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Joe; "but there's no needs of hurry- I'll warrant the horse they've got with 'em for a quiet un, cause why he's dead, and the windows is all up and only one broke - they can't be more comfortable considering, whether I takes a little drop of summut or not; so saying, the postilion, like a new member of parliament, took his place with an oath, and couldn't be persuaded to vacate his seat till he had accepted something equivalent to the Chiltern Hundreds. His appetite and thirst satisfied, he set forth, accompanied by boots, ostler, and potboy, though in all but a pair, for the last three offices were monopolised by one individual they took with them a spare horse, and a bottle of something against the night air, from Mrs. Hanway, for the especial use of the invalid, and which, be it said, went undiminished by a single drop to its destination. By this time the wind had become somewhat "blown and scant of breath," only "roaring as gently as a sucking dove;" but although time's whole eleven upon the clock TYLNEY HALL. 9 had been bowled out, each several member of the whist club seemed inclined to act as a long stop; a departure from their established rule which could only be justified by the expectation of postchaise travellers at "The Rabbits." They were longer than ever they were before in discussing their second tumblers, and several, encouraged by the example of the president himself, went even so far as to call for a glass beyond their ordinary stint; the third tumbler despatched, they were slower than ever had been known in the appropriation of their peculiar great-coats and hats, and far more careful than common in the adjustment of capes, collars, and silk handkerchiefs. Armed at last at all points against weather, they were even then a thousand times more particular than they had ever been in their inquiries as to the state of the night; and sundry deputations made a brief excursion into the open air, for the ostensible purpose of verifying the meteorological reports which they had received. In short, they temporised as adroitly as diplomatists of a higher grade, for the attainment of an unavowed object. Fortune, however, which had denied them a game at long whist, afforded them, by way of amends, a protracted game of patience; for whether Joe had understated the distance, or had met with unforeseen obstacles, it was a full hour before his wheels rattled up to Jonas's rabbit hutch. In the mean time Mrs. Hanway had made the most precautionary preparations for the reception of guests who she understood had come from a hot climate into a cold one. Accordingly, as soon as the young gentleman alighted, he was caught up in a warm blanket and carried kicking up stairs by the sturdy Jonas: the next comer, before he left the steps of the chaise, had a conservative handkerchief clapped up to his face by the considerate Mrs. Hanway; and as she thought proper to get him out of the damp air of the passage as quickly as possible, the gazers who lined the door of the club-room in expectation of seeing the stranger, caught only a momentary glimpse of a travelling cap, a bandana, and a blue cloak-followed by a treacle-posset and a warming pan. "Well," said the manufacturer of tombstones, as the TYLNEY HALL. effigy glided up stairs, "that's what I call 'sic transit ;"" and with this remark he caught up his hat and sallied forth homewards with his neighbours of the village. CHAPTER III You cannot hunt to-day, to-day, You cannot hunt to-day!- But a hunting we will go ! THOMAS ROUNDING. In the list of hunting appointments, as given in the County Chronicle, the meeting of the H-hounds for Saturday, the 20th of November, was advertised to take place at Windmill Grange, a fixture which brought the pack into the vicinity of Hanway's public house. The morning was beautiful for hunting, that is to say, what some people would have called rather muggy, with very little wind from the south, and a cloudy sky. Owing to this auspicious weather the field was more numerous than usual; and the sportsmen welcomed with peculiar pleasure the first appearance for the season of their old friend and leader Sir Mark Tyrrel, of Tylney Hall, the master of the hunt. During the last two months a martyr to the gout, though he would rather have been one of Fox's Martyrs, he had never mounted a horse. The woeful case of Witherington in Chevy Chase was light compared with the Baronet's, who had thus four legs taken from under him, for, in reality, he was a modern Centaur. He did not, however, make as manful a fight as the bold esquire in the ballad-like the ancients knights, he felt quite helpless when unhorsed, and, after a feeble struggle, surrendered himself quietly into the hands of Dr. Bellamy, the family physician. The doctor, a formalist of the old school, was, like Ollapod, a great advocate for spring physic; and having vainly tried for some years past to persuade Sir Mark to go through a course of May medicine, seized with avidity on an opportunity for making him swallow the whole TYLNEY HALL. 11 arrears in November. Accordingly he drenched his pa tient so vigorously, that the latter began sometimes to doubt whether he had not better have called in the professional assistance of Master Burton, a practitioner whose prescriptions were administered by help of a pitchfork and a cow's horn. It is impossible to say how far he might have been eventually reduced, if he had not washed down every lowering draught with a large bumper of Madeira, in furtherance of which, his housekeeper, who was no friend to Sangrado, caused his gruel to become caudle, and his broth to be as like soup as possible: the best way, she said, to keep the gout from flying to his stomach, was by filling it with something else. By a similar freedom his barley-water was rendered into Burton ale, and his composing draught into a bishop. At last, on a Saturday morning, when the doctor called with a design of allowing a little air and gentle exercise in a garden chair, he was informed that his patient had suffered a relapse into health, and had gone off suddenly on Bedlamite, to meet the hounds at Windmill Grange. The appearance of the Baronet at the rendezvous in buckskins and scarlet, and mounted on his famous grey horse, was hailed with more than one involuntary view halloo, notwithstanding such a sound was in the highest degree unseasonable, considering the time and place. The hounds had been already thrown into cover, and were drawing with admirable steadiness, and the silence of death, when the ill-timed welcome drew them all off, huntsman, whippers-in, and company, to the sound- to the infinite chagrin of all parties, brute or human; however, the pack was speedily at work again in the underwood, amongst which fifty vigorous tails were busily ranging, when another, and still more unsportsmanlike shouting from the opposite side of the wood, drew the whole cavalry like a trumpet-call in that direction. In a moment the horsemen gained the spot from which the sound proceeded, and discovered a postboy on a tall, rawboned, piebald mare, that was floundering and struggling her way through a patch of gorse. The rider, who never ceased his outcry, was immediately encircled by a score of horsemen, all open- TYLNEY HALL.
The post, too brought the daily papers, now all filled with the first speech the Marquis of Penmorra had ever made in the House of Commons. He had spoken on a most important question, for nearly four hours and a greater burst of eloquence, and pointed argument, had never flowed from the lips of an orator or statesman. The applause he had met with in the house, the universal approbation out of it, filled many a line of each paper, delineated by the hand of high eulogium. Such deserved applause had been sweet incense to the heart of Julia, even one day sooner. But now, she sickened as she read, and turned from these praises of Penmorra in agonized regret. 'Ah!' she sighed, why is not his mind, replete with endowments, all good, as well as great? Then with what exultation, might she not dwell on every eulogy, so merited! and not, as now, blushing, in shame, to think, she had given one approving thought to a man who could profane such transcendent talents.' CHAPTER XXVIII. JULIA, remembering her promise to poor Dame Banks, went this morning (as soon after the arrival of the post as she could collect firmness to undertake the visit,) alone, to the afflicted woman's cottage. She was infinitely shocked to find the venerable dame much worse than the early message brought her in the morning had taught her to expect, and most strikingly altered in countenance since the preceding day. She was now in bed, unable to rise; and, supported by pillows, was taking from her nurse a teaspoonful of some cordial which Doctor Harlow had ordered for her, and Mrs Beville kindly sitting by her, when our heroine entered her neat, though homely, chamber. The moment Julia approached her, she beamed a sad and ghastly smile and her glassy lustreless eyes rested wistfully upon her, while, in the hollow feeble tone of receding life, she called our heroine to come near her. Julia obeyed: and the heart-broken parent softly whispered to her (for her articulation was now sunk to nothing louder,) 'Here, dear young lady! take this key. It belongs to a little box which stands on the dresser below. In that 1 put yesterday, after I saw you, some terrible letters I found of the base and cruel squire to my undone child. Take them, dear lady! and do with them what you think best. They have given the last blow to me! though I did not rightly understand all their meaning. But I had the misery to make out enough to fear my child is undone, both here and hereafter. I am dying, dear young lady! not of age, for that would yet have spared me; but of a broken heart. And here on my death-bed- and I feel in some of the last words I shall ever speak - I implore you to try all your powers for my Fanny's eternal salvation; and bring her back, by the road of true repentance, to that blessed path she has forsaken.' Julia now hastened, with all the consoling kindness her humanity inspired, to inform the dying parent of what she had already done for Fanny's rescue from the path of vice, by her letter, that morning to Doctor Sydenham, through whose piety and active benevolence Julia entertained not a doubt but Fanny would be reclaimed. Rays of renovated fire beamed from the eyes of poor Dame Banks, as she eagerly listened to Julia's consolation, in her plans for Fanny's reformation, and future support in the path of virtue. 'May the Almighty bless you!' exclaimed the expiring dame, in a tone of enthusiastic energy. Then I may hope to see my child in heaven! Oh, bless you! bless you! A smile of joy now irradiated her pallid countenance, as she made the last effort of exhausted nature, in an impulse of gratitude, to embrace our heroine, in whose bosom she, with a deep-drawn sigh, closed her eyes forever. The shock was direful to our poor sensitive Julia, who for some moments, believing she had only fainted, would not relinquish her supporting aid. But, alas! the increasing weight of her burden, and the marble chill of death which struck to her bosom's vital warmth, at length bore conviction to the trembling grief-struck heart, that all was over, and that the thread of life, which age had spared, the vices of the man she loved had snapped. With the assistance of Beville and the nurse, she was now released from the cold remains of the heart-rived parent. For some moments she gazed in awful silence upon the lifeless form of mortality; then, bursting into a flow of tears, descended to the room below, where she indulged in the first gush of her deeply-wounded sensibility. After composing herself, she took the packet of letters from the little box; put them in her pocket; and hastened to bend her sorrowful steps towards the castle, to send some assistance to Beville and the nurse; who, not in the least expecting so speedy a dissolution, were unprepared for the event. Julia, overpowered by the unexpected shock, of receiving on her bosom the last breath of a fellow-creature, and agonized with the reflection of who had virtually caused that shock for her, with faltering steps proceeded homewards. Unwilling to encounter any one at present, she took a path along the margin of a winding stream, the most lonely and unfrequented in the grounds of Delamore-castle. It had, ere the commencement of autumn, been among her favorite walks. But now the fallen leaves along the sloping bank, wet with heavy dews (which the sun had not power to penetrate to dry up, precluded by the close contact of the overhanging wood, and where the gardeners had not been that day, to sweep away,) impeded her progress. The path now was slippery and unpleasant: and she at length found her feet were completely wet. But she had gone so far, without once bestowing a thought upon how she was getting on, that, when a narrowlyescaped fall into the stream aroused her to a sense of the inconvenience she was suffering, and the danger she was exposed to, she perceived she had got about half way along the path and it was therefore as well to go on as to recede. She accordingly proceeded, and with awakened terror. Added to her other sensations, her irritated nerves, trembling, and weakened by a variety of causes, presented dangers that did not exist; and impeded her in shunning those that did. She now advanced about a dozen yards farther, slipping every moment through apprehension of doing so, and saving herself by the friendly overhanging boughs of the trees, when a squirrel sprung up just before her, and bounded in full speed up a tree. Our heroine, alarmed by the sudden appearance of a living animal among the fallen leaves, and in the moment of surprise conceiving it to be a rat, a thing to her most formidable, started back with an intention to retreat. But in the meditated attempt her feet slipped: and, unable to catch aid in time, she fell on the bank, and sprained one of her ancles, which gave her infinite pain: and after several efforts to proceed, she found herself unable. Julia was now in a most distressing perplexity. Her feet completely wet with dew― the two poor women at the cottage and she was here expecting assistance through her means disabled from proceeding, and at a distance too great from the castle even to hope for aid from thence; her only chance of it arising from the gardeners coming hither to clear away the leaves, or some one straying into the walk which ran parallel with, and almost joined, the luckless path she had inadvertently taken. She now moved to the driest spot she could perceive near her, and seated herself on a little mound at the back of an alcove which stood in the adjoining walk, but to which her passage was cut off by the impenetrably interwoven wood: and here she resolved to wait, as patiently as the unpleasantness of her situation would admit, in the anxious hope that some one would come within her call.
605 objection that can be made on that head, and cannot justly be reputed a plagiary, if to the passages taken from others, I add a series of remarks peculiar to myself. I very soon desisted from my search after the other books on the Turkish affairs, in the French and Italian languages; for, after having run over a great number of them, I found them to contain little more than the same facts, which are related more elegantly by the abovementioned authors, with the addition of some idle fables and impertinent projects. As to the Greek writers of the Byzantine history, who have given us an account of the Turks, it was the less necessary to examine them with attention, as Knolles seems to have reduced them to their quintessence; and, indeed, the generality of those historians were more attentive to the harmony of their periods, and the beauty of their expressions, than either to the truth of the facts which they related, or to the solidity of the remarks deduced from them. They were no longer those excellent Greeks, whose works remain to this age, as a perfect example of the noblest sentiments delivered in the purest style: they seemed to think, that fine writing consisted in a florid exuberance of words, and that, if they pleased the ear, they were sure to satisfy the heart: they even knowingly corrupted the Asiatic names, to give them a more agreeable sound,* by which Thus they changed Togrul Beg into Tangrolipix, and Azzo'ddin† into Azatines. عزالدین the strength of religion. APPENDIX. they have led their successors into a number of ridiculous errors, and have given their histories the air of a romance. Before I proceed to the books, which the Turks themselves have written on their own affairs, it will be necessary to make a digression on their literature in general, lest the opinion which most men entertain of the Turkish ignorance, should induce some of them to suspect the authority of these works, or even to doubt of their existence. It is a ridiculous notion, then, which prevails among us, that ignorance is a principle of the Mohammedan religion, and that the Koran instructs the Turks not to be instructed. I have heard many sensible men inveighing against the mean policy of Mohammed, who they say commanded his followers to be ignorant, lest they should one day or other learn that he had imposed upon them. There is not a shadow of truth in this; Mohammed not only permitted but advised his people to apply themselves to learning. He says expressly in his strange book, where there are many fine ideas mixed with a heap of rubbish, that the man who has knowledge for his portion, has received a valuable gift; and among his sayings, which were preserved by his intimate friends, and are now considered as authentic, there are several which recommend learning in the strongest terms; as, The ink of the learned, and the blood of martyrs, are equal value in heaven, and Learning is permitted to all believers, both male and female: not to men- APPENDIX. 607 tion that precept of his, which is well known, Seek learning, though it were in China. 'There would be no end of quoting all the striking expressions of this singular man, and the ablest professors of his religion, in praise of knowledge and letters; indeed, we all know, no modern nation was ever more addicted to learning of every kind than the Arabians; they cultivated some branches of science with great success, and brought their language to a high degree of clearness and precision; a proof that they had not only men of taste, but even many philosophers among them; for, that language will always be most clear and precise, in which most works of real philosophy have been written. We are willing also to allow, that the Persians have been a polite and ingenious people, which they could not have been without a sufficient culture of their talents. They lay for a long time astonished and stupefied at the rapid progress of the Mohammedan arms; but when they began to revive, and had embraced the religion of their conquerors, they followed their natural bent, and applied themselves with great eagerness to the improvement of their language; which was by that time grown very rich by its mixture with the Arabic. We are no less candid to the Indians, whom we know to have been a wise and inventive nation; we read with pleasure their fables of Pilpai; we adopt their numerical characters; we divert and strengthen our minds with their game of Chess; and, of late years, we APPENDIX. have condescended to look into their writings; but, by a strange degree of obstinacy, we persist in considering the Turks as rude, savage, and not only unacquainted with the advantages of learning, but even its avowed persecutors. This prejudice, absurd as it may seem, is of very ancient growth; it was first brought into Europe at that memorable period, when letters began to revive in the west; and has continued to this day without any diminution. It was the fashion in that age to look upon every person as barbarous, who did not study the philosophy of the old Academy; and because the Turks had driven the Greeks from their country, it was immediately concluded that they persecuted even the language and learning of that nation. It is certain, indeed, that the Turks were for many years wholly addicted to arms; but, when they had secured their conquests in Asia, and especially when they were settled in Constantinople, they began to cultivate every species of literature; and their sultans often set them the example. At that time, they were so sensible of the high polish which learning gives to the manners of every nation, that they reflected with disdain on their ancient rudeness; and one of their best poets, quoted by M. d'Herbelot, says, although the rude disposition of the Turks seemed to be a disorder that had no remedy, yet when they dispersed the clouds of ignorance with the study of polite letters, many of APPENDIX. 609 them became a light to the world. But here we must be understood to speak merely of poetry, rhetoric, moral philosophy, history, and the less abstruse parts of knowledge; for, we must confess, and the Asiatics confess themselves, that they are far inferior to the natives of Europe in every branch of pure and mixed mathematics, as well as in the arts of painting and sculpture, which their religion forbids them to cultivate: a very absurd piece of superstition! which the Persians and Indians wisely neglected, as they knew that their legislator prohibited the imitation of visible objects to the Arabs of his age, lest they should relapse into their recent folly of adoring images; and that when the reason of the law entirely ceases, the law itself ought also to cease. They begin, however, to imitate our studies; and they would undoubtedly have made a * In Turkish, ترکلک طبعی گرچه اومده بر مرض در که بوقدر ان علاج* لیک علمبل ظلمت جہلی But this opinion is contradicted by a satirist, who asserts that, if a Turk excelled in every branch of science, and were the ablest scho lar of his age, yet a certain rudeness would ever adhere to his disposition. R R APPENDIX.
Whilst these proceedings were carried on, both houses agreed to an address to the king, that no popish recusants should be admitted into employments of trust and profit, which was followed by a debate on the growth of popery, and the introduction of a bill, afterwards known as the Test Act," for preventing dangers which may happen from popish recusants." The court tried to rouse the dissenters to oppose the bill; but it is a remarkable proof of the feeling 2 Idem, p. 556. 1 Cobbett's Parl. Hist., vol. iv. p. 551. 8 Dalrymple, vol. ii. p. 54. 4 Cobbett's Parl. Hist., vol. iv. p. 560. 1672.] 407 that prevailed against the papists, that the dissenters concurred in the necessity of finding an effectual security against popery, and preferred to be included in the operation of the law, rather than by claiming an exemption to endanger its success. They may have relied on a bill, which their friends brought into the house of commons in the same session, to give ease to dissenters: it passed the commons, but it was stopped by amendments in the house of lords, and before these could be arranged Charles prorogued the parliament.1 The Test Act, -nominally against papists, yet, as requiring a sacramental test to be taken as a qualification for office,-affected all classes of religionists except those of the Church of England; and remaining unrepealed until the reign of George IV., it deprived both catholics and dissenters, for many generations, of equal rights with their episcopalian fellow-subjects. It required" all persons, as well peers as commoners, that did then, or should thereafter, bear any office, civil or military, or receive pay, salary, fee, or wages, by patent or grant from the king-or who should have command or place of trust under the king, or should be of his household, or in his service or employmentto take after their admittance to the office, the several oaths of supremacy and allegiance (the latter contained in the statute 3 James 1.) in the court of chancery or king's bench, or in the court of quarter-sessions of the county where they resided; and should also receive the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, according to the usages of the Church of England, within three months after their admittance, in some public church, upon Sunday, immediately after divine service and sermon. At the time the oaths were taken, the deponent was to produce a certificate of having taken the sacrament, and also to subscribe a declaration that he believed there is not any transubstantiation in the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, or in the elements of bread and wine, or after the consecration thereof by any person whatsoever." 1 Burnet's Own Time, book iii. Cobbett's Parl. Hist., vol. iv. p. 561. THE TEST ACT. CHARLES II. [CH. XVII. Noncompliance with the requisitions of the act rendered the office or employment void.' The immediate effect of the Test Act was to deprive the Duke of York of his office of lord high admiral, and Lord Clifford of the staff of lord high treasurer; and Lord Arlington, one of the Cabal, has the credit of having contrived the act, knowing that it would prevent his colleague, Lord Clifford, from continuing in office.2 "The Popish Plot" was the occasion of further severity against the catholics. Charles, in the opening of the seventeenth session of parliament, on the 21st of October, 1677, acquainted them with the discovery of a design against his person by the Jesuits; on which an address was voted to him by the commons, expressing their desire for the preservation of his person, and recommending that the laws should be put into strict force against the papists. The commons engaged in the examination of witnesses, and came to a resolution, that "there had been, and still was, a damnable and hellish plot, contrived and carried on by papist recusants, for murdering the king and subverting the government and protestant religion." A motion was made that the Duke of York should remove himself from the king's person and councils; and before the debate was terminated, the king addressed both houses,-" that he was ready to join in all ways and means to secure the protestant religion; that he would pass any bills they might present to make them safe in the reign of his successor, (if they did not impeach the right of succession, nor restrain his own power, nor the just rights of any protestant successor,) and he desired them to think of some effectual means for the conviction of popish recusants."3 66 These events ushered in "An Act for the more effectual preserving of the King's Person and Government by disabling Papists from sitting in either House of Parliament." Forasmuch (the preamble states) as divers good laws have 125 Car. II., cap. 2. 3 Cobbett's Parliamentary History, vol. iv. p. 1006. Dalrymple, vol. i. p. 54. 1677.J 409 been made for preventing the increase and danger of popery in this kingdom, which have not had the desired effects by reason of the free access which popish recusants had to his majesty's court, and by reason of the liberty which of late some of the recusants have had and taken to sit and vote in parliament,-wherefore, for the safety of the king's royal person and government, it enacted, that no peer of the realm, or member of the house of peers, should vote, or make his proxy in the house of peers, or sit there during debate; no member of the house of commons should vote, or sit there in any debate, after their Speaker is chosen,until they should respectively first take the several oaths of allegiance and supremacy, and subscribe and audibly repeat (in the form of words given in the act) the declaration against transubstantiation, and that the invocation or adoration of the Virgin, or any other saint, and the sacrifice of the mass as used in the Church of Rome, are superstitious and idolatrous. The oaths and declaration were required to be taken and made at the table of each house with the Speaker in the chair. Peers or members offending against the act became popish recusant convicts, were disabled to hold any office under the crown or to sit in parliament, to sue in any action or to be guardian or executor, and were declared incapable of any legacy or deed of gift, and should forfeit £500, to be recovered by any common informer."l PARLIAMENTARY TEST ACT. Charles gave the royal assent to the act on the 30th of November. In the alarm that prevailed in the nation from the popish plot, the parliament had passed a bill for raising the militia, and for keeping it together six weeks,--a measure which alarmed the jealousy of the king. Charles's conduct on this occasion is remarkable for its resemblance to that of his father, Charles I., in defending any inroad on his power over the militia. He pleaded the merit of passing the Test Bill, to excuse himself from passing the Militia Bill, which," he said, "put the militia for so many days out of 130 Car. II., cap. i. CHARLES II. [CH. XVII. his power; and that he would not comply with, though but for half an hour."1 The king prorogued the parliament on the 30th of December, promising that he would prosecute inquiry into the plot, and do all in his power for the security of religion, and the maintenance of it, as then established. The reign of Charles II. has been described by Mr. Fox as "the era of good laws and bad government."3 The pro- ceedings of the government we are not now concerned in examining; of the good laws referred to, we have considered those which abolished the court of wards and established triennial parliaments; we have yet to consider the act for taking away the writ De Heretico Comburendo, and above all, the Habeas Corpus Act, which completes Mr. Fox's list.
Now, sir, as your Spectator has occasioned the publishing of this invention for the benefit of modest spectators, the inventor desires your admonitions concerning the decent use of it; and hopes, by your recommendation, that, for the future, beauty may be beheld without the torture and confusion which it suffers from the insolence of starers. By this means you will relieve the innocent from an insult which there is no law to punish, though it is a greater offence than many which are within the cognizance of justice." 'I am, sir, "Your most humble servant, ABRAHAM SPY. Q. The optical glass here mentioned is very common and very contemptible. No. 251. THE SPECTATOR. No. 251. TUESDAY, DECEMBER 18. -Linguae centum sunt, oraque centum, Ferrea vox- -A hundred mouths, a hundred tongues, And throats of brass, inspir'd with iron lungs. VIRG. DRYDEN. THERE is nothing which more astonishes a foreigner, and frights a country 'squire, than the cries of London. My good friend Sir Roger, often declares that he can not get them out of his head, or go to sleep for them, the first werk that he is in town. On the contrary, Will Honeycomb calls them the Ramage de la ville, and prefers them to the sounds of larks and nightingales, with all the music of the fields and woods. I have lately receive a letter from some very odd fellow upon this subject; which I shall leave with my reader, without saying any thing further of it. 6 SIR, 'I am a man out of all business, and would willingly turn my head to any thing for an honest livelihood. I have invented several projects for raising many millions of money without burdening the subject, but I can not get the parliament to listen to me, who look upon me, forsooth, as a crack and a projector, so that, despairing to enrich either myself or my country by this publicspiritedness, I would make some proposals to you relating to a design which I have very much at heart, and which may procure me a very handsome subsistence, if you will be pleased to recommend it to the cities of London and Westminster, 2 1 1 No. 251. THE SPECTATOR. "The post I would aim at, is to be comptrollergeneral of the London-cries, which are at present under no manner of rules or discipline. I think I am pretty well qualified for this place, as being a man of very strong lungs, of great insight into all the branches of our British trades and manufactures, and of a competent skill in music. 'The cries of London may be divided into vocal and instrumental. As for the latter, they are at present under a very great disorder. A freeman of London has the privilege of disturbing a whole street for an hour together with the twanking of a brass kettle or a frying-pan. The watchman's thump at midnight startles us in our beds as much as the breaking in of a thief. The sowgelder's horn has indeed something musical in it, but this is seldom heard within the liberties. 1 would therefore propose, that no instrument of this nature should be made use of, which I have not tuned and licensed, after having carefully examined in what manner it may affect the ears of her majesty's liege subjects. Vocal cries are of a much larger extent, and indeed so full of incongruities and barbarisms, that we appear a distracted city to foreigners, who do not comprehend the meaning of such enormous outcries. Milk is generally sold in a note above E-la, and in sounds so exceeding shrill, that it often sets our teeth on edge. The chimney-sweeper is confined to no certain pitch; he sometimes utters himself in the deepest bass, and sometimes in the sharpest treble; sometimes in the highest, and sometimes in the lowest note of the gamut. The same observation might be made on the retailers of small coal, not to mention bro- THE SPECTATOR. No. 251. ken glasses or brick-dust. In these, therefore, and the like cases, it should be my care to sweeten and mellow the voices of these itinerant tradesmen, before they make their appearance in our streets, as also to accommodate their cries to their respective wares; and to take care in particular, that those may not make the most noise who have the least to sell, which is very observable in the venders of card-matches, to whom I can not but apply that old proverb of Much cry, but little wool.' 'Some of these last-mentioned musicians are so very loud in the sale of these trifling manufactures, that an honest splenetic gentleman of my acquaintance bargained with one of them never to come into the street where he lived: but what was the effect of this contract? Why the whole tribe of card-match-makers which frequent that quarter, passed by his door the very next day, in hopes of being bought off after the same manner. It is another great imperfection in our London cries, that there is no just time nor measure observed in them. Our news should indeed be published in a very quick time, because it is a commodity that will not keep cold. It should not, however, be cried with the same precipitation as fire; yet this is generally the case: a bloody battle alarms the town from one end to another in an instant. Every motion of the French is published in so great a hurry, that one would think the enemy were at our gates. This likewise I would take upon me to regulate in such a manner, that there should be some distinction made between the spreading of a victory, a march, or an encampment, a Dutch, a Portugal, or a 1 17 No. 251. THE SPECTATOR. 181 Spanish mail. Nor must I omit, under this head, those excessive alarms with which several boisterous rustics infest our streets in turnip-season, and which are more inexcusable, because these are wares which are in no danger of cooling upon their hands. "There are others who affect a very slow time, and are, in my opinion, much more tuneable than the former, the cooper in particular, swells his last note in a hollow voice, that is not without its harmony; nor can I forbear being inspired with a most agreeable melancholy, when I hear that sad and solemn air with which the public are very often asked if they have any chairs to mend? Your own memory may suggest to you many other lamentable ditties of the same nature, in which the music is wonderfully languishing and melodious. I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which is proper for the picking of dill and cucumbers; but alas! this cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months. It would, therefore, be worth while to consider, whether the same air might not in some cases be adapted to other words. 'It might likewise deserve our most serious consideration, how far, in a well regulated city, those humorists are to be tolerated, who, not contented with the traditional cries of their forefathers, have invented particular songs and tunes of their own; such as was, not many years since, the pastry man, commonly known by the name of the Colly-Molly-Puff, and such as is at this This little man was but just able to support the basket of pastry which he carried on his head, and sung in a very VOL. V. THE SPECTATOR. No. 251. day the vender of powder and wash-balls, who, if I am rightly informed, goes under the name of Powder-Wat.
"Forester, Mistress Patience, that is the real word that you should not have hesitated to have used: do you imagine that I am ashamed of my calling?” "To tell you candidly the truth, then," replied Patience, “I cannot believe that you are what you profess to be. I mean to say, that although a forester now, you were never brought up as such. My father has an opinion allied to mine.” "I thank you both for your good opinion of me, but I fear that I cannot raise myself above the condition of a forester; nay, from your father's coming down here, and the new regulations, I have every chance of sinking down to the lower grade of a deer-stealer and poacher; indeed, had it not been that I had my gun with me, I should have been seized as such this very day as I came over." "But you were not shooting the deer, were you, Sir?" inquired Patience. "No, I was not; nor have I killed any since last I saw you." "I am glad that I can say that to my father," replied Patience, "it will much please him. He said to me that he thought you capable of much higher employment than any that could be offered here, and only wished to know what you would accept. He has interest. -great interest-although just now at variance with the rulers of this country, on account of the--" "Murder of the King, you would or you should have said, Mistress Patience: I have heard how much he was opposed to that foul deed, and I honour him for it." "How kind, how truly kind you are to say so!" said Patience, the tears starting in her eyes, "what pleasure to hear my father's conduct praised by you!" "Why, of course, Mistress Patience, all of my way of thinking must praise him. Your father is in London, I hear?” "Yes, he is; and that reminds me that you must want some refreshment after your walk. I will call Phoebe." So saying, Patience left the room. The fact was, Mistress Patience was reminded that she had been sitting with a young man some time, and alone with himwhich was not quite proper in those times; and when Phoebe appeared with the cold viands, she retreated out of hearing but remained in the room. Edward partook of the meal offered him in silence, Patience occupying herself with her work, and keeping her eyes fixed on it, unless when she gave a slight glance at the table to see if anything was required. When the meal was over, Phoebe removed the tray, and then Edward rose to take his leave. "Nay, do not go yet-I have much to say first; let me again ask you how we can serve you." "I never can take any office under the present rulers of the nation, so that question is at rest." "I was afraid you would answer so," replied Patience, gravely: "do not think I blame you; for many are there already who would gladly retrace their steps if it were possible. They little thought, when they opposed the King, that affairs would have ended as they have done. Where do you live, Sir?" “At the opposite side of the Forest, in a house belonging to me now, but which was inherited by my grandfather." "Do you live alone--surely not?” "No, I do not." "Nay, you may tell me anything, for I would never repeat what might hurt you, or you might not wish to have known." "I live with my brother and two sisters, for my grandfather is lately dead." "Is your brother younger than you are?" "He is." "And your sisters, what are their ages?" "They are younger still." "You told my father that you lived upon your farm?" "We do." "Is it a large farm?" "No; very small.” "And does that support you?" "That and killing wild cattle has lately." "Yes, and killing deer also until lately?" "You have guessed right." "You were brought up at Arnwood, you told my father; did you not?" "Yes, I was brought up there, and remained there until the death of Colonel Beverley." "And you were educated, were you not?" "Yes; the Chaplain taught me what little I do know." "Then, if you were brought up in the house and educated by the Chaplain, surely Colonel Beverley never intended you for a forester?" "He did not; I was to have been a soldier as soon as I was old enough to bear arms." "Perhaps you are distantly related to the late Colonel Beverley." "No; I am not distantly related,” replied Edward, who began to feel uneasy at this close cross-examination; "but still, had Colonel Beverley been alive, and the King still required his ser- vices, I have no doubt that I should have been serving under him at this time. "And now, Mistress Patience, that I have answered so many questions of yours, may I be permitted to ask a little about yourself in return? "Have you any brothers?" "None; I am an only child." "Have you only one parent alive?" "Only one." "What families are you connected with?" Patience looked up with surprise at this last question- "My mother's name was Cooper; she was sister to Sir Anthony Ashley Cooper, who is a person well known." "Indeed! then you are of gentle blood?" "I believe so," replied Patience, with surprise. "Thank you for your condescension, Mistress Patience; and now, if you will permit me, I will take my leave." "Before you go, let me once more thank you for saving a worthless life," said Patience: "well, you must come again when my father is here; he will be but too glad to have an opportunity of thanking one who has preserved his only child. Indeed, if you knew my father, you would feel as much regard for him as I do. He is very good, although he looks so stern and melancholy, but he has seldom smiled since my poor mother's death." "As to your father, Mistress Patience, I will think as well as I can of one who is joined to a party which I hold in detestation; I can say no more." "I must not say all that I know, or you would perhaps find out, that he is not quite so wedded to that party as you suppose. Neither his brother-in-law nor he are great friends of Cromwell's, I can assure you; but this in confidence." "That raises him in my estimation; but why then does he hold office?" "He did not ask it; it was given to him, I really believe, because they wished him out of the way; and he accepted it because he was opposed to what was going on, and wished himself to be away. At least I infer so much from what I have learnt. It is not an office of power or trust which leagues him with the present Government." "No; only one which opposes him to me and my mal-practices," replied Edward, laughing. "Well, Mistress Patience, you have shown great condescension to a poor forester, and I return you many thanks for your kindness towards me: I will now take my leave." "And when will you come and see my father?" "I cannot say; I fear that I shall not be able very soon to look in his injured face, and it will not be well for a poacher to come near him,” replied Edward: "however, some day I may be taken and brought before you as a prisoner, you know, and then he is certain to see me." "I will not tell you to kill deer," replied Patience, "but if you do kill them no one shall harm you-or I know little of my power or my father's. Farewell then, Sir, and once more gratitude and thanks." Patience held out her hand again to Edward, who this time, like a true cavalier, raised it respectfully to his lips. Patience coloured a little but did not attempt to withdraw it, and Edward, with a low obeisance, quitted the room. CHAPTER XIII. As soon as he was out of the Intendant's house, Edward hastened to the cottage of Oswald Partridge, whom he found waiting for him, for the verderer had not failed to deliver his message. "You have had a long talk with Mistress Patience,” said Oswald, after the first greeting, "and I am glad of it, as it gives you consequence here. The Roundhead rascal whom you met was inclined to be very precise about doing his duty, and insisted that he was certain that you were on the look-out for deer; but I stopped his mouth by telling him that I often took you out with me, as you were the best shot in the whole forest, and that the
command. For organization he had a masterly talent; but he could not apply it to the arts of peace, both because he wanted experience and because the rash decision of the battle-field will not serve in matters which are governed by natural laws of growth. He seems, indeed, to have had a coarse, soldier's contempt for all civil distinction, altogether unworthy of a wise king, or even of a prudent one. He confers the title of Hofrath on the husband of a woman with whom his General Walrave is living in what Mr. Carlyle justly calls "brutish polygamy," and this at Walrave's request, on the ground that "a general's drab ought to have a handle to her ame." Mr. Carlyle murmurs in a mild parenthesis that we rather regret this"! (Vol. III. p. 559.) This is his usual way of treating unpleasant matters, sidling by with a deprecating shrug of the shoulders. Not that he ever wilfully suppresses anything. On the contrary, there is no greater proof of his genius than the way in which, while he seems to paint a character with all its disagreeable traits, he contrives to win our sympathy for it, nay, almost our liking. This is conspicuously true of his portrait of Friedrich's father; and that he does not succeed in making Friedrich himself attractive is a strong argument with us that the fault is in the subject and not the artist. 66 The book, we believe, has been comparatively unsuccessful as a literary venture. Nor do we wonder at it. It is disproportionately long, and too much made up of those descriptions of battles to read which seems even more difficult than to have won the victory itself, more disheartening than to have suffered the defeat. To an American, also, the warfare seemed Liliputian in the presence of a conflict so much larger in its proportions and significant in its results. The interest, moreover, flags decidedly toward the close, where the reader cannot CARLYLE. 147 help feeling that the author loses breath somewhat painfully under the effort of so prolonged a course. Mr. Carlyle has evidently devoted to his task a labor that may be justly called prodigious. Not only has he sifted all the German histories and memoirs, but has visited every battle-field, and describes them with an eye for country that is without rival among historians. The book is evidently an abridgment of even more abundant collections, and yet as it stands the matter overburdens the work. It is a bundle of lively episodes rather than a continuous narrative. In this respect it contrasts oddly with the concinnity of his own earlier Life of Schiller. But the episodes are lively, the humor and pathos spring from a profound nature, the sketches of character are masterly, the seizure of every picturesque incident infallible, and the literary judgments those of a thorough scholar and critic. There is, of course, the usual amusing objurgation of Dryasdust and his rubbishheaps, the usual assumption of omniscience, and the usual certainty of the lively French lady of being always in the right; yet we cannot help thinking that a little of Dryasdust's plodding exactness would have saved Fouquet eleven years of the imprisonment to which Mr. Carlyle condemns him, would have referred us to St. Simon rather than to Voltaire for the character of the brothers Belle-Ile, and would have kept clear of a certain ludicrous etymology of the name Antwerp, not to mention some other trifling slips of the like nature. In conclusion, after saying, as honest critics must, that "The History of Friedrich II. called Frederick the Great" is a book to be read in with more satisfaction than to be read through, after declaring that it is open to all manner of criticism, especially in point of moral purpose and tendency, we must admit with thankfulness, that it has the one prime merit of being the work CARLYLE. of a man who has every quality of a great poet except that supreme one of rhythm which shapes both matter and manner to harmonious proportion, and that where it is good, it is good as only genius knows how to be. With the gift of song, Carlyle would have been the greatest of epic poets since Homer. Without it, to modulate and harmonize and bring parts into their proper relation, he is the most amorphous of humorists, the most shining avatar of whim the world has ever seen. Beginning with a hearty contempt for shams, he has come at length to believe in brute force as the only reality, and has as little sense of justice as Thackeray allowed to women. We say brute force because, though the theory is that this force should be directed by the supreme intellect for the time being, yet all inferior wits are treated rather as obstacles to be contemptuously shoved aside than as ancillary forces to be conciliated through their reason. But, with all deductions, he remains the profoundest critic and the most dramatic imagination of modern times. Never was there a more striking example of that ingenium perfervidum long ago said to be characteristic of his countrymen. His is one of the natures, rare in these latter centuries, capable of rising to a white heat; but once fairly kindled, he is like a three-decker on fire, and his shotted guns go off, as the glow reaches them, alike dangerous to friend or foe. Though he seems more and more to confound material with moral success, yet there is always something wholesome in his unswerving loyalty to reality, as he understands it. History, in the true sense, he does not and cannot write, for he looks on mankind as a herd without volition, and without moral force; but such vivid pictures of events, such living conceptions of character, we find nowhere else in prose. The figures of most historians seem like dolls stuffed with bran, whose whole sub- CARLYLE. It stance runs out through any hole that criticism may tear in them, but Carlyle's are so real in comparison, that, if you prick them, they bleed. He seems a little wearied, here and there, in his Friedrich, with the multiplicity of detail, and does his filling-in rather shabbily; but he still remains in his own way, like his hero, the Only, and such episodes as that of Voltaire would make the fortune of any other writer. Though not the safest of guides in politics or practical philosophy, his value as an inspirer and awakener cannot be over-estimated. is a power which belongs only to the highest order of minds, for it is none but a divine fire that can so kindle and irradiate. The debt due him from those who listened to the teachings of his prime for revealing to them what sublime reserves of power even the humblest may find in manliness, sincerity, and self-reliance, can be paid with nothing short of reverential gratitude. As a purifier of the sources whence our intellectual inspiration is drawn, his influence has been second only to that of Wordsworth, if even to his. ABRAHAM LINCOLN. THE HERE have been many painful crises since the impatient vanity of South Carolina hurried ten prosperous Commonwealths into a crime whose assured retribution was to leave them either at the mercy of the nation they had wronged, or of the anarchy they had summoned but could not control, when no thoughtful American opened his morning paper without dreading to find that he had no longer a country to love and honor.
them so well as the Pharisees. But they were divine texts merely,--they never connected themselves with the sheep and the shepherds that wandered over the hills in their day. The sheep would sell for so much in the market the shepherds were hired for so much by the day or the week. There was no other measure of their worth. Clever teachers might, perhaps, resort to them occasionally for rhetorical illustrations. Secular and vulgar things might be converted, as the phrase is, to the service of religion. But it would always be felt that they were in themselves secular and vulgar things. God had nothing to do with them till they had been reclaimed. Thus the faith that all creation is divine,--that all occupations are divine,-that God has written His mind and purpose both upon the natural and the civil order of the world, had disappeared. Men no longer walked the earth as a holy place, filled with the presence of their Lord God; it had become utterly separated from Him,-sold and sacrificed to Mammon. Then came the Son of Man, interpreting the world which He had made, and which knew Him not; drawing forth out of it treasures new and old; deciphering the hieroglyphics which wise men had perceived in every rock and cave, in every tree, and in every grain of sand; showing that in Himself was to be found the solution of that sphynx-riddle by which all ages had been tormented. But even His parables might be turned to an evil use. It might be supposed that we can only reach the kingdom of heaven through the forms of earth; that they are not the likenesses of the invisible substances, but that the invisible substances are the likenesses of them. This danger is of such continual recurrence, it belongs so essentially to the idolatrous nature which is in us all, that it must have exhibited itself in the Christian Church before St. John wrote. Long allegories-which seem invented rather to hide the truth from common eyes than to bring it forth that it might be a possession for the wayfarer-began to be produced immediately after the apostolical age, if not within it. Nothing like them is to be found in this Gospel. Those parts of our Lord's teaching in which the parable was not used are brought into most prominence. Yet the parable is justified; all His acts are shown to be signs. And a proverb (Tapoμía) is introduced here and there, which enables us to understand in what the worth of these natural likenesses consists, and how much the divine art which draws out the spiritual truth that is latent in them differs from the elaborate artifice of the allegorizer. • Then said Jesus unto them again, Verily, verily, I say unto you, I am the door of the sheep. All that ever came before me are thieves and robbers: but the sheep did not hear them. I am the door; by me if any man enter in, he shall be saved, and shall go in and out, and find pasture. The thief cometh not, but for to steal, and to kill, and to destroy: I am come that they might have life, and that they might have it more abundantly.' The formal interpreter of parables would at once decide, that the most important object in the picture which is presented to the eye, must represent Christ the Son of Man. The supposition is a natural one; perhaps it may ultimately prove to be true. But our Lord's first words seem to confute it. His conversation with the Pharisees leads Him to speak of the gate through which both the sheep and the shepherd enter into the fold, before He speaks of the shepherd. And that gate, He says, is Himself. All kings, prophets, priests, teachers, had brought DISCOURSE XIX. light and life into the minds of men,--had served to bind men into one,--just so far as they had confessed a light and life from which theirs was derived, just so far as they had identified themselves with the people. And all that had come claiming to be the sources of life and light, --to have an independent authority,--to have a right to rule, because they were in themselves stronger, or wiser, or better than others, had been thieves and robbers, the tyrants and destroyers of the earth. There is no commentary on history, the history of the whole world, ancient and modern, so grand as this, so perfectly able to abide the test of facts. Every prophet, and monarch, and priest of the Jews brought strength and freedom into his land, while he was the witness of an invisible Prophet, and Monarch, and Priest higher than himself, living then, one day to be made manifest. Every prophet, monarch, and priest was the cause of superstition, idolatry, and slavery to his land, when he exalted himself,-when he strove to prove that he had some rights of his own which were not conferred on him for the sake of his race,- -which were not conferred that he might be a witness of the glory belonging to his race. If we read Pagan history and literature by the light of Scripture, we should find abundance of proofs that the maxim is equally true and satisfactory with reference to them; that every Greek or Roman patriot and sage, whom we ought to love, and whom only a heartless, atheistical religion can hinder us from loving, did good and was good, so far as he did not seek his own glory,--so far as he did not attribute his wisdom and power to himself, so far as he was in communion, amidst whatever confusions, with the Light that lighteneth every man; and that every oppressor and invader of freedom, whose character it is our duty to hate, was so because he came in his own name, claiming to be a king, a Christ, a god. With tenfold momentum do the words bear upon the ages since the incarnation, and declare to every priest, pope, emperor, philosopher, and master of a sect or school,--' In 'so far as thou hast assumed to be the Son of Man,-in so far as thou hast set thyself to be something when thou art nothing,-in so far as thou hast claimed to have light, which has not come from the Fountain of light,-- ' and power, which is not imparted by the righteous Power, -so far thou hast been a thief and a robber, caring for nothing but to steal, and to kill, and to destroy.' But if in this sense it is true now, and has been true always, that Christ is the only Door through which any man enters, whose designs towards human beings are good and not murderous; can it be equally true that 'the sheep did not hear the voices of false prophets, of usurping tyrants, who climbed up some other way? How then have they prevailed so mightily? Dare we say that no true men have given heed to them? Dare we judge all that have yielded to impostors, all that have welcomed them as deliverers? Shall we not certainly be judged if we do? Assuredly we shall. And, therefore, let us proceed to judge ourselves first, and at once. We have listened to impostors, have we not? We have been beguiled by men who we thought were to give us life, and really took life from us. Well, but was there nothing in us which refused to hear these teachers, to follow these guides? Was there no inward protest against them? Where some strong external evidence, some evil fruits in ourselves, DISCOURSE XIX
Lambeth; another in Fulham, &c." What! universal? Did ever any of our prelates challenge all the world as his diocese? Is this simplicity or malice? If your pastor tell us", that as well a world as a province, let me return it: if he may be pastor over a parlour-full, why not of a city? and if of a city, why not of a nation? But these you will prove unruinated towers of that Babel: You ask, therefore, whether the office of archbishops, bishops, and the rest of that rank, were not in queen Mary's days parts of that accursed hierarchy and members of that Man of Sin :-Doubtless they were. Who can deny it? n Seven Argum. First Answ. Counterpois. SECT. XXX.] 59 against the Brownists. But now, say you, they have the same ecclesiastical jurisdiction continued:-this is your miserable sophistry. Those popish archbishops and bishops and clergy were members of antichrist not as church-governors, but as popish. While they swore subjection to him, while they defended him, while they worshipped him above all that is called God, and extorted this homage from others, how could they be other but limbs of that Man of Sin? Shall others therefore which defy him, resist, trample upon him, spend their lives and labours in oppugnation of him, be necessarily in the same case, because in the same room? Let me help your anabaptists with a sound argument. The princes, peers, and magistrates of the land in queen Mary's days were shoulders and arms of antichrist; their calling is still the same: therefore now they are such. Your master Smith upon no other ground disclaimeth infants' baptism, crying out that this is the main relick of antichristianismo. But see how, like a wise master, you confute yourself. They are still members of the body, though the head, the pope, be cut off-the head is antichrist; therefore the body without the head is no part of antichrist. He that is without the Head, Christ, is no member of Christ; so contrarily. I hear you say, the very jurisdiction and office is here antichristian, not the abuse :-What! in them, and not in all bishops since, and in the apostles' times? Alas! who are you, that you should oppose all churches and times? Ignorance of church-story, and not distinguishing betwixt substances and appendances, personal abuses and callings, hath led you to this error. Yet since you have reckoned up so many popes, let me help you with more. Was there not one in Lambeth when doctor Cranmer was there? One in Fulham, when Ridley was there? One in Worcester, when Latimer was there? One at Winchester, when Philpotp was there? We will go higher: was not Hilarius at Arles; Paulinus at Nola; Primasius at Utica; Eucherius at Lyons; Cyril at Alexandria; Chrysostom at Constantinople; Augustin at Hippo; Ambrose at Milan? What should I be infinite? Was not Cyprian at Carthage; Euodius, and after him Ignatius, in St. John's time, at Antioch; Polycarpus at Smyrna; • Character of the Beast against R. in Smithfield, 1555.] Clyfton. q Beatissimus Papa, passim in Epist. P Archdeacon [of Winchester, burnt Ignat. ad Trallian. Euseb. 1. iii. [c. 36.] Apology of the Church of England [SECT. XXXI. Philip at Caesarea; James and Simeon and Cleophas at Jerusalem; and by much consent of antiquityr, Titus in Crete, Timothy at Ephesus, Mark at Alexandria? Yea, to be short, was there not every where, in all ages, an allowed superiority of church-governors under this title? Look into the frequent subscriptions of all councils and their canons: look into the registers of all times, and find yourself answered. Let reverend Calvin be our advocates; I would desire no other words to confute you but his. He shall tell you that even in the primitive church the presbyters chose one out of their number in every city whom they titled their bishop, lest dissension should arise from equality. Let Hemingius teach you that this was the practice of the purest church. Thus it was ever: and if princes have pleased to annex either large maintenances or styles of higher dignity and respect unto these, do their additions annihilate them? Hath their double honour made void their callings? why more than extreme neediness? If Aristotle would not allow a priest to be a tradesman", yet Paul could yield to homely tent-making: if your elders grow rich or noble, do they cease to be or begin to be unlawful? But in how many volumes hath this point been fully discussed! I list not to glean after their full carts. SEP. "And so do all the reformed churches in the world, of whose testimony you boast so loud, renounce the prelacy of England, as part of that pseudo-clergy and antichristian hierarchy derived from Rome." SECT. XXXI.-The Judgment and Practice of other Reformed Churches. From your own verdict you descend to the testimonies of all reformed churches. r Ex Euseb. Hier. Catalog. Script. gerentur, [et ordinarentur] ut suum mu- Epiphanio, &c. nus episcopi singuli probe administrarent, &c. s Calv. Inst. 1. iv. [c. iv. § 2. Genev. 1592. p. 218.] Hieron. Evagrio. [seu Evangelo.] t Heming. Potest. Eccl. clas. 3. c. 10. [Basil. 1586. p. 459.]-Hinc ecclesia purior, secuta tempora apostolorum, fecit alios patriarchas, quorum erat curare ut episcopi cujusque dioeceseos rite eliu Arist. Pol. 7. [Ed. Congr. 1. iv. c. 9.] v Potentia divitiarum et paupertatis humilitas, vel [sublimiorem] humiliorem vel inferiorem episcopum non facit.- Hieron. Evagr. [Ed. Erasm. t. ii. p. 329. Ed. Ben. ad Evangelum, t. iv. pars 2. p. 802.] SECT. XXXI.] 61 against the Brownists. I blush to see so wilful a slander fall from the pen of a Christian, that all reformed churches renounce our prelacy as antichristian : what one hath done it? Yea, what one foreign divine of note hath not given to our clergy the right hand of fellowship? So far is it from this, that J. Alasco was the allowed bishop of our first reformed strangers in this land; so far, that when your doctor found himself urged by M. Spr.* with a cloud of witnesses for our church and ministry, as Bucer, Martyr, Fagius, Alasco, Calvin, Beza, Bullinger, Gualter, Simler, Zanchius, Junius, Rollocus, and others, he had nothing to say for himself; but, "Though you come against us with horsemen and chariots, yet we will remember the name of the Lord our God," Ps. xx. 7: and turns it off with the accusation of a popish plea, and reference to the practice of the reformed y. And if therefore they have so renounced it, because their practice receives it not; why, like a true makebate, do you not say, that our churches have so renounced their government? These sisters have learned to differ, and yet to love and reverence each other; and in these cases to enjoy their own forms without prescription of necessity or censure. Let reverend Beza be the trumpet of all the rest; who tells youz, that the reformed English Churches continue upheld by the authority of bishops and archbishops; that they have had men of that rank, both famous martyrs and worthy pastors and doctors: and, lastly, congratulates this blessing to our Church. Or let Hemingius tell you the judgment of the Danish Church. Judicat caeteros ministros, &c. "It judgeth," saith hea, "that other ministers should obey their bishops in all things which make to the edification of the Church, &c." But what do I oppose any to his nameless "all?" His own silence confutes him enough in my silence. SEP.-Infallibility of Judgment. "It seems, the sacred (so called) synod assumeth little less unto herself in her determinations: otherwise, how durst she decree so absolutely as she doth touching things reputed indifferent, viz. that all * [Qu. Sperin.] y Answ. Counterp. Third Consid. z Beza de Ministr. Evang. c. 18. Defens. [see Defens. Tract. contra Resp. Beza a Saravia, Lond. 1610. p. 182.] Cited also by D. Down. p. 29. a Heming. Judicat caeteros ministros suis episcopis obtemperare debere. -Potest. Eccl. Class. iii. c. 10. [ut su pra p. 461.] Apology of the Church of England [SECT. XXXII.
