--

THE WILD ROSE. 

 A boy espied, in morning light, A little rosebud blowing. 'Twas so delicate and bright, That he came to feast his sight, And wonder at its growing. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud brightly blowing!

 I will gather thee--he cried-- Rosebud brightly blowing! Then I'll sting thee, it replied, And you'll quickly start aside With the prickle glowing. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud brightly blowing!

 But he pluck'd it from the plain, The rosebud brightly blowing! It turn'd and stung him, but in vain-- He regarded not the pain, Homewards with it going. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Rosebud brightly blowing!

We are sure that the votaries of Wordsworth will thank us for the nexttranslation, which embodies a most noble idea. See how the eye of thepoet is scanning the silent march of the heavens, and mark with whatsolemn music he invests the stately thought!

A NIGHT THOUGHT. 

 I do not envy you, ye joyless stars, Though fair ye be, and glorious to the sight-- The seaman's hope amidst the 'whelming storm, When help from God or man there cometh none. No! for ye love not, nor have ever loved! Through the broad fields of heaven, the eternal hours Lead on your circling spheres unceasingly. How vast a journey have ye travell'd o'er, Since I, upon the bosom of my love, Forgot all memory of night or you!

Let us follow up these glorious lines with a conception worthy ofÆschylus--indeed an abstract of his master-subject. It were out of placehere to dilate upon the mythical grandeur of Prometheus, and the heroicendurance of his character, as depicted by the ancient poet. To our mindand ear, the modern is scarcely inferior. 

PROMETHEUS. 

 Curtain thy heavens, thou Jove, with clouds and mist, And, like a boy that moweth thistles down, Unloose thy spleen on oaks and mountain-tops; Yet canst thou not deprive me of my earth, Nor of my hut, the which thou didst not build, Nor of my hearth, whose little cheerful flame Thou enviest me!

 I know not aught within the universe More slight, more pitiful than you, ye Gods! Who nurse your majesty with scant supplies Of offerings wrung from fear, and mutter'd prayers, And needs must starve, were't not that babes and beggars Are hope-besotted fools!

 When I was yet a child, and knew not whence My being came, nor where to turn its powers, Up to the sun I bent my wilder'd eye, As though above, within its glorious orb, There dwelt an ear to listen to my plaint, A heart, like mine, to pity the oppress'd. 

 Who gave me succour Against the Titans in their tyrannous might? Who rescued me from death--from slavery? Thou!--thou, my soul, burning with hallow'd fire, Thou hast thyself alone achieved it all! Yet didst thou, in thy young simplicity, Glow with misguided thankfulness to him That slumbers on in idlesse there above!

 I reverence thee? Wherefore? Hast thou ever Lighten'd the sorrows of the heavy-laden? _Thou_ ever stretch'd thy hand to still the tears Of the perplex'd in spirit? Was it not Almighty Time, and ever-during Fate-- My lords and thine--that shaped and fashion'd me Into the MAN I am?

 Belike it was thy dream, That I should hate life--fly to wastes and wilds, For that the buds of visionary thought Did not all ripen into goodly flowers?

 Here do I sit, and mould Men after mine own image-- A race that may be like unto myself, To suffer, weep; to enjoy, and to rejoice; And, like myself, unheeding all of thee!

We shall close this Number with a ballad of a different cast, but, lestthe transition should be too violent, we shall interpolate the spacewith a very beautiful lyric. We claim no merit for this translation, for, to say the truth, we could not have done it half so well. Perhapsthe fair hand that penned it, will turn over the pages of Maga indistant Wales, and a happy blush over-spread her cheek when she sees, enshrined in these columns, the effort of her maiden Muse. 

 * * * * *

NEW LOVE, NEW LIFE. 

 Heart--my heart! what means this feeling? Say what weighs thee down so sore? What new life is this revealing! What thou wert, thou art no more. All once dear to thee is vanish'd, All that marr'd thy peace is banish'd, Gone thy trouble and thine ease-- Ah! whence come such woes as these?

 Does the bloom of youth bright-gleaming-- Does that form of purest light-- Do these eyes so sweetly beaming, Chain thee with resistless might? When the charm I'd wildly sever-- Man myself to fly for ever-- Ah! or yet the thought can stir, Back my footsteps fly to her. 

 With such magic meshes laden, All too closely round me cast, Holds me that bewitching maiden, An unwilling captive fast. In her charméd sphere delaying, Must I live, her will obeying-- Ah! how great the change in me! Love--O love, do set me free!

One other mood of love, and we leave the apprentice of Cornelius Agrippato bring up the rear. Goethe is said to have been somewhat fickle in hisattachments--most poets are--but here is one instance where passionappears to have prevailed over absence. 

 * * * * *

SEPARATION. 

 I think of thee whene'er the sun is glowing Upon the lake; Of thee, when in the crystal fountain flowing The moonbeams shake. 

 I see thee when the wanton wind is busy, And dust-clouds rise; In the deep night, when o'er the bridge so dizzy The wanderer hies. 

 I hear thee when the waves, with hollow roaring, Gush forth their fill; Often along the heath I go exploring, When all is still. 

 I am with thee! Though far thou art and darkling, Yet art thou near. The sun goes down, the stars will soon be sparkling-- Oh, wert thou here!

If we recollect right--for it is a long time since we studied the occultsciences--Wierius, in his erudite volume "De Prestigiis Demonum, "recounts the story which is celebrated in the following ballad. Something like it is to be found in the biography of every magician; forthe household staff of a wizard was not complete without a _famulus_, who usually proved to be a fellow of considerable humour, but endowedwith the meddling propensities of a monkey. Thus, Doctor Faustus ofWittenburg--not at all to be confounded with the illustriousprinter--had a perfect jewel in the person of his attendant Wagner; andour English Friar Bacon was equally fortunate in Miles, his trustysquire. Each of these gentlemen, in their master's absence, attempted alittle conjuring on their own account; but with no better success thanthe nameless attendant of Agrippa, whom Goethe has sought toimmortalize. There is a great deal of grotesque humour in themanufacture, agility, and multiplication of the domestic Kobold. 

 * * * * *

THE MAGICIAN'S APPRENTICE. 

 Huzzah, huzzah! His back is fairly Turn'd about, the wizard old; And I'll now his spirits rarely To my will and pleasure mould! His spells and orgies--ha'n't I Mark'd them all aright? And I'll do wonders, sha'n't I? And deeds of mickle might. Bubble, bubble; Fast and faster! Hear your master, Hear his calling-- Water! flow in measures double, To the bath in torrents falling!

 Ho, thou batter'd broomstick! take ye This old seedy coat, and wear it-- Ah, thou household drudge, I'll make ye Do my bidding; ay, and fear it. Stand on legs, old tramper! Here's a head--I've stuck it-- Now be off--hey, scamper With the water-bucket! Bubble, bubble; Fast and faster! Hear your master, Hear his calling-- Water! flow in measure double, To the bath in torrents falling!

 See, 'tis off--'tis at the river-- In the stream the bucket flashes; Now 'tis back--and down, or ever You can wink; the burden dashes. Again, again, and quicker! The floor is in a swim, And every stoup and bicker Is running o'er the brim. Stop, now stop! For you've granted All I wanted Well and neatly-- Gracious me! I'm like to drop-- I've forgot the word completely!

 Oh, the word, so strong and baleful, To make it what it was before! There it skips with pail on pailful-- Would thou wert a broom once more! Still new streams he scatters, Round and ever round me-- Oh, a hundred waters Rushing in have bound me! No--no longer Can I bear it. No, I swear it! Gifts and graces! Woe is me, my fears grow stronger, Look what grinnings, what grimaces!

 Wilt thou, offspring of the devil, Soak the house to please thy funning? Even now, above the level Of the door the water's running. Broom accurst, that will not Hear, although I roar! Stick! be now, and fail not, What thou wert before! You will joke me? I'll not bear it, No, I swear it! I will catch you; And with axe, if you provoke me, In a twinkling I'll dispatch you. 

 Back it comes--will nought prevent it? If I only turn me to thee, Soon, O Kobold! thou'lt repent it, When the steel goes crashing through thee. Bravely struck, and surely! There it goes in twain; Now I move securely, And I breathe again! Woe and wonder! As it parted, Up there started, 'Quipp'd aright, Goblins twain that rush asunder. Help, oh help, ye powers of might!

 Deep and deeper grows the water On the stairs and in the hall, Rushing in with roar and clatter-- Lord and master, hear me call! Ah, here comes the master-- Sore, sir, is my straight; I raised this spirit faster Far than I can lay't. "To your hole! As you were, be Broom! and there be Still; for none But the wizard can control, And make you on his errands run!"

THE GREAT DROUGHT. 

In the spring and summer of 1844 rain began to fail, and the firstthings that perished for want of water died that year. But the moistureof the earth was still abundant, and the plants which took deep rootfound sustenance below; so that the forest trees showed an abundance offoliage, and the harvest in some kinds was plentiful. Towards the autumnrain returned again, and every thing appeared to be recovering itsformer order; but the dry winter, the dry spring, dry summer of the nextyear, told upon the face of creation. Many trees put forth small andscanty leaves, and many perished altogether; whole species were cut off;for instance, except where they were artificially preserved, one couldnot find a living ash or beech--few were kept alive by means of man; forwater began to be hoarded for the necessaries of life. The wheat waswatered, and, where such a thing was possible, the hay-fields also; butnumbers of animals died, and numbers were killed this year--the firstfrom thirst, and the last to reduce the consumers of the preciouselement. Still the rich commanded the necessaries, and many of theluxuries of life; and the arts which required a consumption of waterwere carried on as yet, and continued in practice even longer thanprudence warranted: so strong was the force of habit, and the pressureof the artificial necessities which they supplied. The railroads were asyet in activity, and when water failed along the line, it was broughtfrom the sea by the rich companies concerned in the traffic; only thefares were raised, and the trains which ran for pleasure merely, weresuspended. But, in the midst of business and interest, there was a deepgloom. Projects which affected the fortunes of nations were in suspense, because there was no rain. Cares for the succession of crowns, and theformation of constitutions, might all be futile, if there should be norain: and it seemed as if there never would be any; for this was now thethird year, and the earth had not received a shower. And now, ceasing tobe supplied from their usual sources, the springs and rivers witheredand shrank. Water became in many places not dear, but unattainable. Thegreatest people of the land left it, and used their wealth in chasingthe retreating element from place to place on the earth. In some cases, among these luxurious spirits there were scenes of extravagant revelrystill; they had no employment except to live, and they endeavoured tomake the act of living as exciting as their old amusements had been. Butaccounts of foreign countries came more and more rarely to England; forwhen the fourth rainless year arrived, drought and famine had slainthree-fourths of its inhabitants, and commerce and agriculture werealike suspended. When a vessel came as far up in the mouth of a river asthe sinking waters permitted, it brought tidings of desolation fromwhatever port it had left. Stories began to spread of dry land in partsof the ocean where it had never been seen before; marks which had stoodin the deep of the sea might now be walked round at all times of thetide, and thick crusts of salt were beginning to spread upon tracts ofthe great deep. These tidings from foreign lands came at long intervals, and at long intervals was a ship sent from any English haven. The fewdwellers of the coast knew not if there were still any dwellers of theinterior: for England was become like the desert; and there were nobeasts to carry one across it, and no water to be hoarded in skins forthe passage. Traffic of every kind ceased; industry was gone; thesecrets of science, and the cultivated mind of the philosopher, were allbent to the production of water; and many a precious object was resolvedback into its elements, and afforded a scanty supply to a few parchedmouths. The lingering inhabitants had the produce of past years only tolive upon, which nothing replenished as it diminished, and to renewwhich the baked earth was wholly incompetent. 

In the heart of this desert, there was a family which had hithertosurvived the destruction of life around them. It consisted of a fatherand mother, and two young children, Charles and Alice; the last of whom, the girl, was but a few months old when the Great Drought began. Theyhad lived in Derbyshire, near the range of low hills called the Peak;and they and other inhabitants of that region had found water longerthan many others, from the sides of the hills, and from excavationswhich they had made in the rocks. The strong hope and expectation ofrain had kept them lingering on as long as any supply lasted; andPaulett, who in the days when ranks existed, had been a great landlord, had used both his knowledge and his influence to supply the wants of thepeople, and to postpone their destruction. But those days were gone by;his possessions were so much dust: he wanted water, and nobody wantedany thing else. He was a mere man now, like those who are born naked anddie naked, and had to struggle with the needs of nature, even as everyone else. Meantime his education availed him; and the resources which ittaught him prolonged the lives of his family and himself. But he wassoon obliged to limit himself to this sole care; for the supply heobtained was scanty, and he knew how precarious it must be. He hadexplored the cavern of the Peak with great attention, and he bored therock in various places, and used means suggested by his knowledge ofnatural causes, which had procured a slender flow of water into a basinwhich he had made. The fury of thirsty men for water was so great, thathe was obliged to keep his secret with the utmost care; and towards theend of the fourth year, he removed his wife and children to the cavernitself, and blocked up the entrance, in such a manner that he coulddefend it against any chance survivor. There was no want of the luxuriesof furniture in the cavern--all the splendours of the land were at thecommand of those who would take them; and Paulett brought there whateverhad adorned his home when the earth was a fit dwelling-place for man. There was velvet and down to lie upon; there were carpets on which thelittle Alice could roll; there were warm dresses, and luxuriousornaments of the toilette; whatever could be used for comfort he hadbrought, and all other precious things he had left in his open house, locking himself and his family up with only water. At first there wouldcome sometimes a miserable man or woman, tracing the presence of livingcreatures, and crying for water. Paulett or his wife supplied several, and when they had been refreshed, they revealed the secret to others;or, being strengthened themselves, felt the desperate desire of liferevive, and attempted violence to get at the treasure. After this theinhabitants of the cavern fell back to mere self-preservation; and thefather and mother were able to harden their hearts against others, bylooking at the two creatures whom they had born into the world, and whodepended upon them. But, indeed, life seemed to shrink rapidly tonothing over the face of the country. It was very rare to see a movingform of any kind--skeletons of beasts and men were in plenty, and theirwhite bones lay on the arid soil; or even their withered shapes, driedby the air and the sun, were stretched out on the places where they hadceased to suffer: but life was most rare, and it became scarcelynecessary to use any precaution against an invader of their store. Thedreadful misery was, that this store diminished. The heart of the earthseemed drying, and was ceasing to be capable of yielding moisture, evento the utmost wrenching of science. There was so little one hot day, that Paulett and Ellen scarcely moistened their lips after their meal ofbaked corn, and warned their children that the draught they received wasthe only one that could be given them. Charles was now seven years old, and had learned to submit, but his longing eyes pleaded for more; littleAlice was clamorous, and the mother felt tears overflow her eyes tothink that there was no possibility of yielding to that childishpeevishness, and that the absolute non-existence of water must punishher poor child's wilfulness. When Paulett had set his instruments towork, to renew if possible the supply, and when Ellen had removed thesilver cups and dishes which had held their corn and water, he and shesat down at the mouth of the cavern, and the little ones got theirplaythings, and placed them on piece of rock not far off. The mouth ofthe cave is lofty, and there is a sort of terrace running along oneside, at the foot of which lay the channel of the stream, that was nowdry. The view is down the first reach of a narrow valley, which turnspresently afterwards, and so shuts out the world beyond from sight; andthe hill on each side rises high, and from its perpendicularity seemseven higher than it is. The shade of the cavern was deep and cool, butthe sky glowed with the heat and light of the sun, and there was not acloud to hinder him from burning up the earth. The hill-sides, thechannel where the brook had flowed, the stones of the cave, were allequally bare; there was no sound of voice, or bird, or insect--no cooldrop from the ceiling of the cave--no moisture even in the coolness ofthe shadow. Ellen leaned her head on her husband, and Paulett pressedhis arm round her--both of them were thinking of the basin empty ofwater. 

"Ellen, " said Paulett, "I think the time is come when the elements shallmelt with fervent heat. It seems like the conflagration of the world;not indeed as we have always fancied it, with flames and visible fire, but not the less on that account the action of heat. It is perhaps theLast Day. "

"I hope it is, " said Ellen, "I hope it is; I wish those preciouscreatures may be among those that are alive and remain, and may bespared the torments of this thirsty death. "

"You and I could bear it, if they were gone, " said Paulett, glancing atthem and withdrawing his eyes. 

"Oh, yes!" said Ellen, pressing near to him, and taking his hand in bothhers. They were silent, and they heard the children talking as theyplayed. 

"There is King Alexander, " said Charles, setting up a pebble--"he isgoing to dinner. Put the dinner, Alice. "

Alice set out several other pebbles before King Alexander. 

"And he has got a great feast. There is plenty of water, more than hecan drink; and he drinks, drinks, as much as he likes, and still thereis plenty of water when he goes to bed. "

"Poor children! I can't bear it, " said Ellen. 

"Oh, Ellen, it would have been better never to have given them birth!"said Paulett. 

"No--not that, " said Ellen, sitting down again; "though they mustsuffer, they are better to be; when this suffering has dissolved theirbodies--on the other side of these mortal pains there is ease andhappiness. "

"True, true, dear Ellen, " said Paulett; "it is only difficult to die. "

He held her hand; and while he did so, his eye fastened on a diamondring which she wore. She observed his fixed look. 

"You gave me that when we little thought how it was we should part--whenI was a bride--and there was all the pleasure and business of the worldround us. It hardly seems as if we were the same creatures. "

"No, we are not; for I am thinking, concerning that ring which you werenever to part with, whether I could not convert the diamond into water. "

"How, Paulett?"

"I can't explain it to you; but it has just crossed my mind that it ispossible; and if so, there are still plenty of jewels in the world tokeep us alive. "

He drew off the ring as he spoke, and went into the interior of thecave, whither Ellen followed him. There was a fire, and some apparatusbelonging to Paulett, which he had used in experiments upon thedecreasing water of the basin. He knocked the stone out of its setting, and applied himself to decompose it over the fire. He put forth all hisskill and all his power, and was successful; the diamond disappeared, and there remained a few drops of water. He looked at his wife andsmiled; she raised her eyes to his, astonished and pleased, took the cupfrom his hand, and looked at the precious metamorphosis. 

"I'll give it the children, " she said, and was going away; but hestopped her. "No, Ellen, there is not enough to do any good; you and Iwill drink each other's health in it; and he put the cup first to herlips and then to his own. God bless you, my Ellen!" he said, "my wife--Ipledge you again with that diamond. The first drop of water comes fromthe stone that plighted my faith to you, and may it bring you health andhappiness yet. "

"God bless you, my husband! If we could but die now!"

CHAPTER II. 

Paulett now exerted himself to collect all the diamonds that remainedwithout owners in the neighbourhood. First he visited his own forsakenhome, and took thence the jewels, which he had neglected in his retreatfrom it, but which were now as precious as water. He found no greatstore even after ransacking all the houses within reach, and determinedto undertake a longer journey in search of more. The basin in the caverncontinued to yield a scanty supply of water; and Paulett extracted asmall quantity from his stones. He made what provision he could for hisfamily before setting out; and for his own necessities took the smallestpossible portion, in a silver vessel, which was most preciously secured, and concealed about his person. It was a strange parting between hiswife and him, both of them feeling and saying, that alive they shouldprobably not meet again: yet death was so near them constantly, and wasso far better than life, that his presence had grown familiar; and itwas only the mode in which he would come that made them anxious. Paulettperishing alone of thirst was the fearful image to Ellen, and Ellen andher children waiting for him in vain, and dying one after the other forwant of his help, was the dread of Paulett. They stood in the cavern, and embraced each other silently, and blessed their children with thesame prayer for the last time. The little ones received and returned hiscaress, and Paulett quitted the cavern and set out on his uncertainexpedition. 

The face of the country was so much changed that he had some difficultyin making his way. The vivid colours of the earth were all gone, and inplace of them was the painful greyness of the dead trees, and the yellowof the parched soil. Nothing was overthrown in ruin, but all stood deadin its place. The shapes of men and animals only lay strewn upon theearth. The human beings were comparatively rare; they were the lastsurvivors of the destroying drought whom there had been none to bury;but these at length had died by hundreds, and in places their bones wereseen whiter than any other object; or if any where over the surfacethere hung a vapour, it came from some collection of dead bodies whichhad not yet been resolved into the elements. Those whom he found therewere mostly in heaps--the beasts had died singly; near what had beenwater-courses he saw more than once signs of struggle, and the lastbattles of earth had been fought for possession of its waters. He tracedout many a pathetic story among the dry bones and faded garments. Women's dresses were there; and fallen into a shapeless heap on what hadbeen their bosom, were little forms, and the raiment of children. Wherethe dry air and the sun had preserved the face, he beheld the fallenestate of those who had been men in the uncovered shame of death; thewide open lips, the sunken eyes, over which the eyelid was undrawn, theswollen tongue, the frame writhed into an expression of anguish, revealed all the pain and shame of death. But here and there, the handof some one who had been a survivor, was visible in the attempt toconceal all this. In one place there was a shallow grave, into which abody had been rolled, and lay on its side; and close by, on a heap ofclothes, out of which bones appeared, there was a spade with which theunfinished work had been attempted. In another, a female body wascovered from sun and moon by a man's cloak; and a few paces off lay aman, whom nothing shielded. There was an infant's skeleton wrapped in awoman's shawl, under what had been a hawthorn hedge; the mother hadeither perished attempting to find water, or had laid her child down, and gone away, like Hagar in the desert, not to see it die. The poorinnocent's skull was turned on its shoulder; its cheek must have restedthere while the face remained. It was too young to have struggled much. Paulett thought of his little Alice; of her unconsciousness to the fatearound her; of what would be her and Charles's and poor Ellen's fate, ifhe failed in his search, or perished by the way. He roused himself fromlooking on all these sorrowful objects, and went on his dreary way. Thesecond day after he left the cavern, he came to a stately pile ofbuilding, which he determined to explore for the life-giving stones hewas in search of. It stood upon its terraces, surrounded by itscolonnades and garden-steps, in all its old pride and beauty. Itsforests were withered indeed, its gardens burned, its fountains dry; butthe palace glanced back the sunlight, and was as steadfast and perfectas in the days of the living. Paulett drew near, and found, as he cameclose, signs of the last days of life in it. The doors were opened tothe air; and a few marks of objects removed, remained in the outerrooms. There was scoring and dragging on the marble floor; and Paulettdoubted for a moment what had left these marks, till he saw on one sideof a gilded table, a barrel, lying there empty, from which the top, asit seemed, had been accidentally knocked, and the liquor had flowed out. The marble bore the stain of wine, and where it had flowed, the slabswere broken in two places, perhaps from the violence of the struggle ofthose who saw the liquid flow, to wet each one his own parched lips. Paulett thought the lord of the castle had probably deserted it beforethe worst crisis arrived, and had tried to remove what was most valuablein his possession. He went on through long galleries and magnificentrooms, all silent as death, statues, which represented man in his gloryand his strength; books, which were the work of that high spirit, nowextinguished under the pressure of bodily wants; luxurioussuperfluities, which were for better days of the world--all wasvalueless, all open; he might go where he would, till at length one doorresisted his efforts, and seemed to have been barred with a certain carefrom within. Paulett's heart beat high. Was there some one still livinglike himself; another human creature struggling for existence in thisgreat world, and guarding, as he had done in his cavern, his treasure ofwater? Should he have another companion to speak with; another, withwhom, perhaps, to get over the evil days; to whom to communicate hissecret of producing water from diamonds? For the first time since heleft the cavern, he spoke aloud--he called--he called in the greatsilence of the earth, but nothing answered him. If any one were stillalive, he might be afraid of another living creature--had not he himselfleft pistols loaded for his poor Ellen, to defend her life and herchildren, if any human being should come near her? He gently shook thedoor; then proceeded to more violence, and forced it open. It was thedoor of a great dining-room, on whose lofty ceiling, as he entered it, wreaths of smoke rolled, which the air had put in motion, and a heavysmell, as of burned charcoal, struck him as he entered. There were noliving creatures--the inhabitants were all dead in the last posture oflife. The table was covered with silver and gold vessels, and among themwere dead flowers and fruits, dried by the close chamber. It should seemthey had drunk deeply before they died here--perhaps they had collectedthe last liquids, and resolved to perish when they had once morefeasted: for there was wine still in some of the vessels, nay, in onethere was water; and the ghostly shapes were adorned and fantasticallycovered with jewels and velvet, and all sort of rare and exquisiteornaments. Some were still on chairs, some fallen forward on the table, some prostrate, as if they had lain down to sleep. There were fragmentsof shivered glass on the floor; there was a statue broken to pieces onthe table, on the pedestal of which was written "Patience;" there werepieces of torn paper in the hands of one, which seemed a letter; allthese faint shadowings of long stories, and of a scene of which thereremained no witness, struck Paulett's eye. One had sunk down by thesilver tripod in which the charcoal had burned, and the match that firedit was amongst his garments. One face was there, resting on a sofa, still perfect enough to show it had been a beautiful woman; and roses, artfully made close to nature, crowned the long hair which fell uponarms from which the flesh had withered. On the neck were diamonds, onthe hands diamonds--diamonds had confined the ringlets--diamondssparkled on the feet. Paulett shuddered as he took them away. Thespirit, indeed, was gone; but here was the last act of the spirit beforeit plunged into an unknown region, it knew not where. Paulett askedhimself where. "A little longer, " said he, "and they must have died;could not they wait their time, and take patience with death? Must theydie in drunkenness, in madness; worse than beasts?" Then his own thirstyeyes fixed on the table, where, in the light of the sun, the watersparkled, and gave rainbow rays. He forgot all beside, in the impulsewhich urged him to seize and drink--to drink the first draught--tosatiate his throat with water. He drank and revived; and then blamedhimself for yielding so passionately to the impulse which was now passedaway; and as it passed, the horror of the scene around him acquiredgreater force, and he longed to be out of its influence. He made hasteto collect all the jewels around him, and when he had done, found thathis burden was as much as he could safely carry. He went hastily out ofthe room, as if any of these figures could rise and follow him, andfastened the door again, where the crime had been wrought. He hastilycrossed the marble halls and gilded rooms, and came out in thesunlight--the splendid, solemn sunlight that looked upon a burnt-upworld!

CHAPTER III. 

Meantime, poor Ellen waited anxiously in the cavern, and as soon as thefirst possible moment for Paulett's return was passed, her fears grewstrong. There was so much danger for him in the bare desert, with hisscanty supply of water, that she might well listen to fear as soon as ithad any reason to make itself heard; and with this dread, when she nextdrew water from her scanty supply, came the horrible torment of theanticipated death by thirst, which seemed descending upon her childrenand her. The day she had thought he would return rose and set, and sodid another and another; and from fearing, she had begun to believe, indeed, that Paulett's earthly hours were passed. Yet hope would not besubdued entirely; and then she felt that perhaps by prolonging theirlives another day only, she should save them to welcome him, and toprofit by his hard-earned treasure. The store of water was sacredlyprecious. She dealt it out in the smallest portions to her children, andshe herself scarcely wetted her lips; she hardened her heart to see herboy's pale face, her girl's feverish eye; she checked even the motherlytenderness of her habits, lest the softening of her heart shouldovercome her resolution; and so she laid them in their beds the thirdnight of her dread, when indeed there was scarce another day's supply. She herself lay on hers, but deadly anxiety kept her from sleeping, andher ears ached with the silence which ought to have been broken by astep. And at last, oh joy! there was a foot--yes, a few moments madethat certain, which from the first indeed she believed, but which was sofaint that it wanted confirmation to her bodily sense. Up sprang Ellen, and darted to meet him. She held forward the candle into the air, and, lo! it was a woman. Ellen screamed aloud; the woman had seen her beforeand said nothing, only pressed forward. "Who are you?" cried Ellen; "areyou alive?" "Yes, just alive; and see here, " said the woman, uncoveringthe face of her young child--"my child is just alive too; give me waterbefore it dies. " "Then my children will perish, " said Ellen. "No, no, "said the woman; "how are you alive now unless you have plenty? All mineare gone but this one; my husband died yesterday; ours has been gone fordays. " "My husband is dead, too, " said Ellen, "and I have only onedraught left. " "Then I will take it, " said the mother, rushing forward. Ellen caught her and struggled with her; the poor child moaned in itsmother's arms, and a pang shot through the heart of Ellen. "For God'ssake, miserable woman, " she said, "do not go near that basin! You aremad with want; you will leave none for my children. Stay here, and Iwill bring your child water. You and I can want, and yours and mineshall drink. " But the desperate woman pressed on; her eyes fixed on thewater, and dilated with intense desire; her lips wide open, dying almostfor the draught. Ellen's soul was concentred in the fear, that the lasthope of her boy and girl's life was about to be lost; she struggled withthe woman with all her might; she screamed aloud; she lost her hold; sheseized a pistol from the table, and close as she was to her adversary, fired it full at her. The mother fell, with a shriek. Ellen startedforward and broke her fall, and laid hold on the child to free it fromher dying grasp. "Give him me, give him me!" said the mother, strugglingto lift herself up, and stretching her hands out for the boy. Thetrembling Ellen stooped to give him to her, but the child's head droppedon one side as she held him out; he made no effort to get into hismother's arms. Ellen wildly raised his face, and he was dead too. Theshot had gone through his breast to his mother's, and a little bloodbegan to steal from his lips. "He's dead!" said the mother, who washerself passing away. "Oh, my boy!" and then feebly, with herfast-failing strength, she raised him, after more than one effort, inher arms, and pressed her lips to his twice, with all the passion thatdeath left in her. The wasted form of the child lay there, all pale andwithered, the straight brown hair was parted on his thin forehead; themother's uncovered breast, where his head rested, was white, and thehands delicate; the raiment was luxurious; that head had not been rearedin the expectation of dying on a bed of rock. Ellen burst into floods oftears, and wrung her hands as she stood by, looking on what she haddone. The woman lifted her eyes, and tried to form her lips into asmile; she no longer felt any vehement passion, and the torment ofthirst was now only one of the pangs of death. Her eyes wandered to thewater, but when Ellen moved to fetch some, she stopped her. 

"No; it was for him. He is at ease now. You did right. Don't grieve. "

"Forgive me, " said Ellen, kneeling down at her side. 

"Oh yes! the poor precious babe suffers no more. I was mad; you saidtruly in that. I nursed him at my breast till his lips grew dry eventhere; we lived not far from your cavern, and I have seen you, and beenglad you had water. We had some. _We?_ Yes, is not my husband dead; andmy boy is dead too! See, there is blood on his face; wipe it away; hewill die else. " Ellen's sobs caught her wandering attention. "I remembernow, you killed him; oh, good angel, guardian angel! you have killedhim, and there is only I to suffer. He is gone from this dear, dearbody; I wish it did not look so like him still--and it looks in paintoo--it looks thirsty. "

Ellen hid her own face on the mother's shoulder for an instant. --Herchildren had awakened at the noise of the pistol, and they were out ofbed and clinging around her; her sorrow roused theirs, and the sound oftheir lamentation reached the dying woman's ear. 

"There are my children crying. Alas! I thought they had all been dead. "

"They are mine, " said Ellen. "Yours are at rest, yours _are_ all dead. "

"Thank God!" said the mother; and though the words were earnest, thevoice was faint; all the effort of nature was in them, but they camefeebly from her lips. After that, indistinct sounds and murmured namesonly were heard; her breath came in gasps, and at longer and longerintervals; till the faint shuddering of her limbs ceased by degrees, and after it had been insensible to the world for a while, the spiritquitted it for ever. Ellen's heart died within her; her senses weretroubled, and she pressed herself in Paulett's arms without knowing whenhe came, or being surprised that he was there. "Oh, Paulett!" she saidat last, "I have not done wrong, but it is so dreadful!" Paulett soongathered from her all that had happened; and gazed with pity on what hadonce been a beautiful form, but rejoiced that it suffered no longer. Ellen, shuddering, arranged the dress, composed the limbs, and, with athousand tears, placed the infant on that breast which had been sofaithfully its mother to the last. And there they slept, mother andchild--the day of trouble ended for both. 

"My poor Ellen, " said Paulett, "I wish it were thou and my children whowere there at rest!" and Ellen pressed her Charles and her Alice to herheart, and would have been glad if they had indeed been dead. 

CHAPTER IV. 

In that time of trouble and of unexampled events, the mind receivedimpressions in a different manner from what it had ever done before. Thestern gloom that hung over the future, the hazard upon which life wassuspended, the close contact with universal death, and the desperatestruggle by which it was staved off, gave to all things a new character;and the scene of the last chapter was but one of the series of deadlyand dreadful excitements which were now the habit of every day. Thesolemn frame of mind which it induced in Ellen, was of a piece with thesolemn nature of their existence; and she could talk of it with herhusband at any time, and not disturb the natural bent which theirconversation took. They searched the immediate neighbourhood for thehabitation of the unhappy mother and her family; and the marks of herfootsteps on the dust of the soil enabled them to trace her to Hope, avillage in the plain, two miles, or rather more, from the Peak. She andher husband had used the church for their habitation, and it seemed hademployed the same kind of precaution as Paulett to defend it and concealthat it was their dwelling. One entrance only was left, and the otherapertures blocked up; but all care was useless now, for death had setthem free from pain and fear. On a bed beside the altar lay the body ofa man, over which as spread a cloak of fur and velvet, which in thelifetime of the world would have been most precious. His eyes weredecently closed, the curtains of the bed drawn round him, and the pillowwhich supported his head was marked with the pressure of another head, and with moisture which could have been only the tears of his wife. Thefloor of the church was in confusion, like the dwelling of one too muchdistracted with trouble to attend to what did not relate to it; butthere was corn which had served for food, and fuel heaped on the stonewhich had been a hearth--there was the drawing of a lovely woman and ofa beautiful place: but these were cast into a corner, probably by theirritable hand of despair. On a table stood empty cups, which had long, perhaps, been dry--the glass of one had been shivered, and the fragmentslay on the floor; there were also a few books, neglected and coveredwith dust. In the churchyard were the marks of three recent graves--oneof them had a stone at its head, on which was carved with care the nameof Alfred, and the soil was fenced and supported with sticks, so as topreserve its shape over the body--probably it was that of the firstchild whom the parents had committed to dust. Another was more hastilyprepared, and no superfluous labour had been bestowed on it. This mustbe the last, when heart and health were both failing. Paulett and Ellenkneeled and prayed beside them, and rejoiced that the mother, too, wasat rest after the long misery of this scene. They returned to theircave, and, under the shadow of the rock near the old course of thebrook, laid both mother and child, covering their bodies with stones, and thinking more of the probable reunion, in some unknown scene, ofthe spirits of that family, than of the distance which separated theirgraves on this earth. 

And now, with good store of diamonds, and with increasing skill andsuccess in the resolution of them into water, both Paulett and Ellenlooked upon the lives of all as safe for the present, and their thoughtswere at liberty to wander to some other subject. They believed that theyand their children were alone in the world, for every sign of life fromother countries, as well as their own, had ceased. It was very longsince any human tidings had come, and though, after men had done witheach other, birds continued their migrations, these had now long beenover, and the years passed away without bringing or sending a singlewing. The course of the seasons, too, was strange and unnatural. Itseemed as if the earth performed its usual course in the heavens, andkept its place and functions in the movements of the planets; days andnights varied in their length according to the season, and the heat ofthe sun was at one time of the year great and at another weak: but muchthat depended hitherto upon the constitution of the globe was suspended. There were no clouds in the sky, no dews dropping from the air, noreproduction in the earth. It seemed decayed and dying of old age. YetPaulett said, a new existence would, perhaps, arise on this same scene, and from these same elements. Once before, the earth had been reduced toeight persons by the action of water; and now the absence of the sameelement had brought it to four. Charles and Alice might be the destinedparents of a new race, and those names that were so familiar now, mightbecome the venerable appellations of the founders of the third race ofman. Ellen smiled and shook her head, looking at the boy and girl, whowere building a house of pebbles; and both parents listened for a whileto what they were saying. Charles recollected the house he had dwelt inbefore the great shipwreck of human life drove then to the cavern; andhe was teaching Alice that there were rooms below and rooms above, andthat he had heard how people like their father had carried great stones, and put them one on another to make these rooms. Alice persisted inmaking her house one hollow cavern; and the other she called Charles'shouse, and did not understand his recommendation. 

"Charles is taking the part already of a teacher, in whom remains thetraditionary knowledge of an old world, " said Paulett; "and Alicerepresents the new inhabitants, who have their own rude copies ofnatural objects, but who will be open to the training of the learnedman. "

"The learned man will be their father, " said Ellen; "they will gladlytake their notions from him. "

"Yes; but if it should be so destined, the first generation must workhard merely to live--they must be very long ignorant of every thingexcept a paternal government, and such habitations as can be raised orappropriated most easily. They will be children in comparison to Charlesall their lives, if we can but succeed in giving him the ideas of theage we have lived in. Fancy them, Ellen, increased to perhaps fiftyinhabitants before he dies, a very old man, coming round his chair tohear of the wonderful steam-engine, and the use of the telescope, and tolearn the art of printing, and the list of different languages whichRomans, Frenchmen, Germans, Greeks, used; and what lions were, andhorses. "

"Or tell them how he and Alice escaped from the great drought, " saidEllen. "But, alas! it is far more likely he and she will perish in it, and then of what use is this knowledge to him?"

"Why--his soul. 'It is a thing immortal like thyself;' and if what heknows is of no use here, it will be useful elsewhere. "

"What!" said Ellen, smiling--"are there railroads and telescopes inanother world?"

"For aught I can tell. At all events, the powers that contrive them heremay contrive something from the same principles hereafter. "

"But we can tell nothing about the other world, " said Ellen. 

"Nay, this is _another world_ to the stars; and, if we know nothingabout our destiny, the only way we have to judge is by what we actuallyare, and tend to be, now. So, while life remains, I will teach my boyall I know, and go on as a man of this world ought to do; then we shallbe ready for every thing. "

Accordingly, Paulett every day carried on his son's education, as far asthe boy's age permitted, and instructed him in all that he would havelearned had the world been as it was formerly. Only, like a man in ashipwreck looking forward to a desert island as his best hope, he dweltmost upon what would be usefullest, supposing Charles (being preserved)to have to provide for the physical necessities of a new race of man. Next in order came science and arts; and it was easier to make him feelthe merits of these than of the exploits of men, especially when theyconsisted of valour, and of the deeds of conquerors; for the heroicvirtues seemed to take a new character in the present circumstances ofthe world; and whereas they used to kindle and blaze in personal danger, and at the sound of the applause of men, they now burned brightly in theendurance of a world's dissolution, which, with all its terrors andprolonged impressions, must be met by the calm, self-sustaining spirit, rising superior to the greatest excess of physical injury. The boy'ssoul replied to the call upon it. He learned to look on the dangersbefore him, and to consider the possibility of escape with quietcalculation of chances. He inured himself to privation readily, andeagerly tried to spare his mother and Alice from it. He and his father, hand in hand, walked over the desolate land, realizing the idea thatthey were in fact spirits, superior to all physical things, and dividedfrom spirits and their sphere only by their frail connexion with a body. They talked of virtue and duty, and how good it was to dwell in thesepainful bodies, since they were the place wherein virtue was practisedand duty learned; and the father taught the son that the opportunitiesoccurred, not only in enduring the dissolution of the frame of presentthings, and in the untiring exertion to aid and support life in thosewho were of weaker sex than they, but in abiding with even and cheerfultemper the vexations of every day, and in adorning as far as possible, as well as preserving, life. The mother was heroic, good, and patient, too. She brought her children, night and morning, to the mouth of thecavern, and there they all kneeled by Paulett, who prayed aloud withthem and for them. Then Ellen made ready their meal, which must all beprepared without water, and which consisted of the stores from formerharvests, of which there was abundance laid up in various houses; andthe little Alice, who could run at her mother's side, learned to beuseful in some matters, and patient and obedient. Charles played withher and taught her; and he himself, mere child as he was, grew merry inhis play, and earnest; and many a time the profound silence of the earthwas broken by the hearty laugh of children, which would ring out throughthe cavern, and reverberate against its walls. They grew, and wereperfect and beautiful in shape; their minds developed, and talents andvirtues filled them. They were types of man and woman--the one bold andprotecting, the other seeking for affection and defence. They flourishedwhen means appeared inadequate to their support; and, amid a paralysedworld, it was in them only that body and spirit seemed to unfold. 

CHAPTER V. 

Time passed on, and there was no change in the state of things. Still anunclouded sun--still the deep, intense blue sky--winds on the earth butno moisture; and the whole frame of nature seemed crumbling into chaos. Paulett felt the strife with fate to be unequal indeed, and couldscarcely comprehend that he and his family were truly survivors amidsuch destruction; but he resolved not to give in, while the meansremained to him, but to fight the fight out till overpowered by thematerial universe. He told Ellen that they must move to some placewhere they might hope to find more diamonds, and Ellen agreed--wishingwith Paulett that the strife were over and the last agony suffered, andthat they were among the free and disembodied spirits. London was theirobject; for there they might hope to find most of the materials of whatwas now the most precious of all things, water; and providing as well asthey could for their necessities by the way, they quitted the cavern, and set off on their journey. 

First came the father, carrying the little Alice in his arms; the boyheld his mother by the hand; and they followed Paulett on his path. There was the delicate woman, the mother of all that remained alive ofthe human race, setting out on the desert, which she remembered, but afew years before, the scene of luxury and abundance. On her shoulder shecarried a burthen containing corn for their sustenance; and the braveboy took his share by bearing the jar of water which had been providedfor their support on the journey; and thus the last family of mankindset out on their pilgrimage over the desolated earth. The unmitigatedsun had made great rents in the sides of the hills, and, together withthe wind, had broken up the roads, between which and the parched fieldsthere was scarcely now any difference. Where there had been inclosuresand hedges, the withered sticks had in most places yielded to the winds, and were scattered about the spot where they had stood. Here and therewere the marks of fire, which had run along the country till someinterval of previous desolation had stopped it; and where this had beenthe case, the black unsightly remains lay strewn over the surface, onefurther step advanced in dissolution than the dead world around. Therewas no want of habitations for their nightly shelter. Palaces andcottages, all alike, were open; all alike were silent and tenantlesshabitations. They might choose where they would. And the first day theydid not go far, for Ellen and her children, with stout hearts, had notbodily strength for great fatigue, and were unused to the strongexertion they were now compelled to make. Towards evening, therefore, when they reached a house with which Paulett and Ellen had once beenfamiliar, they determined to rest there for the night. They pushed openthe gates, which still swung on their hinges, and which admitted them towhat had been a park, filled once with trees, and bathed with waters. Alarge wood covered the hill which rose on one side, and which now, undera summer sun, stood perfectly bare, and all of one uniform grey colouras far as the view extended. On the other side, the eye looked over atract of country varied with hill and dale, but desolate of every colourthat used to shine forth in light and shade. The setting sun shone amongthe leafless branches, casting long brilliant rays of light. Theunclouded sky met the sparkling earth, and both glittered with unnaturalbrilliancy. To Paulett and Ellen, every thing spoke of desolation anddeath; and an exclamation escaped Ellen, in a low tone, that it was apiteous and horrible spectacle. But Charles, standing still at theirside as they looked on the scene, cried it was beautiful; the colours ofthe sun were so splendid on the fine white trees, and one could see sofar, and every thing was so white and shining on the earth. The parentsfelt that ideas were ceasing to be in common between the last and thefirst members of the old and the new generation; and far fromcontradicting their boy, they tried to partake his pleasure and enterinto his impressions. They moved on up to the old familiar door andentered the open silent hall, where they remembered the ceremonies andthe courtesies of life. They chose among the rooms which had been thoseof friends, and recognised familiar objects of their everyday existence. It was a conceit of Paulett's, for which he smiled at himself, to windup the clock in the hall, and set it to tell out the time again foranother week. There were musical instruments in a room adjoining, andover one of these Ellen timidly passed her fingers. It was out of tune, and the sounds, though sweet in themselves, all jarred with one another. 

"That's the last music of the world, perhaps, " said Ellen; "and alldiscord too. "

They found some small store of corn in one of the rooms; they preparedand ate it, and lay down to sleep; forgetting in fatigue all theirdismal feelings, and in their dreams seeing the old state of things anddead persons--nay, a dead world--without wondering that they were cometo life again. All the days of their journey wore an uniform character;and they kept on and on through waste and ruin, glad to leave thecountry behind them, and expecting, as some relief, the aspect ofstreets and a town. They halted, at length, within a few miles ofLondon, and lay down to rest, thankful to be so near their bourne; forthey had suffered as much fatigue as they could well bear, and theirstock of diamonds was waxing very low and needed replenishment. Paulettcontinued busy preparing water from part of those that remained, afterhis wife and children were asleep. His own frame scarcely felt theexertion of the journey, and he was full of the thoughts with which theapproaching sight of what had been once the great metropolis filled him. The vast untenanted dwelling-place, the solitude of the habitation ofcrowds, the absence of mind and talent from the scene they had sofilled; all these things excited his feelings, and gaining ground in thesolitude of the night he felt at last that he could not willingly delayhis first meeting with the bereaved city, and that he should be pleasedto have an opportunity of indulging alone the highly-wrought emotionwith which he expected the sight of it. Accordingly, when the lightbegan to break, he wrote word to Ellen that she should wait for him afew hours, and that he would be back again in that time to lead her andthe children to their journey's end; and then, softly leaving the house, set forward eagerly on his way. 

It was evening before he returned. He came in pale and excited; he tookhis children in his arms as usual, and seemed like one upon whom a thingwhich he has seen has made a deep impression, but who either doubts thepower of words to convey the same impression, or thinks that he himselfis over-excited by it. 

"Ellen, " he said at last, "London is burned to the ground. "

The sudden flush on her face, and her clasped hands, while she spokenot, showed that the event touched her, too, as deeply as him; and thenhe went on freely--

"Oh, Ellen! if you had seen it! It stands there, all in ruins--the wholecity in ruins! It has been the work of some great storm which fired itwhen all were gone or dead; for there has been no pulling down, nopillage, no aid, no attempt to stop the fire! All the palaces, all themuseums, all the stores of learning and art, the streets, the crowdedhouses; they are gone, Ellen--they are all gone!"

His wife had never before in all their misery seen him so deeplymoved--so nearly overpowered by any thing that had occurred. Hisexcitement communicated itself to her, and she caught the full bearingof his narration. She felt for the long ages of story, and the monumentsof human skill, buried in the great city. Irretrievable ruin! The workwhich men, and years, and glowing knowledge, had slowly raised up, alldead, all annihilated so suddenly. They sat talking of it very longbefore Ellen said, "And what must _we_ do now, Paulett?"

"We must go on, Ellen; we must travel further. The rest we hoped for isdestroyed with the city, and we must press forward if we are to save ourlives. "

"That seems less and less possible, " said Ellen; "and in all thisdestruction why should we be preserved?"

"Perhaps because we have as yet avoided the stroke, by using all ourhuman skill; perhaps because a new race is to spring from us, who shallreign in another mighty London! Alas, London!--alas, the great city!"

Several times during the night Ellen heard Paulett murmur to himselfwords of lament over the fallen city; and when he slept, his rest wasagitated, and his frame seemed trembling under the emotions of the day. 

It was resolved that Ellen should rest a little while in their presenthabitation, before undertaking the toils of further travel. Theyintended to make for the coast, sure of a dry channel to the oppositeshore, and hoping to reach some of the great continental towns beforetheir store of diamonds should be utterly exhausted. In the meantime, Paulett was bent upon taking his boy through the ruins of London, andimpressing upon him the memory of the place, and its great events. Sothe next day, leaving Ellen and the little Alice together, he andCharles began their pilgrimage through the mighty ruins. The event musthave occurred very many months ago, for the ruins were perfectly cold, and the winds had toppled down the walls of all the more fragilebuildings; so that the streets lay in confusion over one another, and itwas impossible, except by other marks, to recognise the localities. Paulett and Charles clambered over the fallen walls, and would have beenbewildered among heaps of masonry, and houses shaken from their base andblackened by fire--only that over the desolate prospect they saw, andPaulett marked the bearings of St Paul's, the chief part of whose domerose high in the air, though a huge rent let the daylight through it, and threatened a speedy fall. There was here and there a spire, risingperfect over the ruins; there were remains of Whitehall, strong thoughblackened, seen over a long view of prostrate streets; and in thedistance beyond, fragments of Westminster Abbey showed themselves in thesunlight, though defaced and crumbled, as if the frame had been tooancient to resist the fire. Guided by these landmarks, Paulett tracedout the plan of the city, and by degrees recognised where the greatstreets had run, where the palaces had stood, where the river hadflowed. And all was silent, all an absolute stillness, where there hadbeen such ceaseless voices, and sounds of life; the libraries wereburned, the statues calcined, the museums in ashes; the mind of man, which triumphs over the body, had here been subdued by matter, and leftno trace of itself. 

"Oh! London, London! So much talent, so much glory and beauty; suchmighty hearts, such mighty works; such ages of story--all buried in oneblack mass! Piteous spectacle!" cried Paulett, striking his breast, andstretching forth his arms over the skeleton of what was once a sovereignin the world. 

He took his son by the hand, and led him over the confused masses, telling him as they went along what were the ruins by which they passed. 

"This great heap of building which has fallen into a square, must be thepalace of our kings. It is that St James's, where they dwelt till noblerbuildings rose with the improving times. See here, Charles--there isless ruin here. This opener space was park and garden; and time has beenthat I have heard the buzz of men filling all this place, when thesovereigns came to hold their courts in that building. I think that thisdreadful fire must have taken place before life was quite extinct; forsee, there are heaps of bones here, as though men had fled together toavoid it; and it either overtook them with long tongues of fire, such asa burning city would send forth, or smothered them before they couldescape, with its smoke. Ha! I see almost a palace there--a wonder ofmodern art. It is the house I once saw, and only once, for it was builtduring the years of the great drought. "

"Who could build in those days, father?" said Charles; "I thought no onehad any heart for doing more than we do, and that is but just keepingourselves alive. "

"Nay, it was very long before the persuasion came that those were thelast days. We all believed that rain would come again and restore theearth to its old order, and whoever possessed the means, builded andprojected still. You may see this magnificent place suffered violencebefore the fire; for its ornaments are torn from the walls, and itsstatues mutilated by other means than the bare fall. It was the propertyof a man called Jephcot, who, when the water began to fail, contrivedmeans to bring it into London from great distances, and thus to secure asupply when the ordinary means were useless. He kept his contrivancesecret, and supplied the city when other men's resources were exhausted;and he grew exceedingly rich by this exercise of his ingenuity, andbuilt himself the palace which you see there. But when the failure ofwater amounted to absolute famine, the rich people naturally were thelast who wanted; they gave his price, and he supplied them before hewould supply others who had no money to bring. This was endured withmurmurs, which might have gone on a little longer, had not Jephcot, inthe midst of this distress, given a banquet to the great people ofLondon. 

"It was in the second year of the drought, when little thinking what theend was to be, we all continued to live, as far as possible, as we haddone before. I was in London where the parliament was then sitting, andamong others I was invited to this house, and still remember the sceneof luxury and profusion of these bare rooms. In the midst of the noiseof a crowded assembly, some of us heard sounds outside, which were suchas you will never hear, even if you live--sounds of the feet and voicesof thousands of human beings. Among this tumult, we began to distinguishindividual voices, chiefly those of women, crying out, "water!" We paidlittle attention, and those who did, said the police and soldiers werecalled out and would prevent violence; but before long it was whisperedthat these forces, pressed by extreme want, and seeing their familiesperishing, had joined the mob, and were exciting violence. There fell asilence over all the assembly; every one left the tables, and gatheredtogether to hear and to consult: and while we did so, there came anassault on the front of the house, and the voices of the populace allbroke out at once into shouting. They were irresistible; they forcedtheir way in, and came pouring up the staircase; they uttered cries ofvengeance for imaginary wrongs, saying that the waters of London hadbeen kept for the rich, and that there was abundance for both rich andpoor, and threatened the lives of Jephcot and his family, even moreeagerly than they demanded water. He tried to address them, but theycaught him down from the head of the staircase where he stood, and flunghim at once over the marble banisters. This was the signal for attack onall sides. We rushed forward to rescue his body and revenge him, they topossess themselves of the treasure they so much coveted. Of course wewere overpowered, for we were one to fifty; and that night there fell ahundred of the nobles of England. The women were respected by the mob, and except one lady who was shot accidentally, and another who saw herson fall, and stood over him till he ceased to breathe, then fellwounded and dying herself, all escaped. Your mother was not there. Whenour party was quite vanquished, I found myself in the midst of the mob, bleeding to death as I thought; but they flung me on one side, and Irecovered. They pulled the house to the ground, after they had satiatedthemselves with drinking. And that was the first great calamity whichoverthrew the government of the country. "

"And how did that come about, father?" said Charles, eagerly holding himby the hand, and sharing his excitement. 

Paulett led him on, telling him, at one ruined monument after another, what steps had been taken at each, in the destruction of the order ofthings. They came to the dry channel of the Thames, a deep and widetrench, whose bottom showed objects that had lain there when the watersflowed above, and which would once have been as precious as now theywere unregarded. Here as a bridge from side to side; and a little wayabove, stood part of the walls of a noble building, partly black withsmoke, partly white with the polish and beauty of stones newly builttogether. 

"These are the Houses of Parliament, " said Paulett, "the work of manyyears, which were to replace those burned in 1834. See how beautifulthey were, what excellent design, what exquisite finish; how strong andstable, to last for a thousand ages, and to crown the river which thenflowed in this dusty channel. When matters were come almost to theworst, and there were convulsions all over the country in consequence ofthe famine, the queen, for the first time, came to these houses to openthe last parliament that ever assembled. There were no beasts ofburthen left alive in the country; it had been found impossible toappropriate water enough to those which had been reserved in the royalstables; and the queen, surrounded by a certain number of the court, walked along yonder street to the House. The sight of so young a woman, and so great a sovereign, thus leveled by physical necessity with themeanest, excited some of the old enthusiasm with which she used to begreeted: the populace themselves, with their squalid faces, and in theirextreme misery, greeted her; but the greatest feeling was aroused amongthe nobles and gentry who surrounded her, and who seemed to make a pointof offering more homage, the less outer circumstances commanded it. There was assembled in the House all that remained alive of the noblesof England, and the sovereign; and they proposed to deliberate upon thepossibility of any means remaining to provide water. But a demagogue ofthe people, Matthison by name, roused their fury and their madness, andthey burst in, accusing their superiors of their calamities. The queen'slife was in danger;--and then occurred a gallant action, which is worthyto live if man lives. A Churchill, a descendant of that Marlborough whofought Blenheim, came to the hall whither they had broken in, andrequired in the queen's name to know what they wanted. He meant to gaintime; for other nobles had effected an exit at a private door for her, and were hurrying her away to a place of security, till she could escapefrom England. They answered Churchill, that water was monopolized; thatMatthison must be minister; that they must speak to the queen face toface, and have her hostage for the accomplishment of what they wished. Churchill pretended to deliberate for an instant with some one in theadjoining chamber; and then returning, said, 'If the queen do not speakwith you in ten minutes, you may tear me in pieces. ' Some of the mobcried that he was saying this to give her time to escape. Others said, if it were so, he should assuredly suffer the penalty. Churchillanswered nothing, only smiled; and then the majority said he could notbe so foolhardy, and they would grant the queen ten minutes. 

"The time passed, and Matthison eagerly cried, 'The time is gone, yet wedon't see the queen. '

"'Then tear me in pieces, ' said Churchill; and the mob, finding theirprey had escaped, did so indeed; the gallant man falling where he stood, and not another word came from his lips. "

"The brave man!" cried Charles; "the good man! Were there many suchbrave, good men in the old world, father?"

"Ay, that there were, " said Paulett; "many a glorious one; some knownand some unknown, who did things which made one know one's-self aglorious, an immortal creature. See there that ruined abbey--there liethe ashes of brave and good; these are their crumbled monuments--'thatfane where fame is A spectral resident!' Alas, there is no fame, no nameleft!"

Paulett and Charles went down among the ruins of the abbey, and there, amidst the fallen stones and broken aisles, saw monumental marbles, oldknown names, and funeral inscriptions, contrasting strongly by theirquiet character with the confusion around. 

"Never forget them, Charles, " said Paulett. "These are names which theworld has trembled at, and which are now like to be such as those beforethe Flood, barbarous to those who are building up a new order of things, and known merely as a barren catalogue of names. Yet, if you live, remember Edward the king here; remember the Black Prince; remember thedays and heroes of Elizabeth; remember the poetry and the romance of theold world. "

"Ay, father, and I'll remember the great name of him who taught you toprint, and of Wicliffe the reformer, and of the man who gave you thesteam-engine. "

Paulett smiled and sighed; he felt that his own ideas of things heroicwere as much contrasted with those of Charles, as their notions of thebeautiful. But he thought not to stem the stream. 

"See here, " he said, pointing to some new monuments, which, like theold, were cracked by fire; "there were many brave and good actionsdone, and one of those who did best was laid here. He was a clergyman, his name Host, and during the pestilence which came on in the fourthyear, he was more like an inspired messenger of good than any mortalcreature. You must know, Charles, that the teachers of religion at thistime were greatly divided among themselves, and they had led a greatportion of the lay world into their disputes. One party, in an age ofreasoning, and when nothing in science was taken upon trust, gave uptheir reason altogether, and followed authority as blindly as theycould--still, however, feeling the influence of the age; for they wouldargue upon the existence or non-existence of authority, and would fit itunconsciously each man to his own conceit. Indeed, superstition was thedisease of the age, and while the healthy part of the community employedand enjoyed the freest use of their reason, this same infirmity appearedamong other people in other forms; so that some men took up the notionthat the human mind might act independently of sense, and see withouteyes, and know intuitively what existed at a distance. Other parties, among professors of religion, allowed nothing in religion that theyallowed daily in the evidence of other matters. They gave no weight toresearch, and thought, about religious facts; and dreamed that each oneamong themselves gained a kind of spiritual knowledge by inspiration. Itwas a time of conceits and quackery; but there was a better spiritabroad, of which this good man Host was the representative. He began inthe pestilence, and went to all houses indifferently, whether they wereprinces or peasants; and there was a common-sense in what he did andsaid, a universal character in his religion, which struck men in theseevil days. They drew nearer to each other under his influence; and Irecollect this great building thronged in one of the last months thatmen continued here, with a congregation of all orders and all divisionsof opinion, who met to pray together, and listen to Host. He stoodyonder, Charles, as nearly there, I think, as I can tell from the ruins;he was rapt by his own discourse, and his face was as the face of anangel. And truly three days after, he was dead; and here they buriedhim--the last sound of the organ, the last service of this church, beingfor him. Here is his name still on the tombstone--

 'Host. Pio. Dilecto. Beato. Populus miserrimus. '"

Charles's memory was deeply impressed with this history, and he followedhis father, much engrossed and animated by what he had heard. Not soPaulett; for the ruins of London occupied his mind, and filled him withdeep pity and regret for the fair world destroyed: and so they returnedto their temporary habitation, the father sorrowful, the son exulting;one full of the old world, one dreaming great actions for the new. 

After another day's rest, the sole surviving family of mankind set forthagain on their pilgrimage. Paulett again carried his Alice, and Ellenand Charles walked hand in hand with such a basket of necessaries asthey could support. Paulett secured about his person a large packet ofdiamonds, collected in palaces and noble dwellings near London, and theapparatus he required for transmuting them into water; and searching forand finding the remains of the railroad to the coast, at Dover, theykept on in that track, which, from its evenness, offered facility totheir journey. But in several places it had been purposely broken up, during the commotions which preceded the final triumph of the drought, and the tunnel near Folkestone had fallen in the middle from want of thenecessary attention to the masonry. These difficulties seemed harder tobear than those which they had met with in the beginning of theirpilgrimage, when their hopes of reaching a certain bourne were moresecure. The destruction of London had thrown a deep gloom over all theirexpectations; and besides that help was removed to a much greaterdistance, they could not but feel it very probable that a similar fatemight have befallen the other places they looked to. Nevertheless, noneof them murmured. They went steadfastly though sadly on; and the twochildren, with less knowledge of what was to be feared, were encouragedby their parents whenever they broke into a merrier strain. Alice wasthe happiest of the party, for she knew least. She was the one whosuffered least also; for every one spared her suffering, and contrivedthat what remained on earth of luxury should be hers. She had the firstdraught of water; she was carried on her father's shoulder; she ran tofind pebbles, and whatever shone and glittered on their path; and whenthe others were silent, they heard with joy her infant voice singing, without words like a bird, in a covered tone, as they got wearily overmile by mile of their way. Ellen suffered most, though Paulett tried, byall means that remained, to lighten her fatigue and cheer her spirit. She bore up steadfastly; but her frame was slight, and her feelings wereoppressed by the fearful aspect of things around her. They made a deepand deeper impression, and she was fain to look steadfastly on the facesof the few living, to recover from the effects of such universal death. 

Paulett himself was shaken more than he knew, though he was as energeticas ever; but Charles was vigorous and advanced beyond his years, andtook more than his share in aiding and in comforting. They came at lastto what had been sea-coast, and to that part of the road which ran alongthe face of the cliff overlooking the sea; and here they paused, andgazed upon the wild and strange view before them. Where the sea hadstretched all glorious in motion, expanse, and colour, there was now adeep valley, the bottom of which was rough with rocks, black for themost part, but in places glittering with the white salt from which thewater had evaporated, and which the winds had rolled together. Furtherout from the coast, where the sea had been deepest, there seemed tracksof sand; and far away over this newly exposed desert, rose other hills, clearly seen through the unclouded atmosphere, and which they knew to bethe rocks of France. And if they should arrive there, what was the hopethey offered? Scarce any. Nothing but more pilgrimage, furtherwandering. Paulett and Ellen sat apart, while the children lay sleepingside by side, for an hour or two, at this point of their journey, andtalked over the desolation before them. 

"Yet, " said Paulett, "the more terrible is the appearance which materialthings put on, the greater I feel the triumph of the spirit to be. Theworse it looks, the more immortal I feel; and when a perishing worldshows itself most perishable, I exult most that you and I, Ellen, haveborne it so far. "

"Yes, I am glad too, " said Ellen; "your strength strengthens me. In themidst of this desolation the mind rises, for an hour at least, higherperhaps than it would have ever done if we had been prosperous. "

"Yet we might have used our prosperity to the same good end, " saidPaulett. "It is not necessary to be miserable in order to be noble. Millions have died before us, some in agony, some before the strugglebegan; some hardly, some at ease: they had all their chances; all hadtheir occasions of virtue, if they used them; and some used them, somefailed: ours is not over yet; we have to struggle on still; and let usdo it, dear Ellen, and be ready for the good day when we too may beallowed to die. " And thus talking for a while, they rested themselves insight of the desert they had to traverse; then with renewed strength andsteadfast resolution, when the children woke, descended the cliffs, andprepared to trace out a path through what had been the bottom of thesea. The first part of the journey was infinitely difficult: the rocksover which foot of man had never passed; the abrupt precipices overwhich had flowed the even surface of the ocean, and then the height toclimb again, again to find themselves on ledges and shelves ofrocks--all these seemed at times hardly passable impediments. And whenthey got to a distance from what had been the shore, the unnatural placewhere they found themselves pressed upon the imagination. There was aplain of sand, about which at irregular distances rose rocks, which, north and south, stretched out beyond the reach of the eye; and thissand, which had been at such a depth that it never felt the influenceof the waves, was covered in places with shells, the inhabitants ofwhich had perished when the waters gradually dried away. There lay mixedwith these some skeletons of fishes; here a huge heap, and there smallbones which looked less terrible; and masses of sea-weed, dried andcolourless, under which, as it seemed, the creeping things of the oceanhad sheltered for a while, and some had crawled to the surface whenabout to perish. But it was not only the brute creation which had diedhere: there was in the middle a pile of rocks, on one side of which theycame suddenly to a pit, so deep and dark that they perceived no bottom;and here probably there had been seawater longer than elsewhere, forthere were human bones about it, and skulls of men, and human garbs, which the sun had faded, but which were not disturbed by waves. Therewas a cord and a metal jar attached to it, for lowering into the pit;but Paulett, as he looked at the attitudes of the remaining skeletons, and observed how they seemed distorted in death, fancied that they musthave brought up either poisoned water, or waters so intensely salt as todrive them mad with the additional thirst; and that some had died on theinstant, some had lingered, some had sought to succour others, andyielded sooner or later to the same influence. Ellen and he would notdwell on the sight after the first contemplation of it; they passed on, shuddering, and made toward the great wall of rock which they saw risingto the south, and which must be their way to the land of France. Butbefore they reached it the sun began to decline, and without light itwas in vain to attempt to seek a path. There was a wind keener than theyhad felt of late, which came from the west, and the little Alice pressedon her father's bosom to shield her from it. He wrapped her closer in acloak, and they resolved to put themselves under the shelter of thefirst rock they reached, and pass the night in the channel of the sea. They pressed on, and found at last the place they sought; a cliff whichmust once have raised its head above the waves, and which now stood likesome vast palace wall, bare and huge, upon the ocean sand. Screened fromthe wind, they collected an abundance of the dried vegetation of thesea, partly for warmth and to roast their corn, partly for Paulett todissolve some of the diamonds into water; and here they rested, herethey slept, many fathoms below that level over which navies used tosail. At times during the night Paulett fancied, when the wind abated, that he heard a sound like thunder, or like what used to be the rushingof a distant torrent; and occasionally he thought he felt a vibration inthe earth as if it were shaken by some moving body. The region he was inwas so strange that he knew not what might be here, or what about tohappen; the sounds so imperfect that he tormented himself to be sure ofthem, or to be sure they were not; and when the time for action came hewas beginning to disbelieve them altogether; but Alice brought all backagain by saying, "My rock" (for her cradle was a rock) "shook my head, father. " The child could explain herself no further; but the vibrationhe had fancied seemed to be what she had felt. And now they climbedagain, and again descended weary rock after rock; it was a strangechaos, which the tides had swept and moulded, and which had in placesrisen to the surface, and caused the wreck of many a vessel. Fragmentsof these lay under the rocks they had split upon, but the wanderingfamily had no thoughts for them; wonder and pity had been exhaustedamong exciting and terrific scenes. They thought only of forcing theirway over the rocks, and feared to think how much of this they had totraverse before they should come to what had been the shore, and totowns. 

Suddenly, as they toiled forward, Paulett said in a low voice to Ellen, "Don't you hear it?"

"I have heard it a long time, " said Ellen in the same tone; and Charlesstopping as well as they, said, "Father, what is that?"

"I can't tell, my boy, " said Paulett, listening. 

"Water?" asked Ellen. 

Paulett shook his head, yet they all pressed forward, and there grew athundering sullen sound. There was a valley and a ridge of rock beforethem, and they had to clamber first down the rugged precipice they wereupon, then to cross the valley, and then to struggle up the oppositeside, a trembling motion growing perceptible as they advanced, beforethey stood on a sort of broad ledge, which they perceived at the anglesthat jutted out, went down straight into a depth, and opposite which wasanother broad table-land of rock, between which and that they were uponwas a rent, wider and narrower in various parts, and running along asfar as they could see to right and left. Paulett rushed on to the brink, and stood looking. He put his hand out to keep Ellen back when he heardher close behind; but she also sprang to the edge, and when she had seenturned to catch Charles in her arms. Rushing past was a torrent, but notwater. It was dark, thick, pitchy; it sent up hot steams to the edge: itwas one of the secrets of nature, laid bare when the ocean was takenaway. Fire seemed to be at work below, for occasionally it would boilwith more violence, and rush on with an increased, increasing noise, then sullenly fall back to the first gloomy sound. It bewildered thesense; and though it could threaten no more than death, yet it was deathwith so many horrors around it, that the body and mind both shrank fromit. How was it possible, too, to cross it? Yet their way lay over it;for behind was certain destruction, and before it was not yet provedimpossible that they might find the element of water. Paulett felt thatit would not do to linger on the brink; he drew his family away from thesight, and he himself went up and down to find some narrower place, andsome means by which to make a bridge over the abyss; and it was not tilltheir assistance could avail him that he returned for them, and broughtthem to the place where he hoped to get over. It was a fearful point, for in order to reach a space narrow enough to have a chance of throwinga plank over, it was necessary to go down the broken side of theprecipice some twenty feet, and there, high above the seething lava, tocross on such a piece of wood as could be got to span the abyss, andthen clamber up the rugged opposite side. Paulett had been down to thepoint he selected, and had got timber, which a wrecked vessel hadsupplied, to the edge, so that Ellen and Charles might push a plank downto him, and he might try, at least, to cast it to the opposite bank. Hishead was steady, his hand strong; no one of them spoke a word while hestood below, steadying himself to receive the plank. Ellen's weak armgrew powerful; her wit was ready with expedients, to aid him in thisnecessity. Her frame and spirit were strung to the very uttermost, andshe was brave and silent, doing all that could be done. No word wasspoken till Paulett said, "I have done it;" and Ellen and Charles hadseen him place the plank, and secure it on his own side of the abysswith stones. Then they held their breath, beholding him cross it; buthis firm foot carried him safely, and he heaped stones on the other sidealso. He came over again, sprang up the side, and now smiled and spoke. 

"After all it is but a mountain torrent, Ellen, " he said, "and the waterwould have destroyed us like yonder seething flood; yet we have crossedmany a one and feared nothing. Now Charles shall go over; then Alice, and he shall take care of her; and then my Ellen. The ground beyond isbetter; we shall get on well after this. "

Ellen took the girl in her arms, and stood, not trembling, not weeping;seeing and feeling every motion; all was safe that time again, Charleswas on the opposite bank, and his father waved his hand to Ellen. Hecame back for Alice, whom her mother tied on his shoulders, for hands aswell as feet were wanted to scramble down and up the banks. And nowEllen followed to the brink, and forgot, in watching her husband andchild pass over, that the black torrent was seething beneath her eyes. When they were quite safe, she felt again that it was there, and thather eyes were growing dizzy, and her hands involuntarily grasping aboutfor support. She did not take time to feel more, but sprang upon theplank, and over it, and found Paulett's hand seizing hers, and drawingher up the opposite bank. 

And once there, with all the three round her, she burst intotears--tears which had not overcome her through many miseries--andembracing them alternately, blessed them that they were all so far safe. Paulett suffered this emotion to spend itself before he said that hemust cross the plank again. To be more at liberty to assist them, he hadleft the diamonds on the other side, till they should be over. Ellenoffered no remonstrance. The times had so schooled them all, thatselfish or unreasonable thoughts either did not come at all, or weresuppressed at once; and she did not oppose, even with a word, thisnecessary step. But the renewal of fear, after the excited energy hadsubsided, did her more harm than all that had gone before; and she stoodon the brink exhausted, yet palpitating again, while Paulett made thepassage. He himself was wearied; but he had reached the plank, and wasupon it on his way back to safety, when one of those ebullitions whichstirred the dark fluid began roaring down the cleft rock, and withstunning noise sent up dark and clouding vapour. Paulett seemedsuffocating--he could not be heard--he could but just be seen--hereeled! Has he fallen? Oh, he has fallen! No--no! he has got his footingagain; he forces himself up the bank; he is safe--but the diamonds arein the bottom of the pit. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The exhausted family toiled with difficulty over the remaining passageto what had been the mainland, and reached a village on the formercoast, under a roof of which they entered, and lay down on the floor ofthe first room they came to. Their supply of water was almost out; thematerials for producing more were gone; and there seemed little chanceof finding any in the neighbourhood. "Death was here;" and yet theexhaustion of their frames led them to sleep before they died, and toseek and enjoy a taste of that oblivion which was soon to fall upon themwith an impenetrable shroud. All but Ellen were soon asleep; but she, the most wearied of all, could not close her eyes and admit rest to heroverwrought frame. There was a burning thirst in her throat, which thesmall portion of water she and the rest had shared--being all thatremained for them--had failed to slake. She had not complained of it;but she rejoiced when she heard them asleep, that she could rise andmove restlessly about. The night was hot, and yet the west windcontinued to blow strongly; the moon shone, but scarcely with so brighta light as usual--there was a film upon it, or perhaps, Ellen thought, it was the dimness of her own weary eyes. She came softly up to Paulett, and watched his frame, half naked in the unconsciousness of sleep, andupon which none of the ravages of want and exertion were now concealed. The flesh was wasted; the strong chest showed the bones of the skeleton;the arms which had so strained their powers were thin, and lay in anattitude of extreme exhaustion. His sleep was deep; his lips open; hiseyelids blue; he would wake in want; and soon he would be able to sleepno more, till the last sleep of all came in torment and anguish. PoorCharles lay by him, his head on his father's body for a pillow, hislimbs drawn somewhat together, his clusters of brown hair parted off hispale thin cheek; and Alice, the darling Alice, with more colour in herface than any of them, slept in deep repose, destined, perhaps, to livelast, and to call in vain on those whose cares had hitherto kept herhealthier and happier than themselves. The mother groaned with anguish;she measured what these were about to suffer, by all she began to sufferherself; and the sight of them seemed to sear the burning eyes whichcould no longer weep. She sat down on the floor by Alice; her head fellagainst the wall; she caught at a little rosary which hung near her, andpressed it in her mouth, the comparative coolness of the beads givingher a little ease; her face fell on her bosom. 

When Paulett woke out of his deep sleep, and as soon as he stirred, thelittle Alice came on tiptoe across the floor to him, and said, "Hush, father! my mother is asleep at last. "

"At last, my Alice! What! Could not she sleep?"

"I think she could not sleep. I woke up, and there was my mother; andCharles woke presently, and she said Charles should go out and try tobring back some cold stones in a cup, and then presently she sat downagain, and went to sleep. "

He rose softly, and taking the little girl by the hand, came up toEllen's side, and looked upon her. She was lying at full length on thefloor; her head was toward him, but her face was turned upon the ground, and her hair further hid it; her right arm was fallen forward, and theback of that hand lay in the palm of the other. He did not hear nor seeher breathe. "Is it so, my Ellen?" he said. "Art thou at rest? Is thereno farewell for me?" He kneeled and stooped lower and lower. His lip didnot venture to feel hers; he longed that she might be free, yet shrankfrom knowing that she was gone. But no; she had not ceased to suffer; alow sigh came at last, and her parched mouth opened. 

"Water!" she said; then lifted her eyes and saw Paulett, and rememberedall by degrees. "Is not there a little? Oh, no--none! Nay, I shall notwant it soon!" She turned her face on Paulett's breast, and soon aftertried to rise and push herself from him. "Leave me, dear husband; kissme once, and leave me; try to save _them_!"

But Paulett folded his arms round her. "Not so, my Ellen; the chances oflife are so little, that it is lawful for me to give them up, unless wecan all seek them together. Alas! all I can do is but to see thee die!Oh, if I could give thee one minute's ease!"

"Alas! you must all die like this, " said Ellen, who was perishing likeone of the flowers that had died in the drought for want of rain. Waterwould have saved that life, spared those sufferings. That burning hand, those gasping lips, those anxious eyes, revealed what the spirit passingaway in that torment would fain have concealed. "Alice, come near me;hold my hand, Alice. Are you thirsty, poor child? Oh, do not grieve yourfather! It will be but a short time, my little girl--be patient. " Ellentried to kiss her; her husband kneeled and raised her head on hisshoulder, bending his face on her forehead, and murmuring the lastfarewell--the last thanks--the agony of his pity for her suffering. Thepoor child threw herself on her mother, gazing upward in want, andgrief, and bewilderment, in her face. "My Charles, " said the mother, feeling about with the other hand, but she did not find his head tobless it. "My Charles, " she repeated in a fainter tone, and her eyelidsdrooped over the hot eyes. 

Paulett saw nothing but his suffering wife, heard nothing except herpainful breath. At that moment the door opened, and Charles stood there, paler than ever, with glittering eyes. He held the cup towards hisfather. "Father, " he said, "there is water coming down from heaven!"

Paulett looked up and cried, "O God, it rains!"

A TENDER CONSCIENCE. 

I have a story to tell you, my dear Eusebius, of a tender conscience. Itwill please you; for you delight to extract good out of evil, and findsomething ever to say in favour of the "poor wretches of this world'scoinage, " as you call them; thus gently throwing half their errors, andscattering them among a pretty large society to be responsible for them;provided only they be wretches by confession, that dare not hidethemselves in hypocrisy. In all such cases you show that you were bornwith the genius of a beadle, and (strange conjunction) the tenderest ofhearts. I believe that you would stand an hour at a pillory, and seefull justice done to a delinquent of that caste; and would as willingly, in your own person, receive the missiles that you would attempt to wardoff from the contrite wretch, whose sins might not have been woefullyagainst human kindness. Could you choose your seat in the eternalmansions, it would be among the angels that rejoice over one sinner thatrepenteth. You can distinguish in another the feeblest light ofconscience that ever dimly burned, and see in it the germ of a beautifullight, that may one day, by a little fanning and fostering, shine as astar, and shed a vital heat that may set the machinery of the heart inmotion to throw off glorious actions. But let not the man that shams aconscience come in your way. I have seen you play off such an one tillhe has burst forth--up, up, up, aiming at the skies, nothing less, inhis self-glorification; and how have you despised him, and exhibited himto all bystanders as nothing but a poor stick in his descent! Thesehuman rockets are at their best but falling stars--cinders incapable ofbeing rekindled. Commend me to the modest glow-worms, that shine onlywhen they think the gazing world is asleep, and dwell in green hedges, and fancy themselves invisible to all eyes but those of love. 

There are persons, and of grave judgments too, who verily believe thatthe quantity of conscience amongst mankind is not worth speaking of, andtreat of human actions as entirely independent of it. And this faulthonest Montaigne finds with Guicciardini:--"I have also, " says he, "observed this in him, that of so many persons and so many effects, somany motives and so many counsels as he judges of, he never attributesany one of them to virtue, religion, or conscience, as if all those wereutterly extinct in the world; and of all the actions, however brave anoutward show they make, he always throws the cause and motive upon somevicious occasion, or some prospect of profit. It is impossible toimagine but that, amongst such an infinite number of actions as he makesmention of, there must be some one produced by the way of reason. Nocorruption could so universally have affected men, that some of themwould not have escaped the contagion, which makes me suspect that hisown taste was vicious; from whence it might happen that he judged othermen by himself. " You, Eusebius, will be perfectly of Montaigne'sopinion. We would rather trust that there are few in whom this moralprinciple has no vitality whatever. The wayside beggar, when he divideshis meal--which, perhaps, he has stolen--with his dog, acts from itskind impulse; and see how uncharitable I am at my first impulse, tosuppose, to suggest that the meal is stolen--so ready are we to stealaway virtues, one after the other, and in our judgments to be thievesupon a large scale. And so a better feeling pricks me to charity. Idoubt if we ought even to say that the parliamentary reprobate, whoopenly confessed "that he could not afford to keep a conscience, " hadnone--he was but dead to some of its motions. If it were not that itmust be something annexed to an immortal condition, would you not, Eusebius, say that the beggar's dog conscientiously makes his return ofservice and gratitude for the scraps thrown to him? See him by thegipsies' tent: how safely can the infant children be left to his solecare by the roadside! It is a beautiful sight to see the sagacious, thefaithful creature, watching while they sleep, and lying upon the outerfold of the blanket that enwraps them. Has he not a sense of duty--asort of bastard conscience? And what is truly wonderful, is, thatanimals have often a sense of duty against their instincts. If it besaid that they act through fear of punishment, it is a punishment theirinstincts would teach them to avoid; and, after all, this fear ofpunishment may be a mighty ingredient in most men's consciences. Welearn that immense numbers of ducks are reared by that part of theChinese population who spend their lives in boats upon the rivers; andthese birds, salted and dried, form one of the chief articles of diet inthe celestial land. They are kept in large cages or crates, from which, in the morning, they are sent forth to seek their food upon the riverbanks. A whistle from their keeper brings them back in the evening; andas, according to Tradescent Lay, the last to return receives a floggingfor his tardiness, their hurry to get back to the boats, when they hearthe accustomed call, is in no small degree amusing. I cannot but thinkthat there must be something like a sense of duty in these poorcreatures, that they thus of themselves, and of good-will return to thecertainty of being salted and dried. This may sound very ridiculous, Eusebius, but there is matter in it to muse upon; and if we want to knowman, we must speculate a little beyond him, and learn him by similitiesand differences. He has best knowledge of his own home and country whohas wandered into a _terra incognita_, and studied the differences ofsoil and climate. And besides that every man is a world to himself, andmay find a _terra incognita_ in his own breast, it is not amiss to lookabroad into other wildernesses, where he will find instincts that arenot so much any creature's but that they have something divine in them, and so, in their origin at least, akin to his own. He will findconscience of some sort growing in the soil of every heart. It is notamiss to discover where it grows most healthily, and by what deadlynightshade its virtue may be suffocated, and its nicer sense not thrive. 

Surprising is the diversity;--were not nature corrupted, there would beno diversity. Now, truth and right is one; and yet we judge not onething, we think not aright. Yet is the original impulse true to itspurpose, but, in its passage through the many channels of the mind, isstrangely perverted. It is eloquently said by a modern writer, a deepthinker, "Thus does the conscience of man project itself athwartwhatsoever of knowledge, or surmise, or imagination, understanding, faculty, acquirement, or natural disposition he has in him; and, likelight through coloured glass, paint strange pictures on the rim of thehorizon and elsewhere. Truly this same sense of the infinite nature ofduty, is the central part of all within us; a ray as of eternity andimmortality immured in dusky many-coloured Time, and its deaths andbirths. Your coloured glass varies so much from century to century--andin certain money-making, game-preserving centuries, it gets terriblyopaque. Not a heaven with cherubim surrounds you then, but a kind ofvacant, leaden, cold hell. One day it will again cease to be opaque, this coloured glass; now, may it not become at once translucent anduncoloured? Painting no pictures more for us, but only the everlastingazure itself. That will be a right glorious consummation. " If it wereonly the painting pictures! but we act the painted scenes. And strangethey are, and of diversity enough. It was the confession of an apostle, that he "thought with himself that he ought to do many things contrary"to his master. There are national consciences how unlike each other;there are consciences of tribes and guilds, which, strange to say, though they be composed of individuals, bear not the stamp of any oneindividual conscience among them. They apologise to themselves foriniquity by a division and subdivision of the responsibility; and thus, by each owning to but a little share collectively, they commit a greatenormity. It is the whole and sole responsibility of the individual, responsibility to that inner arbiter sitting _foro conscientiæ_, and thesight of those frowning attendants of the court, Nemesis and Adraste, ready with the scourge to follow crime, that keep the man honest. Putnot confidence, Eusebius, in bodies, in guilds, and committees. Trustnot to them property or person; they may be all individually goodSamaritans, but collectively they will rather change places with thethieves than bind up your wounds. In this matter, "Experto credeRoberto. "

But of this diversity. --The Turk will split his sides with laughter, against the very nature, too, of his Turkish gravity, should he witnessthe remorse of the subdued polygamist. We read of nations who, from asense of duty, eat their parents, and would shudder at the crime ofburying them in the earth, or burning them. So is there a cannibalism oflove as well as of hatred. Sinbad's terror at the duty of being buriedalive with his deceased wife, the king's daughter, was no inventionbeyond the probability of custom. The Scythians, as Herodotus tells us, thought it an honourable act and no _murders_ committed, when theyslaughtered the king's councillors and officers of state, and guards andtheir horses, on which they stuck them upright by skewers, to be indeath the king's attendants. The suttee is still thought no wrong. Thereis habit of thought that justifies habit of deed. Southey, in his_History of the Brazils_, tells a sad tale of a dying _converted_Indian. In her dying moments, cannibalism prevailed over Christianconscience; and was the Pagan conscience silent? She was asked by thosestanding about her, if they could do any thing for her. She replied, that she thought she _could_ pick the bones of a little child's hand, but that she had no one now who would go and kill her one. I dare tosay, Eusebius, she died in peace. The greater part of the world die inpeace. Their conscience may be the first part of then that departs--itis dead before the man--most say, I have done no harm. I have known aman die in the very effort of triumphant chuckling over his unfortunateneighbours, by his successful fraud and over-reaching; yet, perhaps, this man's conscience was only dead as to any sense of right and wrongin this particular line; very possibly he had "compunctious visitings"about "mint and cumine"--and oh! human inconsistency, some such havebeen known to found hospitals--some spark of conscience working its wayinto the very rottenness of their hearts, that, like tinder, have letout all their kindred and latent fire, till that moment invisible, allbut _in posse_ non-existent. But for any thing like a public conscienceso kindling since the repentance of the Ninevites, it is not to bethought of. The pretence of such a thing is a sign of the last state ofnational hypocrisy. It was not that sense which emancipated the Negroesand forbade the slave trade. Take, for example, the Portuguese, andtheir "board of conscience" at Lisbon, which they set up to quiet theremorse, if any should exist, of those who had bought the miserablenatives of Reoxcave, when they sold themselves and their children forfood. This very convenient scruple was started in "the court, tosanction the purchase, that if these so purchased slaves were set free, they might _apostatize_!" Now, who were the judges in such a court? Oh!the villany of the whole conclave!--yet was each individual, perhaps, ofdemure and sanctimonious manners, to whom the moral eye of a peoplelooked--villains all in the guise of goodness:--

 "Vir bonus, omne forum quem spectat et omne tribunal, Quandocuncque Deos vel porco vel bove placat, Jane Pater, clare, clare, cum dixit, Apollo, Labra movet metuens audiri--Pulchra Laverna, Da mihi fallere, da justum sanctumque videri, Noctem peccatis et fraudibus objice nubem. "

We are told that there is such a disease as a cannibal madness, and thatit was common among the North American savages; that those seized withit have a raving desire for human flesh, and rush like wolves upon allthey meet. Now, in what was this court of conscience better than thesecannibals? Better! a thousand times worse--for wolves are honest. Now Iwell know, Eusebius, how I have put a coal under the very fountain ofyour blood--and it is boiling at a fine rate. Let me allay it, andfollow the stage directions of "soft music;" only on this occasion weomit the music, and take the rhyme. So here do I exhibit conscience inits playful vein. Our friend S. , the other day, repeated me off thefollowing lines; he cannot remember where he had them--he says it waswhen a boy that he met with them somewhere. Call it the ConscientiousToper; yet that is too common--it is the characteristic of alltopers--never was one that could not find an excuse. Drink wonderfullyelicits moral words, to compound for immoral deeds. Call it then--

THE CONTROVERSY. 

 No plate had John and Joan to hoard-- Plain folks in humble plight-- One only tankard graced their board, But that was fill'd each night;

 Upon whose inner bottom, sketch'd In pride of chubby grace, Some rude engraver's hand had etch'd A baby angel's face. 

 John took at first a moderate sup-- But Joan was not like John-- For when her lips once touch'd the cup, She swill'd till all was gone. 

 John often urged her to drink fair, But she cared not a jot-- She loved to see that angel there, And therefore drain'd the pot. 

 When John found all remonstrance vain, Another card he play'd, And where the angel stood so plain He had a devil portray'd. 

 Joan saw the horns, Joan saw the tail, Yet still she stoutly quaff'd, And when her lips once touch'd the ale, She clear'd it at a draught. 

 John stood with wonder petrified, His hair stood on his pate, "And why dost guzzle now, " he cried, "At that enormous rate?"

 "Oh, John!" she said, "I'm not to blame-- I _can't in conscience_ stop-- For sure 'twould be a burning shame To leave the devil a drop. "

Changeable, versatile, inconstant Eusebius, where is now your burst ofphilanthropy--where is all your rage? Pretty havoc you would but now havemade, had you been armed with thunder--thunder, I say, for yours wouldhave been no silent devastation among the villains. No Warnerian silentblazeless destruction would suit your indignation--in open day, and witha shout, would you do it, and in such wise would you suffer, if needsmust, with Ajax's prayer in your mouth--"+En de Phaei kai olesson+. "But for a grand picture of a sweeping indignation, there is nothing sogrand as that fine passage in the Psalms--"Let them be as the dust beforethe wind, and the angel of the Lord scattering them. " Men and all theiriniquities, once so mighty, so vast, but as grains less than grains ofdust--all the clouds of hypocrisy dispersed in atoms before the fury ofthe storm of vengeance. You were, as you read, Eusebius, in honest rage. I could see you as in a picture, like the figure with the scourge in handflying off the very ground, in Raffaelle's noble fresco, the Heliodorus;and now are you far more like a merryandrew in your mirth, and thequaint sly humour of the tale in verse has made you blind to thedelinquencies of the quaffing Joan. Blind to their delinquencies! Stayyour mirth a moment, Eusebius--are you not blind to your own? Now Iremember me, you are a thief, Eusebius, however you may have settledthat matter with your conscience. Have you read the proposed "Dog-bill?"Here's a pretty to do!--Eusebius convicted of dog-stealing--subject tothe penalty of misdemeanour! "I!" you will say. Yes, you. You put itdown, doubtless, in the catalogue of your virtues, as you did when youboasted to me that you had, by a lucky detection in probably thecriminal's first offence, saved a fellow-creature from a course ofcrime. Do you remember your dog Chance? yes, _your_ dog, for so youcalled him--and, pray, how came you by him? This was your version. Aregiment was marching by your neighbourhood, at the fag-end of which asoldier led a very fine spaniel by a piece of cord. You always loveddogs--did you not, you cunning Eusebius? You can put two and twotogether as well as most people. The dog had no collar. Oh, oh! thoughtyou--the master of so fine a dog would have collar and chain, too, forhim. This fellow must have stolen him--it is my duty (your virtuousduty, indeed) to rescue this fine creature, and perchance save thiswretched man from such wicked courses. So thus you proceed--you lookindignant, and accost the soldier, "Holloa, you fellow--whose dog'sthat?" Soldier--"What's that to you?" Eusebius--"What's the name of yourcaptain, that I may instantly appeal to him on the subject?" Soldieralarmed--"I beg your honour's pardon, but the dog followed me. I don'tknow to whom he belongs. " What made you, then, so particularly enquirewhere he came from, and whereabouts he met with him? Your virtuewhispered to you, "Ask these questions, that you may be able to find outthe owner. " Another imp whispered, "It might be useful. " So you seizethe rope, lecture the man upon the enormity of his intentions, quietlytake the dog to your stable, and walk away with, as you flatteryourself, the heartfelt satisfaction of having saved a fellow-creaturefrom the commission of a theft. To do you justice, you did, I verilybelieve, for two whole days make decent enquiries, and _endeavour_, ifthat be not too strong a word--_endeavour_ to find out the owner. But atthe close of every day question Rover himself; and questioning Rover ledyou to look into each other's faces--and so you liked Rover's looks, andRover liked your looks--and when you said to Rover, I should like toknow who your master is? Rover looked with all his eyes, as much as tosay, "Well now, if ever I heard the like of that! If my name is Rover, yours must be Bouncer"--then you patted him for a true and truth-tellingdog; and he wagged his tail, and looked again at you, till you perfectlymesmerized each other, and understood each other, and he acknowledgedthat you, and no other, could be his master--and so you mastered him, and he mastered your conscience--and then you and your conscience beganto have a parley. I fear you had sent her to a bad boarding-school, andhad just brought her home for the holidays, with a pretty many moreniceties and distinctions than she took with her--and had come back"more nice than wise. " "Have you found the owner?" quoth she. "It istime he were found, " replied you. "Why?" quoth she. "Because, " yourejoin, "the shooting season is fast approaching. " "That is true. " "Thedog will be spoiled for want of practice. " "That will be a pity. " "Thankyou, conscience--won't it be a sin?" Conscience is silent, so you takethat for granted. "Hadn't I better take out a license this year?" "Oh!it wouldn't be right you should go without one. " "Certainly not, (somewhat boldly;) I _will_ get my license directly. PoorRover!--well--how very fond that dog is of me--it would be highlyungrateful not to make a return even to a dog. I ought to be fond ofhim. I--am--very fond of him. " Then you confess, Eusebius, that youshould be very sorry to part with him. Conscience says, "Do you mean tosay you should be sorry to find out the real owner?" "Really, conscience, " you reply, "there can be no harm in being sorry; but youare becoming very impertinent, and asking too many questions. " Hereconscience nods--is asleep--is in a coma, Eusebius--fairly mesmerized byyou, and follows you at your beck wherever you choose to lead her. Andso you take her to your stable to look at Rover: and you want asuggestion how you can stop Rover's wandering propensities; andconscience, being in a state of _clairvoyance_, bids you tie him up. Youask how--"by the teeth;" so you order him a good plate of meat inside, your stable-door locked, and you replenish that plate for a week ormore, and have a few conferences with Rover in your parlour--and the dogis tied. Then you didn't like the name of Rover--but liked Chance. Conscience suggested the name as a palliative, as something between trueproprietorship and theft--it gave you a protective right, and took awaythe sting of the possession. You fortified yourself in this position, ascunningly as the French at Tahiti. But how happened it, Eusebius, thatwhen any friend asked you if you had found the owner, you turned off thesubject always so ingeniously, or denied that you had a Rover, but oneChance, certainly a fine dog?--and how came it that you never took himin the direction of the country from whence the regiment had come? Andyet, if the truth could be known, would it not turn out, Eusebius, thatfears did often come across your pleasures, and your affection forChance? and had a child but asked you, as you might have been crossing astile, in quest, with Chance before you, as you did the soldier, "whosedog's that?" you would have stammered a little--and almost, in youraffection, have gone down upon your knees to have begged him as a gift;and it is fearful to think what a sum any knave as cunning as yourselfhad been, would have got out of you. Now, my dear Eusebius, I entreatyou, when you shall read or hear read--"Is thy servant a dog, that heshould do this thing, " that you think of Chance, and not of _his doing_, but _yours_. I dare to say, you have never quite looked at the affair inthis light; we all are apt to wash our hands of a troublesome affair, and think we come with them clean into court. 