Production of Blooms from Ore and Pig Iron in 1882, net 22,286 85,089 160,542 1,696,450 3,014 1,945,095 tons....... 91,293 Value of Imports of Iron and Steel in 1882.. Value of Exports of Iron and Steel in 1882. Imports of Iron Ore in 1882, gross tons... 589,655 Production of Lake Superior Iron Ore in 1882, gross tons..... 2,943,314 Production of Iron Ore in New Jersey in 1882, gross tons.... 900,000 Production of Anthracite Coal in 1882, gross tons... Total Production of Coal in 1882, gross tons.............. Miles of Railway Completed in 1882... 11,343 Total number of Miles of Railway December 31, 1882.. Iron Ships Built in the fiscal year ended June 30, 1882..... Immigrants in the calendar year 1882....... $707,337,049 Net Imports (merchandise) in the fiscal year 1882. Domestic Exports (merchandise) in the fiscal year 1882.......... $733,239,732 Net Imports (mdse.) first 8 months of fiscal year 1883......... $472,239,153 Domestic Exports (mdse.) first 8 months of fiscal year 1883.. $560,804,286 114,372 43 730,349 STOCKS OF ALL KINDS OF PIG IRON UNSOLD AT THE CLOSE OF 1880, 1881, AND 1882. These statistics, collected directly from the manufacturers by The American Iron and Steel Association, represent only stocks in the hands of makers or their agents. They do not include stocks in the hands of consumers or speculators, nor foreign iron. STATES AND DISTRICTS. New England and New York..... 63,549 34,275 47,654 New Jersey.. 20,780 7,931 12,178 Lehigh Valley....... 48,306 22,704 24,969 Schuylkill Valley. 32,849 23,563 24,029 Upper Susquehanna.... Lower Susquehanna.... Shenango Valley. Allegheny County... Miscellaneous bituminous... Charcoal Pennsylvania. 4,375 2,123 11,173 14,053 10,491 7,935 26,582 7,108 22,045 3,553 500 17,272 25,247 1,321 33,194 9,273 5,614 10,241 Total for Pennsylvania. 164,238 73,424 150,858 Maryland 9,028 2,867 7,280 Va., N. C., Ga., Ala., and Tex. 16,428 16,124 45,132 West Virginia.... 5,271 40 4,268 Kentucky 16,215 4,506 11,186 Tennessee.. 11,643 4,350 13,392 Hanging Rock... 33,607 23,791 40,094 Mahoning Valley. Miscellaneous Total for Ohio........... 12,826 Ohio. 24,672 43,804 8,846 22,187 90,237 32,637 87,253 Michigan and Indiana... 18,643 16,175 29,573 Illinois.. 25,134 896 Wisconsin and Minnesota.. 3,340 1,130 5,801 Missouri..... 12,152 11,695 14,223 Colorado and Pacific States..... 5,742 Grand total....... 456,658 210,896 429,694 Bituminous Anthracite Charcoal STOCKS ACCORDING TO FUEL USED. PRODUCTION OF ALL KINDS OF PIG IRON IN 1880, 1881, AND 1882, BY STATES. STATES. 1880. 1881. 1882. Maine........ Vermont... 3,578 4,400 4,100 1,800 2,796 1,210 Massachusetts. Connecticut. New York.. 19,017 18,318 10,335 22,583 28,483 24,342 395,361 359,519 416,156 New Jersey. 170,049 171,672 176,805 Pennsylvania 2,083,121 2,190,786 2,449,256 Maryland.. 61,437 48,756 54,524 Virginia...... 29,934 83,711 87,731 North Carolina...... 800 1,150 Georgia.... 27,321 37,404 42,440 Alabama.... 77,190 98,081 112,765 Texas 2,500 3,000 1,321 West Virginia.. 70,338 66,409 73,220 Kentucky 57,708 45,973 66,522 Tennessee. 70,873 87,406 137,602 Ohio..... 674,207 710,546 698,900 Indiana... 12,500 7,300 10,000 Illinois 150,556 251,781 360,407 Michigan 154,424 187,043 210,195 Wisconsin Missouri.. 96,842 102,029 85,859 105,555 109,799 113,644 Minnesota.. 3,520 7,442 8,126 Utah Territory 57 Colorado 6,396 23,718 Oregon.... 5,000 6,100 6,750 California. 4,414 987 Washington Territory. 1,200 ANTHRACITE PIG IRON. STATES. 1880. 1881. 1882. Massachusetts. 9,155 New York... New Jersey.. Pennsylvania Maryland 367,517 5,958 322,349 385,440 170,049 171,672 176,805 1,237,930 1,213,353 1,453,646 23,000 21,130 26,247 PRODUCTION OF PIG IRON.- -Continued. CHARCOAL PIG IRON. STATES. 1880. 1881. 1882. Maine...... 3,578 4,400 4,100 Vermont.... 1,800 2,796 1,210 Massachusetts. 9,862 12,360 10,335 Connecticut... 22,583 28,483 24,342 New York..... 27,844 30,467 30,716 Pennsylvania 43,374 51,908 49,975 Maryland 33,050 27,626 28,277 Virginia. 14,043 19,038 26,133 North Carolina..... 800 1,150 Georgia 7,277 13,404 15,565 Alabama. 37,737 44,221 55,541 Texas.... 2,500 3,000 1,321 West Virginia.. 3,245 1,200 Kentucky 21,174 16,778 17,165 Tennessee 16,675 19,046 37,611 Ohio...... 69,190 66,169 58,654 Indiana.. 2,000 Michigan 154,424 187,043 210,195 Wisconsin Missouri..... 42,913 47,702 55,369 15,769 43,241 54,327 Minnesota.. 3,520 7,442 8,126 Utah Territory. 57 Oregon 5,000 6,100 6,750 California 4,414 987 Washington Territory... 1,200 Total.. 537,558 638,838 697,906 BITUMINOUS COAL AND COKE PIG IRON. New York..... 6,703 Pennsylvania. 801,817 925,525 945,635 Maryland 5,387 Virginia. 15,891 64,673 61,598 Georgia 20,044 24,000 26,875 Alabama.. 39,453 53,860 57,224 West Virginia.. 67,093 65,209 73,220 Kentucky 36,534 29,195 49,357 Tennessee. 54,198 68,360 99,991 Ohio......... 605,017 644,377 640,246 Indiana. 10,500 7,300 10,000 Illinois Wisconsin.. 150,556 251,781 360,407 53,929 54,327 30,490 Missouri... Colorado 89,786 66,558 59,317 6,396 23,718 PRODUCTION OF PIG IRON.-Continued. PRODUCTION ACCORDING TO FUEL USED. KINDS OF FUEL. 1880. 1881. 1882. Anthracite 1,807,651 1,734,462 2,042,138 Charcoal 537,558 638,838 697,906 Bituminous.. 1,950,205 2,268,264 2,438,078 Total...... 4,295,414 4,641,564 5,178,122 PRODUCTION OF PIG IRON IN CERTAIN DISTRICTS. Lehigh Valley...... 544,987 560,190 609,338 Ohio. Pennsylvania. Schuylkill Valley..... 306,926 309,049 342,701 Upper Susquehanna... 168,128 125,785 201,367 Lower Susquehanna... 217,889 218,329 300,240 Shenango Valley.. 215,313 198,968 264,078 Allegheny County. 300,497 385,453 358,840 Miscellaneous coke. 286,007 341,104 322,717 Charcoal 43,374 51,908 49,975 Hanging Rock coke..... 60,316 77,500 77,364 Mahoning Valley.... 226,877 245,737 258,478 Hocking Valley.. 85,719 88,146 78,770 Miscellaneous coke...... 232,105 232,994 225,634 Hanging Rock charcoal.. 64,854 61,487 55,546 Miscellaneous charcoal.. 4,336 4,682 3,108 PRODUCTION OF PLATE AND SHEET IRON (EXCLUDING NAIL PLATE) IN THE UNITED STATES IN 1880, 1881, AND 1882. Net tons of 2,000 pounds. STATES. New Hampshire..... Massachusetts.. New York. 100 29,640 29,446 35,688 2,062 4,945 3,023 New Jersey. 921 1,823 2,016 Pennsylvania.. 223,940 251,225 258,603 Delaware... 10,506 10,355 12,895 Maryland..... 14,645 14,215 16,590 District of Columbia.. 11 82 29 West Virginia..... 5,550 6,234 7,991 Kentucky.. 10,348 6,035 16,380 Ohio........ 33,826 37,327 49,182 Indiana... 6,500 975 542 Michigan.. 7,265 5,920 3,820 Missouri... 4,343 4,500 6,055 Total.... PRODUCTION OF ROLLED IRON (EXCLUDING RAILS AND PLATE AND SHEET IRON) IN 1880, 1881, AND 1882. STATES. Bar, bolt, rod, skelp, hoop, and shaped iron, and rolled axles.-Net tons. 1880. 1881. 1882. Maine..... 7,639 5,433 10,537 New Hampshire..... 3,000 3,000 3,508 Massachusetts.. 48,323 58,524 46,086 Rhode Island.. 7,632 10,769 11,877 Connecticut.. 16,046 17,589 20,676 New York.... 106,274 106,372 131,226 New Jersey. Pennsylvania. 48,995 56,793 76,408 551,302 714,113 685,049 Delaware.. 19,300 23,920 25,366 Maryland 19,400 18,517 17,067 District of Columbia.. 265 220 121 Virginia....... 31,441 33,984 31,554 Georgia. 1,022 3,000 Alabama.. 6,304 8,772 8,460 West Virginia.. 4,638 4,106 5,494 Kentucky. 20,677 15,425 35,247 Tennessee. 6,215 5,158 10,589 Ohio....... 182,677 229,247 253,933 Indiana.. Illinois.. Michigan. 17,908 20,485 23,177 33,647 52,500 48 932 12,539 14,685 8,004 Wisconsin Missouri...... 34,683 47,478 39,611 20,942 12,141 12,090 California. 10,555 14,204 22,807 Kansas..... 8,900 10,528 10,800 Wyoming Territory.. 400 3,286 3,235 Colorado... 2,306 3,934 PRODUCTION OF CUT NAILS IN KEGS OF 100 POUNDS. Massachusetts.. 532,299 525,089 592,276 New York.... 7,482 New Jersey. 294,122 2,256 248,521 166 360,340 Pennsylvania.. 1,737,560 1,914,706 1,949,405 Virginia..... 123,728 127,566 169,806
fsous 'harsatn ana corruption" ccntrover- " but behind ali this lies q story Of snlewo pohtical mAneuverfns. Of carefully iato ana executed plans. that profoundly affected the politics Of the nation for over . decade hremef was but tool In the whole bus snees- It II practically certain that he never wrote the letter which appeared IN tne Columbian Observer NOR prepared the argument presented TO the house investigating committee for refusing 10 appear before II. He was an honest. well intenuoned man. enthusiastically devoted TO Gen. Jackson. but ignorant and easily imposed upon The real authorship Of these letters h q matter Of doubt: II II generally thought. however. that 6enator John H. Eaton. OF Tennessee. and samuel d. InGham. o Pennsylvania congresham, were responsible for then. Al any rate. they answered their purpose and the jackson party had telling cry to 20 before the country with In the next election. II In interesting to note here that both Eaton and Ingham were APP pointed 10 Jackson's first cabinet But what were Clay and jackson. the leading characters In this unfortunate AFFAIR, doing all this time. Clay could do nothing for lack Of definite accuser. He must stand idly looking on while the charges Of bargain and corruption were scattered broadcast over the country But Jackson. did he believe In these charges? Going into the campaign at the solicit tation of friends. with little interest In the outcome, the fighter in him soon came to the fore and he conceived q desire to be elected. When the returns came In he believed himself the choice Of the people and when Congress selected Ad- a 0vA him o th,xf ht fa<f out Of the ONCE TO which the people wished TO elevate him. Intensely personal he soon fastened his imagined grievances upon Henry Clay, for whom he enter tanned an old grudge dating back from the time OF the Seminole war. Brooding over what he sincerely believed TO Be his wrongs. he gradually came 10 hate Clay with all the intensity OF hts nature. To him Clay was an unprtncipled ONCE seeker. who had betrayed his country for his own ACKNOWLEDGMENT II can readily be- imagined, too. that the generals advisers and friends did nothing to stop his ever increasing luminosity towards the great Kentuckian. clay Finally DowneA. The cry Of bargain and corruption spread, and. what was more. It was beiieyed. In the West IL Increased the enthusasm for 'Old Hickory" and his home coming was made a continual ovation. Ac- cording to competent testimony. Jackson repeatedly expressed his belief in Clays guilt while on his way TO the Hermitage. He even went so far az to state that the friends Of Clay had offered him their sup port provided he would promise Clay the secretaryship OF state. At length Clay demanded of Jackson proof OF the allegations made against him. Hereupou follow ed q long and acrimonious correspondence between them. No proof was furnished by Jackson. and Clay's friends held their chief indicated. The discussion and agifation of the whole matter had done It's work. however. and Clay became d!scredted with a great majority OF the people. In ISIS Gen. Jackson was elected president by a dec,s.;e majority. This action OF the people he interpreted az n vindication OF the charges against Clay, and went to Washington with the sincere belief that the country had been rescued from a cabaI of traitors. Just what influence the bar gain and corruption cry had In determining the final result IL il impossible TO say. 1t was. however. used with telling eject In the campaign. especially in the South and West, where among the ignorant classes II had great influence The fight had been intensely bitter: persons rather than issues had been upper most In the mind OF the average voter. jackson. OF course had denounced Clay In his usual nery manner. while Clay had retaIiated with good old Kentucky invective. Lesser lights had taken up the fight and kept II waging merrily. Mystery IN Appointments. On February Is. 1899. Jackson announced his cabinet In the United States Telegraph as follows: Secretary OF state-Martin Van Vuren. of New York. Secretary OF the treasury-Samuei u. fngham. OF Pennsylvania Secretary OF war-John III. Eaton. OF Tennessee. Secretary Of the navy-John Branch. OF North Carolina. Attorney general--John Mcpherson Berrien. OF Georgia. Postmaster gcneral-William +. Barry. OF Kentucky. Who were these men? why were they selected by Gen Jackson for these posts OF responsibility, Ingham was one Of the men who had stood behind Kremer through all the bargain and corruption controversy. He had been especially active In the campaign In circulating charges against Clay and Adams He was first az all An anti-Clay man. Eaton was another an,l-clay man who had been concerned in the same controversy. Branch and Berrien had both voted against the confirmation OF Clay I'm the senate wher Adams sent his nomination In for secretary OF state They were both anti-Clay men Barry had helped to carry Clay's own state against him In the election. He. too. was anti-Ciay. II was mos, heterogeneous cabinet, the only thing all could agree on being hostility To Clay. II was an auti-Ciay cabinet Such were the bargain and corruption controversy and the Jackson-Clay feud growing out OF II, ard few az the resuits A more unfortunate or disgrace full piece of business would be hard to imagine. No fair minded man after go ing over all the facts could believe Clay guilty ~ the offense' charged against him. Yet he retired from the consrcversy. defeated In his fondest ambition. disappointed and discTedited man. On the other hand. the xhrcwa originators Of the charges gained power and opt ,encc They were high minded. fearless patr.ass. As for Gen, Jackson. no one can fairly minute so him anything bat thorough belief In the truth Of the "A hfa yrstSf a
that Act. And let me deal freely and truly with all the world in that particular; I never received by salary, and all other ways put together, for my preaching in Wales, from Christians and from the states, since the beginning, which is above twenty years, but between six and seven hundred pounds at most. And I can with much clearness, confidence, and comfort, call God, the searcher of all hearts, to witness; and I do call him to record on my soul, that, to my knowledge and remembrance, I had not anything, directly nor indirectly, but what was ordered me ; nor have I, nor any other for me-I express it without any collusion or reservation-so much as a pound or shilling of any money, from any tithes or otherwise, in my hands, belonging to the public; and I humbly challenge and bid defiance to envy itself to prove the contrary, and I desire to be called to an account, if I be suspected; for I will maintain my innocency herein till I die. And yet my accusers have, some by writing, who were ashamed to put their names thereto, and others by word, published, that I had many thousand pounds of the tithes money, nay, had purchased of King's rents and lands some thousands yearly, or at least many hundred pounds per annum ; whereas, now it is returned to the King again, it appears it is under seventy pounds yearly, and I never received any year of that above sixty-six pounds ten shillings. This the auditor and tenants know sufficiently, and let them or any other disprove me herein, if they can. "And whereas it is charged, that many good and godly men were turned out of their livings; let them that know such, for I did not, name them, and I doubt not but it will be yet easy to prove the contrary, by their former and present practices. However, for my own part, I often publicly tendered this to the ejected ministers, that if they could manifest that they had the work of grace wrought in themselves, or could produce any that had received spiritual good by their ministry, they should, as far as it lay in my power, be restored to their places: but not one of them ever claimed this. Further, as a consequence thereof, it was complained that the sabbaths were profaned: whereas men might ride throughout some counties, and neither see men working, travelling, nor playing on the sabbath. The like, I am sure, neither was before nor now is, our enemies themselves being judges. "But they further object, that the people were turned infidels and papists. So many do, where the powerfullest means are, if they come not under them. But why, then, do these men complain, so many are turned to be quite contrary; and if these accusers were fallen out with such men then, how come they now to own them so much? But to disprove that, take this single instance :--In a few years' time a great part of a former impression of the Welsh Bible was bought up, and afterwards two editions more, one of the New Testament, and another of the whole Bible; and of these two, I believe, are sold off, at least between five and six thousand. By this you may perceive that religion did grow. Also, in the beginning of the wars there was but one or two gathered congregations in all Wales, and in some counties scarce any that made profession of godliness in a strict gospel sense. Yet it hath pleased the Lord so to bless the weak means there, that there were lately, and I hope are still, above twenty gathered churches; in some two, in some three, some four or five hundred members, with their officers, differing little in opinion and faith, and walking in love, and the fear of the Lord."* All the Nonconformists of Wales, previous to the civil * Powell's Brief Narrative, prefixed to his "Bird in the Cage," second edition, printed in the year 1662. wars, and for some years after, were Congregational Paedobaptists; but in the year 1649 some of them changed their views on the subject of baptism, and formed themselves into an Anti-paedobaptist Church, at Ilston, near Swansea, in Glamorganshire. The following authentic account of the formation of this church has been happily preserved:-"The first Baptist Church, within what is now the Massachusetts State, was constituted in Rehoboth this year (1663); Mr. Holmes and his friends having only held a meeting there for a while, and then removed to Newport. For a more clear idea of its original we must look over into Wales, where at Ilston, in Glamorganshire, a Baptist Church was formed October 1st, 1649, the beginning whereof their records describe thus: We cannot but admire at the unsearchable wisdom, power, and love of God, in bringing about his own designs, far above and beyond the capacity and understanding of the wisest of men. Thus, to the glory of his own great name, hath he dealt with us; for when there had been no company or society of people, holding forth and professing the doctrine, worship, order, and discipline of the Gospel, according to the primitive institution, that ever we heard of in all Wales, since the apostacy, it pleased the Lord to choose this dark corner to place his name in, and honour us, undeserving creatures, with the happiness of being the first in all these parts among whom was practised the glorious ordinance of baptism, and here to gather the first church of baptized believers.' From whence they go on to relate how Mr. John Myles and Mr. Thomas Proud went up to London the next preceding spring, and, by the direction of Providence, came into the Baptist Society, at the Glasshouse, in Broad Street, under the care of Mr. William Consett and Mr. Edward Draper. Immediately after, they kept a day to seek the Lord, that he would send labourers into those dark corners of the land." These travellers were well received, and were soon sent back into their own country again, and were instrumental in gathering a Baptist Church at the time above-mentioned, and which, by a blessing upon their labours, increased, by the close of the next year, to fifty-five members. In 1651, forty more joined to it; forty-seven in 1652; and, by the end of 1660, two hundred and sixtythree persons had joined to that church, whose names all now stand in a neat book of records which they kept; which contains a distinct account of the means and methods they took to promote vital and practical religion among the several branches of their society; as also letters of correspondence to and from their brethren in various parts of England and Ireland."* To Mr. John Myles belongs the honour of being the founder of the Anti-paedobaptist denomination in Wales. Though at that time a comparatively very young man, he appears to have been remarkably influential, active, and determined. Soon after the formation of the church at Ilston, another was formed at Hay, in Breconshire, the immediate neighbourhood of Mr. Myles's native place; a third was formed at Llanharan, in Glamorganshire, in the same year; a fourth at Caermarthen, in a short time after ; * Backus's History of New England, with particular reference to the Baptists, p. 350. Boston, 1777. The Rev. Joshua Thomas, of Leominster, whose valuable work on the History of Anti-paedobaptists in Wales was published in the year 1778, supposes that a Welsh church of that persuasion was formed at Olichon, on the borders of Herefordshire, in the year 1633, and that the church at Llanvaches was made up partly of Independents and partly of Anti-paedobaptists, with two pastors-Mr. Wroth, an Independent, and Mr. William Thomas, an Anti-paedobaptist. Both these suppositions are perfectly groundless, and are completely overthrown by the above extracts from Backus, and the statements on pages 37 and 515 of the "Broadmead Records." It is astonishing that the Editor did not perceive tha the Records contradict his extracts from Mr. Thomas's MSS. There is not the least shadow of a proof that there were any Anti-paedobaptists in Wales previous to the year 1649. and, in the month of August, 1652, a fifth at Abergavenny.
South 7S degrees. sS minutes, East S32. feet to corner No. 2 identical with cor ner No. Iron Cap lode and corner-No. Raven lode of this survey thence North Is degreea. 50 minutes, East Ss4.3J feet to corner No {, thence North a degrees, 52 minutes, West eco feet to corner No. 4, thence South l3 degrees. \| 45 minutes West 950 feet to corner NO. ] the place Of beginning. \| Gurvey No. 1884. Iron Cap lode. Be- l ginning at corner No. 1, being the :, Southwest corner of location and iden- ! teal with corner No. ? Crown King lode of this survey, pine post ia . mound of earth and stone scribed l. 1894 l. C. L. whence U. 2. Mineral mon- uElent No. 5 bears South 4 degrees, 8 minutes, West 2SeT.s feet, thence SoWih g degrees, 52 minutes, East hss ss feet to corner Nc. 2. thence \| North degrees, IF minutes, East %55.e4 feet to corner No.3, thence North l 1s degrees, 3 minutes, East 600 feet to to corner No. 4. thence North 7S de- grees, 52 minutes, West 43s.2 feet to corneT No. 5, thence South IS degrees, 50 minutes, West 954.35 feet to corner No. the place of beginning. .' Survey No. 1894 Raven Lode. Be- ginning at corner No. 1 being the Southwest corner of location and iden- tical with corner No. Monarch lode of this survey, & pine post surrounded by mound of stone scribed R. l.. l. 1894 whence U. s. Mineral monument No. : bears South 53 degrees, 45 min- degrees, 52 minutes, East 600 feet; to corner No. 2, thence North Il degrees, minute. East 993.1 feet to corner No. ?, thence North TS degrees, 53 minutes, West 1885 feet to corner No. 4. thence South r degrees, 24 minutes. West 1904 feet to corner No. the place of be- ginning. Survey No. 1894 Monorch Lode. Be- ginning at corner No. being the Southwest corner of location . pine post surrounded by a mound of stone scribed 1-12s4 M. L. whence U. g. Min eral monument No. bears South 81 degrees. A minutes, West 12S4.3 feet. thence South IS degrees. 5f minutes, East ec0 feet to corner No. {, thence North 1T degrees, g minutes, East 1229.6 feet to corner No. 5, thence North 7s degrees 52 minutes, West 500 feet to corner No. 1, thence South 17 degrees. 5 minutes, West 127e.S feet to corner No 1 the place of beginning. Survey No. 1894. Della Mack lode. Beginning Ut corner No. 1 being the southwest corner of location and idea tical with corner Nc. !, Raven lede and corner No. Monarch lode and coraer No. {. Uncle Sam lode of this survey, . pine post surrounded by a mound of stone scrihed 1-1s94 D. N. c. 4whence II. 2. Mineral monument No. . bears South H degrees, { minutes. West 2473 feet, thence North il degrees 1 rninute, East 4o1.e feet to corner No. 2, thence South 70 degrees, 54 minutes. East 2s9.7 feet to corner No. ., thence south n degrees, 10 minutes. East 355.3 feet to corner No. l. thence South 14 degrees. 26 minutes, West 4oo feet to cofner No. s, thence North 10 degrees. s4 minutes, West 5seS feet ts corner .3o. l the place of beginning. ,, Survey Ne. 1884. Uncle San Lode RcsInning at corner Nc. l being the Southwest corner of location and iden- tical with corner Ee. Of the Trans Atlantic lode and with corner No. { of tEe Monarch lode, claims of this sar- yey. P pine post Surrounded by . mound c: stone scribed 1-1Se4 IT. g. L. whence U. s. Mineral monument No. 5 bears North. sr degrees, IT. alinutes, M'sst 1Ss4S feet, thence South Ts de srees, 54 minutes East sSo feet ts CO.'S ner No 2, thence North IA degrees, $ minutes, East 122S.1 feet to corner No. 5. thence North 70 degrees, s% minutes, We-t 5S:.s feet to corner No. {. thence South IT. degrees. ss minutes West i2s3.s feet to corner Nc. tho place ef hcsirnains. -E-.E a 5N.rs sury.. Nc. 1924. FraAs Atlantic lode Hcgirnirs .t corner Nc. being tSt Northwest corner oc location .ad !dsa- ticSl ~ith corner No. 1'Unclc Sara lode and corner No. 2 Monarch lode both. claims Of this survey, e pine post sur raunded by mound of stones scribcd 1lAt T. A. L. whence U. $. Mineral monument tEo. 2 bears North S7 dc- Srers, 1T minutes, West 1s54.S feet, the-cs South 7s degrees, si pl'euteA "sst sto feet ts corner Ns. 2, th-aes south JE arrrc,s, H r,iSutes, West !ts1.T feet to corner No. G. th,s-. Ecrtt 75 degrees, E4 NaiaIt-~, Tea. t": feet to corner No. 4, thence North 15 3egrecs. H r1'notes, East 1tsI.f feet to corr-r Ne. i the place of hrr'nn.nE. Survey Ne. 1Sat. South Sols LSss. periarinE al corrcr Na.. bAies the s;cuth~"at corner ot iecstioR . rIna ro.t rryrour*ed by & p,ouri ot ~srth xnd s:ons ccrinsd LIMA .. r. r.. ~hsnc. corner 10. < Of tse r-scle sara ,cSe ami cor-.r Ne. ef f-n Y .~s. Atlantic leds of this survey bear F-rtA l4 degrees :s minutes Wcet 31s.s Feet sas '. 2. Mineral NorumcRt So. $ htars North Ss degrees a1 .1n!nnt-s, West HTo feet thence South II cs- Ersee 1s rlinuten Fast ese feet to eSr- nts No. [, theme North . degrees 1T misWtcs, Eest Itisa feet ts corner Nc. \| :. thence North Il degrees 1s nsisrtss Vert SsfH feet ts corner Ne {. thepcn 3outi N degrees 3s minutes West. iNs.S feet ts corner No. the aiaee ee l beginning. l eu-vsy Ne. isst Esy etst. Lsdc. r,eginAins at eorR.- Ne. b.iss the 1 Sorthweet eern-r sf location and '
Family concerns calling my kind companion home, I could not do otherwise than willingly release him, aware that his own monthly meeting had need of his help, from the sorrowful convulsion that had taken place therein: we parted in near affection, after having travelled together many months in much harmony; he left me for a time in a very stripped state. Fourth-day, attended Newbegun Creek meeting, composed of Friends and others, and a considerable number of coloured people: the meeting was held in quiet: I was led to hope the minds of some were introduced into a feeling sense of what was offered, one woman in particular (not professing with our religious Society) who came into the meeting as with stretched-out neck and wanton looks, before the meeting closed manifested much tenderness, and as if she was really brought down into the valley of true pleading, where the voice of the Shepherd is clearly and distinctly heard. 1st of 1st mo. 1829. Fifth-day, attended the Narrow's meeting, after which we attended a committee of Friends, who have the charge of a considerable number of free coloured people, some of whom have been freed by Friends, and others have been willed to Friends by persons not in profession with our Society, in order to their becoming freed; the great load of care that has devolved on this committee, calls for the near sympathy of their absent friends, from the ignorance and untowardness of those they have to do with, in addition to the severity of the laws of the state relative to free coloured people. Seventh-day, attended the monthly meeting of Pine Wood; we had a large meeting of Friends and others, and I hope our sitting together might be said to be a time of comfort and encouragement to the feeble-minded; the concerns of the meeting for discipline appeared to go heavily forward, for want of a more lively zcal being manifested, to assist the clerk by properly speaking to matters that were before the meeting. First-day, attended Beech Spring meeting, at which were many not in profession with Friends, amongst whom there appeared much openness to receive what was communicated, and the meeting separated under a degree of solemnity. Wainsville has been uppermost with me when out of meetings, sometimes in meetings, much of late; I dare not try to get from under the distressing feelings it occasions, until help is sent from the Divine source of comfort: what would I not give, were it possible I could realize the return of the Fourth-day morning before I left Springborough, with the information I received at Richmond relative to the meeting at Wainsville! but how merciful is my heavenly Father, who does not bring it against me as a sin, but as an act of great unwatchfulness on my part! Fourth-day morning, attended Little River meeting, and the next day, attended Symond's Creek meeting; we had the company of many not of our religious Society, in whose minds I was led to fear there was not much openness to receive what was offered; and yet the necessity being felt to labour as ability was afforded, I found there would be no way for me to secure that peace which only can sustain the soul, but by being faithful, and leaving all to the Divine disposal. Seventh-day, attended Sutton's Creek monthly meeting; the weather was severely cold, and the meeting-house being a cold comfortless place, occasioned me much suffering during the meetings, the doors being obliged to be opened the whole of the time to give sufficient light. First-day, attended Wells meeting; the weather continuing very severe, here I also had a suffering meeting,-daylight appearing through the roof in at least twenty places, and the doors obliged to be open for light; this meeting, from a large one, is now so reduced, partly by Friends moving into the free states of Ohio and Indiana, and partly by deaths, that it is expected it must be discontinued. Fourth-day, accompanied by my kind friend Aaron White, we had a meeting at Rich Square, notice having been given of my desire to see the members and attenders generally, the meeting was large; and Friends kept their seats more than is often the case during the time of the meeting. Here I met with a number of solid Friends, in sitting with whom I felt good satisfaction. Fifth-day, (15th of 1st mo. 1829), we proceeded towards Virginia; and on Seventh-day attended monthly meeting at Gravelly Run, which is greatly reduced by Friends moving into the western country, and it is likely to be more so: I felt well satisfied in sitting with Friends of this monthly meeting, some of whom are to be felt for, as they have to come forty miles to attend their monthly meeting. First-day, attended meeting here: some not in profession with Friends gave us their company; it proved to me an exercising, trying meeting. In the evening we had a quiet religious opportunity in a Friend's family: after which, taking a retrospect of the proceedings of this day, before I retired to rest, feelings of gratitude and praise to the great Author of all that is truly good, were in mercy the clothing of my mind. Third-day, attended Stanton's meeting: a considerable body of Friends, I was informed, once composed this meeting, but now it consists of only two families; these have since that time removed into the western country, and the meeting-house is shut up. The next day, attended meeting at Black Creek; many not of our Society gave us their company. Fifth-day, attended Johnson's meeting: and on Seventh-day, the monthly meeting for the western branch; it was long in gathering, which greatly interrupted the quiet settling of the meeting at the close of the monthly meeting the select meeting was held, consisting of six, in the station of elders; there are now only two acknowledged ministers left in the compass of this Yearly Meeting. First-day, attended Summerton meeting, which was large, and I humbly hope a profitable one to some of us, a season in which the lukewarm and indifferent were laboured with. Second-day morning, we set out on our journey to Lynchborough, a distance of about two hundred miles, and chiefly away from Friends. Fourth-day, we took up our abode at a tavern for the night; this has been to me as trying a day as any I have had to pass through for some time; my short-coming relative to Wainsville coming before me, this thorn in the flesh goaded me sorely: this messenger of Satan was permitted to buffet me severely, and yet I durst not ask for it to be removed until my Divine Master pleased, believing it is one of the means he sees meet I should be tried with, in answer to my secret petitions to him, to humble me, and keep me in the low valley of self-nothingness, and in that entire dependence on Divine aid for the performance of every religious engagement. From the quantity of snow that had fallen, and bad roads, our poor horses were greatly fatigued; we were truly thankful when on Seventh-day night, about dark, we reached Lynchborough. First-day, 1st of 2nd mo. 1829, attended the meeting of Friends of Lynchborough, about three miles from the town, a cold comfortless meeting-house; the meeting was long in gathering, which caused it to hold beyond its usual time, but the people remained quiet to the last; I felt well satisfied in having given up to travel thus far, at this inclement season of the year, to sit with Friends of this place, although the prospect of a succession of faithful standard-bearers was discouraging. Second day morning, we left Lynchborough: it rained and froze, which made the prospect of our journey discouraging; but we were favoured to reach the neighbourhood of Wick's meeting, on Seventh-day evening. First-day, the meeting was held in a Friend's house: after meeting, our kind friend Richard Jordan piloted us through the swamp, the water being very deep.
"That would be, indeed, burning 'like a house on fire,'” observed Mr. Bagges. "But there is another gas, called nitrogen," said Harry, "which is mixed with the air, and it is this which prevents a candle from burning out too fast." "Eh ?" said Mr. Bagges. "Well, I will say I do think we are under considerable obligations to nitrogen.' "I have explained to you, uncle," pursued Harry, "how a candle, in burning, turns into water. But it turns into something else besides that. The little bits of carbon that I told you about, which are burned in the flame of a candle, and which make the flame bright, mingle with the oxygen in burning, and form still another gas, called carbonic acid gas, which is so destructive of life when we breathe it. So you see that a candle-flame is vapor burning, and that the vapor, in burning, turns into water and carbonic acid gas." "Haven't you pretty nearly come to your candle's end' ?" said Mr. Wilkinson. "Nearly. I only want to tell uncle that the burning of a candle is almost exactly like our breathing. Breathing is consuming oxygen, only not so fast as burning. In breathing, we throw out water in vapor and carbonic acid from our lungs, and take oxygen in. Oxygen is as necessary to support the life of the body as it is to keep up the flame of a candle." 66 "So," said Mr. Bagges, man is a candle, eh? and Shakspeare knew that, I suppose (as he did most things), when he wrote, 'Out, out, brief candle !' Well, well; we old ones are moulds, and you young squires are dips and rush-lights, eh? Any more to tell us about the candle ?" "I could tell you a great deal more about oxygen, and hydrogen, and carbon, and water, and breathing, that Professor Faraday said, if I had time; but you should go and hear him yourself, uncle." "Eh? well, I think I will. Some of us seniors may learn something from a juvenile lecture, at any rate, if given by a Faraday. And now, my boy, I will tell you what," added Mr. Bagges, "I am very glad to find you so fond of study and science; and you deserve to be encouraged; and so I'll give you a-what-d'ye-call-it? a galvanic battery on your next birthday; and so much for your teaching your old uncle the chemistry of a candle." T2 PART IX. LESSON XIII. -THE POETIC REALITIES OF NATURE. From HUNT's Poetry of Science. 1. THE animated marble of ancient story is far less wonderful than the fact, proved by investigation, that every atom of matter is interpenetrated by a principle which directs its movements and orders its positions, and involved by an influence which extends without limits to all other atoms, and which determines their union or otherwise. 2. We have gravitation drawing all matter to a common centre, and acting from all bodies throughout the wide regions of unmeasured space upon all. We have cohesion holding the particles of matter enchained, operating only at distances too minute for the mathematician to measure; and we have chemical attraction, different from either of these, working no less mysteriously within absolutely insensible distances, and by the exercise of its occult power giving determinate and fixed forms to every kind of material creation. 3. The spiritual beings which the poet of untutored nature gave to the forest, to the valley, and to the mountain, to the lake, to the river, and to the ocean, working within their secret offices, and moulding for man the beautiful or the sublime, are but the weak creations of a finite mind, although they have for us a charm which all men unconsciously obey, even when they refuse to confess it. They are like the result of the labors of the statuary, who, in his high dreams of love and sublimated beauty, creates from the marble rock a figure of the most exquisite moulding which mimics life. It charms us for a season; we gaze and gaze again, and its first charms vanish; it is ever and ever still the same dead heap of chiseled stone. It has not the power of presenting to our wearying eyes the change which life alone enables matter to give; and, while we admit the excellence of the artist, we cease to feel at his work. 4. The mysteries of flowers have ever been the charm of the poet's song. Imagination has invested them with a magic influence, and fancy has almost regarded them as spiritual things. In contemplating their surpassing loveliness, the mind of every observer is improved, and the sentiments which they inspire, by their mere external elegance, are great and good. But on examining the real mysteries of their conditions, their physical phenomena, the relations in which they stand to the animal world, "stealing and giving odors" in CHEMISTRY. the marvelous interchange of carbonic acid and ammonia for the soul-inspiring oxygen-all speaking of the powers of some unseen, indwelling principle, directed by a supreme rulerthe philosopher finds subjects for deep and soul-trying contemplation. Such studies lift the mind into the truly sublime of nature. The poet's dream is the dim reflection of a distant star; the philosopher's revelation is a strong telescopic examination of its features. One is the mere echo of the remote whisper of Nature's voice in the dim twilight; the other is the swelling music of the harp of Memnon, awakened by the sun of truth, newly risen from the night of ignorance. 5. Poetical creations are pleasing, but they never affect the mind in the way in which the poetic realities of nature do. The sylph moistening a lily is a sweet dream; but the thoughts which rise when first we learn that the broad and beautiful dark green leaves of the lily, and its pure and delicate flower, are the results of the alchemy which changes gross particles of matter into symmetric forms, of a power which is unceasingly at work under the guidance of light, heat, and electrical force, are, after our incredulity has passed away-for it is too wonderful for the untutored to believe at onceof an exalting character. 6. The flower has grown under the impulse of principles which have been borne to it on the beam of solar light, and mingled with its substance, and it has a language for all men. The poet, indeed, tells us of a man to whom "The primrose on the river's brink A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more." But it was something more. He perhaps attended not to the eloquent teaching of its pure pale leaves; he might not have been conscious of the mysterious singing of that lowly flower; he might perchance have crushed it beneath his rude foot rather than quaff the draught of wisdom which it secreted in its cell; but the flower still ministered to that mere sensualist, and in its strange tongueless manner reproved his passions, and kept him " a wiser and a better man" than if it had pleased God to leave the world without the lovely primrose. 7. A stone, likewise, is merely a stone to most men. But within the interstices of the stone, and involving it like an atmosphere, are great and mighty influences-powers which are fearful in their grander operations, and wonderful in their gentler developments. The stone and the flower hold, locked up in their recesses, the three great known forces, light, heat, and electricity, and, in all probability, others of a more PART IX. exalted nature still, to which these powers are but subordinate agents. Such are the facts of science, which, indeed, draw"sermons from stones," and find "tongues in trees." Science alone can interpret the mysterious whisperings of Nature, and in this consists its poetry.
and his followers, than are the rights of free-masonry. Since I came here, there have been laid on the table a pamphlet which the gentleman from Lancaster seems to think something extraordinary. I am mortified to find upon its title page, the name of the governor of this commonwealth, who has turned aside from the high duties of his station to assail free-masons. "Ocean into tempest tost, To waft a feather, or to drown a fly." In that pamphlet, the author quotes, with a spirit of triumph, a remark by one Colden, viz: that he never knew a great mason that was not a great fool." Now, Mr. President, what office was vacant at that time, or what committee of nomination was in session, I cannot tell. But when the assertion was made, or about that time. Dewitt Clinton, a name to be reverenced, was the grand high priest of free-masonry, in the state of New York; and at the close of the masonic year, resigned his charge, his jewels, and his office, to Stephen Van Rensellaer, an eminent philanthropist, a defender of christianity, a man who was universally loved and respected, and whose name is yet held in reverence by all who know him. And yet that man, according to the argument of the advocates of this school of politics, was a great fool. Be it my pleasure all my life long, to be yoked with such men! to share their folly and their greatness. Let me not be considered, in any thing I may here have said, as desiring to wound the feelings of any man. I have been so often charged on this subject with evil motives, that I have learned the christian duty to bear and forbear-to give and forgive; and whilst I defend in debate an institution which has been thus fiercely assailed, I would rather be considered as deprecating the passage of an improper resolution which has been presented to this convention, than as speaking in defence of an order usually ranked as a secret society, but which is no more so than any association of lawyers, carpenters, and shoemakers. I have given you a revelation of a great portion of its secrets; the rest may be purchased for a like sum. We cannot expect to have sisters, the gentleman from Lancaster, (Mr. Reigart) says, but if they come we shall be glad to see them. as Mr. President, I have finished what I have to say in relation to this resolution. I regret that the gentleman from Lancaster did not permit a silent vote to be taken upon it. I regret that he felt bound to assall me, not personally, but as the conductor of a public press, and a member of an institution, for a wrong that I never did, and never allowed to be done. I regret that he should have rendered it necessary for me to occupy so much of your time. But what I have done, I have done with the kindest feelings. One word more, and then I will close. We have been spoken of as a political association, horded together for political purposes. I appeal to the experionce of all the members of the masonic body to say, whether this is a fact or not. I appeal to your experience, Mr. President, when you were a candidate for congress, and were opposed by Thomas Kit- era and Henry Horn. The former, the grand master of the grand lodge, and the latter, a past-master. I, a member of the same lodge with them, opposed both personally, and with my press. The grand master succeeded, but you had the masonic vote. I appeal to the gentleman from Lancaster to say, whether I was not yoked with George M. Dallas and George Wolf, as state prisoners at Harrisburg, although we were the antipodes of each other in all that relates to the political questions which have agitated the country. I know that all these injurious things are said pre forma. Still they are firebrands scattered about, inflicting injury and wrong; and he who knows what they really are, wonders how intelligent minds can be led into error by them. It is unkind, it is unjust, to assail any class of citizens when they are not in a situation where they can well defend themselves. Assertions are made, and are given to the winds, until the whole public mind is embittered against a class of citizens who, from the day they were first known in the United States, may challenge any other class, in point of integrity, piety, learning, and christianity; and for all those traits of character, which adorn the hearts of men, and make men love each other. Sir, I have now closed. I had some few more observations to make, but I will not weary the patience of the convention. I know that any labored defence of this order is unnecessary. Its assailants are fast giving way, and the cause of masonry is again budding like the rod of Aaron-again its members are associating for benevolence-they are again feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, ministering to the wants of the sick and the destitute-presenting an asylum where men may meet without reference to political parties-and where all things good may produced without injury to mankind. I hope that the anti-masons may be able to say as much of their institution, when they shall be called to account. Mr. PORTER, of Northampton, rose and said: be I did hope the other day, when the gentleman from Allegheny (Mr. Denny) offered this same amendment, which, it will be recollected, was voted down by more than two to one, that we should not again have been troubled with this third or fourth edition of "Jenny dang the weaver. But it seems now that the gentleman from Lancaster (Mr. Reigart) was not then present in the convention, and that he had no opportunity of recording his vote or of making a speech, and I suppose he will not be satisfied until he has done these things. The gentleman has been pleased to define his ideas of free masonry, of which he knows nothing, and which he takes upon hearsay; and I will in return, on rather better data, give him some incidents in the history of anti-masonry, as I know it to be, and as I will prove it to be. I say, then, that this is a persecuting attempt of a persecuting sect-a sect that is just worthy of the spirit which led John Rogers to the stake; for there is nothing upon earth that seems to have so strong a tendency to curdle the sympathies and dry up the fountains of charity in the human heart, as anti-masonry. Take a good man-a gentleman by education and by habit a man who has been accustomed to sympathize with the PENNSYLVANIA CONNENTION, 1838. 283 wants, the sufferings, and the misfortunes of his fellow men, and to perform all the kind offices of life to those about him-take, I say, such a man, and let him mingle for a time with anti-masons, and he becomes, in a very short period of time, as bitter as gall; he loses sight of the common charities and courtesies of life. In a word, he is transformed into a being as different to what he was before, as any two extremes that can be imagined. Mr. President, I do not stand here as the eulogist or the defender of free masonry. It needs no defence at my hands. It is composed of men there are some good and some bad. We do not suppose that all men in that fraternity are perfect. I believe that the perfectionists are not free masons, although I believe that there is such a sect as perfectionists some- - where in the states. But I could not suffer the opportunity to pass without saying something in reply to the gentleman from Lancaster, who has stigmatized us as every thing that is bad, not upon his own authority, but upon the authority of William L. Stone, a man who has swallowed antimasonry, as he has swallowed animal magnetism, and as he would swallow any thing on which he can make money by gull-traps. I am I am now a deputy grand master of the order of free masonry. neither ashamed nor afraid to own that I am a free mason. My father was one before me, but that did not prevent him from serving in the war of independence for seven years, nor did it prevent more than one of his sons from shouldering their muskets and marching out to defend their country when that country called.