Take care you don't resemble the monkey with the meal-tub. His masterthrashed him when he caught him at the theft, and showed him his handscovered with meal, that he might understand the reason of hispunishment. Monkey, after the next theft, took care to wash his hands, and when his master came to punish him, extended them to show how cleanthey were. His master smiled, and immediately brought him alooking-glass--his face and whiskers were powdered with meal: and thereyou have the origin of the adage, "You have washed your hands but notyour face. " There will still be a monitor, Eusebius, to hold thelooking-glass to you, and the like of you: and look to your face; andwhenever you find that you have _put a good face_ upon any doubtfulmatter, take the trouble then to look at your hands; and if they beclean, look again and see if your face and hands are clean together. Andthat will be the best _tableau-vivant_ you or any one else can study. 

Now, however, that conscience seems so thoroughly gone to the dogs, without any personal allusion to your case, Eusebius, I cannot resisttelling you an anecdote by which you will see how Neighbour Grace ofM----n ingeniously touched the conscience of Attorney B. , who wassupposed to have none--upon the matter of a dog-theft, and how AttorneyB. Was a match for Neighbour Grace. 

"I am come to thee, Friend B. , " said Grace, "to ask thee a question. Suppose my dog should go into thy kitchen, and run off with a neck ofmutton, dost thee think I ought to pay thee for the neck of mutton?"

"Without doubt, " said Lawyer B. 

"Then I'd thank thee to pay me three and fourpence; for it was thy dogstole my neck of mutton, and that's the cost of it. "

"Perfectly right, " said Attorney B. , coolly drawing out a bill andreceipt. "So, Neighbour Grace, you must pay me three and fourpence, andthat settles the matter. "

"How so?"

"Why, as you asked my opinion, my charge for that is six andeightpence--deduct value of neck of mutton, three and fourpence, andjust so much remains. " And Lawyer B. Got the best of it, and made himpay too. Now this it was to probe another's conscience, without knowingthe nature of the beast you stir up; not considering that whenconscience thus comes down, as it were, with "a power of attorney, " itis powerful indeed--"recalcitrat undique tutus. " There are many such bigswelling consciences, that grow up and cover the whole man--like thegourd of Jonah, up in a night and down in a night--a fine shelter for atime from the too-searching sun; but there is a _worm_ in it, Eusebius, and it won't last. 

It is a very odd thing that people commonly think they can have theirconsciences at command, and can set them as they do their watches, andit is generally behind time: yet will they go irregularly, and sometimesall of a run; and when they come to set them again, they will bear nosort of regulation. Some set them as they would an alarum, to awakenthem at a given time; and when this answers at all, they are awakened insuch an amazement that they know not what they are about. Such was thecase with the notorious Parisian pawnbroker, who all in a hurry sent forthe priest; but when the crucifix was presented to him, stammered outthat he could lend but a very small matter upon it. So consciences go bylatitudes and longitudes--slow here and fast there. They have, too, their antipodes--it is night here and sunshine there. And so of ages anderas: and thus the same things make men laugh and tremble by turns. Whatunextinguishable laughter would arise should Dr Howley, Archbishop ofCanterbury, go in procession with his clergy to Windsor, each armed withscissors, to clip the moustaches of the prince and his court! Yet a likeabsurdity has in other days pricked the consciences of king andcourtiers to a sudden and bitter remorse. I read the other day in thatvery amusing volume, the _Literary Conglomerate_, in an "Essay on Hair, "how Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury, went so far as to pronounce ananathema of excommunication on all who wore long hair, for which piouszeal he was much commended; and how "Serlo, a Norman bishop, acquiredgreat honour by a sermon which he preached before Henry I. In 1104, against long curled hair, with which the king and his courtiers were somuch affected, that they consented to resign their flowing ringlets ofwhich they had been so vain. The prudent prelate gave them no time tochange their minds, but immediately pulled a pair of shears out of hissleeve, and performed the operation with his own hand. " A canon is stillextant, of the date of 1096, importing that such as wore long hairshould be excluded from the church whilst living, or being prayed forwhen dead. Now, the very curates rejoice in ringlets and macassar. Itwould be curious to trace the heresy to its complete triumph infull-bottomed wigs, in which, it was ignorantly supposed, wisdom finallysettled, when it was not discovered elsewhere. Thus it is, Eusebius, that folly, the vile insect, flies about--just drops a few eggs in thevery nest of conscience, and is off, and a corruption of the fleshfolloweth. Those, therefore, who take out license to shoot folly as itflies, should be made to look after the eggs likewise. 

Alas, Eusebius, that any thing should take the name of this nice sensethat is not replete with goodness, that is not the true _ductorsubstantium_! The prophet of an evil which wounds his very soul willtake offence if it come not to pass and spare not. Was not Jonah grievedthat the whole city was not destroyed as he had said? That nice andinner sense was more ingenious on the side of bold justice, thanprodigal to mercy; and so had he not "a conscience void of offence;"and thus this honourable feeling not always acts unfettered, but isintercepted and hurried on, spite of itself, into courses of action inwhich there is too much of passion, and, plunging into error with thisoutward violence, is forced upon ingenious defences. The story of Pisois in point. He thought to act the conscientious judge, when hecondemned the soldier to death who had returned from forage without hiscompanion, under the impression that he had killed him; but as he isupon the point of execution, the man supposed to have been murderedreturns, all the soldiery present rejoice, and the executioner bringsthem both to the presence of Piso. And what did the conscientious Piso?His conscience would not so let him put by justice; so, with asurprising ingenuity of that nice faculty in its delirium, he ordersexecution upon all three--the first soldier, because he had beencondemned--the second, who had lost his way, because he was the cause ofhis companion's death--and the executioner, because he had disobeyed hisorders. He had but to pretend to be greatly grieved at his vagary, tohave the act lauded as an instance of Roman virtue. I look upon thefamed Brutus, when he thought it a matter of conscience to witness, aswell as order, his sons' execution, to have been a vain unfeeling foolor a madman. Let us have no prate about conscience proceeding from ahard heart; these are frightful notions when they become infectious. Ahandful of such madmen are enough, if allowed to have their way, toenact the horrors of a French Revolution. All this you know, Eusebius, better than I do, and will knit your brows at this too serious vein ofthought. I will come, therefore, a little nearer our common homes. Youshall have a scene from domestic life, as I had it the other day, from alady with whom I was conversing upon this subject, who tells me it is averitable fact, and took place some seventy years back. "It will wantits true power, " said my friend, "because that one solitary trait couldgive you no idea of the rich humour of the lady, the subject of thisincident--her simplicity, shrewdness, art, ignorance, quickness, mischief, made lovely by exceeding beauty, and a most amusingconsciousness of it. Seventy years ago, too, it happened--there are nosuch ladies in the better ranks of society now. She lived at Margate. Itcame to pass that the topping upholsterer there got a new-shaped chestof drawers from London--the very first that had appeared in Margate--andgave madam, she being one of the high top-families, the first sight ofit. With the article she fell in love, and entreated her husband to buyit; but the sensible gentleman, having his house capitally and fullyfurnished, would not. The lady still longed, but had not money enough tomake the purchase--begged to have her _quarter_ advanced. This was notgranted. She pouted a little, and then, like a wise woman, made up hermind to be disappointed, and resumed her more than wonted cheerfulness;but, alas! she was a daughter of Eve, as it will be seen. Christmas-daycame--it was the invariable custom of the family to receive thesacrament. Before church-time she sent for her husband. She had a sin onher conscience--she must confess before she could go to the altar. Herhusband was surprised. "What is it?" "You must promise not to be veryangry. " "But what is it? Have you broken my grandmother's chinatea-pot?" "Oh! worse than that. " "Have you thrown a bank-note in thefire?" "Worse than that. " "Have you run in debt to your abominablesmuggling lace-woman?" "Worse than that. " "Woman!" quoth he sternly, andtaking down an old broadsword that hung over the chimney-piece, "confessthis instant;" and he gave the weapon a portentous flourish. "Oh! dearRichard, don't kill me, and I'll tell you all at once. Then I, (sob, ) I, (sob, ) have cribbed (sob) out of the house-money every week to buy thatchest of drawers, and you've had bad dinners and suppers this month forit; and (sobbing) that's all. " He could just keep his countenance tosay--"And where have you hid this accursed thing?" "Oh, Richard! I havenever been able to use it; for I have covered it over with a blanketever since I had it, for fear of your seeing it. Oh! pray, forgive me!"You need not be told how she went to church with a "clean breast, " asthe saying is. It is an unadorned fact. Her husband used to tell itevery merry Christmas to his old friend-guests. " Here you have thestory, Eusebius, as I had it thus dramatically (for I could not mend it)from the lips of the narrator. 

Is it your fault or your virtue, Eusebius, that you positively lovethese errors of human nature? You ever say, you have no sympathy with orfor a perfect monster--if such there be--which you deny, and aver thatif you detect not the blot, it is but too well covered; and by that verycovering, for aught you know to the contrary, may be all blot. You wouldhave catalogued this good lady among your "right estimable and lovelywomen!" and if you did not think that chest of drawers must be anheirloom in the family, you would set about many odd means to getpossession of it. Yet I do verily believe that there are brutes thatwould not have forgiven in their wives this error--that would arguethus, You may sin, madam, against your Maker; but you shall not sinagainst me. Is there not a story somewhere, of a wretched vagabond atthe confessional--dreadful were the crimes for which he was promisedabsolution; but after all his compunctions, contortions, self-cursings, breast-beatings, hand-wringings, out came the sin of sins--he had oncespit by accident upon the priest's robe, though he only meant to spitupon the altar steps. Unpardonable offence! Never-to-be-forgiven wretch!His life could not atone for it. And what had the friars, blue and grey, been daily, hourly doing? You have been in Italy, Eusebius. 

I have not yet told you the story for the telling which I began thisletter; and why I have kept it back I know not--it is not for theimportance of it; for it is of a poor simple creature. But I must staymy hand from it again; for here has one passed before my window that canhave no conscience. It is a great booby--six foot man-boy of aboutnineteen years. He has just stalked by with his insect-catcher on hisshoulder; the fellow has been with his green net into the innocentfields, to catch butterflies and other poor insects. Many an hour have Iseen you, Eusebius, with your head half-buried in the long blades ofgrass and pleasant field-weeds, partially edged by the slanting andpervading sunbeams, while the little stream has played its song ofvaried gentleness, watching the little insect world, and the goldenbeetles climbing up the long stalks, performing wondrous feats for yourand their own amusement--for your delight was to participate in alltheir pleasures; and some would, with a familiarity that made you feelakin to all about you, walk over the page of the book you were reading, and look up, and pause, and trust their honest legs upon your hand, confiding that there was one human creature that would not hurt them. Think of those hours, my gentle friend, and consider the object forwhich that wretch of a booby is out. How many of your playmates has hestuck through with pins, upon which they are now writhing! And when thewretch goes home murder-laden, his parents or guardians will greet himas a most amiable and sweet youth, who wouldn't for the world misspendhis time as other boys do, but is ever on the search after knowledge;and so they swagger and boast of his love of entomology. I'd rather mychildren should grow up like cucumbers--more to belly than head--thanhave these scientific curiosity-noddles upon their poles of bodies, thathaven't room for hearts, and look cold and cruel, like the pins theystick through the poor moths and butterflies, and all innocent insects. Good would it be to hear you lecture the parents of these heartlessbodies for their bringing up, and picture, in your eloquent manner, thetorments that devils may be doomed to inflict in the other world on thecruel in this; and to fix them writhing upon their forks as they pin thepoor insects. What would they do but call you a wicked blasphemer, andprate about the merciful goodness of their Maker, as if one Maker didnot make all creatures? Yet what do such as they know of mercy but thename? These are they that kill conscience in the bud. 

Men's bosoms are like their dwellings--mansions, magnificent andgorgeous--full of all noble and generous thoughts, with room toexpand--or dwellings of pretensions, show, and meanness--or hovels ofall dirt and slovenliness; yet is there scarcely one in which consciencedoes not walk in and out boldly, or steal in cautiously, though she maynot always have room to move her arms about her, and assert herpresence. Yet even when circumscribed by narrowness, and immured in allunseemly things, will she patiently watch her time for some appropriatetouch, or some quiet sound of her voice. Her most difficult scene ofaction, however, is in the bosom of pretension; for there the trumpet ofself-praise is ever sounding to overwhelm her voice, and she is kept atarm's-length from the touch of the guilty hearts, by the padding and thefurniture that surround them. But oh! the hypocrites of this life--theyalmost make one weary of it; they who walk with their hands as if everweighing, by invisible scales, with their scruples of conscience theirevery thought, word, and action. Shall I portray the disgusting effigiesof one? "Niger est--hunc tu, Romane, caveto. " I will, however, tell yousomewhat of one that has lately come across my path, and I will call himPeter Pure; for he is one of those that, though assuming a quietness, isreally rabid in politics, and has ever upon his lips "purity ofelection, " and the like cant words. A few years ago his circumstances notbeing very flourishing, he got the ear of our generous friend of theGrange; through his timely assistance, and a pretty considerable loan, heovercame his difficulties, and is now pretty well to do. At the lastcontest for the borough, our friend T. Of the Grange, with others, waitedupon Peter Pure; and Peter, with large professions of gratitude--as howcould he do less for so kind a benefactor?--unhesitatingly promised hisvote. At this time, be it observed, there was not the slightestappearance of the contest which afterwards came, and with that storm apretty good shower of bribery. What quantity of this shower fell to PeterPure's share, was never discovered; but it is easy to conjecture that sonice, so grateful a conscience was not overcome for nothing. Peter neverliked cheap sins. The contest came, the election takes place, and PeterPure's plumper weighs down the adversary's scale. Soon after this he hadthe impudence to accost his benefactor thus:--"My dear friend andbenefactor, and worthy sir, I wished for this opportunity of explainingto you, with the utmost sincerity and confidence, what may have appearedto you like--yes--really like a breaking of my word. It is true I didpromise you my vote: but then, you know, voting being a very seriousmatter, I thought it necessary to read my oath which I should be calledupon to take; and I found, my good friend, to my astonishment, that I wasbound by it not to vote from '_favour and affection_. ' Yes, those are thewords. Now, it unfortunately--only unfortunately in this instance, mindme--happens, that there is not a man in the world so much in myaffection and my favour as yourself; to vote, therefore, as you hadwished me to vote, would, after reading the oath, have been downrightperjury; for I certainly should have voted 'through favour andaffection. ' That would have been a fearful weight upon my conscience. "Here was a pretty scoundrel, Eusebius. I should be sorry to have youencounter him in a crowd, and trust his sides to your elbows, lest youshould be taken with one of those sudden fits of juvenility that are notquite in accordance with the sedateness of your years. You will not beinclined to agree with an apologist I met the other day, who simply saidthat Satan had thrown the temptation in his way. There is no occasionfor such superfluous labour, nor does the arch-fiend throw any of hislabour away. Your Peter Pures may be very well left to themselves, andare left to themselves; their own inventions are quite sufficient forall their trading purposes; there is no need to put temptations in theirway--they will seek them of themselves. 

You will certainly lay me under the censure that Montaigne throws uponGuicciardini. Let me then make amends, and ascribe one action to agenerous, a conscientious motive. There cannot be found a better examplethan I have met with in reading some memoirs of the great and goodColston, the founder of those excellent charities in London, Bristol, and elsewhere. I find this passage in his life. It happened that one ofhis most richly-laden vessels was so long missing, and the violentstorms having given every reason to suppose she had perished, thatColston gave her up for lost. Upon this occasion, it is said, he did notlament his unhappiness as many are apt to do, and perpetually count upthe serious amount of his losses; but, with dutiful submission, fellupon his knees, and with thankfulness for what Providence had beenpleased to leave him, and with the utmost resignation relinquished eventhe smallest hope of her recovery. When, therefore, his people came soonafterwards to tell him that his ship had safely come to port, he did notshow the signs of self-gratulation which his friends expected to see. Hewas devoutly thankful for the preservation of the lives of so manyseamen; but as for the vessel and her cargo, they were no longer his--hehad resigned them--he could not in conscience take them back. He lookedupon all as the gift of Providence to the poor; and, as such, he soldthe ship and merchandize--and most valuable they were--and, praying fora right guidance, distributed the proceeds among the poor. How beautifulis such charity! Here is no false lustre thrown upon the riches andgoods of this world, that, reflected, blind the eyes that they see notaright. The conscience of such a man as Colston was an arbiter evenagainst himself, sat within him in judgment to put aside his worldlyinterest, and made a steady light for itself to see by, where naturallywas either a glare or an obscurity, that alike might bewilder lesshonest vision. 

Some such idea is gloriously thus expressed by Sir Thomas Browne in hisadmirable _Religio Medici_. {A} "Conscience only, that can see withoutlight, sits in the areopagy and dark tribunal of our hearts, surveys ourthoughts, and condemns our obliquities. Happy is that state of visionthat can see without light, though all should look as before thecreation, when there was not an eye to see, or light to actuate avision--wherein, notwithstanding, obscurity is only imaginablerespectively unto eyes. For unto God there was none. Eternal light wasfor ever--created light was for the creation, not himself; and as He sawbefore the sun, He may still also see without it. "

A case of conscience came to be discussed not long since, in which Itook a part. We had been speaking of the beauty of truth, and thatnothing could justify the slightest deviation from the plain letter ofit. This was doubted; and the case supposed was, that of a ruffian or amadman pursuing an innocent person with intent to murder. You see theflight and pursuit; the pursuer is at fault, and questions you as to theway taken by the fugitive. Are you justified in deceiving the pursuer bya false direction of the way his intended victim had taken? Are you tosay the person went to the right, when the way taken was the left? Theadvocate for the downright truth maintained that you were not todeceive--though you felt quite sure that by your telling the truth, orby your silence altogether, immediate murder would ensue. The advocatedeclared, that without a moment's hesitation he should act upon hisdecision. He would have done no such thing. People are better than theircreeds, and, it should seem, sometimes _better_ than _their_ principles. In which case would his conscience prick him most, when the heat wasover--as accessory to the murder or as the utterer of untruth? I cannotbut think it a case of instinct, which, acting before conscience, _prohac vice_ supersedes it. The matter is altogether and at once, by anirresistible decree, taken out of the secondary "Court of Conscience"and put into the primary "Court of Nature. "

Truth, truth! well may Bacon speak of it thus--"'What is truth?' saidlaughing Pilate, and wouldn't wait for an answer. " If there be danger inthe deviation shown in the case stated, what a state are we all in? All, as we do daily in some way or other, putting our best legs foremost. Look at the whole advertising, puffing, quacking, world--the flattering, the soothing, the complimenting. Virtues and vices alike driving us moreor less out of the straight line; and, blindfolded by habit, we know notthat we are walking circuitously. And they are not the worst among us, perhaps, who walk so deviatingly--seeing, knowing--those that stammerout nightly ere they rest, in confession, their fears that they havebeen acting if not speaking the untrue thing, and praying for strengthin their infirmity, and more simplicity of heart; and would in theirpenitence shun the concourse that besets them, and hide their heads insome retired quiet spot of peace, out of reach of this assault oftemptation. And this, Eusebius, is the best prelude I can devise to thestory I have to tell you. It is of a poor old woman; shall I magnify heroffence? It was magnified indeed in her eyes. Smaller, therefore, shallit be--because of its very largeness to her. But it will not do tosoften offences, Eusebius. I see already you are determined to do so. Iwill call it her crime. Yes, she lived a life of daily untruth. Shewrote it, she put her name to it--"litera scripta manet. " We must notmince the matter; she spoke it, she acted it hourly, she took paymentfor it--it was her food, her raiment. Oh! all you that love to stamp thefoot at poor human nature, here is an object for your contempt, yoursarcasm, your abuse, your punishment; drag her away by the hair of herhead. But stay, take care you do not "strain at a gnat and swallow acamel;" examine yourselves a little first. She has confessed, perhapsyou have not. Remember, no one knew it; no one guessed it. It is sheherself has lifted up the lantern into the dark recesses of her ownheart; or rather, it is true religion in her hath done it: and darkthough it was there, you ought to see clearly enough that her heart isnot now the den wherein falsehood and hypocrisy lurk; search well--yousee none. She has made a "clean breast of it, " and you had better do thesame, and drop the stone you were about to fling so mercilessly at herdying head. Are you out of patience, Eusebius? and cry--Out with it, what did she do? You shall hear; 'tis but a simple anecdote after all. Ihave learned it from a parish priest. He was sent for to attend thedeathbed of poor old village dame, or schoolmistress. She had a sin toconfess; she could not die in peace till she had confessed it. Withbroken speech, she sobbed, and hesitated, and sobbed again. 

"I--I--I, " she stammered out, and hid her face again. "There, I must, Imust tell it; and may I be forgiven! You know, sir, I have kept schoolforty years--yes, forty years--a poor sinful creature--I--I"----

"My good woman, " said the parish priest, "take comfort; it will bepardoned if you are thus penitent. I hope it is not a very great sin. "

"Oh yes!" said she, "and pray call me not _good_ woman. Iam--not--good;" sobbing, "alas, alas!--there, I--will out with it! I putdown that I taught grammar--and (sobbing) I, I, _did not know itmyself_. "

Eusebius, Eusebius, had you been there, you would have embraced the olddame. The father of lies was not near her pillow. This little sin, shehad put it foremost, and, like the little figure before many nothings, she had made a million of it; and one word, nay one thought, beforeconfession was uttered, had breathed upon and obliterated the wholeamount. Where will you see so great truth? And this, you will agree withme, was a case of _Tender Conscience_. 

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _Religio Medici_, a new edition, with its sequel, _Christian Morals_, and resemblant passages from Cowper's _Task_. By Mr Peace, Bristol. Thetext of this inestimable author is here cleared of its many errors, andthe volume contains a useful verbal index. 

THIERRY'S HISTORY OF THE GAULS. {A}

'Tis a pleasant thing to turn from the present, with its turmoil and itsnoise, its clank of engines and its pallid artizans, its politicalstrife and its social disorganization, to the calm and quiet records ofthe past--to the contemplation of bygone greatness: of kingdoms whichhave passed away, --of cities whose site is marked only by the moulderingcolumn and the time-worn wall--of men with whose name the world oncerang, but whose very tombs are now unknown. If there is any thingcalculated to enlarge the mind, it is this; for it is only by a carefulstudy of the past that we come to know how duly to appreciate thepresent. Without this we magnify the present; we imagine that the futurewill be like unto it; we form our ideas, we base our calculations uponit alone; we forget the maxim of the Eastern sage, that "this too shallpass away. " It is by the study of history that we overcome thisotherwise inevitable tendency; we learn from it, that other nations havebeen as great as we, and that they are now forgotten--that a formercivilization, a fair and costly edifice which seemed to be perfect ofits kind, has crumbled before the assaults of time, and left not a tracebehind. There is a still small voice issuing forth from the ruins ofBabylon, which will teach more to the thinking mind than all the dogmasand theories of modern speculators. 

When we turn to the study of ancient history, our attention isimmediately riveted on the mighty name of Rome. Even the history ofGreece cannot compare with it in interest. Greece was always great inthe arts, and for long she was eminent in arms: but the arms of hercitizens were too often turned against each other; and the mind getsfatigued and perplexed in attempting to follow the endless maze ofpolitics, and the constant succession of unimportant wars. There are, indeed, many splendid episodes in her history--such as the Persian war, the retreat of the Ten Thousand, a few actions in the Peloponnesiancontest, and the whole of the Theban campaigns of Epaminondas; but theintervening periods have but a faint interest to the general reader, till we come down to the period of the Macedonian monarchy. This, indeed, is the great act in the drama of Grecian history. Who can perusewithout interest the accounts of the glorious reign of Alexander; ofthat man who, issuing from the mountains of Macedonia, riveted thefetters of despotism on Greece, which had grown unworthy of freedom, andcarried his victorious arms over the fertile plains of Palestine, tillhe stood a conqueror amidst the palaces of Persepolis, and finallyhalted only on the frontiers of Hindostan, arrested in his progress notby the arms of his enemies but by the revolt of his soldiers? He flung ahalo of glory around the last days of Greece, like the bright light of ameteor, whose course he resembled equally in the rapidity and brilliancyof his career. With him dies the interest of Grecian story: theintrigues and disputes of his successors, destitute of general interest, served but to pave the way for the progress of a mightier power. 

Of greater interest even than this is the history of Rome. Her conquestswere not merely the glorious and dazzling achievements of one man, whichowed their existence to his talents, and crumbled to pieces at hisdeath; they were slow and gradual in their progress--the effects of adeep and firm policy: they were not made in a day, but they endured fora thousand years. No country presents such interest to the politicianand the soldier. To the one, the rise and progress of her constitution;her internal struggles; the balance of political power in the state; herpolicy, her principles of government; the administration and treatmentof the many nations which composed her vast empire, must ever be thesubject of deep and careful study: while to the other, the campaigns ofHannibal, the wars of Cæsar, and the long line of her military annals, present a wide field for investigation and instruction--an inexhaustibletopic for philosophic reflection. 

But there is one subject connected with the progress of the Roman empirewhich has been unduly neglected, and without a perfect understanding ofwhich we cannot justly appreciate either the civil or military policy ofthat state. We mean the history of the nations who came in contact withher--viz. The Carthaginians, the Gauls, the Spaniards. The ancienthistorians belonged exclusively to Greece or Rome: they looked upon allother nations except themselves as barbarous; and they never relatedtheir history except incidentally, and in so far as it was connectedwith that of those two countries. Modern historians, following in theirtrack, and attracted by the splendour of their names, deviated not fromthe beaten path; and a thick veil still hung over the semi-barbarousneighbours and enemies of Rome. The history of no one of those nationswas more interesting, or in many points involved in greater obscurity, than that of the GAULS. 

Nowhere amongst the ancient writers could any connected account of theorigin or progress of this nation be found; scattered notices of themalone could be discovered interspersed incidentally amongst othermatter, and these notices were frequently inconsistent. This isparticularly the case as regards their early history: in later times, when they came into more immediate contact with the Romans, a moreconnected and minute account of them has been preserved. In the livelypages of Livy, and in the more accurate narrative of Polybius, aconsiderable mass of information on this subject maybe found; while aclear light has been thrown on many parts of their latter history by thenarrative of Appian, the Lives of Plutarch, and, above all, by theCommentaries of Cæsar. But all this information, scattered over amultiplicity of authors, could give us no conception of their history asa people. An author was still wanting to collect all these together, soas to present us with something like a continuous history. But to dothis was no easy task: the materials were scanty and oftencontradictory; they were all written in a spirit hostile to the Gauls; adeep vein of prejudice and national partiality ran through and tarnishedthem all; the motives of that people were misrepresented, their actionsfalsified, the historians often understood little of their institutionsand their character. From such materials it required no common man to beable to deduce a clear and impartial narrative; it required great talentand deep research--the accuracy of the scholar and the spirit of thephilosopher, the acuteness of the critic joined to the eye of thepainter. Such a man has been found in Amadée Thierry. His _History ofthe Gauls_ is a work of rare merit--a work which must ever be in thehand of every one who would understand the history of antiquity. It islittle to the credit of the literature of this country, that his workhas not yet appeared in an English translation. 

He has traced the progress of the Gauls, from their earliest appearanceon the stage of the world till their final subjection to the Romanpower, in a manner worthy of a scholar and a philosopher. His narrativeis clear, animated, and distinct; he possesses in an eminent degree thepower of giving breadth to his pictures; of drawing the attention of hisreaders to the important events, whilst the remainder are thrown intoshade. His mode of treating his authorities is perhaps the best that canbe imagined; he neither clogs his pages with long extracts, nor does heleave them unsupported by a reference to the original authors. At theend of each paragraph a reference is given to the authorities followed, to whom the reader may at once turn if he wish to verify the conclusionsarrived at; and where the points are involved in obscurity, the passagesfounded on are quoted generally in a note, and never in the text, exceptwhen their importance really justified such an interruption of thenarrative. His style is always animated and graphic, occasionally risingto elevated flights of eloquence, while his subject is one of a deep andvaried interest; for in following the checkered fortunes of the Gauls, he is brought in contact with almost every nation of the earth. Towhatever country of the ancient world we turn, we find that the Gaul haspreceded us, either as the savage conqueror or the little less savagemercenary. Issuing originally from the East, that boundless cradle ofthe human race, we soon find him contending with the German for hismorass, with the Spaniard for his gold--traversing the sands of Africa, and pillaging the plains of Greece--founding a kingdom in the midst ofAsiatic luxury, and bearing his conquering lance beneath the Capitol ofRome. But a mightier spirit soon rose to rule the storm. In vain thecourage of the Gaul, allied with the power of Carthage, and directed bythe genius of Hannibal, maintained for years a desperate and doubtfulcontest in the heart of Italy. The power of Rome kept steadilyadvancing: Greece soon fell beneath her conquering arm; and the fleetsof Carthage no longer ruled the wave. The Spaniard, after many ahard-fought field, at last sank into sullen submission; and theGalatians, degenerating under the influence of Asiatic manners, provedunequal to the contest; the Gaul, instead of inundating the land of theforeigner, could with difficulty maintain his own; and soon the eagle ofthe Capitol spread its wings over a Transalpine province. But the freespirit of the Gaul now made a mighty effort to rend asunder the bondswhich encircled it; and a countless multitude, after ravaging Spain, poured down into Italy: the Roman empire rocked to its foundation, whenMarius, hastening over from his African conquests, saved his country bythe glorious and bloody victory of Aquæ Sextiæ. Yet a little while andthe legions of Rome, under the orders of Cæsar, traversing with fire andsword their country, retaliated on the Gaul the calamities he had ofteninflicted on others, subdued his proud spirit, and forged for him, amidst seas of blood, those fetters which were finally riveted by thepolicy of Augustus. Such is a brief outline of the heart-stirring storyof this singular and interesting race. 

One of the most interesting parts of Thierry's work is the Introduction. He there gives a brief view of the character of the Gaulish race; itsdivision into two great branches, the Gaul and the Kimry, and theperiods into which the history of this people naturally divides itself. A considerable part of it is taken up in proving that this people do inreality consist of two great branches, the Gaul and the Kimry. This, wethink, he has clearly and satisfactorily shown, by evidence drawn bothfrom the language and from the historical accounts which have beenpreserved to us regarding them. His character of the Gauls as a peopleis ably and well given; but here we must let him speak for himself:--

 "The salient characteristics of the Gaulish family--those which distinguish it the most, in my opinion, from the other races of men--may be thus summed up:--A personal bravery unequaled amongst the people of antiquity; a spirit frank, impetuous, open to every impression, eminently intelligent; but joined to that an extreme frivolity, want of constancy, a marked repugnance to the ideas of discipline and order so strong in the German race, much ostentation--in fine, a perpetual disunion, the consequence of excessive vanity. If we wish to compare, in a few words, the Gaulish family with that German family to whom we have just alluded, we may say that the personal sentiment, the individual I, is too much developed amongst the former, and that amongst the latter it is not sufficiently so. Thus we find, in every page of Gaulish story, original characters who strongly excite and concentrate upon themselves our sympathy, causing us to forget the masses; whilst, in the history of the Germans, it is generally the masses who produce the effect. Such is the general character of the people of the Gaulish blood; but in that character itself, an observation of facts leads us to recognise two distinct shades corresponding to two distinct branches of the family, or to use the expression consecrated by history, to two distinct races. One of those races--that which I designate by the name of the Gauls--presents in the most marked manner all the natural dispositions, all the faults and all the virtues, of the family; to it belong, in their purest state, the individual types of the Gaul. The other, the Kimry, less active, less spiritual perhaps, possesses in return more weight and stability: it is in its bosom principally that we remark the institutions of classification and order; it is there that the ideas of theocracy and monarchy longest maintain their sway. "--(I. Iv. Vi. )

How important and how little attended to is this character of thedifferent races of men! How perfectly is it preserved under allsituations and under all circumstances! No lapse of time can change, nodistance can efface it. Nowhere do we see this more distinctly than inAmerica: there how marked is the difference of the Spanish race in thesouth and the Anglo-Saxon in the north! And from this we may draw adeeply important practical lesson; viz. The danger of attempting toforce on one race institutions fitted to another. Under a freegovernment, the Anglo-Saxon in the north flourished and increased, andbecame a mighty people. Under a despotic sway, the Spaniard in the southwas slowly but surely treading that path which would ultimately have ledto national greatness, when a revolution, nourished by English gold, andrendered victorious by English arms, inflicted what was to him the curseof free institutions. Under their influence, commerce has fled from theshores of New Spain; the gold-mines of Peru lie unworked; population hasretrograded; the fertile land has returned to a state of nature; andanarchy, usurping the place of government, has involved the country inruin and desolation. Nor is this the only instance of the effect of freeinstitutions on the Spanish race. In Old Spain the same experiment hasbeen tried, and has produced the same result. Under their witheringeffect, the empire of Spain and the Indies has passed away; the mothercountry, torn by internal dissensions, has fallen from her proud estate, and can with difficulty drag on a precarious existence amidst all thetumult and blood of incessant revolutions. How long will it be ere welearn that free institutions are the Amreeta cup of nations--thegreatest of all blessings or the greatest of all curses, according tothe race on which it is conferred!

The history of the Gauls, in Thierry's opinion, divides itself naturallyinto four great periods: his brief _resumé_ of the state of the nation, during each of those periods, is so animated that we cannot refrain fromquoting his own words:--

 "The first period contains the adventures of the Gaulish nations in the nomad state. No race of the West has accomplished a more agitated and brilliant career. Its wanderings embrace Europe, Asia, and Africa: its name is inscribed with terror in the annals of almost every people. It burned Rome: it conquered Macedonia from the veteran phalanxes of Alexander, forced Thermopylæ, and pillaged Delphi: afterwards it planted its tents on the ruins of ancient Troy, in the public places of Miletus, on the banks of the Sangarius, and on those of the Nile: it besieged Carthage, threatened Memphis, reckoned among its tributaries the most powerful monarchs of the East: on two occasions it founded in Upper Italy a mighty dominion, and it raised up in the bosom of Phrygia that other empire of the Galatians which so long ruled Asia Minor. 

 "In the second period--that of the sedentary state--we observe the same race every where developing itself, or permanently settled, with social, religious, and political institutions, suited to its particular character--original institutions, and civilization full of life and movement, of which Transalpine Gaul offers a model the purest and the most complete. One would say, to follow the animated scenes of that picture, that the theocracy of India, the feudality of the Middle Ages, and the Athenian democracy, had resorted to the same soil, there to combat and rule over one and other in turn. Soon that civilization mixes and alters: foreign elements introduce themselves, imported by commerce, by the relations of vicinity, by the reaction of the conquered population. Hence various and other strange combinations: in Italy it is the Roman influence which makes itself felt in the manners of the Cisalpines: in the south of Transalpine Gaul it is at first the influence of the Greeks of Massalia, afterwards that of the Italian colonies: and in Galatia there springs up the most singular combination of Gaulish, Phrygian and Greek civilization. 

 "Next follows the period of national strife and of conquest. By a chance worthy of notice, it is always under the sword of the Roman that the power of the Gaulish nations falls: in proportion as the Roman dominion extends, the Gaulish dominion, up to that time firmly established, recoils and declines: one would say that the conquerors and the conquered from the Allia followed one and other to all points of the earth to decide the old quarrel of the Capitol. In Italy the Cisalpines are subjugated, but only after two centuries of the most determined resistance: when the rest of Asia accepted the yoke, the Galatians defended still, against Rome, the independence of the East. Gaul yields, but only from exhaustion, after a century of partial contests, and nine years of a general war under Cæsar: in fine, the names of Caractac and Galgac render illustrious the last and fruitless efforts of British liberty. It is every where the unequal combat of a military spirit, ardent and heroic, but simple and unskilful, against the same spirit disciplined and persevering. Few nations show in their annals so beautiful a page as that last Gaulish war, written nevertheless by an enemy. Every effort of heroism, every prodigy of valour, which the love of liberty and of country ever produced, there displayed themselves in spite of a thousand contrary and fatal passions: discords between the cities, discords in the cities, enterprises of the nobles against the people, licentiousness of democracy, hereditary enmities of race. What men were those Bitunyes who in one day burned twenty of their towns! What men were those Camutes, fugitives, pursued by the sword, by famine, by winter, and whom nothing could conquer! What variety of character is there amongst their chiefs--from the druid Divitiac, the good and honest enthusiast of the Roman civilization, to the savage Ambio-rix, crafty, vindictive, implacable, who admired and imitated nothing save the savageness of the German: from Dumno-rix, that ambitious but fierce agitator, who wished to make the conqueror of the Gauls an instrument, but not a master, to that Vercingeto-rix, so pure, so eloquent, so true, so magnanimous in misfortune, and who wanted nothing to take a place amongst the greatest men, but to have had another enemy, above all another historian, than Cæsar!

 "The fourth period comprises the organization of Gaul into a Roman province, and the slow and successive assimilation of Transalpine manners to the manners and institutions of Italy--a labour commenced by Augustus, continued with success by Claudius, completed in latter times. That transference from one civilization to another was not made without violence and without checks: numerous revolts are suppressed by Augustus--a great insurrection fails against Tiberius. The distractions and the impending ruin of Rome during the civil wars of Galba, of Otho, of Vitellius, and of Vespasian, gave room for a sudden explosion of the spirit of independence to the north of the Alps. The Gaulish nations again took up arms, the senates reformed themselves, the proscribed druids reappeared, the Roman legions cantoned on the Rhine are defeated or gained over, an empire of the Gauls is constructed in haste: but soon Gaul perceives that it is already at bottom entirely Roman, and that a return to the ancient order of things is no longer either desirable for its happiness, or even possible; it resigns itself therefore to its irrevocable destiny, and reunites without a murmur into the community of the Roman empire. "--(I. 6-10)

Here indeed is a noble field for history--many such exist not in theworld; it joins the colours of romance to the truth of narrative--itembraces within its range all countries, from the snow-clad mountains ofthe north to the waterless deserts of the south. 

When the first light of history dawns upon the Gallic race, we find themsettled in that territory which is bounded by the Rhine, the Alps, theMediterranean, the Pyrenees, and the ocean, and in the British isles. There they lived, leading a pastoral life, wandering about from place toplace, and ready to descend with their flocks and herds wherevercupidity might lead, or fancy direct them. They first turned theirfootsteps towards Spain; tribe after tribe crossed the Pyrenees, andeither expelled or amalgamated with the aboriginal inhabitants. Theirefforts were principally directed towards the centre and west; inconsequence of which, the native Spaniards, displaced and driven backupon the Mediterranean coast, soon opened a way for themselves acrossthe eastern passes of the mountains, and, traversing the shores ofsouthern Gaul, entered Italy. There they took the name of the Ligures, and established themselves along the whole line of sea-coast from thePyrenees to the mouth of the Arno. The road to Italy being thus laidbare by the Spaniards, the Gauls soon followed on their footsteps, and, crossing the Alps, poured down into the fertile plains and vine-cladhills of the smiling south: but they were encountered and overcome bythe Etruscans. Internal convulsions in the centre of Gaul, however, hurled new hordes across the Alps. The Kimry, from the Palus Moeotis, entered the north-eastern portion of Gaul, and expelled from theirterritory many of the tribes who were settled there: these, uniting inlarge hordes, precipitated themselves upon Italy. The Kimry, too, joinedin the incursion; race followed race, and the whole of northern Italywas soon peopled by the Gaulish race, who long threatened the nations ofthe south with entire subjugation and destruction. The empire of theGauls in Italy, known by the name of Cisalpine Gaul, was productive ofthe greatest calamities to that unhappy country; every year there issuedforth from it bands of adventurers, who wasted the fields and stormedthe cities of Etruria, of Campania, and of Magna Græcia. But anexpedition on a larger scale was at last undertaken. Pressed by theincreasing population in their rear, a large band determined to abandontheir present homes, and seek new conquests, and acquire new booty. Theyfirst directed their march to Clusium; but soon the torrent rolled withresistless force upon the walls of Rome. Defeated at the Allia, theRomans abandoned their city, leaving, however, a garrison in theCapitol; this garrison, reduced to the last extremities by famine, wasobliged to capitulate, and to purchase the departure of their foes by anenormous ransom. The Gauls, crowned with success and loaded withplunder, departed; and the Romans, taking courage at their retreat, harassed their rear and cut off their supplies. 

Such is the truth regarding this famous invasion, which has been thesubject of a falsification probably without a parallel in the annals ofhistory; by it defeat was transformed into victory, and the day whenRome suffered her greatest humiliation by the ransom of her capital, wasturned into almost the most famous day of her existence, when her mostsuccessful enemy was humbled to the dust. In the pages of a Greekhistorian the truth has been preserved; while the annals of the stateare filled with a very different tale, embellished with all theeloquence and genius of the national historian. Such a sacrifice ofhistorical veracity, in order to appease the insatiable cravings ofnational vanity, naturally casts a shade of doubt and suspicion on allthe early records of her victories and triumphs. Freed from her enemies, Rome revived and emerged unconquered from the strife; she had beenforced to bend before misfortune, but she was not broken by adversity: anew city sprung up on the ruins of the old, and the legions once moreissued from the ramparts to carry her victorious banners to the capitalsof a conquered world. We have not space to trace the various fortunes ofCisalpine Gaul during the early struggles which it carried on with thenow increasing power of Rome. Suffice it to say, that when the Latinsunited in a league against her, the Cisalpines joined them; anengagement took place at Sentinum, where victory crowned the efforts ofthe Romans; but though defeated, the Gauls maintained their highcharacter for valour during that fatal day. This success was followed upby a vigorous attack on the powerful Gaulish tribe of the Senones, whowere almost exterminated, and on their territory was established a Romancolony: this was the first permanent settlement made by that peopleamongst the Gaulish tribes of Italy. 

We must refer the reader to M. Thierry's work for the account of thecauses which led the Gauls and Kimry to press upon, and finally invadenorthern Greece, and the relation of the defeat of their first attackunder the Brenn. We shall dwell somewhat longer on their secondinvasion, which forms one of the most interesting episodes of theirhistory:--

 "In the year 280 B. C. , the Gauls, under a celebrated chief whose title was the Brenn, prepared to invade Greece. Their army, composed of various tribes of Gauls and Kimry, amounted to 152, 000 infantry and 61, 000 cavalry. When this immense array reached the frontiers of Macedonia, a division broke out amongst their chiefs, and 20, 000 men, detaching themselves from the main army, advanced into Thrace. The remainder, under the Brenn, precipitated themselves on Macedonia, routed the army which endeavoured to arrest their progress, and forced the remnant of the regular forces who survived, to take refuge in the fortified cities. During six months they ravaged with fire and sword the open country, and destroyed the unfortified towns of Macedonia and Thessaly. At the approach of winter, the Brenn collected his forces and established his camp in Thessaly, at a position near Mount Olympus. Thessaly is separated from Epirus and Ætolia by the chain of Pindus; and on the south, the almost impenetrable range of Mount Oeta divides it from the provinces of Hellas. The only pass by which an army can march into Greece is that of Thermopylæ, which is a long narrow defile, overhung on the right by the rocks of Mount Oeta, and flanked on the left by impassable morasses, which finally lose themselves in the waters of the gulf of Mulia. A few narrow and difficult tracts traverse the ridge of Oeta; but these, though passable to a small body of infantry, present insurmountable obstacles to the advance of an army. To the pass of Thermopylæ, in the spring of the year 280 B. C. , the Brenn directed his march. Aware of its vital importance, the Athenians, Boeotians, Locrians, Phocians, and Megarians, who had formed a league against the northern invaders, collected a force of about 26, 000 men, who, under the orders of Calippus, advanced to and occupied the strait, whilst 305 Athenian galleys, anchored in the bay of Mulia, were ready to operate upon the flank of the enemy. In his approach to this position, the Brenn had to pass the river Sperchius, to defend which Calippus had detached a small force: the Brenn, by a stratagem, directed their attention from the real point of attack, and crossed the river without loss. He then advanced to Heraclea, and laid waste the surrounding country. The day after his arrival at this place, he marched upon Thermopylæ. Hardly had the Gauls begun to involve themselves in the pass, when they were encountered by the Greeks in its classic defile. With loud cries, and in one enormous mass, the Gauls rushed impetuously on; in silence, and in perfect order, the Greeks advanced to the charge. The phalanx of the south proved impenetrable to the sabre of the north; the pass was soon covered with their dead bodies; the Gallic standards were unable to advance. Meanwhile the Athenian galleys, forcing their way through the marshes, poured in an incessant volley of arrows and darts on the long and unprotected flank of the invaders. Unable to withstand this double attack, the Gauls were forced to retreat. This they did in the utmost confusion; large numbers perished, trodden to death by their companions--still more were drowned in the morasses. Seven days after this severe check, a small party having attempted to cross Mount Oeta, they were attacked when involved in a narrow and difficult pass, and cut to pieces. To raise the drooping spirits of his men, and to separate the forces of his adversaries, the Brenn detached a corps of 40, 000 men, under the command of Comlutis, with orders to force their way into Ætolia. This diversion proved eminently successful. Comlutis, finding the passes of Mount Pindus unguarded, traversed that range, and entered Ætolia, the whole of which he laid waste with fire and sword without opposition, as the whole military force of that country had marched to the defence of Thermopylæ. On hearing of this invasion, the Ætolians immediately separated from the allied army, and hastened to the defence of their country. On their approach Comlutis retreated; but whilst involved in the mountain passes, his rear was overtaken by the regulars, and his flanks were assailed by the enraged peasantry; so severe was his loss, that hardly one-half of his force rallied at the camp of Heraclea. The day after the departure of the Ætolians, the Brenn led on the main body of his troops to attack the pass of Thermopylæ; whilst a strong detachment received orders to force one of the mountain paths, the knowledge of which had been betrayed to him by the inhabitants; being guided by one of whom, and their movements being concealed from view by a thick mist, which enveloped them, this detachment succeeded in surprising the troops who were entrusted with its defence, and, moving rapidly on, they fell on the rear of the main body of the allies, who were engaged at Thermopylæ. Assaulted both in front and rear, the Greeks would have been totally destroyed, had it not been for the presence of the Athenian fleet, who afforded a safe refuge to their shattered ranks. Freed from the presence of his opponents, the Brenn immediately pushed on to Elatia at the head of 65, 000 men, from whence he directed his march on Delphi. The town of Delphi was built on the slope of one of the peaks of Parnassus, in the midst of a natural excavation, and being almost entirely surrounded with precipices, it was left unprotected by any artificial fortifications: above the town, on the north, was situated the magnificent temple of Apollo, filled with native offerings of the Greeks. The possession of this treasure was the main object of the Brenn. The Gaulish army, on their arrival before Delphi, dispersed over, and pillaged the surrounding country for the remainder of the day; thus losing the most favourable opportunity of assaulting the town. "

The _dénouement_ of the tragedy we shall give in Thierry's own words:--

 "During the night, Delphi received from all sides, by the mountain paths, numerous reinforcements from the neighbouring people. There arrived successively 1200 well-armed Ætolians, 400 heavy-armed men from Amplussa, and a detachment of Phocians, who, with the citizens of Delphi, formed a body of 4000 men. At the same time, they learned that the brave Ætolian army, after having defeated Comlutis, had retaken the road to Elatia, and, increased by bands of the Phocians and Boeotians, laboured to prevent the junction of the Gaulish army of Heraclea with the division which besieged Delphi. 

 "During the same night, the camp of the Gauls was the theatre of the greatest debauchery; and when day dawned, the greater portion of them were still intoxicated: nevertheless, it was necessary to make the assault without loss of time, for the Brenn already perceived how much the delay of a few hours had cost him. He drew out his troops then in battle array, enumerating to them anew all the treasures which they had before their eyes, and those which awaited them in the temple: he then gave the signal for the escalade. The attack was vigorous, and was sustained by the Greeks with firmness. From the summit of the narrow and steep slope by which the assailants had to ascend in order to approach the town, the besieged poured down a multitude of arrows and stones, not one of which fell harmless. Several times the Gauls covered the ascent with their dead; but every time they returned to the charge with courage, and at last forced the passage. The besieged, obliged to beat a retreat, withdrew to the nearest streets of the town, leaving the approach which conducted to the temple free: the Gaulish race rushed on: soon the whole multitude was occupied in pillaging the oratories which adjoined the temple, and, in fine, the temple itself. 

 "It was then autumn, and during the combat one of those sudden storms so frequent in the lofty chains of Hellas had gathered; suddenly it burst, discharging on the mountain torrents of rain and hail. The priests attached to the temple of Apollo, seized upon an incident so fitted to strike the superstitious spirit of the Greeks. With haggard eyes, with disheveled locks, with frenzied minds, they spread out through the town, and through the ranks of the army, crying that the god had arrived. 'He is here!' said they; 'we have seen him pass across the vault of the temple, which is cloven beneath his feet; two armed virgins, Minerva and Diana, accompany him. We have heard the whistling of their bows, and the clang of their lances. Hasten, O Greeks! upon the steps of your gods, if you wish to partake of their victory!' That spectacle, those exhortations pronounced amidst the rolling of the thunder, and by the glare of the lightning, filled the Hellenes with a supernatural enthusiasm; they reformed in battle array, and precipitated themselves sword in hand upon the enemy. The same circumstances operated not less strongly, but in a contrary way, upon the victorious bands; the Gauls believed that they recognised the power of a divinity, but of an enraged divinity. The thunderbolts had frequently struck their battalions, and its reports, repeated by the echoes, produced around them such a reverberation, that they no longer heard the commands of their chiefs. Those who penetrated into the interior of the temple, had felt the pavement tremble under their steps; they had been seized by a thick and mephitic vapour, which overpowered them, and threw them into a violent delirium. The historians relate, that amidst this tumult they beheld three warriors of a sinister aspect, of more than human stature, covered with old armour, and who slaughtered the Gauls with their lances, appear. The Delphians recognised, say they, the shades of three heroes, Hyperochus and Zorodocus, whose tombs adjoined the temple, and Pyrrhus the son of Achilles. As to the Gauls, a wild panic hurried them in disorder to their camp, which they attained only with great difficulty, overwhelmed by the arrows of the Greeks, and by the fall of enormous rocks, which rolled over upon them from the summit of Parnassus. In the ranks of the besiegers, the loss was doubtless considerable. 

 "To that disastrous day succeeded, for the Kimry-Gauls, a night not less terrible; the cold was excessive, and snow fell in abundance; besides, fragments of rock falling incessantly in their camp, which was situated too near the mountain, crushed the soldiers not by one or two at a time, but by bodies of thirty and forty, as often as they assembled to maintain guard or to seek repose. The sun no sooner rose, than the Greeks who were within the town made a vigorous sally, whilst those who were in the country fell upon the rear of the enemy. At the same time, the Phocians, crossing the snow by paths known but to themselves, took them in flank, and assailed them with arrows and stones, without exposing themselves to the slightest danger. Hemmed in on all sides, discouraged, and, moreover, extremely incommoded by the cold, which had cut off many of their number during the night, the Gauls began to yield. They were sustained for some time by the intrepidity of the chosen band who combated around the Brenn, and acted as his guard. The strength, the stature, the courage of that guard, struck the Greeks with astonishment. In the end, the Brenn having been dangerously wounded, those brave men dreamed only of making a rampart of their bodies for him, and of carrying him from the field. The chiefs then gave the signal of retreat, and to prevent the wounded from falling into the hands of the enemy, they caused those who were not in a condition to follow, to be put to death. The army halted when the night overtook it. 

 "The first watch of that second night had hardly commenced, when the soldiers who were on guard imagined that they heard the tumult of a night march, and the distant tramp of horses. The darkness, already profound, did not permit them to discover their mistake; they gave the alarm, and cried out that they were surprised--that the enemy was upon them. The famine, the dangers, and the extraordinary occurrences which had befallen them during the last two days, had much shattered all their imaginations. At that cry, 'The enemy is at hand!' the Gauls, suddenly aroused, seized their arms, and believing the camp already entered, they threw themselves upon, and mutually slaughtered, each other. Their consternation was so great, that they believed that each word which struck their ears was uttered in Greek; as if they had forgotten their own proper tongue. Besides, the darkness of the night did not permit them either to recognise each other, or to distinguish the shape of their bucklers. Day put an end to that frightful _mêlée_; but during the night the Phocian shepherds, who remained in the fields to watch their flocks, ran to inform the Greeks of the disorder which was evident in the Gaulish camp. They attributed so unexpected an event to the intervention of the god Pan, from whom, according to the religious faith of the Greeks, alarms without any real cause proceeded; full of ardour and of confidence, they attacked the rearguard of the enemy. The Gauls had already resumed their march, but with languor, as men discouraged, worn out by diseases, famine, and fatigue. On their line of march the population carried off the cattle and provisions, so that they could not procure any subsistence without the utmost difficulty, and at the point of the sword. The historians reckon at 10, 000 the number of those who sank under these misfortunes; the cold and the nocturnal combat had cut off as many more, and 6000 had perished at the assault of Delphi: there remained then to the Brenn no more than 35, 000 men when he rejoined the main body of his army, in the plains watered by the Cephisus, on the day after his departure from Thermopylæ. "--(I. 171-178. )

The Brenn, overwhelmed with grief at his misfortune, no sooner saw hisarmy free from immediate danger than he put himself to death. Hissuccessor, following his dying advice, slaughtered 10, 000 of thewounded, and continued his retreat:--

 "As he approached Thermopylæ, the Greeks, issuing forth from an ambuscade, threw themselves on his rearguard, which they cut to pieces. It was in this miserable state that the Gauls gained the camp of Heraclea. They remained there for a few days before setting out on their northward route. All the bridges of the Sperchius had been broken down, and the left bank of the river was occupied by the Thessalians, who had collected _en masse_; nevertheless, the Gaulish army forced a passage. It was in the midst of a population all armed, and thirsting for vengeance, that they traversed, from one extremity to the other, Thessaly and Macedonia, exposed to perils, to sufferings, to privations, daily increasing, combating without intermission during the day, and at night having no other shelter than a cold and watery sky. They gained at last the northern frontier of Macedonia. There the distribution of the body took place: afterwards the Kimry-Gauls divided into many bands; some returned to their country, others sought in different directions new food for their turbulent activity. "--(I. 180. )

A band of Tectosages joined to the Tolistoboies, and a horde of Gauls, united, and traversing Thrace with fire and sword, passed over into AsiaMinor. They found it distracted by the quarrels of Alexander'ssuccessors. Summoned in an evil hour by Nicomedes to aid him and theGreek states of Asia Minor in their struggle against the Seleucidæ, theysoon established him on the throne of Bithynia. But they now turnedtheir victorious arms against the nations of that unhappy country. Theirarmies, increased by reinforcements drawn from Thrace, had dividedthemselves into three hordes: the Tectosages, the Tolistoboies, and theTrocmes. To avoid dispute, they distributed the whole of Asia Minor intothree parts: of these the Trocmes possessed the Hellespont and Troas;the Tolistoboies, Æolida and Ionia; the Tectosages, the coast of theMediterranean from the west of Mount Taurus. They now overran andsubdued all Asia Minor; every country, every town, was obliged to paythem tribute; or soon the fertile land was reduced to an arid desert, watered only by the blood of its inhabitants, and the costly city, stormed by the fierce warriors of the north, became a heap of smokingruins. At last the Tectosages came in contact with Antiochus, king ofSyria, and were totally defeated at the battle of the Taurus; the Syrianking, following up his victory, compelled them to resign theirconquests, and to establish themselves on the banks of the Halys, nearthe town of Ancyra, in Upper Phrygia, where they dwelt, too weak againto enter on the career of conquest. Internal war prevented the Asiaticsfor some time from pursuing their successes, and the Trocmes andTolistoboies continued still to pillage and oppress all the maritimeprovinces. Nay, their power was actually increased by those wars, aseach of the contending parties purchased the mercenary services of largebands of those brave, though turbulent warriors. But the end of theGaulish rule in Asia Minor was at hand. The small state of Pergamus, under the able rule of Eumenes, emerged from its obscurity, andinflicted a severe wound upon the Gauls by the defeat of Antiochus, kingof Syria, with whom a great number of them served as mercenaries. Hisson Attalus, on his accession to the throne, immediately marched againstand defeated the Tolistoboies. Ionia, which had long groaned under theiroppression, seizing the opportunity, rose up against them; theTolistoboies, beaten in several engagements, were driven beyond MountTaurus; and the Trocmes, after a vain attempt to maintain themselves inTroas, were forced to retreat and unite with their defeated countrymen. Attacked now by the whole population of Asia Minor, the two hordes weredriven by degrees into Upper Phrygia, where the Tectosages had formerlysettled. Here the three hordes united, and here they founded the empireof Galatia. 

 "Thus ended in Asia Minor the dominion of this people in their character of nomad conquerors; another period of existence now commenced for them. Abandoning their wandering life, they mixed with the indigenous population, who were themselves a mixture of Greek colonists and Asiatics. That blending together of three races, unequal in power and in civilization, produced a mixed nation, that of the Gallo-Greeks, whose civil, political, and religious institutions, carry the triple stamp of Gaulish, Greek, and Phrygian manners. The regular influence which the Gauls are destined to act in Asia Minor, as an Asiatic power, will prove not to be inferior to that of which they have been deprived; and we shall see them defend, almost to the last, the liberty of the East against the Roman arms. "--(I. 203-204. )

We have not space to follow M. Thierry in his very interesting accountof the exploits of the Gaulish mercenaries in Greece--in particular ofthose who served in the army of Pyrrhus; or who, acting in the pay ofCarthage, contributed so much to the victories of that powerful andwealthy people, and who took that lead in the famous insurrection of themercenaries, which so nearly brought about their ruin. We must pass overtoo, unnoticed, the desperate struggle between the Romans and Gauls inCisalpine Gaul, which ended in the defeat of the Boian confederacy atthe battle of the Telama, and their submission, and the subjugation ofthe Insubrians by Marcellus. The whole of Cisalpine Gaul thus seemed tobe finally subdued, when a new enemy suddenly appeared in the field, andagain led the Gaulish standards into the heart of southern Italy. 

Hardly had the Cisalpines laid down their arms, when there arrivedamongst them emissaries sent by Hannibal to excite them to a renewal ofthe war, and to engage them in an alliance with Carthage, by promisingto guarantee to them the liberty of their country, and by exciting theircupidity with the prospect of the spoils of Rome and southern Italy. They were well received, and secret armaments soon began to take place, especially amongst the Boian confederacy. But what immediately causedthe outbreak was an attempt of the Romans to found two colonies, one atCremona, and the other at Placentia. Enraged at this, the Boians took uparms, and attacking the colonists of Placentia, dispersed them, whilstthe Insubrians expelled those who had advanced to Cremona. The Boiansand Insubrians now uniting their forces, laid siege to Mutina, but invain. This check, however, was more than counterbalanced by the defeatof a Roman army under the orders of Manlius. While affairs were in thisstate, the columns of Hannibal, descending from the Alps, arrived on theInsubrian territory. The result of the late successes of the Gauls intheir disposition towards Hannibal, is well explained by Thierry:--

 "Two factions then divided all Cisalpine Gaul. The one composed of the Venetes, the Cremonas, and the Ligures of the Alps, gained over to the Roman cause, opposed with vigour every movement in favour of Hannibal. The other, which included the Ligures of the Apennines, the Insubrians, and the people of the Boian confederation, had embraced the Carthaginian side, but without much ardour. The affairs of Gaul had undergone a great change. At the time when the propositions of Hannibal were received with enthusiasm, Gaul was humiliated and conquered; Roman troops occupied her territory--Roman colonies assembled in her towns. But since the dispersion of the colonies of Cremona and Placentia--since the defeat of L. Manlius in the forest of Mutina, the Boians and Insubrians, satisfied at having recovered their independence with their own forces, cared little to compromise themselves for the advantage of strangers, whose appearance and numbers inspired them with but slight confidence. "--(I. 284-285. )

Hannibal felt all the importance of deciding the wavering sentiments ofthis people; on them his future success or defeat depended; to do thisnothing but victory was requisite. He accordingly advanced rapidlyagainst the Romans, and first engaged them in a cavalry action at theTicinus. Victory declared for the Carthaginians. The horse of Numidiarouted the cavalry of Rome. This success, unimportant as it was, revealed Hannibal to the eyes of the Gauls; influenced by it, theInsubrian chiefs hastened to supply him with provisions and troops. Hardly had the Carthaginians arrived in sight of the Roman camp atPlacentia, when a large body of the Gaulish contingent revolted fromScipio, and contrived, though much reduced in numbers, to cut their waythrough in spite of all opposition, and join Hannibal. The famous battleof the Trebia--the first of those great victories which have renderedimmortal the genius of the Carthaginian chief--soon followed; it at oncedecided the course of Cisalpine Gaul. Its immediate and ultimate effectson the power and operations of Hannibal are well developed by ourauthor:--

 "The fortune of Hannibal was then consolidated; more than 60, 000 Boians, Insubrians, and Ligures flocked in a few days to his standards, and raised his forces to 100, 000 men. With such a disproportion between the nucleus of the Carthaginian army and its auxiliaries, Hannibal was in reality but a Gaulish chief; and if, in the moments of danger, he had no cause to repent his new situation, more than once, nevertheless, he cursed with bitterness its inconveniences. Nothing could equal the courage and devotion of the Gaulish soldier in the dangers of the battle-field; but under the tent he had neither the habit nor the taste of military subordination. The lofty conceptions of Hannibal surpassed his comprehension; he could not understand war, unless such as he himself carried it on--as a bold and rapid plundering excursion, of which the present moment reaped the whole advantage. He would have wished to march instantly on Rome, or at least to pass the winter in some of the allied or subject provinces--in Etruria or in Umbria--there to live at discretion in pillage and license. Did Hannibal represent that it was necessary to spare the provinces in order to gain them over to the common cause, the Cisalpines broke forth into murmurs; the combinations of prudence and genius appeared in their eyes but a vile pretext to deprive them of the advantages which they had legitimately won. "--(I. 292-293. )

We cannot follow the steps of the great conqueror in his memorablecampaigns--in his fatal march over the fens of Etruria, or through theglorious field of Thrasymene. But the share which the Gauls had in themighty victory of Cannæ, and the change of the seat of war, with theresults which followed from it, are of such importance, and the remarksmade upon them by M. Thierry are so just, that we shall give the wholeof his account of this event at full length:--

 "From the field of Thrasymene Hannibal passed into southern Italy, and gave battle a third time to the Romans, near the village of Cannæ, on the banks of the Aufidus, now called the Offanto. He had then under his banners 40, 000 infantry and 10, 000 cavalry; and of these 50, 000 combatants, at least 30, 000 were Gauls. In his order of battle, he placed their cavalry on the right wing, and in the centre their infantry, whom he united to the Spanish infantry, and whom he commanded in person: the Gaulish foot, as was their custom on all occasions when they were determined to conquer or die, threw off their tunic and sagum, and fought naked from their waist upwards, armed with their long and pointless sabres. They commenced the action; and their cavalry and that of the Numidians terminated it. We know how dreadful the carnage was in that celebrated battle--the most glorious of the victories of Hannibal--the most disastrous of the defeat of Rome. When the Carthaginian general, moved with pity, called to his soldiers 'to halt, and to spare the vanquished, ' without doubt the Gauls, bloodthirsty in the destruction of their mortal enemies, carried to that butchery more than the ordinary irritation of wars, the satisfaction of a vengeance ardently wished for, and long deferred. There 70, 000 Romans perished; the loss on the side of the conquerors was 5500, of which 4000 were Gauls. Out of 60, 000 Gauls, whom Hannibal had enumerated around him after the combat of the Trebia, 25, 000 only remained; battle, sickness, above all, the fatal passage over the marshes of Etruria, had cut off all the rest; for up to this period they had supported almost exclusively the weight of the war. The victory of Cannæ brought to the Carthaginians other auxiliaries; a crowd of men from Campania, Lucania, Brutium, and Apulia, filled his camp; but it was not that warlike race which he formerly recruited on the banks of the Po. Cannæ was the term of his success; and assuredly the fault ought not to be imputed to his genius, more admirable even in adverse than in good fortune--his army only had changed. For two thousand years history has accused him with bitterness for his inaction after the battle of Aufidus, and for his delay at Capua; perhaps it might reproach him more justly for having removed from the north of Italy, and for having allowed his communications with the soldiers who had conquered under him at Thrasymene and Cannæ, to be cut off. Rome perceived the fault of Hannibal, and hastened to profit by it. Two armies in _échelon_, the one to the north, and the other to the south, intercepted the communication between the Cisalpines and Magna Græcia. That of the north, by its incursions and by its threatening attitude, occupied the Gauls at their own hearths, whilst the second made head against the Carthaginians. "--(I. 297-300. )

It has been said by the most renowned conqueror of modern times, that, give him but the Gallic infantry and the Mameluke cavalry, and he wouldsubdue the world. And it cannot fail to strike the attentive reader withastonishment, to learn that the severest blow ever given to the power ofRome was inflicted by the Gaulish foot and the Numidian horse. It iscurious, as exemplifying the unchanging characters of race, to observethat the greatest general of antiquity triumphed at the head of an army, composed of those very nations whom Napoleon, after the lapse of twothousand years, declared best fitted to pursue the blood-stained pathsof military greatness. 

The efforts of the Gauls did not cease with the battle of Cannæ; theydefeated an army under Posthumius, which invaded their territory. WhenHasdrubal led his ill-fated expedition to strew their bodies on theItalian plains, he was accompanied by large bands of those braveadventurers; and when Carthage, making a last effort to succour hergeneral, disembarked 14, 000 men under the command of Mago, Hannibal'sbrother, at Genoa, numerous bodies of Gauls flocked to his standards. And this general, though unable to effect his junction with Hannibal, yet maintained his ground for ten years, till at last, defeated in theterritory of the Insubrians, he retired to Genoa. There he receivedorders to return to the defence of Africa:--

 "His brother also, recalled by the Carthaginian senate, was obliged to embark at the other extremity of Italy. The Gaulish and Ligurian soldiers, who had faithfully served Hannibal during seventeen years, abandoned him not in his days of misfortune; re-united to their compatriots who had followed Mago, they formed still a third part of the Carthaginian army at Zama, in the celebrated day which terminated that long war to the advantage of the Romans, and displayed to the world the genius of Hannibal humbled before the fortune of Scipio. The ferocity with which the Gauls fought has been recorded by the historian: 'They showed themselves, ' says Titus Livy, 'inflamed with that inborn hate against the Roman people, peculiar to their race. '"--(I. 310-311. )

The war in Cisalpine Gaul did not cease with the departure of Hannibal. Under the orders of Carthaginian officer, the Gauls again took thefield--Placentia fell beneath their arms; but they received a severedefeat from L. Furius, in the year 200 B. C. , when the Carthaginiangeneral Amilcar perished. From this period till the year 191 B. C. , theGaulish nations were involved in a constant succession of wars, inwhich, though occasionally victorious, they were upon the wholeunsuccessful. Exposed to the incessant incursions of the Romans, theirstrength gradually wasted away; each year left them in a state moreexhausted and unfit to renew the war than the preceding. Nation afternation laid down their arms in despair, till at last the Boianconfederacy stood alone in its resistance of a foreign yoke; but theirravaged lands and reduced numbers were unequal to the struggle, andwhen, in the year 190 B. C. , the Roman armies advanced into the heart oftheir exhausted territory, the few remaining inhabitants determined toabandon the land of their birth, and to seek, amidst ruder nations, andbeneath a more ungenial sky, for that liberty in defence of which theirfathers had so often bled. Accordingly, the wreck of a hundred andtwelve Boian tribes, rising _en masse_, united, and wending their wearysteps over the snow-clad summits of the Alps, and through the pathlessforests of Germany, they found at last, on the banks of the distantDanube, a resting-place far removed from the hated name of Rome. 

All resistance from Cisalpine Gaul now ceased. Occasionally, indeed, afew tribes from the Transalpine would cross the Alps and descend intoItaly, but they could not withstand the shock of the legions. Theconquered territory was declared a Roman province, which it everafterwards remained. 

We have not space to follow M. Thierry in his account of the progressand fall of that strange Gaulish kingdom of Galatia. From the year 241to the year 190 B. C. , it maintained its independence unshaken, amidstthe degenerate sons of Greece and the effeminate Asiatics. But the Romanpower, beneath which the Gaulish race was ever doomed to bend, overtookthem even amidst the mountains of Asia Minor. The Galatians hadfurnished some troops to Antiochus the Great, and then, for the firsttime, they came in contact with the eagle of the Capitol. The firstencounter is thus alluded to by our author:--

 "The Romans had annihilated, at Magnesia, the Asiatic and Greek forces: yet the conquest of the country appeared to them still incomplete. They had encountered, beneath the banners of Antiochus, some bands of a force less easily conquered than the Syrians or the Phrygians: by the armour, by the lofty stature, by the yellow or reddish locks, by the war-cry, by the rattling clash of arms, by the dauntless valour above all, the legions had easily recognised that old enemy of Rome whom they had been brought up to fear. Before deciding any thing as to the lot of the vanquished, the Roman generals then determined to carry the war into Galatia. "--(I. 360-361. )

Accordingly, in the spring of 189 B. C. , Cn. Manlius, with 22, 000legionaries and an auxiliary army furnished by the King of Pergamus, invaded Galatia: at his approach the Tolistoboies and Tectosagesintrenched themselves upon Mount Olympus, and the Trocmes upon MountMegalon, and there awaited the attack. The consul first advanced toMount Olympus. He led his troops to attack the Gaulish position in threecolumns; the principal column, under his own orders, was to advance onthe Gauls in front, the other two were to try and turn their position oneither flank. The column which he led first engaged. 

 "His _velites_ advanced in front of the standards, with the Cretan archers of Attalus, the slingers, and the corps of Trulles and of the Thracians. The infantry of the legions followed with slow steps, as the steepness of the declivity rendered necessary, sheltered beneath their bucklers, so as to avoid stones and arrows. At a considerable distance the combat began with discharges of arrows, and at first with equal success. The Gauls had the advantage in position, the Romans in the number and variety of their arms. The action continued, the equality no longer remained. The narrow and flat bucklers of the Gauls protected them insufficiently: soon having expended their darts and javelins, they found themselves altogether disarmed: for at that distance their sabres were useless. As they had made no selection of flints and stones beforehand, they seized the first which chance threw in their way, which were for the most part too large to be easily wielded, or for inexperienced arms to throw with effect. The Romans, meanwhile, poured down upon them a murderous hail of arrows, javelins, and leaden balls, which wounded them, without their having any possibility of avoiding the approach. * * * * A great number had bit the dust, others adopted the course of rushing right on the enemy, and they, at least, did not perish unavenged. It was the corps of the Roman _velites_ who did them most harm. These _velites_ carried on their left arm a buckler three feet in size, in their right hand javelins, which they threw from afar, at their girdle a Spanish sword; when it was necessary to engage in close contact, they transferred their javelins to the left hand, and drew their sword. Few Gauls now remained on foot: seeing then the legions advance to the charge, they fled precipitately to their camp, which the alarm of the multitude of women, children and old men who were shut up within it, already filled with tumult and confusion. "--(I. 373-376. )

The other two columns had, from the difficult nature of the ground, beenunable to make any progress. Manlius now led on his legionaries toassault the intrenchment, which they carried at the sword's point. A fewdays after this victory, Manlius advanced with his triumphant army toattack the Trocmes, who were intrenched on Mount Megalon. This battleresembled much, both in its progress and in its termination, the onewhich preceded it. The Trocmes were driven with slaughter from thefield, and their camp taken. Dispirited by this double defeat, theGalatians, who had rallied their scattered forces behind the Halys, suedfor peace. The Romans, desiring rather to conciliate than to irritatethis warlike people, merely exacted that they should surrender the landwhich they had taken from the allies of Rome, and that they should giveup their wandering and predatory habits, so injurious to all theirneighbours. Under the influence of the forced peace in which thesubjection of Asia to the Romans kept the Galatians, their mannersrapidly changed. Asiatic luxury took the place of northern barbarity;the worship of the national gods was abandoned, and the idols of thestranger were substituted in their room; the coarse garments of ancientdays, gave place to vestments of purple and gold: yet a little while, and the loss of national manners was followed by the loss of politicalprivileges; the magistracies, formerly elective, now became hereditary;the families who usurped this privilege formed, in course of time, abright and all-powerful aristocracy. Ambition limited the number ofthese magistracies; from twelve they were reduced to four; at last theywere centred in a single hand: so that when Galatia was united as aprovince to the Roman empire, it was governed by a hereditary king. Yet, amidst this usurpation of the sovereign power, the national council ofthe Three Hundred still continued to exist, and assist in the governmentof the state. 

During twenty years peace subsisted between the Galatians and theirAsiatic neighbours. At the end of that period, however, a war broke out, and pillaging bands once more began to traverse the plains of AsiaMinor; when Rome interposed, and by her mediation peace was restored. Mithridates, uniting beneath his sway all the powers of the East, droveback for a while the Roman eagles, and seemed about to restore theirancient glory to the Asiatics. The Galatians joined with him; but theirfidelity became suspected, and he seized upon sixty of their nobles ashostages. Enraged at this treatment, they formed a plot to assassinatehim; it was frustrated, and the conspirators were almost alltreacherously put to death at a banquet. His troops then advancing, tookpossession of Galatia, which was governed by one of his officers withinsolence and oppression for twelve years. At last a revolt broke out;his armies were driven from the country; Galatia was once more free. Thedefeat of Mithridates by the Roman arms ensured their independence for ashort time; but the rest of Asia was now subject to the Romans. Surrounded, enveloped on all sides by their power, Galatia yielded atlast, and was reduced to the form of a Roman province in the time ofAugustus. 

Here M. Thierry ends the first part of his History of the Gauls; andthus far we have followed him step by step, because we considered thisboth the least known and the most interesting portion of Gaulishhistory. The two periods which follow are more familiar to historicalreaders: because, during them, Rome was the great enemy of the Gauls;and if she has often palliated her defeats, she has at least neverfailed to chronicle her victories. Henceforth, therefore, we shall nolonger attempt to follow the thread of his narrative. The victories ofMarius, the campaigns of Cæsar, stand in no need of our attention beingdirected to them, as to the wars of the Brenn in Greece, or theconquests of the horde in Asia Minor. Here we take leave of the Gaul asthe conquering nomad; we have seen him wandering through the land of thestranger with fire and sword; but the hour of vengeance has now come, and we shall see him bleed in vain on his native soil for that libertyof which he had so often deprived others. 

M. Thierry opens his history of the second period with an exceedinglyinteresting account of the state of Gaul during the second and thirdcenturies before our era. Gaul was then inhabited by three distinctfamilies or races. By the Iberian family--divided into the Aquitains andthe Ligures. By the Gaulish family--divided into the Gauls, the Kimry, and the Belgians. And by the Ionian-Greek family, or the inhabitants ofthe powerful and flourishing maritime and commercial state of Massalia. The Iberian and Ionian-Greeks, families occupying comparatively but asmall portion of Gaul, need not detain us. With the Gauls we have moreto do. Our author gives the following account of the way in which theirterritory was divided amongst the three different bands of thisfamily:--

 "A line which, setting out from the mouth of the Tann, follows the course of that river, then that of the Rhone, the Iser, the Alps, the Rhine, the Vosges, the Ædnian hills, the Loire, the Vienne, and comes at last to rejoin the Garonne, by turning the plateau of Arvernia: that line would nearly circumscribe the possessions of the Gallic race. The territory situated to the east of that limit belonged to the race of the Kimry; it was in time divided into two portions by the line of the Seine and the Marne, the one northern and the other southern. To the south, between the Seine and the Garonne, lived the Kimry of the first invasion, intermingled with Gallic blood, or the Gallo-Kimry. To the north, between the Seine and the Rhine, the Kimry of the second invasion, or Belgians. The Gauls numbered twenty-two nations; the Gallo-Kimry, seventeen; and the Belgians, twenty-three. These sixty-two nations were subdivided into many hundred tribes. "--(I. 28. )

He then enters into a long and most interesting description of thedomestic manners, and political and religious institutions, of theGauls. 

After having traced the Gaul for so long in the field, we love to followhim into his cabin--to observe his appearance, his pursuits, hishabits--to mark the manly figure, the fair complexion, the flowingyellow locks, the glittering helmet surmounted with the antlers of thestag, the buckler covered with all the colours of the rainbow, thepolished cuirass flashing back the rays of the morning sun, the heavysabre hanging from the gold-bespangled belt, the precious necklace, therich armlets, the bright and variegated hues of the martial sagum ormantle, of the noble Gaulish warrior. We follow him as he turns awayfrom his clay-built mansion, and, regardless of the silent tears andentreating looks of his submissive, perhaps ill-used wife, hurries intothe noise and excitement of the battle-field. Observe the wild frenzythat there seems to seize him, as he rushes with dauntless courage onthe bristling phalanx of his enemies; as, amidst the clouds of dustwhich float overhead, and the horrid cries which resound on all sides, he tears and widens with savage ferocity the fearful gash he has justreceived; as, a moment after, overcoming in personal conflict yonstalwart chief, he decapitates, with one blow of his heavy sabre, theyet palpitating corpse, and waves the gory head with demoniac triumph inthe air; and as he returns home, yet reeking with blood and intoxicatedwith victory, and suspends above his threshold the ghastly trophy. Lookagain--the scene is changed--the glittering arms are flung aside. Withhis mantle floating in the breeze, his light spear quivering in hishand, he plunges into the pathless forest; with fearless step he pursueshis way through the leafy shade, and traverses the treacherous surfaceof the morass. Beneath yon giant oak he has encountered the fiercestinhabitant of those solitudes--the wild bull; but it has fallen beneathhis javelin, which yet protrudes from it bushy neck, and, as it liesstruggling on the greensward, making the wood ring again with itsbellowings, his dagger is raised to give it the final stroke. --Observehim once more in the council of his nation. The warriors stand in anattentive circle leaning on their arms; he has risen to address them;his action is animated, his words are vehement; the polished accents, the finished periods of the Greek, flow not from his lips, but there iseagerness in his eye, there is earnestness in his speech, his languageis figurative in the extreme, a thousand picturesque and striking imagesillustrate his meaning; his metaphors, drawn from the battle and thechase, thrill to the bosom of all his listeners; and the clash and clangof their arms, amidst which he sits down, proclaims alike their assentto his proposition and their admiration of his eloquence. It is amidstscenes like these that we love to follow the Gaul, to picture toourselves an old race and an old civilization, which combined in sostrange a way the greatness and the savageness, the heroism in dangerand weakness under temptation, of primeval and half-civilized man. 

To comprehend clearly the internal and external history of the Gauls, wemust understand the political condition of their country. This isunfolded in a clear and masterly manner by our author, in the followingpassage:--

 "In Gaul, two privileged orders ruled the rest of the people--the elective order of the priests, who recruited themselves indiscriminately from all ranks, and the hereditary order of the nobles or knights. This latter was composed of the ancient royal families of the tribes, and of those men who had been recently ennobled, either by war or by the influence of riches. The multitudes were divided into two classes--the people of the country, and the people of the town. The first formed the tribes or the clans of the noble families. The client belonged to his patron, whose domains he cultivated, whose standard he followed in war, under whom he was a member of a little patriarchal aristocracy; his duty was to defend him to the death from, and against all: to abandon his patron in circumstances of danger, passed for the consummation of disgrace, and even for a crime. The people of the towns, from their situation, removed from the influence of the old hierarchy of the tribes, enjoyed greater liberty, and fortunately found themselves in a situation to maintain and to defend it. Beneath the mass of the people came the slaves, who do not appear to have been very numerous. The two privileged orders caused the yoke of their despotism to weigh, turn by turn, upon Gaul. Turn by turn they exercised absolute authority, and lost it by a series of political revolutions. The history of the government of the Gauls offers, then, three very distinct periods: that of the reign of the priests, or of the theocracy--that of the reign of the chiefs of the tribes, or of the military aristocracy--lastly, that of the popular constitutions, founded on the principle of election, and on the will of the majority. The epoch which we are about to treat of, accomplished that last and great revolution; and popular constitutions, although still ill assured, at last ruled over all Gaul at the commencement of the first age. "--(II. 71-73. )

M. Thierry recognises in the Gauls the traces of two distinct religions. He says--

 "When we examine attentively the character of the facts relative to the religious belief of the Gauls, we are led to recognise two systems of ideas, two bodies of symbols and superstitions altogether distinct--in a word, two religions: the one altogether sensible, derived from the adoration of natural phenomena, and by its forms, as well as by its literal development, reminding us of the polytheism of the Greeks; the other founded upon a material pantheism, metaphysical, mysterious, sacerdotal, and presenting the most astonishing conformity with the religions of the East. That last has received the name of druidism, from the druids who were its founders and priests. We shall give to the first the name of the Gaulish polytheism. "--(II. 73-74. )

Thierry thinks that this polytheism originally prevailed amongst theGauls, but that the Kimry introduced druidism, which soon became thedominant religion over the whole of Gaul, though the original polytheismingrafted upon it more or less, in different places, some of its tenetsand ceremonies. The great seat of the religion of the druids wasArmorika, and, above all, Britain; there existed the most powerful oftheir sacerdotal colleges--there were celebrated the most secret oftheir mysteries. 

It is wondrous thing, that religion of the ancient druids! A solemnmystery enshrouds it--all the efforts of modern science cannot lift theveil. When we look on yon circle of stones which, grey with the lapse ofages, stands in lonely majesty upon the dreary moor, near which no soundis ever heard, save the distant and sullen roar of the ocean, as itbreaks in sheets of foam on the rock-bound coast--the fitful cry ofcurlew, as it wings over them its solitary way--or the occasional lowmoaning of the wind, as, stealing through amidst the rocks, it seems topour forth a mournful dirge for the shades of departed greatness:--whenwe look on a scene like this, we have before our gaze all that is knownof these men of the olden time. Their blood-stained rites, their solemnmysteries, are forgotten; but their simple temples still standimperishable as the God to whom they were erected. From the study of theancient authors little or no information can be gleaned; a fewdescriptions of their bloody sacrifices, an account of some of theirmore public ceremonials, is all that they have handed down to us. Butthe real nature of their religion is unknown: more of its spirit istaught to us by those silent stones than by all other accounts puttogether. The choice of the situations for those sacred monuments amidstthe melancholy waste, or buried deep in the recesses of some vastforest, where the wide-spreading branches of their sacred tree (the oak)casts its deep shadows over the consecrated spot, with no canopy savethe heavens, shows the dark and gloomy spirit of their faith. Theyworshipped the God of the thunder-storm, not the God of peace; and itwas amidst the thunder-storm that their horrid rites appeared mosthorrid. When, illuminated by the lurid glare of the lightning, thegigantic osier figure filled with human beings sank into theflames--when the shouts of the multitude who stood in a dense circlearound the spot, the frenzied chants of the druids, and the despairingshrieks of the dying victims, were drowned in the sullen roar of thethunder--then must the fearful nature of their creed have stood forth inall its horrors. Yet with all this, there was a sort of grandeur in theseclusion and simplicity of their worship. All was not blood; and thoughthey bowed down to the Unknown God in an erring and mistaken spirit, yetmust their conception of him been fine. The God of nature and thewilderness--the God of the tempest and the storm--was a nobler idea thanthe immortalized humanities of Greek and Roman mythology, though bothhad wandered equally far from the true God of Mercy and of Peace. 

When Massalia was hard pressed by two Gaulish nations, she summoned, inan evil hour, Rome to her aid. By the Roman arms her assailants wererepelled, but these allies maintained their footing in the country. Theysoon subdued Liguria, and founded the town of Aquæ Sextiæ; the Gaulishnation of the Ædues united with the strangers; a defensive leagueentered into by the Allobroges and the Arvernes to drive them from theirshores, was defeated. The territory acquired by these victories wasorganized into a Transalpine province; this province gradually went onincreasing; its communications with Italy were assured, by the Romansobtaining possession of the passes of the Alps. In the year 118 B. C. , the first Roman colony in Gaul was founded at Narbonne; hither, incourse of time, came the great maritime commerce which had raisedMassalia to her greatness; hither, too, flowed much of the internaltraffic of Gaul. The ships of Massalia lay rotting in her harbours, herextensive quays lost their busy multitudes. In the fall of her navalpower, in the loss of her commercial policy, she received a just rewardfor having wafted to her shores, and assisted with her forces, thestranger who was destined to rule over the Gaulish people. Theorganization of the province was completed; and from Narbonne, Romanemissaries issuing forth, laboured, by augmenting the quarrels anddissensions of the native tribes, to afford an opportunity for her toextend the limits of the empire. 

Driven from the shores of the Baltic by an inroad of the ocean, the twotribes of the Kimry and the Teutones uniting, precipitated themselves, to the number of 300, 000 fighting men, upon the more southern countries. In the course of their wanderings they came upon the Roman province ofNorica, which they laid waste with fire and sword, and where theydefeated the consul, Papirius Carbon, with great loss. Without takingadvantage of this opportunity to enter Italy, which now lay open totheir attack, they entered the country of the Helvetii, where they werejoined by the tribes of that people, the Ambrones, the Tigurines, andthe Teutones; descending now upon Gaul like a devastating torrent, theywasted it as far as the Belgian frontier; here, however, the resistanceof the inhabitants prevented them from advancing further. Turning nowupon the Roman province of Transalpine Gaul, they defeated three Romanarmies under Silanus, Cassius, and Scaurus; and here they were joined bythat portion of the Tectosages who had formerly returned from thedisastrous invasion of Greece. The Roman generals, Cepio and Manlius, who had advanced against them, were utterly routed, and great part ofthe province laid waste. From hence the Kimry penetrated into Spain, where they remained for two years, pillaging and wasting the country, till, having received a check from the Celtiberians, they repassed thePyrenees, and united with their confederated in the plains of Gaul. Theunited bands now prepared to march upon Italy; this they did in twodivisions: one, consisting of the Kimry and the Tigurines, directed itssteps through Helvetia and Norica and by the Tridentine Alps; while theother, consisting of the Ambrones and the Teutones, moved on the routewhich leads to Italy by the Maritime Alps: both divisions had appointeda common rendezvous on the banks of the Po. 

Rome was not unprepared for this invasion; to meet it, Marius had beenrecalled from his command in Africa, and invested with the consularpower. When the division of the Ambrones and the Teutones reached theMaritime Alps, they found that general encamped in a position which laydirectly in their line of march. Assaulted for three successive days, the Romans maintained themselves in their intrenchments: at last theGauls, giving up the attempt to force them, passed on and soon reachedAquæ Sextiæ, whither they were followed by Marius. Marius encamped on ahill opposite the quarter of the Ambrones; between them flowed a river. The sutlers of the Roman army having descended to obtain water, encountered, in the bed of the torrent, some Gauls. A skirmish began;the Ambrones flocked in great numbers to support their comrades; soonthey assembled their whole force and advanced upon the Romans. Incrossing the stream they were vigorously opposed by the auxiliaries. Marius, seeing the favourable opportunity, led down his legions to theattack. Unable to withstand the shock, the Ambrones were driven backwith great loss; the river ran red with their blood; the plain wascovered with fugitives; and their routed forces halted not till theyreached the neighbouring quarter of the Teutones. In their camp theRomans experienced more resistance from the women, who, rather than fallinto the hands of their enemies, flung themselves on the hostile ranks, or perished by their own hands. Marius drew off his troops before night, and retreated to his former position on the hill. The next night he sentround 3000 men to occupy a wood in the rear of the position of theTeutones. The following morning he drew out his legions in battle arrayupon the slope of the hill, and sent forward his cavalry to skirmishwith the enemy, and induce them to engage with him. They fell into thesnare: pursuing his cavalry, they advanced to the river's edge, andthere, in an evil hour, crossed it and attacked the Roman army. Thecontest which ensued was long and desperate; the Gauls had the advantagein numbers, the Romans in discipline and position. But while victorystill hung in the balance, the 3000 Romans, issuing forth from theirambuscade, fell upon the rear of the Teutones: this producedirremediable confusion in the ranks of the Gauls. The Romans redoubledthe energy of their attack, and the victory was no longer doubtful. Manyperished in the field, more in the pursuit; the remainder were cut offin detail by the peasants, who assailed them on all sides. 