I had attained my tenth year, when all Paris was aroused to transport by the arrival of the dauphiness-the pride of Austria-the hope of France -the young, the lovely Antoinette. To minister to the gaiety of the people the theatres were all opened by the municipality, and each of the performers received a gratuity. This enabled my parents to hire a stand for themselves and all the children in the amphitheatre erected at the Place de Louis XV. Never shall I forget the splendour of that spectacle-the dauphin and his bride-the noblesse the priests the soldiers-all was magnificent, all was worthy of the greatest and most civilized nation on the face of the earth. The people, with a loyalty so truly French, were intoxicated with delight; they shouted-they waved hats, scarfs, handkerchiefs-they even wept for joyalas! in the midst of the triumphal progress of the daughter of France, an event occurred which dimmed the lustre of that glorious day, and drew tears from the eyes of the paternal monarch. The scaffolding which supported the amphitheatre gave way -it fell-bearing to the earth its occupants, and crushing under its ruins the hundreds and thousands who were collected around and beneath it. My father was one of the Frenchmen who perished on that day, so joyful, yet so melancholy for France. My mother escaped, but two of her children were among the slain; Marie, Estelle, little Henri, and myself, were saved, almost by miracle. My mother was acceblée with grief, and for awhile even inconsolable; but time and philosophy enabled her to overcome her sorrow, and when at the end of a fortnight she appeared at the Odeon in a new ballether hair dressed, au desespoir, with black roses-her belt and scarf a la veuve-her success was complete.. This success had consequences the most important, for M. Girond, premier artist at the Odeon, was so much struck by her charms, that he placed his heart at her feet, and they were married in two months-my mother insisted on waiting that period-after the death of my father. This event added much to the happiness of my mother and her children. M. Girond was rich--he took lodgings for us in a pleasanter part of Rue St. Michael, and we lived gaily on. M. G. was a kind, good sort of man-very regular and exact in all his ways-very attentive to my mother, and he soon became very strongly attached to her children. He had one peculiarity, which at first annoyed my mother very much he never could do any thing himself, or be pleased to have another do it, without giving a reason: he was constantly asking, pour quoi? pour quoi? Now imagine the vexation of an artiste like my mother, at being obliged to give a reason for every thing she chose to do-it was intolerable but she was not long in discovering a remedy for this matrimonial difficulty. She found that any thing would do, if it had but the form of an answer to M. Girond's query of pour quoi; so she adopted a standing reply to the standing question- 'twas "Cest ma passion." This reply was always perfectly satisfactory to M. Girond, and never failed to elicit a contented bon! bon ! Estelle and Marie, under my mother's tuition, were preparing for the stage: I chose the same line, but little Henri was placed in the office of M. Etart, the printer. Time passed on, and at length my mother determined to produce her three children at the same time at the Odeon-a ballet was composed expressly for our debut, called Niobe. Our success was complete--I was received well-Marie much applauded, but Estelle was idolized. Night after night Niobe filled the house, enriched the manager, and delighted my mother. At one of these performances, M. le Marquis de la Saque was so much struck by the beauty, grace, and elegance of my sister, that he made her the most advantageous proposals. Here, however, my mother interfered: she had been prude for herself, she would be prude for her daughter. The Marquis was au desespoir-he argued, he entreated, he stormed--all in vain ; my mother was firm-the arrangement should not take place. The marquis was young, gallant, and thoughtless-he listened only to his passion-he married Estelle. Behold us now allied to the nobility of France. My sister retired with her husband to his chateau in Languedoc. Such marri- ages were not then countenanced at the court, and the marquis had not sufficient influence to have an exception made in favour of my sister. Luckily, he had no near relatives to interfere on the other side, or a lettre de cachet might have proved to poor Estelle a writing of divorcement. About this time politics became the fashion, and republicanism began to be talked of. We paid but little attention to such matters at the Odeon, but my brother, who was in the very focus of news at the printing office, never joined our circle in Rue St. Michael on Sunday without having some new notion to promulgate about-"liberty"--"republicanism"-" equality"--" the natural rights of man," and so forth; or some fine saying to repeat from Mirabeau, Lafayette, or Neckar. This amused us for the time very well, though we thought nothing of it next day. We looked upon the government, the king, the royal family, the nobles, the priests, as things that always had been and always would be: republicanism, liberty, equality, as mere fashions, like wearing yellow powder, or dressing the hair à la Fanchette-very well for a fashionparticularly as next year would bring us a new one. We were mistaken in this, as indeed were some others, who had larger stakes in the game than the poor players at the Odeon. Next came the National Assembly and the destruction of the Bastile, and nothing was talked of but elections, constitutions, &c. As these fancies had taken so great a hold on the public mind, we determined to make our affair of it at the Odeon. A ballet was produced, called La Liberté, in which Monsieur and Madame Girond caused the most astonishing sensation by a waltz à la Constitution. We never heard now "Vive le Roi," it was always "Vive la Liberté,"-"l'Assemble Nationale,"-" Vive Mirabeau,"-"Lafayette," and afterwards "Marat." My brother was a furious Jacobin, and, though so young, a leader of the mob; and when they broke into Versailles he was loudest in his regrets that Louis Capet and the Austrian, as it was now the fashion to call the poor king and queen, had escaped. Mobs were the only recognized authority, and their barbarities were unworthy of Frenchmen. Still at the Odeon we danced on-the houses were good-the people gay-gayer than usual, I think, as if they were anxious to forget, in the theatre, the horrors of real life. We, on our part, took care to know nothing of the patriots, and they had the goodness to know nothing of us. M. Girond did not encourage the visits of Henri in Rue St. Michael, and indeed Henri was soon too busy to think much of us. At last the poor king was killed-I was sorry, for, after all, Louis was not a bad manperhaps it would have been better for him and others if he had been. One evening, soon after the death of the king, as M. Girond and myself were returning from the Odeon, we met, near Fauxburg St. Antoine, a crowd of men and women in the genuine Sans Culottes uniform: we stepped aside to allow them to pass, but unfortunately, as the leaders carried torches, the glare fell brightly on a gold cross, ornamented with diamonds, which M. Girond had worn that evening in the spectacle, and had kept round his neck on changing his dress, fearful of trusting a trinket so valuable to the servant. The sparkle caught the eye of one of the ruffians,-"Seize the aristocrats," he shouted; in a moment we were in the midst of the mob, the cross was torn from M. Girond's neck with curses and blasphemies. Poor man! he was quite beside himself with terror: he trembled, stammered, and bowed, but could not tell who he was, or where he came from. I attempted to speak, but my voice was drowned by shouts "no prompting"-" each for himself."
February, at Mortimer's Cross near Hereford. Edward gained a complete victory: three thousand six hundred of his enemies were left on the field; Owen Tudor, the second husband of Catherine of France, was taken, and, with eight other Lancastrians of rank, was beheaded at Hereford a few days after, as a retaliation for the queen's executions at Wakefield, Pontefract, and other parts in Yorkshire. Jasper, Owen Tudor's son, had the good fortune to escape out of the battle. Before Edward could join him in the east, the Earl of Warwick was attacked and routed by the queen, who had followed the high northern road with good hopes of reaching London. At the town of St. Alban's, which was held by the Yorkists, she experienced a severe check; but, turning that position, she fell upon the army of Warwick, which occupied the hills to the south-east of the town. The combat was prolonged over the undulating country that lies between St. Alban's and Barnet: and the last stand was made by the men of Kent upon Barnet Common. At night-fall, Warwick found himself beaten at all points; and so precipitate was his retreat, that he left King Henry behind him at Barnet. The queen and her son found this helpless man in his tent, attended only by the Lord Montague, his chamberlain. In this running fight the Yorkists lost nearly two thousand men, and on the following day the Lord Bonvile and the brave Sir Thomas Kyriel, who had been made prisoners, were executed in retaliation for the beheading of Owen Tudor and his companions at Hereford. On the 17th of February King Henry was freed again from the hands of his enemies five days after a proclamation was issued in his name, stating that he had consented to the late arrangement repecting the succession to the crown only through force and fear. Edward, "late Earl of March," was declared a traitor anew, and rewards were offered for his apprehension. But Edward was now in a situation to proclaim traitors, and to put a price upon other men's heads himself. His victory at Mortimer's Cross produced a great effect. As he marched eastward, every town and every village reinforced him, and when he joined the Earl of Warwick and collected that nobleman's scattered forces, he had an army more than equal to that of the queen. The favour of the Londoners, the cruelties of the queen, and the conduct of the undisciplined troops which she had brought from the north, made the balance incline wholly to the side of the Yorkists. It appears that Margaret and her party had no money, and that their troops subsisted by plunder. Wherever they stopped they laid the country bare, making free by the way with whatever they could A.D. 1461.] HENRY VI. 163 carry off. After the battle, they not only plundered the town of St. Alban's, but also stripped the rich abbey.* At the same time the Londoners were told that Margaret had threatened to wreak her vengeance upon them for the favour they had so constantly shown to her enemies. She sent from Barnet to the city, demanding supplies of provisions; and the mayor, not knowing as yet that Edward was at hand, loaded some carts with "lenten stuff" for the refreshing of her army; but the people would not suffer them to pass, and, after an affray, stopped them at Cripplegate. During this disturbance some four hundred of the queen's horse, who had ridden from Barnet, plundered the northern suburbs of the city, and would have entered one of the gates had they not been stoutly met and repulsed by the common people. A day or two after, on the 25th of February, the united forces of Edward and Warwick appeared in view, and were received as friends and deliverers. The northern army was in full retreat from St. Alban's, and Edward, who was a stranger to the scruples and indecision of his more amiable father, was fully resolved to seize the throne at once. He rode through the city like a king and a conqueror: and he was carried forward to his object by a high stream of popularity and the enthusiastic feelings of the people, who could not sufficiently admire his youth, beauty, and spirit, or pity his family misfortunes. The Lord Falconberg got up a grand review of part of the army in St. John's Field; and a great number of the substantial citizens assembled with the multitude to witness this sight. Of a sudden, Falconberg and the Bishop of Exeter, one of Warwick's brothers, addressed the multitude thus assembled, touching the offences, crimes, and deceits of the late government,-the longproved incapacity of Henry,-the usurpation and false title through which he had obtained the throne; and The plunder of the abbey entirely changed the worthy abbot's politics, and, from a zealous Lancastrian, Whethamstede became a Yorkist. [A.D. 1461. then the orators asked if they would have this Henry to reign over them any longer. The people with one voice cried "Nay, nay." Falconberg, or the bishop, then expounded the just title of Edward, formerly Earl of March, and drew a flattering, but not untrue picture of his valour, activity, and abilities. Then they asked the people if they would serve, love, and obey Edward; and the people of course shouted "Yea, yea;" crying "King Edward King Edward!" with much shouting and clapping of hands. On the following day, the 2nd of March, a great council, consisting of lords spiritual and temporal, deliberated and declared, without any reference to the authority of parliament, which never met till eight months after, that Henry of Lancaster, by joining the queen's forces, had broken faith and violated the award of the preceding year, and thereby forfeited the crown to the heir of the late Duke of York, whose rights by birth had been proved and established. On the 4th of March, Edward rode royally to Westminster, followed by an immense procession. There he at once mounted the throne which his father had only touched with a faltering hand; and from that vantage ground he explained to a favourable audience the doctrine of hereditary right and the claims of his family. The people frequently interrupted him with their acclamations. He then proceeded to the Abbey church, where he repeated the same discourse, and where he was again interrupted by shouts of "Long live King Edward!" On the same day he was proclaimed in the usual manner in different parts of the city.* At the time he took these bold steps Edward was not twenty-one years old. * Whetham.- Cont. Croyl.-Stowe. -- Hall.-- Paston Letters. EDWARD IV, A.D. 1461.-INSTEAD of staying in London to enjoy the pageant and festivity of a coronation, Edward was obliged to take the field instantly, and face the horrors of a war which became more and more merciless. The Lancastrians, after their retreat from St. Alban's, had gathered in greater force than ever behind the Trent and the Humber; and, by the middle of March they took up ground in the neighbourhood of the city of York, being, horse and foot together, sixty thousand strong. Their chief commander was the Duke of Somerset, who acted in concert with Queen Margaret; for Henry still lay helpless at York, and the Prince Edward, Margaret's son, was only eight years old. Instead of awaiting their attack in the southern counties, the Yorkists determined to meet them on their own ground in the north. This resolution was adopted by the advice of the Earl of Warwick, who set out at once with the van of the army. Edward closely followed him; and, partly through good will to him and his cause, and still more from an anxious wish to prevent a second visit from the northern army, the men of the south flocked to his advancing banner, and, by the time he reached Pontefract Castle he was at the head of an army of forty-nine thousand men.
CARRIAGE AND HOW TO NANAGE THE OUTING. Oae OF the pleasantes: ways n which TO spend few weeks OF summer vacation Is In taxing driving trip through a beautiful country, and any one who has enjoyed such an experience u sure to want to repeat K: The first necessity In undertaking tour o. this sort. is a pair OF strong, willing horses, well matched IN speed and disposition; the second driver who thoroughly understands the manage ment and OF horses, including their treatment in the stable and Their shoe.ng. Driving team FOR three four wecA3 over all sorts OF roads, In country where veterinary surgeon IS often un- Obta.nabe, and where even a knowledge OF proper grooming is in its infancy and bringing the horses home sound ard in good condition is feat that requires much skill Such driving is very dlrferert matter 10 taking the family horses out on shopping tours in the morning and for little drives in the park in the afternoon; and the fat, shining family horses themselves Will need special treat mcnt before starting out on such long trip. Suppose you have your team OF sound. strong horses who can easily go twenty miles a day on ordinary country roads for six days In the week The first thing TO do is 10 get them accustomed TO going that distance before starting on your trip. Begin about a fortnight before the Journey COM mences, and drive your horses twice day. morn ing and afternoon FOR about two hours each tine: and II they are soft out OF condition, exercise them gently at first until gradually you get them 20 going the gait you expect them TO keep when travelling Meantime. Of course. their allowance OF oats must be increased until they are able to do their full days work and they must have the best OF care. Now that your horses are In shape you begin to look Tor your carriage The best thing for the purpose is what is called in some places mountain wagon" carriage with box body, all open under the seats. with strong running gear ard stout springs II you prefer covered carriage this wagon may have ,fa on ar yyin II your horses extra strong your wagon may be n tnree-seated ore which will hold a party OF six Then for travelling necessities you snould take for the horses watering pal ard sponge with which TO wash their mouths. The PAL with the sponge IN It can be hung under the wagon. Then there must be two halters. two sheets ana two blankets which can be rolled together tightly and put under one OF the seats 1t is also wise to carry box OF appropriate size containing wrench. a punch. OF axle grease. some extra bolts and nuts. and straps and strings TO use IN Gaze OF accident. II should also contain sponSes and cloths for washing and grooming the horses and cleaning the carriage. as these things are Sc dom found in country barns The travellers themselves viii have 10 go IN light marching order as 10 clothes. unless they arrange 70 send a trunk or two by express to meet them at different points on their journey. For the men Clothes of light weight Of scme neutral shade OF brown or gray. flannel shirts and soft felt hats are the most comfortable and service able For the ladies skirts OF wiry serge. or some other dust-shcdding material and waists OF either wash material or dark coored summer six. Ther hats should shade their eyes and have simple trimming which can be easily brushed clean. Each person needs an extra coat or wrap and mackintosh; and II the carriage has no cover. some large pieces OF rubber cloth should be taken TO serve as laprobes In case OF a sudden shower some SIKH is required in packing ones necessares for a trip like this, as bags and vases mus; be small enough to 90 under the seats; but with little practice the poores; packer soon learns 10 make many things go into small compass. The writer has driven through New-York State and contiguous parts OF New-Jersey. Pennsylvania, Connecticut and Massachusetts. and can heartily recommend this part OF the country Tor driving trips The roads. an average. are good IN some places being sandy and stony In others hard and firm The scenery is beautiful, the valley Of the Susquehanna ard the rich farming country OF Middle New-York comparing favoraby, as 10 beauty. yvlth the famous Berkshire Hills. The hotels in the various it;e villages arc surprisingly good the majority OF them being clean and well kept. with plain. but nicely cooked food To be sure the beds are sometimes hard. but any one who has driven from four to six hours day Tor several weeks becomes strong and well that plain pine board would suggest downy softness and refreshing sleep In arranging the trip. county maps end the road books printed for bicyc'ers great help; but even where these are unobjanab,e Il Is diff icult find the road you want or 10 ascertain tho best hotel TO stop at in the next village by asking for information as you go. IL Is great convenience to have in your party a man % business ability and firm character. who will make all the bargains at the hotels. and ask questions every possible occasion. and all the better IL this Is some besidSs the driver that the latter left free 10 that his horses properly cared for. \ party OF six nearly always get reduclions In price on account OF their number, and should be able TO trave. very comfortably on g day each. which would include care and feed Of horses In some places II would less than this. AID IN others more-especially where summer boarders have taken UP their abode-but the price should not average more than s. day. ~, have to take two drives one IN the morning and ore In the afternoon: and the earlier you can start horses rest at midday. the better for them, Perhaps hot day. Il the road Is very billy or twenty mites; but some other day when they md a good hard level road they Will more than MAKE ny the distance lost 80 that you stlll average your twenty miles day. II YOU are interested in human nature, one OF the greatest pleasures OF driving trip is IN meet ing the quaint characters one comes across In such travels. Few ely people know now much naturai can farmers who 1--we tar from railroads and know :it;e or nothing OF books Often: II you stop at place Will enter into conversation with you. and nod 10 YOU In friendly fashion, and would be conhe failed to do Sometimes your roadside acquaintance asks very funny questions: but no never intends 10 be rude and Tor months after were driving through the country. actually for plough and the hay wagon ard an OCCASIONAL trip 10 the village TO do his trading; he would never cars. But We who have tried IT, know that there is no pleasanter way OF travelling than driving. me scULPrORs ESTIMATE OF HIMSELE
While this work was going on in the comparative quiet of Stirling, Scotland was lost in the turmoil of one of the most wild and terrible portions of her history. It is indeed rather from the glimpse we have of the little royal household in the foreground of all that strife and bloodshed, the Lady Mar in her matronly dignity, Buchanan in his furred gown among his books, and the clamour and laughter of the two boys interrupting the quiet, that we can believe in any semblance of peace or domestic life at all in the distracted country. The Regent Lennox, the King's grandfather, was killed under the very rocks of the castle where James learned his lessons. His young companion's father, the Earl of Mar, was taken from the family at Stirling and raised to a brief and agitated Regency, through all of which a civil war was raging And till from beyond the seas there came the still more horrible news of that French massacre which convulsed the world, and made an end of Mary's party, nothing was secure from one day to another in Scotland. It was in the midst of that very tumult and endless miserable conflict, in which Mary's followers had at last set up the doctrine of her irresponsibility and divine right to retain her position as Queen whatever might be her guilt as Mary Stewart-that the scholar set himself to compose his work upon the rights of the kingdom and the duties of kings. His high temper, his strong partisanship, his stern logic, would find an incitement and inspiration in those specious arguments on the other side which were so new to Scotland, and had been contradicted over and over again in her troublous history, where no one was so certain to be brought to book for his offences as the erring or unsuccessful monarch. It must be difficult for a great classicist to be at the same time a believer in the divine right of kings; and it was a new idea for the medieval Scot accustomed to reverence the name, but to criticise in the sharpest practical way the acts of his sovereign. And we may imagine that the old scholar, who could not but hear from his window the shouts of the warfare between the Queen's party and the King's, would have a grim satisfaction as he sat high above them, protected more or less by the royal name, in forging at his leisure those links of remorseless argument which, though they had no effect upon the pupil to whom they were dedicated, had their share in regulating that great rebellion which had so important an effect upon the after-history of the two kingdoms. During this period, however, Buchanan had other occupations besides his tutorship and his literary work. He was made "director of the Chancery," whatever that may mean, and in 1570 was elevated to the post of Keeper of the Privy Seal, in which capacity he served in various Parliaments and was also a member of the Privy Council. When the conspiracy arose against the Regent Morton which ended in his temporary deprivation of the regency, Buchanan seems to have taken part against him, though on what argument we are not told: for it was Morton's power which had brought about the re-establishment of peace and order to which he refers in the dedication of his book. And it is a feasible conjecture that it was by his crafty suggestion that the Regent's fictitious plaints of being weary of his high office and desiring nothing more than that the King's Majesty should take the government into his own hand, were ingeniously twisted so as to give his dismissal the air PART 111 ROYAL EDINBURGH of a gracious consent to Morton's own wishes. An old man like Buchanan, well acquainted with the wiles of logic and the pretexts of state, was more likely to use an advantage in which there is a certain grim humour, and to take the adversary in his own toils, than such an inexperienced politician as young Mar, or any of the undistinguished nobles who carried out that stratagem. Whether Buchanan supported his old pupil, Mar, in his attempt to seize the governorship of the castle and the King's person out of the hands of his uncle, or in what aspect he was regarded when Morton returned to the head of affairs, we have no means of knowing. Whatever his influence might be at the King's ear or amid the secret meetings of the malcontents, neither as Lord Privy Seal nor as King James's tutor did he come in public collision with any public authority. His action, whenever he appears publicly, is perfectly characteristic of his real position and faculties. He took part in a commission for the establishment of a system of municipal law: he was one of the Church's commissioners on two occasions in determining her policy and discipline. When the reform of the Universities of Scotland, so often taken up since then, and so slow to be accomplished, was brought under the consideration of Parliament, Buchanan was one of the chief of the commissioners appointed to consider it. He is reported to have been the author of a scheme of reconstruction to be employed in the University of St. Andrews; and it is interesting to find in this new system that special attention was enjoined to be given to Greek, and that the study of Hebrew was also recommended to the students. The latter language, we believe, still remains an established part of the studies of young men in preparation for the ministry in the Church of Scotland. Buchanan desired that the Principal of his own College, St. Leonards, should lecture on Plato. And he made a present of a number of Greek CHAP. IV THE SCHOLAR OF The reforMATION 425 books, still carefully preserved, to Glasgow University, though why he should have chosen to send them there, instead of to his own smaller and poorer University, we have nothing to show. It is thus apparent that in his active public work Buchanan's chief attention was given to his own proper subjects. There is no evidence that he did more than was indispensable to his official character in matters more exclusively political. His old age thus passed, in a certain learned leisure which it is very difficult to imagine as existing in so tumultuous a period and amid so many violent changes and vicissitudes. He had many learned correspondents throughout the world, almost all the great scholars of the time being numbered among his friends; and the letters which he received from all quarters implied a considerable amount of letter-writing on his side. He sent copies of his books to his friends as if he had been the most modern of novelists, and it is curious to think of the big laborious volume of solemn Latin dramas, or that thin but weighty tome, instinct with another and more living kind of interest, which set forth the rights of nations-sent by some trusty messenger, a young scholar finding in the packet entrusted to his charge the best introduction to one of the lights of learning on the Continent, or some adventurer making his way to a commission in the Scottish Archers or other service of arms more profitable for a younger son than the frays and feuds of Scotland. The learned doctors of the Sorbonne, the scholars of Geneva, and the printers of Holland, replied on their side not only with elaborate thanks and eulogies, but with responsive presents, treatises or translations of their own, some of them dedicated to the royal boy who was the pupil of their friend, and of whom he gave so wonderful a description. "I have been guilty of trifling with a sacred subject," wrote Berger with his volume of poems, "and I have dedicated my trifles to a king."
military companies, lOf spending Lhe I oulIh " July. Other companies than those named, may have made arrangements also, but to what extent we have not been informed The "Independent Greys," under Major Law, will leave the city this evening by the steam boat line for Philadelphia, where they will remain until the It'll inst. Their fine band accompanies them.-The "Maryland Cadets, " Capt Poor, will encamp at Wartman's, Sui phur Springs, about mile and quarter from the "Relay House." on the Washington Rail Road They will leave the city this evening, and will return on Monday afternoon "Raltimore City Guards" Captain Milliken, will encamp on DR.. Tyson's place, a short dis lance from the city on the Susquehanna Rail Road. They 90 out this afternoon, and return tomorrow evening.-Th The "Independent Blues" Lieut.. Luchessi, commanding, will encamp in Chases Lot, during the 4th, out West Madison street, extended. The "National Blues" under Col. Pickell, will pa rade through the city, and proceed to "Mount Clare, (McPhersons,) on the 4th, where they will dine.-The "Ringgold Infantry" Cap tain Chiffele, will encamp OH the 4th, on the ground Of VIM, II. Carpenter, Esq, five miles from the city on the Frederick Turnpike Theygo out very early on the morning of the 4th, in full fatigue dress, and will return in the evening. German YageEs," Captain Elterman, will Join in the procession on the 4th, and when dismissed, will have dinner in CAROLS Woods. -The eagle Artlersts, - under Lieut.. Col. Kane, will join in the procession of the 4th.--The "lndependent Light Dragons" under Col. Benzinger, will Join in the procession, and when dismissed, will partake ola dinner at the large Hotel, near the Cattle Scales, on west Baltimore street.--The "Mechanical Volunteers" I'M der Major Watkins, and "German Guards" Capt kerner, will, we learn, join in the civic procession. The Celebration Of The Fourth By HE Butchers. The Butchers of Baltimore are as proverbial for patriotism as generosity, and as a body are not surpassed by any class of citizens in taking the lead in every project having for its OBJ ject the diffusion of charity or the demonstraton of patriotism; hence, we perceive that thew have made the most extensive preparations fol giving eclat to the procession Tomorrow. We understand they will muster in full strength at Mount Vernon Place, at o'clock, on horseback, handsomely ACQUIRED, fom whence, under their Chief Marshal, J. Maybury Turner, Esq. and his Assistants and Aids, they will proceed to take their position in the line ofprocession.- After the ceremonies Of the day are concluded, they will proceed in a body to the beautiful grove near Fairview Inn, on the Baltimore street road where the Declaration of Independence will be read by Charles Myers, Esq, after which they will partake of fine collation. and no doubt amidst the general hlarity, give utterance to many sentiment alike BETTING the occasion and doing honor 10 their respectabic fraternity. We wish them a day of uninterrupted JOY and pleasure. Handsome Present. We saw Yesterday at the store of Mr.. James NJ. Haig. nearly opposite our office, beautiful United States Flag, eight feet long, intended as a present from a young lady in Saratoga street, TO the "Mary. \| land Guards" Capt George Carr Grundy- I The flag is of the best silk, and is supported on staff, surmounted with a golden eagle; there are also attached scarlet silk cords aud tassels 1t was manufactured by Mr.. Haig, and is present that the "Guards" may Justly feel proud of, coming as it does from such fair hands. We also saw at the same store a beau titul banner trimmed by Mr.. Haig in excellent style. The banner is of rich satin, trimmed with heavy bullion fringe and tassels. On the one side, which is scarlet, is Bible resting on a cushion, opened at the 9th chapter of Luke; Book, n-on the reverse side, which is white, uIO TIC "O!hS,- h2ulludl CCiOOl VI llG NPG- man Evangelical Lutheran Trinity Church, Instituted A. d. Is42." The painting was done by Mr.. J. J. Higdon, and is most oreditable specimen of the arts, Both banner and flag will be in the procession tomorrow. .4nother Successful Voyage. The brig "Frances Amy" Captain Binney, arrived at this port yesterday morning from Cumana, on the Spanish Main, where she has been engaged for NV, bo IL Company, with diving bell and apparatus, in obtaining sunken treasure. We are pleased to learn that they have been very successful, and bring home upwards of $685. 900 in specie, recovered from the wreck of an old Spanish man-oewar, which was sunk on her return to the continent of Europe, having on board a large amount of money. The Frances Amy made successful voyage to the same place in the fall of 1915, and obtained then about Sl7,500, and large quantity of old copper and metal. This last voyage has consumed upwards of eight months, and we learn that on the last day of their operations at the wreck, they OBJ tanned near $500, but hearing of the war with Mexico, 1t was deemed prudent to return home without delay. ! The Monumental Lyce,tm. AT meeting of the members of this Institution, held on We'd nesday evening last, the following gentlemen were elected officers to serve during the ensuing SIX months w. Johnson, President; Levi Tsch- meyer Vice President; VIM. Hull. Secretary; Robert P. BaYly, Treasurer; E. F. Hilton, Ii brarian; w, A. McWlliams, VIM. S. Drummer, Allen T. Lewis, and John S. Reese, Curators. ! We take this occasion to remark that this In stitution was never in a more fourshing condton than at present, and numbers more active members than any other of a similar character in the city. Discharged Samuel Shivers, alias Michael Rooney, the person whose arrest we noticed some time since, on the supposition of having stolen certain silver spoons found in his posses sion, was further examined Yesterday before
Americans on BOard-Most of the Crew Perished with the Boat Many Pathetic Incidents Were Re- ported. Southampton, March S1.-The passenger steamer Stella, plying between this port and the channel islands, crashed upon the dreaded Casquet rocks, near the Island Of Alderney. yesterday afternoon in dense fox, and foundered in ten minutes, her boiler exploding as she went down. Reports as to the number lost are confiicting. but the officials of the London and Southwestern Railway Company, which company owns the boat, said that the drowned will not exceed seventy. Other reports make the loss much higher. Three boats, including a collapsible boat, are missing. The Stella left Southampton at noon yesterday, conveying the first daylight excursion of the season to the channel ISL ands. There were about 1S5 passengers on board, and the crew numbered thirty-five men. The weather was foggy, but all went well until the afternoon, when the fog became most dense. AT o'clock the Casquet rocks suddenly loomed up through the fog bank and the steamer almost Immediately afterwards struck amidship. The captain seeing that the Stella was fast sinking. ordered the lifeboats launched. His instructions were carried out with the utmost celerity, and the women and children were embarked in the boats. The captain ordered the men to look after themselves. Steamers Boiler Burst. A survivor states that he and twenty five others put off from the Stella in a small boat The sea was calm, but there was big swirl around the rock. When this boat was a short distance away from the wreck, the boiler of the Stella burst with terrific explosion and the vessel dis appeared stern foremost in the sea. The last thing the survivor saw was the figure of the captain of the Stella stand ing calmly on the bridge and giving his last Instructions. The captain pershed with his vessel, owing to the great sue ton caused by the sinking steamer. Con- Iinuing, the survivor referred to said 1.-The suction was so tremendous that we thought our boat would be engulfeds saw five boats and the collapsble boat, beside our own, leave the wreck. They contained altogether between eighty and one hundred persons Five of the boats were soon lost 10 view, but we took boat filed with women in tow, and the occupants of our boat took the oars in turn and rowed all, night long until most of us dropped asleep thoroughly exhaust ed. The Survivors Picked Up. owe sighted sailboat also In the morn ing, but the Great Western Railway Com pany's steamer Lynx, from Weymouth, had meanwhile hove in sight. She bore down on us and took all on board. She eventually landed us at Guernsey" The Great Western Railway Company's steamer Vera, from Southampton picked up forty others of the survivors and land ed them at Guernsey. Up to noon to-day, 102 passengers had been accounted for, including Mr.. ]. Par ton and his wife. Mr. Parton is the man. ager of the Western London Office of the the Stella had 40 passengers on board and that her crew numbered forty-two persons. Another steamer of the same company which arrived at the ISLAND of Jersey at about noon to-day, reports having passed many bodies of victims of the disaster about the Casquet rocks. Kept Up Her Speed. A survivor of the disaster named Bush says the speed of the Stella in the for was not diminished, though the fog whisties were sounded. Bush adds that at $3.50 O'Clock p. m, the engineer showed him in the engine room a dial registering a speed of eighteen and a half knots. He says the vessel struck within % minutes afterward Bush asserts that two lifeboats were sunk with the steamer. which after resting on the rocks for ten or fifteen minutes split in two and disappeared. Continuing, Bush adds: when the Stella disappeared forty or fifty persons were discovered clinging TO pieces of wreckage or cabin furniture and crying piteously for help. All the passengers and crew had been provided with life belts and there was little panic as the ship sank \| first slipped into the water, and then swan TO one of the boats into which / was helped. We rowed sun posedfy In the direction of Guernsey, but seven hours later we found ourselves near the scene OF the wreck and saw dozens of persons clinging TO rocks" The boat in which Bush was a passenger was afterwards picked up by the Lynx. The passengers all agree that perfect Or der and discipline prevailed on board the Stella. The crew promptly took UP their stations when the steamer struck, served out the life belts and lowered the boats. Scene Was Heartrendine. The scene at the moment of the sinking of the vessel was heartrending. Women were screaming and praying, and people were clinging 20 spars and other wreckaee In all directions. Those who had succeed ed in getting into the boats had narrow escape from being engulfed on account OF the suction caused by the sinking vessel The voice of Capt Rocks from tho bridge. was frequently heard urging the rowers TO pull for their lives. Tho boats. were adrift for fifteen hours during which time their occupants were without food or water. and as their clothes were drenched they suffered greatly.
Flowers glumaceous, in spikes or spikelets, glume 1-valved-no proper perianth. Style 1, stamens 2 or 3. Seeds without pericarp. Grassy, perennial, coarse. No open sheaths to the leaves. (Sedgegrass-like.) A. Cyperacea. Stems angular, leaf-sheaths entire: embryo undivided, included in the albumen. Diclinous. Root fibrous. Farinaceous, nutritious, sugary. Caulinia, Willd. Zannichellia, L. § 1. True Cyperaceoe. Dulichium, Pers. § 2. Scirpea. Eriophorum, L. Dichromena, Michx. Fuirena, Lin. fil. 3. Sclera. § 4. Caricinie. Marisucs, Vahl. Schoenus, L. Rhyncospora, Vahl. Vaginaria, Rich. 1 MONOCOTYLEDONOUS. Agrostis, L. Cinna, L. Phleum, L. ORDER X. GRAMINEÆ. Flowers glumaceous, generally in spikes and spikelets; but sometimes solitary; outer glumes generally 2-valved: stamens 3, stigmas two, plumose and capillary. Seed farinaceous, without pericarps: culm jointed, leaves with open sheaths. (Grass-like.) A. Gramineae.* Plants glumaceous with cylindrical stems and slit leaf-sheaths. Seed covering not a pericarp, but a membrane, as the bran of ground wheat. Cattle-fodder, farinaceous food, tonic. Agrostidea. (Field-grass-like.) Polypogon, Desf. Trichochloa, Desf. Muhlenbergia, Schreb. Alopecurus, L. Phalaris, L. Crypsis, Lamk. Milium, L. Digitaria, Hall. ́ Paspalum, L. Orthopogon, R. Br. Tripsacum, L. Stipa, L. Eriocoma, Nutt. Aira, L. Trisetum, Pers. Uralepsis, Nutt. Danthonia, Dc. Festuca, L. Diarrhena. Poa, L. Sesleria, Scop. Briza, L. 10. BELOW PISTIL, GLUMACEOUS. Hordeum, L. Triticum, L. Egilops, L. Limnetis. Saccharum, L. Erianthus, Michx. 2. Chloris, Swtz. Atheropogon, Muhl. Panicca. (Panic-grass-like.) Piptatherum, P. de Beauv. Pennisetum. Aulaxanthus, Ell. Beckmannia, Jacq. § 3. Avenacea. (Oats-like.) Aristida, L.' Anthoxanthum, L. Miegia. Holcus, L. Arundo, L. 6. 4. Festucacao. (Fesc-grass-like.) Ceratochloa, P. de B. Kaeleria, Pers. Windsoria. Phragmites. Melica, L. 5. Chloridea. (Hair-beard-like.) Monocera, Ell. Oxydena, Nutt. Hordeacea. Secale, L. Lolium, L. Rottbollia, L. Panicum, L. Ceresia, Pers. Manisurus, L. Cenchrus, L. Calamagrostis, Roth. Pleuraphis, Tor. Avena, L. Hierochloa, Gmel. Psamma. Dactylis, L. Bromus, L. Glyceria, R. Brown. Uniola, L. Cynodon, Rich. Eleusine, Gaert. (Barley-like.) Elymus, L. Lepturus, R. Brown. Nardus, L. § 7. Saccharineae. (Cane-like.) Andropogon, L. Sorghum, Pers. 8. Oryzea. (Rice-like.) Zizania, L. Gymnopogon, L. de B. Leersia, L. Oryzopsis, Michx. *The genera of this order are arranged according to Agardh, in his Aphorismi Botanici-pp. 147-155, MONOCOTYLEDONOUS. Oryza. 11. 12. 13. SURROUNDING PISTIL. Hydrochloa, P. de B. non Hort. Brit. $9. Bambusinea. (Reed-like.) Arundinaria, Michx. PETALOID. CLASS SECOND. Stamens surrounding the pistil, above its base. Flowers Petaloid. Zea, L. ORDER XI. PALMÆ. Calyx 1-leaved: corol none: stamens mostly six; styles 1 to 3: stem eylindrical, made scaly by the permanent bases of the leaves. (Palm-like.) A. Palmae. Six-petalled, arborescent; leaves divided, rigid: germ superior 3-celled, and an embryo lies in a cartilaginous or fleshy albumen, at a distance from the hilum. Furnishes food, oil, wine, and towic remedies. Chamaerops, L. Sabal, Ad. XII. ASPARAGI. Flowers with petaloid perianths, generally 6-parted: stamens adhering to the same base with the calyx or corol: berry 3 or 4-celled, 1 or 3-seeded. (Asparagus-like.) Smilax, L. Streptopos, Michx. Uvularia, L. A. Smilace. Six-petalled; germ superior; anthers turned inwards: perianth colored: fruit succulent, 3-celled, seed-covering membranace ous: style triple. Diuretic and demulcent. Asparagus, L. Gyroma. Convallaria, L. Trilliuin, L. B. Dioscorea. Six-petalled: germ inferior; diclinous: perianth regular small. Nutritious, tonic. (Yam-like.) Dioscorea, L. XIII. JUNCI. Flowers with small spathes, or spathe-like bracts, and free 6-parted perianths. (Rush-like.) A. Alismacea. Three-petalled, with numerous, distinct, superior germs. Aquaticts; leaves with sub-parallel veins. Stimulating and acrid. Sagittaria, L. Alisma. L. B. Commelinea. Three-petalled; have superior 3-celled capsules. Feeble tonics. Commelina, L. Tradescantia, L. C. Xyrideae. Three-petalled, with superior concrete capella with a 1-celled capsule and a parietal placentae and capitate flowers: leaves radical, ensiform. Antiscorbutic. Xyris. Tripterella. D. Juncea. Six-petaloid, herbaceous, with a superior germ, a halfglumaceous regular perianth, a pale soft testa, a single style, capsular fruit, and an embryo next to the hilum. Weak tonics. MONOCOTYLEDONOUS. 14, 15, 16, 17. SORROUNDING PISTIL. Pleea, Michx. Juncus, L. Narthecium, Mohr. E. Melanthacea. turned outwards. Melanthium, L. Helonias, L. Zigadenus, Mx. Luzula, Dc. Six-petaloid, carpella nearly separate; anthers Germs superior. Poisonous, Antiscorbutic. Scilla, L. Allium, Hyacinthus. Tofielda, Huds. Nolina, Mx. PETALOID. ORDER XIV. LILIACEÆ. Liliaceous 6-petalled or 6-parted corols: stamens 6; style 1, stigmas 3 or 3-lobed: capsules 3-celled, seeds flat. A. Liliaceae. Six-petalled, germ superior, highly developed coro! (colored calyx of some) anthers turned inwards, a 3-celled many-seeded capsule; seeds with a soft spongy coat. Diuretics, emollients. Tulipa. Yucca, L. Polyanthes. ORDER XV. BROMELIA. Calyx permanent: stigma 3-lobed: fruit capsular: embryo recurved. (Pine apple-like.) A. Bromeliacea. Three-petalled, 6 stamens; germ inferior, and an albuminous embryo. Refrigerants, Cathartics. Tillandsia, L. Agave, L. Amaryllis, L. Galanthus. Xerophyllum, Mx. Veratrum, L. Lilium, L. Frittillaria, L. Calochortus, Pursh. Erythronium, L. ORDER XVI. ASPHODELI. No perianths, but some have spathes: corols 6-parted or 6-cleft: stamens 6: seeds round or angled. (Hyacinth-like.) A. Asphodeleae. Six-petaloid or 6-parted: germ superior; anthers 3 turned inwards: fruit 3-celled; a hard black brittle testa, and undivided style. Peduncles articulated in the middle. Bitter stimulant, some are excellent expectorants and absorbents.. Ornithogalum, L. Aletris, L. Brodiaea, Sm. Phalangium. Asphodelus. ORDER XVII. NARCISSI. Mostly have spathes, and no perianths: corols 6-parted or 6-petalled: stamens 6: germ attached to the corol. (Daffodil-like.) A. Hypoxide. Six-petaloid; germ inferior: corol 6-parted (called perianth by some) with equitant divisions: seeds beaked and a hard black coat. Feeble tonics. (Star-grass-like.) Hypoxis, L. B. Amaryllidea. Six-petaloid, bulbous, 6-stamened: germ inferior: corol 6-parted with equitant divisions; and flat spongy seeds. Leaves ensiform. Stimulants, and some poisonous. Pancratium, L. Crinum, L. C. Pontederea. Six-petaloid: corol irregular: germ superior. Corol involute after flowering. Aquatics. Weak tonics. MONOCOTYLEDONOUS. 18, 19, 20, 21. ON THE PISTIL.. Heteranthera, Beav. Pontederia, L. Syena, Willd. PETALOID. ORDER XVIII. IRIDES. Corol 6-cleft or 6-parted: stamens 3; style 1, with 1 to 3 stigmas: germ attached to corol: leaves ensiform or linear: root bulbous or tuberous (Iris-like.) A. Haemodoracea. Six-petaloid: germ inferior: a woolly tubular perianth, with equitant divisions, and farinaceous albumen. Leaves equitant. Albumen farinaceous. Tonic. Dilatris. Schollera, Schrb. Conostylis. B. Iridea. Six-petaloid, triandrous: germ inferior: anthers turned outwards: leaves equitant, except the Crocus. Slightly stimulating. some are poisonous. Iris, L. Crocus. Sisyrinchium, L. Ixia, L. CLASS THIRD. Stamens on the pistil, or style. Flowers petaloid. ORDER XIX. MUSÆ. Spathaceous corol 6-parted, irregular: stamens 6; anthers linear. turned inwards: germ many-seeded. (Banana-like.)
pether delusion. He was strenuous Ao yocate of church discipline, and IT, his every day walk presented to the world an example of the most rigid piety. Though, perhaps a trifle Puri,anic and bigoted, he was yet a man of the sternest and most incorporating virtue. But, ms Tom Hood says; II, "Alasl for the rarity or Christian chaIiv Under the sun. The old Deacon had not the least OIL Oh H. Having no fauIts or foibles of his own Cat leus, he thought SOY that called aloud for charity. he could not understand why they should ever form a component part in the ma lures of other people. He had passed the hey.day of youth, and had quite forgotten that he was once young. With much bust. ness and responsibility resting on HIMSELF he failed to see how those with fewer cares could possibly be merry and unconcerned.- Indeed, the Deacon witnessed many very common human phenomena for which he could assign no other cause than moral depravily, and, withnl, he had one weakness which very naturally grew out of his lack OF charity. This was most unbounded credulity as to the short comings which gossip is daily charging upon some member OF a CON- munity. So credulous was the Deacon IN this respect and so ready TO believe in the culpabity of another, that he was often made the victim of practical joke; and though he lived in village of not over five hundred Inhabitants, he had been made to believe it contained several gambling dens, and, at least, two Peter Funk auction shops. He was ut one time convinced that society Of Freelov. ers held meetings in the Town Hall, but, before completing his plan for their suppression, they turned out to be Lodge Of Know Nothings. Thus he was often put on the wrong track, but, unlike knight Russ Ockside, NJ. D., he never quite succeeded in "getting his eye.teeth cut" But it is only the last drive played off on him that We design recording. 1t happened in this wise: Elder Wisely, pastor of Deacon Browns church, was on q tour at the South for the benefit OF that clerical disorder, the bronchitis. Mrs. Wisely, the second wife of the elder, was for some reason lef. at home. This lady was quite youthful, and had by her gentle quail ties won the esteem of the entire parish. II was during the absence of her worthy husband that Deacon Brown on going to the Post Office one morning, received the follow ing communication: PoDGEvILLE, July 18th, 1856. MIR. BRowN-Dear Sir: take the liberty to disclose TO you some facts, which have given me ms much pain as they will yourself. \| know, beyond all question of doubt, that a stranger very mystrriously made his appear ance last night in the private parlor Of Mrs. Wisely. He was first seen there about half. past eleven o'clock; no one saw him enter the house, and up to the present hour this morn ing he has not been known to depart. think this new visitor was expected and that he is destined to share the affections Of Mrs. Wise ly. The voice of this new conner has been distinctly heard in her room, and she has been even heard to address him in the tenderest and most louing tones. Such are the facts You can act in the premises as your sense Of duty may dictate. NV opinion Is, that should Elder Wisely be informed of this strangers advent, it might hasten his return. Yours truly, (Signed) A FRIEND OF FIDELITY. As the Deacon read this epistle there was a visible tremor in his hand He polished his eye. glass with silk handkerchief, and perused it carefully second time. But Deacon Brown was not the man to swerve from duty, though it led him where he would not 40. In moment he was resolved. Putting the letter in his hat and buttoning his coat to the chin, he hastened down to his hardware store, and whispering to confidential clerk, proceeded to the residence of Mrs. Wisely He struck his cane very decidedly on the pave, greeted no one with his usual good morning. but seemed absorbed in the contemptation Of great purpose. Arriving at the scene of his triumph, he stationed his clerk n front of the house, and, giving the bell-knob a cautious pull, was soon admitted by the servant-gir. The following dialogue then and there took place: 'Is Mrs. Wisely inn Yes, sir, she's in bed, sir The Deacon here examined his watch, and muttered, 'half.past sevenr He then asked /: 'How long before Mrs. Wisely will rise, MANI well, really, sir, can't tell; won't you take seat in the parlor, sirr mo, thank you--can't stay. Did Mrs. Wisely have company last night MANI! Yes, Sir; believe she did, sir; she--she Here the girl blushed, hesitated, and, striv. ing to conceal her embarrassment, showed too plainly that she would evade the true ex. PLANTATION. The Deacon interposed, us If to relieve her, and said: The company, suppose nam, was a young gentleman--a stranger to your Yes, sir; believe he is, SIR is tina! young gentleman in the house now, mamr 80 DO sure, SIR will you be so kind az 10 state in what part of the houser He is in Mrs. Wisely's bedroom, SIR The Deacon's manner by this time become greatly excited, and he gasped out:
The Second Epistle to the Corinthians is especially remarkable for the recurrence through whole sentences or paragraphs, of the same word or words, which thus strike the key-note to the passage. This fact is systematically disregarded by our translators who, impressed with the desire of producing what they seem to have regarded as an agreeable variety, failed to see that in such cases monotony is force. Thus in the 1st chapter the words παρακαλεῖν, παράκλησις, and θλίβειν, θλίψις, occur again and again. In the rendering of the first our translators are divided between comfort and consolation, and of the second between tribulation, trouble, and affliction. Again in the opening of the second chapter, where the tone is given to the paragraph by the frequent repetition of λύπη, λυπεῖν, we have three distinct renderings, heaviness, sorrow, grief. Again in the third chapter several instances of this fault occur. In the first verse this passion for variety is curiously illustrated. They render συστατικῶν ἐπιστολῶν πρὸς ὑμᾶς ἢ ἐξ ὑμῶν συστατικῶν by Epistles of commendation to you or letters of commendation from you,^ where even in supplying a word (which were better left out altogether) they make a change, though in the original the adjectives refer to the same substantive. In this same chapter again they hover between sufficient and able as a rendering of ikavós, ikavoûv, ikavótηs (vv. 5, 6), while later on they interchange abolish and done away for κатаaрyeîodaι (vv. 7, 13, 14), and fail to preserve the connexion of ἀνακεκαλυμμένῳ (ver. 18) with xáλvμμа (ver. 13 sq.) and aȧvakaλUTTÓμevov (ver. 14), and of кeкaλνμμévov (iv. 3) with all three. Again in the fifth chapter evồnμeîv is rendered in the same context to be at home and to be present (vv. 6, 8, 9), where the former rendering moreover in ver. 6 obscures the direct opposition to èêdŋμeiv, this last word being rendered throughout to be absent; and a little later (ver. 10) тois Távτas ημâs φανερωθῆναι κ. τ. λ. is translated We must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ,' where, independently of the fatal objection that appear gives a wrong sense (for the context lays stress on the manifestation of men's true characters at the great day), this rendering is still further faulty, as severing the connexion with what follows immediately (ver. 11), 'We are made manifest (πeþavepóμela) unto God, and I trust also are made manifest (πepaveρŵσlai) in your consciences.' Again in vii. 7 consolation and comfort are once more interchanged for παρακαλεῖν, παράκλησɩs; in viii. 10, 11, 12, тò féλew is translated to be forward and to will, and πрolvμía readiness and a willing mind in successive verses; in ix. 2, 3, 4, 5, ready and prepared are both employed in rendering παρεσκεύ ασται, παρεσκευασμένοι, ἀπαρασκευάστους, while conversely the single expression 'be ready' is made to represent both παρεσκεύασται and ἑτοίμην είναι; in x. 13, 15, 16, kavov, after being twice translated rule, is varied in the third passage by line of things; in xi. Distinctions created. 39 16, 17, 18 the rendering of κavɣâodaɩ, raúxnois is diversified by boast and glory; and in xii. 2, 3 oυê oida, ó Oeòs older, is twice translated 'I cannot tell, God knoweth,' while elsewhere in these same verses olda is rendered 'I knew,' and our oida, I cannot tell. This repugnance to repeating the same word for oida has a parallel in John xvi. 30, where νῦν οἴδαμεν ὅτι οἶδας Távτа is given 'Now are we sure that thou knowest all things.' Nor is there any improvement in the later books, as the following instances, taken almost at random from a very large number which might have been adduced, will show: Phil. ii. 13 'It is God which worketh (èvepyov) in you, both to will and to do (èvepyeîv)'; Phil. iii. 3sq. 'And have no confidence (où TETTOLOóтes) in the flesh; Though I might also have confidence (ἔχων πεποίθησιν) in the flesh; If any other man thinketh that he hath whereof he might trust (doкeî Teñoɩlévaι) in the flesh, I more...as touching the law (kaтà vóμov) a Pharisee ; concerning zeal (Kaтà λov) persecuting the Church; touching the righteousness (κατὰ δικαιοσύνην) which is in the law, blameless': I Thess. ii. 4 'As we were allowed (Sedokiμáoμeða) of God...not as pleasing men but God which trieth (Soxiμálovтi) our hearts': 2 Thess. i. 6 To recompense tribulation to them that trouble you” (ἀνταποδοῦναι τοῖς θλίβουσιν ὑμῖν θλῖψιν): Heb. viii. 13 'He hath made the first old (πeπaλaiwкev TηV πρώτην); now that which decayeth (παλαιούμενον) and waxeth old (ynpáσкov) is ready to vanish away': James ii. 2, 3 If there come (eioéλon) unto your assembly a man with a gold ring in goodly apparel (èv èσ0ĥti λαμπρᾷ) and there come in (εἰσέλθῃ) also a poor man in vile raiment (eσenri), and ye have respect to him that weareth the gay clothing (τὴν ἐσθῆτα τὴν λαμ πрáv) etc.': 2 Pet. ii. 1, 3 'Who privily shall bring in damnable heresies (aipéσeis àπwλeías)...and bring on themselves swift destruction (άπwλeiav).....and their damnation (area) slumbereth not': I John v. 9, 10 'This is the witness (uaprupía) of God which he hath testified (peμаρтúρηкev) of his Son... He believeth not the record (μαρτυρίαν) that God gave (μεμαρτύ рηеv) of his Son': Rev. i. 15 'His voice (pwvý) as the sound (pwvn) of many waters': iii. 17 'I am rich (πλovσios) and increased in goods (πeπλoúтηña)': xvii. 6, 7 'And when I saw her, I wondered (ê0avμaoa) with great admiration (Oaûμa); and the angel said unto me, Wherefore didst thou marvel (èðaúμaoas)': xviii. 2 And the hold (pvλaký) of every foul spirit and a cage (pvλaký) of every unclean and hateful bird.' In the instances hitherto given the variation of rendering is comparatively unimportant, but for this very reason they serve well to illustrate the wrong principle on which our translators proceeded. In such cases no more serious consequences may result than a loss of point and force. But elsewhere the injury done to the understanding of the passage is graver. Thus when the English reader finds in S. Matthew xxv. 46 These shall go away into everlasting (aioviov) punishment, but the righteous into life eternal (aiviov),' he is led to speculate Distinctions created. 41 on the difference of meaning between 'everlasting' and 'eternal,' if he happens to have any slight acquaintance with modern controversy, and he will most probably be led to a wrong conclusion by observing different epithets used, more especially as the antithesis of the clauses helps to emphasize the difference. Or take instances where the result will not be misunderstanding, but non-understanding. Thus in the apocalyptic passage 2 Thess. ii. 6, 7 'And now ye know what withholdeth (Tò KaTÉXOV)... only he who now letteth (ó Kaтéxwv apri) will let,' the same word should certainly have been repeated, that the identity of the thing signified might be clear; and in the doctrinal statement, Col. ii. 9, 10, ‘In him dwelleth all the fulness (Tò Tλnpwμa) of the Godhead bodily, and ye are complete (πeπλnpwμévoɩ) in him,' it was still more necessary to preserve the connexion by a similar rendering, for the main idea of the second clause is the communication of the npwμa which resides in Christ, to the believers (comp. Ephes. i. 23). Again, the word póvos in the Revelation is translated throne, when it refers to our Lord, but seat, when it refers to the faithful (iv. 4, xi. 161), or when it refers to Satan (ii. 13, xvi. 10). Now by this variation, as Archbishop Trench has pointed out, two great ideas which run through this Book, and indeed we may say through the whole of the New Testa- 1 Rev. iv. 4 And round the throne (@póvov) were four and twenty seats (θρόνοι). 2 On the Authorized Version, p. 53 sq.
His uncle, and only friend, he said, had long insisted on his spending some months on the Continent, with the view of completing his professional education, and that the time was now fast approaching when it would be necessary for him to commence his journey. A look made the inquiry which my tongue refused to utter. 'Yes, dearest Mary,' was his reply, 'I have communicated our attachment to him, partially at least; and though I dare not say that the intimation was received as I could have wished, yet I have, perhaps, on the whole, no fair reason to be dissatisfied with his reply. "The completion of my studies, and my settlement in the world, must, my uncle told me, be the first consideration; when these material points were achieved, he should not interfere with any arrangement that might be found essential to my happiness; at the same time he has positively refused to sanction any engagement at present, which may, he says, have a tendency to divert my attention from those pursuits, on the due prosecution of which my future situation in life must depend. A compromise between love and duty was eventually wrung from me, though reluctantly; I have pledged myself to proceed immediately to my destination abroad, with a full understanding that, on my return, a twelvemonth hence, no obstacle shall be thrown in the way of what are, I trust, our mutual wishes.' "I will not attempt to describe the feelings with which I received this communication, nor will it be necessary to say anything of what passed at the few interviews which took place before Francis quitted X--. The evening immediately previous to that of his departure he passed in this house, and, before we separated, renewed his protestations of an unchangeable affection, requiring a similar assurance from me in return. I did not hesitate to make it. Be satisfied, my dear Francis,' said I, 'that no diminution in the regard I have avowed can ever take place, and, though absent in body, my heart and soul will still be with you.'--' Swear this,' he cried, with a suddenness and energy which surprised, and rather startled me; promise that you will be with me in spirit, at least, when I am far away.' I gave him my hand, but that was not sufficient. One of these dark shining ringlets, my dear Mary,' said he, 'as a pledge that you will not forget your vow!' I suffered him to take the scissors from my work-box and to sever a lock of my hair, which he placed in his bosom.-- The next day he was pursuing his journey, and the waves were already bearing him from England. "I had letters from him repeatedly during the first three months of his absence; they spoke of his health, his prospects, and of his love, but 111 by degrees the intervals between each arrival became longer, and I fancied I perceived some falling off from that warmth of expression which had at first characterised his communications. 666 One night I had retired to rest rather later than usual, having sat by the bedside, comparing his last brief note with some of his earlier letters, and was endeavouring to convince myself that my apprehensions of his fickleness were unfounded, when an undefinable sensation of restlessness and anxiety seized upon me. I cannot compare it to anything I had ever experienced before; my pulse fluttered, my heart beat with a quickness and violence which alarmed me, and a strange tremor shook my whole frame. I retired hastily to bed, in hopes of getting rid of so unpleasant a sensation, but in vain ; a vague apprehension of I knew not what occupied my mind, and vainly did I endeavour to shake it off. I can compare my feelings to nothing but those which we sometimes experience when about to undertake a long and unpleasant journey, leaving those we love behind us. More than once did I raise myself in my bed and listen, 112 fancying that I heard myself called, and on each of those occasions the fluttering of my heart increased. Twice I was on the point of calling to my sister, who then slept in an adjoining room, but she had gone to bed indisposed, and an unwillingness to disturb either her or my mother checked me; the large clock in the room below at this moment began to strike the hour of twelve. I distinctly heard its vibrations, but ere its sounds had ceased, a burning heat, as if a hot iron had been applied to my temple, was succeeded by a dizziness,-a swoon,-a total loss of consciousness as to where or in what situation I was. "A pain, violent, sharp, and piercing, as though my whole frame were lacerated by some keen-edged weapon, roused me from this stupor,--but where was I? Everything was strange around me-a shadowy dimness rendered every object indistinct and uncertain; methought, however, that I was seated in a large, antique, high-backed chair, several of which were near, their tall black carved frames and seats interwoven with a latticework of cane. The apartment in which I sat was one of moderate dimensions, and, from its sloping roof, seemed to be the upper storey of the edifice, a fact confirmed by the moon shining without, in full effulgence, on a huge round tower, which its light rendered plainly visible through the open casement, and the summit of which appeared but little superior in elevation to the room I occupied. Rather to the right, and in the distance, the spire of some cathedral or lofty church was visible, while sundry gable ends, and tops of houses, told me I was in the midst of a populous but unknown city. "The apartment itself had something strange in its appearance; and in the character of its furniture and appurtenances bore little or no resemblance to any I had ever seen before. The fireplace was large and wide, with a pair of what are sometimes called andirons, betokening that wood was the principal, if not the only fuel consumed within its recess; a fierce fire was now blazing in it, the light from which rendered visible the remotest parts of the chamber. Over a lofty old-fashioned mantelpiece, carved heavily in imitation of fruits and flowers, hung the halflength portrait of a gentleman in a dark-coloured foreign habit, with a peaked beard and mustaches, one hand resting upon a table, the other supporting a sort of båton, or short military staff, the summit of which was surmounted by a silver falcon. Several antique chairs, similar in appearance to those already mentioned, surrounded a massive oaken table, the length of which much exceeded its width. At the lower end of this piece of furniture stood the chair I occupied; on the upper, was placed a small chafing-dish filled with burning coals, and darting forth occasionally long flashes of various-coloured fire, the brilliancy of which made itself visible, even above the strong illumination emitted from the chimney. Two huge, black, japanned cabinets, with clawed feet, reflecting from their polished surfaces the effulgence of the flame, were placed one on each side the casement-window to which I have alluded, and with a few shelves loaded with books, many of which were also strewn in disorder on the floor, completed the list of the furniture in the apartment. Some strange-looking instruments, of unknown form and purpose, lay on the table near the chafing-dish, on the other side of which a miniature portrait of myself hung, reflected by a small oval mirror in a dark-coloured frame, while a large open 113
.... as I know it to be- identical with love, then He will desire that highest good for men far more than they can desire it for themselves. .. Then He will desire to show Himself and His own righteousness to them. Will you make answer, dearest Hypatia, or shall I? ... or does your silence give consent? At least let me go on to say this, that if God do desire to show His righteousness to men, his only perfect method, according to Plato, will be that of calumny, persecution, the scourge, and the cross, that so He, like Glaucon's righteous man, may remain for ever free from any suspicion of selfish interest, or weakness of endurance. Am I deserting the dialectic method now, Hypatia? . . . . You are still silent. You will not hear me, I At some future day, the philosopher may condescend to lend a kinder ear to the words of her greatest debtor. . . . Or, rather, she may condescend to hear, in her own heart, the voice of that Archetypal Man, who has been loving her, guiding her, heaping her with every perfection of body and of mind, inspiring her with all pure and noble longings, and only asks of her to listen to her own reason, her own philosophy, when they proclaim Him as the giver of them, and to impart them freely and humbly, as He has imparted them to her, to the poor, and the brutish, and the sinful, whom He loves as well as He loves her. . . . Farewell!" see. "Stay!" said she, springing up; "whither are you going?" "To do a little good before I die, having done much evil. To farm, plant, and build, and rescue a little corner of Ormuzd's 37* HYPATIA. earth, as the Persians would say, out of the dominion of Ahriman. To fight Ausurian robbers, feed Thracian mercenaries, save a few widows from starvation and a few orphans from slavery. . . . . Perhaps to leave behind me a son of David's line, who will be a better Jew, because a better Christian, than his father. We shall have trouble in the flesh, Augustine But, as I answered him, I really have had so little thereof yet, that my fair share may probably be rather a tells us. useful education than otherwise. Farewell!" "Stay!" said she. "Come again!-again! And her..... Bring her. . . . I must see her! She must be noble indeed, to be worthy of you." "She is many a hundred miles away." "Ah? Perhaps she might have taught something to me,me, the philosopher! You need not have feared me. have no heart to make converts now. . O Raphael Aben- ... • If Ezra, why break the bruised reed? My plans are scattered to the winds, my pupils worthless, my fair name tarnished, my conscience heavy with the thought of my own cruelty. you do not know all, you will know it but too soon. last hope, Synesius, implores for himself the hope which I need from him. And, over and above it all. ... You! My Et tu, Brute! Why not fold my mantle round me, like Julius of old, and die!" Raphael stood looking sadly at her, as her whole face sank into utter prostration. "Yes, come. • • The Galilaean. If he conquers ... strong men, can the weak maid resist him? Come soon.. This afternoon. "At the eighth hour this afternoon?" My heart is breaking fast." At noon I lecture take my farewell, "Yes. rather, for ever of the schools. ... Gods! What have I to say? . . . . And tell me about him of Nazareth. Farewell!" "Farewell, beloved lady! At the ninth hour you shall hear of him of Nazareth." Why did his own words sound to him strangely pregnant, all but ominous? He almost fancied that not he, but some third person, had spoken them. He kissed Hypatia's hand. It was as cold as ice and his heart, too, in spite of all his bliss, felt cold and heavy, as he left the room. As he went down the steps into the street, a young man sprang from behind one of the pillars, and seized his arm. "Aha! my young Coryphaeus of pious plunderers! What do you want with me?" Philammon, for it was he, looked at him an instant, and recognized him. "Save her! for the love of God save her!" "Whom? "Hypatia!" "How long has her salvation been important to you, my good friend?" "For God's sake," said Philammon, "go back and warn her! She will hear you, you are rich, you used to be her friend, I know you, I have heard of you. . . . . O, if you ever cared for her,--if you ever felt a thousandth part of what I feel,-- go in and warn her not to stir from home!" .... "I must hear more of this," said Raphael, who saw that the boy was in earnest. "Come in with me and speak to her father." "No! not into that house! Never into that house again! Do not ask me why: but go yourself. She will not hear me. Did you "What do you mean?" did you prevent her from listening?" "I have been here ages! I sent a note in by her maid, and she returned no answer." Raphael recollected then, for the first time, a note which he had seen brought to her during the conversation. "I saw her receive a note. She tossed it away. Tell me your story. If there is reason in it, I will bear your message myself. Of what is she to be warned?" "Of a plot-I know that there is a plot--against her among HYPATIA. the monks and Parabolani. As I lay in bed this morning in Arsenius's room, "Arsenius? -they thought I was asleep-- Has that venerable fanatic, then, gone the way of all monastic flesh, and turned persecutor?" name..... "God forbid! I heard him beseeching Peter the reader to refrain from something, I cannot tell what; but I caught her ...I heard Peter say, 'She that hindereth will hinder till she be taken out of the way.' And when he went out into the passage I heard him say to another, 'That thou doest, do quickly!"" "These are slender grounds, my friend." 66 Ah, you do not know of what those men are capable!" "Do I not? Where did you and I meet last?" .... Philammon blushed, and burst forth again. "That was enough for me. I know the hatred which they bear her, the crimes which they attribute to her. Her house would have been attacked last night had it not been for Cyril. . . . . And I knew Peter's tone. He spoke too gently and softly not to mean something devilish. I watched all the morning for an opportunity of escape, and here I am! Will you take my message, or see her 99 "What?" "God only knows, and the Devil whom they worship instead of God." Raphael hurried back into the house, "Could he see Hypatia?" She had shut herself up in her private room, strictly commanding that no visitor should be admitted.....“ Where was Theon, then?" He had gone out by the canal gate half an hour before, with a bundle of mathematical papers under his arm, no one knew whither. . . . . "Imbecile old idiot!" and he hastily wrote on his tablet, - "Do not despise the young monk's warning. I believe him to speak the truth. As you love yourself and your father, Hypatia, stir not out to-day." He bribed a maid to take the message up stairs; and passed his time in the hall in warning the servants. But they would not believe him. It was true the shops were shut in some quarters, and the Museum gardens empty; people were a little frightened after yesterday. But Cyril, they had heard for certain, had threatened excommunication only last night to any Christian who broke the peace; and there had not been a monk to be seen in the streets the whole morning. And as for any harm happening to their mistress, impossible! "The very wild beasts would not tear her," said the huge negro porter, "if she were thrown into the amphitheatre." Whereat a maid boxed his ears for talking of such a thing; and then, by way of mending it, declared that she knew for certain that her mistress could turn aside the lightning, and call legions of spirits to fight for her with a nod. . . . . What was to be done with such idolaters? And yet who could help liking them the better for it? At last the answer came down, in the old, graceful, studied, self-conscious handwriting.
He organized the city government, and put it in working order. To him we owe many reforms in police, in the management of the poor, and other kindred matters, --much in the way of cure, still more in that of prevention. The place demanded a man of courage and firmness, and found those. qualities almost superabundantly in him. His virtues lost him his office, as such virtues are only too apt to do in peaceful times, where they are felt more as a restraint than a protection. His address on laying down the mayoralty is very characteristic. Let me quote the concluding sentences:- "And now, gentlemen, standing as I do in this relation for the last time in your presence and that of my fellow-citizens, about to surrender forever a station full of difficulty, of labor and temptation, in which I have been called to very arduous duties, affecting the rights, property, and at times the liberty of others; concerning which the perfect line of rectitude though desired was not always to be clearly discerned; in which great interests have been placed within my control, under circumstances in which it would have been easy to advance pri- vate ends and sinister projects; - under these circumstances, I inquire, as I have a right to inquire, - for in the recent contest insinuations have been cast against my integrity, in this long management of your affairs, whatever errors have been committed, and doubtless there have been many, -have you found in me anything selfish, anything personal, anything mercenary? In the simple language of an ancient seer, I say, 'Behold, here I am; witness against me. Whom have I defrauded? Whom have I oppressed? At whose hands have I received any bribe?' "Six years ago, when I had the honor first to address the City Council, in anticipation of the event which has now occurred, the following expressions were used: 'In administering the police, in executing the laws, in protecting the rights and promoting the prosperity of the city, its first officer will be necessarily beset and assailed by individual interests, by rival projects, by personal influences, by party passions. The more firm and inflexible he is in maintaining the rights and in pursuing the interests of the city, the greater is the probability of his becoming obnoxious to the censure of all whom he causes to be prosecuted or punished, of all whose passions he thwarts, of all whose interests he opposes.' "The day and the event have come. I retireas in that first address I told my fellow-citizens, 'If, in conformity with the experience of other republics, faithful exertions should be followed by loss of favor and confidence,' I should retire-- rejoicing, not, indeed, with a public and patriotic, but with a private and individual joy ;' for I shall retire with a consciousness weighed against which all human suffrages are but as the light dust of the balance." Of his mayoralty we have another anecdote quite Roman in color. He was in the habit of driving early in the morning through the various streets that he might look into everything with his own eyes. He was once arrested on a malicious charge of violating the city ordinance against fast driving. He might have resisted, but he appeared in court and paid the fine, because it would serve as a good example "that no citizen was above the law." Hardly had Mr. Quincy given up the government of the city, when he was called to that of the College. It is here that his stately figure is associated most intimately and warmly with the recollections of the greater number who hold his memory dear. Almost everybody looks back regretfully to the days of some Consul Plancus. Never were eyes so bright, never had wine so much wit and good-fellowship in it, never were we ourselves so capable of the various great things we have never done. Nor is it merely the sunset of life that casts such a ravishing light on the past, and makes the western windows of those homes of fancy we have left forever tremble with the reflected glow of such sweet regret. We set great store by what we had, and cannot have again, however indifferent in itself, and what is past is infinitely past. This is especially true of college life, when we first assume the titles without the responsibilities of manhood, and the President of our year is apt to become our Plancus very early. Popular or not while in office, an ex-president is always sure of enthusiastic cheers at every college festival. Mr. Quincy had many qualities calculated to win favor with the young,that one above all which is sure to do it, indomitable pluck. With him the dignity was in the man, not in the office. He had some of those little oddities, too, which afford amusement without contempt, and which rather tend to heighten than diminish personal attachment to superiors in station. His punctuality at prayers, and in dropping asleep there, his forgetfulness of names, his singular inability to make even the shortest off-hand speech to the students, all the more singular in a practised orator, his occasional absorption of mind, leading him to hand you his sand-box instead of the leave of absence he had just dried with it, the old-fashioned courtesy of his "Sir, your servant," as he bowed you out of his study, - all tended to make him popular. He had also a little of what is somewhat contradictorily called dry humor, not without influence in his relations with the students. In taking leave of the graduating class, he was in the habit of paying them whatever honest compliment he could. Who, of a certain year which shall be nameless, will ever forget the gravity with which he assured them that they were "the best-dressed class that had passed through college during his administration"? How sincerely kind he was, how considerate of youthful levity, will always be gratefully remembered by whoever had occasion to experience it. A visitor not long before his death found him burning some memoranda of college peccadilloes, lest they should ever rise up in judgment against the men eminent in Church and State who had been guilty of them. One great element of his popularity with the students was his esprit de corps. However strict in discipline, he was always on our side as respected the outside world. Of his efficiency, no higher testimony could be asked than that of his successor, Dr. Walker. Here also many reforms date from his time. He had that happiest combination for a wise vigor in the conduct of affairs, he was a conservative with an open mind. - - One would be apt to think that, in the various offices which Mr. Quincy successively filled, he would have found enough to do. But his indefatigable activity overflowed. Even as a man of letters, he occupies no inconsiderable place. His “History of Harvard College" is a valuable and entertaining treatment of a subject not wanting in natural dryness. His "Municipal History of Boston," his "History of the Boston Athenaeum," and his "Life of Colonel Shaw" have permanent interest and value. All these were works demanding no little labor and research, and the thoroughness of their workmanship makes them remarkable as the byproductions of a busy man. Having consented, when more than eighty, to write a memoir of John Quincy Adams, to be published in the "Proceedings" of the Massachusetts Historical Society, he was obliged to excuse himself. On account of his age? Not at all, but because the work had grown to be a volume under his weariless hand. Ohne Hast ohne Rast was as true of him as of Goethe. We find the explanation of his accomplishing so much in a rule of life which he gave, when President, to a young man employed as his secretary, and who was a little behindhand with his work: "When you have a number of duties to perform, always do the most disagreeable one first." No advice could have been more in character, and it is perhaps better than the great German's, "Do the duty that lies nearest thee."
Bot. Reg. t. 906. Schultes, Syst. Veget. v. 7. p. 512. DESCR. Bulbs, according to Ruiz and PAVON, ovate, tunicated, and proliferous. Leaves a foot or a foot and a half long, linear, the apex acuminate, the sides involute, those of the young bulbs very narrow. Scape two to three feet high, terete, bearing a large, spreading, corymbose raceme, in our specimens of from twelve to sixteen flowers, two inches and a half in diameter, almost pure white. Petals obtuse, oval, spreading, the three inner ones rather narrower; the tips often bluntly two or three-toothed. Stamens opposite to the petals. Filaments white, broadly subulate, nearly erect. Anthers oblong, yellow. Germen turbinate, six-lobed, glossy, black-green: Style rather shorter than the germen: Stigma trigonal, downy. The pedicels are long, the lower ones especially, three inches and more in length, and subtended by a rather large, cordate, membranaceous, almost white, carinated bractea, attenuated into a long green point. VOL. VI. I follow Ruiz and PAVON and Professor LINDLEY in keeping this South American ORNITHOGALUM distinct from the O. Arabicum of the Old World; although, as the latter author observes," it is very like it, and perhaps a mere variety; remarkable, however, for being a native of a country far distant from any in which O. Arabicum has yet been found." -Still it must be allowed, that no distinctive character can be pointed out; and I cannot help suspecting, that it was introduced into Chili (where it is apparently wild) and into Peru (where it is only cultivated in gardens, and whence our bulbs were sent by Mr. M'LEAN) by the early Spanish visitors. Be this as it may, it is a most desirable acquisition to our collections. The true O. Arabicum, if not a rare plant, is, according to Mr. GAWLER (Bot. Mag. t. 728.) a very shy flowerer; while our bulbs blossom most readily, and bear so many and such large flowers in each raceme, that there is at this season of the year (March) scarcely a more desirable inmate of the greenhouse. Its fragrant flowers, we are told by Ruiz and PAVON, are used to ornament the hair by the Peruvian females. Fig. 1. Bractea. 2. Stamen. 3. Pistil.-magnified. 5180. WJ. H. del Pub by S.Curtis, Glazenwood. Essex. Sep 1. 1832. Swan Sc. ERIOSTEMON MYOPOROIDES. ERIOSTEMON. CUSPIDATE DECANDRIA MONOGYNIA. (Nat. Ord.-RUTACEÆ.) Generic Character. Cal. 5-partitus. Pet. 5. Stam. 10, filam. hispidis ciliatis aut nudis, antheris terminalibus. Stylus 1 brevissimus. Carpella 5 basi coalita. Semina in loculis 2 aut abortu solitaria. Embryo subcurvatus, radicula longa. DC. Specific Character and Synonyms. ERIOSTEMON * myoporoides; foliis oblongo-lanceolatis glaucescentibus mucronatis subtus praecipue glandulosopunctatis, racemis umbellatis 4-5-floris axillaribus terminalibusque, calycibus petalisque glabris, filamentis ciliatis. ERIOSTEMON Myoporoides. De Cand. Prodr. v. 1. p. 720. ERIOSTEMON Cuspidatum. Cunningham in Field's N. S. Wales, p. 331. DESCR. A robust, strong growing shrub, with numerous branches, soon covered with glandular, or rather, resinous warts. Leaves two to three inches or more long, sessile, rigid, subcoriaceous, linear-lanceolate, dotted with glands, which are larger and evident to the naked eye beneath, costate, entire, tipped with a short, often curved mucro. Racemes axillary, shorter than the leaves, umbellate, of from three to five moderately large white flowers. Peduncles σreμor, a stamen so called from the hairy or fringed τριον, wool, and filaments to the stamens. cles and pedicels glandular, the latter enlarged upwards. Calyx very small, five-lobed. Petals five, oblongo-ovate, spreading, glandular at the back, and marked with a reddish brown line. Stamens ten, alternately smaller, all nearly as long as the style. Filaments subulate, white, ciliated at the margin. Anthers mucronate, flesh-coloured, the pollen deep red. Pistil: Germen of five, deep, ovate, acuminated lobes, glandular. Style about as long again as the germen. Stigma capitate. A glandular ring surrounds the base of the germen. Discovered by Mr. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, on rocky hills in the neighbourhood of Cox's River, on the western side of the Blue Mountains, New South Wales, flowering in October; and sent to Kew in the year 1823, and given in Mr. FIELD'S" New South Wales," under the appropriate name of E. cuspidatum. Mr. CUNNINGHAM Could not possibly then have been aware that it was published the year before by M. DE CANDOLLE under the name by which Mr. AITON has now sent it from the Kew Gardens, where it blossoms in the early spring. In New Holland its season of flowering is October. Fig. 1. Flower. 2. Petal. 3. Stamen. 4. Pistil, with a portion of the Pedicel and the Calyx. L Mr JMac Nab del? Pub by S Curtis Glazenweed. Essex, Sep 1.1832 Swan So ANDROMEDA TETRAGONA. ANDROMEDA. FOUR-SIDED DECANDRIA MONOGYNIA. (Nat. Ord.-ERICEÆ. ) Generic Character. Cal. 5-partitus. Cor. subcampanulata, limbo reflexo. Anthera bicornes. Caps. 5-locularis, marginibus valvarum nudis, columna centrali quinqueloba. Spr. Specific Character and Synonyms. ANDROMEDA tetragona; foliis quadrifariam imbricatis appressis subtriquetris obtusis glabris, pedunculis elongatis solitariis unifloris, corollis campanulatis. Spreng. ANDROMEDA tetragona. Linn. Fl. Suec. ed. 2. n. 356. Willd. Sp. Pl. v. 2. p. 607. Wahl. Fl. Lapp. n. 200. Pursh, Fl. Am. v. 1. p. 290. Spreng. Syst. Veget. v. 2. p. 289. ANDROMEDA pedunculis solitariis lateralibus, corollis campanulatis, foliis oppositis obtusis imbricatis revolutis. Gmel. Fl. Sibir. v. 4. p. 120. n. 5. DESCR. Stem erect, woody, (about five inches high,) naked near the base, and marked by the scars of fallen leaves, much branched; branches suberect, the lower ones decumbent at the base and rooting. Leaves (two lines long) in four rows, closely imbricated, sagittate, concave in front, triquetrous, and furrowed over the midrib behind, blunt, slightly pubescent, particularly in native specimens, but the degree seems to vary, as does the colour, which is bright or dull green. Peduncles axillary, solitary, at first short, afterwards elongated, slightly pubescent, sheathed with scales at the base. Flowers drooping: Calyx fiveparted, parted, greenish tipped with red, glabrous, persistent, segments gibbous at the base. Corolla white, campanulate, somewhat contracted near the mouth, which is five-cleft, the segments blunt and spreading. Stamens included; filaments shorter than the pistil, erect; Anthers yellow, each with two slender, spreading, hispid bristles. Pistil scarcely longer than the stamens; Stigma obtuse; Style persisting, straight, slightly tapering upwards. Germen roundish-oval, obscurely four-lobed, depressed at the insertion of the style, and surrounded at the base by a wrinkled, glandular ring. Capsule erect, nearly globular, glabrous, with five cells, the dissepiments arising from the centre of the valves, which are inflected in their apices. The seeds of this interesting little plant, which we hope may yet be found indigenous to Britain, were kindly communicated to the Botanic Garden of Edinburgh, by Dr. RICHARDSON and Mr. DRUMMOND, on the return from North America of the last expedition, under the command of Captain FRANKLIN. It flowered for the first time in April, 1832, in the same border with, though rather later than, its beautiful congener and native of the same country, ANDRO- MEDA hypnoides. We have two varieties, of which only one has yet flowered to reward the judicious treatment of Mr. M'NAB. It is the lighter coloured plant, and grows much the most freely of the two. Graham. Fig. 1. Upper side of a leaf. 2. Under side of ditto. 3. Flower. 4. Stamen. 5. Calyx, including the Pistil. 6. Pistil.--Magnified. 3182. WJ.H. del Pub by S. Curtis, Glazenwood, Essex. Sep 11832. Swan Sc. RULINGIA CORYLIFOLIA. RULINGIA. NUT-LEAVED PENTANDRIA PENTAGYNIA. ( Nat. Ord.-- Buttneriaceae. ) Generic Character.
He took his departure, and was soon out of sight among the windings of the wood-path. But after a little reflection, I could not help regretting that I had so peremptorily broken off the interview, while the stranger seemed inclined to continue it. His evident knowledge of matters affecting my three friends might have led to disclosures or inferences that would perhaps have been serviceable. I was particularly struck with the fact that, ever since the appearance of Priscilla, it had been the tendency of events to suggest and establish a connection between Zenobia and her. She had come, in the first instance, as if with the sole purpose of claiming Zenobia's protection. Old Moodie's visit, it appeared, was chiefly to ascertain whether this object had been accomplished. And here, to-day, was the questionable Professor, linking one with the other in his inquiries, and seeking communication with both. Meanwhile, my inclination for a ramble having been balked, I lingered in the vicinity of the farm, with perhaps a vague idea that some new event would grow out of Westervelt's proposed interview with Zenobia. My own part in these transactions was singularly surbordinate. It resembled that of the Chorus in a classic play, which seems to be set aloof from the possibility of personal concernment, and bestows the whole measure of its hope or fear, its exultation or sorrow, on the fortunes of others, between whom and itself this sympathy is the only bond. Destiny, it may be, the most skilful of stage-managers, seldom chooses to arrange its scenes, and carry forward its drama, without securing the presence of at least one calm observer. It is his office to give applause when due, and sometimes an inevitable tear, to detect the final fitness of incident to character, and distil in his long-brooding thought the whole morality of the performance. Not to be out of the way, in case there were need of me in my vocation, and, at the same time, to avoid thrusting myself where neither destiny nor mortals might desire my presence, I remained pretty near the verge of the woodlands. My position was off the track of Zenobia's customary walk, yet not so remote but tha a recognized occasion might speedily have brought me thither. XII. COVERDALE'S HERMITAGE. LONG since, in this part of our circumjacent wood, I had found out for myself a little hermitage. It was a kind of leafy cave, high upward into the air, among the midmost branches of a white-pine tree. A wild grape-vine, of unusual size and luxuriance, had twined and twisted itself up into the tree, and, after wreathing the entanglement of its tendrils almost around every bough, had caught hold of three or four neighboring trees, and married the whole clump with a perfectly inextricable knot of polygamy. Once, while sheltering myself from a summer shower, the fancy had taken me to clamber up into this seemingly impervious mass of foliage. The branches yielded me a passage, and closed again beneath, as if only a squirrel or a bird had passed. Far aloft, around the stem of the central pine, behold a perfect nest for Robinson Crusoe or King Charles! A hollow chamber of rare seclusion had been formed by the decay of some of the pine branches, which the vine had lovingly strangled with its embrace, burying them from the light of day in an aerial sepulchre of its own leaves. It cost me but little ingenuity to enlarge the interior, and open loopholes through the verdant walls. Had it ever been my fortune to spend a honeymoon, I should have thought seriously of inviting my bride up thither, where our next neighbors would have been two orioles in another part of the clump. It was an admirable place to make verses, tuning the rhythm to the breezy symphony that so often stirred among the vine-leaves; or to meditate an essay for "The Dial," in which the many tongues of Nature whispered mysteries, and seemed to ask only a little stronger puff of wind to speak out the solution of its riddle. Being so pervious to air-currents, it was just the nook, too, for the enjoyment of a cigar. This hermitage was my one exclusive possession while I counted myself a brother of the socialists. It sym- Jbolized my individuality, and aided me in keeping it inviolate. None ever found me out in it, except, once, a squirrel. I brought thither no guest, because, after Hollingsworth failed me, there was no longer the man alive with whom I could think of sharing all. So there I used to sit, owl-like, yet not without liberal and hospitable thoughts. I counted the innumerable clusters of my vine, and fore-reckoned the abundance of my vintage. It gladdened me to anticipate the surprise of the Community, when, like an allegorical figure of rich October, I should make my appearance, with shoulders bent beneath the burden of ripe grapes, and some of the crushed ones crimsoning my brow as with a blood-stain. Ascending into this natural turret, I peeped in turn out of several of its small windows. The pine-tree, being ancient, rose high above the rest of the wood, which was of comparatively recent growth. Even where I sat, about midway between the root and the topmost bough, my position was lofty enough to serve as an observatory, not for starry investigations, but for those sublunary matters in which lay a lore as in- COVERDALE'S HERMITAGE. 433 finite as that of the planets. Through one loophole I saw the river lapsing calmly onward, while in the meadow, near its brink, a few of the brethren were digging peat for our winter's fuel. On the interior cart-road of our farm, I discerned Hollingsworth, with a yoke of oxen hitched to a drag of stones, that were to be piled into a fence, on which we employed our. selves at the odd intervals of other labor. The harsh tones of his voice, shouting to the sluggish steers, made me sensible, even at such a distance, that he was ill at ease, and that the balked philanthropist had the battle-spirit in his heart. "Haw, Buck!" quoth he. "Come along there, ye lazy ones! What are ye about, now? Gee!" 66 Mankind, in Hollingsworth's opinion," thought I, "is but another yoke of oxen, as stubborn, stupid, and sluggish as our old Brown and Bright. He vituperates us aloud, and curses us in his heart, and will begin to prick us with the goad-stick, by and by. But are we his oxen? And what right has he to be the driver? And why, when there is enough else to do, should we waste our strength in dragging home the ponderous load of his philanthropic absurdities? At my height above the earth, the whole matter looks ridiculous!" Turning towards the farm-house, I saw Priscilla (for, though a great way off, the eye of faith assured me that it was she) sitting at Zenobia's window, and making little purses, I suppose; or, perhaps, mending the Community's old linen. A bird flew past my tree; and, as it clove its way onward into the sunny atmosphere, I flung it a message for Priscilla. "Tell her," said I, "that her fragile thread of life has inextricably knotted itself with other and tougher VOL. V. 28 V threads, and most likely it will be broken. Tell her that Zenobia will not be long her friend. Say that Hollingsworth's heart is on fire with his own purpose, but icy for all human affection; and that, if she has given him her love, it is like casting a flower into a sepulchre. And say that if any mortal really cares for her, it is myself; and not even I, for her realities, poor little seamstress, as Zenobia rightly called her! -- but for the fancy-work with which I have idly decked her out!'
257 grammar bokes, schoole bookes, Latyne Hebrewe and Greke bokes, almanner of praier books, Bibles and Service bookes, there is almost no liberty lefte for printinge but for ballettes and toyes and such like, which might with better reason be prohibited then the rest, and which will not suffice to maintaine the printers not priveledged and their families (this defendant veryly thinketh), with bread and water." Hence arose pirated editions. Roger Ward printed 10,000 copies of the "A B C with the little catechism appointed by her Highness' injunctions for the Instruction of Children," with the patentees Day's name and trade-mark thereon, out of which rose the Star-Chamber case. The patentees were reasonable, and gave workes for "the reliefe of the poore of the Company," and the Master and Wardens gained the right of imposing sixpence in the pound for registration. School-books were the most lucrative of "patents" then. In 1583.-The Stationers' Company of London also had a conflict with the University of Cambridge about printing; and in 1586 there were great disputes among them about the powers of the Company. The Sweeping Star Chamber decree of 23rd June 1586 finally concluded this agitation, and confirmed the power of the Company in the hands of the Master, Wardens, and Assistants; and of such as by co-optation should succeed them. 25th Dec. 1598-The later rule they formulated was this:1 "Whereas several members of this Company have great part of their estates in Copies; and by ancient usage of the Company, when any book or copy is duly entered in the Register Book of this Company to any member or members of this Company, such person to whom such entry is made is, and always hath been reputed and taken to be the Proprietor of such book or copie, and ought to have the sole printing thereof, which privilege and interest is now of late often violated and abused. It is therefore ordained, That where any Entry or Entries is, or are, or hereafter shall be duly made of any Book or Copy in the said Register- Book of this Company, by, or for any Member or Members of this Company, that in such case, if any other Member or Members of this Company, for whom such Entry is duly made in the Register- Book of this Company, or his or their Assignee or Assigns, Print, or cause to be Printed, Import or cause to be Imported from beyond seas, or elsewhere, any such Copy or Copies, Book or Books, or any part of such Copy or Copies, Book or Books, or shall sell, bind, stitch, or expose the same, or any part or parts thereof to sale, That then such Member or Members so offending, shall forfeit to 1 An Act made 19th year, King Henry VII. renewed in 33d Charles II. APPENDIX. the Master and Keepers or Wardens and Commonalty of the Mystery or Art of Stationers of the City of London, the sum of Twelve Pence for every such Copy or Copies, Book or Books, or any part of such Copy or Copies, Book or Books Imprinted, Imported, sold, bound, stitcht, and exposed to sale contrary hereunto." The Master and Wardens had also the privilege of searching any Warehouse suspected of evading this order, and of imposing a penalty of Ten Pounds on refusal. ty of SHIL Books, inted In hereanta ching any mposing ABBOT, Dr., 195 Acolastus, 12 Adonis, 37, 117 Advancement of Learning, 72, 87, 88 Advice to Lord Essex, 31 Eschylus, 29 INDEX. Ajax, 34 Albans, St., 35 Alleyne, 130, 188 All's Well that Ends Well, 48, 102, 138 Alpha and Omega, 18 Alphabet, 193, 204, 205 Anatomy of Abuse (Stubbs), 55 Anatomy of Melancholy (Burton), 42, 43, 137, 149, 218 Anstie, Samuel, 172 Antaeus, 227 Antony and Cleopatra, 49, 63, 64, 65, 69, 102, 103, 138 Apollo, 34, 163, 164, 165 Apollo (tavern), 16 Apology for Actors, 93 Apophthegms, 86, 87 Aqua vitae, 47, 48 Arcadia, 14, 170, 194 Arcadianism, 17 Archy's Banquet of Jests, 149 Arden, 4, 5, 8 Arden, Heraud of, 4 Arden, Mary, 6, 8, 35 Aristotle, 29, 34, 44, 190 Asbies, 13, 108 Asmund and Cornelia, 106 As You Like It, 28, 48, 51, 60, 88, 103, 138 Attorney-General, 18 Aubrey, John, 179, 180 Aulicus Mercurius, 163, 164 Autolycus, 31 Avisa, Henry Willobie's, 115 Avon, 4, 5, 146 Aylward, Paul, 165 BACON, Anthony, 181, 193, 201 Bacon, Delia, 185, 187 Bacon, Francis, 18-27, 29, 37, 42-47, 70-89, 184 Bacon, Roger, 43 Bacon, Sir Nicholas, 87 Baconians, 42, 43, 163, 186, 215, 227 Baker, Sir Richard, 162, 170, 172 Bancroft, Thomas, 157 Bardolph, 35 Barkstead, 130 Barnfield, Richard, 122 Barnstaple, 15 Barton, 35 Basse, W., 141 Bath, 15 Baudwin, 34, 44 Baynes, Mr., 7 Beaumont, 133, 163-166, 168, 170, 172, 173, 176, 181, 187 Becon, 3 Beer, 76, 77, 84, 85, 86 Belasio, 203 Bell, William, 169 INDEX. Benson, John, 158 Berni, 7, 189 Blackfriars, 10, 13, 108 Blades, Mr., 14 Bodley, Sir Thomas, 21, 23, 24 Bohemia, 35 Bolton, Edmund, 132, 184 Bourchier, Sir Henry, 146. Boys, Sir Roland de, 36 Breedy, Daniel, 166 Bristol, 15 British Museum, 161, 174, 213 Brome, Richard, 157, 170, 171, 172 Brooke, Christopher, 135 Brown, Mr., 40 Bruno, Giordano, 22, 190 Buck, Sir George, 167 Buckhurst, Lord, 22, 121 Burkhead, Henry, 165 Burleigh, 31 Burbage, 11, 13, 16, 108, 137, 170] Burns, Robert, 18 Burton, Robert, 42, 43, 137, 149, 217, 218 Butler, Charles, 161. CADE, Jack, 58] Cain, 36 Cambridge, 20, 218 Camden, 5, 118, 129, 148, 187 Canning, W., 27 Cannon, 34 Carew, Richard, 118 Carlyle, Thomas, 214 Cartwright, William, 166, 169 Cary, 164, 165 Castara, 154 Cato, 35 Cavendish, Lady Margaret, 175, 176 Centurie of Prayse, 146, 210 Cephalus and Procris, 117, 175 Cervantes, 40 185 Chancellor, Lord, 18, 23 Chamberlain, Robert, 157 Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, Chapman, 129, 133, 167, 187 Chaucer, Jeffrey, 14, 184 Christian paradoxes, 43 Cider, 45, 47 Ciphers, 200-205, 219, 220 Clark's Polimanteia, 116 Crecy, 34 Clement, 35 Clopton, Sir Hugh, 211 Cokaine, Sir Aston, 36, 153, 170, 171 Cogitata et visa, Bacon's, 21 Coke, Sir Edward, 22 Cola's Fury, 165 Collier, 194 Colours of Good and Evil, 46 Comedy, 17 Condell, 13, 140, 141, 191, 218, 219 Conference of Pleasure, Bacon, 19, 24, 106, 192 Constantinople, 34 Cooke, John, 128, 167 Copernicus, 23 Cordelia, 29 Coriolanus, 35, 58, 62, 102, 103, 138 Corn, Bacon on, 72 Cotsall, 36 Coventry, 4, 5, 11, 15, 36 Cowden Clarke, Mrs., 33, 195 Cowley, Abraham, 149, 171 Cuffe, Sir Henry, 23 Cunningham, Mr., 128 Curtis, 35 Cymbeline, 35, 53, 102, 103, 138, 145, 206 DAILY TELEGRAPH, 199 Daniel, George, of Beswick, 166 Daniel, Samuel, 119, 121, 163 Davenant, William, 146, 153, 157, 164, 178, 180 Davenport, Anthony, 168 Davies, Sir John, of Hereford, 22, 88, 107, 127, 133, 144, 193, 217 167, 14, 184 es, 43 Con's, 21 22 Eril, 46 41, 191, e, Bacon, 52, 102, 335 33, 195 ,174 2, 103, 3 wick, 166 21, 163 5, 153, 45 68 Hereford 144, 195 INDEX. De Augmentis, 28, 75, 82, 83, 107, 201 Debate between Pride and Lowliness, The, III Declaration of the causes of the great troubles, Bacon, 19 Dekkar, 55, 120, 126, 133, 134 Democritus, 76 Denham, Sir John, 166 Dense and Rare, History of, Bacon, 73, 81 De Occultis Literarum Notis, 203 Dethroning Shakspere, 199 De Witt papers, 118, 190, 209 Diana of Montemayor, 194 Diaphantus, 128 Did Francis Bacon write Shakspere? 196 Digges, Leonard, 144, 159 Discipline, 29 Discovery of the Cipher of Francis Bacon, Mrs. Windle's, 205 Disposing of Wards, the, Bacon's, 21 Divers plots and devices, 26 Dog, 38 Dogberry, 31 Donnelly, Mr. Ignatius, 46, 207226 Donne, 163 Douce, 33 Douglas, 34 Dover, 15 Drama, 18 Dramatic poetry, 29 Drayton, 4-6, 116, 120, 121, 149, 164, 165, 170 Drummond, William, 133, 134, 144 Drunkenness, Bacon on, 85 Dryden, John, 176-178, 180 Dugdale, 162, 171 ECCENTRICITIES of genius, 31 Edinburgh, 16 Edwardes, Thomas, 117 Elegies, 42 Elizabeth, Queen, 16, 22, 30, 31, 41 261 Ellis, Mr., 203 England's Helicon, 124, 132, 135 England's Mourning Garment, 127
Augh! now your honour's severe! I am glad to see you so merry." Walter sighed heavily; there sat no mirth at his heart at that moment. "Pray, Sir," said the Corporal after a pause, "if not too bold, has your honour heard how they be doing at Grassdale?" "No, Bunting; I have not held any correspondence with my uncle since our departure. Once I wrote to him on setting off to Yorkshire, but I could give him no direction to write to me again. The fact is, that I have been so sanguine in this search, and from day to day I have been so led on in tracing a clue, which I fear is now broken, that I have constantly put off writing till I could communicate that certain intelligence which I flattered myself I should be able ere this to procure. However, if we are unsuccessful at Knaresbro', I shall write from that place a detailed account of our proceedings." "And I hopes you will say as how I have given your honour satisfaction." "Depend upon that." "Thank you, Sir, thank you humbly; I would not like the Squire to think I 'm ungrateful! -- augh, -- and mayhap I may have more cause to be grateful by and by, whenever the Squire, God bless him, in consideration of your honour's good offices, should let me have the bit cottage rent free." 66 "A man of the world, Bunting; a man of the world!" "Your honour's mighty obleeging," said the Corporal, putting his hand to his hat; "I wonders," renewed he, after a short pause, "I wonders how poor neighbour Dealtry is. He was a sufferer last year; I should like to know how Peter be getting on - 't is a good creature." Somewhat surprised at this sudden sympathy on the part of the Corporal, for it was seldom that Bunting expressed kindness for any one, Walter replied, "When I write, Bunting, I will not fail to enquire how Peter Dealtry is; does your kind heart suggest any other message to him?" "6 'Only to ask arter Jacobina, poor thing; she might get herself into trouble if little Peter fell sick and neglected her like augh. And I hopes as how Peter airs the bit cottage now and then; but the Squire, God bless him, will see to that and the tato garden, I'm sure." "You may rely on that, Bunting," said Walter, sinking into a reverie, from which he was shortly roused by the Corporal. "I'spose Miss Madeline be married afore now, your honour: well, pray Heaven she be happy with that ere larned man!" Walter's heart beat faster for a moment at this sudden remark, but he was pleased to find that the time when the thought of Madeline's marriage was accompanied with painful emotion was entirely gone by; the reflection, however, induced a new train of idea, and without replying to the Corporal, he sank into a deeper meditation than before. The shrewd Bunting saw that it was not a favourable moment for renewing the conversation; he therefore suffered his horse to fall back, and taking a quid from his tobacco-box, was soon as well entertained as his master. In this manner they rode on for about a couple of miles, the evening growing darker as they proceeded, when a green opening in the road brought them within view of a gipsies' encampment; the scene was so sudden and picturesque, that it aroused the young traveller from his reverie, and as his tired horse walked slowly on, the bridle about its neck, he looked with an earnest eye on the vagrant settlement beside his path. The moon had just risen above a dark copse in the rear, and cast a broad, deep shadow along the green, without lessening the vivid effect of the fires which glowed and sparkled in the darker recess of the waste land, as the gloomy forms of the Egyptians were seen dimly cowering round the blaze. A scene of this sort is perhaps one of the most striking that the green lanes of old England afford, to me it has always an irresistible attraction, partly from its own claims, partly from those of association. When I was a mere boy, and bent on a solitary excursion over parts of England and Scotland, I saw something of that wild people, -- though not perhaps so much as the ingenious George Hanger, to whose memoirs the reader may be referred, for some rather amusing pages on gipsy life. As Walter was still eyeing the encampment, he in return had not escaped the glance of an old crone, who came running hastily up to him, and begged permission to tell his fortune and to have her hand crossed with silver. Very few men under thirty ever sincerely refuse an offer of this sort. Nobody believes in these predictions, yet every one likes hearing them and Walter, after faintly refusing the proposal twice, consented the third time; and drawing up his horse, submitted his hand to the old lady. In the meanwhile one of the younger urchins who had accompanied her had run to the encampment for a light, and now stood behind the old woman's shoulder, rearing on high a pine brand, which cast over the little group a red and weird-like glow. The reader must not imagine we are now about to call his credulity in aid to eke out any interest he may feel in our story; the old crone was but a vulgar gipsy, and she predicted to Walter the same fortune she always predicted to those who paid a shilling for the prophecy- an heiress with blue eyes seven children troubles about the epoch of forty-three, happily soon over and a healthy old age, with an easy death. Though Walter was not impressed with any reverential awe for these vaticinations, he yet could not refrain from enquiring, whether the journey on which he was at present bent, was likely to prove successful in its object. ""T is an ill night," said the old woman, lifting up her wild face and elfin locks with a mysterious air - "'T is an ill night for them as seeks, and for them as asks. He's about--” "He-who?" "No matter! - you may be successful, young Sir, yet wish you had not been so. The moon thus, and the wind there that you will get your desires, and find them crosses." promise The Corporal had listened very attentively to these predictions, and was now about to thrust forth his own hand to the soothsayer, when from a cross road to the right came the sound of hoofs, and presently a horseman at full trot pulled up beside them. "Hark ye, old she-devil, or you, Sirs is this the road to Knaresbro'?" The gipsy drew back, and gazed on the countenance of the rider, on which the red glare of the pine-brand shone full. "To Knaresbro', Richard, the dare-devil? Ay, and what does the ramping bird want in the ould nest? Welcome back to Yorkshire, Richard, my ben-cove!" "Ha!" said the rider, shading his eyes with his hand, as be returned the gaze of the gipsy -- "is it you, Bess Airlie: your welcome is like the owl's, and reads the wrong way. But I must not stop. This takes to Knaresbro', then?" "Straight as a dying man's curse to hell," replied the crone, in that metaphorical style in which all her tribe love to speak, and of which their proper language is indeed almost wholly composed. The horseman answered not, but spurred on. "Who is that?" asked Walter earnestly, as the old woman stretched her tawny neck after the rider. "An ould friend, Sir," replied the Egyptian, dryly. "I have not seen him these fourteen years; but it is not Bess Airlie who is apt to forgit friend or foe. Well, Sir, shall I tell your honour's good luck?" · (here she turned to the Corporal, who sat erect on his saddle, with his hand on his holster,)--“the colour of the lady's hair and " "Hold your tongue, you limb of Satan!" interrupted the Cor-
enough 10 control Judges, and compel them to perform their official duties or not.0 All admit that the Judge who decides on the sacred rights OF the citizens ought 10 be independent oil every Influence, but those of the law, and the evil dence in the cause before him. That the poor est, most bel pless obscure stranger should stand i'll a court of justice OH ali equal platform, with the most powerful, popular and numerously connected. That Il Judge would be denounced as corrupt W no would undertake to decide a cause III which he had an interest of five dol lars, and much more if Oil the issue of that cause, the tenure of his office, his whole living depended. All admit that when on the eve OF a reelection OF Judges cause is tried, i'll hich an Influential man, of large family connections; is a party Oh one side, and poor, obscure and powerless man or woman is party on the 9TH er side; where popular man is party on one side, and an unpopular man, on the other, there would be a great temptation held out to Judge, anxious 10 secure his reelection, to decide the cause i'll favor of power and popularity, and "a gainst poverty and weakness All admit that the laws are chiefly intended for protection to the weak against the strong, and therefore that such leaning on the part of a Judge, in favor OF power against weakness, would be a perversion Of the great ends Of the law. Yet the pretended friends of popular rights, while they laud the intelligence OF the people, and call upon them to exercise all their privileges, enormously in sist that all these dangers must be encountered, because tie people are incapable of enacting laws sufficiently strong to govern Judge and compel him te perform his duty. These friends and would be cusodiers of the peoples money, laugh to scorn; the old fashioned republicans who planting themselves upon the platform OF Washington, Franklin Madison, Marshall and a host OF revolutionary patriots, insist on the a bllity OF the people to frame laws, powerful nough to COVE all, high aud low strong and weak, Judge or beegar. When they are told that six grand iuries sit each year, in every County of the State, each one OF those grand juries composed Of from six teen to twenty-three hard listed, intelligent and independent yeomen, selected inditfprenty fiom the body OF the County-nelher office. holders nor oftlce-seekers, and sworn TO perform their duty without fear, favor or affection, they wag their heads and say ha. ha these grand Jurors may serve the turn OF bringing small men to JUSTICE but they will be afraid of ii Judge. Yes, they will torswear themselves, and leave an Of tending Judge represented for craven coWar- dice. What an insult to the body of the people! Some OF these patriotic guardians of the people, rights, have conyulsed even the boys, with merrlment at their ignorance by the grave asserton that no grand jury could fluid present. ment without the concurrence of the foreman. No one suppose need be told that this sugges- , ton is groundless. Yet such is the character of the arguments and assertions resorted TO- to decelve and mlsead the thouohless. What Is the capacity for self. government. +! 1t is the capacity 10 enact such laws as will protect the feeble, and restrain the powerful Does 1t not follow necessarily that eveIy attempt to prove the jncapacity Of the people 10 enact such laws, is an attempt to prove their ncapacity for seli-government But at this most interesting of all periods for free peope-when we talk of amending the fundamental laws of our Slae-a set of polticlans have sprung up, calling themselves the friends OF the people, whose distinctive doctrine is simply this that while it is very important for a Judge to be independent, it is important l also that he should be responsible, and mas : much as the people cannot make laws TO hold him to Responsibility, they must let him ride over them booted and spuned for term Of years, take away his independence, so impor. tant for the protection of the weak-lea7e him to be tempted away from the line of his duty, by the powerful families and factions of the District and then at the end Of his term of years, : II those powerful families aud factions will per- 4 nit IT,, turn him out AND get some enc else, to be 4 subjected in his turn to the same bad intiuences. That the only hope Is not to control him = while in, but to turn him out Look at these men who are foremost in advo ! eating this strange ant-lepubican doctrine, that = Judge, and that the people therefore should take away Their independence. You will find them , almost universally, either hot partizan poliiclans, or members OF large and powerful family connexions who hope to rule the country, when the necks OF the poor mans Judges are put I'M der their feet. Ii the people are incompetent to make laws 10 govern Judge how will they make laws to govern popular politician or a powerful family! I Sucb StuH is l,o1 M IN, f,oo,,,o,, 81 W., ) einia, Their fathers proclaimed to the world that they were capable of seli-oovernment, and sealed the declaration with their blood Let them prove themselves worthy of the boon sc 4 dearly purchased and let every man be look ed upon as an enemy to popular liberty, who shall 5 dare affirm that any one however powerful, is stronger than the laws of an enlightened people. ? The present Constitution entrusted to the Lee 4 gis!ature the duty of removing inefficient Judees--they swear TO perform that duty But I'M fortunately for the people, the Legislature has of D late years been filled too much with tme-serving, popularity seeking men, and they have fail ed to perform their duty. Does it follow because S The peoples trust has been betrayed by them, that they cannot safely repose it in SOME other tribunal Is il to be tolerated that many of : those. very Legislators, now candidates for the Convention; should rely upon their own neglect , OF duty TO persuade the people that because r they trusted them and We're Observation-Disclosures 5 they are fools and incapable Of passing any law whereby such Judges can be removed. 2 If the people are capable OF enacting laws by which Judge can be governed and made le- gally responsible for neglect of duty or corrupton, then there is an end to the argument the ! advocates of the term Tenure aud reelection of f the Judges, have never pretended any other me- 9 cessily for such a measure, than thatit was the f only means in the power Of the people to COM pei the Judges to do their duty If it is, as in sist libel on the peoples capacity to urge such / an argument-if the argument itself strikes at . flying the people, then no one will insist on 1 the dangerous experiment of destoying without e a cause, the Independence of the Judiciary even though repudating Mississippi mob-loving ~ 7 York, and twenty other States have set the eS.