Meanwhile the other divisions of the Gauls, consisting of the Kimry andthe Tigurines, after traversing Helvetia and Norica, arrived at theTridentine passes of the Alps at the end of winter. To keep possessionof these passes the Tigurines halted upon the summits of the ridge, while the Kimry, continuing their march, descended into the valley ofthe Adige. On their approach the consul Catulus, who was charged withthe defence of this part of Italy, retreated behind the Adige; and whenthe Gauls advanced to attack him, his legions were seized with such apanic, that, abandoning their camp, they fled, and halted not till theyhad placed the Po between themselves and the enemy. The Kimry now spreadthemselves over the whole territory beyond the Po, and occupied the landwithout opposition: here they determined to await the arrival of theother column. This delay saved Italy; for it afforded time for Mariusand his army to cross the Alps, and effect a junction with Catulus andhis troops. In the July of 101 B. C. , Marius and Catulus advanced to meetthe Kimry on the banks of the Po. On the 30th of July the hostile armiesmet to decide the fate of Italy in the Campus Ranolius. The battle whichensued was long and bloody; but overcome by the heat of the day and theimmense clouds of dust, and exposed by their imperfect defensive armourto all the strokes of the enemy, the Kimry were in the end totallydefeated. When the Romans, in the course of the pursuit, came to theircamp, the same scene occurred as that which took place at Aquæ Sextiæ;as the women, after defending themselves for some time, at last put anend to their existence with their own hands. On receiving news of thisdefeat, the Tigurines abandoned the passes of the Alps, and retreated totheir native country, Helvetia. Thus ended the last invasion of Italy bythe Gauls. Rome acknowledged the danger she had run by the gratitude shedisplayed to Marius, who received the title of the third Romulus, andhis triumph was celebrated with all the enthusiasm of a gratefulcountry. 

We pass in silence over the various occurrences in Gaul till we come tothe year 58 B. C. This was the year when Cæsar commenced his career ofvictory. His first achievement was the defeat of the Helvetii, who, rising _en masse_, wished to abandon their sterile country, and gain bythe sword a more fertile land. He next advanced against Ariovistus andhis Germans, who were ravaging with fire and sword the eastern portionsof Gaul: these he likewise totally routed--thus delivering theinhabitants from a withering scourge. But their joy at this event wassoon changed into sadness, when they saw that the Romans had nointention of retreating from their territory. Establishing himselfamongst the Sequanes, Cæsar levied contributions and collectedprovisions from all the neighbouring nations. Their discontent soonburst forth; they flew to arms, and prepared to make a desperate fightin defence of their liberties. We have no room to follow the Romanthrough his various campaigns; to trace the long and gallant stand madeby the Gauls in defence of their native land; or the great and admirablegenius of Cæsar, nowhere displayed so greatly as in his Gaulishcampaigns, though perfidy sometimes tainted his councils, and torrentsof innocent blood too often stained his arms. Suffice it to say, thatafter three campaigns, the north and west had submitted to his forces, and he had made his first descent on the British shores. In his fourthcampaign he undertook his second expedition against Britain, and subduedsome more of the continental tribes. But a general movement now tookplace over nearly the whole of Gaul against the Romans, who at firstsuffered some severe checks; but the military skill of Cæsar, in thecourse of a fifth campaign, again triumphed. Though so often vanquished, these brave people were not yet subdued. A new league was entered intoby their cities; the war broke out afresh; and an able general, Vercingeto-rix, now directed their movements. It was during the courseof his sixth campaign, which now followed, that Cæsar ran the greatestdanger and achieved the greatest triumphs. The surprise of Genatum, thecapture of Avaricum, seemed at first to promise a speedy victory to hisarms; but a repulse which he suffered before the walls of Geronia wasthe signal for the whole of Gaul to unite with the insurgents. A victorywhich he gained over Vercingeto-rix soon afterwards, checked for themoment, but did not dispirit, the Gauls; and the whole weight of the warwas soon collected around the ramparts of Alexia. Both parties felt thatthe contest which would now ensue must decide the fate of the campaign, and both made the most strenuous exertions to prepare for it. Thegigantic lines of Cæsar were soon surrounded by the whole force of theenemy, and a combined attack was made upon them both from within andwithout. Great and imminent was the peril; but the steadiness of thelegions, and the gallantry of their chief, surmounted it, and thebanners of Rome finally waved triumphant over the hard-fought field. Thefruits of this victory were immense. Alexia capitulated; the Gaulishnations who had been most active in the war submitted; andVercingeto-rix was given up to the conquerors. Yet was a great part ofthe country still unsubdued; and when in the ensuing year, B. C. 51, Cæsar took the field in his seventh and last campaign in this country, he found a powerful and numerous confederacy in arms. Taught by theexperience of the past, they no longer attempted to unite their wholeforces and defeat him in general engagements, but endeavoured to exhausthis resources, and wear out his troops by a protracted defensivewarfare. They fortified and garrisoned their towns so as to impose onhim the necessity of innumerable sieges; whilst the country, on hisline of march, was laid waste, and his troops were harassed by theincessant attacks of their skirmishers. But Cæsar overcame alldifficulties: if they met him in battle, they were vanquished; if theyretreated to their fortifications, they were driven from them byescalade; if they took refuge in their marshes, he pursued and overtookthem even there. Dispirited by these constant defeats, the Gauls, forthe last time, laid down their arms. The conquered territory wasorganized as a new province of the Roman empire, and Cæsar laboured toattach it to his person by the lenity and moderation of his government. In this he succeeded; nor had he ever reason to repent of having doneso; for, during the civil wars which raised him to the imperial power, he received no inconsiderable assistance from the courage and devotionof its inhabitants. Here, as a free people, ends the history of theGauls. We shall not follow M. Thierry in his account of the last periodof their annals, which embraces the subjugation of the Britons; theorganization of Gaul into a subject province; the gradual loss of theirnationality by its inhabitants; the spread of Roman manners and Romancivilization amongst them; their transition from an independent peopleto an integral part of the Roman empire. Here we take leave of them:their arms have just dropped from their hands; liberty has just fledfrom their shores; the fetters of conquest sit strangely on theirfree-born limbs; they have not yet learned the vices of a subject race:after having followed them in their career of conquest, and through thehard-fought struggle in their native land, we love not to dwell on thecrushing of their haughty spirit. 

Throughout the whole of his history, Thierry sustains the interest well;but nowhere is his narrative more animated than in his account of thewars of Cæsar; and no wonder, for a nobler field could not lie beforehim. His book is altogether one of the most curious and interestingwhich we possess on the history of ancient times. A great work it cannotbe called. M. Thierry is more a man of talent than of genius; andaccordingly, in his work, we are more struck with the interest of hisnarrative than with the profoundness of his reflections: it contains notthe philosophy of Guizot, nor the originality of Michelet, yet it is avaluable addition to modern literature. Would that we saw a few moresuch in our own country!

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _Histoire des Gaulois_, par M. AMADÉE THIERRY. 3 tomes. Paris: 1835. 

THE WITCHFINDER. 

CONCLUSION. 

At the upper end of the large Gothic room, forming the interior of thetown-hall of Hammelburg, which was formally prepared as a court oftrial, sat upon a raised part of the flooring in his chair of state, theOber-Amtmann; before him were placed, at a velvet-behung table, his_schreibers_ or secretaries; beside him sat, upon a low cushioned stool, his daughter, the fair Fraulein Bertha, surrounded by her tirewomen, whoremained standing behind her. 

The presence of the young Fraulein was of rare occurrence upon occasionsof judicial ceremony in the old town-hall. But a solemn appeal to hertestimony had been made by the witchfinder; and her father, whose senseof justice considered that a matter of accusation of so heavy andserious a nature as that of witchcraft, should be investigated in allits bearings, had commanded her presence. Her heart, full of the purestmilk of human kindness, revolted, however, from witnessing the progressof such terrible proceedings--the justice of which her simple mind, tutored according to the dark prejudices of the age, never once doubted, but which curdled her blood with horror. And she sat pale and sad, withdowncast eyes, scarcely daring to raise them upon the crowd that filledthe hall, much less upon the most conspicuous object in the scene beforeher--the unhappy being against whom all curses, all evil feelings, allinsane desires of blood and death, were then directed. Perhaps there wasanother reason also, which, almost unconsciously, caused her to keep hereyes fixed upon the earth; perhaps she feared that they might meet twoother mild blue eyes, the expression of which was that of a deep--fartoo deep--an interest; for it caused her heart to beat, and her spiritto be troubled; and her bosom to heave and sigh, she knew not wherefore:unless, indeed, she were, in truth, bewitched. 

In the centre of the hall was placed the accused woman. She was seatedupon a rude three-legged stool, which was firmly fixed upon a raisedflooring, elevated about three feet from the ground--her face turnedtowards her judge. A slight chain passed round the middle of her body, and fastened her down to her seat. She was still attired in the darkhood and cloak which had been her customary dress, and sat, with headbent downwards, and her hands clasped languidly upon her knees, as ifresigned, in the bitterness of her despair, to meet the cruel fate thatawaited her. 

Below, was a compact and turbulent crowd of the lower orders of thetown, which was with difficulty kept, by the pikemen, within the limitsassigned to it; and which, from time to time, let forth low howlsagainst the supposed sorceress, that increased, like the _crescendo_ ofdistant thunder, and then died away again. 

On either side, towards the upper end, were ranged upon benches some ofthe more reputable _bourgeois_ and their spouses, all decked out intheir finest braveries, as if they were present at a theatrical show, ora church mystery: and, in truth, the representation about to be given, was but little more in their own eyes, than a sort of show got up fortheir especial gratification. 

Guarded by two pikemen, stood the cripple--his teeth set firmly, although his lips quivered with excitement--his light eyes glaringfiercely around with an air of savage exultation, and gleaming, as itwere, with a pale phosphoric fire, from out of the dark ground of hisswarthy face and lank black hair. He moved restlessly and uneasily uponhis withered limbs, clenching by fits and starts his rosary from hisbosom, and murmuring a hasty, and--to judge by the wildness of his eyes, that showed how his mind was fixed upon far other thoughts--a vainprayer. He rolled also his head and the upper part of his bodycontinually backwards and forwards, like a wild beast fretting in hiscage. 

Among the more prominent of the crowd, whom the favour of the guardshad allowed to push beyond the assigned limits, or whom reasons, connected with the trial, required to come forwards, stood "GentleGottlob. " His brow was overclouded with sadness, for he felt in howfearful a pass this horrible denunciation had placed the woman whom hehad so long regarded with attachment. His mild blue eye was moremelancholy than of wont; and yet, in spite of the trouble of his mind, he was unable to withdraw his looks from that bright loadstone of hisaffections, whose sadness seemed to sympathize with his own. At least, his heart would fain persuade him that there was mysterious sympathy intheir mutual dejection. 

The principal personages concerned in the awful question at issue, occupied, thus, their respective positions in the old town-hall; when, after a long and troubled pause, during which silence was withdifficulty obtained among the more tumultuous portion of the crowd atthe lower end of the hall, one of the _schreibers_ rose, and read, froman interminable strip of parchment which he held in his hand, the act ofaccusation against the female known under the popular designation of"Mother Magdalena, " as attainted of the foul crime of witchcraft, of thecasting of spells and malefices to the annoyance and destruction of herfellow-creatures, of consorting with spirits of darkness, and oflascivious intercourse with the arch-fiend himself. For so ran, at thattime, the tenor of the accusation directed against the unhappy womensuspected of this imaginary crime. 

The act of accusation was long, and richly interlarded with all thoseinterminable complications of legal phraseology, which seem ever, at alltimes, and in all nations, to have been the necessary concomitants ofall legal proceedings. The reading of the act, however, being at lastterminated, the town-beggar, commonly known by the familiar name ofBlack Claus the witchfinder, Schwartzer-Claus, or Claus Schwartz, as hewas usually designated among the people, was summoned to stand forwardas the denouncer of the aforesaid Magdalena, and to substantiate hischarge. 

Thus called upon, the cripple gave a start forward, like a lion letloose upon the gladiator's arena, through the barred gates of which hehas already sniffed the odour of blood; and then, raising one of hislong arms towards the stool of penitence, on which the criminal had beenplaced, he again repeated, with an eagerness amounting to frenzy, hisaccusation against her. 

As the witchfinder's hoarse voice was heard, a visible shudder passedthrough Magdalena's frame; but she raised not her head, moved not alimb, spoke not; and it was only when called upon by the chief_schreiber_ to declare what she had to say against this accusation, thatshe lowly murmured--"God's will be done!" but still with bowed head anddowncast eyes. 

In support of his denunciation, the cripple proceeded to state how hehad watched the mysterious female called "Mother Magdalena, " and hadobserved that she never would enter any consecrated building; how shewould daily advance up the steps of the church, and then pause beforethe threshold, as if she feared to pass it, and then throw herself downupon the stones before the gate, where she would lie in strangeconvulsions, and at last return without having penetrated into thebuilding--an evident proof that the devil she served had forbidden herto put her foot into any sacred dwelling, but had taught her, nevertheless, to approach near enough to treat the awful mysteries ofthe Christian religion, performed within, with mockery and contempt. Tothis accusation, which was confirmed by the acclamation of severalpersons present in the court, Magdalena, when called upon to speak, proffered no denial; she contented herself with the meek reply, that Godalone knew the motives of the heart--that it was for him alone to judge. The words were still uttered in the same low despairing tone, andwithout the slightest movement of her head from its sunken posture. 

The partially monastic dress, which was her habitual attire, was nextbrought forward against her as a proof of her desire to treat withcontempt the dress of the religious orders: and to this absurdaccusation, when asked why she had adopted a costume resembling that ofthe holy sisterhood of penitents, the old woman still refused any reply. 

The events of the previous afternoon, when she had been openly seen tothrow her staff at the Amtmann's unoffending daughter, and wound her onthe neck, and then break into pieces the image of the Holy Cross, werethen recapitulated, as facts known upon the positive evidence of ahundred witnesses. 

These matters disposed of, the cripple proceeded to detail his ownpeculiar grievances, and attributed, as he had done in the cases of theseven unhappy women who had already fallen victims of his franticdelusion, the severe pains that had racked his poor distorted limbs tothe malefic charms of the sorceress. He related how, on the last nighton which he had met Mother Magdalena, he had found her sitting by thewell in the market-place, casting a spell upon the spring, and turningthe waters to poison and blood--as a proof of which, he swore to havehimself tasted in the water of the bucket the taste of blood; how, inrevenge for his warning to her to desist from her foul practices, shehad pointed up her finger to the sky, and immediately brought down uponhis head all the combined waters of heaven; how she had vanished fromhis sight in this storm, he knew not how; and how immediately intensepains began to torture his joints, until he became half frantic withagony, and had been compelled, by hideous visions, to quit the shelterhe had sought, in order to be exposed to all the peltings of the storm. He had since suffered, he declared, the tortures of the damned in allhis limbs, with occasional fits of shuddering, sometimes of hot fever, sometimes of the most freezing cold, which were evidently tormentsworked upon him by the powers of darkness. And as he spoke, the unhappywretch was again seized by one of his fearful fits of ague, during theconvulsions of which the clamours of the crowd grew terrible against thesorceress. 

"What sayest thou to this accusation, woman?" said the chief_schreiber_. "Thou see'st how even now he suffers. "

"I have never willed evil to any man--not even to him, " was Magdalena'sonly reply. 

When recovered from his fit, the cripple again raised his head--it wasto cast a glance at the object of his denunciation, in which hatred andtriumph were blended together, in one of those occasional flashes ofwildness which showed that there was a vein of insanity running throughall the frenzied zeal of the witchfinder. He had now arrived at a periodof his narration, when the most damning proof of all was to overwhelmthe accused woman. 

It was not without an unaffected expression of horror, that he went onto relate how he had wandered around the building by the Watergate, in alower cell of which he had discovered that she dwelt, seeking in vain tofind an entrance or a peep-hole, that might enable him to penetrate intothe interior; how he had, at last, dragged his crippled limbs up into atree upon the river's bank, overlooking an upper chamber of thebuilding; how he had, at first, seen Mother Magdalena in conversationwith the young illuminator; how, upon his departure, she had flungherself down upon her knees, and after spitting upon one of the books ofholy writ upon the table, had made wild gestures of conjuration, uponwhich the demon himself, attired in a dark robe, had suddenly appearedby supernatural means, for he had not entered by the door; how the foulhag had fallen down and worshipped the arch-fiend; and how, after aconference of short duration, during which the woman at his feetappeared to supplicate with earnestness, probably a prolongation of herwretched term of power to work ill, and afterwards kissed his hand intoken of adoration and submission, the demon had vanished as suddenly ashe had appeared. 

A low murmur of horror ran through the assembly, as Black Claus relatedthis fearful story. All eyes were turned upon the handmaiden of Satan. For a moment she had raised her head, horror-struck at thisinterpretation of the interview she had in Gottlob's chamber with thestranger--for a moment she seemed to have a desire to speak. But then, clasping her hands before her face, she murmured--"O God! it cannot be!But this is terrible!"

Gottlob, who, during the whole accusation, had listened with muchimpatience, could now no longer restrain his generous feelings. Hestarted forward with the words--"No, no, it is impossible! Speak, Magdalena--say how false is this man's tale. "

"God knows that it is false!" said Magdalena. 

"I knew it could not be. There could be no one with thee in my chamber, and he lies. "

"No, " replied Magdalena sadly, "thus far is true:--There was a strangerby me in your chamber. "

"But who then?--speak, Magdalena, " urged Gottlob. "Clear yourself of thefoul stigma of his tale. "

"I may not say!" replied the unhappy woman. "But God will prove myinnocence in His own right time. "

"Why hesitate, " again cried the eager young man, "when with a word youcould disprove him?"

"I have already said it cannot be, " said the accused woman, sinking herhead upon her breast. 

Gottlob himself drew back with a shudder; for a moment he knew not whatto think; the strange answers of Magdalena perplexed and troubled him. He began himself to doubt of the woman, who, in return for hisbenevolence, had showed him the attachment of a mother. He pulled hiscloak over his face with both his hands, and stood for a timeoverwhelmed. 

"It needs no further questions upon this point, I presume, " said thechief _schreiber_, turning to the Ober-Amtmann. "The wretched woman hasalready admitted a part of the truth;" and, with a sign to thedenouncer, he bade him proceed. 

The witchfinder paused for a moment, and gave one long look oftenderness and pity--as far, indeed, as his harsh, rudely-stampedfeatures could express such feelings--at the pale face of Bertha. Then, fixing his eye keenly upon the Ober-Amtmann, as if to fascinate hisattention, he burst into a fresh accusation against the sorceress, ashaving, in the first place, cast her spells upon the noble FrauleinBertha, for the purpose of sowing the seeds of death within her frame;and as having, in the second place, employed the young man called"Gentle Gottlob" to be an involuntary agent in her work of ill. 

Upon hearing the first part of this charge, Magdalena had raised herhead to give, unconsciously as it were, a deprecating look at the fairgirl--as if to assure her, with that one long concentrated look of deepfeeling, that, far from desiring her evil, she contended only with theoverpourings of kindness and love for her; and then, as though she hadalready expressed more than her conscience could approve, she bowedagain her head, murmuring only--"O God! support me. Thou knowest howfalse is the raving of that wretched man. " The second part of the chargeexcited other and very varied feelings among those present. Magdalenaagain started, but with evident surprise, and made a hasty gesture ofdenial. Gottlob sprang forward, horrified at being thus involved, evenas an involuntary agent, in the hideous denunciation, and indignant atthe supposition that he could work ill to the Amtmann's lovely daughter;and he protested, with all the vehemence which gentle natures, whenroused into excitement, will display, against so unfounded andcalumnious an accusation; whilst Bertha, joining together her smallhands, as if in supplication, turned her face, with anxious expression, to her father, crying--"No, no--it cannot be!"

Astounded at so unexpected a revelation, the Ober-Amtmann seemed atfirst not to know what to think. He gazed alternately upon Gottlob andBertha, as if to read upon their faces the secret of a connexion betweenthem; and then, satisfied of the impossibility that the nobleOber-Amtmann's daughter could have the slightest affinity with theunknown youth before him, he drew a long breath, and passed his handover his brow, as if to drive away ideas so absurd. 

"Peace, youth--peace!" he cried to Gottlob; "we will hear thee anon. Itis not thou who art accused. And thou, my child be calm. Cripple! whatmean thy words? What proof bringest thou of their truth?"

"Ask of the suffering angel by thy side, my noble lord, " replied thecripple with emotion. "Let her tell how, of late, her cheek has grownpale, her limbs have become weary, her very life's-blood languid andoppressed. I have watched her day by day, and I have seen these changes. I have watched her with a careful and a cunning eye; and I havefelt--there, in my heart--that the spell was upon her: and this it wasthat urged me to denounce that wretched hag. "

"Speak, my child, " said the Ober-Amtmann, in trouble and anxiety. "Whatthis man says, is it true? Hast thou suffered lately? Indeed, I doremember thy cheek has been paler than of wont--thy appetite has leftthee--thou hast been no longer so cheerful or so active as of old. Speak, my child--hast thou really suffered?"

"Oh, no! my father, I have not suffered, " replied the agitated girl inmuch confusion; "and yet I have not been as formerly I was. I have beensad, I knew not why, and wept in the silence of my chamber withoutcause; and I have found no pleasure in my embroidery, nor in my flowers, nor in my falcons. I have felt my foot fall weary. I have sought torest, and yet, when reposing, I have felt unable to remain in quiet, andI have longed for exercise abroad. But yet I have not suffered; andsometimes I have even hugged with pleasure the trouble of my mind andbody. "

"These seem, indeed, the symptoms of a deadly spell upon thee, my poorchild, " exclaimed her father. "Such, they say, are the first evidencesof the working of those charms that witches breathe over their victims. "

"And let the Fraulein Bertha tell, " cried the witchfinder, "how it hasbeen yonder youth who has seemed to exercise this influence of ill uponher. "

Again Gottlob sought to spring forward and speak; but a sign from theOber-Amtmann to the guards caused them to place their pikes before him, and arrest him in his impulse. 

"How and what is this, my child?" said the Ober-Amtmann. "Knowest thouthat youth? and in what has he, consciously or unconsciously, done theeill?"

"He has done me no ill, " replied the innocent girl in still greaterconfusion, as her bosom heaved, and the blood suffused her cheeks. "I amsure he would not do me ill for all the treasures of the world!"

"Thou knowest him then?" said her father, somewhat more sternly. 

"No, I know him not, " replied Bertha in trouble; "but I have met himsometimes in my path, and I have seen him"--she hesitated for a moment, and then added, with downcast eyes, "at his window, which overlooks ourgarden. "

"Why then this trouble, Bertha?" continued the Ober-Amtmann, in a tonethat rendered their conversation inaudible beyond their own immediatecircle. 

"I cannot tell myself, my father. I feel troubled and sad, it is true;and yet I know not why. I have no cause"----

"And when thou hast met yonder youth, as thou sayest, hast thou feltthis trouble before?"

"Alas! yes, my father. I remember now that at his aspect my heart wouldbeat; my head grow giddy, and my ears would tingle; and then a faintnesswould come over me, as though it were a pain I felt, and yet it was apleasant pain. There was nothing in him that could cause me ill; wasthere, father?"

The Ober-Amtmann's brow grew dark as Bertha proceeded; but, after amoment's reflection, he murmured to himself--"Love! oh, no! It isimpossible! She and he! The noble's daughter and the low-born youngster. It could not be! There is no doubt! Witchcraft has been at work! Howlong has it been thus with thee, my child?" he added with solicitude. 

"I cannot tell, my father. Some five or six months past it came upon me. I know not when or how!"

"Bears he no charm upon him?" exclaimed the Ober-Amtmann aloud. 

"He bears a charm upon him!" cried the witchfinder in triumph. "And askwho bound it round his neck?"

"It is false! I bear no charm!" cried Gottlob eagerly. "She herselfdenied that it was such. "

"Of what does he speak?" cried the Ober-Amtmann. 

"It was but a gift of affection, and no charm. She gave me this ring, "said Gottlob, pointing to the ring hung by a small riband round hisneck; "and I have worn it, as she requested, in remembrance of someunworthy kindness I had shown her. "

"And how long since was it, " enquired the Ober-Amtmann, "that shebestowed this supposed gift upon you?"

"Some five or six months past, " was Gottlob's unlucky answer; "not longafter I first brought her to reside with me in my poor dwelling. "

During this examination the agitation of Magdalena had become extreme;and when, upon the Ober-Amtmann's command that the ring should be handedup to him, Gottlob removed it from his neck, and gave it into the handsof one of the guards, she cried, in much excitement, "No, no; give itnot, Gottlob!"

The ring, however, was passed on to the Ober-Amtmann; and Magdalena, covering her face with her hands, fell back, with a stifled groan, intoher former crouching position. 

The sight of the ring seemed indeed to have the power of a necromancer'scharm upon the Ober-Amtmann. No sooner had his eyes fallen upon it, thanhis cheek grew pale--his usually severe and stern face was convulsedwith agitation--and he sank back in his chair with the low cry, "Thatring! O God! After so many years of dearly-sought oblivion!"

At the sight of the Ober-Amtmann's agitation and apparent swoon, a howlof execration burst from the crowd below, mingled with the cries of"Tear the wretch in pieces! She has poisoned him! Tear her in pieces!"Consternation prevailed through the whole assembly. Bertha sprang to herfather's side; but the Ober-Amtmann quickly rallied. He waved hisdaughter back with the remark, "It was nothing--it is past;" and raisinghimself in his chair, looked again upon the ring. 

"There is no doubt, " he murmured, "it is that same ring--that Arabicring, brought me from the East, and which I gave--oh, no!--impossible!"he hurriedly exclaimed, as a horrible thought seemed to cross him. "Shehas been dead many years since. Did not my own brother assure me of herdeath? It cannot be!"

After a moment's pause to recover from his agitation, he gave orders toone of the guards to remove the hood from Magdalena's head, that hemight see her features. With the crooked end of a pike's head, one ofthem tore back her hood; while another, with the staff of his pike, forced her hands asunder. Magdalena's careworn and prematurely witheredface was exposed to the gaze of all, distorted with emotion. 

"Less rudely, varlets!" cried the Ober-Amtmann, with a feeling of suddenforbearance towards the wretched woman which surprised all present; forthey could not but marvel at the slightest symptom of considerationtoward such an abhorred outcast of humanity as a convicted witch; and assuch the miserable Magdalena was already regarded. 

For a moment the Ober-Amtmann considered Magdalena's careworn, withered, and agitated face with painful attention; and then, as if relieved fromsome terrible apprehension, he heaved a bitter sigh, and murmured tohimself--"No, no, there is no trace of that once well-known face. I knewit could not be. She is no more. It was a wild and foolish thought! butthis ring--'tis strange! Woman, dost thou know me?" he asked aloud, withsome remaining agitation. 

"I know you not, " replied Magdalena with a low and choked voice; for shenow trembled violently, and the tears gushed from her eyes. 

"How camest thou then by this ring? Speak! I command thee, " continuedthe Ober-Amtmann. 

Magdalena bowed her head with a gesture of refusal to answer any furtherquestion. 

"Wretched woman! Hast thou violated the repose of the dead? Hast thoutorn it from the grave? How else came it in thy possession?"

The unhappy woman replied not. She had again covered her face with herhands, and the tears streamed through her meagre fingers. 

"Speak, I tell thee! This ring has conjured up such recollections, thatwere there but one human link between thee and one who has long sincerested from all sorrow in the grave, it might ensure thy safety. "

No answer was returned by Magdalena; although, to judge by the convulsedmovement of her body, the struggle within must have been bitter andheavy to bear. 

"Die then in thy obstinacy, miserable woman, " cried the Ober-Amtmann ina suppressed voice--"Let justice take its course!"

"Denouncer!" said the chief _schreiber_ to the witchfinder, "hast thoufurther evidence to offer?"

"Needs it more to convict a criminal of the foul and infernal practicesof witchcraft?" cried Black Claus with bitterness. 

The chief _schreiber_ turned to the Ober-Amtmann, as if to consult hiswill. For a moment the Ober-Amtmann passed one hand across his brow, asthough to sweep away the dark visions that were hovering about it; andthen, waving the other, as if he had come to a resolution which had costhim pain, said with stern solemnity--"Let the workers of the evil deedsof Satan perish, until the earth be purged of them all. "

This customary formula implied the condemnation of the supposedsorceress. 

"To the stake! to the stake!" howled the crowd, upon hearing thedelivery of this expected sentence. 

After enjoining silence, which was with difficulty enforced, the chief_schreiber_ rose, and addressed to Magdalena the accustomed question, "Woman, dost thou demand the trial by water, and God's issue by thattrial?"

"I demand but to die in peace, " replied the miserable woman; "and God'swill be done!"

"She refuses the trial by water, " said the chief _schreiber_, in orderto establish the fact, which was put down in writing by the adjuncts. 

"To the stake! to the stake!" howled the crowd. 

"And hast thou nothing to urge against the justice of thy sentence?"asked the official questioner. 

"Justice!" cried Magdalena, with a start, which caused the chain aroundher waist to clank upon the wretched stool on which she sat. "Justice!"she cried in a tone of indignation. For a moment the earthly spiritrevolted. But it gleamed only for an instant. "May God pardon my unjustjudge the sins of his youth, "--she paused, and added, "as I forgive himmy cruel death!" With these words, the last spark of angry feeling wasextinguished for ever. "May God pardon him, as well as those who havethus cruelly witnessed against me; and may He bless him, and all thosewho are most near and dear to him, " she continued--her voice, as shespoke, growing gradually more subdued, until it was lost and choked inconvulsive sobbings. 

Again a thrill of horror passed through the Ober-Amtmann; for the soundof the voice seemed to revive in his mind memories of the past, andrecall a vision he had already striven to dispel from it. His frameshuddered, and again he fell back in his chair. 

"It is a delusion of Satan!" he muttered, pressing his hands to hisears, and closing his eyes. 

Bertha's eyes streamed with tears; her pitying heart was tortured bythis scene of sadness. 

"Blessings instead of curses upon those who have condemned her! Can thatbe guilt?" said gentle Gottlob to himself. "Can that be the spirit ofthe malicious and revengeful agent of the dark deeds of Satan? No--sheis innocent; and I will still save her, if human means can save!"

After thus parleying with himself, Gottlob began to struggle to make hisway from the court. 

"The blessings of the servants of the fiend are bitter curses, " said theinfatuated witchfinder, on the other hand; "and she has blessed me. Godstand by me!"

"To the stake!--to the stake!" still howled the pitiless, thebloodthirsty crowd. 

The refusal of the unhappy Magdalena to abide by the issue of thewell-known trial by water, had so much abridged the customaryproceedings, that orders were given, and preparations made, for theexecution of the ultimate punishment for the crime of witchcraft--burningat the stake--shortly after daybreak on the morrow. 

It was yet night--a short hour before the breaking of the dawn. The pilehad been already heaped in the market-place of Hammelburg--the stakefixed. All was in readiness for the hideous performance about to takeplace. The guards paced backwards and forwards before the grateddoorway, which opened under the terrace of the old town-hall; for there, in that miserable hole, was confined the wretched victim of populardelusion. The soldiers kept watch, however, upon their prisoner at sucha distance as to be as far as possible out of the reach of her maleficspells. The heavy clanking of their pikes, as they rested them from timeto time upon the pavement, or paused to interchange a word, alone brokethe silence of the still sleeping town--sleeping, to awake shortly likea tiger thirsty for blood. The light of a waning moon showedindistinctly the dark mass in the centre of the market-place--the stageupon which the frightful tragedy was about to be enacted--when one ofthe sentinels all at once turning his head in that direction, descried adark form creeping around the pile, as if examining it on all sides. 

"What's that?" he cried in alarm to his comrade, pointing to this darkobject. "Is it the demon himself, whom she has conjured up, and who nowcomes to deliver her? All good spirits"--and he crossed himself withhurried zeal. 

"Praise the Lord!" continued the other, completing the usual German formof exorcism, and crossing himself no less devoutly. 

"Challenge him, Hans!" said the first; "at the sound of a Christianvoice, mayhap, he may vanish away; and thou art ever boasting to FatherPeter that thou are the most Christian man of thy company. "

"Challenge him thyself, " replied Hans, in a voice that did not say muchfor the firmness of his conscience as a Christian. 

"Let's challenge him both at once, " proposed the other soldier. "Perhaps, between us, we may muster up goodness enough to drive the foulfiend before us. "

"Agreed!" replied Hans, with somewhat better courage; and upon thisjoint-stock company principle of piety, both the soldiers raised theirvoices at once, and cried, in a somewhat quavering duet, "Who goesthere?"

A hoarse laugh was the only answer received to this challenge; and thedark form seemed to advance towards them across the market-place. 

So great appeared the modesty of each of the soldiers with regard to hisappreciation of his own merits as a good Christian--so little hisconfidence in his own powers of holiness to wrestle with the fiend ofdarkness in the shape which now approached them--that they seemeddisposed rather humbly to quit the field, than encounter Sir Apollyon inso glorious a contest; when the dim light of the moon revealed thefigure, as it came forward, to be that of the witchfinder. 

"It is Claus Schwartz!" said Hans, taking breath. 

"Or the devil in his form, " pursued his fellow-sentinel with morecaution. "Stand back!" he shouted, as the witchfinder came within a fewyards, "and declare who thou art. "

"Has the foul hag within there bewitched thee?" cried Black Claus; "orhas she smitten thee with blindness? Canst thou not see? The night isnot so dark but good men may know each other. "

"What wouldst thou here?" said Master Hans, completely recovered fromhis spiritual alarm. 

"I cannot rest, " replied the witchfinder with bitterness. "Until herlast ashes shall have mingled with the wind, I shall take no repose, body or mind. I cannot sleep; or, if I close my eyes, visions of thehideous hags, who have already perished there, float before mydistracted eyes. It is she that murders my rest, as she has tormented mypoor limbs--curses on her! But a short hour, a short hour more, and shetoo shall feel all the tortures of hell--tortures worse than those shehas inflicted on the poor cripple. The flames shall rise, and lap herbody round--the bright red flames. Her members shall writhe upon thestake. The screams of death shall issue from her blackened lips; untilthe lurid smoke shall have wrapped her it its dark winding-sheet, andstifled the last cry of her parting soul, as it flies to meet itsinfernal master in the realms of darkness. Oh, it will be a glorioussight!" And the cripple laughed, with an insane laugh of malice andrevenge, which made the soldiers shudder in every limb, and draw backfrom him with horror. 

It seemed as if the fever of his excitement had pressed so powerfully onhis brain as to have driven him completely into madness. After a moment, however, he pulled his rosary from his bosom, and kissed it, adding, ina calmer tone, "Yes, it will be a glorious sight--for it will be for thecause of the Lord, and of his holy church. "

Little as they comprehended the witchfinder's raving, the soldiers againcrossed themselves, and looked upon him with a sort of awe. 

"What wouldst thou?" said one of them, as Claus advanced towards theprison door. 

"I would look upon her, there--in her prison, " said the cripple, with anexpression that denoted a malicious eagerness to gloat upon his victim. 

The soldiers interchanged glances with one another, as if they doubtedwhether such a permission ought to be allowed to the witchfinder. 

"Ah, bah!" said Hans. "It is not he that will aid her to escape. Let himpass. They'll make a fine sport with one another, the witchfinder andthe witch--dog and cat. Zist, zist!" continued the young soldier, laughing and making a movement and a sound as if setting on the twoabove-mentioned animals to worry each other. 

"Take care, " said his more scrupulous companion. "Jest not with suchawful work. Who knows but it may be blasphemy; and what would FatherPeter say?"

The two sentinels continued their pacing up and down, but still at somedistance from the prison doorway, in order, as Hans's companionexpressed it, "to keep as much as possible out of the devil's clutches;"while Black Claus approached the grating of the door. 

As the witchfinder peered, with knitted brow, through the bars of thegrating, it seemed to him at first, so complete was the darkness within, as though the cell was tenantless; and his first movement was to turn, in order to warn the guards of the escape of their prisoner. But as heagain strained his eyes, he became at last aware of the existence of adark form upon the floor of the cell; and as by degrees his sight becamemore able to penetrate the obscurity within, he began plainly toperceive the form of the miserable woman, crouched on her knees upon thedamp slimy pavement of the wretched hole. She was already dressed in thesackcloth robe of the penitents condemned to the stake, and her poorgrey hairs were without covering. So motionless was her form that for amoment the witchfinder thought she was dead, and had fallen together inthe position in which she had knelt down; and the thought was like aknife in his revengeful heart, that she might thus have escaped thetortures prepared for her, and thwarted the gratification of his insaneand hideous longings. A second thought suggested to him that she wassleeping. But this conjecture was scarcely less agonizing to him thanthe former. That she, the sorceress, should sleep and be at rest, whilsthe, her victim, could find no sleep, no rest, no peace, body or mind, was more than his bitter spirit could bear. He shook the bars of thedoor with violence, and called aloud, "Magdalena!"

"Is my hour already come?" said the wretched woman, raising her head soimmediately as to show how far sleep was from her eyelids. 

"No, thou hast got an hour to enjoy the torments of thy own despair, "laughed the witchfinder, with bitter irony. 

"Let me, then, be left in peace, and my last prayers be undisturbed, "said Magdalena. 

"In order that thou mayst pray to the devil thou servest to deliverthee!" pursued Black Claus, with another mocking laugh. "Ay--pray--pray;but it will be in vain. He is an arch-deceiver, the fiend, thy master. He promises and fulfils not. He offers tempting wages to those who sellto him their souls, and then deserts his servants in the hour oftrouble. So prayed all the filthy hags who sat there before thee, Magdalena; but they prayed in vain. "

"Leave me, wretched man!" said Magdalena, who now became aware that itwas the cripple who addressed her. "Hast thou not sufficiently sated thythirst for evil, that thou shouldst come to torment me in my lastmoments? Go! tempt not the bitterness of my spirit in this supreme hourof penitence and prayer. Go! for I have forgiven thee; and I would notcurse thee now. "

"I defy thy curses, witch of hell!" cried the cripple with franticenergy. "Already the first pale streaks of dawn begin to flicker in theeast. A little time, and thy power to curse will be no more; a littletime, and nothing will remain of thee but a heap of noisome ashes; and aname, which will be mingled with that of the arch-enemy of mankind, inthe execrations of thy victims--a name to be remembered with horror anddisgust--as that of the foul serpent--in the thoughts of the tormentedcripple, and of the pure angel of brightness, upon whom thou hast soughtto work evil and death. "

"O God! make not this hour of trial too hard for me to bear!" exclaimedthe unhappy woman; and then, raising her clasped hands to Claus inbitter expostulation, she cried, "Man! what have I done to harm thee, that thou shouldst heap these coals of fire on my soul?"

"What thou hast done to harm me?" cried the witchfinder. "Hast thou nottormented my poor cripple limbs with thy infernal spells? Hast thou notcaused me to suffer the tortures of the damned? But it is not vengeancethat I seek. No--no. I have vowed a holy vow--I have sworn to spend mylife in the good task of purging from the earth such workers of evil asthou, and those who served the fiend by their foul sorceries, were iteven at the risk of exposing my body to pain and suffering, and evendeath, from the revengeful malice of their witchcrafts. And God knows Ihave suffered in the holy cause. "

And the cripple clenched again within his right hand, the image attachedto the rosary in his bosom, as if to satisfy himself by its contact ofthe truth and right of those deeds, which he strove to qualify as holy. 

"What thou, or such as thou, have done to harm me!" he continued withbitter spite. "I will tell thee, hag! I was once a young and happy boy. I was strong and well-favoured then. I had a father--a passionate but akind man; and I had a mother, whom I loved beyond all created things. She was the joy of my soul--the pride of my boyish dreams. I was happythen, I tell thee. I called myself by another name. No matter what itwas. Black Claus is the avenger's name, and he will cleave to it. Oneday there came an aged beggar-woman to our cottage, and begged. Mymother heeded her not. I know not why; for she was ever kind. My fatherdrove her from the door; and, as she turned away, she cursed us all. Inever can forget that moment, nor the terror of my youthful mind, as Iheard that curse. And the curse clave to us; for she--_was a witch_; andit came upon us soon and bitterly. My mother was in the pride of herbeauty still, when a gay noble saw her in her loveliness, and paid hercourt. Then came a horrible night, when the witch's curse was fearfullyfulfilled. My father was jealous. He attacked the young noble as he cameby the darkness of night; and it was he--my father--who was killed. Isaw him die, weltering in his blood. My poor mother, too, was spiritedaway; the fell powers of witchcraft dragged her from that bloody hearth. Yes; witchcraft it was--it must have been; for she was too pure and goodto listen to the voice of the seducer--to follow her husband's murderer. She died, probably, of grief--my poor wretched mother; for I never sawher more. For days and nights I sought her, but in vain; suffering coldand hunger, and sleeping oft-times in the cold woods and dank morasses. Then fell the witches curse on _me_ also; and I began to suffer thesepains, which thy foul tribe have never ceased to inflict upon me since. The tortures of the body were added to the tortures of the mind. Mylimbs grew distorted and withered. I became the outcast of humanity Inow am; and then it was I vowed a vow to pursue, even unto death, allthose hideous lemans of Satan, who, like her who cursed us, sell theirwretched souls but to work evil, and destruction, and death to theirfellow-creatures. And I have kept my vow!"

In spite of herself, Magdalena had been obliged to listen to thewitchfinder's tale, which, with his face pressed against the iron barsof the grating, he poured, with harsh voice, into her unwilling ear. Ashe proceeded, however, she appeared fascinated by the words he uttered, as the poor quivering bird is fascinated by the serpent's eye. Hereyeballs were distended--her arms still outstretched towards him, as shehad first raised them to him in her cry of expostulation; but the handswere desperately clenched together--the arms stiffened with the extremetension of the nerves. 

"Oh no!" she murmured to herself as he yet spoke; "that were toohorrible!" and when he paused, it was with a smothered scream of agony, still mixed with doubt, that she cried "Karl!"

"Karl!" repeated the witchfinder, clenching the bars with still firmergrasp, and raising himself with the effort to the full height of hisstature, as though his limbs had on a sudden recovered all theirstrength--"Karl! Ay, that was my name! How dost thou know it, woman?"

"O God!" exclaimed the wretched tenant of the cell, "was my cup ofbitterness not yet full? Hast thou reserved me this?" She wrung herhands in agony, and then, looking again at the cripple, cried in a toneof concentrated misery, "Karl! they told me that thou wast dead--thatthou, too, hadst died after that night of horrors!"

"Who art thou, woman?" cried the cripple again, with an accent ofhorror, as if a frightful thought had for the first time forced itselfupon his brain. "Who art thou, that thou speakest to me thus, andfreezest the very marrow of my bones with fear? Who art thou that criest'Karl' with such a voice--a voice that now comes back upon my ear, as ifit were a damning memory of times gone by? Who art thou woman?--speak!Let not this dreadful thought, that blasts me like lightning, strike meutterly to the earth. "

"Who I am?" sobbed the miserable woman. "Thy wretched and guilty mother, Karl!"

"Guilty!" shouted the cripple. "Then thou art not she! My mother was notguilty--she was all innocence and truth!"

"I am thy guilty mother, Karl, " repeated the kneeling woman, "who hasstriven, by long years of penitence and prayer, to expiate the past. Alas, in vain! for Heaven refuses the expiation, since it has reservedthe wretched penitent this last, most fearful blow of all!"

"Thou!--oh no!--say it not! Thou my mother!" cried the witchfinder. 

"Thy mother--Margaret Weilheim!"

"Horrible!--most horrible!" repeated the agonized son, letting go thebars, and clasping his bony hands over his face. "Thou, my once belovedmother, the wretched being of misery and sin--the accomplice of thespirits of darkness--and _I_ thy denouncer! O God! This is some fearfuldelusion!"

"The delusion is in thy own heart, my poor, distracted, infatuated son, "pursued the miserable mother. "Happy and blessed were I, were no greaterguilt upon my soul than that of the crime for which I am this daycondemned to die. Bitter it is to die; but I had accepted all as thewill of Him above, and he knows my innocence of all dealings with thepowers of hell. "

"Innocent!" cried the witchfinder in frightful agitation. "Were itpossible! And is it I, thy own child, who strikes the blow--I, who amthy murderer--I, who, to avenge the mother, have condemned the mother tothe stake? Horrible! And yet those proofs--those fearful proofs!"

"Hear me, for my time is short now in this world, " said the poor woman, known by the name of Magdalena. "I will not tell thee how I listened tothe voice of the serpent, and how I fell. My pride in my fatal beautywas my pitfall. All that the honied words of passion and persuasioncould effect was used to lure me on to my destruction--and at last Ifled with my seducer. I knew not then, I swear to thee, Karl--God knowshow bitterly it costs the mother to reveal her shame to her own son; butbitter if it be, she accepts is as an expiation, and she will notdeceive him--I swear to thee, I knew not then that thy father had fallenin that unhappy night, and had fallen by the hand of him whom I madlyfollowed. It was long after that the news reached me, and had nearlydriven me distracted. The same tale told me, but falsely, the death ofmy first-born--my Karl. Remorse had long since tortured my heart. I wasnot happy with the lover of my choice--I never had been happy with him;but now the stings of my conscience became too strong to bear. Tormentedby my bitter self-reproaches, I decided upon quitting my seducer, whohad long proved cold and heartless. But I had borne him a child--adaughter; and to quit my offspring, the only child left to me, wasagony; to take it with me, to bear it away to partake a life of povertyand wretchedness, was still greater agony to the mother's mind. Thegreat man who was its father--for he was of noble rank, and highlyplaced--when he found me determined to leave him and the world forever--and he saw me part from him, the heartless one, withoutregret--offered to adopt my darling infant as his legitimate child; tobring it up to all the honours, wealth, and consideration of the world;to ensure it that earthly happiness the mother's heart yearned to giveit. But, as I have told thee, he was cold and worldly-minded, and heexacted from me an oath--a cruel oath--that I never should own my childagain--that I never should address it as my offspring--that I nevershould utter the word 'daughter, ' never hear the cry of 'mother' fromits lips. He would not that his daughter, the noble Fraulein, should bebrought to shame, by being acknowledged as the offspring of a peasantwife. All I desired was the welfare--the happiness--of my child. 