unurE IS5LEdiHt, Al tACy HSAD SN-J = to follow their natural impulses ana conrses, there would be universal prog ress. The fact, however, is that almost universally the agencies concerned in. raising The social needs of community are, f>r various reasons, held in check, or ali ge.i,..f pressed. Let rs try 70 paint typ'ot' village Il shall consist, say, Of thousand people, more or less. The village has its two or three httlg. churches, and these have their pastors men Of iaiS education and fsuItless' 2s5r'sss.. tr- 80, .tise -eiiIas4s bs-z I oIIe or two -Y'sty-ivis--ssssssi- -ssasswycA la addition 70 these, there is the post master, who Is usually man of activity aud influence; there Is the rich man Of the village; there are the three or four men who ale only less rich than he there are the young, we'll educated fam lilies Of thIss wento do people; there are q dozen women who are bright in intel lect, and who read whatever they can lay their hands on; there is a fair degree OF worldly prosperity, and the schools are well supported. One weuld say that nothing IS needed to make it q model village, full of the liveliest and brightest social life, and possessing sll the means ! and institutions OF intellectual culture and progress. To repeat Z phrase with which we began, the social potentialities Of the village are incalculabIe. All the \| agencies and materials and sppurten- ances Tor beautiful social life and growth seem to exist, yet the fact prob, ably is that the village is socially dead, II ne look into the condition Of things we shall fud that little churches are, through their very littleness and weak ness, jealous Of each ether; that their pastors ere poor and are kept upon starving intellectual diet that the doc. / tor snd the lawyer are absorbed in their / professions that the rich men are bent upon their money getting and money saving, and that all the young people are bent upon frivolous amusements. The viliage has no public library, no ! public hail, no public reading room, no ! lyceu1n, 20 reSdiug-clubs, no literary clubs, and no institutions or instituted means for fostering aud developing the intellectual or social lie Of the villagers. We have seen exactly this condition OF + things in a viiisge many times, and we have seen, under ali these possibilities / and the hard facts of indifference or so. ciai inertia associated with them, uni versal desire FOR sorIething better. We / have seen churches ashamed of their jealousie- and the meager support so- corded to their ministers. We have seen young people dissatisfied with their lie, and wishing that it could be changed, and We have seen our dozen OF bright. reading women ready and longing 10 make sny sacrifice Tor the production Of q better social atmosphere. Nay, we be lieve thai the average American village is ready for Improvement. ready to be / led. The best social leading is the one thing lacking. Sometimes it does not need even this; only some fitting occa- sion that shall bring people together, and reveal the under haTmouies which move and the sympathies which biud them. The probabilities are that there IS not a villsge IN America that needs anything more than good leading to raise it, wEole social and intellectual life incalculabiy. Tire VILLAGE that is most dead and helpless NEEDS but one harmonizing, IN ! selfish, elevated viii 10 lead and mold i. to the best lie and the hest issues We : can not illustrate his power Of leadipa / better ;aeo by cisioE the results OF ths regent moie OF raising church debts / Oac ol tne two or three men who hay, ! becoao famous Tor raising church debt go,s into the pulpit in The morning and =ts.iis before 4 bankrupt congregation lie IS tod before he enLers.the building that every tffjrt has been made TO raise the debt, bat in vain; that, indeed, the people have not the money, and coule not raise The required sum il they would Yet, in two hours, every dollar Is sub scribed, and the whole church BITS weep ing in mute and grateful surprise. NJ advantage, whatever, has been taken o them. and they have simply, under com petent leading, done what they have al along wanted to do, aud what they hay knows it was their duty TO dc. An. man who has ever had ANYTHING TO do il organizing the social life of a village has We venture to say, been surprised, ami, what seemed to be universal stagnation to find how general was the desire 70 reform. Everybody has been ready. Al we're waiting for Just the right msn f SET them going. and he only needed Z saw the word, or lift and point the finger , Il IS not necessary to hreak up sn. ; legitimate fsmlly feeling that may exis , in churches, or to interfere with socis 4 cliques and "sets, o. to break down an. r walls between classes. We talk now onl. of the general social and intellectual iii r which brings people together in comuol 5 high persuits. and gives a village j; / character and influence. 1t is only from 3 \| this lie that q strong and efficient pub 9 liC SEIIlJ CHI COUts a Nliiogc nunb hci' d a vigorous general life outside OF sects an ' cliques ard parties before it can max great progress, and it Is astonishing ho' . quickly this life may be won by the righ d leading. We assure them that all tn g people need ia good leading, end tha / there must be one among them who hs 4 the power in some degree of leading, q a gsnzing and inspiring united and bec ter life. It Is not an Office in which pei 5 soual ambition has any legitimate plac e that of social leadership. ANY ma r who enters upon it with that moti7 # mistakes his position and hopeiessly d' d grades his understanding. But whereve a there Is a sluggish social life, er none s IL all that is devoted to culture and puI It and elevating pursuits, somebody--an e it is probably the one who is reading tn article, is neglecting duty from whie he is withheld, most probably, by mos ? esty. We assure him that if he IS real e fit for his work, he will find an astonisl n \| -. 81 - az
attained the highest possible position. The nature of his soul, as already seen, could never have been satisfied in any circumstances with supremacy in the direction it had followed hitherto, because such supremacy would imply rest, which was alien from his nature. We have also seen the existence, as a fundamental attribute of Sordello's character, of the yearning for sympathy and love. Even supposing, then, that as an egoist he had met perfect success, such success would have palled upon his soul, and it would have cast aside its crown, descended from its throne, and turned for new food to use men for themselves, instead of for itself, in pure honesty of purpose; while the very nature of that new employment would develop to its highest his sympathy and altruism. Had he met with ill success, his honest undaunted struggles with repeated failures and rebuffs had now so strengthened the fibres of his soul, that it would have been able to maintain the fight, and see where its force was ill applied; and its power being now redoubled by the alliance of the full-grown angel of sympathy, it would now take stand as so far above the crowd, and yet so intuitively alive to their nature, that hostility, so often the sign of weakness, would be unnecessary; he would be strong enough to turn the fight into an embrace by a single gesture; and in due season (not when it was too late) he would have changed his tactics, and converted the enemy into a worshipping friend by offers of love and even of help. As it was, however, the full-grown egoist had no such slow process to go through in order to reach altruism; for without requiring him to engage in any further struggle, fate graciously wafted him full materials on which to work his now renewed and redoubled strength; in his self-part, heart and brain were fully developed; and behold, that ever-youthful Titan, dewy-eyed, fronted like the morning, called altruism or sympathy with mankind, was awaken- SORDELLO 167 ing rosily in his chamber, and the two-fold Sordello was ripe to cast his whole gigantic force into the cause of curing sorrow and weakness. Because his soul wept at the first sight of calamity, was he therefore weakened by such weeping? Because he was a poet, and as such, a dreamer, must his dreams be therefore pernicious? Have we not acknowledged his power as a poet? Have we not seen how useful and how necessary he was to the Italians as such? how, then, otherwise than as Poet, could his power be exercised? Were his dreams pernicious because they turned in the direction of freedom for slaves? If it were pernicious to dream how to rouse the Guelfs, the real lords of the soil, into a strife for freedom from the Saxons, if it were pernicious to dream how to drive. famine and plunder away, and bring home plenteousness and peace-the absurdity answers itself. But if it is still objected that, although Sordello did indeed make one strong effort in the direction of helping the world, his self-introspection had so enervated the power of his brain for practical working, that he was utterly unable to make his hearers comprehend his meaning, and that the only effect of his oratory was to raise a wonder and bewilderment in Taurello, which resulted in the latter's seeing that here was an instrument fitted for his purposes, an engine powerful indeed when set in motion, but utterly irresponsible, and which could. be made work in any direction if only managed arightlet us once more recur to the acknowledged necessity for Sordello and his people that his development should be accomplished in the way which actually happened; and if we have seen how nobly at the right moment Sordello forced his egoism into alliance with his altruism, and espoused the cause of humanity, surely it is plain that he was no irresponsible enthusiast. But it may be worth while to consider shortly the reasons for the obvious fact SORDELLO that Sordello was obscure in his speech and mode of expressing his thoughts. His nature, then, was, as has been shown throughout, one in which perception was predominant. Instances abound through the poem to show that if in his inmost mind he grasped a truth, he never let it go. But, as must always be the case where the will is greater than the power, the very vigour with which his strong soul clutched the truth in his bosom, made it the more difficult for his weak bodily powers to free it from its imprisonment and display it to men. And since simple truth, simple supremacy, will always seem complex and obscure to low and double-dealing minds, it was not the enervating influence of self-introspection, but the inborn vigour and earnestness of a pure and supreme mind, which made Sordello's utterances, straight from the fountain-head of truth, seem incomprehensible to the dull ears of a man whose life had been spent in doubledealing, in striving after low ideals. Although irresponsibility and fickleness of purpose in reality formed no part of Sordello's nature, it may be well to deal finally with the last possible objection, which implies the existence in him of these defects, by saying that when he was offered the leadership of the Ghibellins, whom he was vowed to oppose, all his nature roused itself to force him to yield to this temptation, and only death saved him from the unutterable disgrace of passing his days as Taurello's tool and Palma's plaything. But is it not true that Sordello's soul saw all things in the world by a clear light hidden from common men; and working steadily on by that light, refused to turn to the right hand or to the left from any clear shown truth? When once he was shown the claims of men as superior to the claims of himself, he never rested until he had spent himself in asserting these claims; when tempted SORDELLO 169 by the kingdoms of the world and their glory, he yet steadily weighed in the balance the right against the wrong, the world against self, time against eternity. Is this man irresponsible because he is fervent, because he is unused to tricks of diplomacy, because he sees men's rights, once plainly put before him, with eyes undimmed by self-interest? Let us judge him rather by that very agony which seemed to be his timely salvation from lasting disgrace. The nobility of his nature was to be keenly sensuous; the pride of his nature based itself in the royalty of his imagination; the strength of his nature pierced through the veil of morality to estimate truly the reason for the laws of right and wrong in this world. And when against these strong forces of his nature he brings to battle a force still mightier, the force of that stern sense of truth which will compel the bounties of his being into subjection to the round of duties which the world gives, when he binds these mighty forces together in harness like primeval monsters, to plough, and draw, and toil for the pigmies among whom they might have roamed spreading destruction, surely the divinity of his nature in the last fierce struggle asserts itself, and lets the broad-winged angel free to soar with plumes unworn, unstained, unshackled, towards the heaven which is its home! SAUL THIS Lyric, besides possessing as a work of art many excellences which it would be beside my purpose to speak of here, has also beauties in its dramatic element which have arrested my attention. These beauties appeal strongly to the sympathies of any earnest thinker, and find a fit exponent and a full realisation in the collective mind of the strivers of to-day.
How far we are to understand this new Jerusalem as something real cannot be considered until we come to explain the Revelation, which gives a detailed description of the new or heavenly Jerusalem; it is here sufficient to regard it in general only as a type of the city of the Faithful, as the поλíтενμа év ovрavoîç (Phil. iii. 20), thus of the kingdom of God, i. e., of the church of Christ and of the Spirit working in it. Had Paul understood nothing real by it, no comparison between the New Testament constitution and the heavenly Jerusalem could have been drawn. The Rabbis, too, who often use this representation, no doubt in consequence of passages in the Old Testament like Isaiah liv. 11, 12, lx. 18, lxii. 6, Ezek. xlviii., understood something real by the term heavenly Jerusalem. (See the passages in the well-known writings of Schöttgen, Lightfoot, Bertholdt, and Winer, in the Comm. page 113. The closer consideration of the Rabbinical ideas we also defer to the * See on διαθήκη, with the epithets παλαιά, πρωτή, καινή, δευτέρα, νέα, Matth. xxvi. 28; 2 Cor. iii. 6, 14; Heb. viii. 7, 8, ix. 15, xii. 24. On yevvuv, applied to women, see Luke i. 13, 57. GALATIANS IV. 24-26. exposition of the Apocalypse.) Thus, then, we have remaining in the interpretation of the details only the words (in verse 25) Tò γὰρ 'Αγαρ Σινᾶ ὄρος ἐστὶν ἐν τῇ ̓Αραβίᾳ, συστοιχεῖ δὲ, κ. τ. λ., which clearly bear on the face of them the nature of a subordinate remark, of a merely parenthetical clause. Could we indeed adopt the reading τὸ γὰρ Σινᾶ ὄρος ἐστίν, which Lachmann, on the authority of C.F.G. has put in the text, every difficulty would vanish; but the context will by no means permit its reception, not to mention that A.D.E. vouch for the common reading, and the supposition is but too probable that it was adopted only to avoid the difficulty in the common one. For the yap imperatively requires something which lays a foundation in some way for verse 24; but the mere remark that Sinai is a mountain of Arabia can prove nothing. According to the common reading, however, a sort of proof is couched in the words "the word Hagar (ró not ), namely, means in Arabia the mountain Sinai." Now the word means in Arabic " a rock" (see Winer on this passage); Sinai might therefore, well be so called by the natives, though definite proofs of it are wanting. But, at all events, we must not refer it to any kindred names of cities or nations, since all is to be referred to Mount Sinai. The proper etymology of the name is, however, it is well-known, totally different; it is derived from the root "to flee." (See Gesenius in the Lex. on this word.) Finally, it is said of Hagar, in the sense pointed out, συστοιχεῖ τῇ νῦν Ιερουσαλήμ, she coincides with the Jerusalem that now is. EvoTOXεiv is not found again in the New Testament; it means "to go together with one another, to go in a row," then "to coincide with, to be in concord with, to answer to." The Old Testament, therefore, is brought into comparison with, first, Sinai, and then Jerusalem; the two correspond with one another, since both places may be considered as centres of the Old Testament life. (The grammatical construction is, finally, not quite regular, for after uía μév in verse 24, érépa dé should have followed in verse 26; but Paul lets the figure drop, as being self-evident, and names directly the thing compared.) We may now, after this, consider more closely Paul's conduct in the allegorical treatment of this passage of the Old Testament. The general observations on the mode of treating the Old Testament in the New, as already remarked on 1 Cor. x. 1, we defer until the exposition of the Epistle to the Hebrews, referring, by the way, to the already-cited first appendix of Tholuck to this epistle. For, if this passage involved merely a common typical application, such as we have often already found occasion to mention, it would require no further consideration; but it has peculiarities *The famous chief city of Idumea, Petra, “The Rock City," is, in Arabic, Elhhagar. GALATIANS IV. 569 24-26. that are not found elsewhere in the New Testament. True, the typical application of Mount Sinai, as well as the city of Jerusalem, has nothing extraordinary. The places where the law was promulgated, and where it found its abiding centre in the Temple, could be most fitly put for the institution of the law itself. But the introduction of Sarah, and especially of Hagar, for such a purpose, seems surprising; it would seem that every free woman and every bond woman, who had descendants by one man, might with equal justice be referred to in the same manner. But this seeming difficulty vanishes if we consider that it is not the women per se who are here used as types, but Abraham's wives. According to the Scriptures, the typical character seems confined to some few chief persons, who are, as it were, central characters; to these Abraham especially belongs, as ancestor of the people of God. What happens to him and about him admits of a pre-figurative acceptation, and so do his wives and children; but by no means every wife and every child. The sacred writers in the illumination of the Divine Spirit understood history, as it were, in its deepest root, in its authorized import. They looked into the heart of things, and thus beheld already formed, when as yet in the earliest germ, like fruit in the blossom, what was later to be developed. Without this spiritual glance, a similar mode of proceeding, employed by the Rabbis and enthusiasts of all descriptions at all times, is only a means of imparting an apparently biblical sanction to the wildest creations of frenzy. Our time, therefore, as not being favoured with so intense an operation of the Spirit, cannot proceed independently in the adoption of types, but must adhere to those expressed and sanctioned in the Scriptures. The most difficult point, however, in the present passage is certainly still the mention of the Arabic name of Sinai. Can it be assumed that this point too has real internal truth; that between the Arabic name of Sinai, and the relation to the law of the maid-servant of Abraham, bearing the same name, there exists a connexion of cause and effect? Impartiality requires us to confess that this is not only not demonstrable, but is even improbable. True, the language is not to be explained, "because Mount Sinai is called Hagar in Arabic, therefore Abraham's maid-servant must be a type of the law," but only thus: "because Abraham's maid-servant Hagar is a type of the law, it is also to be considered as providential that an identity of the name of Sinai, where the law was promulgated, with that of Hagar, exists; and that too precisely in the language of the descendants of Hagar's son." But, even with this milder turn, we can still see in the remark of Paul (which is, in fact, but cursorily introduced in a subordinate clause), merely an ingenious application of an accidental cir- GALATIANS IV. 27-31. cumstance, which stands in no intimate connexion with that main line of argument which is based on profounder and intrinsic truth. Paul might during his long sojourn in Arabia (see on i. 17), have become acquainted with the Arabic name of Sinai, and feels himself induced to impart this information here by the way, in order to offer to the reader a certain connexion, though a very slight one, between the maid-servant Hagar and Mount Sinai. Ver. 27.-Paul in what follows connects with the history of
"Oh faix I knew it, iligant, as long as your honour was before me." "But you don't know your course back?" “Why, indeed, not to say rightly all out, your honor." "Can't you steer?” said the captain. "The divil a betther hand at the tiller in all Kinsale," said Barny, with his usual brag. "Well, so far so good," said the captain. "And you know the points of the compass-you have a compass, I suppose?" 66 A compass! by my sowl an it's not let alone a compass, but a pair a compasses I have, that my brother the carpinthir left me for a keepsake whin he wint abroad; but, indeed, as for the points o' thim I can't say much, for the childher spylt thim intirely, rootin' holes in the flure." "What the plague are you talking about?" asked the captain. "Wasn't your honor discoorsin' me about the points o' the compasses?" "Confound your thick head!" said the captain, “Why, what an ignoramus you must be, not to know what a compass is, and you at sea all your life? Do you even know the cardinal points?" "The cardinals! faix an it's a great respect I have for them, your honor. Sure, arʼn't they belongin' to the pope?" "Confound you, you blockhead!" roared the captain in a rage "twould take the patience of the pope and the cardinals, and the cardinal virtues into the bargain, to keep one's temper with you. Do you know the four points of the wind?" 'By my sowl I do, and more." 66 "Well, never mind more, but let us stick to four. You're sure you know the four points of the wind?" "By dad it would be a quare thing if a sayfarin' man didn't know somethin' about the wind anyhow. Why, captain dear, you must take me for a nath'ral intirely to suspect me o' the like o' not knowin' all about the wind. By gor, I know as much o' the wind a'most as a pig." "Indeed I believe so," laughed out the captain. "Oh, you may laugh if you plase, and I see by the same that you don't know about the pig, with all your edication, captain." "Well, what about the pig." 66 Why, sir, did you never hear a pig can see the wind?" "I can't say that I did." “Oh thin, he does, and for that rayson who has a right to know more about it?" "You don't for one, I dare say, Paddy; and maybe you have a pig aboard to give you information." "Sorra taste your honor, not as much as a rasher o' bacon; but it's maybe your honor never seen a pig tossin' up his snout, consaited like, and running like mad afore a storm." "Well, what if I have?" "Well, sir, that is when they see the wind a comin'." "Maybe so, Paddy, but all this knowledge in piggery won't find you your way home; and, if you take my advice, you will give up all thoughts of endeavouring to find your way back, and come on board. You and your messmates, I daresay, will be useful hands, with some teaching; but, at all events, I cannot leave you here on the open sea, with every chance of being lost." “Why thin, indeed, and I'm behowlden to your honor; and its the hoighth o' kindness, so it is, your offer; and its nothin' else but a gentleman you are, every inch o' you; but I hope it's not so bad wid us yet, as to do the likes o' that.” "I think it's bad enough," said the captain, "when you are without a compass, and knowing nothing of your course, and nearly a hundred and eighty leagues from land." "An' how many miles would that be, captain?" "Three times as many." "I never learned the rule o' three, captain, and maybe your honor id tell me yourself." 66 'That is rather more than five hundred miles." "Five hundred miles!" shouted Barny. "Oh! the Lord look down on us! how 'ill we iver get back!" "That's what I say," said the captain; "and, therefore, I recommend you come aboard with me." "And where 'ud the hooker be all the time?" said Barny. "Let her go adrift," was the answer. "Is it the darlint boat? Oh, by dad, I'll never hear o' that at all." "Well, then, stay in her and be lost. Decide upon the matter at once; either come on board or cast off;" and the captain was turning away as he spoke, when Barny called after him. 'Arrah, thin, your honor, don't go jist for one minit antil I ax you one word more. If I wint wid you, whin would I be home agin?" 66 "In about seven months." "Oh! thin, that puts the wig an it at wanst. I darn't go at all." 66 Why, seven months are not long passing." "Thrue for you, in throth," said Barny, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Faix it's myself knows, to my sorrow, the half-year comes round mighty suddint, and the lord's agint comes for the thrifle o' rint; and faix I know, by Molly, that nine months is not long in goin' over either," added Barny with a grin. "Then what's your objection, as to the time?" asked the captain. 66 Arrah, sure, sir, what would the woman that owns me do while I was away? and maybe it's break her heart the craythur would, thinkin' I was lost intirely; and who'd be at home to take care o' the childher, and airn thim the bit and the sup, whin I'd be away? and who knows but it's all dead they'd be afore I got back? Och hone! sure the heart id fairly break in my body if hurt or harm kem to them through me. So, say no more, captain dear, only give me a thrifle o' directions how I'm to make an offer at gettin' home, and it's myself that will pray for you night, noon, and mornin' for that same." "Well, Paddy," said the captain, "as you are determined to go back, in spite of all I can say, you must attend to me well while I give you as simple instructions as I can. You say you know the four points of the wind-north, south, east, and west." "Yis, sir." 66 "How do you know them? for I must see that you are not likely to make a mistake. How do you know the points?" Why, you see, sir, the sun, God bless it, rises in the aist, and sets in the west, which stands to rayson; and whin you stand bechuxt the aist and the west, the north is forninst you." "And when the north is forninst you, as you say, is the east on your right or your left hand?” "On the right hand, your honor." "Well, I see you know that much, however. Now," said the captain, "the moment you leave the ship, you must steer a north-east course, and you will make some land near home in about a week, if the wind holds as it is now, and it is likely to do so; but, mind me, if you turn out of your course in the smallest degree you are a lost man.” "Many thanks to your honor!" "And how are you off for provisions?" 66 Why thin, indeed, in the regard o' that same we are in the hoighth o' distress, for exceptin' the scalpeens, sorra taste passed our lips for these four days." "Oh! you poor devils!" said the commander, in a tone of sincere commiseration, "I'll order you some provisions on board before you start." "Long life to your honour! and I'd like to drink the health of so noble a jintleman.” "I understand you, Paddy, you shall have grog too." 66 Musha, the heavins shower blessins an you, I pray the Virgin Mary and the twelve apostles, Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, not forgettin' Saint Pathrick." "Thank you, Paddy; but keep all your prayers for yourself, for you need them all to help you home again." "Oh! never fear, whin the thing is to be done, I'll do it, by dad, wid a heart and a half. And sure, your honor, God is good, an' will mind dissolute craythurs like uz on the wild oceant as well as ashore." While some of the ship's crew were putting the captain's benevolent intentions to Barny and his companions into practice, by transferring some provisions to the hooker, the commander entertained himself by further conversation with
Parma, deserve notice. The heavy, richly ornamented door opposite the top of the staircase leads to the Teatro Farnese, built 1618, and opened in 1628, on the marriage of Duke Odoardo with Princess Margaret of Tuscany. It is well worth visiting. "It is a large wooden structure, of the horse-shoe shape; the lower seats arranged upon the Roman plan, but above them great heavy chambers, rather than boxes, where the nobles sate, remote, in their proud state. Such desolation as has fallen on this theatre, enhanced in the spectator's fancy by its gay intention and design, none but worms can be familiar with. A hundred and ten years have passed since any play was acted here. The sky shines in through the gashes in the roof; the boxes are dropping down, wasting away, and only tenanted by rats; damp and mildew smear the faded colours, and make spectral maps upon the panels; lean rags are dangling down where there were gay festoons on the proscenium; the stage has rotted so, that a narrow ITALIAN CITIES. wooden gallery is thrown across it, or it would sink beneath the tread, and bury the visitors in the gloomy depths beneath. The desolation and decay impress themselves on all the senses. The air has a mouldering smell, and an earthy taste; any stray outer sounds that straggle in with some lost sunbeam, are muffled and heavy; and the worm, the maggot, and the rot have changed the surface of the wood beneath the touch, as time will seam and roughen a smooth hand. If ghosts ever act plays, they act them on this ghostly stage.”--Dickens. Left of the theatre is the entrance to the Picture Gallery, open from 9 to 4 (on festas from 10 to 2). There is no catalogue and no special arrangement of the pictures. The greater part of the collection occupies one great gallery, divided at intervals, which count as so many chambers (II. to VI). The 7th room is entered from the oval in the middle of the gallery and leads to a number of small chambers which surround a courtyard. The pictures are not hung as they are numbered.* We should notice Room II. 38. Jacopo Loschi (1471). Virgin throned, with angels. 50. Cristofero Caselli, detto Il Temporello (1499). Virgin and Child with S. J. Baptist and S. Paul the Hermit. 47. Pierilario Mazzola (1538). Virgin and Child with saints. 45. Alessandro Araldi (1465). Annunciation. 44. Parmigianino. Marriage of the Virgin. 35. Mich. Ang. Anselmi (1491-1554). Virgin and Child in glory with saints. 31.* Correggio. La Madonna della Scala. A fresco originally on the wall of a chapel near the Porta Romana. It takes its name from the ladder introduced in the background. 30. Girolamo Mazzola (1503--68). Virgin and Child, with angels, in a grove of flowers, S. John asleep in the foreground. A very lovely and original picture. 27, 28, 79, 80, 81. Gir. Mazzola. Five life-size figures of saints. 76. Parmigianino (Francesco Mazzola, 1503--40). Virgin and Child with S. Jerome and S. Benedict. A most beautiful picture. The order of the hanging is followed here. PINACOTECA OF PARMA. 68. Girolamo Mazzola. S. Gregory and S. Augustine. 61. Fortunato Gatti (1648). Virgin and Child with S. Bruno and S. James. Room III. (the Oval Hall) contains: Two gigantic statues of basalt on the right, Hercules; on the left, Bacchus with Ampelos ; found in 1724 on the Palatine at Rome. Room IV-VI. (beginning on left). 120. Bart. Schidone (1560--1615). Entombment. 122. Ludovico da Parma (1469-1540). Virgin with S. Catherine and S. Sebastian. The Deposition. 123. F. Francia. 130.* F. Francia. "La Madonna di San Vitale." The Virgin and Child with saints. The infant S. John points to the throned group. Two female saints adore; Scholastica holds a book, on which her white dove rests; the Child turns to S. Catherine. Two male saints, Benedict and Placidus, seem to guard the picture with their croziers. 133. Schidone. The Holy Women finding the Angel at the Sepulchre. 134.* Lodovico Caracci (1555-1619). The Funeral of the Virgin. Her figure, in grand repose, is carried by the weeping Apostles with lighted torches; the sweeping-onwards look of the figures is quite magnificent. 158. Fra Paolo da Pistoia. Adoration of the Magi. 203. Josaphat Aldis. S. Sebastian. The arrow in the forehead is unusual. 188. Agostino Caracci (1558--1601) Virgin and saints. 209-212. Agostino Caracci. Copies of the frescoes of Correggio at S. Giovanni. 231. Tintoret. The Entombment. "In the gallery at Parma there is a canvas of Tintoret's whose sublimity of conception and grandeur of colour are seen in the highest perfection, by their opposition to the morbid and vulgar sentimentalism of Correggio. It is an entombment of Christ, with a landscape distance. Dwelling on the peculiar force of the event before him, as the fulfilment of the final prophecy respecting the passion, 'He made his grave with the wicked and with the rich in his death,' Tintoret desires to direct the mind of the spectator to the receiving of the body of Christ, in its contrast with the houseless birth and the desert life. And, therefore, behind the ghastly tomb grass that shakes its black and withered ITALIAN CITIES. blades above the rocks of the sepulchre, there is seen, not the actual material distance of the spot itself (though the crosses are shown faintly), but that to which the thoughtful spirit would return in vision, a desert place, where the foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, and against the barred twilight of the melancholy sky are seen the mouldering beams and shattered roofing of a ruined cattle-shed, the canopy of the Nativity."-Ruskin, "Modern Painters," ii. 164. 165. Guercino. Virgin and Child with S. Francis and S. Chiara. 166. Lod. Caracci. The Apostles at the empty tomb of the Virgin. 160. Annibale Caracci. The Dead Christ with saints. At the end of the gallery is a seated statue of Maria Louisa as Concord, by Canova. Room VIII. (entered on right from the Oval hall). 297, 303. Gir. Mazzola. Portraits of Alessandro Farnese and his wife. 300. Antonio Moro. A portrait. 312, 314, 315. Portraits attributed to Velasquez. Room IX. (hung with green silk, stamped with A A in honour of "Antonio Allegri"). 350.* Correggio. "La Madonna della Scodella." So called from the dish in the hand of the Virgin, being the arms of the Scodellari, for whom the picture was painted. "The dreamy lights in the mysterious wood, the charming heads, and the indescribable beauty of the whole treatment cause us to forget that this picture is essentially composed for the colour, and is exceedingly indistinct in its motives."-Burckhardt. Room X. Drawings of Toschi and his pupils from the frescoes of Correggio. Here study the invisible cupolas. Room XI. 351. Correggio. "La Madonna di San Girolamo," so called from the prominent figure of S. Jerome. PINACOTECA OF PARMA. 223 "The astonishing execution cannot outweigh the great material deficiencies. The attitude of Jerome is affected and insecure. Correggio is never happy in grand things: the child who beckons to the angel turning over the book, and plays with the hair of the Magdalen, is inconceivably ugly, as also the Putto, who smells at the vase of ointment of the Magdalen. Only this latter figure is inexpressibly beautiful, and shows, in the way she bends down, the highest sensibility for a particular kind of female grace.”--Burckhardt. Louis XVIII. vainly tempted Maria Louisa, in her sorest poverty, by the offer of a million of francs, to allow this picture to remain in the Louvre. Room XII. (by a door in the silk hanging). Exquisite drawings of Toschi, &c., after Correggio. Room XIII. 360.* Cima da Conegliano. Virgin and Child throned with saints. 361.* Id. Virgin and Child with S. Michael and S. Andrew. 362.* Leonardo da Vinci. A most lovely head. 352 Correggio. The Maries with the Dead Christ. 253. Id. The Martyrdom of S. Placidus and S. Flavia. Holbein. Portrait of Erasmus.
Her hair, which she dressed with so much taste and propriety, had been cut off close to the skin. She was tossing from side to side, seeking in vain to alleviate a raging fever. She was told who had come to see her. The name was repeated once or twice, but it only excited a vacant gaze. We would gladly have directed her thoughts, even then, to the Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the world, but, alas! her thoughts ran wild. The season of preparation had gone, she sank rapidly to the grave, and when the Sabbath-school assembled again, Catherine, who was with them in full life and health on the previous Sabbath, was an inhabitant of the world of spirits! Her grave-stone, inscribed with the simple record of her name and age, prepared by a Sabbath-school friend, is to be seen in the old grave-yard at on the banks of the Connecticut. What may be her condition in the world of spirits, I know not; but would she not have been wiser, had she sought after peace with God when she had health and strength? She might have served God, without abating at all the innocent and joyous sports and youthful recreations appropriate to childhood. The buoyant step, the merry laugh and the gleeful voice, are not for-will, to a great extent, fail. You may send out Bibles bidden to us, nor is the highest enjoyment of as on the wings of the wind, scatter religious tracts life inconsistent with the most sacred duties of like the leaves of the forest, and even preach the gosreligion. So far from cutting off a single source pel, not only in the house of God, but at the corner of pleasure, piety opens to the youthful Chris- business, travelling, and amusements, and attend to of every street-if men will not stop their worldly tian sources of enjoyment of which the world the voice which speaks to them from heaven, the is ignorant. It sanctifies them all for our cares of the world, the deceitfulness of riches, and the advancement in bliss, prepares for life or for pride of life, will choke all these means, and render death, and gives us the blessed assurance that them unfruitful. Such men do not avail themselves whether they live or die, it shall be well with efficacy to moral influence, and which he blesses by of the institution which God has appointed to give his Spirit for that purpose. On the other hand, men who keep the Sabbath feel its benign effects. Even the external observance of it is, to a great extent, connected with external morality; while its internal as well as external observance will promote purity of heart and life. SABBATH FACTS. THE great evil of transgressing the law of the Sabbath is on the heart. Man is a moral, as well as an intellectual, being. His excellence, his usefulness, and his happiness, depend chiefly on his character. To the right formation and proper culture of this the Sabbath is essential. Without it, all other means them. CHRIST AND THE LEPER. BY HON. EDMUND PHIPPS. LOATIISOME, an outcast, doomed to solitude, Or, worse than solitude, to share the fate With loathsome outcasts like himself, he stood A leper, all alone, without the gate; When, lo! the Master comes: where all of late Had been despair and hopeless misery, Beamed a bright ray upon his darkened state: At once he felt a great High Priest was nigh, A Priest who could be touched with his infirmity. Of "Be thou clean!" Spotless at once and free From taint, his weary heart he could divest Of its whole burden; in society Free from thenceforth to mingle, or to rest 'Mid beings long unseen, whom he had loved the best. Fancy would vainly strive to paint his grief When suffering, his earnestness of prayer For help, or the glad joy of his relief: But we may know and feel it; we may share Each of these rying moods-this deep despair, This earnest longing to be healed, this joy When made the subjects of His heavenly care. Who is there, gracious Lord, that might not cry, "Such leprosy is mine, such need of thee have I? "Behold me with the leprosy of sin, Tainted like him; condemned to herd with those Who, with fair outside, are more foul within Than he whom thou didst heal; to seek repose, And seek it all in vain, as one who knows He must be exiled from the blessed scene Of saints made perfect: such my weight of woes! My want, my hope, my prayer by thee are seen; Look on me! If thou wilt, Lord, thou canst make me clean." Of twelve hundred and thirty-two convicts, who had been committed to the Auburn State Prison previously to the year 1838, four hundred and forty-seven had been watermen-either boatmen or sailorsmen who, to a great extent, had been kept at work on the Sabbath, and thus deprived of the rest and privileges of that day. Of those twelve hundred and thirty-two convicts, only twenty-six had conscientiously kept the Sabbath. Of fourteen hundred and fifty, who had been committed to that prison previously to 1839, five hundred THE CHRISTIAN TREASURY and sixty-three had been of the same class of men; and of the whole, only twenty-seven had kept the Sabbath. Of sixteen hundred and fifty-three, who had been committed to that prison previously to 1840, six hundred and sixty had been watermen, and twenty-nine only had kept the Sabbath. Of two hundred and three, who were committed in one year, ninety-seven had been watermen, and only two out of the whole had conscientiously kept the Sabbath. Thus it appears, from official documents, that, while the watermen were but a small proportion of the whole population, they furnished a very large proportion of the convicts; much larger, it is believed, than they would have done had they enjoyed the rest and privileges of the Christian Sabbath. It appears, also, that nearly all the convicts were Sabbathbreakers-men who disregarded the duties and neglected the privileges of that blessed day. The watermen had been kept at work, in many cases, under the delusive plea that, should they be permitted to rest on the Sabbath, they would become more wicked-an idea which facts, under the means of grace, show to be false. On the Delaware and Hudson Canal, on which are more than seven hundred boats, the experiment has been tried. The directors were told, at first, that should they not open the locks on the Sabbath, the men would congregate in large numbers, and would become more wicked than if they should continue to pursue their ordinary business; but the result is directly the reverse. Since the locks have not been opened, and official business has not been transacted on the Lord's-day, the men have become more moral as well as more healthy, and the interests of all have been manifestly promoted by the change. Let any class of men enjoy the rest and privileges of the Sabbath, and the effects will prove that it "was made for man," by Him who made man; and who, in view of all its consequences, especially as the great means of giving efficacy to moral government, with truth pronounced it " very good." On the other hand, take away from man the influence of the Sabbath and its attendant means of grace, and you take away the safeguard of his soul; you bar up the highway of moral influence, and lay him open to the incursions and conquests of Satan and his legions. Thus man becomes an easy prey, and is led captive by the adversary at his will. Of one hundred men admitted into the Massachusetts State Prison in one year, eighty-nine had lived in habitual violation of the Sabbath and neglect of public worship.
Rents are always low in the country for unfurnished nouses; and even for the country, Low Brathay was a cheap house; but it contained everything for comfort, nothing at all for splendor. Consequently, a very large part of their income was disposable for purposes of hospitality; and, when I first knew them, Low Brathay was distinguished above every other house at the head of Windermere, or within ten miles of that neighborhood, by the judicious assortment of its dinner parties, and the gayety of its soirées dansantes. These parties were never crowded; poor L- rarely danced himself; but it gladdened his benevolent heart to see the young and blooming floating through the mazes of the dances then fashionable, whilst he sat by looking on, at times, with pleasure from his sympathy with the pleasure of others; at times pursuing some animated discussion with a literary friend; at times lapsing into profound reverie. At some of these dances it was that I first saw Wilson of Elleray, (Professor Wilson,) in circumstances of animation, and buoyant with youthful spirits, under the excitement of lights, wine, and, above all, of female company. He, by the way, was the best male dancer (not professional) I have ever seen; and this advantage he owed entirely to the extraordinary strength of his foot in all its parts, to its peculiarly happy conformation, and to the accuracy of his ear; for, as to instruction, I have often understood from his fam. ily that he never had any. Here also danced the future wife of Professor Wilson, Miss Jane P, at that time the leading belle of the Lake country. But, perhaps, the most interesting person in those parties, from the peculiar ity of her situation, was Mrs. L- herself, still young and, indeed, not apparently exceeding in years most o OHARLES LLOYD. 521 her unmarried visitors; still dancing and moving through cotillons, or country dances, as elegantly and as lightly as the youngest of the company; still framing her countenance to that expression of cheerfulness which hospitality required; but stealing for ever troubled glances to the sofa, or the recess, where her husband had reclined himself, dark, foreboding looks, that saw but too truly the coming darkness which was soon to swallow up every vestige of this festal pleasure. She looked upon herself and her children too clearly as a doomed household; and such, in some sense, they were. And, doubtless, to poor L-- himself, it must a thousandfold have aggravated his sufferings that he could trace, with a steady eye, the continual growth of that hideous malady which was stealing over the else untroubled azure of his life, and with inaudible foot was hastening onwards for ever to that night in which no man can work, and in which no man can hope. It was so painful to Charles L-, naturally, to talk much about his bodily sufferings, and it would evidently have been so unfeeling in one who had no medical counsels to offer, if, for the mere gratification of his curiosity, he had asked for any circumstantial account of its nature or symptoms, that I am at this moment almost as much at a loss to understand what was the mode of suffering which it produced, how it operated, and through what organs, as any of my readers can be. All that I know is this: - For several years six or seven, suppose the disease expressed itself by intense anguish of irritation; not an irritation that gnawed at any one local spot, but diffused 'tself; sometimes causing a determination of blood to the head, then shaping itself in a general sense of plethoric congestion in the blood-vessels, then again remoulding tself into a restlessness that became insupporta ɔle; REMINISCENCES. LITERARY preying upon the spirits and the fortitude, and finding no permanent relief or periodic interval of rest, night or day. Sometimes L used robust exercise, riding on horseback as fast as he could urge the horse forward; sometimes, for many weeks together, he walked for twenty miles, or even more, at a time; sometimes (this was in the earlier stages of the case) he took large doses of ether; sometimes he used opium, and, I believe, in very large quantities; and I understood him to say that, for a time, it subdued the excess of irritability, and the agonizing accumulation of spasmodic strength which he felt for ever growing upon him, and, as it were, upon the very surface of his whole body. But all remedies availed him nothing; and once he said to me, when we were out upon the hills -Ay, that landscape below, with its quiet cottage, looks lovely, I dare say, to you: as for me, I see it, but I feel it not at all; for, if I begin to think of the happiness, and its various modes which, no doubt, belong to the various occupants, according to their ages and hopes, then I could begin to feel it; but it would be a painful effort to me; and the worst of all would be, when I had felt it; for that would so sharpen the prospect before me, that just such happiness, which naturally ought to be mine, is soon on the point of slipping away from me for ever.' Afterwards he told me that his situation internally was always this it seemed to him as if on some distant road he heard a dull trampling sound, and that he knew it, by a misgiving, to be the sound of some man, or party of men, continually advancing slowly, continually threatening, or continually accusing him; that all the various artifices which he practised for cheating himself into mfort, or beguiling his sad forebodings, were, in fact, but like so many furious attempts, by drum and trumpets, or even by artillery, to drown the distant noise of his 1 CHARLES LLOYD. 523 enemies; that, every now and then, mere curiosity, or rather breathless anxiety, caused him to hush the artificial din, and to put himself into the attitude of listening again; when, again and again, and so he was sure it would still be, he caught the sullen and accursed sound, trampling and voices of men, or whatever it were, still steadily advancing, though still perhaps at a great distance. It was too evident that derangement of the intellect, in some shape, was coming on; because slight and transient fits of aberration from his perfect mind, had already, at intervals, overtaken him; flying showers, from the skirts of the clouds, that precede and announce the main storm. This was the anguish of his situation, that, for years, he saw before him what was on the road to overwhelm his faculties and his happiness. Still his fortitude did not wholly forsake him, and, in fact, proved to be far greater than I or others had given him credit for possessing. Once only he burst suddenly into tears, on hearing the innocent voices of his own children laughing, and of one especially who was a favorite; and he told me that sometimes, when this little child took his hand and led him passively about the garden, he had a feeling that prompted him (however weak and foolish it seemed) to call upon this child for protection; and that it seemed to him as if he might still escape, could he but surround himself only with children. No doubt this feeling arose out of his sense that a confusion was stealing over his thoughts, and that men would soon find this out to be madness, and would deal with him accordingly; whereas children, as long as he did them no harm, would see no reason for shutting him up from his ɔwn fireside, and from the human face divine. It would be too painful to pursue the unhappy case through all its stages. For a long time, the derangement of poor L-'s mind was but partia. and fluctuating; LITERARY REMINISCENCES. and it was the opinion of Professor Wilson, from what he had observed, that it was possible to recall him to himself by firmly opposing his delusions. He certainly, on his own part, did whatever he could to wean his thoughts from gloomy contemplation, by pre-occupying them with cheerful studies, and such as might call out his faculties.
THE WORKS OF TENNYSON of THE WORKS OF ALFRED TENNYSON POET LAUREATE VOL. III. THE PRINCESS AND OTHER POEMS HENRY S. KING & CO., LONDON 23483.7 1875, March 11. Phapuiigh fund. (The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved) HE PRINCESS. Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington . The Third of February, 1852 CONTENTS. The Charge of the Light Brigade Ode sung at the Opening of the International Exhi bition A Welcome to Alexandra A Welcome to Marie Alexandrovna, Duchess of Edinburgh The Grandmother Northern Farmer. Old Style. Northern Farmer. New Style The Daisy To the Rev. F. D. Maurice Will. In the Valley of Cauteretz In the Garden at Swainston The Flower Requiescat The Sailor Boy The Islet . 177 • 193 196 Page 200 203 205 209 221 229 237 245 249 251 252 254 256 257 259 vi CONTENTS. The Spiteful Letter . Literary Squabbles The Victim Wages The Higher Pantheism The Voice and the Peak. "Flower in the crannied wall' A Dedication . The Window EXPERIMENTS. Boadicea. In Quantity Specimen of a Translation of the Iliad in Blank Verse Page 262 264 266 271 273 276 279 280 283 291 294 297 THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY. III. THE PRINCESS; A MEDLEY. By PROLOGUE. IR Walter Vivian all a summer's day Gave his broad lawns until the set of sun Up to the people: thither flock'd at noon His tenants, wife and child, and thither half The neighbouring borough with their Institute Of which he was the patron. I was there From college, visiting the son,--the son A Walter too,-with others of our set, Five others: we were seven at Vivian-place. And me that morning Walter show'd the house, Greek, set with busts: from vases in the hall B 2 PROLOGUE. Flowers of all heavens, and lovelier than their names, Grew side by side; and on the pavement lay Carved stones of the Abbey-ruin in the park, Huge Ammonites, and the first bones of Time; And on the tables every clime and age Jumbled together; celts and calumets, Claymore and snowshoe, toys in lava, fans Of sandal, amber, ancient rosaries, Laborious orient ivory sphere in sphere, The cursed Malayan crease, and battle-clubs From the isles of palm: and higher on the walls, Betwixt the monstrous horns of elk and deer, His own forefathers' arms and armour hung. And "this" he said "was Hugh's at Agincourt; And that was old Sir Ralph's at Ascalon : A good knight he! we keep a chronicle With all about him "-which he brought, and I Dived in a hoard of tales that dealt with knights, Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings Who laid about them at their wills and died; And mixt with these, a lady, one that arm'd OGUE. PROLOGUE. and lovelier than their n the pavement lay ey-ruin in the park, - first bones of Time; ime and age and calumets, ys in lava, fans osaries, re in sphere, and battle-clubs higher on the walls, s of elk and deer, d armour hung. igh's at Agincourt; at Ascalon : chronicle e brought, and I dealt with knights, ts and kings vills and died; ne that arm'd Her own fair head, and sallying thro' the gate, Had beat her foes with slaughter from her walls. "O miracle of women," said the book, "O noble heart who, being strait-besieged By this wild king to force her to his wish, Nor bent, nor broke, nor shunn'd a soldier's death, But now when all was lost or seem'd as lost- Her stature more than mortal in the burst Of sunrise, her arm lifted, eyes on fire- Brake with a blast of trumpets from the gate, And, falling on them like a thunderbolt, She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, And some were whelm'd with missiles of the wall, And some were push'd with lances from the rock, And part were drown'd within the whirling brook : O miracle of noble womanhood! So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all rapt in this, "Come out," he said, "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister Lilia with the rest." We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) PROLOGUE. Down thro' the park: strange was the sight to me; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown With happy faces and with holiday. There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: The patient leaders of their Institute Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone And drew, from butts of water on the slope, The fountain of the moment, playing now A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball Danced like a wisp and somewhat lower down A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon: Echo answer'd in her sleep From hollow fields: and here were telescopes For azure views; and there a group of girls In circle waited, whom the electric shock Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter: round the lake A little clock-work steamer paddling plied And shook the lilies: perch'd about the knolls A dozen angry models jetted steam: A petty railway ran: a fire-balloon LOGUE. PROLOGUE. range was the sight to me; ure murmur'd, sown with holiday. tude, a thousand heads: heir Institute Is. One rear'd a font of of water on the slope, oment, playing now now a rain of pearls, reon the gilded ball nd somewhat lower down I wires and vials fired er'd in her sleep nd here were telescopes there a group of girls the electric shock and laughter: round the amer paddling plied perch'd about the knolls s jetted steam: a fire-balloon Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves And dropt a fairy parachute and past : And there thro' twenty posts of telegraph They flash'd a saucy message to and fro Between the mimic stations; so that sport Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere Pure sport: a herd of boys with clamour bowl'd And stump'd the wicket; babies roll'd about Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light And shadow, while the twangling violin Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy-claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden lawn: And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, PROLOGUE. And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, Half child half woman as she was, had wound A scarf of orange round the stony helm, And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook Glow like a sunbeam: near his tomb a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt Took this fair day for text, and from it preach'd An universal culture for the crowd, And all things great; but we, unworthier, told Of college: he had climb'd across the spikes, And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, And he had breath'd the Proctor's dogs; and one Discuss'd his tutor, rough to common men, But honeying at the whisper of a lord; And one the Master, as a rogue in grain Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory. LOGUE. PROLOGUE. , and lady friends and there was Ralph against the wall, wild with sport, as she was, had wound d the stony helm, ers in a rosy silk, rrior from his ivied nook near his tomb a feast ut it lay the guests, em: then the maiden Aunt text, and from it preach'd or the crowd, but we, unworthier, told mb'd across the spikes, himself betwixt the bars, he Proctor's dogs; and one igh to common men, hisper of a lord; s a rogue in grain onious theory. But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad ; which brought My book to mind: and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where,"
The British had little success in their early dealings with the Chinese. An embassy for commercial purposes was sent by that government to Pekin, in 1793, which led to no results of importance. Another, in 1816, was still more unfortunate, being dismissed abruptly from the capital on the very day of its arrival, owing to the disregard of a point of etiquette by the British envoy. A few years since, that nation became involved in hostilities with the Chinese, from a cause which had hardly been foreseen the opium trade. The Chinese government, being determined to prohibit the introduction of that commodity into the empire, _____ THE CHINESE. seized and destroyed, as contraband, an immense amount of it, belonging to British merchants. The British demanded an indemnity, which being refused, they bombarded Canton, and forced the inhabitants to ransom it for six millions of dollars. Hostilities were continued till 1843, when a treaty was concluded, providing for the payment of the indemnity, and the cession to the British of the island of Hong-Kong, on the coast of China. By this treaty, also, several ports of China are thrown open to all nations; and the probable result will be, an extended intercourse of the European nations with that empire; which can hardly fail to bring about, in process of time, important changes in its social and political institutions. The present emperor of China, Taou-kwang, was born in 1782, and is a grandson of Kien-long, already mentioned. He succeeded his profligate father, Keaking, in 1820, upon which occasion he issued a proclamation, of which the following is an extract : "My sacred and indulgent father had, in the year that he began to rule alone, silently settled that the divine utensil, the throne, should devolve on my contemptible person. I, knowing the feebleness of my virtue, at first felt much afraid I should not be competent to the office; but on reflecting that the sages, my ancestors, have left to posterity their plans; that his late majesty has laid the duty on me, - and Heaven's throne should not be long vacant, -- I have done violence to my feelings, and forced myself to intermit awhile my heartfelt grief, that I may with reverence obey the unalterable decree; and on the 27th of the 8th moon, October 3d, I purpose devoutly to announce She LEERS Taou-Kwang. THE CHINESE. the event to heaven, to earth, to my ancestors, and to the gods of the land, and of the sit down on the imperial throne. the first of Taou-kwang." grain, and shall then Let the next year be The reign of this emperor has not been marked with great events, excepting those already mentioned. He has several sons; his fourth, the heir apparent, was born in 1831. THE WAHABEES. THE wide and arid province of Nedjid, in the centre of Arabia, was not only the first cradle of Islamism, but the country where, in after ages, the doctrine of Mahomet remained most exempt from adulteration. The roving members of the tribes of Anaksse, of Kaibar and Tai, scattered in small communities over an extended and sterile surface, had but little communication with each other, and no intercourse with strangers. They were neither sufficiently numerous nor stationary to breed religious ferments in their own bosoms, and they lived too far removed from foreign influence to receive the infection of new and heretical doctrines from without. Their erratic mode of life allowed neither time nor inclination to burden, with idle speculations and difficulties, the simplicity of their original creed, nor to establish a cumbrous hierarchy and a complicated ritual. The text of the Prophet was their only rule, the surface of the desert their only temple, and the sheik, or leader, of each tribe its only priest. Constant motion, to which the stream owes its limpidity, preserved the faith of the Arabs from alloy, and their practices from corruption; they transmitted the Koran to their posterity, as they had received it from their ancestors, in all its primitive purity, unchanged by expla- THE WAHABEES. nations, and unperverted by comments. It is true that the very circumstance of their rejecting the distinctive forms of any particular mode of worship facilitated their assimilating with whatever sect they were casually associated, either in the pursuits of business or by pleas- The ramification of Islamism, to whose shade the care of their flocks or the conduct of their caravans brought them nearest, was that under which they outwardly ranged themselves. ure. The lapse of time wrought material changes in the doctrines of Islamism; but whatever abhorrence or contempt might be felt for the absurd dogmas and su perstitious practices which these innovations added to the precepts of the Koran, such feelings could only be cherished by the lonely inhabitant of the desert, in the recesses of his bosom. He neither had the means to collect his own meditations into a regular code of doc trine, nor to preach them to other nations. But when these same opinions insensibly penetrated from the sterile plains of the Nedjid into the hilly and fertile district of Ared, what had remained a vague and insulated sentiment among thinly-scattered tribes, pitching their tents at random, amid a stationary population, crowded in towns and villages, became condensed into positive precepts, and a peculiar code, which enabled its adherents distinctly to mark their separation from the rest of the Mahometans. This happened towards the close of the seventeenth century. At that period, the district of Ayani was ruled by a sheik of the name of Soleiman, a descendant from the noble family of the Koreish, now reduced to a few obscure individuals, whence sprung the Prophet. This sheik derived a THE WAHABEES. 263 considerable income from the numerous herds of camels which he let out to the Mahometans of India, who yearly disembarked at Katif, and traversed Ared on their way to Mecca. But, although loaded with riches, he long remained unblessed with progeny. In his old age, and when he no longer had any hopes of offspring, Heaven bestowed on him a son. Every species of prodigy is said to have announced and accompanied the birth of this wonderful child. A great earthquake made every mosque that rests upon the ground shake to its foundations, and every minaret that shoots up in air, topple on its base; and while, during several successive nights, cities, villages, castles, and fields, shone with a supernatural and brilliant light, the lamps which burned in the sepulchral chapels of Mahomet and of the other saints were dimmed and went out preternaturally, in spite of imams and snuffers. The Wahabees affirm that these miracles are so well attested that no one can doubt them except determined and obstinate unbelievers. Abd-el- Wahab, or the "Slave of the Most High," was the name given to the infant for whom Heaven seemed to have reserved such lofty destinies. In his youth he was sent to study law in the most celebrated seminaries of Damascus, where he learned from the orthodox Mahometans themselves to attack the corruptions introduced into their creed. He no sooner returned to his home than he began to preach the necessity of a thorough reformation, and took upon himself the character of a Mahometan Martin Luther. His doctrine has been sometimes represented as pure Deism; but nothing can be more erroneous. He main- THE WAHABEES. tained not only the divine origin of the Koran, but he might even be said to enhance the importance of the sacred text by asserting that it was able, alone, to supply all the spiritual wants of the faithful, without any adventitious aid, and by divesting of the smallest remnant of authority every article of faith, or rule of conduct, since added to the Book sent from heaven, either by the Prophet himself, or by any of the later doctors of Islamism. Wahab, indeed, although he regarded the Koran as received directly from the Most
in one corner began to gibber and mow at me. A cloak of strange cut, stretched on a wooden stand, deceived me for an instant into thinking that there was a third person present; while the table, heaped with dolls and powderpuffs, dog-collars and sweet-meats, a mask, a woman's slipper, a pair of pistols, some potions, a scourge, and an immense quantity of like litter, had as melancholy an appearance in my eyes as the king himself, whose disorder the light disclosed without mercy. His turban was awry, and betrayed the premature baldness of his scalp. The paint on his cheeks was cracked and stained, and had soiled the gloves he wore. He looked fifty years old; and in his excitement he had tugged his sword to the front, whence it refused to be thrust back. 'Who sent you here?' he asked, when he had so far recovered his senses as to recognise me, which he did with great surprise. 'I am here, sire,' I answered evasively, 'to place myself at your Majesty's service.' 'Such loyalty is rare,' he answered, with a bitter sneer. 'But stand up, sir. I suppose I must be thankful for small mercies, and, losing a Mercoeur, be glad to receive a Marsac.' 'By your leave, sire,' I rejoined hardily, the exchange is not so adverse. Your Majesty may make another duke when you will. But honest men are not so easily come by.' 'So! so!' he answered, looking at me with a fierce light in his eyes. 'You remind me in season. I may still make and unmake! I am still King of France? That is so, sirrah, is it not?' 'God forbid that it should be otherwise!' I answered earnestly. It is to lay before your Majesty certain means by which you may give fuller effect to your wishes that I am here. The King of Navarre desires only, sire--' Tut, tut!' he exclaimed impatiently, and with some displeasure, 'I know his will better than you, man. But you see,' he continued cunningly, forgetting my inferior position as quickly as he had remembered it, 'Turenne promises well, too. And Turenne-it is true he may play the Lorrainer. But if I trust Henry of Navarre, and he prove false to me- He did not complete the sentence, but strode to and fro a time or two, his mind, which had a natural inclination towards crooked courses, bent on some scheme by which he might play off the one party against the other. Apparently he was not very successful in finding one, however; or else the ill-luck with which he had supported the League against the Huguenots recurred to his mind. For he presently stopped, with a sigh, and came back to the point. 'If I knew that Turenne were lying,' he muttered, ‘then indeed. But Rosny promised evidence, and he has sent me none.' 'It is at hand, sire,' I answered, my heart beginning to beat. 'Your Majesty will remember that M. de Rosny honoured me with the task of introducing it to you.' .6 'To be sure,' he replied, awaking as from a dream, and looking and speaking eagerly. Matters to-day have driven everything out of my head. Where is your witness, man? Convince me, and we will act promptly. We will give them Jarnac and Moncontour over again. Is he outside?' 'It is a woman, sire,' I made answer, dashed somewhat by his sudden and feverish alacrity. 'A woman, eh? You have her here?' 'No, sire,' I replied, wondering what he would say to my next piece of information. 'She is in Blois, she has arrived, but the truth is I humbly crave your Majesty's indulgence -she refuses to come or speak. I cannot well bring her here by force, and I have sought you, sire, for the purpose of taking your commands in the matter.' He stared at me in the utmost astonishment. 'Is she young?' he asked after a long pause. 'Yes, sire,' I answered. She is maid of honour to the Princess of Navarre, and a ward also of the Vicomte de Turenne.' R 2 'Gad! then she is worth hearing, the little rebel!' he replied. 'A ward of Turenne's is she? Ho! ho! And now she will not speak? My cousin of Navarre now would know how to bring her to her senses, but I have eschewed these vanities. I might send and have her brought, it is true; but a very little thing would cause a barricade to-night.' 'And besides, sire,' I ventured to add, 'she is known to Turenne's people here, who have once stolen her away. Were she brought to your Majesty with any degree of openness, they would learn it, and know that the game was lost.' 'Which would not suit me,' he answered, nodding and looking at me gloomily. They might anticipate our Jarnac; and until we have settled matters with one or the other our person is not too secure. You must go and fetch her. She is at your lodging. She must be brought, man.' 'I will do what you command, sire,' I answered. I am greatly afraid that she will not come.' 'But He lost his temper at that. Then why, in the devil's name, have you troubled me with the matter?' he cried savagely. 'God knows-I don't-why Rosny employed such a man and such a woman. He might have seen from the cut of your cloak, sir, which is full six months behind the fashion, that you could not manage a woman! Was ever such damnable folly heard of in this world? But it is Navarre's loss, not mine. It is his loss. And I hope to Heaven it may be yours too!' he added fiercely. There was so much in what he said that I bent before the storm, and accepted with humility blame which was as natural on his part as it was undeserved on mine. Indeed I could not wonder at his Majesty's anger; nor should I have wondered at it in a greater man. I knew that but for reasons, on which I did not wish to dwell, I should have shared it to the full, and spoken quite as strongly of the caprice which ruined hopes and lives for a whim. The king continued for some time to say to me all the hard things he could think of. Wearied at last by my patience, he paused, and cried angrily. 'Well, have you nothing to say for yourself? Can you suggest nothing?' 'I dare not mention to your Majesty,' I said humbly, 'what seems to me to be the only alternative.' 666 'You mean that I should go to the wench!' he answered -for he did not lack quickness. "Se no va el otero a Mahoma, vaya Mahoma al otero," as Mendoza says. But the saucy quean, to force me to go to her! Did my wife guess-but there, I will go. By God I will go!' he added abruptly and fiercely. 'I will live to ruin Retz yet! Where is your lodging?' I told him, wondering much at this flash of the old spirit, which twenty years before had won him a reputation his later life did nothing to sustain. 'Do you know,' he asked, speaking with sustained energy and clearness, 'the door by which M. de Rosny entered to talk with me? Can you find it in the dark?' 'Yes, sire,' I answered, my heart beating high. 'Then be in waiting there two hours before midnight,' he replied. Be well armed, but alone. I shall know how to make the girl speak. I can trust you, I suppose?' he added suddenly, stepping nearer to me and looking fixedly into my eyes. 'I will answer for your Majesty's life with my own,' I replied, sinking on one knee. 6 'I believe you, sir,' he answered gravely, giving me his hand to kiss, and then turning away. So be it. Now leave me. You have been here too long already. Not a word to any one as you value your life.' I made fitting answer and was leaving him; but when I had my hand already on the curtain, he called me back. 'In Heaven's name get a new cloak!' he said peevishly, eyeing me all over with his face puckered up. 'Get a new cloak, man, the first thing in the morning. It is worse seen from the side than the front. It would ruin the cleverest courtier of them all! ' CHAPTER XXIV.
When the history of that congregation-its struggles and trials-is written, to her will be given no small credit for its present growth and prosperity. Strong in her convictions, tender in her feelings, outspoken in her views, kind in her disposition, unswerving in her friendship, unflagging in her zeal in whatever she undertook, never allowing herself to be discouraged, and with all cautious and prudent, seldom or never losing control of herself, carefully making her calculations and arranging her plans, she was loved and trusted by those who were favored with her friendship, and esteemed and respected by those who differed most widely from her. Firmly believing in the principles she professed, although for years sorely tempted and incessantly importuned to abandon them and leave the church of her fathers, she never for a moment thought of yielding, but maintained amid all discouragements her position consistently, and in the end had the satisfaction of seeing her course signally vindicated. Although ever ready to yield when she could consistently, for the sake of peace, she would allow no one to trample upon her with impunity. Only a short time before her death she resisted, and successfully, at the civil law, the efforts of one who should have befriended her, to rob her of her little income. She was almost fearless. The man did not live who could prevent her giving her opinion, and, if necessary, administering a rebuke, if she was convinced duty required it. Her physical courage was remarkable. A year or so before her death, being then about eighty years of age, she heard, one night about two o'clock, a burglar trying to force an entrance at the front door. She hurried down stairs, grasped the poker, took a position by the door, and demanded through the key-hole what was wanted. She then told the party outside that if he dared to enter she would break his skull with the poker; and she would have done it. She then quietly awakened a man in the back part of the house, sent him for a policeman, and kept the burglar in suspense as to her movements till the policeman came and arrested him. Her nervous system was not in the least affected by the incident. The sincerity of her friendship, no one that knew her questioned. She would allow no person to utter a word against her friends, with impunity, in her presence; and yet she was not blind to their faults, or slow to reprove if she thought a reproof necessary. Her "smiting" however did not "break the head," but was generally received as always intended for a kindness. She was a truly liberal woman. There was nothing mean or stingy about her. She gave to every good cause that commended itself to her. So far as the [Feb. Obituaries. writer knows, she never refused to make a contribution for worthy benevolent purposes when solicited. Instead of complaining that calls were so frequent and demands so urgent, her regret always was that she could not do more, and her kind word of encouragement, invariably, "when you need more come again." She never regretted having given. Through the rascality of one she trusted, she lost a considerable sum of money, and her resources were, as the result, comparatively limited. She did not make, as many do, her distress an excuse for withholding, but endeavored, by making sacrifices in other ways, still to give, and if not able to contribute as largely, she gave as cheerfully as ever. Knowing her conscientiousness, those who had occasion to solicit donations never thought of intimating the amount she could give; they knew she would do what was right She was in the scriptural sense a liberal woman; giving freely, systematically, cheerfully, promptly-providing against the " gatherings,"--and prayerfully. She had a most supreme contempt for those who were destitute of this grace, and expressed herself in regard to such, in very piain, if not always, very polite, language. During her life-time she gave as she could, and by her will made provision for the congregation of which she had been so long an active member, and also for the foreign and domestic missions of the church, in which she was deeply interested Few worshippers were so regular and conscientious in attendance on the ordinances as was she. It can be said of herwhat cannot be said of many; never once, so far as known, was she absent from her place in the church, except for a good reason. She belonged to the Central R. P. Congregation, thoroughly identified herself with it, and, except when kept away by sickness, or some equally good reason, was always present when there was public service. She loved the ordinances and the house of the Lord. Her zeal in all good works never flagged. To the last, she was energetic, persevering, not knowing what discouragement meant. Mountains to others, to her were mole hills. When the weak of faith and timid were hesitating, she had more than once almost half accomplished the work. This trait of character continued as long as she lived, and greatly contributed to her success. Her youthfulness of disposition was most remarkable. She was one of those persons that never grow old. She never outlived her youthfulness, and as the result, she was a great friend with and exerted a steady influence over the young. Her ability to sympathize with all was one great secret of her popularity. Even when she could not agree with plans and measures, she was very careful not to discourage earnest effort, but, by approving as far as possible, tried to divert it into a proper channel, and she rarely failed in her endeavors. Hers was a wise and good life. Had she desired simply to be long and favorably remem bered, she could have adopted no better plan. She desired to do her duty, and a blessed name on earth is part of her reward. No wonder all loved her, and now that she is gone, greatly miss her. We rejoice, however, in this belief, that hers is the name of the righteous, and her memory will be held in everlasting remembrance. J. W. S. RESOLVED, 1st, That in the sudden death of TILLIE A. M. McCLEAN, we, both teachers and scholars of Wahoo R. P. Sabbath school, of which she was a member feel deeply grieved; yet with humble resignation to this divine dispensation desire to say, "Father thy will be done." Resolved, 2d. That this providence is a loud call to us all to improve well our present opportunity and talents in obedience to the command of Christ--“Occupy till I come, as we know not the day or the hour wherein the Son of Man cometh. Resolved, 3d, That we feel it our duty to extend our sympathy to the bereaved parents, beseeching them to "still trust in God for yet they shall have good cause to praise him." Resolved, 4th, That as teachers and officers we feel impressively called upon by this providence to double our diligence to make our own calling and election sure and prepare those under our care for a home with Jesus in heaven, when he calls us away from time to eternity. Resolved, 5th, That a copy of these resolutions be sent to the REFORMED PRESBYTERIAN AND COVENANTER and also to Our Banner for publication, and that a copy be sent to the bereaved parents, Robert and Mary A. McClean. By order of committee, J. M. LEE, Chairman. 1880.] Obituaries.
We proposed to lay down one or two points, which Christians ought to admit and remember; and then to mention and recommend certain means and appliances, by the use of which the Divine life in man may be preserved and strengthened, or revived and renewed. The first of these objects we in some sort accomplished in our last discourse. We now, therefore, advance to the second, to the indication and enforcement of some of those means by the employment of which Christian men may secure those spiritual influences on which the condition of their religious life depends. Let it, then, in the first place be observed, that much may be done by keeping the mind and heart in contact with truth, and by seeking through prayer that Divine influence on which the power of the truth depends. Every idea in this comprehensive and general statement grows out of the positions which we endeavoured to establish in our previous argument. On the authority of Scripture, we accepted the fact of Divine influence without presuming to question or pretending to explain it. That influence, however, we went so far as to say was not anything of the nature of direct force,-like the hand of God touching and moving the planets; but was something that became potent through the medium of thought-true, Divine thought, enlightening the reason and stirring the soul. We further stated, that that Divine thought, which is instrumentally used by the Holy Spirit, is not communicated to the mind which He enlightens and quickens by it, directly and immediately from himself, but is the truth contained in that Word which has already "been given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness." This being the case, that Word needs to be heard or read, or a knowledge of the truth it contains acquired through ordinary means, that it may thus become available,able to be used by the Divine Agent for the effectuating of His ultimating purpose. The material, so to speak, on which we specially concentrate the action of the mysterious force in this subjective process, is the truth; it is that, which by the Spirit is made to penetrate as light into the intellect, revealing the objective to faith; and to purify and change the current of the affections, directing them towards all that is comprehended in duty. The apprehension of Truth, spiritually discerned, and the energy of Love divinely evoked, constitute the essential elements of the inner life. Both processes depend, for continued action, on the influences of that Divine Agent, who at first reached, through the Word, the reason and the heart; which influence, after once being brought into play, is dispensed according to settled laws, one of these being "the prayer of faith." Out of these positions-each of which, with other correlative points, have been already discussed-naturally issues the practical rule we have just laid down. If the Divine life implies the power and activity of Truth and Love,-if it is promoted by their mutual and united action, or their action and reaction on each other, -if the Holy Spirit uses the truth which is found in the mind, but does not directly put it there,--and if that secret influence by which He makes the truth effective to life, and by which also He opens and adapts our religious nature to the attraction of the truth itself, morally disposing us to receive its impression,-if this is to be obtained or increased by being asked for,--is actually suspended on its being besought, then the obvious, practical conclusion from all this is, that the mind should be kept in contact with the truth, and that influence supplicated which at once gives truth an active power over the soul, and gives to the soul what might be termed a passive power for the full and vivid reception of the truth. As by the truth we mean, in scriptural language, "the things which have been freely given to us of God," the spiritual discoveries and communications of Holy Writ,-what has been "made known to us" by "holy men, who spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost," -made known for the express purpose of being employed by the Spirit in His actings on the inward life of man; we are of course to be understood as recommending you to keep your minds in close contact with all that the Bible reveals to faith. Time, however, would fail us, if we attempted to descend to minute particulars; to show how the Bible may be at one time simply and devoutly read, at others intellectually and carefully studied; to develop its uses as the object of solitary thought,-as the minister of the family,--or as the centre around which a number of Christian people may socially gather for the promotion and enlargement of their scriptural knowledge, by the mutual interchange of their views and impressions; to inquire how far the truth contained in it is to be sought from it directly and exclusively, or through the assistance of other books intended to elucidate it; by what rules other kinds of reading are to be regulated; their effects guarded against, encouraged, or purified. In the same way, time would fail us if we attempted to notice the several topics that might be discussed in referring to prayer ;at what times, and to what extent, it should be attended to; how far the general duty, and the general necessity, may admit of being modified by particular occupations, by pressing circumstances, by customs and habits inseparable from the condition of modern life; how best to regulate the hours of an evening, or of an entire day, which a devout man will sometimes set apart (like Cornelius of old) for very special spiritual engagements, various and protracted, for reading the Scriptures with ampler range than usual; and for a longer period "continuing in prayer, with all perseverance." In the same way, it would require much time to refer particularly to public worship; to insist on the importance of seeking that previous "preparation of the heart" which brings the soul into harmony with the anticipated engagements; which fits it for listening to the Divine voice addressing it through the lesson of the day,-enables it to make the public prayer, whether free or liturgical, while common to all, its own special, individual utterance, and on which it in a great measure depends whether "the ministry of the Word" shall become the means of food and refreshment, consolation and strength, or, how- ever edifying, pungent, or spiritual in itself, be to the hearer only as "sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal." All these minute, though not unimportant considerations and questions, we pass by, and keep to the broad, general rule which we have laid down. Leaving the exact or modified application of it to the sagacity and self-knowledge, the consciousness and experience of each individual, we return to and repeat our original statement. If, then, you would grow in the Divine life,-if you would secure the necessary renewing of the Holy Ghost, day by day, the first rule is, that you must keep the mind in contact with the truth, and keep the channel of Divine influence open by prayer. Different modes of doing the same thing may best suit different people; but one way or another, the thing must be done.
so piquante in its situations, nor so rich and varied in its incidents and pictures; but to make amend for these deficiencies, it is more acute and skilful and various in its delineations of character, more ample and distinct in its deductions, and terser and more vigorous in its dialogue. The story is very simple, being the history of an iron-work, which was established in South Wales under promising circumstances, and flourished remarkably well for some time; but in consequence of the iron trade being overdone, the proprietors were obliged to introduce improved machinery, and to lower the wages of the labourers, which the latter resenting, in a fit of excitement, set fire to some of the buildings and destroyed them: on which the manufactory was totally given up. In the first chapter, we are introduced to an old man of the name of Armstrong, a bit of a humourist, who has quarrelled with the world, in consequence of having been cheated by a partner in business, and retired to a small cottage, where he rigidly secludes himself from society. This old gentleman is mightily annoyed, and no wonder, at the intrusion of the iron-work into his quiet neighbourhood; and a variety of amusing discussions take place on this subject, betwixt him and the calm, clear-headed master of the work, Mr. Wallace; in the course of which, much valuable light is thrown upon some of the doctrines of Political Economy. In the second chapter, we have the "Concern" set a-going, and after describing the other partners, we are thus particularly introduced to Mr. Wallace, the managing partner: "Mr. Wallace never forgot how his little fortune had come to him. He was accustomed to say to his friend Mr. Bernard, that it arose out of labour and grew by means of saving; and that if it was henceforth to increase, it must be in the same way; so he was not sparing of his labour, and was careful to spend less than his income that his capital might grow. "When he came to establish the iron-work, he did not bring all his own capital or that of his partners in the form of money. Their capital was divided into three parts-the implements of labour, the materials on which labour was to be employed, and the subsistence of the labourers; or, which is the same thing, the money which would enable the labourers to purchase their subsistence. In the first division, were comprehended the blast furnace, the refineries, the forge, and mill, with all their machinery, and the tools of the labourers. All these may be termed instruments of labour. In the second division, were reckoned the ironore, the coal and limestone, which were purchased with the estate. In the third division, were included the wages of the work-people. This division of the capital would have remained unaltered, whether the people had been paid for their labour in bread, and clothes, and habitations, or in wages which enabled them to purchase these necessaries. It was merely as a matter of convenience to both parties, that the wages were paid in money; and indeed, in some cases, the men preferred having a cottage and less wages, to more wages and no dwelling. However this matter was settled, Mr. Wallace always considered that his capital consisted of the three parts-implements of labour, the materials on which labour is employed, and the subsistence of labourers. Capital may exist in one only of these forms, or in two, or, as we have seen, in three; but it cannot exist in any form which does not belong to one of these three divisions." Soon after, we fall in with an original character, of the name of Paul, a sort of philosopher in rags, who hires himself as a labourer at the works, and besides exerting himself as if he had the strength of ten men, lectures away on various subjects, with a singular emphasis and discretion; the following is the acute and happy definition which this Diogenes gives, of the origin and progress of Capital: "Let us hear your notion of the process, Paul.' "I suppose it might occur to a shrewd man, finding a lump of the mineral melted in a very hot fire and hardened again, that it would make better tools than wood. He would heat his lump, and beat it with stones while it was hot, and bend it and notch it and sharpen it in a rude way, till he would be so much better off for tools than his neighbours, that they would try to get some like his. If they could not find any more ironstone, he would use his tools to dig or pick it out of the earth for them." "Then, Paul, his tools would be his capital.' "Certainly: his tools would be capital arising from labour, and tending to further production. His neighbours would pay him well in such produce as they could spare, for furnishing them with iron, and then they would all set about making tools. They would soon find, that they could get on faster and better by dividing their labour; and so one would keep up the fire, and another would see that the ore flowed into the hole as it should do, and another would beat it while soft, and another would notch it into a saw, and another sharpen it into an axe.' 666 Very well, then. As there must be labour before capital, there must be capital before division of labour.' "To be sure. There would be nothing for them to divide their labour upon; if they had not the ironstone, which is their capital as much as the man's first tool is his. The more tools they make, the more ore they can procure.' "So the division of labour assists the increase of capital.' "There is the beauty of it,' replied Paul. They play into one another's hands. Labour makes capital; capital urges to a division of labour; and a division of labour makes capital grow. When the people we are talking of are all supplied with tools, (which have gone on improving all this time in the quality of the metal, as well as the make of the implements,) they begin to traffic with the next district, bartering their manufacture for whatever productions they may agree to take in exchange. As their manufacture improves, they get more wealth; and then again, as they get more wealth, their manufacture improves; they find new devices for shortening their labour; they make machines which do their work better than their own hands could do it, till an iron-work becomes what we see it here-a busy scene where man directs the engines whose labour he once performed; where earth and air, and fire and water, are used for his purposes as his will directs; and a hundred dwellings are filled with plenty, where, for want of capital, men once wrapped themselves in skins to sleep on the bare ground, and cut up their food with flints. So, now that I have given you the natural history of capital as I read it, I will wish you good morning, and go to my work.'