"I stifled all the more selfish feelings of a mother's heart and Iconsented. I took that oath. I kissed my child for the last time, andtore myself away. I hoped to die; but God reserved me for a long andbitter expiation of my sin. I still found upon earth, however, one kindand pitying friend. He was the brother of my noble lover, and himselfamong the highest in the land. He was a priest; and, in his compassion, he found me refuge in a convent, where, though I deemed myself unworthyto receive the veil, I assumed the dress of the humblest penitent, andtook the name of the repentant one--the name of Magdalen. I desired tocut myself off completely from the world; and I permitted the father ofmy child to believe a report that I was no more. In the humility of mybitter repentance, I vowed never to pass the gates of the holy house ofGod--never to put my foot upon the sacred ground--never to profane thesanctuary with my soul of sin--to worship only without, and at thethreshold, until such time as it should seem to me that God had heard myrepentance, and accepted my expiation. Now, thou knowest why I havenever dared to enter the holy building. "

The witchfinder groaned bitterly, clenching, in agony, the folds of hisgarment, and tearing his breast. 

"My spiritual adviser was benevolent and kind; but he was also stern inhis calling. He imposed upon me such penitence as, in his wisdom, hethought most fit to wash out my crime; and I obeyed with humblereverence. But there was one penance more cruel than the rest--themortification of my only earthly affection--the driving out from myheart all thought of the child of my folly and sin--the vow never toseek, to look upon her more. But the love of the world was still toostrong upon the wretched mother. At the risk of her soul's salvation, she fled the convent to see her child once again. It was in the frenzyof a fever-fit, when I thought to die. I forgot all--all but my oath--Inever sought to speak to my darling child; but I followed her wherever Icould--I watched for her as she passed--I gazed upon her with love--Iprayed for blessings on her head. "

"Alas! I see it all now. It is, as it were, a bandage fallen from myeyes. Fool--infatuated fool!--monster that I was!" cried thewitchfinder. "Bertha was your daughter--my sister; and I have smittenthe mother for the love she bore her child. And he--her father--he wasthat villain! Curses on him!"

"Peace! Peace! my son!" continued Magdalena, "and curse no more. Nor canI tell thee that it was so. I have sworn that oath never to divulge mydaughter's birth; and cruel, heartless, as was the feeling that forcedit on me, I must observe it ever. And thus I continued to liveon--absorbed in the one thought of my child and her happiness--heedlessof the present--forgetful of my duty; when suddenly, but two days ago, he who has been the kind guardian of my spiritual weal, appeared beforeme in the chamber where, alone and unobserved, I wept over the pictureof my child. He came, I presume, by a passage seldom opened, from themonastery, whither his duties had called him. He chid me for myflight--recalled me to my task of expiation--and, bidding me return tothe convent, left me, with an injunction not to say that I had seen him. Nor could I reveal the fact of my mysterious interview with him, or tellhis name, without giving a clue to the truth of my own existence, andthe discovery of all I had sworn so binding an oath ever to conceal. Thou sawest him also--but, alas! with other thoughts. "

"Madman that I have been!" exclaimed the witchfinder. "Or is it now thatI am mad? Am I not raving? Is not all this insane delusion? No--thou arethere before me--closed from my embraces by these cruel bars that I haveplaced between us. Thou! my mother--my long-lost--my beloved--mostwretched mother, in that dreadful garb!--condemned to die by thy owninfatuated son! Would that I _were_ mad, and that I could close my brainto so much horror! But thou shalt not die, my mother--thou shalt notdie! Thou are innocent! I will proclaim thy innocence to all! They willbelieve my word--will they not? For it was I who testified against thee. I, the matricide! I will tell them that I lied. Thou shalt not die, mymother! Already! already!--horror!--the day is come!"

The day _was_ come. The first faint doubtful streaks of early dawn hadgradually spread, in a cold heavy grey light, over the sky. By degreesthe darkness had fled, and the market-place, the surrounding gables ofthe houses, the black pile in the midst, had become clearer and clearerin harsh distinctness. The day _was_ come! Already a few narrowcasements had been pushed back in their sliding grooves, and strangefaces, with sleepy eyes, had peered out, in night attire, to forestallimpatient curiosity. Already indistinct noises, a vague rumbling, anuncertain sound from here or there had broken up the utter silence ofthe night, and told that the drowsy town was waking from its sleep, andstirring with the faint movement of new life. The day _was_ come! Thesentinels paced up and down more quickly, to dissipate that feeling ofshivering cold which runs through the night-watcher during the firsthour of the morn. During the colloquy between the cripple and theprisoner, they had been more than once disturbed by the loud tones ofpassionate exclamation that had burst from the former; but Hans hadcontrived to dispel his comrade's scruples as to what was going forwardat the prison door, by making light of the matter. 

"Let them alone. They are only having a tuzzle together--the witchfinderand the witch! And if the man, as the weaker vessel in matters ofwitchcraft, do come off minus a nose or so, it will never spoil BlackClaus's beauty, that's certain. Hark! hark! they are at it again! To it, devil! To it, devil-hunter! Let them fight it out between them, man. Letthem fight it out. It's fine sport, and it will never spoil the show. "And Hans stamped with his feet, and hooted at a distance, and hissedbetween his teeth, with all the zest of a modern cockfighter in thesport, rather to the scandal and shame of his more cautious andscrupulous companion. But when the cripple, in his despair, shook, inhis nervous grasp, the bars of the grating in the door, as if he wouldwrench it from its staples, and flung himself in desperation against thestrongly-ironed wooden mass, with a violence that threatened, in spiteof its great strength, to burst it open, the matter seemed to becomemore serious in their eyes. 

"Hollo, man! witchfinder! Black Claus! What art thou doing?" cried thesentinels, hurrying to the spot. "Does the devil possess thee? Art thoubewitched? Wait! wait! they'll let her out quick enough to make hermount the pile. Have patience, man!"

"She is innocent!" cried the cripple, still grappling with the bars inhis despair. "She is innocent! Let her go free!"

"He is bewitched, " said the one soldier. "See what comes of letting thembe together. "

"He has had the worst of it, sure enough, " said Hans. 

"I am not bewitched, fools!" cried the frantic man. "There's nowitchcraft here! She is innocent, I tell ye! O God! these bells! theyannounce their coming! Bid them cease! bid them cease! they drive memad!"

At that moment a merry chime from the church-bells burst out joyouslyupon the morning air, to announce that a fête was about to take place inthe town; for such a gratifying show as the burning of a witch, was afête for the inhabitants of Hammelburg. 

"These bells! these bells!" again cried Claus in agony, as their merrychime came in gusts along the rising wind, as if to mock his misery anddespair. "How often, during this long night, I have longed to hear theirjoyous sound; and now they ring in my ears like the howlings of fiends!But she shall not die! I will yet save her, " continued the distractedman; and he again shook the prison door with a force which his crippledlimbs could scarcely have been supposed to possess. 

With difficulty could the now alarmed sentinels, who shouted for help, cause the cripple to release his hold. Fresh guards rushed to the spot, and assisted to seize the desperate man. But in vain he protested theinnocence of the supposed sorceress--in vain he cried to them to releaseher. He was treated as bewitched; and it was only when at last, overcomeby the violence of his struggles, he ceased to resist with so muchenergy, that they allowed him to remain unbound, and let fall the cordswith which they had already commenced to tie his arms. 

"The Ober-Amtmann will come, " he said at last, with a sort of sullenresignation. "He must--he shall hear me. He shall know all--he willbelieve her innocent. "

In the meanwhile, the market-place had already begin to fill with ananxious crowd. In a short time, the press of spectators come to witnessthe bloody spectacle, began to be great. The throng flowed on throughstreet and lane. There were persons of all ages, all ranks, of bothsexes--all hurrying, crowding, squeezing to the fête of horror anddeath. Manifold and various were the hundreds of faces congregated in adense mass, as near as the guards would admit them round the pile--allmoved by one feeling of hideous curiosity. Little by little, all thewindows of the surrounding houses were jammed with faces--each window astrange picture in its quaintly-carved wooden frame. The crowd wasthere--the living crowd eager for death--palpitating withexcitement--each heart beating with one pitiless feeling of greedycruelty. And the bells still rang ceaselessly their merry, joyous, fête-like peal. 

And now with difficulty the soldiers forced a way through the throng forthe approaching officer of justice; the great officiating dignitary ofthe town, who was to preside over the ceremony. He neared the town-hall, to order the unlocking of the prison-door, when the wretched witchfinderagain sprang forward, crying, "Mercy! mercy! she is innocent. Hear me, noble Ober-Amtmann!" But he again started back with a cry of despair--itwas not the Ober-Amtmann. He had been obliged, by indisposition, to giveup the office of superintending the execution, and the chief _schreiber_had been deputed to take his place. 

"Where is the Ober-Amtmann?" cried Claus in agony. "I must see him--Imust speak with him! She is innocent--I swear she is! He will save her, villain as he has been, when he hears all. "

The general cry that Black Claus had been bewitched by the sorceress, was a sufficient explanation to the chief _schreiber_ of his seeminglyfrantic words. 

"Poor man!" was his only reply. "She has worked her last spell upon him. Her death alone can save his reason. "

In spite of the struggles and cries of the infuriated cripple, the doorwas opened, and the unhappy Magdalena was forced to come forwards by theguards. She looked wretchedly haggard and careworn in her sackclothrobe, with her short-cut grey hairs left bare. A chain was already boundaround her waist, and clanked as she advanced. As her eyes fell upon hermiserable son she gave one convulsive shudder of despair; and then, clasping her hands towards him with a look of pity and forgiveness, shemurmured with a tone of resignation--"It is too late. Farewell!farewell! until we meet again, where there shall be no sorrow, no care, no pain--only mercy and forgiveness!"

"No, no--thou shalt not die!" screamed the cripple, whom severalbystanders, as well as guards, now held back with force, in awe as wellas pity at his distracted state. --"Thou shalt not die! She is mymother!" he cried like a maniac to the crowd around. "My mother--do yehear? She is innocent. What I said yesterday was false--utterly false--adamning lie! She is not guilty--you would murder her! Fools! wretches, assassins! You believed me when I witnessed against her; why will ye notbelieve me now? She is innocent, I tell you. Ye shall not kill her!"

"He is bewitched! he is bewitched! To the stake with the sorceress!--tothe stake!" was the only reply returned to his cries by the crowd. 

In truth the miserable man bore all the outward signs of a person who, in those times, might be supposed to be smitten by the spells ofwitchcraft. His eyes rolled in his head. His every feature was distortedin the agony of his passion. His mouth foamed like that of a mad dog. His struggles became desperate convulsions. 

But he struggled in vain. The procession advanced towards the stake. Between two bodies of guards, the condemned woman dragged her sufferingbare feet over the rough stones of the market-place. On one side of herwalked the executioner of the town; on the other, his assistant, with alighted torch of tow, besmeared with resin and pitch, shedding around ina small cloud, the lurid smoke that was soon about to arise in a heavyvolume from the pile. The chief _schreiber_ had mounted, with hisadjuncts, the terrace before the door of the town-hall, whence it wascustomary for the chief dignitary of the town to superintend suchexecutions. The bells rang on their merry peal. 

And now the unhappy woman was forced on to the pile. The executionerfollowed. He bound her resistless to the stake, and then himselfdescended. At each of the four corners of the pile, a guard on horsebackkept off the crowd. There was a pause. Then appeared, at one end of themass of wood and fagots, a slight curling smoke--a faint light. Theexecutioner had applied the torch. A few seconds--and a bright glaringflame licked upwards with a forked tongue, and a heavier gush of smokeburst upwards in the air. The miserable woman crossed her hands over herbreast--raised her eyes for a moment to heaven, and then, closing themupon the scene around her, moved her lips in prayer--in the last prayerof the soul's agony. The crowd, which, during the time when theprocession had advanced towards the pile, had howled with its usualpitiless howl, was now silent, breathless, motionless, in the extremetension of its excitement. But still the merry peal of bells rang on. 

The smoke grew thicker and thicker. The flame already darted forward, asif to snatch at the miserable garment of its victim, and claim her asits own, when there was heard a struggle--a cry--a shout of franticdespair. The cripple, in that moment when all were occupied with thefearful sight, had broken on those who held him, and before another handcould seize him, had staggered through the crowd, and now swung himselfwith force upon the pile. A cry of horror burst from the mass ofspectators. They thought him utterly deprived of reason, and determined, in his madness, to die with the sorceress. But in a moment his bonyhands had torn the link that bound the chain--had unwound the chainitself--had snatched the woman from the stake. Before, in the surpriseof the moment, a single person had stirred, his arm seized, with firmand heavy gripe, the collar of the nearest horseman, who found himselfin his seat on horseback upon a level with the elevation of the pile. Heknocked him with violence from the saddle. The guard reeled and fell;and in the next instant Claus had flung himself on to the horse, and inhis arms he bore the form of the half-fainting Magdalena. 

With a cry--a yell--a wild scream--he shouted, "To the sanctuary! to thesanctuary! she shall not die--room! room!" Trampling right and left tothe earth the dense crowd, who fled from his passage as from aninfuriated tiger in its spring, he dashed upon the animal over themarket-place, and darted in full gallop down the street leading to theBridge-gate of the town. 

"After him!" cried a thousand voices. The three other horsemen hadalready sprung after the fugitive. The guards hastened in the samedirection. Several of the crowd rushed down the narrow street. All wasconfusion. Part of those who passed on impeded the others. Groans arosefrom those who had been thrown down by the frantic passage of Claus, andwho, lying on the stones, prevented the pushing forwards of the others. 

"Follow! After him! to the sanctuary!" still cried a thousand voices ofthe crowd. 

At the same moment a noise of horsemen was heard coming from theentrance of the town in the opposite direction to that leading to thebridge. Those who stood nearest turned their heads eagerly that way. Thefirst person who issued on the street, at full gallop, was Gottlob, without a covering to his head--his fair hair streaming to the wind--hishandsome face pale with fatigue and excitement. 

"Stop! stop!" he shouted as he advanced, and his eye fell upon theburning pile. "I bring the prince's pardon! Save her!"

In a few moments, followed by a scanty train of attendants, appeared thePrince Bishop of Fulda himself, in the dress--half religious, halfsecular--that he wore in travelling. His mild benevolent face lookedhaggard and anxious, and he also was very pale; for he had evidentlyridden hard through a part of the night; and the exertion was too muchfor his years and habits. As he advanced through the crowd, who drewback with respect from the passage of their sovereign, he eagerlydemanded if the execution had taken place. The general rumour told himconfusedly the tale of the events that had just occurred. Gottlob wassoon again by his side, and related to him all that he had heard. 

"Where is my brother?" cried the bishop. "Is he not here?"

A few words told him that he had not appeared on this occasion. 

"I will to the palace, then, " he continued. "And the poor wretchedwoman, which way has that maniac conveyed her?"

"To the sanctuary upon the mountain-side, in the path leading to yourhighness's castle of Saaleck, as he was heard to cry, " was the answer. 

"But the torrents have come down from the hills, " exclaimed others, "andthe inundations sweep so heavily upon the bridge, that it is impossibleto pass it without the utmost danger. "

"Save that unhappy woman!" exclaimed the bishop in agitation. "A rewardfor him who saves her!" and followed by his attendants, he took thedirection of the street leading to the palace. 

It was true. The torrents had come down from the hills during the night, and the waters swept over the bridge with fury. The planked flooring ofthe bridge, raised in ordinary circumstances some feet above the stream, was now covered by the raging flood; and the side parapets, whichconsisted partly of solid enclosure, partly of railing, tottered, quivered, and bent beneath the rushing mass of dark, dun-coloured, whirling waters. The river itself, swelled far beyond the usual extentof the customary inundations, for the passage of which the extremelength of the bridge had been provided, hurried in wild eddies round thewalls of the town, like an invading army seeking to tear them down. Butthe frantic Claus heeded not the violence of the waters, and dashedthrough the town-gate towards the bridge with desperation. Thefrightened horse shied at the foaming stream, struggled, snorted; butthe cripple seemed to possess the resistless power of a demon--a powerwhich gave him sway over the brute creation. He urged the unwillinganimal, with almost superhuman force, on to the tottering bridge. 

The guards who had galloped after him, stopped suddenly as they saw theroaring torrent. None dared advance, none dared pursue. Others, on foot, clogged the gateway, and stood appalled at the sight of the rushingflood. The more eager of the crowd soon mounted on to those parts of thetown-walls that flanked the gate, and watched, with excited gesture, andshouts of wonder or terror, the desperate course of the cripple. 

Pressing his mother in his arms, with his body stretched forward in wildimpatience upon the struggling horse, Black Claus had urged his way intothe middle of the stream. The bridge shook fearfully beneath the burden:he heeded it not. It cracked and groaned still louder than the roaringof the stream: he heard it not. He strove to dash on against the almostresistless force of the sweeping current. His eye was strained upon thefirst point of the dry path on the highway beyond. Before him lay, at ashort distance, the road towards the castle of Saaleck, up the mountainside. Halfway up the height stood, embowered in trees, the chapel hesought to reach--the sanctuary of refuge for the condemned. That was hishaven--there his wretched mother would be in safety. He pressed her moretightly to his breast, and shouted wildly. His shout was followed by aloud fearful crash, a roaring of waters, and a straining of breakingtimbers. In another instant, the centre of the bridge was fiercely borneaway by the torrent, and all was wild confusion around him. 

A general cry of horror burst from the crowd at the gate and on thewalls. All was for a moment lost to sight in the whirl of waters. Thenwas first seen the snorting head of the poor horse rising from thestream. The animal was struggling in desperation to reach the land. Again were whirled upwards the forms of the cripple and the female, still tightly pressed within his arms; and then a rush of waters, morepowerful than the son's frantic grasp, tore them asunder. Nothing nowwas visible but a floating body, which again disappeared in the eddyingflood; and now again the form of the witchfinder rose above the mass ofwaters. His long arms were tossed aloft; his desperate cries were heardabove the roaring of the torrent. 

"Mercy! mercy!" he screamed. "Save me from these flames! this stiflingsmoke. I burn, I burn!"

As he shouted these last words of mad despair, the icy cold waters sweptover him for ever. 

All had disappeared. Upon the boiling surface of the hurrying flood wasnow seen nothing more than spars and fragments of timber, remnants ofthe bridge, whirled up and down, and here and there, and dashing alongthe stream. 

Among the foremost of the crowd, who had pressed down the narrow laneleading to the water's edge, between the premises of the Benedictinemonastery and the palace garden, eager to gain an unoccupied pointwhence they might watch the flight, stood "Gentle Gottlob. "

From under the small water-gate, the stone passage of which waspartially flooded by the unusually rising waters, he had seen thefrightful catastrophe which had accompanied the sweeping away of thebridge. He stood overwhelmed with grief at the fate of the poor woman, whom he had uselessly striven to save; his eye fixed upon the roaringwaters, without seeing distinctly any thing but a sort of wild turmoil, which accorded well with his own troubled reflections; when a cry fromthe crowd, which still lingered on the spot, recalled him to himself. 

"Look, look!" cried several voices. "There it is again! It is a body!"

On the dark surface of the waters, Gottlob saw a form whirled by theforce of the current towards the water-gate. 

"It is the witch! it is the witch!" again cried the crowd, as thesackcloth garment of the unhappy Magdalena showed itself above thestream. 

In another moment Gottlob had rushed into the water, to seize the bodyas it was whirled past the water-gate, and was almost dashed against thestone-piles. 

"Touch her not!" screamed again the bystanders. "It is the witch! it isthe witch!"

But Gottlob heeded not the shouts of the crowd. Holding by one hand onthe trunk of a tree overhanging the water, in order to bear up againstthe violence of the stream, he grasped with the other the dress of thefloating female before it again sank beneath the whirling eddy. Hepulled it towards him with force; and, after with difficulty strugglingagainst the force of the current, at length succeeded in bearing thelifeless form of Magdalena under the gateway. 

Streaming himself with water, he laid the cold wet body down upon thestones, and bent over it, to see whether life had fled from it for ever. The crown drew back with horror, uttering cries of vain expostulation. 

"Thank Heaven! she still breathes, " said Gottlob at last, as, after somemoments, a slight convulsive movement passed over the frame of the poorwoman. "Aid me, my friends. She still lives. Help me to transport her tosome house. " But the crowd drew back in horror. "I will convey her to myown chamber close by. Send for a leech! Are ye without pity?" hecontinued, as, instead of assisting him, the crowd held back, andanswered his entreaties only with exclamations of disgust and scorn. "Are ye Christian men, that ye would see the poor woman die before youreyes for want of aid? She is no witch. Good God! will no one show aheart of bare humanity?" But the crowd still held back; and if they didnot still scoff at him, were silent. 

The kind youth, finding all hope of assistance vain, from the miserableprejudices of the people, had at last contrived to raise the stillsenseless Magdalena in his arms, with the intention of conveying herinto his own dwelling; and already murmurs began to arise among thecrowd, as if they intended to oppose his purpose; when a door, communicating from the palace-gardens with the narrow lane, opened, andthe stately form of an aged man, of benevolent aspect, stood betweenGottlob, who remained alone under the water-gate with the lifeless formof Magdalena on his arm, and the murmuring crowd which had drawn backinto the lane. He stood like a guardian spirit between the fair youthand the senseless mass of angry men. All snatched off their furred hats, and bowed their bodies with respect. It was their sovereign, the PrinceBishop of Fulda. His attendants followed him to the threshold of thegarden gate. 

"Thank God!" was his first simple exclamation at the sight of Magdalenain Gottlob's arms. "You have contrived to save her, have you? I wasmyself hurrying hither to see what could be done. Does she still live?"

Upon an affirmative exclamation from Gottlob, he raised his eyes toheaven with a short thanksgiving; and then, turning to the crowd with astern air, he asked--

"What were these cries and murmurs that I heard? Why were thosethreatening looks I saw? Would ye oppose a Christian act of charity dueto that unhappy woman, even were she the miserable criminal she is not?Have ye yet to be taught your Christian duties in this land? God forgiveme; for then _I_ have much to answer for!"

After this meek self-rebuke, he again looked seriously upon thebystanders, and waved his hand to disperse the crowd, who slunk awaybefore him; then, hastily giving orders that Magdalena should beconveyed into the palace, he himself stopped to see her borne into thegarden, and followed anxiously. 

Every means with which the leech-craft of the times was acquainted forthe recovery of the apparently drowned, was applied in the case ofMagdalena, and with some success; for, after a time, breath and warmthwere restored--her eyes opened. But the respiration was hurried andimpeded--the eyes glazed and dim--the sense of what was passing aroundher, confused and troubled. A nervous tremour ran through her wholeframe. She lay upon a mattrass, propped up with a pile of cushions, ina lower apartment of the palace. By her side knelt the kind Bishop ofFulda, watching with evident solicitude the variation of the symptoms inthe unfortunate woman's frame. Behind her stood the stately form of theOber-Amtmann--every muscle of his usually stern face now struggling withemotion--his hands clenched together--his head bowed down; for he hadlearned from his brother the Prince, that the female lying beforehim--the woman whom he had himself condemned to the stake, was reallythe mistress of his younger years--the seduced wife of the man whom hehad killed--his victim, Margaret Weilheim. On the other side of theprostrate form of Magdalena bent a grave personage in dark attire, whoheld her wrist, and counted the beating of her pulse with an air ofserious attention. In answer to an enquiring look from the PrinceBishop, the physician shook his head. 

"There is life, it is true, " he said; "but it is ebbing fast. Thefatigue and emotions of the past day were in themselves too much for aframe already shattered by macerations, and privations, and grief; thiscatastrophe has exhausted her last force of vitality. She cannot livelong. "

The Ober-Amtmann wrung his hands with a still firmer gripe. The tearstrembled upon the good old bishop's eyelids. 

"See!" said the leech; "she again opens her eyes. There is more sense inthem now. "

The dying Magdalena in truth looked around her, as if she at lengthbecame conscious of the objects on which her vision fell. She seemed tocomprehend with difficulty where she was, and how she had come into theposition in which she lay. Feebly and with exertion she raised heremaciated arm, and passed her skinny hand over her brow and eyes. But atlength her gaze rested upon the mild face of the benevolent bishop, anda faint smile passed over her sunken features. 

"Where am I?" she murmured lowly. "Am I in paradise?--and you, reverendfather, are also with me?"

In a few kind words, the bishop strove to recall her wandering senses, and explain to her what had happened. At last a consciousness of thepast seemed to come over her; and she shuddered in every limb at thefearful recollection. 

"And he! where is he?" she asked with an imploring look. "He! Karl!"

The old man looked at her with surprise, as though he thought her senseswere still wavering. 

"He carried me off, did he not?" she continued feebly; "or was it adream? Was it only a strange dream? No, no! I remember all--how we flewthrough the air; and then the rushing waters. Oh! tell me; where is he?"

The bishop now comprehended that she spoke of the witchfinder; and said, "He is gone for ever, to his last great account. "

Magdalena groaned bitterly, and again closed her eyes. But it wasevident that she still retained her consciousness; for her lips weremoving faintly, as if in prayer. 

"Is there no hope?" enquired the bishop in a whisper of the physician. "Nothing can be done?"

"No hope!" replied the leech. "I have done all that medical skill cando; _I_ can do no more, your highness. "

At a sign from the bishop, the physician withdrew. 

Shortly after, the dying woman again unclosed her eyes, and lookedaround her at the strange room in which she lay. A recollection of thepast seemed to come across her, slowly and painfully; and she againpressed her feeble hand to her brow. 

"Why am I here?" she murmured. "Why do I again see this scene of follyand sin? O Lord! why bring before my thus, in this last hour, the livingmemory of my past transgressions?"

As if to complete the painful illusion of the past, a voice now murmured"Margaret" in her ear. The poor woman started, turned her head withdifficulty, and saw, kneeling by her side, the heartless lover of heryouth. She gave him one look of fear and shame, and then turning againher eyes to the bishop's face, exclaimed, "May God forgive me!--Pray forme, my father!"

"It is I who seek for mercy, Margaret!" cried the Ober-Amtmann. "I whoneed thy forgiveness for all the wrong I have done thee!"

"Mercy and forgiveness are with God, " said the dying woman solemnly. "All the wrong thou hast done me I have long since forgiven, as far assuch a sinner as myself can forgive. My time is short; my breath is fastleaving me. I feel that I am dying, " she added after a pause. "Father, Iwould make my shrift; and, if God and your reverence permit one earthlythought to mingle with my last hopes of salvation, I would confide toyou a secret on which depends the happiness of her I love, and youperhaps might secure her peace of mind. Alas, I cannot speak! O God!give me still breath. "

These words were uttered in a low and feeble tone. With a hasty gesturethe bishop signed to his brother to retire, and bent his ear over themouth of the gasping woman. 

After some time he rose, and first reassuring the dying mother that allhe could do for her child's welfare should be done, pronounced thesublime words of the church that give the promise of forgiveness andsalvation to the truly penitent sinner. 

"Oh, might I look upon her once more!" sobbed Magdalena with convulsiveeffort. "One last look! not a word shall tell her--it is--her unhappymother--who gives her--a last blessing!"

The Ober-Amtmann left the room. In a few minutes he returned, leadingBertha by the hand. But Magdalena was already speechless. The fair girlknelt by the side of the mattrass, sobbing bitterly--she herselfscarcely knew why. Was it only the sight of death, of the last partingof the soul, that thus affected her? Was it affliction that her ownerror should have contributed to hasten that unhappy woman's end? Or wasnot there rather a powerful instinct within her, that, in that awfulmoment, bound her by a sympathetic tie to her unknown mother, andconveyed a portion of that last agony of the departing woman to her ownheart?

Magdalena, although she could not speak, was evidently aware of thepresence of the gentle girl. She still moved her lips, as if begging ablessing on her head, and fixed upon that mild face, now bathed intears, the last look of her fading eyes. And now the eyes grew dim andsenseless, although the spirit seemed still to struggle within forsight; now they closed--the whole frame of the prostrate womanshuddered, and Margaret Weilheim--the repentant Magdalena--was a corpse. 

Some time after these events, the Ober-Amtmann retired from his highoffice, and after a seclusion of some duration with his brother, atFulda, finally betook himself to a monastery, where he remained untilhis death. 

Before his retirement from the world, however, he had consented, notwithout some difficulty, to the union of Bertha and Gottlob. The PrinceBishop, unforgetful of the claims of the unfortunate Magdalena, hadurged upon his brother the duty of making this concession to the dyingwishes of the wronged mother, as well as to the evident affection ofBertha for the young artist, which, although unknown even to herself, was no less powerful. As Gottlob, although of a ruined and impoverishedfamily, was not otherwise than of noble birth, the greatest difficultyof these times was surmounted; and the Prince Bishop, by bestowing uponthe young man a post of honour and rank about his person, in which thegentle youth could still continue the pursuit of his glorious art, andmarch on unhindered in his progress to that eminence which he finallyattained, smoothed the road to the Ober-Amtmann's consent. 

On the day of Bertha's marriage, the good Prince Bishop promulgated anedict, that for the future no one should suffer the punishment of deathfor the crime of witchcraft in his dominions. But, after his decease, the edict again fell into disuse; and the town of Hammelburg, as if thespirit of Black Claus, the witchfinder, still hovered about its walls, again commenced to assert its odious reputation, and maintain itshideous boast, of having burned more witches than any other town inGermany. 

MY LAST COURTSHIP; OR, LIFE IN LOUISIANA. 

CHAPTER THE FIRST. 

A VOYAGE ON THE RED RIVER. 

It was on a sultry sunny June morning that I stepped on board the RedRiver steamboat. The sun was blazing with unusual power out of itssetting of deep-blue enamel; no wind stirred, only the huge mass ofwater in the Mississippi seemed to exhale an agreeable freshness. I gavea last nod to Richards and his wife who had accompanied me to the shore, and then went down into the cabin. 

I was by no means in the most amiable of humours. Although I had prettywell forgotten my New York disappointment, two months' contemplation ofthe happiness enjoyed by Richards in the society of his young andcharming wife, had done little towards reconciling me to mybachelorship; and it was with small pleasure that I looked forward to areturn to my solitary plantation, where I could reckon on no betterwelcome than the cold, and perhaps scowling, glance of slaves andhirelings. In no very pleasant mood I walked across the cabin, withouteven looking at the persons assembled there, and leaned out of the openwindow. I had been some three or four minutes in this position, chewingthe cud of unpleasant reflections, when a friendly voice spoke close tomy ear--

"_Qu'est ce qu'il y a donc, Monsieur Howard? Etes-vous indisposé? Allonsvoir du monde. _"

I turned round. The speaker was a respectable-looking elderly man; buthis features were entirely unknown to me, and I stared at him, a littleastonished at the familiar tone of his address, and at his knowledge ofmy name. I was at that moment not at all disposed to make newacquaintances; and, after a slight bow, I was about to turn my back uponthe old gentleman, when he took my hand, and drew me gently towards theladies' cabin. 

"_Allons voir, Monsieur Howard. _"

"_Mais que voulez-vous donc?_ What do you want with me?" said I somewhatpeevishly to the importunate stranger. 

"_Faire votre connaissance_, " he replied with a benign smile, at thesame time opening the door of the ladies' saloon. "Monsieur Howard, "said he to two young girls who were occupied in tying up a bundle ofpine-apples and bananas to one of the cabin pillars, just as in thenorthern States, or in England, people hang up strings of onions, "_Mesfilles, voici notre voisin, Monsieur Howard. _"

The damsels tripped lightly towards me, welcoming me as cordially as ifI had been an old acquaintance, and hastened to offer me some of theirfragrant and delicious fruit. Their greeting and manners were reallyhighly agreeable. Had they been two of my own dear countrywomen, I mighthave lived ten years with them without being so well and franklyreceived, or invited to spoil my dinner in so agreeable a manner, as bythese fair Pomonas. I could not refuse an invitation so cordially given. I sat down, and, notwithstanding my dull and fretful humour, soon foundmyself amused in my own despite by the lively chatter of the Creoles. Anhour passed rapidly in this manner, and a second and third mightpossibly have been wiled away as agreeably, had not my stiff Virginianfeeling of etiquette made me apprehensive that a longer stay might bedeemed intrusive. 

"You will come back and take tea with us?" said the young ladies as Ileft the cabin. 

I bowed a willing assent; and truly, on reaching the deck, I foundreason to congratulate myself on having done so. The company thereassembled was any thing but the best. A strange set of fellows! I couldalmost have fancied myself in old Kentuck. Drovers and cattle-dealersfrom New Orleans proceeding to the north-western countries; half-wildhunters and trappers, on their way to the country beyond Nacogdoches, with the laudable intention of civilizing, or, in other words, ofcheating the Indians; traders and storekeepers from Alexandria and itsneighbourhood; such was the respectable composition of the society onboard the steamer. A rough lot they were, thick-booted, hoarse-voiced, hard-fisted fellows, who walked up and down, chewing and smoking, andspitting with as much exactness of aim as if their throats had beenrifle-barrels. 

We were just coming in sight of a large clump of foliage. It was themouth of the Red River, which is half overarched by the huge trees thatincline forward over its waters from either bank. What a contrast to theMississippi, which flows along, broad, powerful, and majestic, like somebarbarian conqueror bursting forth at the head of his stinking hordes tooverrun half a world! The Red River on the other hand, which we areaccustomed to call the Nile of Louisiana--with about as much right andpropriety as the Massachusetts cobbler who christened his son AlexanderCæsar Napoleon--sneaks stealthily along through forest and plain, likesome lurking and venomous copper-snake. Cocytus would be a far bettername for it. Here we are at the entrance of the first swamp, out ofwhich the infernal scarlet ditch flows. It is any thing but a pleasantsight, that swamp, which is formed by the junction of the Tensaw, theWhite and Red Rivers, and at the first glance appears like a huge mirrorof vivid green, apparently affording solid footing, and scattered overwith trees, from which rank creepers and a greasy slime hang in longfestoons. One would swear it was a huge meadow, until, on looking ratherlonger, one sees the dark-green swamp lilies gently moving, while fromamongst them are protruded numerous snouts or jaws, of a sicklygreyish-brown, discoursing music which is any thing but sweet to astranger's ears. These are thousands of alligators, darting out fromamongst the rank luxuriance of their marshy abode. It is their breedingtime, and the horrible bellowing they make is really hideous to listento. One might fancy this swamp the headquarters of death, whence heshoots forth his envenomed darts in the thousand varied forms of feverand pestilence. 

We had proceeded some distance up the Red River, when the friendly oldCreole came to summon me to the tea-table. We found one of his daughtersreading Bernardin de St Pierre's novel, a favourite study with Creoleladies; while the other was chatting with her black-skinned, ivory-toothed waiting-maid, with a degree of familiarity that would havethrown a New York _élégante_ into a swoon. They were on their way home, their father told me, from the Ursuline Convent at New Orleans, wherethey had been educated. It can hardly have been from the holy sisters, one would think, that they acquired the self-possessed and scrutinizing, although not immodest gaze, with which I at times observed them to beexamining me. The eldest is apparently about nineteen years of age, slightly inclined to _embonpoint_. It was really amusing to observe thecool, comfortable manner, in which she inspected me in a large mirrorthat hangs opposite to us, as if she had been desirous of seeing howlong I could stand my ground and keep my countenance. 

It would fill a book to enumerate all the items of baggage and effectswhich my new friends the Creoles had crowded into the state-cabin. Luckily, they were the only inmates of the latter, and had, consequently, full power in their temporary dominions. Had there beenco-occupants, a civil war must have been the inevitable result. Theladies had a whole boat-load of citrons, oranges, bananas, andpine-apples; and their father had at least three dozen cases ofChambertin, Laffitte, and Medoc. I at first thought he must be awine-merchant. At any rate he showed his good taste in stocking himselfwith such elegant and salutary drinkables, instead of the gin, andwhisky, and Hollands to which many of my countrymen would have given thepreference--those green and brown compounds, elixirs of sin and disease, concocted by rascally distillers for the corruption and ruin of BrotherJonathan. 

The tea was now ready. Monsieur Ménou (that was the name of my newfriend) seemed inclined to reject the sober beverage, and stick to hisChambertin. I was disposed to try both. The young ladies were all thatwas gay and agreeable. They were really charming girls, merry andlively, full of ready wit, and with bright eyes and pleasant voices, that might have cheered the heart of the veriest misanthrope. But thereare moments in one's life when the mind and spirits seem oppressed by asort of dead dull calm, as enervating and disheartening as that whichsucceeds a West Indian hurricane in the month of August. At those timesevery thing loses its interest, and one appears to become as helpless asthe ship that lies becalmed and motionless on the glassy surface of atropical sea. I was just in one of those moments. I had consulted anything but my own inclination in leaving the hospitable roof and pleasantcompanionship of my friend Richards, to return to my own neglected andlong-unvisited plantation, where I should find no society, and should becompelled to occupy myself with matters that for me had little or nointerest. Had I, as I hoped to do when in New York, taken back a partnerof my joys and sorrows, some gentle creature who would have cheered mysolitude and sympathized with all my feelings, I should have experiencedfar less repugnance or difficulty in returning to my home in thewilderness; but as it was, I felt oppressed by a sense of lonelinessthat seemed to paralyse my energies, and that certainly rendered me anything but fit society for the lively, talkative party of which I nowfound myself a member. I strove to shake off the feeling, but in vain;and at last, abandoning the attempt, I left the cabin and went on deck. 

The night was bright and starlight; the atmosphere perfectly clear, withthe exception of a slight white mist that hung over the river. Thehollow blows of the steam-engine seemed to be echoed in the far distanceby the bellowing of the alligators; while the plaintive tones of thewhip-poor-will were heard at intervals in the forest through which wewere passing. There was no sign of life on the banks of the river; itwas a desert; not a light to be seen, save that of millions offireflies, which threw a magical kind of _chiaroscuro_ over the treesand bushes. At times we passed so near the shore that the branchesrattled and snapped against the side of the boat. Our motion was rapid. Twelve hours more, and I should be in my Tusculum. Just then the captaincame up to me to say, that if I were disposed to retire to rest, thenoisy smokers and drinkers had discontinued their revels, and I mightnow have some chance of sleeping. I had nothing better to do, sodescended the stairs and installed myself in my berth. 

When I rose the next morning, a breeze had sprung up, and we wereproceeding merrily along under sail as well as steam. The first person Imet was Monsieur Ménou, who wished me a _bon-jour_ in, as I thought, asomewhat colder tone than he had hitherto used towards me, and looked meat the same time enquiringly in the face. It seemed as if he wished toread there whether his courtesy and kindness were likely to be requitedby the same ungracious stiffness that I had shown him on the precedingday. Well, I will do my best to obliterate the bad impression I haveapparently made. They are good people, these Creoles--not particularlybashful or discreet; but yet I like their forwardness and volatilitybetter than the sly smartness of the Yankees, in spite of theirridiculous love of dancing, which even the first emigrants could not layaside, amidst all the difficulties of their settlement in America. Itmust have been absurd enough to see them capering about, and dancingminuets and gavottes in blanket coats and moccasins. 

Whilst I was talking to the Ménous, and doing my best to be amiable, thebell rang, the steam was let off, and we stopped to take in firing. 

"_Monsieur, voilà votre terre!_" said the father pointing to the shore, upon which a large quantity of wood was stacked. I looked through thecabin window; the Creole was right. I had been chatting so diligentlywith the young ladies that the hours had flown like minutes, and it wasalready noon. During my absence, my overseer had established a depot ofwood for the steamboats. So far so good. And yonder is the worthy MrBleaks himself. The Creole seems inclined to accompany me to my house. I cannot hinder him certainly, but I sincerely hope he will not carryhis politeness quite so far. Nothing I dread more than such a visit, when I have been for years away from house and home. A bachelor's Laresand Penates are the most careless of all gods. 

"Mr Bleaks, " said I, stepping up to the overseer, who, in his Guernseyshirt, calico inexpressibles, and straw hat, his hands in his pocketsand a cigar in his mouth, was lounging about, and apparently troublinghimself very little about his employer. "Mr Bleaks, will you be so goodas to have the gig and my luggage brought on shore?"

"Ha! Mr Howard!" said the man, "is it you? Didn't expect ye so soon. "

"I hope that, if unexpected, I am not unwelcome, " replied I, a littlevexed at this specimen of genuine Pennsylvanian dryness. 

"You ain't come alone, are you?" continued Bleaks, examining me at thesame time out of the corners of his eyes. "Thought you'd have brought usa dozen blackies. We want 'em bad enough. "

"_Est-il permis, Monsieur?_" now interposed the Creole, taking my hand, and pointing towards the house. 

"And the steamer?" said I, in a tone as drawling as I could make it, andwithout moving a pace in the direction indicated. 

"Oh! that will wait, " replied Ménou, smiling. 

What could I do with such a persevering fellow? There was nothing for itbut to walk up with him to the house, however unpleasant I found it soto do. And unpleasant to me it certainly was, in the then state of myhabitation and domain. It was a melancholy sight--a perfect abominationof desolation. Every thing looked so ruined, decayed, and rotten, that Ifelt sick and disgusted at the prospect before me. I had not expected tofind matters half so bad. Of the hedge round the garden only a fewsticks were here and there standing; in the garden itself someunwholesome-looking pigs were rooting and grubbing. As to the house!Merciful heavens! Not a whole pane in the windows! all the framesstopped and crammed with old rags and bunches of Indian corn leaves! Icould not expect groves of orange and citron trees--I had planted none;but this! no, it was really too bad. Every picture must have its shadyside, but here there was no bright one; all was darkness and gloom. Wedid not meet a living creature as we walked up from the shore, windingour way amongst the prostrate and decaying tree-trunks that encumberedthe ground. At last, near the house, we stumbled upon a trio of blacklittle monsters, that were rolling in the mud with the dogs, half ashirt upon their bodies, and dirty as only the children of men possiblycan be. The quadrupeds, for such they looked, jumped up on our approach, stared at us with their rolling eyes, and then scuttled away to hidethemselves behind the house. Ha! Old Sybille! Is it you? She wasstanding before a caldron, suspended, gipsy-fashion, from a triangle ofsticks--looking, for all the world, like a dingy parody of one ofMacbeth's witches. She, too, stared at us, but without moving. I mustintroduce myself, I suppose. Now she has recognised me, and comestowards us with her enormous spoon in her hand. I wonder that hershriveled old turkey's neck--which cost me seventy-five dollars, by theby--has not got twisted before now. She runs up to me, screaming andcrying for joy. There _is_ one creature, then, glad to see me. It isamusing to observe the anxiety with which she looks at the caldron, andat three pans in which ham and dried buffalo are stewing and grizzling;she is evidently quite unable to decide whether she shall abandon me tomy fate, or the fleshpots to theirs. She sets up her pipe and makes amost awful outcry, but nobody answers the call. "_Et les chambres_, "howls she, "_et la maison, et tout, tout!_" I could not make out whatthe deuce she would be at. She looked at my companion, evidently muchembarrassed. 

"_Mais, mon Dieu!_" croaked she, "_pourrai-je seulement un moment? Tenezlà_, Massa!" she continued in an imploring tone, holding out the spoonto me, and making a movement as if she were stirring something, andthen again pointing to the house. 

"_Que diable as tu?_" cried I, out of all patience at thisunintelligible pantomime. 

The rooms wanted airing and sweeping, she said; they were not fit toreceive a stranger in. She only required a quarter of an hour to putevery thing to rights; and mean time, if I would be so good, for thesake of the honour of the house, just to stir the soup, and keep an eyeupon the ham and buffalo flesh. 

Mentally consigning the old Guinea-fowl to the keeping of the infernaldeities, I walked towards the house. My only consolation was, thatprobably my companion's residence was not in a much better state thanmine, if in so good a one; those Creoles above Alexandria still livehalf like Redskins. Monsieur Ménou did not appear at all astonished atmy slovenly housekeeping. When we entered the parlour, we found, insteadof sofas and chairs, a quantity of Mexican cotton-seed in heaps upon thefloor; in one corner was a dirty tattered blanket, in another awashing-tub. The other rooms were in a still worse state: one of thenegroes had taken up his quarters in my bed-chamber, from which themusquitto curtains had disappeared, having passed, probably, into thepossession of the amiable Mrs Bleaks. I hastened to leave this scene ofdisorder, and walked out into the court, my indignation and disgustraised to the highest pitch. 

"_Mais tout cela est bien charmant!_" exclaimed the Creole. 

I looked at the man; he appeared in sober earnest, but I could notbelieve that he was so; and I shook my head, for I was in no jestinghumour. The wearisome fellow again took my arm, and led me towards thehuts of my negroes and the cotton-fields. The soil of the latter was ofthe richest and best description, and in spite of negligent cultivation, its natural fertility and fatness had caused the plants to spring upalready nearly to the height of a man, though we were only in the monthof June. The Creole looked around him with the air of a connoisseur, andin his turn shook his head. Just then, the bell on board the steamerrang out the signal for departure. 

"Thank Heaven!" thought I. 

"_Monsieur_, " said Ménou, "the plantation is _très charmante, mais ce_Mistère Bleak is nothing worth, and you--you are _trop gentilhomme_. "

I swallowed this equivocal compliment, nearly choking as I did so. 

"_Ecoutez_, " continued my companion; "you shall go with me. "

"Go with you!" I repeated, in unbounded astonishment. "Is the man mad, "I thought, "to make me such a proposition within ten minutes after myreturn home?"

"_Oui, oui, Monsieur_, you shall go with me. I have some very importantthings to communicate to you. "

"_Mais, Monsieur_, " replied I, pretty stiffly, "I do not know what youcan have to communicate to me. I am a good deal surprised at so strangea proposition"----

"From a stranger, " interrupted the Creole, smiling. "But I am serious, Mr Howard; you have come here without taking the necessary precautions. Your house is scarcely ready for your reception--the fever verydangerous--in short, you had better come with me. "

I looked at the man, astonished at his perseverance. 