II. How does God work in us to the accomplishing of our salvation? In answering this enquiry, we shall see the salvation effected by God, and that effected by man, still farther illustrated, in the very context of our subject. Our text may be regarded as a climax, as we shall soon perceive. At the 8th verse, the author of our text speaking of Jesus, says, "And being found in fashion as a man, he humbled himself, and became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore (i. e. on the account of his obedience and humiliation) God also hath highly exalted him, and given him a name which is above every name; that at (or in) the name of Jesus, every knee shall bow of things in heaven, of things in earth, and of things under the earth, and that every tongue shall confess, that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the father. Wherefore (i. e. on account of the great work of God in the salvation of the universe) my beloved brethren, as ye have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling. "Go on, walk by the same rule, and minding the same things till your salvation be completed." God works in us to the accomplishing of our salvation, by making known what he has wrought for us. By making known to us his eternal purposes-the saving strength of his right hand-and revealing through Jesus Christ, the knowledge of a future, glorious, and immortal existence, for a ransomed universe of inteligences. This is that goodness which leads to repentance-that grace which teaches the denying of ungodliness and worldly desires; and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world. So to live is to work out our own salvation--and so important is this salvation, that we have reason to fear a mis-step, and tremble at the consequence. Being made acquainted with the truth, we can see the exceeding sinfulness of sin-and seeing the beauty and value of holiness, we shall find the work both light and pleasing. Transgression will then appear to be what it truly is, a bitter cup, and its dregs will be wrung out to every sinner! Come, then, brethren, with a firm reliance on the goodness and veracity of God, let us rest in the belief, that what he has done for us, will never need doing over again-And while his grace prompts us, let us work out our own salvation with fear and trembling. Look on the deluded votaries of intemperance-they are destitute of character, credit or friends. Behold the squanderers of their worth, fortune, and even living, by gambling, and midnight revels, blasting all that is dear to them, and hurrying their very dissolution-they can see their wo-worn and haggard countenances in the crystal tears of their wives and children! See the sons of contention, of envy, of profanity and revenge. They can boast neither character nor contentment- Their very appearance is an index to their wretchedness and want of salvation. Who that is capable of reflecting would desire to be like them? From all these and the various evils, incident to this life, we are exhorted to deliver ourselves. Let this be our aim, never forgetting where our strength lies-For it is God by his goodness, in making known his truth and his salvation who works in us, both to will and to do of his good pleasure. Sermon EX. 61. "And the God of peace shall bruise satan under your feet shortly." Row. xvi. 20. This passage occurs in the closing part of St. Paul's profound, affectionate, and excellent Epistle to the Romans. This last chapter is almost wholly taken up in greetings and salutations, and special commendations of particular persons, on account of the charitable and religious services which they had rendered. He mentions by name about thirty men and women, who on these accounts were particularly dear to him, and to whom he therefore wished to be particularly remembered; to make them sensible of his ardent affection, and to assure them that their works and labours of love were not forgotten.- After thus greeting them, in this affectionate manner in his Epistle, he admonishes them to the constant practice of friendly and christian salutations among themselves. "Salute one another with an holy kiss." Several obliging customs and practices, as tokens of affection and kindness, prevailed, for a considerable time, among the primitive christians, which have long since been done away; or ceased to be observed. One of these customs was that of washing one another's feet; of which our blessed Saviour gave a most affecting example, in washing the feet of his disciples. On which occasion he said to them, "if I, your Lord and master, have washed your feet, ye ought also to wash one another's feet; for I have given you an example, that ye should do as I have done to you." Whether the literal observance of this ceremony, or this token of humility, and mutual respect and kindness, was considered obligatory upon christians; or whether it was regarded merely as a decent and useful practice, which might however be innocently neglected, and without reproach or censure, according to varying customs; is not perhaps easily determined. Certain it is that it prevailed in the church for a considerable time; and is said still to be prac- tised among some christian sects. The spirit and intention of the thing, (of which the literal washing of each other's feet, was a significant token) is, doubtless, by the fundamental principles of christianity, still obligatory upon all christians--that is, a readiness to perform the meanest, and most humiliating offices of attention and kindness for one another, especially in cases of suffering and necessity. Another custom which prevailed in the early church, was that of literally saluting each other by kissing. It was called the holy kiss, or the kiss of charity. To this expression of their mutual love and harmony, the apostle often exhorts the brethren of the different churches to whom he wrote, "salute one another with an holy kiss," "greet one another with a kiss of charity" &c. It is said that the primitive christians, at the end of their prayers, before the celebration of the Eucharist, saluted one another with a kiss; and then the bread and the cup
Here was consolation with a vengeance! I felt my cheek burn, and my heart bound within me; but I was on the plank, and the stern nece ecessity schooled me so, that I was able to conceal all my emotion. But I soon found that there were other tests for me, and that my friendly parson was not yet so satisfied that my virtue was of the desirable complexion. My brother-dandy sought me out one day before we reached Columbus: "I see," said he, confidentially, "that parson talking with you very frequently; and, as you seem to listen to him very respectfully, I think it only an act of friendship to put you on your guard against him. Between us, he's a great rascal, I'm more than certain. I know him to be a hypocrite; and while I was last in Orleans, there was a man advertised for passing forged notes, and the description given of the rogue answers to a letter the appearance of this fellow." I thanked him for his kindness, but told him that I really thought the parson a very good man, and could not believe that he would be guilty of such an act as that ascribed to him. “You're mistaken," said he; "you're only too confiding, and I'll convince you, if you'll only back me in what I do. Stand RICHARD HURDIS. by me, and I'll charge him with it before the captain; and, if so, we'll have the reward. I'll lay my life his pocket is full of forged bills at this very moment." I answered him with some coolness, and more indifference: "I'm no informer, sir, and do not agree with you in your ill opinion of the poor man. At least, I have seen nothing in his conduct, and witnessed nothing in his deportment, to warrant me in forming any such suspicions. He may have forged notes or not, for me; I'll not trouble him." The fellow went off, no wise discomfited, and I heard nothing more of his accusation. That night I related the circumstance to Foster, who smiled without surprise, and then said to me in reply- 66 You see how well our agents work for us. Haller [that was the dandy's name] is one of our men. He knew from me of what we had spoken, and proposed to try you. It is no small pleasure to find you so faithful to your engagements." In this way, and by the practice of the most unrelaxing cunning, I fully persuaded Foster of my integrity-if I may use that word in such relation. Hour after hour gave me new revelations touching the grand fraternity--the "Mystic Brotherhood"-into the bosom of which I was now to be received; and of the doings and the capacities of which Foster spoke at large and with all the zest of the truest paternity. After repeated conferences had seemed to assure him of my fidelity, he proceeded to reveal a matter which, in the end, proved of more importance to my pursuit than all the rest of his revelations. "We have quarterly and occasional meetings of our choice spirits, who are few in number, and one of these meetings is at hand. We meet in the neighborhood of the Sipsy swamp, on the road from Columbus to Tuscaloosa, where we have a famous hiding-place, which has heard, and kept too, many a pretty secret. We have a conference to which twenty or more will be admitted, who will report their proceedings in western Alabama. There will be several new members, like yourself, who are yet in their noviciate; but none, I am persuaded, who will go through their trial half so well as yourself." "What! the stopping the mail, or shooting the traveller ?" "Yes-'tis that I mean. You will do your duty, I doubt not. There is another business which we have on hand, which is of some importance to our interests. It is hinted that one of our leading confederates a fine young fellow, who committed an error, and joined us in consequence a year ago-is about to play the traitor, or at least fly the track." “Ah, indeed! and how do you punish such an offence?" How, but by death? Our very existence as a society, and safety as men, depend upon the severity which we visit upon the head of the traitor. He must die--that is, if the offence be proved against him." 66 "What! you give him a trial, then?" to us. Yes, but not by jury: no such folly for us! We put on the track of the offender some two or three of our most trusty confederates, who take note of all his actions, and are empowered with authority to put the law in force without further reference I will try and get you upon this commission, as your first trial before we invest you with our orders. Haller will most probably be your associate in this business. He brings the report of the suspected treason, and it is our custom to employ in such a business those persons who have the clue already in their hands. Haller has some prejudice against Eberly; there have been words between them, and Eberly, who is a fellow of high spirit, got the better of him, and treats him with some contempt." "Will there not be some danger of Haller's abusing the trust you give him, then, and making its powers subservient to his feelings of personal hostility?" 66 Possibly; but Haller knows our penalty for that offence, and will scarcely venture to incur it. Besides, I fear there is some ground for his charges: I have heard some matters about Eberly myself which were suspicious.” "Eberly!" said I, "where did I hear that name before? I have surely heard it somewhere." "Not unlikely: I know several Eberlys in Georgia and Alaabama; it's not a very uncommon name, though still not a common one." 66 The consciousness of the next instant made my cheek burn. I remembered hearing the name of Eberly uttered by one of the banditti, while I lay bound in the hovel of Matthew Web- 14* RICHARD HURDIS. ber; and then it appeared to me in language which was disparaging. Things were beginning to fit themselves strangely together before my eyes; and when the parson left me, to retire to his berth, I was soon lost in a wilderness of musing. We soon reached and landed at Columbus-a wild-looking and scattered settlement, at that time, of some thirty families, within a mile of the Tombeckbe. We proceeded boldly to the tavern-our parson leading the way; and never was prayer more earnest and seemingly unaffected than that which he put up at the supper-table that night. He paid amply for his bacon and greens by his eloquence. He tendered no other form of pay-nor, indeed, did any seem to be desired. The next morning it was arranged between us that we should all meet at a spot a little above the ford at Coal-Fire creeka distance of some thirty miles from Columbus, and on the direct route to Tuscaloosa. But here a difficulty lay in my way which had been a source of annoyance to me for the three days past. I had no horse, and had declared to Foster my almost absolute want of money. To proceed on my mission, it was necessary to procure one, and, if possible, a good one; and how to do this while Foster stayed, was a disquieting consideration. But he was too intent upon securing his new associate, and not less intent upon his old business, to suffer this to remain a diffculty long. out one. "You must buy a horse in Columbus, Williams (that was the name I had set out with from Mobile); you can not get on with- As you have no money, I must help you, and you can repay me after you have struck your first successful blow. Here are a couple of hundred dollars-bills of the bank of Mobilecounterfeit, it is true, but good here as the bank itself. There's an old fellow here- old General Cocke- that has several nags; you can possibly get one from him that will do you good service, and not cost you so much, neither. Go to him at once and get your creature: you'll find me to-morrow noon at the creek, just as I tell you. Set up a psalm-tune, if you can, even as you reach the creek, and you'll hear some psalmody in return that will do your heart good." He left me, followed by Haller, and I took a short mode for getting rid of the counterfeit bills he gave me. I destroyed
Tentacles, Polypes, 242 Tentacles, Annelidans, Cirripedes, 250 Tentacles, Cephalopods, 245 Tentacles, Fishes, 250 Tentacles, Molluscans, 249 Tentacles, Radiaries, 243 Tentacles, Tunicaries, 244 Tenthedro, 364 Terebratula, 141 Teredo, 129, 131 Strix, 439 Strongylus, 174 Struthio-camelus, 432 Subterranean-fishes, 412 Succinea, 156 Suckers, 110, 181, 250 Sula Bassana, 429 Sun-flower, 319 Sus Babyrussa, 295 Sus Scrofa, 294 Termes lucifuga, 372 Tethydans, 117 Tethys, 145 Tetrabranchiata, 164 Tetraguatha, 234 Tetrao, 276 Tetrapneumones, 340 Thalassina, 210 Thalydans, 117 Thelyphonus, 235, 237 Theocritus, 182 INDEX. Thompson, 192 Thysanura, 355 Tiger-beetles, 332, 379 Tiger-beetles, grubs of, $79 Toads in marble, 407 Todus, 183 Trachelipods, 144, 149, 159 Tree Ant, 368, 371 Tree Lobster, 214 Trembley, 88, 91 Trichechus, 71 Trichoptera, 71, 357, 375 Trichocephalus, 174 Tridacne, 155 Trigonia, 142 Trigozo, 339 Trilobites, 221 Trionyx, ferox, 410, 418 Tristoma, 474 Trochilus, 181, 182, 292 Trochus, 151 Trox, 381 Tubicinella, 150 Tubularia, 186 Tunicaries, 116 Turbo, 147 Turdus, 438 Turdus gryllivorus, 49 Turdus pilaris, 56 Turtle, 423 Vellela, 105 Vermetus, 185 Vertebrata, 278 Verulam, Lord, Introd. xxxiv xxxvi Vespa, 365 Vibrio, 80, 83, 85 Virey, 66, 317 Volucella, 361 Voluta aethiopica, 249 Von Baer, 172, 207 Vorticella, 205, 241, 374 Vultur barbatus, 37 Vultur percnopterus, 37 Wasps, 366, 367 Waders, 283 Walckenaer, 235, 340 Weavers, 344 Weaver birds, 436 Web, spider's, 339 Westwood, 231 Whale, 16, 37, 84, 107, 450 Wheel-animal, 241 White ants, 372, 375 White coral, 96 Windpipe, 421 Wings, 266, 270 Wings of insects, 267 Wing-shell, 157 Wryneck, 435 Xiphias, 474 Twining plants, 320 Two hands of Nature, Introd. xxxiv Typhon, 348 Unclean animals, 226 Univalves, 144 Unger, 79 Uropoda vegetans, 352 Ursus, 301 Ursus Americanus, 52 Varieties, 32 Vehicle for the soul, 480 Yarrel, 422, 431 Yunx torquilla, 435 Zebu, 34 Zoea, 192 Zoobotryon, 470 Zoomyza, 576 Zoophaga, 227, 447 Zoophagous animals, 227 Zoophytes, 29 THE END. Plate 1. 97 98 LIBRARY COLLEGE HARVARD 3 a INDEX. Mackenzie, 62 Macrocercus, 38 Macropodia, 209 Macropus, 282, 449 Madox, 181 Madrepora, 96 Malacostracans, 198, 220 Malte-brun, 12, 28, 499 Malapterurus, 400 Malthus, 395, 404 Mammalians, 326, 331, 441 Mammary organs, 441 Mammoth, 482 Man, 4, 463 Manatee, 262, 452 Manis, 298, 441, 500 Manitrunk, 267 Mantell, 20, 21, 194 Manticora, 379 Mantis, 377 Mantis-crabs, 209 Marmot, 456 Monoceros, 150 Monodon, 451 Monoculus, 189, 199 Monothyra, 143 Monotremes, 233, 297, 445, 448 Montague, 351 Moongeeara, 369 More, 323 Mormolyce, 379 Motion, 239 Müller, 83, 172, 472 Murex, 159 Muskdeer, 454 Mycetophagus, 381 Mygale, 341 Myriapods, 223, 228, 258. Myrmecophaga, 298 Myrmica, 368 Mytilus, 139 Myxine, 255 Myoxus, 456 Nais, 175 Marsupians, 300, 442, 447, 449 Nandu, 432 Marsupites, 194 Martin, 182 Mastodon, 483 Matter, 323 Medusa, 108, 243 Megalosaurus, 20, 22 Megatherium, 441, 500 Meleagrina, 139 Narwhal, 451 Natatores, 57 Natatory Organs, 259 Nature, Introd. xxx Nauplius, 201 Nautilus, 162, 246 Necrophaga, 227 Necrophagus, 227 Necrophorus, 227 Negro, 40 Nephrops, 215 Nereïdeans, 180, 186, 257 Nereis, 187 Melolonthidans, 382 Menopoma, 412 Mergus, 55 Merian, 371 Metabolians, 355, 356 Metamorphosis, 202, 359 Nerita, 147 Migrations, 47 Neritina, 147 Millepedes, 224, 227 Miller, 194, 195 Mites, 350 Mola, 393, 474 Mole, 301 Nests, Birds, 328 Nests, Fishes, 392 Neuroptera, 358, 375 Nibblers, 299 Nicholson, 402 Mole-cricket, 280, 289, 377 Molluscans, 126, 142, 158, 256 Monas, 87, 256, 472 Mongol, 40 Monitor, 22, 417 Monkey, 301 Nicothoe, 207 Nipples, 442 Nirmus, 71 Nitrogen, 74 Nitzch, 438 Nordmann, 200, 472 INDEX. Numenius, 56 Nycteribia, 351 Oak-gall, 365 Ocypode, 211 Ocythoe, 167 Octopus, 165, 243 Oestrus, 361 Ophidians, 227, 258, 284, 328 Olivier, 211, 235 Oniscus, 230 Operculum, 150, 151 Ophiotheres, 284 Opossum, 20, 450 Oppian, 168 Orbicula, 148 Oxyurus, 174 Oyster, 138 Pachyderms, 293, 446, 453 Paddles, 265 Pagès, 428 Pagurus, 212 Pagurus Bernhardus, 213 Pagurus clibanarius, 213 Pagurus Diogenes, 213 Palaemon, 209 Palamedea cornuta, 430 Paley, 66 Palinurus, 215 Pallas, 57, 235, 458 Palpi, 231, 233, 249 Pandalus, 209 Polypes, 89 Orders of animals, Infusories, 83 Papilio, 373 Radiaries, 104 Tunicaries, 117 Parasites, 204, 356, 365 Parnassius, 70 Parrot, 38 Molluscans, 128, 144 Parts reproduced, 392 Cephalopods, 164 Patella, 147 Worms, 171 Pearls, 139 Annelidans, 179 Pearl-fishery, 140 Cirripedes, 189 Pecten, 137 Entomostracans, 200 Pedimane, 450 Crustaceans, 210 Pediculus, 7 Myriapods, 223 Pediculus Nigritarum, 46, 482 Arachnidans, 338 Pseudarachnidans,349 Pediremes, 260 Pedipalps, 347 Ascaridans, 350 Pegasus, 265 Insects, 356 Pelecanus, 292 Fishes, 395 Pennant, 49 Reptiles, 409 Pentacrinites, 194 Birds, 424 Pentacrinus, 195 Mammalians, 445 Orchesia, 211 Pentelasmis, 150, 190 Perca fluviatilis, 204 448 Osculant Orders, 356 Oscillatoria, 78, 87 Osler, 130, 133 Osphronemus, 393 Ostrich, 17, 272, 432 Ornithorhynchus, 27, 233, 297, Perca lucioperca, 204 Perca scandens, 214 Perchers, 436 Percival, 183 Periophthalmus, 390 Peripatus, 187, 257 Perch-pest, 204 Ovibos, 51 Peron, 95, 120, 121 Ovis Aries, 35 Periwinkle, 148 Owen, 111, 162, 167, 246, 408, Petaurus, 274 &c., &c. Oxygen, 74,79 Petricola, 133 Phalangista, 274, 449 INDEX, Arachnidans, 232, 338 Aranea, 340 Aranea, notacantha, 347 Araneidans, 359 Ararat, 25 Arctomys, 456 Argoronauta, 72, 164 Argulus, 207 Argyronauta, 346 Aristotle, 94, 110, 136, &c. Arm, 278 Armadillo, 221, 500 Arvicola, 49, 457 Ascalabotes, 254 Beaver, 299, 315, 335, 459 Beechey, 98, 99, 430 Bee-cuckow, 434 Beetles, 285, 376, 579 Bellevue, 133 Bembex, 364 Bennet, 336, 341, 574, 429 Bimane, 302, 464 Bipes, 64, 284 Birds, 3, 53, 218, 269, 285, 327, 331 Birgus, 214 Bison, 455 Bivalve Molluscans, 128 Blackwall, 286, 345 Bladder-kelp, 158 Blatta, 377 Ascaris, 174 Ascidians, 117 Astacus Gammarus, 212, 215 Astacus fluviatilis, 212, 216 Ass, 454 Asteria, 108 Ateles, 228 Boa, 281, 415 Bochart, 160 Athanasius, Introd. xxxiv. Ixviii Boltenia, 123 Audoin, 67, 200, 341 Aurelia, 244 Aye-Aye, 300, 448, 461 Azote, 79 Baboon, 301, 463 Bacillaria, 469 Bacon, Friar, Introd. xxxix Baculites, 11 Baddeley, 375, Baker, 550 Balaena, 450 Balanoptera, 450 Balanites, 190 Balanus, 150, 190 Barnacle, 189 Barrington, 458 Barbs, 250, Barton, 449 Bat-louse, 351 Bat-mite, 350 Batrachians, 284 Bauer, 80, 85, 184 Bdella, 181, 182 Beak of birds, 292 Bear, 301, 457 Beattie, 308 Bodianus, 390 Boerhaave, 176 Bones, 380 Bonito, 429 Bonnet, 7, 176, 415: Booby, 429 Borassus, 65 Bos Americanus, 50 Bos urus, 455 Bosc, 17, 65, 105, 157, 167, 181 Botryllus, 115 Botryocephalus, 174, 175 Brain-mite, 475 Branchiopod, 86, 200 Branchipus, 199 Branchiremes, 260. Brayley, 152 Bristles, 260 Brongniart, 407 Brown, 79, 500 Bruguiere, 85, 108 Buccinum, 148, 150 Buckland, 99, 299 Bugong, 374 Bugs, 377 Bulimus, 157 Bulla, 148 Bullaea, 148 Burrowing Molluscans, 150 Burying Beetles, 380 Byssus, 128, 135, 137, 505 Cactus, 472 Calandra, 382 Caligus, 207 Callicthys, 265, 392 Calosoma, 379 Calyptrea, 148 Camel, 296, 297, 454 Camelopardalis, 281, 454 Campagnol, 49 Campbell, 65 Cancer stagnalis, 204 Cancer maenas, 231 Canis, 35, 227 Carabus, 227 Carcasses, 380 Cardium, 130 Carinaria, 165 Carlisle, 175 Carnivora, 227, 462 Cartwright, 300, 460 (arus, 111, 131, 197, 353 Cassida, 381 Cassiopea, 244 Castor, 71, 299, 459 Casuarius, 272, 283, 433 ('1', 36, 39, 326 Catcott, 27 Catoblepas, 296, 455 Caucasian, 40 Cavia, 456 Cavitaries, 172 Cellaria, 90
improvement of their pastures, so that there is a steady and rapid increase from the time they are calved till they are turned over to the butcher,--a course which gives them larger profits, and well deserves the imitation of farmers generally. Also the herd of O. O. Bardwell, of 27 head; of P D. Martindale, of 20 head, and of George P. & W. W. Carpenter, of 30 head,--not a poor animal among them. The working oxen and steers were numerous, and all of them a credit to their owners. There were no town teams exhibited. There were several specimens of Jerseys which were good, and various other animals, too numerous to mention, all of which were good; and, as a whole, I have never seen the neat stock exhibited at this fair equalled by any county. The show of sheep was, perhaps, never equalled in the State, there being about 500 head on the grounds, and many of superior quality. Among them five flocks of from 40 to 120, each contesting for the Grennell premium. This large display of sheep indicates that the farmers of this county find the growing of sheep a profitable branch of farming, and one which farmers in other parts of the State, where sheep are almost unknown, would also find profitable. Among the benefits of sheep husbandry are the quick returns which the farmer gets from his investment, and also the ease and comparatively small sacrifice with which he can reduce his stock to his fodder, in case of a short crop of hay like the present, and also the readiness with which he can stock up again without purchase, by taking a little extra pains in raising lambs, so that many a farmer has benefited his flock by the process more than he has sacrificed. The show of swine was good, and, although not large, they would all do honor to any farmer's pen. The show of poultry was small, but of good quality. There were but few agricultural implements on the ground. The show in the hall was excellent, and one of the noticeable features was that almost every article was of superior quality. There was a good display in the mechanical arts, and the articles were somewhat numerous. There were of fruits 34 entries, 16 of apples, some entries comprising over 30 varieties; 8 of pears in one instance, consisting of 18 varieties; 10 of miscellaneous, embracing quinces, peaches, grapes, &c., together with basket of last year's apples. There were 46 entries of bread, 19 of butter, 5 of cheese, and 62 of domestic manufactures, 41 of fancy articles and needle-work, 13 of fine arts, 28 of flowers, said to be the best display of flowers ever made in the hall, and it was indeed a splendid sight. APPENDIX xxvii Of maple sugar and honey there were 11 entries; miscella→ neous articles, 11; pickles, preserves, jellies and canned fruits, 13; vegetables, 44. By far the richest display was in fruits and flowers. The fruits were as tempting to the palate, as. the flowers were pleasing to the eye, especially the grapes, one entry of which consisted of 25 varieties. The numerous specimens of bread and butter did great credit to the ladies of this society, especially the butter, which I never saw equalled in any society, in quality; and it was evident that if the husbands know how to raise the best stock in the State, the wives know as well how to manage the dairy. As a whole, the show in the hall was one of the best the society ever held. At four o'clock a procession was formed and marched to the society's grounds, where an address was delivered from the judges' stand by the Hon. Henry L. Dawes. The subject was, "The Massachusetts Farmer, as he was and as he is to be." It contained much to interest and instruct. The rain continued during the entire delivery, and but a few hundred people were there to hear it. Friday, the day for the horse show, opened with a heavy rain. The members of the society soon began to make their appearance in the street, but owing to the continued rain and mud, at an informal meeting of the society it was voted to postpone the horse show till Tuesday, October 4th, so that I left without seeing the thing finished, and can make no great report of its doings, but can say from newspaper reports, and from report of members, that the entries were large, and the show one of the best of the society. This exhibition of the society has demonstrated that there is no lack of interest among the members, and that stock raising, and agriculture generally, is steadily progressing in the county. The business of the society appears to be conducted with fidelity, energy and ability, and is doing great good to the community. MATTHEW SMITH. HAMPDEN EAST. As delegate of the Board of Agriculture, I attended the annual exhibition of the Hampden East Agricultural Society, at Palmer, on the 10th and 11th of October. The members of this society had on exhibition specimens in all the usual departments of our agricultural shows. The ploughing match, trial of working oxen, exhibition of horses, had each their allotted hour. There were fine specimens of young stock, xxviii APPENDIX. two and three years olds. Butter, cheese, vegetables, fancy work, and domestic manufactures, were creditably represented; but the stock department, as a whole, both of horses and cattle, was decidedly inferior. The show of men and women, of active, inquiring, interested spectators, was deplorably small. And, though it was my pleasure to meet many wide-awake, intelligent farmers of Eastern Hampden, yet I could not avoid the conviction that there was, in the section over which that society operates, a great lack of interest in the aims and objects for which the society was organized; and that if the Hampden East Society would make the best, nay, the legitimate use of the bounty of the State, great exertion should be made to arouse that agricultural community to the importance and necessity of making a better use of their opportunities. A good audience of the citizens of Palmer assembled in one of the village churches, and listened to an address of Mr. Blair, one of the estimable citizens of that town. LEVI STOCKbridge. BERKSHIRE. The annual exhibition of the Berkshire Society was held at Pittsfield, on the 4th, 5th, and 6th of October, and was highly successful. The interest which belongs to this long-established society, one of the oldest in the country, is such as to render it a special object of attention. And it is gratifying to know that its prosperity and vigor are not in any way diminishing. The record which it possesses is of unusual value. Its founders and early patrons were men who had large comprehension of the importance of agriculture, and applied intelligence and industry to their labor on the land. The attitude assumed by them toward all matters of public importance, and their understanding of the wants of our country which the farmer could supply, render their written opinions, as found in the first manuscripts of the association, suggestive and valuable. It is somewhat remarkable that this zeal and industry, so worthy of all imitation, in furnishing contributions to the agricultural literature of the country should not be imitated by those who now conduct the affairs of the society. Berkshire is one of the most interesting agricultural sections of our State. Its farming is varied and successful; and it is to be hoped that for the future some more thorough record of the transactions of the society, and of the modes of agriculture which it is called upon to encourage, will be secured and published. The entries at the exhibition, in all its branches, were sufficiently large. Some of the crops it may be well to enumerate, as significant of APPENDIX.
I do not intend to vindicate my selection of PREFACE. xi characters, scenes, and incidents. Some of them have been pretty freely remarked upon by the press; all I can say, however, being that my aim has been in every case for the best. One or two exceedingly severe, perhaps I might add, wanton and malignant attacks, have been made upon some of them; but I heartily forgive those who have done so, whoever they may be. In conclusion, I know, alas! that this work has many imperfections; but it has been too long in too many forms before the world for me to attempt, even were I so disposed, extensive alterations. Such as it is, I now finally commit it, in this its complete and authentic form, to the judgment of the public, very thankful for their approbation and deferential to their censure. The duties of a laborious profession may not admit of my making any further contributions to literature, or I might, perhaps, attempt to prove myself worthier of the favour I have experienced, and cheerfully exclaim, "To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new!" SAMUEL WARREN. INNER TEMPLE, London, 31st Oct., 1837. CONTENTS. Early Struggles of the Author Cancer The Dentist and the Comedian A Scholar's Deathbed Preparing for the House Duelling. CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. The Turned Head The Wife Intriguing and Madness. The Broken Heart A "Man about Town" Death at the Toilet Consumption The Spectral Dog,--an Illusion The Forger. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. The Spectre-smitten . . The Martyr Philosopher CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII CHAPTER VIII. FAGE 48572 44 50 51 71 91 114 123 153 159 174 212 217 235 268 300 CHAPTER I. EARLY STRUGGLES. CAN any thing be conceived more dreary and disheartening than the prospect before a young London physician, who, without friends or fortune, yet with high aspirations after professional eminence, is striving to weave around him what is technically called "a connexion?" Such was my case. After having exhausted the slender finances allotted me from the funds of a poor but somewhat ambitious family in passing through the usual routine of a college and medical education, I found myself, about my twenty-sixth year, in London.-possessed of about 100l. in cash, a few books, a tolerable wardrobe, an inexhaustible fund of animal spirits, and a wife-a lovely young creature whom I had been absurd enough, some few weeks before, to marry, merely because we loved each other. She was the only daughter of a very worthy fellow-townsman of mine, a widower; whose fortunes, alas! had decayed long before their possessor. Emily was the glory of his age, and, need I add, the pride of my youth, and after having assiduously attended her father through his last illness, the sole and rich return was his daughter's heart. I must own that when we found ourselves fairly housed in the mighty metropolis of England, with so poor an exchequer, and the means of replenishing it so remote and contingent, we were somewhat startled at the boldness of the step we had taken. "Nothing venture, nothing have," however, was my maxim; and I felt supported by that unaccountable conviction which clings to all in such circumstances as mine, up to the very pinching moment, but no longer-that there must be thousands of ways of getting a livelihood to which we can turn at a moment's warning. And then the swelling thought of being the architect of one's own fortunes! As, however, daily drafts began to diminish my 100l., my spirits faltered a little. I discovered that I might indeed as well 66 -lie pack'd in mine own grave," as continue in London without money or the means of getting it; and, after resolving endless schemes, the only conceivable mode of doing so seemed by calling in the generous assistance of the Jews. My father had fortunately effected a policy on my life for 2000l. at an early period, on which some fourteen premiums had been paid; and this available security, added to the powerful influence of a young nobleman to whom I had rendered some service at college, enabled me to succeed in wringing a loan from old Amos L- of 3000l., at the trifling interest of fifteen per cent., payable by way of redeem able annuity. It was with fear and trembling that I called myself master of this large sum, and with the utmost diffidence that I could bring myself to exercise what the lawyers would call acts of ownership on it. As, however, there was no time to lose, I took a respectable house in C-street, west- furnished it neatly and respectably-fortunately enough let the first floor to a rich old East India bachelor-beheld "Dr.- "glisten conspicuously on my door-and then dropped my little line into the great waters of London, resolved to abide the issue with patience. Blessed with buoyant and sanguine spirits, I did not lay it much to heart that my only occupation during the first six months was-abroad, to practise the pardonable solecism of hurrying haud passibus aequis through the streets, as if in attendance on numerous patients; and at home to ponder pleasantly over my books, and enjoy the company of my cheerful and affectionate wife. But when I had numbered twelve months, almost without feeling a pulse or receiving a fee, and was reminded by old L- that the second half-yearly instalment of 2251. was due, I began to look forward with some appre hension to the overcast future. Of the 3000l., for the use of which I was paying so cruel and exorbitant a premium, little more than half remained; and this notwithstanding we had practised the most rigid economy in our household expenditure, and devoted as little to dress as was compatible with maintaining a respectable exterior. To my sorrow, I found my self unavoidably contracting debts, which, with the interest due to old L I found it would be impos sible to discharge. If matters went on as they seemed to threaten, what was to become of me in a year or two? Putting every thing else out of the question, where was I to find funds to meet old L's annual demand of 450l.? Relying on my prospects of professional success, I had bound myself to return the 3000l. within five years of the time of borrowing it; and now I thought I must have been mad to do so. If my profession failed me, I had nothing else to look to. I had no family resources; for my father had died since I came to London, very much embarrassed in his circum- stances; and my mother, who was aged and infirm, had gone to reside with some relatives, who were few and poor. My wife, as I have stated, was in like plight. I do not think she had a relative in England (for her father and all his family were Germans) except -him whose brightest joy Was that he called her wife."" Lord -, the nobleman before mentioned, who I am sure would have rejoiced in assisting me, either by pecuniary advances or professional introductions, had been on the continent ever since I commenced practice. Being of studious habits and a very bashful and reserved disposition while at Cambridge, I could number but few college friends-none of whom I knew where to find in London. Neither my wife nor I knew more than five people besides our India lodger; for to tell the truth we were, like many a fond and foolish couple before us, all the world to one another, and cared little for scraping together promiscuous acquaintances. If we had even been inclined to visiting, our straitened circumstances would have forbid our incurring the expenses attached to it. What then was to be done? My wife would say, "Pho, love, we shall contrive to get on as well as our neighbours;" but the simple fact was, we were not getting on like our neighbours -nor did I see any prospect of our ever doing so. I began, therefore, to pass sleepless nights and days of despondency-easting about in every direction for any employment consistent with my profession and redoubling my fruitless efforts to obtain prac tice.
XXVII. temporal, to affift the chief governor with their ad- CHAP. vice. The former were calculated to fanction the fufpicions, which themfelves had excited, of a misapplication of the public money; the latter to eftablifh their own power in the civil adminiftration. The marquis confented that all, who had received the public money, fhould be brought to a ftrict account; and that, fince the nomination of a privy council was not in his power, a prerogative belonging folely to the king, he would qualify unexceptionable perfons with fufficient powers for fuch particular acts of a privy council as they fhould fpecify to be neceffary. Affecting to be fatisfied, they publifhed a declaration favourable to the marquis, which was privately fo counteracted, that a catholic lord in his army was committed to prison for prefuming, by his order, to quarter a few foldiers in the liberties of Limerick. He retired in difguft, from this and other infults, to Loughrea, where the prelates, who followed him thither, displayed fresh inftances of illiberal artifice and duplicity, which influenced him to declare his refolution of retiring from the kingdom. The nobility and commiffioners of truft were alarmed, folicited the marquis to ftay, and promised their interpofition with the citizens of Limerick. These became fo far compliant as to confent to the admiffion of a garrifon under certain reftrictions, and to reject the proposals of Ireton, who offered them the full enjoyment of their civil, religious, and commercial rights, with exemption from the impofition of a garrifon, on condition of their leave to B 2 his CHAP. XXVII. his army to march through their town into the county of Clare. Advancing near Limerick, with intention to enter it, by the invitation of its magiftrates, Ormond received intelligence that Wolfe, a feditious friar, had raised a tumult in the city, and fet a guard on the gates to prevent his entrance, while other lawless incendiaries rifled the magazines, difpofing of the corn at their pleasure. As the bifhops refufed to excommunicate the authors of these outrages, and as the citizens of Galway followed the example of thofe of Limerick, refufing to admit any garrifon, except one appointed and commanded by their own magiftrates, the marquis, unable to retain an army on either fide of the Shannon, and fearing for his perfonal fafety, refumed his purpose of retreating from Ireland. The clergy, who had formerly made him an infiduous offer of placing him on the throne of Ireland, on condition of his uniting with the nuncio, and embracing the Romish religion, now pretended to attribute his intended abdication to a treacherous coalition with the republicans against the king, or the confederates. An affembly of Romish prelates at Jamestown required that his excellency fhould fpeedily repair to the king, leaving his authority" in the hands of fome perfon faithful to his Majefty and trusty to the nation, and fuch as the affections and confidence of the people would follow." To express his contempt of their proceedings, he now declared that he would not quit the kingdom until forced by inevitable neceffity. But the prelates published a declaration" against the continuance of his Majefty's jefty's authority in the marquis of Ormond," accuf CHAP. ing him, among other articles, of his averfion to the XXVII. catholic religion; and enjoining the people to obey no orders but thofe of the congregation of clergy, un'il a general affembly fhould be convened. This edict was accompanied by a fentence of excommunication against all who should adhere to the marquis, or pay him fubfidy or obedience. With the utmost difficulty they were perfuaded to suspend the sentence during the expedition of Clanricarde for the relief of Athlone. They proceeded to levy troops by their own authority, which added a new enemy against Ormond, but an enemy eafily dif comfited. The defign of these prelates was affifted by a de claration made by the king to please the Scottish covenanters, in whofe hands he then was, expreffing his abhorrence of popish idolatry, and pronouncing the treaty of peace void, which had been concluded with the idolatrous rebels of Ireland. Apprized by a private letter from the king, that this declaration, the effect of compulfion, had no force in this kingdom, Ormond affured the commiffioners of trust, that he would by all means poffible maintain the treaty, until fome unconstrained declaration of the royal pleasure should be obtained; provided that the acts of the congregation of prelates fhould be revoked or punished, as ufurpations on the king's prerogative; that due obedience fhould be paid to himself as lord lieutenant; and that fome honourable maintenance fhould be fecured to him, as he was now deprived of his own eftates. The commissioners were much CHAP. much difpleased at the extravagance of the clergy, XXVII and hoped that their infolence would be repressed by a general affembly. But when this affembly, accepting an equivocal apology from the prelates, declined to take decifive measures, the marquis could no longer be perfuaded to remain ; yet, in compliance with a respectful request for the delegation of the royal authority to fome proper perfon, he nominated Clanricarde his deputy, with directions that he should accept or decline the office, according to the encou ragement or discouragement which he might receive by the proceedings of the affembly. Clanricarde's ad- tion. Ormond failed from Galway, and, after a danminiftra- gerous voyage, arrived in France. That he had fo long struggled to retain a command may feem furprizing, in fuch a state of things as might appear defperate for the royal caufe, even in cafe of fuc cefs against the republicans, when the influence of a fanatical clergy fo powerfully predominated, that the foldiers of a whole regiment, fent on an expedition, threw down their arms, and dispersed to their several homes, at the requifition of a feditious friar, who feized the colours, and pronounced eternal perdition on those who should prefume to march but to protect as long as poffible the remains of the king's faithful adherents in this kingdom, and to make a diverfion in favour of the royalifts in Britain by maintaining a war here under difadvantages howfoever great, was confidered as an object of importance. On this principal Clanricarde affumed the government, though, by the oppofition of the clergy, he was unable to obtain from the general affembly fo precife and explicit an engagement of obedience to his 3 XXVII. his authority as he required. The confederates had CHAP. now a catholic chief governor, and an army wholly catholic, as the proteftants, who had fought on the fame fide, had by repeated infults withdrawn either to the republicans or beyond fea: yet faction still prevented an effectual refiftance to the arms of Ireton. By the movements of Clanricarde for the fuc cour of Athlone, Coote had been difappointed in his attempt upon that poft: yet when Ireton advanced to Limerick, and demanded admiffion for his troops, the citizens were in fufpenfe until the arrival of Castlehaven, who prevailed on them to fhut their gates against the enemy. Propofals made to the confederates, by the republican commander, to treat for terms of fubmiffion, were at first rejected, but afterward admitted, as a fubject of negociation, by the influence of the clergy, particularly Nicholas French, Romish bishop of Ferns, a diftinguished partizan of the nuncio, who clamoured for a negociation. Fired with indignation at this behaviour, Clanricarde, and several principal members of the general affembly, declared their determination to defend the royal cause to the laft extremity, and to exclude, in cafe of fubmiffion to the republicans, the prefent oppofers of the royal interefts from the benefit of the treaty.
I ceased, and all the ladies, each at each, Like the Ithacensian suitors in old time, Stared with great eyes, and laugh'd with alien lips, And knew not what they meant; for still my voice Rang false but smiling "Not for thee," she said, "O Bulbul, any rose of Gulistan Shall burst her veil: marsh-divers, rather, maid, Shall croak thee sister, or the meadow-crake Grate her harsh kindred in the grass: and this A mere love-poem! O for such, my friend, THE PRINCESS; We hold them slight: they mind us of the time When we made bricks in Egypt. Knaves are men, That lute and flute fantastic tenderness, And dress the victim to the offering up. And paint the gates of Hell with Paradise, And play the slave to gain the tyranny. Poor soul! I had a maid of honour once; She wept her true eyes blind for such a one, rogue of canzonets and serenades. I loved her. Peace be with her. She is dead. So they blaspheme the muse! But great is song Used to great ends: ourself have often tried Valkyrian hymns, or into rhythm have dash'd The passion of the prophetess; for song Is duer unto freedom, force and growth Of spirit than to junketing and love. Love is it? Would this same mock-love, and this Mock-Hymen were laid up like winter bats, Till all men grew to rate us at our worth, Not vassals to be beat, nor pretty babes To be dandled, no, but living wills, and sphered Whole in ourselves and owed to none. Enough! But now to leaven play with profit, you, A MEDLEY. Know you no song, the true growth of your soil, That gives the manners of your countrywomen?" She spoke and turn'd her sumptuous head with eyes Of shining expectation fixt on mine. Then while I dragg'd my brains for such a song, Cyril, with whom the bell-mouth'd glass had wrought, Or master'd by the sense of sport, began To troll a careless, careless tavern-catch Of Moll and Meg, and strange experiences Unmeet for ladies. Florian nodded at him, I frowning; Psyche flush'd and wann'd and shook; The lilylike Melissa droop'd her brows; "Forbear," the Princess cried; "Forbear, Sir" I; And heated thro' and thro' with wrath and love, I smote him on the breast; he started up; There rose a shriek as of a city sack'd; Melissa clamour'd "Flee the death;" "To horse" Said Ida; "home! to horse!" and fled, as flies A troop of snowy doves athwart the dusk, When some one batters at the dovecote-doors, THE PRINCESS; Disorderly the women. Alone I stood With Florian, cursing Cyril, vext at heart, In the pavilion: there like parting hopes I heard them passing from me: hoof by hoof, And every hoof a knell to my desires, Clang'd on the bridge; and then another shriek, "The Head, the Head, the Princess, O the Head!" For blind with rage she miss'd the plank, and roll'd In the river. Out I sprang from glow to gloom: There whirl'd her white robe like a blossom'd branch Rapt to the horrible fall: a glance I gave, No more; but woman-vested as I was Plunged; and the flood drew; yet I caught her; then Oaring one arm, and bearing in my left The weight of all the hopes of half the world, Strove to buffet to land in vain. A tree Was half-disrooted from his place and stoop'd To drench his dark locks in the gurgling wave Mid-channel. Right on this we drove and caught, And grasping down the boughs I gain'd the shore. A MEDLEY. 81 There stood her maidens glimmeringly group'd In the hollow bank. One reaching forward drew My burthen from mine arms; they cried "she lives :" They bore her back into the tent: but I, So much a kind of shame within me wrought, Not yet endured to meet her opening eyes, Nor found my friends; but push'd alone on foot (For since her horse was lost I left her mine) Across the woods, and less from Indian craft Than beelike instinct hiveward, found at length The garden portals. Two great statues, Art -- And Science, Caryatids, lifted up A weight of emblem, and betwixt were valves Of open-work in which the hunter rued His rash intrusion, manlike, but his brows Had sprouted, and the branches thereupon Spread out at top, and grimly spiked the gates. A little space was left between the horns, Thro' which I clamber'd o'er at top with pain, Dropt on the sward, and up the linden walks, III. THE PRINCESS; And, tost on thoughts that changed from hue to hue, Now poring on the glowworm, now the star, I paced the terrace, till the Bear had wheel'd Thro' a great arc his seven slow suns. A step Of lightest echo, then a loftier form Than female, moving thro' the uncertain gloom, Disturb'd me with the doubt" if this were she," "Hist O Hist," he said, But it was Florian. "6 J They seek us out so late is out of rules. Moreover 'seize the strangers' is the cry. How came you here?" I told him: "I" said he, "Last of the train, a moral leper, I, To whom none spake, half-sick at heart, return'd. Arriving all confused among the rest With hooded brows I crept into the hall, And, couch'd behind a Judith, underneath The head of Holofernes peep'd and saw. Girl after girl was call'd to trial: each Disclaim'd all knowledge of us : last of all, Melissa trust me, Sir, I pitied her. She, question'd if she knew us men, at first A MEDLEY. 83 Was silent; closer prest, denied it not And then, demanded if her mother knew, Or Psyche, she affirm'd not, or denied: From whence the Royal mind, familiar with her, Easily gather'd either guilt. She sent For Psyche, but she was not there; she call'd For Psyche's child to cast it from the doors; She sent for Blanche to accuse her face to face; And I slipt out: but whither will you now? And where are Psyche, Cyril? both are fled : What, if together? that were not so well. Would rather we had never come! I dread His wildness, and the chances of the dark." "And yet," I said, "you wrong him more than I That struck him: this is proper to the clown, Tho' smock'd, or furr'd and purpled, still the clown, To harm the thing that trusts him, and to shame That which he says he loves: for Cyril, howe'er He deal in frolic, as to-night-the song Might have been worse and sinn'd in grosser lips G 2 THE PRINCESS; Beyond all pardon-as it is, I hold These flashes on the surface are not he. He has a solid base of temperament: But as the waterlily starts and slides Upon the level in little puffs of wind, Tho' anchor'd to the bottom, such is he." Scarce had I ceased when from a tamarisk near Two Proctors leapt upon us, crying, "Names:" He, standing still, was clutch'd; but I began To thrid the musky-circled mazes, wind And double in and out the boles, and race By all the fountains: fleet I was of foot: Before me shower'd the rose in flakes; behind I heard the puff'd pursuer; at mine ear Bubbled the nightingale and heeded not, And secret laughter tickled all my soul. At last I hook'd my ankle in a vine, That claspt the feet of a Mnemosyne, And falling on my face was caught and known. They haled us to the Princess where she sat High in the hall: above her droop'd a lamp, A MEDLEY. And made the single jewel on her brow Burn like the mystic fire on a mast-head, Prophet of storm: a handmaid on each side Bow'd toward her, combing out her long black hair Damp from the river; and close behind her stood Eight daughters of the plough, stronger than men, Huge women blowzed with health, and wind, and rain, And labour. Each was like a Druid rock; Or like a spire of land that stands apart Cleft from the main, and wail'd about with mews. Then, as we came, the crowd dividing clove An advent to the throne: and therebeside, Half-naked as if caught at once from bed And tumbled on the purple footcloth, lay The lily-shining child; and on the left, Bow'd on her palms and folded up from wrong, Her round white shoulder shaken with her sobs, Melissa knelt; but Lady Blanche erect Stood up and spake, an affluent orator. THE PRINCESS; ४१ "It was not thus, O Princess, in old days: You prized my counsel, lived upon my lips :
An intelligent correspondent in Mississippi, whose opinions are entitled to respect, writes us as follows:-Speaking of the late meeting at Chicago, he says-These meetings, triennially, are certainly very pleasant, and particularly to social gentlemen, who can meet and have their banquets; but if they be of any service to Freemasonry, in any way, I must confess my obtuseness in not being able to perceive it. "What we will do with the Universal Masonic Congress, I do not know. A committee has been appointed to report at our next Grand Lodge communication. I have far less respect for that organization than any other. There can be no mixing of rites without danger to one, if not both. I am not among those, (and they are certainly very distinguished,) who believe in extending Freemasonry, or considering unimportant what are its ceremonies, or their emblematic character, if the kernel of the Institution be preserved. "I look upon it also as extremely dangerous to Masonry to create new governing bodies; for the very substantial reason that we do not require them; and further, that we cannot determine their future power, action or influence. With the Lodge and Grand Lodge it is different; yet we have some little difficulty in determining their powers, though their duties have been severally legislated upon for more than a century. We know, however, that they promote the welfare of Freemasonry and have never been instrumental of wrong to the world, within or without its boundaries." IGA dispensation was last month issued by the Grand Master for a Lodge at East Boston, to be called Hammatt Lodge, in honor of our venerable and beloved Brother John B. Hammatt, Esq., of this city, now in his eightysecond year, and still active in his Masonic duties and strong as in youth in his Masonic attachments. "Every unworthy member you receive, is only one more clog on your actions; one more cause of difficulty; one more subject for discipline." WASHINGTON STATUE.-The Grand Lodge of this Commonwealth, at its communication on the 27th ult., voted an appropriation of Three Hundred Dollars to aid our Brethren in Virginia, in paying for the Marble Statue of Washington, recently procured from Italy, and to be placed in a Monumental Temple at Fredericksburg, the place of his initiation into Masonry. St. Andrew's Lodge, of this city, the last month, voted an appropriation of Four Hundred Dollars, to complete the education of the son of an honored deceased Mason. Such acts of generosity are an honor to our Institution. "We entirely concur with the committee and regard the practice of permitting any Brother to make private examinations, and upon these,admitting strangers to Lodges, as exceedingly loose and unsafe." Officers of Monitor Lodge, Waltham, Mass., for 1860.-M. A. Moore, W. M.; H. Mullikin, S. W.; H. M. Britton, J. W.; J. H. Bowker, Treas.; T. W. Farnsworth, Sec.; J. G. Thayer, S. D.; C. H. Houghton, J. D.; Wm. Gibbs, S. S.; A. Bowers, J. S. C. W. Fogg, Marshal; L. Bowers, Tyler. Officers of Jerusalem Lodge, Northamp ton, Mass., for 1860.-Henry Childs, W. M.; William H. Jones, S. W.; James R. Trumbull, J. W.; Andrew S. Wood, Treasurer; Amasa D. Wade, Sec.; William D. Ansell, S.D.; William Bliss, J. D.; Rev. Horace F. Morse, Chaplain; David W. Crafts, Marshal; G. F. Wright, Trustee; Benjamin S. Morse and Josiah H. Prindle, Stewards; Thos. W. Mukins, Organist; E. W. Nichols, Inside Sentinel; William Weatherell, Tyler. As a rough quarry stone may be squared and polished by the hand of the skilful workman, so may the uninformed mind he moralized by the effects of education and example, and made a good and useful member of so ciety.--Dr. Oliver. elody いつ 20 A loving & stekne has To be bas THE IEW PAES FOR THE USE OF LODGES, CHAPTERS, COUNCILS, AND ENCAMPMENTS. The Grand Master of the Grand Lodge of California, recommended in his address, before that body in May last, as a Text-book, the "New Masonic Trestle-Board," remarking: "I will not go so far as to say that it has no equal, but I feel no hesita tion in recording my belief that it has never had a superior." RECOMMENDATION. Resolved, That the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts recommend the "TRESTLE- BOARD," as a work embodying all the essentials of a Manual of Ancient Craft Masonry; and in preference to all other similar works, it especially sanctions to the subordinate Lodges under its jurisdiction, the use of this most excellent compend of the principles and ceremonies of the Order. RECOMMENDATION BY THE LATE BENJAMIN GLEASON. BRO. C. W. MOORE- East Cambridge, Nov. 25, 1843. Dear Sir-Having, at your request, examined the new "TRESTLE-BOARD," prepared by you for the use and benefit of the United States Lodges, it is with much satisfaction that I bear testimony to its merits, and hereby cordially recommend it to the patronage of the Fraternity, "wherever dispersed," as a correct and useful Manual-better adapted to the purposes designed, than other more extensive and expensive publications. It was my privilege, while at Brown University, Providence, R. I., (1801-2,) to acquire a complete knowledge of the Lectures in the three first degrees of Masonry, directly from our late much esteemed Br. THOS. S. WEBB, author of the Freemasons' Monitor; and, in consequence, was appointed and commissioned, by the Grand Lodge of Massachusetts and Maine, Grand Lecturer, devoting the whole time to the instruction of the Lodges under the jurisdiction,-and for many years subsequently, (as Professor of Astronomy and Geography,) visiting all the different States in the Union, and (1829-30) many parts of Europe-successfully communicating, to numerous Lodges and Associations of Brethren, these same valuable "Lectures of the Craft"-according to the "ancient landmarks." Wherefore, as a Brother "well instructed," permit me, without hesitation, earnestly to recommend your good work, as well calculated to facilitate the acquisition of the Lectures,to preserve the ceremonials and usages, traditions and lectures, in their purity, and to encourage and ensure a general uniformity among the Brotherhood throughout our community of interests," in our "ancient and honorable" Professon. Respectfully, your Friend and Brother, BENJAMIN GLEASON. www AAA FREEMASONS MONTHLY MAGAZINE. BY CHAS. W. MOORE Vol. 19.] FEB., 1860. [No. 4. Publishing Office No. 21 Sehool Street, Boston. HUGH H. TUTTLE, PRINTER. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by Chas. W." Moore, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CONTENTS. Page. American Masonic Home, District Deputies, DEDICATION OF FREEMASONS' Hall, Filling Vacancies, 67 98 98 Dispensations for New Lodges, Charters Granted by Grand Lodge, Delinquent Lodges,-Failure to Pay Dues, Initiation of Sojourners, Lodges-Members-Initiates, The Proposed Masonic Congress, Widows' and Orphans' Institution, Death of Gov. Dunlap, Pilgrim Monument, Rejection of Candidates, Twentyfourth June, Germania Lodge, COMMITTEES OF INQUIRY, DISPENSATIONS, THE UNIVERSAL MASONIC RECORD, MASONRY AMONG THE LOWLY, MASONIC COLLEGE OF ARKANSAS, ADDRESS, RE-TRIAL FOR THE SAME OFFENCE, A LADY UPON FREEMASONRY, THE AFRICAN LODGE-BOSTON, THE ROMANCE OF MISFORTune, ADMISSION OF UNWORTHY MEMBERS, PRACTICAL FREEMASONRY, THE USE OF TOBACCO IN LODGES, OBITUARY, 98 98 99 99 100 100 101 101 102 102 102 103 103 106 106 110 112 114 115 118 119 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 LETTERS. List of Letters from Dec. 31 to Jan. 28. BUSINESS.-W A White, N. Oxford, Ms-J. Deering, Ponchatula, La-P M Cohassett- D M Jones, Vienna, Ill-S M Southaud, Vergennes, Vt-P M Manchester, N H-W Currier, Newburyport-P M Northampton-O F Braswell, Paris, Ten-P M Greenfield, Ms-J F Aglar, St. Louis, Mo-F Fox, Portland, Me-N D Haskell, Nebraska City-T J Carson, Trenton, N J-P M Tulip, Ark-J A Christie, Horse Heads, N Y-D A Baxter, Lane, Ill
Ephraim Cleaveland, Ira Beard. and Prescott Heald, Auditors. The appeal of P. S. Fuller of Good Samaritan Division, No. 39, was read and refered. The Grand Division took a recess till 1 1-2 o'clock, P. M. Opened in form. The G. W. P. read the following REPORT. To the Grand Division of Vermont, S. of T.: WORTHY BROTHERS: You have again convened, to deliberate upon such measures, as, in your judgment, shall best promote the purity, unity, harmony and efficiency of our noble and philanthropic institution. In entering upon the important and responsible duties of the session, it is becoming in us, first of all, to present to God, our united thank-offering, for the manifestations of His favor towards us, as an order; in our feeble endeavors to diffuse, among our fellow men, the blessings of " temperance, benevolence, and brotherly regard ;" and to implore the continuance of His smiles, that sucmay crown our combined efforts to discountenance the use, and suppress the soul-destroying traffic, in intoxicating poisons, throughout our land and world. At the last session of this honorable body at Middlebury, bro. Daniel Lothian and myself were associated, to procure some competent person to present the claims of the order, to the friends of temperance, and the public, in some of our northern counties, and where practicable to institute Divisions. Soon after the close of the session, I addressed a letter to bro. D. N. Merritt, of Massachusetts, but found him under a previous engagement to the Grand Division of Connecticut. Bro. Lothian also addressed bro. Charles W. Slack, of Boston, to ascertain whether his services could be obtained, and received from him a satisfactory reply. And accordingly bro. Slack entered upon the duties of his agency and continued in the field till about the 20th of March. Several new Divisions have been added to the Order, as the result of his labors, and applications are in progress for others, which have not yet been organized. For a particular account of his mission, permit me to refer you to bro. Slack's report, which will be read. In February last I instituted a Division at West Poultney, and from the character and influence of those interested in it. I anticipate that it is destined to accomplish much for the honor of the Order, and the advancement of temperance in that beautiful section of our State. Much credit is due to the brothers of Good Samaritan Division Division, for their efficient and valuable aid, in the organization of Poultney Division. Mount Independence Division was instituted at my request, by bro. J. B. Proctor, D. G. W. P., of Marble Valley Division, No. 54, and gives promise of eminent usefulness. And here let me remark, that so far as my information extends, those Divisions which are actively at work, and zealous for the extension of the Order and the promulgation of temperance principles, are invariably prosperous; while those which are inactive, are stationary, or have gone backward. Would God, that every brother felt, in some good degree as he should feel, the fearful responsibility which rests upon him individually to do all that in him lies, by the most active and persevering efforts,-every where and all times to advance the interests of temperance in the community, and render the cause universally triumphant ! It would facilitate our labors, and afford much valuable aid to the cause we have espoused, if all our Deputies were to forward to me a full quarterly report of the state of their respective Divisions, and at the same time communicate such general information relative to the progress of the temperance reform in their respective localities, as they shall deem useful and of general interest. To those brothers who have faithfully discharged their duty in this respect, I tender my cordial acknowledgments, and would earnestly direct the attention of all Deputies to the importance of this part of their official duty. The duties of the Grand Scribe are arduous and responsible, and it affords me great satisfaction to attest to his efficiency and fideli ty. If greater promptness were manifested by Divisions in making their quarterly returns, his labors would be much abridged, and his heart cheered in the discharge of his manifold responsibilities. Several Divisions have been quite remiss in duty in this matter, not exhibiting in their conduct in this respect, so beautiful an illustration of our cardinal principle fidelity, as others have uniformly manifested, with honor to themselves and to the order. I would very kindly direct the attention of Deputies and Worthy Patriarchs to their official duties in the premises, and trust that a satisfactory reform of this irregularity will be speedily effected. For accurate details of the progress and state of the Order under this jurisdiction, allow me to refer you to the report of our Grand Scribe, which I suppose will now be submitted. In view of what has already been accomplished for the advancement of temperance in our State, it is appropriate that we should "thank God and take courage.' In almost every community where our Order exists, numbers of our fellow men, whose wills had been long enslaved to the despotic power of artificial appetites, and habits of intemperance, have been, through its benevolent instrumentality, reclaimed and emancipated from their former thraldom of guilt and wretchedness, raised to the dignity and attributes of manhood, and again restored to their families and to society, as sober, honest and industrious citizens. In addition to this, we have seen a goodly number from among the youth of the State, brought weekly, into our Division rooms, under influences salutary and purifying, where they have become deeply imbued with the principles of temperance and true philanthropy. They also afford to all candid observers, pleasing and satisfactory evidence of intellectual as well as moral growth. And thus have those of this interesting class connected with the Order, been allured from the path of the Destroyer, and saved from stepping in to fill the places vacated by death, in that doomed phalanx of reeling bloated men" always found marshalled in those communities where the use and traffic in intoxicating poisons is tolerated and continued. The excellent discipline afforded our youth by the rules, usages and requisitions of the Order, is in my judgment, a beautiful feature of our institution-one which should commend it to the warm sympathies, and cordial support of every true friend of temperance, and of every intelligent parent in the community. Would that all our young men could be speedily brought to fully appreciate the great value of the intellectual, social and moral benefits, conferred by our institution, upon every faithful brother, and to voluntarily place themselves under its benignant influences! A law prohibiting the sale or furnishing of intoxicating liquors, except for medicinal, chemical and mechanical purposes, now graces our statute book; and although by no means so stringent as it should be, it affords more efficient aid to the friends of temperance, in their efforts for the suppression of this infamous traffic, than was given by the old law. Much credit is due to the brethren for their zeal and energy in circulating petitions, and for their hearty co-operation with the old and tried veterans in the cause, in carrying this law through our Legislature. It is now very generally conceded that our Order is the most ef ficient, if not almost the only temperance organization in the State. Why then, I ask, do so many of the true friends of the cause, refrain from uniting with us, thus diminishing our strength and discouraging our hearts? The combined energies of all, will find ample scope for the most vigorous exertion, in the removal of the curse from among us. My brethren, we have no good reason for discouragement, but on the contrary, much to strengthen and excite us to diligence.