"Well, " said he, "yes or no?"

I stood hesitating and embarrassed. 

"I accept your offer, " I exclaimed at last, scarcely knowing what Isaid, and starting off at a brisk pace in the direction of the steamer. Mr Bleaks looked on in astonishment. I bid him pay more attention to theplantation, and with that brief injunction was about to step on board, when my five-and-twenty negroes came howling from behind the house. 

"Massa, Gor-a-mighty! Massa, Massa, stop with us!" cried the men. 

"Massa, dear good Massa! Not go!--Mr Bleaks!" yelled the women. 

I made sign to the captain to wait a moment. 

"What do you want?" said I, a little moved. 

One of the slaves stepped forward and bared his shoulders. Two othersfollowed his example. They were hideously scarred and seamed by thewhip. 

I cast stern glance at Bleaks, who grinned a cruel smile. It was aright fortunate thing for my honour and conscience that my poor negroeshad thus appealed to me. In the thoughtlessness of my nature, I shouldhave followed the Creole, without troubling myself in the least aboutthe condition or treatment of the five-and-twenty human beings whom Ihad left in such evil hands. I excused myself hastily to Monsieur Ménou, promised an early visit, to hear whatever he might have to say to me, and bade him farewell. Without making me any answer, he hurried onboard, whispered something to the captain, and disappeared down thecabin-stairs. I thought no more about him, and was walking towards thehouse, surrounded by my blacks, when I heard the splashing of thepaddles, and the steamer resumed its voyage. At the same instant, somebody laid hold of my arm. I looked round--it was the Creole. 

"This is insupportable!" thought I. "I wonder he did not bring his twodaughters with him. That would have completed my annoyance. "

"You will want my assistance with that _coquin_, " said Ménou, quietly. "We will arrange every thing to-day; to-morrow my son will be here; andthe day after you will go home with me. "

I said nothing. What would have been the use if I had? I was no longermy own master. This unaccountable Creole had evidently taken thedirection of my affairs entirely into his own hands. 

My poor negroes and negresses were crying and laughing for joy, andgazing at me with expectant looks. I bid then go to their huts; that Iwould have them called when I wanted them. 

"D--n those blackies!" said Mr Bleaks as they walked away: "they wantthe whip; it's too long since they've had it. "

Without replying to his remark, I told old Sybille to fetch Beppo andMirza, and signed to the overseer to leave me. He showed no dispositionto obey. 

"This looks like an examination, " said he sneeringly, "and I shall takeleave to be present at it. "

"None of your insolence, Mr Bleaks, " said I; "be so good as to takeyourself off and wait my orders. "

"And none of your fine airs, " replied the Mister. "We're in a freecountry, and you ain't got a nigger afore ye. "

This was rather more than I could stomach. 

"Mr Bleaks, " said I, "from this hour you are no longer in my employment. Your engagement is out on the 1st of July; you shall be paid up to thatdate. "

"I don't set a foot over the threshold till I have received the amountof my salary and advances, " replied the man dryly. 

"Bring me your account, " said I. My blood was beginning to boil at thefellow's cool impudence. 

Bleaks called to his wife, who presently came to the room door. Theyexchanged a few words, and she went away again. Meanwhile I opened myportmanteau, and ran my eye over some accounts, letters, and receipts. Before I had finished, Mrs Bleaks reappeared with the account-books, which she laid upon the table, and planting herself, with arms akimbo, in the middle of the room, seemed prepared to witness whatever passed. Her husband lounged into the next apartment and brought a couple ofchairs, upon which he and his better half seated themselves. Truly, thought I, our much-cherished liberty and equality have sometimes theirinconveniences and disagreeables. 

"The 20th December, twenty-five bales cotton, four hogsheads tobacco inleaf, delivered to Mr Merton, " began the overseer; "the 24th January, twenty-five bales cotton and one hogshead tobacco-leaves. "

"Right, " said I. 

"That was our whole crop, " said the man. 

"A tolerable falling off from the former year, " I observed. "There wereninety-five bales and fifty hogsheads. "

"If it doesn't please the gentleman, he ought to have stopped at home, and not gone wandering over half the world instead of minding hisaffairs, " retorted Mr Bleaks. 

"And leaving us to rot in this fever hole, without money or any thingelse, " added his moiety. 

"And further?" said I to the man. 

"That's all. I've received from Mr Merton 600 dollars: 300 more arestill comin' to me. "

"Very good. "

"And moreover, " continued Bleaks, "for Indian corn, meal, and hams, andsalt pork, and blankets, and cotton stuffs, I have laid out 400 dollars, making 700, and 4000 hedge-stakes for mending fences, makes a total of740 dollars. "

I ran into the next room, found a pen and ink upon my dilapidatedwriting-table, wrote an order on my banker, and came back again. At anyprice I was resolved to get rid of this man. 

"Allow me, " said the Creole, who had been a silent witness of all thathad passed, but who now attempted to take the paper from my hand. 

"Pardon me, sir, " said I, vexed at the man's meddling; "on this occasionI wish to be my own counsellor and master. "

"Wait but one moment, and allow me to ask a few questions of youroverseer, " continued the Creole, no way repulsed by my words or manner. "Will Mr Bleaks be so good as to read over his account once more?"

"Don't know why I should. Mind your own business, " was the churlishanswer. 

"Then I will do it for you, " said Ménou. "The 20th December, twenty-fivebales cotton, and four hogsheads tobacco-leaves, delivered to Mr Merton. Is it not so?"

Mr Bleaks made no answer. 

"The 23d December, twenty bales cotton, and one hogshead tobacco, toMessrs Goring. Is it not so?"

The overseer cast a fierce but embarrassed look at the Creole. His wifechanged colour. 

"The 24th January, twenty-five bales and one hogshead to Mr Groves, andagain, on the 10th February, twenty-two bales and seven hogsheads toMessrs Goring. Is not that the correct account?"

"D----d lies!" stammered the overseer. 

"Which I shall soon prove to be truth, " said the other. "Mr Howard, youhave a claim on this man for upwards of 2000 dollars, of which he hasshamefully cheated you. I shall also be able to point out another fraudto the extent of 500 dollars. "

My faithless servants were pale with rage and confusion; I was struckdumb with surprise at this unexpected discovery, and at the way in whichit was made. 

"We must lose no time with these people, " whispered the Creole to me, "or they will be off before you can look round you. Send immediately toJustice T---- for a warrant, and give the sheriff and constables a hintto be on the look-out. He cannot well escape if he goes down stream, buthe will no doubt try to go up. "

I immediately took the needful measures, and sent off Bangor, one of mysmartest negroes, to the justice of peace. "We must write immediately toGoring's house, " said the Creole. 

In an hour all was ready. At the end of that time the Montezuma steamercame smoking down the river. We got the captain to come on shore, toldhim briefly what had happened, gave him our letters, and were justaccompanying him back to his vessel, when we saw a figure creepstealthily along behind the hedge and wood-stack, and go on board thesteamer. It was Mr Bleaks, who had imagined that, under existingcircumstances, a trip to New Orleans might be of service to his health. We found the worthy gentleman concealed amongst the crew, busilyconverting himself into a negro by the assistance of a handful of soot. His intended excursion was, of course, put an end to, and he wasconveyed back to his dwelling. We took precautions against a secondattempt at flight; and the following morning he was placed in safecustody of the authorities. 

"But, my dear Monsieur Ménou, " said I to the Creole, as we sat afterdinner discussing the second bottle of his Chambertin, of which theexcellent man had not forgotten to bring a provision on shore withhim--"whence comes it that you have shown me so much, and suchundeserved sympathy and interest?"

"Ha, ha! You citizen aristocrats cannot understand that a man shouldtake an interest in any one, or any thing, but himself, " replied Ménou, half laughing, half in earnest. "It is incomprehensible to your stiff, proud, republican egotism, which makes you look down upon us Creoles, and upon all the rest of the world, as beings of an inferior order. We, on the other hand, take care of ourselves, but we also occasionallythink of our neighbours. Your affairs are perfectly well known to me, and I hope you do not think I have made a bad use of my knowledge ofthem. "

I shook the worthy man heartily by the hand. 

"We are not, in general, particularly fond of you northern gentlemen, "continued he; "but you form an exception. You have a good deal of ourFrench _étourderie_ in your blood, and a good deal also of ourgenerosity. "

I could not help smiling at the _naïve_ frankness with which this sketchof my character was placed before me. 

"You have stopped too long away from your own house, and from people whowould willingly be your friends; and if all that is said be true, youhave no particular reason to congratulate yourself upon the result ofyour wanderings. "

I bit my lips. The allusion was pretty plainly to my misfortune at NewYork. 

"Better as it is, " resumed the Creole, with a very slight andgood-humoured smile. "A New York fine lady would be strangely out of herelement on a Red River plantation. But to talk of something else. My sonwill be here to-morrow; your estate only wants attention, and a smallcapital of seven or eight thousand dollars, to become in a year or twoas thriving a one as any in Louisiana. My son will put it all in orderfor you; and, meanwhile, you must come and stop a few months with me. "

"But, Monsieur Ménou"----

"No _buts_, Monsieur Howard! You have got the money, you must buy ascore more negroes; we will pick out some good ones for you. To-morrowevery thing shall be arranged. "

On the morrow came young Ménou, an active intelligent youth of twenty. The day was passed in visiting the plantation, and in a very few hoursthe young man had gained my full confidence. I recommended my interestsand the negroes to his care; and the same evening his father and myselfwent on board the Ploughboy steamer, which was to convey us to theresidence of the Ménous. 

CHAPTER THE SECOND. 

CREOLE LIFE. 

The good Creole had certainly behaved to me in a more Christian-likemanner than most of my own countrymen would have done; and of this I hadbefore long abundant proof. A little after nightfall, the steamboatpaused opposite the house of the justice of peace; and I went on shoreto communicate with him concerning my faithless steward. Although soearly, the functionary was already going to bed, and came out to me inhis nightshirt. 

"Knew it all, dear Mr Howard, " said he with the utmost _naïveté_; "sawevery bale that they stole from you, or tried to steal from you. "

"And for Heaven's sake, man!" I exclaimed, "why did you not put a stopto it?"

"It was nothing to me, " was the dry answer. 

"If you had only given information to my attorney!"

"No business of mine, " returned the man. Then fixing his eyes hard uponme, he commenced a sort of lecture, for which I was by no meansprepared. 

"Ah!" said he, pushing his nightcap a little over his left ear, "youyoung gentlemen come out of the north with your dozen blackies or so, lay out some two or three thousand dollars in house and land, and thenthink you can play the absentee as much as you like, and that you do usa deal of honour when you allow us to collect and remit your income, foryou to spend out of the country. I'm almost sorry, Mr Howard, that youdidn't come six months later. "

"In order to leave the scoundrel time to secure his booty, eh?"

"At any rate, he has worked, and has wife and child, and has beenuseful to the land and country. "

"The devil!" I exclaimed, mighty indignant. "Well--for a judge, you havea singular idea of law!"

"It mayn't be Bony's code, nor yet Livingston's, but I reckon it'sjustice, " replied the man earnestly, tapping his forehead with hisforefinger. 

I stared at him, but he returned my gaze with interest. There was a dealof backwoods justice in his rough reasoning, although its morality wasindefensible. It was the law of property expounded _à la_ Lynch. What isvery certain is, that in a new country especially, absenteeism ought tobe scouted as a crime against the community. In my case my ramblings hadbeen very near costing me three thousand hard dollars. As it was, however, they were saved--thanks to Ménou--and the money still in thehands of Messrs Goring, whose standard of morality on such subjects wasprobably not much more rigid than that of the worthy Squire Turnips, andwho would, I doubt not, have bought my cotton of the Evil One himself, if they could have got it half-a-cent a pound cheaper by so doing. Igave the squire the necessary papers and powers for the adjustment of myaffairs with Bleaks; we shook hands, and I returned on board. 

In the grey of the morning the steamboat stopped again. I accompaniedMénou on shore, and we found a carriage waiting, which, in spite of itssingularly antique construction, set off with us at a brisk pace. I hadjust fallen asleep in my corner, when I was awakened by a musical voicenot ten paces off, exclaiming, "_Les voilà!_" I looked up, rubbed myeyes--it was Louise, the Creole's youngest daughter, who had come outunder the verandah to welcome us. Where should we find one of ournorthern beauties who would turn out of her warm bed at six in themorning, to welcome her papa and a stranger guest, and to keep hotcoffee ready for them, to counteract the bad effects of the morning airon the river? Monsieur Ménou, however, did not seem to find any thingextraordinary in his daughter's early rising, but began enquiring if thepeople had had their breakfasts, and were at work. On this and variousother subjects, Louise was able to give him all the information hedesired. She must have made astonishingly good use of the twenty-fourhours that had elapsed since her return home, to be versed in allparticulars concerning her sable liege subjects, and to be able torelate so fluently how Cato had run a splinter into his foot, Pompey hada touch of fever, and fifty other details, which, although doubtlessvery interesting to Ménou, made me gape a little. I amused myself bylooking round the dining-room, in which we then were, the furniture andappearance of which rather improved my opinion of Creole civilizationand comfort. The matting that covered the floor was new and of anelegant design--the sideboard solid and handsome, although prodigiouslyold-fashioned--tables, chairs, and sofas were of French manufacture. Onthe walls were suspended two or three engravings; not the fight at NewOrleans, or Perry and Bainbridge's victories over the British onChamplain and Erie, but curiosities dating from the reigns of Louis theFifteenth and Sixteenth. There was a Frenchified air about the wholeroom, nothing of the republic, the empire, or the restoration, but asort of odour of the genuine old royalist days. 

By the time I had completed my inspection, Louise had answered all herfather's enquiries; and we went out to take a look at the exterior ofthe house. It was snugly situated at the foot of a conical hillock, theonly elevation of any kind to be found for miles around. South, east, and west, it was enclosed in a broad frame of acacia and cotton trees;but to the north it lay open, the breath of Boreas being especiallyacceptable in our climate. A rivulet, very bright and clear, at leastfor Louisiana, poured its waters from the elevation before mentioned, and supplied a tannery, which doubtless contributed much to thehealthiness of the neighbourhood. The house consisted of three parts, built at different times by grandfather, father, and son, and now unitedinto one. The last and largest portion had been built by the presentproprietor; and it would have been as easy, it struck me, to havepulled down the earlier erections and have built one compact house. Thereason the Creole gave for not having done so, did honour, I thought, tohis heart. "I wish my children constantly to remember, " said he, "howhard their ancestors toiled, and how poorly they lived, in order toensure better days to those who should come after them. "

"And they will remember it, " said a voice close behind us. I turnedround. 

"_Madame Ménou, j'ai l'honneur de vous présenter notre voisin, MonsieurHoward. _"

"_Qui restera longtems chez nous_, " cried the two girls, skippingforward, and before I had time to make my bow to the lady, taking me byboth hands and dragging me into the house, and through half a dozenzigzag passages and corridors, to show me my room. This was a sexagonalapartment, situated immediately over a small artificial lake, throughwhich flowed the rivulet before mentioned. It was the coolest and mostagreeable chamber in the house, on which account it had been allotted tome. After I had declared my unqualified approval of it, my fairconductresses took me down stairs again to papa and mamma, the latter ofwhom I found to be a ladylike woman, with a countenance expressive ofgood nature, and manners that at once made one feel quite at home. Shereceived me as if she had known me for years, without compliments orceremonious speeches, and without even troubling herself to screw herfeatures into the sort of holiday expression which many persons think itnecessary to assume on first acquaintance. I was soon engaged in aconversation with her, in the middle of which a lady and two gentlemencame out under the verandah and joined us. Their olive complexions andforeign appearance at once attracted my attention, and I set them downas Spaniards or of Spanish extraction. In this I was not mistaken. Themen were introduced to me as Señor Silveira and Don Pablo. The lady, whowas the wife of the former, was a remarkably lovely creature, tall andelegant in person, with dark eyes, an aquiline and delicately-formednose, a beautiful mouth, enclosing pearl-like teeth. Hitherto I had heldour American fair ones to be the prettiest women in the world; but I nowalmost felt inclined to alter my opinion. I was so struck by the fairstranger's appearance that I could not take my eyes off her for somemoments; until a sharp glance from her husband, and (as I fancied) thesomewhat uneasy looks of the other ladies, made me aware that my gazemight be deemed somewhat too free and republican in its duration. Itransferred my attention, therefore, to the breakfast, which, to my nosmall satisfaction, was now smoking on the table, and to which we atonce sat down. The strangers appeared grave and thoughtful, and atelittle, although the steaks were delicious, the young quailsincomparable, and the Chambertin worthy of an imperial table. 

"Who are those foreigners?" said I to Ménou, when the meal was over, andwe were leaving the room. 

"Mexicans, " was the reply; "but who they are I cannot tell you. "

"What! do you not know them?"

"I know them perfectly well, " he answered, "or they would not be in myhouse. But even my family, " whispered he, "does not know them. "

Poor wretches! thought I, some more sacrifices on freedom's altar;driven from house and home by the internal commotions of their country. Things were going on badly enough in Mexico just then. On the one hand, Guerrero, Bustamente, Santa Anna; on the other, a race of men to whom, if one wished them their deserts, one could desire nothing better thanan Austrian schlague or a Russian knout, to make them sensible of thevalue of that liberty which they do not know how to appreciate. 

Meanwhile Julie and Louise were busy, in the next room, passing inreview, for the third or fourth time at least, the thousand-and-onepurchases they had made at New Orleans. It was a perfect picture ofCreole comfort to see the mamma presiding at this examination of thelaces, gros de Naples, Indiennes, gauze, and other fripperies, whichwere passed rapidly through the slender fingers of her daughters, andhanded to her for approval. She found every thing charming; everything, too, had its destination; and my only wonder was, how it would bepossible for those ladies to use the hundreds of ells of stuffs thatwere soon spread out over chairs, tables, and sofas, and that, as itappeared to me, would have been sufficient to supply half the women ofLouisiana with finery for the next five years. This Creole family wasreally a model of a joyous innocent existence; nothing constrained orartificial; but a light and cheerful tone of conversation, which, however, never degenerated into license, or threatened to overstep thelimits of the strictest propriety. Each person fulfilled his or herallotted task thoroughly well, and without appearing to find it anexertion. The housekeeping was admirable; to that point the excellenceof the breakfast had borne witness. I recollect once falling violentlyin love with a Massachusetts beauty, possessed of a charming face, asylph-like figure, and as much sentimentality as would have stocked halfa dozen flaxen-haired Germans. It was my ninth serious attachment if Iremember rightly, and desperately smitten I was and remained, until oneunlucky day when the mamma of my _adorata_ invited me to a dinner _enfamille_. The toughness of the mutton-chops took the edge off my teethfor forty-eight hours, and off my love for ever. As regards the Ménous, however, I have hardly known them long enough to form a very decidedopinion concerning them. In a few days I shall be able to judge better. Meanwhile we will leave the ladies, and accompany Monsieur Ménou overhis plantation. It is in excellent order, admirably situated, andcapitally irrigated by trenches cut through the cotton and maize fields. There are above three hundred acres in cultivation--the yearly crop twohundred and fifty bales: a very pretty income. Only three children, andthe plantation comprising nearly four thousand acres. Not so bad--mightbe worth thinking of. But what would the world say to it? Thearistocratic Howard to marry a Creole, with, perhaps, a dash of Indianblood in her veins! Yet Ménou has threescore negroes and negresses, besides a whole colony of ebony children, and the two girls are not soill to look at. Roses and lilies--especially Louise. Well, we will thinkabout it. 

"Apropos!" said the Creole, as we were walking along a field path. "Youhave three thousand dollars with Gorings?"

I nodded. 

"And eight thousand with Mr Richards?"

"How do you know that, my dear M. Ménou?"

I must observe, by way of parenthesis, that I had lent these eightthousand dollars to Richards some five years previously; and although, on more than one occasion during that time, the money would have been ofconsiderable use to me, I had been restrained from asking it back by mynatural indolence and laziness of character, added to the nonsensicalnotion of generosity and devotion in friendship that I had picked out ofwaggon-loads of novels. Richards, I must observe, had never hinted atreturning the money. I now felt rather vexed, I cannot exactly say why, at Ménou's being acquainted with the fact of this debt, which I hadfancied a secret between Richards and myself. 

"And how do you know that, my dear M. Ménou?"

Ménou smiled at my question. "You forget, " said he, "that I am only justreturned from New Orleans. One hears and learns many things when oneopens one's ears to the gossip of the _haut-ton_ of the capital. "

"Ha, ha!" said I, a little sarcastically, and glancing at the man'sstraw hat, and unbleached trousers and jacket; "Monsieur Ménou--theplain and unsophisticated Monsieur Ménou, also a _haut-ton_ man?"

"My wife was a M----y; my grandfather was president of the Toulouseparliament, " replied the Creole quietly, to my somewhat impertinentremark. 

I bowed. My suspicions concerning Indian blood were unfounded then. 

"And have my proceedings and follies really served as tea-table talk tothe New Orleans' gossips?" said I. 

"Don't let that annoy you, " replied Ménou. "Let the world talk; and you, on your part, prove to it that you are a more sensible man than ittakes you for. Will you put yourself for a while entirely under myguidance?"

"Very willingly, " said I. 

"And promise to abide by my advice. "

"I promise to do so. "

"Then, " continued Ménou, "you must let me have, to use as I thinkproper, eight out of the eleven thousand dollars which you have lyingidle. "

"And Richards?" said I. 

"Can do without them better than you can. It is very well to begenerous, but not to the extent of injuring yourself. Here is a receiptfor the sum in question. I will account to you for its expenditure. "

And with these words he handed me the receipt. He had evidently laid alittle plot to force me to my own good. It went decidedly against thegrain with me to requite Richards' hospitality and friendship byclaiming back the money I had lent him, and for which he no doubt hadgood use. At the same time, it would have been rather Quixotic to let myown plantation go to rack and ruin for want of the funds by which he wasprofiting; and moreover, I had given Ménou my word to be guided by him;so I put the receipt and my romantics in my pocket, and returned to thehouse to give my adviser an order for the money. 

Julie and Louise scarcely seemed to observe our entrance. Both had theirhands full--the one with cookery and domestic matters, the other withthe ginghams and muslins, which she was rending and tearing with avigour that caused the noise to be heard fifty yards off. At supper, however, they were as merry as ever, and there was no end to their mirthand liveliness. It seemed as if they had thrown off the burden of theday's toils, and awakened to a new and more joyous existence. The threeMexicans, with their gravity and grandeur, did not seem to be the leastrestraint upon the girls, who at last, however, towards eight o'clock, appeared to grow impatient at sitting so long still. They exchanged awhisper, and then, rising from table, tripped into a adjoining room. Presently the harmonious tones of a pianoforte were audible. 

"We must not linger here, " said the Creole. "_Les dames nous envoudraient. _"

And we all repaired to the drawing-room, an elegant apartment, where theMexican lady was already seated at the piano, while the two girls wereonly waiting partners to begin the dance. Julie took possession of herfather, Silveira stood up with Madame Ménou, Louise fell to my share;and a cotillon was danced with as much glee and spirit as if bothdancers and lookers-on had been more numerous. Between dancing, music, and lively conversation, eleven o'clock came before we were aware of it. 

"_Voici notre manière Créole_, " said Ménou, as he left me at my bed-roomdoor. "With us every thing has its time; laughing, talking, working, praying, and dancing: each its appointed season. We endeavour so toarrange our lives that no one occupation or amusement should interferewith another. It is only by that means that our secluded domesticexistence can be rendered agreeable and happy. As it is, _nous ne nousennuyons jamais_. Good-night. "

CHAPTER THE THIRD. 

QUITE UNEXPECTED. 

Eight weeks had flown by like so many hours. I had become domesticatedin the family circle of the Ménous, and was getting so frugal andeconomical, that I scarcely knew what a dollar or a bank-note lookedlike. Time passed so lightly and pleasantly, and there was something sopatriarchal and delightful in this mode of life, that it was nodifficult matter to forget the world, with its excitements, itspleasures, and its cares. I, at least, rarely bestowed a thought uponany thing but what was passing immediately around me; whole piles ofnewspapers lay unread upon my table, and I became every day more andmore of a backwoodsman. I rose early, slipped into my linen jacket andtrousers, and accompanied M. Ménou about his fields and cotton presses. The afternoon passed in looking over accounts, or in reading andlaughing at the discussions and opinions of Colonel Stone and MajorNoah, as set forth in the well-known papers, the _Morning Courier_ and_Commercial Gazette_, while the evening of each day was filled up by an_impromptu_ of some kind, a dance, or a merry chat. 

We were sitting one night at supper, when M. Ménou proposed a stag-huntby torchlight. I caught eagerly at the idea, and he at once gave ordersto make the needful preparations. The two Mexicans begged to be allowedto accompany us; but almost before they had proffered the request, thelady interfered to oppose it. 

"Don Lop----!" she exclaimed, and then checked herself in the middle ofthe word she was about to utter. "_Te suplico_, " she continued inSpanish, after a momentary pause, "I implore you not to go to-night. "

There was something inexpressibly anxious and affectionate in her mannerand tone. Her husband begged her not to make herself uneasy, andpromised he would not go; at the same time, it was evident that he wasvexed not to accompany us. I assured the lady there was no danger. 

"No danger!" repeated she, in her sonorous Castilian. "No danger! Isnobody aware of the intended hunt?" said she to Ménou. 

"Nobody, " was the reply. 

It just then occurred to me, that during the whole period of myresidence with the Ménous, neither the Mexican nor his wife had evergone out of the house and garden. This circumstance, in combination withthe anxiety now shown by the lady, struck me forcibly, and I gazed atSilveira, while I vainly endeavoured to conjecture whence arose themystery that evidently environed him. He was a man of about thirty yearsof age, with handsome features, a high forehead, and a pale, but notunhealthy complexion. The expression of his eyes particularly struck me;at times there flashed from them a fire, indicative of high purposes andstrong resolution. There was a military and commanding air about him, which was very apparent, though he evidently did his utmost to concealit; and it was this same manner which had hitherto caused me to treathim rather coolly, and rendered me little disposed to cultivate hisintimacy. His companion, Don Pablo, was a tolerably insignificantperson, who seemed to look up to Silveira and his wife with a respectand reverence almost amounting to idolatry. Beside him, their suite wascomposed of four attendants. 

"And is there really no danger?" said the Señora to Ménou. The Creoleassured her there was none. She whispered a few words to her husband, who kissed her hand, and repeated his request to be of our party--thistime without any opposition on his wife's part. 

Supper over, we put on our shooting coats, took our guns, and mountedthe horses that had been prepared for us. Six negroes with pitch-pans, and a couple of dogs, had gone on before. The clock struck ten as we setout. It was a dark sultry night; towards the south distant thunder washeard, betokening the approach of one of those storms that occur almostdaily at that season and in that country. During the first twentyminutes of our ride, the atmosphere became stiflingly oppressive; thensuddenly a strong wind rushed amongst the trees and bushes, the thunderdrew nearer, and from time to time a flash of forked lightningmomentarily illumined the forest. Again a flash, more vivid than thepreceding ones, and a clap, compared to which our northern thunder wouldsound like the mere roll of a drum; the dogs began to whine, and kept asnear to the horses as they could. We pushed onward, and were close to alaurel thicket, when the leading hound suddenly came to a stand, andpricked up his ears. We dismounted, and walked forward--the negroespreceding us with the pitch-pans. Some twenty pace before us weperceived four small stars, that glittered like diminutivefire-balls--they were the eyes of two stags that awaited our approach, in astonishment at the unusual spectacle offered to them. We tookaim--the Creole and myself at one, two Mexicans at the other. "_Feu!_"cried Ménou. There was the crack of the four rifles, then a crashingnoise amongst the branches, and the clatter of hoofs, succeeded by criesof _Sacre!_ and Damn ye! and _Diabolo!_ and _San Jago!_ The sixpitch-pans lay smoking and flaring on the ground; the Creole and I hadsprung on one side, the negroes had thrown themselves on their faces ingreat terror, and the two Dons lay beside them, overthrown by the rushof one of the stags. 

"_Santa Virgen!_" shouted Don Pablo, mightily alarmed and angry;"_Maldito bobo, Señor don Manuel!_"

And scrambling to his feet, he proceeded in desperate haste to raise hiscompanion from the ground, on which he lay motionless, and apparentlymuch hurt. 

"_Maldito sea el dia! Nuestro Libertador! Santa Anna! Ay de mi!_"

"_Calla te_--hold your tongue!" said Silveira to his alarmed adherent. 

On the first appearance of danger, M. Ménou had jumped behind a tree, which had afforded a sufficient shelter against the mad rush of theterrified stag; but his cry of warning had come too late for the youngMexican, who had less experience in this kind of chase, and who, standing full in the path of the furious beast, was knocked down, andrun over. I pushed Pablo, who was howling and wringing his hands, on oneside, and with Ménou, proceeded to investigate the hurts which the otherMexican had received. His coat was torn, and both legs were bleeding, having been rent by the deer's antlers. Fortunately the wounds were notdeep, or he might have had serious reason to regret the bad aim he hadtaken. We placed him on his horse, and turned towards home. 

It was midnight when we reached the house with the wounded man, and thecarcass of the deer that Ménou and I had shot. The sight of a whitefigure at the window of the apartment occupied by the Mexican, warned usthat his wife was watching for his arrival. At the sound of our horses'feet, she came hurrying down stairs, and out of the house to meet us;and upon beholding her husband, pale, exhausted, and supported on hishorse by couple of negroes, she uttered a shrill cry, and with the word"_Perdido!_" sank, almost fainting, on the door steps. 

"Gracious God!" cried a second female voice at that moment. "Amisfortune! Is it Howard?"

It was Louise, who at that moment made her appearance in her nightdress, breathless with terror. 

"_Mon Dieu_, it is only the Mexican! Thank God!" lisped she, in anaccent of infinite joy and relief. 

"Thanks, dearest Louise! for those words, " said I; "they make me veryhappy. "

I caught her in my arms, and pressed a kiss upon her lips. She struggledfrom my embrace, and, blushing deeply, hurried back into her chamber. 

I now followed Ménou into the apartment of the Mexican, whose wife washanging over him, speechless with grief and anxiety. Ménou had muchtrouble to get her away from him, in order that he might examine anddress his hurts. I do not know where the worthy Creole had learned hissurgery, but he was evidently no tyro in the healing art; and he cut outthe flesh injured by the antler, washed and bandaged the wounds, with adexterity that really inspired me with confidence in him. The woundswere not dangerous, but might easily have become so, taking intoconsideration the heat of the weather, (the thermometer stood ateighty-six, ) and the circumstance of their having been inflicted by astag's horn. In a short half hour the patient was comfortably put tobed, and the afflicted Donna Isabella consoled by Ménou's positiveassurance, that in a very few days her husband would be well again. Shereceived this piece of comfort with such a thoroughly Roman Catholicuplifting of her magnificent eyes, that I could scarcely help envyingthe saints for whom that look was intended. 

I had held the candle for Ménou during the operation; and as I put itdown upon the table, my eyes fell upon a beautifully executed miniatureof the Mexican set in brilliants. Beside it were lying letters addressedto Don Lopez di Santa Anna, Marischal de Campo; one or two had thesuperscription, Lieutenant-general. It was no other than the celebratedMexican leader, the second in rank in the would-be republic, who hadbeen sojourning in Monsieur Ménou's house under the assumed name ofSilveira. This discovery afforded me matter for reflection as I repairedto my bed-chamber; reflections, however, which were soon forced to makeway for other thoughts of a more personally interesting nature. It wasthe graceful form of Louise that now glided forward out of thebackground of my imagination. She had watched, then, anxiously for ourreturn; and the first rumour of a mishap had drawn from her lips thename of him for whom her heart felt most interested. During the wholetime of my residence with the Ménous, I had never once dreamed offalling in love with either of the sisters. There was so much activityand occupation in and out of the house, that I seemed to have had notime to indulge in sentimental reveries. Now, however, they camecrowding upon me. It was so consolatory to an unlucky bachelor, onlyjust recovering from a recent disappointment, to find himself an objectof tender interest a lovely and innocent girl of seventeen. 

At breakfast, the next morning, Louise did not dare to look me in theface. Without distressing her, however, I managed to look at her morethan I had ever before done; and I really wondered what I had beenthinking about, during the preceding two months, not to have soonerfound out her manifold charms and perfections. Her elder sister was toostout for my taste, altogether on too large a scale, and with too littleof the intellectual in the expression of her features; but Louise isunquestionably a charming creature, slender and graceful, with a sweetarchness in her countenance, and hands and feet that might serve formodels. In short, I began to think seriously that all pastdisappointments would be more than compensated by the affection of sucha woman. I must see first about setting my house in order, thought I. 

"Will you be so kind as to lend me your carriage to go as far as theriver?" said I to the Creole. 

"With much pleasure. A mere ride, I suppose?"

"No; a little more. I wish to see how things are getting on at myplantation. "

"You are going away?" exclaimed Madame Ménou and Julie. Louise saidnothing, but she raised her eyes to mine for the first time thatmorning. 

"It is necessary that I should do so; but, if you will allow me, I willpay you another visit before very long. "

The roses had left the cheeks of poor Louise, and I fancied I saw a tearglittering in her eyes. Several minutes elapsed without any body'sspeaking. At last the silence was broken by the Creole. 

"You seemed very happy here, I thought, " said he. "Has any thinghappened?"

"Yes; something of great importance to me. I must really leave youimmediately, " was my answer. 

Mean time, Louise had left the room. I hurried after her, and overtookher before she reached her chamber. 

"Louise!" said I. She was weeping. "I leave you to-day. "

"So I heard. "

"In order to arrange my house. "

"My brother is doing that already, " said she. "Why leave us?"

"Because I would fain see with my own eyes if all is ready and fittingfor the reception of my Louise. When I have done so, will you follow mehome as my beloved wife?"

For one second she looked in my face, her features lighted up with abeam of confiding joy, and then her gaze fell in timid confusion on theground. 

"Take her, dear Howard!" said her father, who had followed usunperceived. "She is the best of daughters, and will make as good awife. "

Louise sank into my arms. An hour later I was on my way homewards. 

At last, then, I was irrevocably pledged, and my bachelorship drew nearits close. I felt that I had made a judicious choice. Louise was anexcellent girl, sensible, prudent, active, and cheerful--uniting, inshort, all the qualities desirable in a backwoodsman's wife. It wasstrange enough that all this should only have occurred to me within afew hours. I had been living two months under the same roof with her, and yet the idea of her becoming my wife had never entered my head tillthe preceding night. 

It was four in the afternoon when I reached my plantation, which I wasvery near passing without recognising it, so great was the change thathad taken place since my last visit. The rubbish and tree-trunks thathad then encumbered the vicinity of the house had disappeared--thegarden had been increased in size, and surrounded by a new and elegantfence--a verandah, under which two negro carpenters were at work, ranalong the front and sides of the house. As I walked up from the boat, young Ménou came to meet me. I shook him heartily by the hand, andexpressed my gratitude for the trouble he had taken, and my wonder atthe astonishing progress the improvements of all kinds had made. 

"How have you possibly managed to effect all these miracles?" said I. 

"Very easily, " replied Ménou. "You sent us fifteen negroes; my fatherlent me ten of his. With these, and the twenty-five you had before, wewere able to make progress. We are now putting the finishing-stroke toyour cotton press, which was fearfully out of order. "

I walked with a thankful heart through the garden, and stepped into theverandah. The rooms that looked out upon it were all fitted up in themost comfortable manner. In the principal bedroom, a negro girl wasworking at the elegant musquitto curtains. Old Sybille, in a calico gownof the most glaring colours, her face shining with contentment, wasbrushing away some invisible dust from the furniture in the parlour. 

"By the by, " said young Ménou, opening a writing-desk, "here are severalletters that have come for you within the last few days, and that amidstmy various occupations I have quite forgotten to forward. "

I sat down and opened them. Two were from Richards, the earliest indate, inviting me to go and stay with him again. The more recent onerenewed the invitation, and expressed the writer's surprise at my havingbecome on a sudden so domestic a character. In a postscript he added, asa sort of inducement to me to visit him, that he was daily expecting afriend of his wife's, the beautiful Emily Warren. Not a syllable, however, about the eight thousand dollars, which surprised me not alittle; for Richards was by no means a man to remain silent on a subjectaffecting his worldly interest, and I fully expected he would have feltand expressed some pique or resentment at my sudden withdrawal of myfunds. But, on the contrary, the letter I had given to Ménou, in which Irequested Richards to pay over the money in question to the Creole, wasnot even alluded to. 

"There are matters in these letters, " said I to young Ménou, "whichoblige me to return immediately to your father's house. "

"Indeed!" cried the young man, much astonished. 

"Yes, " replied I. "I hear a steamboat coming down the river--I will beoff at once. "

He looked at me in great surprise; Sybille shook her head. But mycharacter is so impatient and impetuous, that when I have resolved onany thing, I can never bear to defer its execution a moment. Besides, there was really nothing to detain me at my plantation. The arrangementsand improvements that I had reckoned on finding only half effected werecomplete; and every moment that now elapsed before I could welcomeLouise as mistress of my house and heart, seemed to me worse thanwasted. I hurried down to the river and hailed the steamer. It was thesame that had brought me home two months previously. 

"Mr Howard, " said the captain joyously, as I stepped on board thevessel, "I am right glad to see you on my deck again. Your plantationlooks quite another thing. You are really a worker of wonders. "

I hardly knew how to accept this undeserved praise. One of the bestpoints in our American character is the universal respect paid toindustry and intellect. The wealthy idler who carries thousands in hispocket-book, may, amongst us, look in vain for the respect and flatterywhich a tithe of his riches would procure him in many other countries;while the less fortunate man, who makes his way and earns his living byhand and head work, may always reckon on the consideration of hisfellow-citizens. On my return to Louisiana I had been thought nothingof. I was a drone in the hive--with money, but without skill orperseverance. My overseer was more looked up to than myself; but therecent change in the state of my plantation, attributed, howeverwrongly, to my presence, had caused a revolution in people's ideas; andI was now met on all sides with open hands and smiling countenances. Thechange, I must confess, was a gratifying one for me. 

The Ménous were at breakfast the next morning, when I arrived, heated bymy walk from the river, opposite to the parlour window. I was receivedwith a cry of welcome. 

"So soon back! Nothing wrong, I hope?" said Ménou. 

"Nothing, " replied I dryly; "I have only forgotten something. "

"And what is that?"

"My Louise, " was my answer, as I seated myself beside the blushing girl. "On arriving at my wilderness, " I continued, "I found it converted intoso blooming a paradise, that I should really be heartbroken if it wereto remain any longer without its Eve. To-morrow, please God, we willstart for New Orleans, to put in requisition the service of Père Antoineand the worthy rector. "

There was a cry of consternation from the papa and mamma. 

"There is nothing ready--_point de trousseau_--nothing in the world. Donot be so unreasonable, dear Howard. "

"Our Yankee damsels, " replied I, laughing, "if they have only got a pairof shoes and a gown and a half, consider themselves perfectly ready tobe married. "

"Well, let him have his way, " said Ménou. "We can manage, I daresay, toequip the bride a little better than that. "

"Apropos, " said I to Ménou, while the ladies were consulting together, and recovering from the flurry into which my precipitation had thrownthem--"the eight thousand dollars? Richards says nothing about them. "

"It was only an experiment I tried with you, " replied my futurefather-in-law, smiling. "I wished to see if you have sufficient firmnessof character to ensure your own happiness. Had you not come victoriouslyout of the little ordeal, Louise should never have been wife of yours, if all the plantations on the Mississippi had called you master. As tothe money, I advanced what was wanted. You can settle with Mr Richardsin the way most agreeable to yourself. "

The next morning we set off for New Orleans--Ménou and Louise, Julie, who was to act as bridesmaid, and myself. Madame Ménou remained at home. I could have wished to have had young Ménou as my bridesman; but hispresence was necessary at the plantation, and we were obliged to contentourselves with receiving his good wishes as we passed. After a twentyhours' voyage we reached the capital, and took up our quarters in thehouse of a sister of Ménou's. 

I was hurrying to find Father Antoine, when, in turning the corner ofthe cathedral, I ran bolt up against Richards. After the first greeting, and without giving him time to ask me questions--

"Wait for me at the Merchant's Coffeehouse, " said I; "in a quarter of anhour I will meet you there. "

And I left him in considerable astonishment at my desperate haste. Ifound Father Antoine and the rector, and then hurried off to keep myappointment. 

"Do you know, " said I to Richards, as I dragged him through the streets, "that I am thinking seriously of becoming a Benedict?"

"Well, " said he, "you must come home with me then. Emily Warren isarrived. She is a charming girl, and a great friend of my wife's. Youwill be sure of Clara's good word, and I really think Emily will exactlysuit you. "

"I am afraid not, " replied I, as I turned into the church. 

Richards opened his eyes in amazement when he saw Louise, with her aunt, sister, and the whole of the bridal party, walking up the aisle, andFather Antoine standing at the altar in his robes. 

"What does this mean?" said he. 

I made no answer, but let matters explain themselves. Ten minutes after, Louise Ménou was my wife. 

GREECE UNDER THE ROMANS. {A}

What is called _Philosophical History_ we believe to be yet in itsinfancy. It is the profound remark of Mr Finlay--profound as weourselves understand it, _i. E. _, in relation to this philosophicaltreatment, "That history will ever remain inexhaustible. " Howinexhaustible? Are the _facts_ of history inexhaustible? In regard tothe _ancient_ division of history with which he is there dealing, thiswould be in no sense true; and in any case it would be a lifeless truth. So entirely have the mere facts of Pagan history been disinterred, ransacked, sifted, that except by means of some chance medal that may beunearthed in the illiterate East, (as of late towards Bokhara, ) or bymeans of some mysterious inscription, such as those which still mock thelearned traveller in Persia, northwards near Hamadan, (Ecbatana, ) andsouthwards at Persepolis, or those which distract him amongst theshadowy ruins of Yucatan (Uxmal, suppose, and Palenque, )--once for all, barring these pure godsends, it is hardly "in the dice" that anydownright novelty of fact should remain in reversion for this 19thcentury. The merest possibility exists, that in Armenia, or in aGræco-Russian monastery on Mount Athos, or in Pompeii, &c. , some authorshitherto +anekdotoi+ may yet be concealed; and by a channel in thatdegree improbable, it is possible that certain new facts of history maystill reach us. But else, and failing these cryptical or subterraneouscurrents of communication, for us the record is closed. History in thatsense is come to an end, and sealed up as by the angel in theApocalypse. What then? The facts _so_ understood are but the dry bonesof the mighty past. And the question arises here also, not less than inthat sublimest of prophetic visions, "Can these dry bones live?" Notonly they can live, but by an infinite variety of life. The samehistoric facts, viewed in different lights, or brought into connexionwith other facts, according to endless diversities of permutation andcombination, furnish grounds for such eternal successions of newspeculations as make the facts themselves virtually new. The same Hebrewwords are read by different sets of vowel points, and the samehieroglyphics are deciphered by keys everlastingly varied. 

To us we repeat that oftentimes it seems as though the _science_ ofhistory were yet scarcely founded. There will be such a science, if atpresent there is not; and in one feature of its capacities it willresemble chemistry. What is so familiar to the perceptions of man as thecommon chemical agents of water, air, and the soil on which we tread?Yet each one of these elements is a mystery to this day; handled, used, tried, searched experimentally, in ten thousand ways--it is stillunknown; fathomed by recent science down to a certain depth, it is stillprobably by its destiny unfathomable. Even to the end of days, it ispretty certain that the minutest particle of earth--that a dewdrop, scarcely distinguishable as a separate object--that the slenderestfilament of a plant will include within itself secrets inaccessible toman. And yet, compared with the mystery of man himself, these physicalworlds of mystery are but as a radix of infinity. Chemistry is in thisview mysterious and spinosistically sublime--that it is the science ofthe latent in all things, of all things as lurking in all. Within thelifeless flint, within the silent pyrites, slumbers an agony ofpotential combustion. Iron is imprisoned in blood. With cold water (asevery child is now-a-days aware) you may lash a fluid into angryebullitions of heat; with hot water, as with the rod of Amram's son, youmay freeze a fluid down to the temperature of the Sarsar wind, providedonly that you regulate the pressure of the air. The sultry anddissolving fluid shall bake into a solid, the petrific fluid shall meltinto a liquid. Heat shall freeze, frost shall thaw; and wherefore?Simply because old things are brought together in new modes ofcombination. And in endless instances beside we see the same Panlikelatency of forms and powers, which gives to the external world acapacity of self-transformation, and of _polymorphosis_ absolutelyinexhaustible. 

But the same capacity belongs to the facts of history. And we do notmean merely that, from subjective differences in the minds reviewingthem, such facts assume endless varieties of interpretation andestimate, but that objectively, from lights still increasing in thescience of government and of social philosophy, all the primary facts ofhistory become liable continually to new theories, to new combinations, and to new valuations of their moral relations. We have seen some kindsof marble, where the veinings happened to be unusually multiplied, inwhich human faces, figures, processions, or fragments of natural sceneryseemed absolutely illimitable, under the endless variations orinversions of the order, according to which they might be combined andgrouped. Something analogous takes effect in reviewing the remote partsof history. Rome, for instance, has been the object of historic pens fortwenty centuries (dating from Polybius); and yet hardly so much astwenty years have elapsed since Niebuhr opened upon us almost a newrevelation, by recombining the same eternal facts, according to adifferent set of principles. The same thing may be said, though not withthe same degree of emphasis, upon the Grecian researches of the lateOttfried Mueller. Egyptian history again, even at this moment, is seenstealing upon us through the dusky twilight in its first distinctlineaments. Before Young, Champollion, and the others who have followedon their traces in this field of history, all was outer darkness; andwhatsoever we _do_ know or _shall_ know of Egyptian Thebes will now berecovered as if from the unswathing of a mummy. Not until a flight ofthree thousand years has left Thebes the Hekatompylos a dusky speckin the far distance, have we even _begun_ to read her annals, or tounderstand her revolutions. 

Another instance we have now before us of this new historic faculty forresuscitating the buried, and for calling back the breath to the frozenfeatures of death, in Mr Finlay's work upon the Greeks as related to theRoman empire. He presents us with old facts, but under the purpose ofclothing them with a new life. He rehearses ancient stories, not withthe humble ambition of better adorning them, of more perspicuouslynarrating, or even of more forcibly pointing their moral, but ofextracting from them some new meaning, and thus forcing them to arrangethemselves, under some latent connexion, with other phenomena now firstdetected, as illustrations of some great principle or agency now firstrevealing its importance. Mr Finlay's style of intellect is appropriateto such a task; for it is subtle and Machiavelian. But there is thisdifficulty in doing justice to the novelty, and at times we may say withtruth to the profundity of his views, that they are by necessity thrownout in continued successions of details, are insulated, and in one word_sporadic_. This follows from the very nature of his work; for it is aperpetual commentary on the incidents of Grecian history, from the eraof the Roman conquest to the commencement of what Mr Finlay, in apeculiar sense, calls the Byzantine empire. These incidents have nowherebeen systematically or continuously recorded; they come forward bycasual flashes in the annals, perhaps, of some church historian, as theyhappen to connect themselves with his momentary theme; or they betraythemselves in the embarrassments of the central government, whether atRome or at Constantinople, when arguing at one time a pestilence, atanother an insurrection, or an inroad of barbarians. It is not the faultof Mr Finlay, but his great disadvantage, that the affairs of Greecehave been thus discontinuously exhibited, and that its internal changesof condition have been never treated except obliquely, and by men _aliudagentibus_. The Grecian _race_ had a primary importance on our planet;but the Grecian name, represented by Greece considered as a territory, or as the original seat of the Hellenic people, ceased to have muchimportance, in the eyes of historians, from the time when it became aconquered province; and it declined into absolute insignificance afterthe conquest of so many other provinces had degraded Hellas into anarithmetical unit, standing amongst a total amount of figures, so vastand so much more dazzling to the ordinary mind. Hence it was that inancient times no complete history of Greece, through all her phases andstages, was ever attempted. The greatness of her later revolutions, simply as changes, would have attracted the historian; but, as changesassociated with calamity and loss of power, they repelled his curiosity, and alienated his interest. It is the very necessity, therefore, of MrFinlay's position, when coming into such an inheritance, that he mustsplinter his philosophy into separate individual notices; for therecords of history furnish no grounds for more. _Spartam, quam nactusest, ornavit. _ But this does not remedy the difficulty for ourselves, inattempting to give a representative view of his philosophy. Generalabstractions he had no opportunity for presenting; consequently we haveno opportunity for valuing; and, on the other hand, single casesselected from a succession of hundreds would not justify any_representative_ criticism, more than the single brick, in the anecdoteof Hierocles, would serve representatively to describe or to appraisethe house. 

Under this difficulty as to the possible for ourselves, and the just forMr Finlay, we shall adopt the following course. So far as the Greekpeople connected themselves in any splendid manner with the Romanempire, they did so with the eastern horn of that empire, and in pointof time from the foundation of Constantinople as an eastern Rome in thefourth century, to a period not fully agreed on; but for the moment wewill say with Mr Finlay, up to the early part of the eighth century. Areason given by Mr Finlay for this latter state is--that about that timethe Grecian blood, so widely diffused in Asia, and even in Africa, became finally detached by the progress of Mahometanism and Mahometansystems of power from all further concurrence or coalition with theviews of the Byzantine Cæsar. Constantinople was from that date thrownback more upon its own peculiar heritage and jurisdiction, of which themain resources for war and peace lay in Europe and (speaking by thenarrowest terms) in Thrace. Henceforth, therefore, for the city andthrone of Constantine, resuming its old Grecian name of Byzantium, theresucceeded a theatre less diffusive, a population more concentrated, acharacter of action more determinate and jealous, a style of courtlyceremonial more elaborate as well as more haughtily repulsive, anduniversally a system of interests, as much more definite and selfish, asmight naturally be looked for in a nation now every where surrounded bynew thrones gloomy with malice, and swelling with the consciousness ofyouthful power. This new and final state of the eastern Rome Mr Finlaydenominates the Byzantine empire. Possibly this use of the term may becapable of justification; but more questions would arise in thediscussion than Mr Finlay has thought it of importance to notice. Andfor the present we shall take the word _Byzantine_ in its most ordinaryacceptation, as denoting the local empire founded by Constantine inByzantium early in the fourth century, under the idea of a translationfrom the old western Rome, and overthrown by the Ottoman Turks in theyear 1453. In the fortunes and main stages of this empire, what are thechief arresting phenomena, aspects, or relations, to the greatest ofmodern interests? We select by preference these. 

I. First, this was the earliest among the kingdoms of our planet _whichconnected itself with Christianity_. In Armenia, there had been aprevious _state_ recognition of Christianity. But _that_ was neithersplendid nor distinct. Whereas the Byzantine Rome built avowedly uponChristianity as its own basis, and consecrated its own nativity by thesublime act of founding the first provision ever attempted for thepoor, considered simply as poor, (_i. E. _ as objects of pity, not asinstruments of ambition. )

II. _Secondly, as the great ægis of western Christendom_, nay, thebarrier which made it possible that any Christendom should ever exist, this Byzantine empire is entitled to a very different station in theenlightened gratitude of us western Europeans from any which it has yetheld. We do not scruple to say--that, by comparison with the services ofthe Byzantine people to Europe, no nation on record has ever stood inthe same relation to any other single nation, much less to a wholefamily of nations, whether as regards the opportunity and means ofconferring benefits, or as regards the astonishing perseverance insupporting the succession of these benefits, or as regards the ultimateevent of these benefits. A great wrong has been done for ages; for wehave all been accustomed to speak of the Byzantine empire with scorn, {B}as chiefly known by its effeminacy; and the greater is the call for afervent palinode. 

III. _Thirdly. _ In a reflex way, as the one great danger whichovershadowed Europe for generations, and against which the Byzantineempire proved the capital bulwark, Mahometanism may rank as one of theByzantine aspects or counterforces. And if there is any popular errorapplying to the history of that great convulsion, as a political effortfor revolutionizing the world, some notice of it will find a naturalplace in connexion with these present trains of speculation. 

Let us, therefore, have permission to throw together a few remarks onthese three subjects--1st, on the remarkable distinction by which theeldest of Christian rulers proclaimed and inaugurated the Christianbasis of his empire: 2dly, on the true but forgotten relation of thisgreat empire to our modern Christendom, under which idea we comprehendEurope and the whole continent of America: 3dly, on the falsepretensions of Mahometanism, whether advanced by itself or byinconsiderate Christian speculators on its behalf. We shall thus obtainthis advantage, that some sort of unity will be given to our own glancesat Mr Finlay's theme; and, at the same time, by gathering under thesegeneral heads any dispersed comments of Mr Finlay, whether forconfirmation of our own views, or for any purpose of objection to his, we shall give to those comments also that kind of unity, by means of areference to a common purpose, which we could not have given them byciting each independently for itself. 

I. First, then, as to that memorable act by which Constantinople (_i. E. _the Eastern empire) connected herself for ever with Christianity; viz. The recognition of pauperism as an element in the state entitled to thematernal guardianship of the state. In this new principle, introduced byChristianity, we behold a far-seeing or proleptic wisdom, makingprovision for evils before they had arisen; for it is certain that greatexpansions of pauperism did not exist in the ancient world. A pauperpopulation is a disease peculiar to the modern or Christian world. Various causes latent in the social systems of the ancients preventedsuch developments of surplus people. But does not this argue asuperiority in the social arrangements of these ancients? Not at all;they were atrociously worse. They evaded this one morbid affection bymeans of others far more injurious to the moral advance of man. The casewas then every where as at this day it is in Persia. A Persianambassador to London or Paris might boast that, in his native Irân nosuch spectacles existed of hunger-bitten myriads as may be seen everywhere during seasons of distress in the crowded cities of ChristianEurope. "No, " would be the answer, "most certainly not; but why? Thereason is, that your accursed form of society and government_intercepts_ such surplus people, does not suffer them to be born. Whatis the result? You ought, in Persia, to have three hundred millions ofpeople; your vast territory is easily capacious of that number. You_have_--how many have you? Something less than eight millions. " Think ofthis, startled reader. But, if _that_ be a good state of things, thenany barbarous soldier who makes a wilderness, is entitled to callhimself a great philosopher and public benefactor. This is to cure theheadache by amputating the head. Now, the same principle of limitationto population _à parte ante_, though not in the same savage excess as inMahometan Persia, operated upon Greece and Rome. The whole Pagan worldescaped the evils of a redundant population by vicious repressions of itbeforehand. But under Christianity a new state of things was destined totake effect. Many protections and excitements to population were laid inthe framework of this new religion, which, by its new code of rules andimpulses, in so many ways extended the free-agency of human beings. Manufacturing industry was destined first to arise on any great scaleunder Christianity. Except in Tyre and Alexandria, (see the EmperorHadrian's account of this last, ) there was no town or district in theancient world where the populace could be said properly to work. Therural labourers worked a little--not much; and sailors worked a little;nobody else worked at all. Even slaves had little more work distributedamongst each ten than now settles upon one. And in many other ways, byprotecting the principle of life, as a mysterious sanctity, Christianityhas favoured the development of an excessive population. There it isthat Christianity, being answerable for the mischief, is answerable forits redress. Therefore it is that, breeding the disease, Christianitybreeds the cure. Extending the vast lines of poverty, Christianity itwas that first laid down the principle of a relief for poverty. Constantine, the first Christian potentate, laid the first stone of themighty overshadowing institution since reared in Christian lands topoverty, disease, orphanage, and mutilation. Christian instincts, movingand speaking through that Cæsar, first carried out that great idea ofChristianity. Six years was Christianity in building Constantinople, andin the seventh she rested from her labours, saying, "Henceforward letthe poor man have a haven of rest for ever; a rest from his work for oneday in seven; a rest from his anxieties by a legal and a fixed relief. "Being legal, it could not be open to disturbances of caprice in thegiver; being fixed, it was not open to disturbances of miscalculation inthe receiver. Now, first, when first Christianity was installed as apublic organ of government, (and first owned a distinct politicalresponsibility, ) did it become the duty of a religion which assumed, asit were, the _official_ tutelage of poverty, to proclaim and consecratethat function by some great memorial precedent. And, accordingly, intestimony of that obligation, the first Christian Cæsar, on behalf ofChristianity, founded the first system of relief for pauperism. It istrue, that largesses from the public treasury, gratuitous coin, or cornsold at diminished rates, not to mention the _sportulæ_ or stated dolesof private Roman nobles, had been distributed amongst the indigentcitizens of Western Rome for centuries before Constantine; but all thesehad been the selfish bounties of factious ambition or intrigue. 

To Christianity was reserved the inaugural act of public charity in thespirit of charity. We must remember that no charitable or beneficentinstitutions of any kind, grounded on disinterested kindness, existedamongst the Pagan Romans, and still less amongst the Pagan Greeks. MrColeridge, in one of his lay sermons, advanced the novel doctrine--thatin the Scriptures is contained all genuine and profound statesmanship. Of course he must be understood to mean--in its capital principles:for, as to subordinate and executive rules for applying such principles, these, doubtless, are in part suggested by the local circumstances ineach separate case. Now, amongst the political theories of the Bible isthis--that pauperism is not an accident in the constitution of states, but an indefeasible necessity; or, in the scriptural words, that "thepoor shall never cease out of the land. " This theory, or great canon ofsocial philosophy, during many centuries, drew no especial attentionfrom philosophers. It passed for a truism, bearing no particularemphasis or meaning beyond some general purpose of sanction to theimpulses of charity. But there is good reason to believe, that itslumbered, and was meant to slumber, until Christianity arising andmoving forwards should call it into a new life, as a principle suited toa new order of things. Accordingly, we have seen of late that thisscriptural dictum--"The poor shall never cease out of the land"--hasterminated its career as a truism, (that is, as a truth, either obviouson one hand, or inert on the other, ) and has wakened into a polemic orcontroversial life. People arose who took upon them utterly to deny thisscriptural doctrine. Peremptorily they challenged the assertion thatpoverty must always exist. The Bible said that it was an affection ofhuman society which could not be exterminated: the economists of 1800said that it was a foul disease, which must and should be exterminated. The scriptural philosophy said, that pauperism was inalienable fromman's social condition in the same way that decay was inalienable fromhis flesh. "I shall soon see _that_, " said the economist of 1800, "foras sure as my name is M----, I will have this poverty put down by lawwithin one generation, if there's law to be had in the courts atWestminster. " The Scriptures had left word--that, if any man should cometo the national banquet declaring himself unable to pay hiscontribution, that man should be accounted the guest of Christianity, and should be privileged to sit at the table in thankful remembrance ofwhat Christianity had done for man. But Mr M---- left word with all theservants, that, if any man should present himself under thosecircumstances, he was to be told, "The table is full"--(_his_ words, notours;) "go away, good man. " Go away! Mr M----? Where was he to go to?Whither? In what direction?--"Why, if you come to _that_, " said the manof 1800, "to any ditch that he prefers: surely there's good choice ofditches for the most fastidious taste. " During twenty years, viz. From1800 to 1820, this new philosophy, which substituted a ditch for adinner, and a paving-stone for a loaf, prevailed and prospered. At onetime it seemed likely enough to prove a snare to our ownaristocracy--the noblest of all ages. But that peril was averted, andthe further history of the case was this: By the year 1820, muchdiscussion having passed to and fro, serious doubts had arisen in manyquarters: scepticism had begun to arm itself against the sceptic: theeconomist of 1800 was no longer quite sure of his ground. He was nowsuspected of being fallible; and, what seemed of worse augury, he wasbeginning himself to suspect as much. To one capital blunder he wasobliged publicly to plead guilty. What it was, we shall have occasion tomention immediately. Meantime it was justly thought that, in a disputeloaded with such prodigious practical consequences, good sense andprudence demanded a more extended enquiry than had yet been instituted. Whether poverty would ever cease from the land, might be doubted bythose who balanced their faith in Scripture against their faith in theman of 1800. But this at least could not be doubted--that as yet poverty_had_ not ceased, nor indeed had made any sensible preparations forceasing, from any land in Europe. It was a clear case, therefore, that, howsoever Europe might please to dream upon the matter when pauperismshould have reached that glorious euthanasy predicted by the alchemistof old and the economist of 1800, for the present she must deal activelywith her own pauperism on some avowed plan and principle, good orevil--gentle or harsh. Accordingly, in the train of years between 1820and 1830, enquiries were made of every separate state in Europe, what_were_ those plans and principles. For it was justly said--"As one steptowards judging rightly of our own system, now that it has been soclamorously challenged for a bad system, let us learn what it is thatother nations think upon the subject, but above all what it is that they_do_. " The answers to our many enquiries varied considerably; and someamongst the most enlightened nations appeared to have adopted the goodold plan of _laissez faire_, giving nothing from any public fund to thepauper, but authorizing him to levy contributions on that graciousallegoric lady, Private Charity, wherever he could meet her taking theair with her babes. This reference appeared to be the main one in replyto any application of the pauper; and for all the rest they referred himgenerally to the "ditch, " or to his own unlimited choice of ditches, according to the approved method of public benevolence published in 4toand in 8vo by the man of 1800. But there were other and humbler statesin Europe, whose very pettiness had brought more fully within theirvision the whole machinery and watchwork of pauperism, as it acted andre-acted on the industrious poverty of the land, and on other interests, by means of the system adopted in relieving it. From these states camemany interesting reports, all tending to some good purpose. But at last, and before the year 1830, amongst other results of more or less value, three capital points were established, not more decisive for thejustification of the English system in administering national relief topaupers, and of all systems that reverenced the authority of Scripture, than they were for the overthrow of Mr M----, the man of 1800. Thesethree points are worthy of being used as buoys in mapping out the truechannels, or indicating the breakers on this difficult line ofnavigation; and we now rehearse them. They may seem plain almost toobviousness; but it is enough that they involve all the disputedquestions of the case. 

_First_, That, in spite of the assurances from economists, no progresswhatever had been made by England or by any state which lent anysanction to the hope of ever eradicating poverty from society. 

_Secondly_, That, in absolute contradiction of the whole hypothesisrelied on by M---- and his brethren, in its most fundamental doctrine, alegal provision for poverty did _not_ act as a bounty on marriage. Theexperience of England, where the trial had been made on the largestscale, was decisive on this point; and the opposite experience ofIreland, under the opposite circumstances, was equally decisive. Andthis result had made itself so clear by 1820, that even M---- (as we havealready noticed by anticipation) was compelled to publish a recantationas to this particular error, which in effect was a recantation of hisentire theory. 

_Thirdly_, That, according to the concurring experience of all the mostenlightened states of Christendom, the public suffered least, (notmerely in molestation but in money, ) pauperism benefited most, and thegrowth of pauperism was retarded most, precisely as the provision forthe poor had been legalized as to its obligation, and fixed as to itsamount. Left to individual discretion the burden was found to press mostunequally; and, on the other hand, the evil itself of pauperism, whilstmuch less effectually relieved, nevertheless through the irregularaction of this relief was much more powerfully stimulated. 

Such is the abstract of our latest public warfare on this great questionthrough a period of nearly fifty years. And the issue is this--startingfrom the contemptuous defiance of the scriptural doctrine upon thenecessity of making provision for poverty as an indispensable element incivil communities, the economy of the age has lowered its tone bygraduated descents, in each one successively of the four last_decennia_. The philosophy of the day as to this point at least is atlength in coincidence with Scripture. And thus the very extensiveresearches of this nineteenth century, as to pauperism, have re-actedwith the effect of a full justification upon Constantine's attempt toconnect the foundation of his empire with that new theory ofChristianity upon the imperishableness of poverty, and upon the dutiescorresponding to it. 

Meantime Mr Finlay denies that Christianity had been raised byConstantine into the religion of the state; and others have denied that, in the extensive money privileges conceded to Constantinople, hecontemplated any but political principles. As to the first point, weapprehend that Constantine will be found not so much to have shrunk backin fear from installing Christianity in the seat of supremacy, as tohave diverged in policy from our modern _methods_ of such aninstallation. Our belief is, that according to _his_ notion of a statereligion, he supposed himself to have conferred that distinction uponChristianity. With respect to the endowments and privileges ofConstantinople, they were various; some lay in positive donations, others in immunities and exemptions; some again were designed to attractstrangers, others to attract nobles from old Rome. But, with fulleropportunities for pursuing that discussion, we think it would be easy toshow, that in more than one of his institutions and his decrees he hadcontemplated the special advantage of the poor as such; and that, nextafter the august distinction of having founded the first Christianthrone, he had meant to challenge and fix the gaze of future ages uponthis glorious pretension--that he first had executed the scripturalinjunction to make a provision for the poor, as an order of society thatby laws immutable should "never cease out of the land. "

_Secondly_, Let us advert to the value and functions of Constantinopleas the tutelary genius of western or dawning Christianity. 

The history of Constantinople, or more generally of the Eastern Romanempire, wears a peculiar interest to the children of Christendom; andfor two separate reasons--_first_, as being the narrow isthmus or bridgewhich connects the two continents of ancient and modern history, and_that_ is a philosophic interest; but, _secondly_ which in the veryhighest degree is a practical interest, as the record of our earthlysalvation from Mahometanism. On two horns was Europe assaulted by theMoslems; first, last, and through the largest tract of time, on the hornof Constantinople; there the contest raged for more than eight hundredyears, and by the time that the mighty bulwark fell (1453, ) Vienna andother cities upon or near the Danube had found leisure for growing up;so that, if one range of Alps had slowly been surmounted, another hadnow slowly reared and embattled itself against the westward progress ofthe Crescent. On the western horn, _in_ France, but _by_ Germans, oncefor all Charles Martel had arrested the progress of the fanatical Moslemalmost in a single battle; certainly a single generation saw the wholedanger dispersed, inasmuch as within that space the Saracens wereeffectually forced back into their original Spanish lair. Thisdemonstrates pretty forcibly the difference of the Mahometan resourcesas applied to the western and the eastern struggle. To throw the wholeweight of that difference, a difference in the result as between eightcenturies and thirty years, upon the mere difference of energy in Germanand Byzantine forces, as though the first did, by a rapturous fervour, in a few revolutions of summer what the other had protracted throughnearly a millennium, is a representation which defeats itself by its ownextravagance. To prove too much is more dangerous than to prove toolittle. The fact is, that vast armies and mighty nations werecontinually disposable for the war upon the city of Constantine; nationshad time to arise in juvenile vigour, to grow old and superannuated, tomelt away, and totally to disappear, in that long struggle on theHellespont and Propontis. It was a struggle which might often intermitand slumber; armistices there might be, truces, or unproclaimedsuspensions of war out of mutual exhaustion, but peace there could _not_be, because any resting from the duty of hatred towards those whoreciprocally seemed to lay the foundations of their creed in adishonouring of God, was impossible to aspiring human nature. Malice andmutual hatred, we repeat, became a duty in those circumstances. Why hadthey _begun_ to fight? Personal feuds there had been none between theparties. For the early caliphs did not conquer Syria and other vastprovinces of the Roman empire, because they had a quarrel with theCæsars who represented Christendom; but, on the contrary, they had aquarrel with the Cæsars because they had conquered Syria, or, at themost, the conquest and the feud (if not always lying in that exactsuccession as cause and effect) were joint effects from a common cause, which cause was imperishable as death, or the ocean, and as deep as arethe fountains of animal life. Could the ocean be altered by a sea fight?or the atmosphere be tainted for ever by an earthquake? As little couldany single reign or its events affect the feud of the Moslem and theChristian; a feud which could not cease unless God could change, orunless man (becoming careless of spiritual things) should sink to thelevel of a brute. 

These are considerations of great importance in weighing the value ofthe Eastern Empire. If the cause and interest of Islamism, as againstChristianity, were undying--then we may be assured that the Moorishinfidels of Spain did not reiterate their trans-Pyrenean expeditionsafter one generation--simply because they _could_ not. But we know thaton the south-eastern horn of Europe they _could_, upon the plainargument that for many centuries they _did_. Over and above this, we areof opinion that the Saracens were unequal to the sort of hardships bredby cold climates; and there lay another repulsion for Saracens fromFrance, &c. , and not merely the Carlovingian sword. We children ofChristendom show our innate superiority to the children of the Orientupon this scale or tariff of acclimatizing powers. We travel as wheattravels through all reasonable ranges of temperature; they, like rice, can migrate only to warm latitudes. They cannot support our cold, but we_can_ support the countervailing hardships of their heat. This causealone would have weatherbound the Mussulmans for ever within thePyrenean cloisters. Mussulmans in cold latitudes look as blue and asabsurd as sailors on horseback. Apart from which cause, we see that thefine old Visigothic races in Spain found them full employment up to thereign of Ferdinand and Isabella, which reign first created a kingdom ofSpain; in that reign the whole fabric of their power thawed away, andwas confounded with forgotten things. Columbus, according to a localtradition, was personally present at some of the latter campaigns inGrenada: he saw the last of them. So that the discovery of America maybe used as a convertible date with that of extinction for the Saracenpower in western Europe. True that the overthrow of Constantinople hadforerun this event by nearly half a century. But then we insist upon thedifferent proportions of the struggle. Whilst in Spain a province hadfought against a province, all Asia militant had fought against theeastern Roman empire. Amongst the many races whom dimly we descry inthose shadowy hosts, tilting for ages in the vast plains of Angora, areseen, latterly pressing on to the van, two mighty powers, the childrenof Persia and the Ottoman family of the Turks. Upon these nations, bothnow rapidly decaying, the faith of Mahomet has ever leaned as upon hereldest sons; and these powers the Byzantine Cæsars had to face in everyphasis of their energy, as it revolved from perfect barbarism, throughsemi-barbarism, to that crude form of civilization which Mahometans cansupport. And through all these transmigrations of their power we mustremember that they were under a martial training and discipline, neversuffered to become effeminate. One set of warriors after another _did_, it is true, become effeminate in Persia: but upon that advantageopening, always another set stepped in from Torkistan or from the Imaus. The nation, the individuals melted away; the Moslem armies wereimmortal. 

Here, therefore, it is, and standing at this point of our review, thatwe complain of Mr Finlay's too facile compliance with historians farbeneath himself. He has a fine understanding: oftentimes hiscommentaries on the past are ebullient with subtlety; and his faultstrikes us as lying even in the excess of his sagacity applying itselftoo often to a basis of facts, quite insufficient for supporting thesuperincumbent weight of his speculations. But in this instance hesurrenders himself too readily to the ordinary current of history. Howwould _he_ like it, if he happened to be a Turk himself, finding hisnation thus implicitly undervalued? For clearly, in undervaluing theByzantine resistance, he _does_ undervalue the Mahometan assault. Advantages of local situation cannot _eternally_ make good thedeficiencies of man. If the Byzantines (being as weak as historianswould represent them) yet for ages resisted the whole impetus ofMahometan Asia, then it follows, either that the Crescent wascorrespondingly weak, or that, not being weak, she must have found theCross pretty strong. The _facit_ of history does not here correspondwith the numerical items. 

Nothing has ever surprised us more, we will frankly own, than thiscoincidence of authors in treating the Byzantine empire as feeble andcrazy. On the contrary, to us it is clear that some secret andpreternatural strength it must have had, lurking where the eye of mandid not in those days penetrate, or by what miracle did it undertake ouruniversal Christian cause, fight for us all, keep the waters open fromfreezing us up, and through nine centuries prevent the ice ofMahometanism from closing over our heads for ever? Yet does Mr Finlay(p. 424) describe this empire as labouring, in A. D. 623, equally withPersia, under "internal weakness, " and as "equally incapable of offeringany popular or national resistance to an active or enterprising enemy. "In this Mr Finlay does but agree with other able writers; but he andthey should have recollected, that hardly had that very year 623departed, even yet the knell of its last hour was sounding upon thewinds, when this effeminate empire had occasion to show that she couldclothe herself with consuming terrors, as a belligerent both defensiveand aggressive. In the absence of her great emperor, and of the mainimperial forces, the golden capital herself, by her own resources, routed and persecuted into wrecks a Persian army that had come down uponher by stealth and a fraudulent circuit. Even at that same period, sheadvanced into Persia more than a thousand miles from her own metropolisin Europe, under the blazing ensigns of the cross, kicked the crown ofPersia to and fro like a tennis-ball, upset the throne of Artaxerxes, countersigned haughtily the elevation of a new _Basileus_ more friendlyto herself, and then recrossed the Tigris homewards, after having tornforcibly out of the heart and palpitating entrails of Persia, whatevertrophies that idolatrous empire had formerly wrested from herself. Thesewere not the acts of an effeminate kingdom. In the language ofWordsworth we may say--

 "All power was giv'n her in the dreadful trance; Infidel kings she wither'd like a flame. "

Indeed, no image that we remember can do justice to the first of theseacts, except that Spanish legend of the Cid, which assures us that, longafter the death of the mighty cavalier, when the children of those Moorswho had fled from his face whilst living, were insulting the marblestatue above his grave, suddenly the statue raised its right arm, stretched out its marble lance, and drifted the heathen dogs like snow. The mere sanctity of the Christian champion's sepulchre was its ownprotection; and so we must suppose, that, when the Persian hosts came bysurprise upon Constantinople--her natural protector being absent bythree months' march--simply the golden statues of the mighty Cæsars, half rising on their thrones, must have caused that sudden panic whichdissipated the danger. Hardly fifty years later, Mr Finlay well knowsthat Constantinople again stood an assault--not from a Persian hourrah, or tempestuous surprise, but from a vast expedition, armaments by landand sea, fitted out elaborately in the early noontide of Mahometanvigour--and that assault, also, in the presence of the caliph and thecrescent, was gloriously discomfited. Now if, in the moment of triumph, some voice in the innumerable crowd had cried out, "How long shall thisgreat Christian breakwater, against which are shattered into surge andfoam all the mountainous billows of idolaters and misbelievers, stand upon behalf of infant Christendom?" and if from the clouds some trumpet ofprophecy had replied, "Even yet for eight hundred years!" could any manhave persuaded himself that such a fortress against suchantagonists--such a monument against a millennium of fury--was to beclassed amongst the weak things of this earth? This oriental Rome, it istrue, equally with Persia, was liable to sudden inroads and incursions. But the difference was this--Persia was strongly protected in all agesby the wilderness on her main western frontier; if this were passed, anda hand-to-hand conflict succeeded, where light cavalry or fugitivearchers could be of little value, the essential weakness of the Persianempire then betrayed itself. Her sovereign was assassinated, and peacewas obtained from the condescension of the invader. But the enemies ofConstantinople, Goths, Avars, Bulgarians, or even Persians, were strongonly by their weakness. Being contemptible, they were neglected; beingchased, they made no stand; and _thus_ only they escaped. They enteredlike thieves by means of darkness, and escaped like sheep by means ofdispersion. But, if caught, they were annihilated. No; we resume ourthesis; we close this head by reiterating our correction of history; were-affirm our position--that in Eastern Rome lay the salvation ofWestern and Central Europe; in Constantinople and the Propontis lay the_sine-quâ-non_ condition of any future Christendom. Emperor and people_must_ have done their duty; the result, the vast extent of generationssurmounted, furnish the triumphant argument. Finally, indeed, they fell, king and people, shepherd and flock; but by that time their mission wasfulfilled. And doubtless, as the noble Palæologus lay on heaps ofcarnage, with his noble people, as life was ebbing away, a voice fromheaven sounded in his ears the great words of the Hebrew prophet, "Behold! YOUR WORK IS DONE; your warfare is accomplished. "

III. Such, then, being the unmerited disparagement of the Byzantinegovernment, and so great the ingratitude of later Christendom to thatsheltering power under which themselves enjoyed the leisure of athousand years for knitting and expanding into strong nations; on theother hand, what is to be thought of the Saracen revolutionists? Everywhere it has passed for a lawful postulate, that the Saracen conquestsprevailed, half by the feebleness of the Roman government atConstantinople, and half by the preternatural energy infused into theArabs by their false prophet and legislator. In either of its faces, this theory is falsified by a steady review of facts. With regard to theSaracens, Mr Finlay thinks as we do, and argues that they prevailedthrough the _local_, or sometimes the _casual_, weakness of theirimmediate enemies, and rarely through any strength of their own. We mustremember one fatal weakness of the Imperial administration in thosedays, not due to men or to principles, but entirely to nature and theslow growth of scientific improvements--viz. The difficulties oflocomotion. As respected Syria, Egypt, Cyrenaica, and so on to the mostwestern provinces of Africa, the Saracens had advantages for movingrapidly which the Cæsar had not. But is not a water movement speedierthan a land movement, which for an army never has much exceeded fourteenmiles a-day? Certainly it is; but in this case there were two desperatedefects in the Imperial control over that water service. To use a fleet, you must have a fleet; but their whole naval interest had been starvedby the intolerable costs of the Persian war. Immense had been theexpenses of Heraclius, and annually decaying had been his Asiaticrevenues. Secondly, the original position of the Arabs had been betterthan that of the emperor, in every stage of the warfare which sosuddenly arose. In Arabia they stood nearest to Syria, in Syria nearestto Egypt, in Egypt nearest to Cyrenaica. What reason had there been forexpecting a martial legislator at that moment in Arabia, who should fuseand sternly combine her distracted tribes? What blame, therefore, toHeraclius, that Syria--the first object of assault, being also by muchthe weakest part of the empire, and immediately after the close of adesolating war--should in four campaigns be found indefensible? We mustremember the unexampled abruptness of the Arabian revolution. The year622, by its very name of Hegira, does not record a triumph but ahumiliation. In that year, therefore, and at the very moment whenHeraclius was entering upon his long Persian struggle, Mahomet was yetprostrate, and his destiny was doubtful. Eleven years after, viz. In633, the prophet was dead and gone; but his first successor was alreadyin Syria as a conqueror. Such had been the velocity of events. ThePersian war had then been finished by three years, but the exhaustion ofthe empire had perhaps, at that moment, reached its maximum. We aresatisfied, that ten years' repose from this extreme state of collapsewould have shown us another result. Even as it was, and caught at thisenormous disadvantage, Heraclius taught the robbers to tremble, andwould have exterminated them, if not baffled by two irremediablecalamities, neither of them due to any act or neglect of his own. Thefirst lay in the treason of his lieutenants. The governors of Damascus, of Aleppo, of Emesa, of Bostra, of Kinnisrin, all proved traitors. Theroot of this evil lay, probably, in the disorders following the Persianinvasion, which had made it the perilous interest of the emperor toappoint great officers from amongst those who had a local influence. Such persons it might have been ruinous too suddenly to set aside, as, in the event, it proved ruinous to employ them. A dilemma of this kind, offering but a choice of evils, belonged to the nature of any Persianwar; and that particular war was bequeathed to Heraclius by themismanagement of his predecessors. But the second calamity was even morefatal; it lay in the composition of the Syrian population, and itsoriginal want of vital cohesion. For no purpose could this population beunited: they formed a rope of sand. There was the distraction ofreligion, (Jacobites, Nestorians, &c. ;) there was the distraction ofraces--slaves and masters, conquered and conquerors, modern intrudersmixed, but not blended with, aboriginal mountaineers. Property becamethe one principle of choice between the two governments. Where wasprotection to be had for _that_? Barbarous as were the Arabs, they sawtheir present advantage. Often it would happen from the position of thearmies, that they could, whilst the emperor could not, guarantee theinstant security of land or of personal treasures; the Arabs could alsopromise, sometimes, a total immunity from taxes, very often a diminishedscale of taxation, always a remission of arrears; none of which demandscould be listened to by the emperor, partly on account of the publicnecessities, partly from jealousy of establishing operative precedents. For religion, again, protection was more easily obtained in that dayfrom the Arab, who made war on Christianity, than from the Byzantineemperor, who was its champion. What were the different sects andsubdivisions of Christianity to the barbarian? Monophysite, Monothelite, Eutychian, or Jacobite, all were to him as the scholastic disputes ofnoble and intellectual Europe to the camps of gypsies. The Arab felthimself to be the depository of one sublime truth, the unity of God. Hismission therefore, was principally against idolaters. Yet even to _them_his policy was to sell toleration for tribute. Clearly, as Mr Finlayhints, this was merely a provisional moderation, meant to be laid asidewhen sufficient power was obtained; and it _was_ laid aside, in afterages, by many a wretch like Timour or Nadir Shah. Religion, therefore, and property once secured, what more had the Syrians to seek? And if tothese advantages for the Saracens we add the fact, that a considerableArab population was dispersed through Syria, who became so manyemissaries, spies, and decoys for their countrymen, it does great honourto the emperor, that through so many campaigns he should at all havemaintained his ground, which at last he resigned only under thedespondency caused by almost universal treachery. 

The Saracens, therefore, had no great merit even in their earliestexploits; and the _impetus_ of their movement forwards, that principleof proselytism which carried them so strongly "ahead" through a fewgenerations, was very soon brought to a stop. Mr Finlay, in our mind, does right to class these barbarians as "socially and politically littlebetter than the Gothic, Hunnish, and Avar monarchies. " But, onconsideration, the Gothic monarchy embosomed the germs of a noblecivilization; whereas the Saracens have never propagated greatprinciples of any kind, nor attained even a momentary grandeur in theirinstitutions, except where coalescing with a higher or more ancientcivilization. 

Meantime, ascending from the earliest Mahometans to their prophet, whatare we to think of _him_? Was Mahomet a great man? We think not. Thecase was thus: the Arabian tribes had long stood ready, like dogs heldin a leash, for a start after distant game. It was not Mahomet who gavethem that impulse. But next, what was it that had hindered the Arabtribes from obeying the impulse? Simply this, that they were always infeud with each other; so that their expeditions, beginning in harmony, were sure to break up in anger on the road. What they needed was, someone grand compressing and unifying principle, such as the Roman found inthe destinies of his city. True; but this, you say, they found in thesublime principle that God was one, and had appointed them to be thescourges of all who denied it. Their mission was to cleanse the earthfrom Polytheism; and, as ambassadors from God, to tell the nations--"Yeshall have no other gods but me. " That was grand; and _that_ surely theyhad from Mahomet? Perhaps so; but where did he get it? He stole it fromthe Jewish Scriptures, and from the Scriptures no less than from thetraditions of the Christians. Assuredly, then, the first projectingimpetus was not impressed upon Islamism by Mahomet. This lay in arevealed truth; and by Mahomet it was furtively translated to his ownuse from those oracles which held it in keeping. But possibly, if notthe _principle_ of motion, yet at least the steady conservation of thismotion was secured to Islamism by Mahomet. Granting (you will say) thatthe launch of this religion might be due to an alien inspiration, yetstill the steady movement onwards of this religion through somecenturies, might be due exclusively to the code of laws bequeathed byMahomet in the Koran. And this has been the opinion of many Europeanscholars. They fancy that Mahomet, however worldly and sensual as thefounder of a pretended revelation, was wise in the wisdom of this world;and that, if ridiculous as a prophet, he was worthy of veneration as astatesman. He legislated well and presciently, they imagine, for theinterests of a remote posterity. Now, upon that question let us hear MrFinlay. He, when commenting upon the steady resistance offered to theSaracens by the African Christians of the seventh and eighthcenturies--a resistance which terminated disastrously for bothsides--the poor Christians being exterminated, and the Moslem invadersbeing robbed of an indigenous working population, naturally enquireswhat it was that led to so tragical a result? The Christian natives ofthose provinces were, in a political condition, little favourable tobelligerent efforts; and there cannot be much doubt, that, with anywisdom or any forbearance on the part of the intruders, both partiesmight soon have settled down into a pacific compromise of their feuds. Instead of this, the cimeter was invoked and worshipped as the solepossible arbitrator; and truce there was none until the silence ofdesolation brooded over those once fertile fields. How savage was thefanaticism, and how blind the worldly wisdom, which could haveco-operated to such a result! The cause must have lain in theunaccommodating nature of the Mahometan institutions, in the bigotry ofthe Mahometan leaders, and in the defect of expansive views on the partof their legislator. He had not provided even for other climates thanthat of his own sweltering sty in the Hedjas, or for manners morepolished, or for institutions more philosophic, than those of his ownsun-baked Ishmaelites. "The construction of the political government ofthe Saracen empire"--says Mr Finlay, (p. 462-3)--"was imperfect, andshows that Mahomet had neither contemplated extensive foreign conquests, nor devoted the energies of his powerful mind to the consideration ofthe questions of administration which would arise out of the difficulttask of ruling a numerous and wealthy population, possessed of property, but deprived of civil rights. " He then shows how the whole power of thestate settled into the hands of a chief priest--systematicallyirresponsible. When, therefore, that momentary state of responsibilityhad passed away, which was created (like the state of martial law) "bynational feelings, military companionship, and exalted enthusiasm, " theadministration of the caliphs became "far more oppressive than that ofthe Roman empire. " It is in fact an insult to the majestic Romans, if weshould place them seriously in the balance with savages like theSaracens. The Romans were essentially the leaders of civilization, according to the possibilities then existing; for their earliest usagesand social forms involved a high civilization, whilst promising ahigher: whereas all Moslem nations have described a petty arch ofnational civility--soon reaching its apex, and rapidly barbarizingbackwards. This fatal gravitation towards decay and decomposition inMahometan institutions, which, at this day, exhibits to the gaze ofmankind one uniform spectacle of Mahometan ruins, all the great Moslemnations being already in a _Strulbrug_ state, and held erect only by thecolossal support of Christian powers, could not, as a _reversionary_evil, have been healed by the Arabian prophet. His own religiousprinciples would have prevented _that_, for they offer a permanentbounty on sensuality; so that every man who serves a Mahometan statefaithfully and brilliantly at twenty-five, is incapacitated atthirty-five for any further service, by the very nature of the rewardswhich he receives from the state. Within a very few years, every publicservant is usually emasculated by that unlimited voluptuousness whichequally the Moslem princes and the common Prophet of all Moslemscountenance as the proper object of human pursuit. Here is the mortalulcer of Islamism, which can never cleanse itself from death and theodour of death. A political ulcer would or might have found restorationfor itself; but this ulcer is higher and deeper:--it lies in thereligion, which is incapable of reform: it is an ulcer reaching as highas the paradise which Islamism promises, and deep as the hell which itcreates. We repeat, that Mahomet could not effectually have neutralizeda poison which he himself had introduced into the circulation andlife-blood of his Moslem economy. The false prophet was forced to reapas he had sown. But an evil which is certain, may be retarded; andravages which tend finally to confusion, may be limited for manygenerations. Now, in the case of the African provincials which we havenoticed, we see an original incapacity of Islamism, even in its palmycondition, for amalgamating with any _superior_ culture. And thespecific action of Mahometanism in the African case, as contrasted withthe Roman economy which it supplanted, is thus exhibited by Mr Finlay ina most instructive passage, where every negation on the Mahometan sideis made to suggest the countervailing usage positively on the side ofthe Romans. O children of Romulus! how noble do you appear when thusfiercely contrasted with the wild boars who desolated your vineyards!"No local magistrates elected by the people, and no parish priestsconnected by their feelings and interests both with their superiors andinferiors, bound society together by common ties; and no system of legaladministration, independent of the military and financial authorities, preserved the property of the people from the rapacity of thegovernment. "

Such, we are to understand, was _not_ the Mahometan system: such _had_been the system of Rome. "Socially and politically, " proceeds thepassage, "the Saracen empire was little better than the Gothic, Hunnish, and Avar monarchies; and that it proved more durable, with almost equaloppression, is to be attributed to the powerful enthusiasm of Mahomet'sreligion, which tempered for some time its avarice and tyranny. " Thesame sentiment is repeated still more emphatically at p. 468--"Thepolitical policy of the Saracens was of itself utterly barbarous; and itonly caught a passing gleam of justice from the religious feeling oftheir prophet's doctrines. "

Thus far, therefore, it appears that Mahometanism is not much indebtedto its too famous founder: it owes to him a principle, viz. The unity ofGod, which, merely through a capital blunder, it fancies peculiar toitself. Nothing but the grossest ignorance in Mahomet, nothing but thegrossest non-acquaintance with Greek authors on the part of the Arabs, could have created or sustained the delusion current amongst thatilliterate people--that it was themselves only who rejected Polytheism. Had but one amongst the personal enemies of Mahomet been acquainted withGreek, _there_ was an end of the new religion in the first moon of itsexistence. Once open the eyes of Arabs to the fact, that Christians hadanticipated them in this great truth of the divine unity, andMahometanism could only have ranked as a subdivision of Christianity. Mahomet would have ranked only as a Christian heresiarch or schismatic;such as Nestorius or Marcian at one time, such as Arius or Pelagius atanother. In his character of _theologian_, therefore, Mahomet was simplythe most memorable of blunderers, supported in his blunders by the mostunlettered of nations. In his other character of _legislator_, we haveseen, that already the earliest stages of Mahometan experience exposeddecisively his ruinous imbecility. Where a rude tribe offered noresistance to his system, for the simple reason that their barbarismsuggested no motive for resistance, it could be no honour to prevail. And where, on the other hand, a higher civilization had furnished strongpoints of repulsion to his system, it appears plainly that thispretended apostle of social improvement had devised or hinted no readiermode of conciliation than by putting to the sword all dissentients. Hestarts as a theological reformer, with a fancied defiance to the worldwhich was no defiance at all, being exactly what Christians had believedfor six centuries, and Jews for six-and-twenty. He starts as a politicalreformer, with a fancied conciliation to the world which was noconciliation at all, but was sure to provoke imperishable hostilitywheresoever it had any effect at all. 

We have thus reviewed some of the more splendid aspects connected withMr Finlay's theme; but that theme, in its entire compass, is worthy of afar more extended investigation than our own limits will allow, or thanthe historical curiosity of the world (misdirected here as in so manyother cases) has hitherto demanded. The Greek race, suffering a longoccultation under the blaze of the Roman empire, into which for a timeit had been absorbed, but again emerging from this blaze and reassuminga distinct Greek agency and influence, offers a subject great by its owninherent attractions, and separately interesting by the unaccountableneglect which it has suffered. To have overlooked this subject, is oneamongst the capital oversights of Gibbon. To have rescued it from utteroblivion, and to have traced an outline for its better illumination, isthe peculiar merit of Mr Finlay. His greatest fault is to have beencareless or slovenly in the niceties of classical and philologicalprecision. His greatest praise, and a very great one indeed, is--to havethrown the light of an _original_ philosophic sagacity upon a neglectedprovince of history, indispensable to the _arrondissement_ of Paganarchæology. 

FOOTNOTES:

{A} _Greece under the Romans. _ BY GEORGE FINLAY, K. R. G. William Blackwood& Sons. Edinburgh and London. 1844. 

{B} "_With scorn. _"--This has arisen from two causes: one is the habit ofregarding the whole Roman empire as in its "decline" from so early aperiod as that of Commodus; agreeably to which conceit, it wouldnaturally follow that, during its latter stages, the Eastern empire musthave been absolutely in its dotage. If already declining in the secondcentury, then, from the tenth to the fifteenth it must have beenparalytic and bed-ridden. The other cause may be found in the accidentalbut reasonable hostility of the Byzantine court to the first Crusaders, as also in the disadvantageous comparison with respect to manly virtuesbetween the simplicity of these western children, and the refineddissimulation of the Byzantines. 

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_Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Hughes, Paul's Work. _