When alms were to be given to the poor, they selected the streets and the public assemblies as proper places for the dispensation of their bounty, the object of which was to solicit the praise of men. They delivered long prayers at the corners of the highways, in order to impress the specta-patibility of his example and doctrine, tors with a belief of their superior righteousness; and with a superstitious reverence of the sabbath, all works of charity were omitted on that day. They entertained an extravagant opinion of their own holiness, and would hold little intercourse with other men, lest their reputed sanctity should be polluted, and therefore it was that Christ was rebuked for sitting with publicans and sinners. It was their common practice to indulge in offensive comparisons of others with themselves. They were furious zealots in all minor points of washing of hands, and cleaning cups, but were not remarkable for either justice or humanity. Their pride was of the most revolting nature, Objections equally strong may be leading them to usurp the chief seats adduced against either of the other in the synagogue, and to demand the sects, as both possessed traits inimical salutations of the people. This most to that purity and truth, which must renowned sect of the Jews, appears ever be indispensable in the church to have furnished frequent occasion of Christ. All these bodies were disof remark to Christ, who displays no tinguished by doctrines and religious reluctance in the exhibition he makes customs derived from the law, alof their numerous defects. He de- though in many particulars they were clares pride to be their ruling sin, in-violently opposed to each other. There fluencing them to prefer the adulation of men, to the approbation and love of God. Their regard to the memory of the good, was to him an evidence of depravity, because he knew it to proceed from a corrupt source. He tells them the tombs they adorned, and over which their tears then fell, contained the mouldering ashes of the very prophets their fathers had slain. Their veneration of the sabbath he severely censures, as tending to destroy the very object of its institution, which was for the bene would be no difficulty in recognizing an institution springing from a single sect, or made up of parts taken from each, and so modified as to make an uniform system. If any such body had been created, some traces of its existence might be expected in the records of past ages, and it would not be irrational to look for some vestiges of it even at the present day. But in vain will the page of history be consulted, in the hope of finding this much boasted, although ideal structure. There is no allusion, however distant, to the idea, that the Jewish church was adopted, but governed by more distinct commandments, and enforcing more rigid principles of morality. Certain it is, there does exist a church conforming in many points to that of the Jews, but that it is authorized by Christ can no where be shown. The severe invectives aimed at many of their practices, and their general intolerance, are opposed to such a conclusion. The description we have of their condition amply proves, how widely they had strayed from the legitimate exercise of the levitical institutions, and how criminally they had made them subservient to vanity and pride. A large part of the ministry of Christ appears to have been directed to the object of exposing the monstrous corruptions, which in the course of many centuries had become interwoven with the habits of the people. In doing this, a morality is urged, which for dignity and sublimity can never be excelled; the mere literal precept of the law, in its superstitious observance, was reproved, while the humble worshipper was directed to its true meaning. The austerity of one sect, and the unbelief of another, was to him the cause of great labour and of aggravated sorrow. unperformed, no prescribed duty was neglected, all that religion could do was done, all that virtue required given. But does all this prove, that upon the basis of Judaism a new church was to be erected? It must be remembered that the Jewish system either did not require a conformity of practice, or its advocates thought themselves justified in dispensing with the requisition. At the advent of Christ the Jews were divided into three parties, all of them powerful, and violently opposed to each other, yet worshipping in the same temple, and uniting in the same external ritual. If among all the variety of principles which then exerted an influence on the passions of mankind, nothing was found at all adapted to the foundation of a church, something original and peculiar must be sought. Christ must be supposed to reject the law in which he was educated, the customs to which he was attached, and with a miraculous strength of mind, invent or reveal doctrinal ordinances hitherto unknown. A solitary individual, unsupported by the favour and influence of the world, must in the event of success have left an imperishable monument of his labour. Those who were his immediate followers, in the But it will be urged, that at a very fervour of a just admiration, would naearly period he is seen disputing with turally employ every possible means the doctors in the temple on difficult to perpetuate the existence of so imand abstruse questions of the law. portant an establishment. How great That he manifested great anxiety lest would have been their diligence in the sanctuary might be defiled by im-recording every minute circumstance, proper usage, and therefore drove the buyers and sellers from their merchandise. That he sanctioned all the Jewish festivals by his presence, and in a few instances they assume an extraordinary importance in his mind. That on the sabbath day he presented himself in the synagogue, and, according to the custom of that time, received the roll, and read from the prophet Esaias. That he was circumcised on the eighth day, and his mother, at the purification, made the usual offerings demanded by the law of Moses. However opposed he may seem in many of his transactions to the course pursued by others, yet it will appear upon comparison of his conduct with the original, that even in those deviations he rigidly conformed to the letter and spirit of the law. No rite was left in any way connected with its formation? How eloquently would they have narrated every particular ceremony, and with what exactness would the features of the church have been delineated? There would exist no dark and gloomy doubts, but a clear and well defined description of what was required, would render void every occasion of dispute. No minor matter of ceremony, no greater of faith, could in a perfect system have been overlooked. He who by many astonishing and wonderful works, demonstrated himself to have been sent by the Father, could not be destitute of power not only to give stability to his church, but to point it out with certainty. In fact it is immovable, being built upon a rock, and in all its characteristics just and holy; but it is not external. No mark or sign has ever yet been given, by which such an exterior church could be undeniably proved. Nothing has more completely operated to destroy just conceptions of this church, than the gross and sensual opinions formed in relation to her nature and power. The happiness of men, both here and hereafter, has very much suffered from the indulgence of this habit, as is seen in the case of the Jews. They were filled with an eager expectation of deliverence from the tyranny of Roman oppression, and when they beheld with sorrow the desolate 'altars, there was consolation in the anticipation of the Messiah as a powerful monarch, who should restore the kingdom unto
That clings to it round all the circling swell, And that the same last eddy swallows up. VERSICLES AND FRAGMENTS. TO ART. I LOVED thee ere I loved a woman, Love. ON BURNS. IN whomsoe'er, since Poesy began, A Poet most of all men we may scan, Burns of all poets is the most a Man. FIN DI MAGGIO. OH! May sits crowned with hawthorn-flower, And is Love's month, they say ; And Love's the fruit that is ripened best By ladies' eyes in May. And the Sibyl, you know. I saw her with my own eyes at Cumae, hanging in a jar; and, when the boys asked her, "What would you, Sibyl?" she answered, "I would die."-PETRONIUS. "I SAW the Sibyl at Cuma" (One said)" with mine own eye. She hung in a cage, and read her rune To all the passers-by. Said the boys, 'What wouldst thou, Sibyl?' She answered, 'I would die."" As balmy as the breath of her you love When deep between her breasts it comes to you. VERSICLES AND FRAGMENTS. 379 "Was it a friend or foe that spread these lies?" "Nay, who but infants question in such wise? 'Twas one of my most intimate enemies.” Ar her step the water-hen Springs from her nook, and skimming the clear stream, Ripples its waters in a sinuous curve, And dives again in safety. WOULD God I knew there were a God to thank When thanks rise in me! I SHUT myself in with my soul, And the shapes come eddying forth. If I could die like the British Queen Who faced the Roman war, Or hang in a cage for my country's sake Like Black Bess of Dunbar ! SHE bound her green sleeve on my helm, Sweet pledge of love's sweet meed : Warm was her bared arm round my neck As well she bade me speed; And her kiss clings still between my lips, Heart's beat and strength at need. VERSICLES AND FRAGMENTS. WHERE is the man whose soul has never waked To sudden pity of the poor torn past? As much as in a hundred years, she's dead : Yet is to-day the day on which she died. WHO shall say what is said in me, With all that I might have been dead in me? PROSE. I.--STORIES AND SCHEMES OF POEMS. HAND AND SOUL, Rivolsimi in quel lato Là onde venìa la voce, E parvemi una luce Che lucea quanto stella: La mia menta era quella. Bonaggiunta Urbiciani (1250). BEFORE any knowledge of painting was brought to Florence, there were already painters in Lucca, and Pisa, and Arezzo, who feared God and loved the art. The workmen from Greece, whose trade it was to sell their own works in Italy and teach Italians to imitate them, had already found in rivals of the soil a skill that could forestall their lessons and cheapen their labours, more years than is, supposed before the art came at all into Florence. The pre-eminence to which Cimabue was raised at once by his contemporaries, and which he still retains to a wide extent even in the modern mind, is to be accounted for, partly by the circumstances under which he arose, and partly by that extraordinary purpose of fortune born with the lives of some few, and through which it is not a little thing for any who went before, if they are even remembered as the shadows of the coming of such an one, and the voices which prepared his way in the wilderness. It is thus, almost exclusively, that the painters of whom I speak are now known. They have left little, and but little heed is taken of that which men hold to have been surpassed; it is gone like time gone, a track of dust and dead leaves that merely led to the fountain. Nevertheless, of very late years and in very rare instances, some signs of a better understanding have become manifest. A case in point is that of the triptych and two cruciform pictures at Dresden, by Chiaro di Messer Bello dell' Erma, to which the eloquent pamphlet of Dr. Aemmster has at length succeeded in attracting the students. There is another still more solemn and beautiful work, now proved to be by the same hand, in the Pitti gallery at Florence. It is the one to which my narrative will relate. This Chiaro dell' Erma was a young man of very honourable family in Arezzo; where, conceiving art almost for himself, and loving it deeply, he endeavoured from early boyhood towards the imitation of any objects offered in nature. The extreme longing after a visible embodiment of his thoughts strengthened as his years increased, more even than his sinews or the blood of his life; until he would feel faint in sunsets and at the sight of stately persons. When he had lived nineteen years, he heard of the famous Giunta Pisano; and, feeling much of admiration, with perhaps a little of that envy which youth always feels until it has learned to measure success by time and opportunity, he determined that he would seek out Giunta, and, if possible, become his pupil. Having arrived in Pisa, he clothed himself in humble apparel, being unwilling that any other thing than the desire he had for knowledge should be his plea with the great painter; and then, leaving his baggage at a house of entertainment, he took his way along the street, asking whom he met for the lodging of Giunta. It soon chanced that one of that city, conceiving him to be a stranger and poor, took him into his house and refreshed him; afterwards directing him on his way. When he was brought to speech of Giunta, he said merely that he was a student, and that nothing in the world was so much at his heart as to become that which But he had heard told of him with whom he was speaking. He was received with courtesy and consideration, and soon stood among the works of the famous artist. the forms he saw there were lifeless and incomplete ; \ and a sudden exultation possessed him as he said within himself, "I am the master of this man." The blood came at first into his face, but the next moment he was quite pale and fell to trembling. He was able, however, to conceal his emotion; speaking very little to Giunta, but when he took his leave, thanking him respectfully. After this, Chiaro's first resolve was, that he would work out thoroughly some one of his thoughts, and let the world know him. But the lesson which he had now learned, of how small a greatness might win fame, and how little there was to strive against, served to make him torpid, and rendered his exertions less continual. Also Pisa was a larger and more luxurious city than Arezzo; and when, in his walks, he saw the great gardens laid out for pleasure, and the beautiful women who passed to and fro, and heard the music that was in the groves of the city at evening, he was taken with wonder that he had never claimed his share of the inheritance of those years in which his youth was cast. And women loved Chiaro; for, in despite of the burthen of study, he was well-favoured and very manly in his walking; and, seeing his face in front, there was a glory upon it, as upon the face of one who feels a light round his hair. So he put thought from him, and partook of his life. But, one night, being in a certain company of ladies, a gentleman that was there with him began to speak of the paintings of a youth, named Bonaventura, which he had seen in Lucca; adding that Giunta Pisano might now look for a rival. When Chiaro heard this, the lamps shook before him and the music beat in his ears. He rose up, alleging a sudden sickness, and went out of that house with his teeth set. And, being again within his room, he wrote up over the door the name of 25 Bonaventura, that it might stop him when he would go out. He now took to work diligently, not returning to Arezzo, but remaining in Pisa, that no day more might be lost; only living entirely to himself. Sometimes, after nightfall, he would walk abroad in the most solitary places he could find; hardly feeling the ground under him, because of the thoughts of the day which held him in fever. The lodging Chiaro had chosen was in a house that looked upon gardens fast by the Church of San Petronio.
107 just on that very account they found it so beautiful: they could now accompany the song of the bird; and they did do so. The boys in the street sang "zi-zi-zi -- klukluk-luk;" and the Emperor sang it too. Oh, it certainly was very beautiful ! But one evening, when the artificial bird was in the best part of his song, and the Emperor lay in bed and listened, "snap!" went something in the inside of the bird: a something made "burrrrr!" all the wheels ran round, and the music ceased! The Emperor jumped quickly out of bed, and sent for his private physician; but what good could he do? Then he sent for the watchmaker; and at last, after much debate and examination, the bird was in some measure restored; but the watchmaker said it must be taken great care of; for the pegs were nearly worn out, and could not possibly be renewed; at least not so as to play with any certainty. That was a source of lamentation! Only once a year did they dare to let the artificial bird sing; and there was a difficulty THE NIGHTINGALE. even about that: but then the principal Musician made a little speech with difficult words, and said it was just as good as formerly; and after that it was just as good. Now five years had passed; and there was a great mourning throughout the land : for in reality all cared a good deal about their Emperor. He was now ill, and would not live, it was said; a new Emperor was already chosen; and the people assembled before the palace, and asked the Chamberlain how the Emperor was? "P!" said he, and shook his head. Chill and pale lay the Emperor in his ample, magnificent bed: all the Court thought he was dead already, and each one hastened to salute the new Emperor; the lackeys ran to chatter about it, and the ladies'-maids had a great tea-party. Every where around, in all the halls and corridors, the floor was covered with cloth, so that not a footfall , might be heard; and that was the reason it was so still. so very still. But the Emyet dead: stiff and pale, peror was not THE NIGHTINGALE. 109 there he lay in the magnificent bed with the long velvet curtains and the heavy golden tassels: high above, a window was open, and the moon shone down on the Emperor and on the artificial bird. The poor Emperor could hardly breathe: he felt as if something was pressing on his chest; he opened his eyes, and saw it was Death that sat on his breast, who had put on his golden crown; in one hand he held the golden sabre, in the other the splendid banner of the Emperor; and around, from the folds of the great velvet curtains, peeped out the strangest faces, some quite ugly, and others so pleasing, so mild. They were all the good and evil deeds of the Emperor, which stared him in the face now that Death was sitting at his heart. "Dost thou remember this?" whispered they, one after the other: "Dost thou remember that?" and then they recounted so much that the drops of sweat stood on his forehead. "I never knew of this," said the Emperor. "Music! Music! the great Chinese gong," 10 THE NIGHTINGALE. cried he, "so that I may not hear all they are saying!" But they went on; and Death nodded his head like a Chinese to all they said. "Music! Music!" screamed the Emperor. Oh, "dear little artificial bird, sing -oh, sing! I have given thee gold and precious things; I have even given thee my golden slipper to hang around thy neck; sing then-oh, sing!" But the bird stood still; for no one was there to wind it up and without that he did not sing; and Death continued gazing at the Emperor with his great empty sockets; and it was quite still the while terribly still! Suddenly was heard, very near the window, the tones of the sweetest song: it was the little live Nightingale, that was sitting on a bough without. She had heard of the severe illness of her Emperor, and was now come to sing to him, and bring him hope and consolation; and, as she sang, the forms became fainter and fainter, the blood flowed quicker and quicker through the Emperor's weak limbs, and even Death THE NIGHTINGALE. 111 listened and said, "Go on, little Nightingale; go on!" "And wilt thou give me the magnificent golden sabre? Wilt thou give me the splendid banner, and the Emperor's crown?" And Death gave all these emblems of royalty for a single song: and the Nightingale sang on; and she sang of the peaceful churchyard, where the white roses bloom, where the lilac exhales its fragrance, and the fresh grass is bedewed by the tears of the survivors. Thereon Death felt a longing after his garden, and, like a cold white shadow, floated hoveringly out of the window. 66 Thanks, thanks!" said the Emperor. "Thou heavenly little bird, I know thee well! I banished thee my dominions, and yet hast thou, by thy song, dispelled the evil faces from my bed, and Death from my heart. How shall I reward thee?" "Thou hast already rewarded me," said the Nightingale; "I saw tears in thy eyes when I sang to thee for the first time; that I shall never forget. Those are jewels that THE NIGHTINGALE. gladden a singer's heart! But now sleep, and get refreshed and well. I will sing to thee!" And she sang, and the Emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and oh, how calm, how restorative, was that sleep! The sun shone in at the window when he awoke, strengthened and restored to health not a single one of his servants was come back, for they all thought him dead; but the Nightingale still sat there and sang. "Thou shalt always stay with me," said the Emperor; "thou shalt only sing when it pleaseth thee; and as to the artificial bird, I'll dash it into a thousand pieces.” "Do not do that," said the Nightingale : "why, he has done what he could. Keep him a while longer. I cannot take up my abode in the palace; but let me come when it pleases me; then I will sit of an evening on the bough near the window, and will sing to thee, that thou shalt be at once glad and thoughtful. I will sing to thee of the happy and the suffering; I will sing to thee of the good and the evil which lies hidden around thee. The little songster flies far THE NIGHTINGALE. 113 from here, to the poor fisherman, to the cottage of the peasant, to all that are far from thee and thy court. I love thy heart more than thy crown; and yet has the crown an odor of sanctity about it. I will come, I will sing; but one thing must thou promise!" "All!" said the Emperor, and he stood in his imperial robes, which he had himself put on; and held the sword, which was heavy with gold, next his heart. "One thing I beg of thee! Tell no one that thou hast a little bird which relates thee every thing! It will be much better not! And then the Nightingale flew away. The servants came in to look after their dead Emperor - yes, there they stood; and the Emperor said, "Good morning! THERE was once a merchant, who was so rich that he could pave the whole street, and almost a little alley into the bargain, with silver coin; but he did not do it: he knew better what to do with his money; and when he spent a shilling he gained a crown, so good a trader was he; and he died. But he His son inherited all his money. led a merry life, went every evening to the masquerade, made kites of bank-notes, and took guineas instead of stones to play at Duck-and-Drake with on the lake. It was, therefore, no wonder if the money began to disappear, which it very soon did; so that at last he had only two-pence in his pocket, and nothing else but a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown. His friends did not trouble themselves about him any more, now that they could not even walk across the street with him; but one of these, who had a kind heart, sent him an old trunk, and said, "Pack up your things, and be off!" That was all very well, but he had nothing to pack up, so he got into the trunk himself.
The Administration of the Holy Spirit in the Body of Christ. Lectures preached before the University of Oxford in the year 1868, on the foundation of the late Rev. John Bampton. By George Moberly, D.C.L. Oxford and London: Parker. 1868. We regret to say that we are greatly disappointed with these Bampton BOOKS. 157 Lectures. They advocate a mere system of official grace; and proceed, as we conceive, on a totally erroneous view of what is meant by the Body of Christ, and of what is intended by the communication of the Holy Spirit. Scripture Illustrations. By the Rev. T. Romaine Govett, M.A. Lon don: Macintosh. A NEW and elegant issue of a delightful little volume. The illustrations are drawn from the author's observations during a visit to Syria and Palestine. ii Poems and Ballads. By Janet Hamilton, authoress of Poems and Essays," and "Poems and Sketches." With Introductory Papers by the Rev. George Gilfillan and the Rev. Alexander Wallace, D.D. Glasgow: Maclehose, 1868. MRS. JANET HAMILTON is a wonderful old lady,-having a perpetual spring, summer, autumn, and winter in her soul. All the seasons by turns, and simultaneously at times, hold holiday within her. And the birds of song are there, all the year round, hopping about for ever, and soaring now and then high up, like the skylark, almost into heaven itself. The first picce published in the present volume is entitled The Skylark, caged and free; and it is a piece of as genuine poetry as ever hatched itself and took wing since Homer sang. It begins thus:- :- Sweet minstrel of the summer dawn, Bard of the sky, o'er lea and lawn Thy rapturous anthem, clear and loud, Rings from the dim and dewy cloud That swathes the brow of infant morn, Dame Nature's first and fairest born! From grassy couch I saw thee spring, Aside the daisy curtains fling, Shake the bright dew-drops from thy breast, Preen thy soft wing, and smoothe thy crest- Then, all the bard within thee burning, Heaven in thine eye, the dull earth spurning, Thou soar'dst and sang, till lost on high, In morning glories of the sky! It ends thus, with an allusion to the poetess's blindness,- Ah, cannot be !-my eyes are dark- A prisoner, too, like thee, sweet lark: But I have sought and found content; And so our songs shall oft be blent- I, singing in my hermitage, Thou, warbling in thy prison cage, Aspire! thou to thine own blue sky, I to a loftier sphere on high. The sale of the volume will, we presume, be entirely in the interest of Mrs. Hamilton; and a very beautiful way of manifesting beneficence will be taken by all such as purchase the book. Analytical Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, tracing the train of thought by the aid of parallelism, with Notes and Dissertations on the BOOKS. By principal difficulties connected with the Exposition of the Epistle. Rev. John Forbes, LL.D., Edinburgh. Edinburgh: Clark. 1868. We have not noticed that Dr. Forbes makes any reference to a previous attempt to illustrate the Epistle to the Romans by the aid of parallelism. That attempt was made by John Howard Hinton in 1863, in his " Exposition of the Epistle to the Romans on the principles of Scripture Parallelism,"-but by no means with the ability that is characteristic of Dr. Forbes's work. We feel greatly interested in the book. It is full of the ripened results of extensive scholarship and of penetrating and wide-reaching theological and philosophical thought. It is a noble effort to understand the profoundest letter that was ever written. When we add that in many points, some of minor, and some of greater importance, we feel constrained to take a different view from Dr. Forbes, we say nothing, and mean nothing, that in the slightest degree detracts from the high estimate we have formed of the ability of his work. He is well aware that the mental minerals that lie beneath the surface of the Epistle to the Romans will not speedily be exhausted. Many a shaft will still require to be sunk. Sketches of Palestine, descriptive of the visit of the Rev. Edward Payson Hammond, M.A., to the Holy Land. London: Morgan and Chase. 1868. We were rather surprised to find that Mr.Hammond's Shetches are written in blank verse. We should have infinitely preferred that they had been written in prose. But still, whatever comes from such a devoted and excellent individual as Mr. Hammond must be possessed of elements of interest. Reunion of Christian Friends and their Infant Children in the Heavenly Kingdom. By William Anderson, LL.D. To which is prefixed a Pastoral Letter on the occasion of the death of his young, and latterly only remaining, son. Edinburgh Oliphant. 1868. A VERY touching little volume, containing the outpourings of a large and peculiarly sensitive heart. Edited by ANOTHER edition yet of this charming book, the fifth. We hail it, and rejoice that it is being scattered, broad-cast, over the length and breadth of the Church and of the world. The work gets more and more enriched, as edition after edition is called forth. Words of Comfort for Parents bereaved of little children. William Logan. London: Nisbet. 1868. The New Testament; with Notes, Pictorial Illustrations, and References. Vol. I. The Four Gospels; with a Chronological Harmony. By Israel P. Warren. Boston: American Tract Society. SIMPLE and superficial; but good and pleasant withal. BOOKS. 159 The Christian at Work. New York. 1868. SUCH is the title of a monthly Journal or Newspaper, which bids fair, we should hope, for extensive circulation. We have been delighted with the Number sent us, Number 4. We cull from it the following items:- EFFECTIVE HEARING. "Various is the state of mind in which people listen to preaching. Some call the sermon dull, when they themselves are dull. I can't keep awake,' says one, under the preaching. No wonder-because of a late and hearty breakfast; and so soon as you get settled in your pew, your eyelids begin to droop. The whole hour is spent in an effort to keep awake, and all this you charge upon the sermon. Another complains that he gets very little good from going to church. The reason is plain. He carries his business to church with him. While the minister is preaching perhaps from the text ye cannot serve God and Mammon,' he is pondering on some business affairs, or laying plans for gain, or contriving how he shall meet his pecuniary engagements. Of course he gets no good. Still another finds fault. Something in the preacher's matter or manner don't suit him. He goes away grumbling. The faultfinding spirit never made a man any better. Some are criticising the appearance of their fellow-worshippers. They can tell you precisely what they had on, and how it became them. They discuss the matter on their way home, and after they get home. Unprofitable hearers! "But there, in that retired corner, sits a meek disciple, who has the ear open, and the heart open, and is drinking the refreshing water of life, undisturbed by any worldly thought. This hearer has been in the closet, praying for God's blessing on the Word. And now the soul is fed and refreshed, amid the [green pastures and beside the still waters.' "The whole secret of effective hearing lies, for the most part, in the state of mind and heart which we carry into the sanctuury." THE DEACONESSES OF KAISERWERTH. "Surely all Christian women should rejoice in an enterprise which has so wonderfully developed the power of their sex for noble works of Christian usefulness. Would it not be more seemly for us to seek to establish our rights for working in these, and leave the question of political rights to wrangling politicians? For us, as Chrtstian women, we claim, in the words of the poet :- "The right to wake when others sleep, The right to watch, the right to weep. The right to comfort in distress, The right to soothe, the right to bless, The right the widow's heart to cheer, The right to dry the orphan's tear.
It was seen at once that no one could answer that, and the captious objector never quite recovered his position in the parish, while it is not the least of Kilbogie's boasting, in which the Auld Kirk will even join against Drumtochty, that they have a minister who not only does not read his sermons and does not need to quote his texts, but carries the whole book in at least three languages in his head, and once, as a proof thereof, preached with it below his feet. Much was to be looked for from such a man, but even Mains, whetted by intercourse with Saunderson, was KATE CARNEGIE. astonished at the sermon. It was a happy beginning to draw a parallel between the locusts of Joel and the mice of Kilbogie, and gave the preacher an opportunity of describing the appearance, habits, and destruction of the locusts, which he did solely from Holy Scripture, translating various passages afresh and combining lights with marvellous ingenuity. This brief preface of half an hour, which was merely a stimulant for the Kilbogie appetite, led up to a thorough examination of physical judgments, during which both Bible and Church history were laid under liberal contribution. At this point the minister halted, and complimented the congregation on the attention they had given to the facts of the case, which were his first head, and suggested that before approaching the doctrine of visitations they might refresh themselves with a Psalm. The congregation were visibly impressed, and many made up their minds while singing "That man hath perfect blessedness; and while others thought it due to themselves to suspend judgment till they had tasted the doctrine, they afterwards confessed their confidence. It goes without saying that he was immediately beyond the reach of the ordinary people on the second head, and even veterans in theology panted after him in vain, so that one of the elders, nodding assent to an exposure of the Manichaean heresy, suddenly blushed as one who had played the hypocrite. Some professed to have noticed a doctrine that had not been touched upon, but they never could give it a name, and it excited just admiration that a preacher, starting from a plague of mice, should have made a way by strictly scientific methods into the secret places of theology. Saunderson allowed his hearers a brief rest after the 99 A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 139 second head, and cheered them with the assurance that what was still before them would be easy to follow. It was the application of all that had gone before to the life of Kilbogie, and the preacher proceeded to convict the parish under each of the ten commandments -- with the plague of mice ever in reserve to silence excuses--. till the delighted congregation could have risen in a body and taken Saunderson by the hand for his fearlessness and faithfulness. Perhaps the extent and thoroughness of this monumental sermon can be best estimated by the fact that Claypots, father of the present tenant, who always timed his rest to fifty minutes exactly, thus overseeing both the introduction and application of the sermon, had a double portion, and even a series of supplementary dozes, till at last he sat upright through sheer satiety. It may also be offered as evidence that the reserve of peppermint held by mothers for their bairns was pooled, doles being furtively passed across pews to conspicuously needy families, and yet the last had gone before Saunderson finished. Mains reported to the congregational meeting that the minister had been quiet for the rest of the day, but had offered to say something about Habakkuk to any evening gathering, and had cleared up at family worship some obscure points in the morning discourse. He also informed the neighbours that he had driven his guest all the way to Muirtown, and put him in an Edinburgh carriage with his own hands, since it had emerged that Saunderson, through absence of mind, had made his down journey by the triangular route of Dundee. It was quite impossible for Kilbogie to conceal their pride in electing such a miracle of learning, and their bearing in Muirtown was distinctly changed; but indeed they KATE CARNEGIE. did not boast vainly about Jeremiah Saunderson, for his career was throughout on the level of that monumental sermon. When the Presbytery in the gaiety of their heart examined Saunderson to ascertain whether he was fully equipped for the work of the ministry, he professed the whole Old Testament in Hebrew, and MacWheep of Pitscowrie, who always asked the candidate to read the twenty-third Psalm, was beguiled by Jeremiah into the Book of Job, and reduced to the necessity of asking questions by indicating verbs with his finger. His Greek examination led to an argument between Jeremiah and Dr. Dowbiggin on the use of the aorist, from which the minister-elect of Kilbogie came out an easy first; and his sermons were heard to within measurable distance of the second head by an exact quorum of the exhausted court, who were kept by the clerk sitting at the door, and preventing MacWheep escaping. His position in the court was assured from the beginning, and fulfilled the function of an Encyclopaedia with occasional amazing results, as when information was asked about some Eastern sect for whose necessities the Presbytery were asked to collect, and to whose warm piety affecting allusion was made, and Jeremiah showed clearly, with the reporters present, that the Cappadocians were guilty of a heresy beside which Morisonianism was an unsullied whiteness. His work as examiner-in-general for the court was a merciful failure, and encouraged the students of the district to return to their district court, who on the rumour of him had transferred themselves in a body to a Highland Presbytery, where the standard. question in Philosophy used to be, "How many horns has a dilemma, and distinguish the one from the other." No man knew what the minister of Kilbogie might not ask he was only perfectly certain that it would be A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN. 141 66 beyond his knowledge; but as Saunderson always gave the answer himself in the end, and imputed it to the student, anxiety was reduced to a minimum. Saunderson, indeed, was in the custom of passing all candidates and reporting them as marvels of erudition, whose only fault was a becoming modesty - which, however, had not concealed from his keen eye hidden treasures of learning. Beyond this sphere the good man's services were not used by a body of shrewd ecclesiastics, as the inordinate length of an ordination sermon had ruined a dinner prepared for the court by one of our intelligent and large-hearted laymen," and it is still pleasantly told how Saunderson was invited to a congregational soirée an ancient meeting where the people ate oranges and the speaker rallied the minister on being still unmarried and discoursed, as a carefully chosen subject, on the Jewish feasts, with illustrations from the Talmud, till some one burst a paper bag and allowed the feelings of the people to escape. When this history was passed round Muirtown Market, Kilbogie thought sill more highly of their minister, and indicated their opinion of the other parish in severely theological language. Saunderson's reputation for unfathomable learning and saintly simplicity was built up out of many incidents, and grew with the lapse of years to a solitary height in the big strath, so that no man would have dared to smile had the Free Kirk minister of Kilbogie appeared in Muirtown in his shirt sleeves, and Kilbogie would only. have been a trifle more conceited. Truly he was an amazing man, and, now that he is dead and gone, the last of his race, I wish some man of his profession had written his life, for the doctrine he taught and the way he lived. will not be believed by the new generation. The arrival KATE CARNEGIE.
sorry "Miss Caroline Percy out of her power!-Oh! charming!-a fine escape!" cried Georgiana, delighted-"You may be sure it was for want of the dress, though Mamma"- "No matter-but about yours, my dear" "Oh! yes, Ma'am; my dress; that's the only difficulty now." "I certainly wish you, my darling, to appear well, especially as all the world will be here-The two Clays, by the by, here's their letter-they come to-morrow and in short, the whole world-But, as to money, there's but one way of putting your father into good humour enough with you, to touch upon that string"- "One way-well, if there be one way-any way"-- "Petcalf!". "Oh! Petcalf! is my abhorrence- "There is the thing!-He was speaking to your father seriously about you, and your father sounded me-I said you would never agree, and he was quite displeased-that and Mrs. Sparkes' bill completely overset him. Now, if you had your wish, Georgiana-what would be your taste, child?" 66 My wish! My taste-Oh! that would be for a delicate, delicate, soft, sentimental blue satin, with silver fringe, looped with pearl, for my first act,-and in my last." "Two dresses. Oh! you extravagant! Out of all possibility," "I am only wishing, telling you my taste, dear Mamma You know there must be a change of dress, in the last act, for Zara's nuptials-Now for my wedding dress, Mamma, my taste would be- 'Shine out, appear, be found, my lovely Zara," in bridal white and silver. You know, Ma'am, I am only supposing." "Well then, supposition for supposition," replied Mrs. Falconer-" Supposing I let your father hope that you are not so decided to abhor poor Petcalf ... 99 "Oh! dear Mamma, I am so persecuted about that Petcalf ... and compared with Count Altenberg, my father must be blind, or think me an idiot." "Oh! between him and the Count, there is no comparison to be sure... But I forgot to mention, that what your father builds upon is our poor old friend, the General's death; Clay here, in a postscript, you see, mentions the gout in his stomach-So I am afraid he is as good as gone, as your father says, and then, The Lodge in Asia Minor is certainly a pretty place to sit down upon, if one could do no better." "But, Ma'am, the Count's vast possessions and rank !" "I grant you all that, my dear; but our present object is the play-Zara's royal robes cannot be had for nothing, you PATRONAGE. 321 know- -you never listened to my infallible means of obtaining your wish-I think I can engage, that the Commissioner will not refuse us, if you will empower me to say to him, that by this time twelvemonth, if nothing better offers mind my if-Petcalf shall be rewarded for his constancy." "If.... Oh! dear me ! .. But before this time twelvemonth the Count . . 99 "Or one of the Clays might offer, and in that case, my if brings you off safe with your father." "Well, then, Mamma, upon condition that you will promise me, upon your word, you will lay a marked emphasis upon your if . . . . I believe, for Zara's sake, I must." "I knew you would behave at last like a sensible girl," said Mrs. Falconer-" I'll go and speak to your father directly." Mrs. Falconer thus fairly gained her point, by setting Georgiana's passion for dress against her passion for Count Altenberg; and having, moreover, under false pretences, extorted from the young lady many promises to keep her temper prudently, and to be upon the best terms possible with her rival; the mother went away perfectly satisfied with her own address. The father was brought to perform his part, not without difficulty-Carte-blanche for Zara's sentimental blue and bridal white robes, was obtained, silver fringe and pearls inclusive-The triumphant Zara rang for the base confidante of her late distresses-Lydia Sharpe re-entered, with the four dresses upon sale; but she and her guineas, and the most honourable appraisers, all were treated with becoming scorn -And, as Lydia, obeyed her young lady's orders to replace her clothes in her wardrobe, and never to think of them more, they suddenly rose in value in her estimation, and she repented that she had been quite so much of an extortioner. She knew the difference of her mistress's tone, when disappointed or successful, and guessed that supplies had been obtained by some means or other-" New dresses, I smell, are the order of the day," said Lydia Sharpe to herself" But I'll engage she will want me presently to make them up. So I warrant I won't come down off my high horse till I see why."- "Miss Georgiana Falconer, Ma'am, I beg pardon-you are the mistress-I meant only to oblige and accommodate when called upon-but if I'm not wanted. . . . I'm not wantedand I hope ladies will find them that will be more abler and willinger to serve them." So saying, half flouncing, half pouting, she retired-Her young mistress, aware that Lydia's talents and expeditious performance, as a mantua-maker and a milliner, were essential to the appearance of Zara, suppressed her own resentment, submitted to her maid's insolence, and brought her into humour again that night, by a present of the famous white satin. EDGEWORTH'S WORKS. In due time, consequently, the Turkish dresses were in great forwardness-Lest we should never get to the play, we forbear to relate all the various frettings, jealousies, clashing vanities, and petty quarrels, which occurred between the actresses and their friends, during the getting up of this piece and its rehearsals. We need mention only, that the seeds of irreconcileable dislike were sown at this time between the Miss Falconers and their dear friends, the Lady Arlingtons-There was some difficulty made by Lady Anne about lending her diamond crescent for Zara's turban; Miss Georgiana could never forgive this-And Lady Frances, on her part, was provoked, beyond measure, by an order from the Duke, her uncle, forbidding her to appear on the stage-She had some reason to suspect, that this order came in consequence of a treacherous paragraph in a letter of Georgiana's to Lady Trant, which went round, through Lady Jane Granville, to the Duke, who, otherwise, as Lady Frances observed, “in the midst of his politics, might never have heard a word of the matter." Mrs. Falconer bad need of all her power over the muscles of her face, and all her address, in these delicate and difficult eircumstances. Her daughter Arabella, too!--was sullen, the young lady was subject to her brother John's fit of obsti nacy. For some time she could not be brought to undertake the part of Selima, and no other Selima was to be had. She did not see why she should condescend to play the confidante for Georgiana's Zara-Why she was to be sacrificed to her sister; and Sir Robert Percy, her admirer, not even to be invited, because the other Percys were to come- 99 The Mrs. Falconer plied her well with flattery, through Colonel Spandrill; and, at last, Arabella was pacified by a promise, that the following week "Love in a Village," or Lord of the Manor"-should be acted, in which she should choose her part, and in which her voice and musical talents would be brought forward,-and Sir Robert Percy and his friends should be the principal auditors. Recovered, or partly recovered from her fit of the sullens, she was prevailed upon to say, she would try what she could do in Selima. The parts were learn by heart; the dresses, after innumerable alterations, finished to the satisfaction of the heroes and heroines of the drama. Their quarrels, and the quarrels of their friends and of their servants, male and female, were at last hushed to temporary repose, and--the great, the important day arrived. The preceding evening, Mrs. Falconer, as she sat quite exhausted in the green room, was heard to declare, she was so tired, that she would not go through the same thing again, for one month, to be Queen of England. PATRONAGE. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE theatre at Falconer-Court was not very spacious, but it was elegantly fitted up, extremely well lighted, and had a good effect.
O nation miserable, With an untitled tyrant bloody-sceptered! When shalt thou see thy wholesome days again? Since that the truest issue of thy throne By his own interdiction stands accursed, And does blaspheme his breed! . O my breast, Thy hope ends here!-SHAKESPEARE. IMPATIENCE is usually of loud force; very quick time; high pitch; harsh, impure quality; moderate or small volume; strong vanishing* stress; long, usually falling slides. Thus: Shame shame! that in such a proud moment of life, Worth ages of history, when, had you but hurled One bolt at your bloody invader, that strife Between freemen and tyrants had spread through the world. As if, the longer the mind dwelt on the thought, the more intense the feeling became. VOCAL EXPRESSION. That then! O disgrace upon manhood! e'en then You should falter; should cling to your pitiful breath; Cower down into beasts when you might have stood men ; And prefer a slave's life to a glorious death!-MOORE. CONTEMPT is usually of slight force, quick or moderate time, moderate pitch; expulsive initial stress, aspirated whispering quality, small volume, moderate slides. Thus: Go, preach to the coward, thon death-telling seer! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, round thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright!--CAMPBELL. SCORN is similar to contempt; but louder, and of larger volume and longer slides. MALICE, which is a settled state of the mind, is usually of moderate force, moderate or slow time, low pitch, initial stress, aspirated or guttural quality, small volume, short slides. Thus: I'll have my bond. Speak not against my bond. I've sworn an oath that I will have my bond. Thou call'dst me dog, before thou hadst a cause; But, since I am a dog, beware my fangs.-SHAKESPEARE. Lady Capulet. Juliet. Capulet. SCOLDING is own sister to Impatience. It is usually of loud force; quick time; high pitch, but may growl in a low pitch; impure quality; small volume; marked radical stress; short slides, often circumflex. Thus: Capulet. How now! how now, chop-logic! What is this? "Proud" and, "I thank you "--and, “I thank you not;” And yet not proud!" mistress minion, you, Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds; But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next To go with Paris to St. Peter's church; Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither! You tallow face! Fie! fie! what, are you mad? Good father, I beseech you on my knees, Hear me with patience but to speak a word. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch ! I tell thee what,-get thee to church o' Thursday, Or never after look me in the face! Speak not; reply not; do not answer me! My fingers itch!-SHAKESPEARE. ANGER, when it has not settled into cool malice, is usually of loud force; quick time; moderate or high pitch; very impure in quality, the words being hissed or growled; small volume, the teeth being set; abrupt explosive initial stress, sometimes vanishing; long slides, sometimes circumflex. Thus: Villains! you did not so when your vile daggers Hacked one another in the sides of Caesar! You showed your teeth like apes, and fawned like hounds, And bowed like bondmen, kissing Caesar's feet, Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind, Struck Caesar on the neck!-SHAKESPEARE. RAGE and FURY are usually of very loud force, very quick time, very high pitch,* very impure quality,* large volume, * very abrupt initial stress, long slides. Thus: All the stored vengeance of heaven fall On her ingrateful top! Strike her young bones, You taking airs, with lameness! You nimble lightnings, dart your blinding flames Into her scornful eyes!-SHAKESPEARE. DEFIANCE is usually of loud force, quick time, high pitch, large volume, very impure quality, abrupt initial stress, long slides. Thus: Whence and what art thou, execrable shape? That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance Thy miscreated front athwart my way To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass- That be assured-without leave asked of thee.-MILTON. COMMAND is usually of loud force; moderate or quick time; moderate or high pitch; large volume; pure quality, unless angry; marked radical stress; long falling slides. Thus: Uzziel! Half these draw off, and coast the south With strictest watch. These other, wheel the north.-MILTON. DECISION is usually of rather loud force; rather quick time; moderate pitch; medium or pure quality; moderate volume; marked, but not explosive radical stress; moderate falling slides. Thus: I stand at Caesar's judgment seat, where I ought to be judged. To the Jews have I done no wrong, as thou very well knowest.-ST. PAUL. Macbeth. Lady M. BUSINESS, OF MATTER OF FACT, is usually of moderate force; moderate time; moderate pitch; medium quality; small volume; initial, but not marked stress; short slides, variable. Thus: I have no more doubt, that, before the expiration of winter, this bill will pass, than I have that the annual tax bills will pass; and greater certainty than this, no man can have; for Franklin tells us, that there are but two things certain in this world-death and taxes.‡ SECRECY is usually of slight force, quick time; and is carried on in a whisper or undertone. FEAR is usually of soft force, except when frantic; very quick time; low pitch, except in great fright; strongly aspirated quality; little volume; tremulous, or spasmodic initial stress; short slides. Thus: Macbeth. I have done the deed! Didst thou not hear a noise? Lady Macbeth. I heard the owl scream and the crickets cry. Did you not speak? When? Now. This element may be varied by frenzy. + The falling slide indicates completed thought; the rising denotes expectant or tentative thought. The suspended voice (i. e., neither rising nor falling) denotes incomplete thought. The voice takes the downward slide on that word which mainly conveys the thought, or which, when uttered, makes the sense to be apprehended. Emphasis usually makes the prominent word or words higher in musical pitch than the others; and the greater the emphasis, the higher the pitch. Increasing seriousness or solemnity, however, may cause the pitch in emphasis to fall lower. Accent does the same for the accented syllable, relatively to the other syllables, that emphasis does for the emphatic word, relatively to the other words. VOCAL EXPRESSION. Macbeth. Lady M. Macbeth. Lady M. Aye. Hark! Who lies in the second chamber? As I descended? Donalbain.-SHAKESPEARE. TERROR, when the victim is not paralyzed, is usually of very loud force, shrieking; very quick time; very high pitch; very impure quality, but the high notes may be very pure; variable volume, usually large; spasmodic initial stress, may be thorough or trembling; long slides. Thus: Avaunt! and quit my sight! Let the earth hide thee! Thy bones are marrowless, thy blood is cold; Thou hast no speculation in those eyes Which thou doth glare with! Take any shape but that, and my firm nerves Shall never tremble: or be alive again, And dare me to the desert with thy sword; If trembling I inhabit then, protest me The baby of a girl. Hence, horrible shadow! Unreal mockery, hence!-SHAKESPEARE. AWE is usually of slight force; slow time; low pitch; median, sometimes initial stress; sometimes pure, often impure, quality, the voice being low Thus: down in the chest; large volume; short, mostly falling slides. Whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded; O eloquent, just, and mighty death! what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised. Thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it over with these two narrow words, Hic jacet!-SIR WALTER RALEIGH. SOLEMNITY is usually of slight or moderate force, slow time, low pitch, median stress, pure quality, moderate or large volume, short slides. Thus:
And yet, I believe, they grew much higher even in his life, than he defigned. He was a man of a private quality and condition of life; his education in the office of the Exchequer, where he had been a clerk; and his parts rather acquired by induftry, than fupplied by nature, or adorned by art. He had been well known in former Parliaments; and was one of thofe few, who had fate in many; the long intermiffion of Parliaments having worn out most of those who had been acquainted with the rules and orders obferved in thofe conventions. This gave him fome reputation and reverence amongst those who were but now introduced. He had been moft taken notice of, for being concerned and paffionate in the jealoufies of religion, and much troubled with the countenance which had been given to thofe opinions that had been imputed to Arminius; and this gave him great authority and intereft with those who were not pleased with the government of the Church, or the growing power of the Clergy: yet himself induftriously took care to be believed, and he profeffed to be very entire to the doctrine and difcipline of the Church of England. In the fhort Parliament before this, he fpoke much, and appeared to be the most leading man; for befides the exact knowledge of the former, and orders of that council, which few men had, he had a very comely and grave way of expreffing himself, with great volubility of words, natural and proper; and understood the temper and affections of the kingdom as well as any man; and had obferved the errors and mistakes in government; and knew well how to make them appear greater than they were. After the unhappy diffolution of that Parliament, he continued for the moft part about London, London, in converfation and great repute amongst those Lords who were moft ftrangers to the Court, and were believed most averfe to it; in whom he improved all imaginable jealoufies and difcontents towards the ftate; and as foon as this Parliament was refolved to be fummoned, he was as diligent to procure fuch perfons to be elected as he knew to be moft inclined to the way he meant to take. At the first opening of this Parliament, he appeared paffionate and prepared against the Earl of Strafford; and though in private defigning he was much governed by Mr. Hambden, and Mr. Saint-John, yet he seemed to all men to have the greateft influence upon the Houfe of Commons of any man; and, in truth, I think he was at that time, and fome months after, the most popular man, and the most able to do hurt, that hath lived in any time. Upon the first design of softening and obliging the powerful perfons in both Houses, when it was refolved to make the Earl of Bedford Lord High Treasurer of England, the King likewife intended to make Mr. Pym Chancellor of the Exchequer; for which he received his Majefty's promife, and made a return of a fuitable profeffion of his fervice and devotion; and thereupon, the other being no fecret, fomewhat declined from that sharpness in the House, which was more popular than any man's, and made fome overtures to provide for the glory and splendor of the Crown; in which he had fo ill fuccefs, that his intereft and reputation there vifibly abated; and he found that he was much better able to do hurt than good; which wrought very much upon him to melancholy, and complaint of the violence and difcompofure of the people's affections and inclinations. In the end, whether upon the death of the Earl of Bedford he defpaired of that preferment, or whether he was guilty of any BOOK VII. THE HISTORY any thing, which, upon his converfion to the Court, he thought might be discovered to his damage, or for pure want of courage, he fuffered himself to be carried by thofe who would not follow him, and fo continued in the head of those who made the most defperate propofitions. In the prosecution of the Earl of Strafford, his carriage and language was fuch as expreffed much perfonal animofity; and he was accused of having practised some arts in it not worthy a good man; as an Irishman of very mcan and low condition afterwards acknowledged, that being brought to him, as an evidence of one part of the charge against the Lord Lieutenant, in a particular of which a person of fo vile quality would not be reasonably thought a competent informer; Mr. Pym gave him money to buy him a fattin fuit and cloak; in which equipage he appeared at the trial, and gave his evidence; which, if true, may make many other things, which were confidently reported afterwards of him, to be believed; as that he received a great fum of money from the French ambaffador, (which hath been before mentioned), to hinder the transportation of thofe regiments of Ireland into Flanders, upon the difbanding that army there; which had been prepared by the Earl of Strafford for the business of Scotland; in which if his Majefty's directions and commands had not been diverted and contradicted by the Houses, many do believe the rebellion in Ireland had not happened. Certain it is, that his power of doing fhrewd turns was extraordinary, and no lefs in doing good offices for particular perfons; and that he did preferve many from cenfure, who were under the fevere displeasure of the Houfes, and looked upon as eminent Delinquents; and the quality of many of them made it believed, that he had had fold that protection for valuable confiderations. From the time of his being accused of high treason by the King, with the Lord Kimbolton, and the other members, he never entertained thoughts of moderation, but always oppofed all overtures of peace and accommodation; and when the Earl of Effex was difpofed, the last fummer, by those Lords to an inclination towards a treaty, as is before remembered, Mr. Pym's power and dexterity wholly changed him, and wrought him to that temper, which he afterwards fwerved not from. He was wonderfully folicitous for the Scots coming in to their affiftance, though his indifpofition of body was fo great, that it might well have made another impreffion upon his mind. During his fickness, he was a very sad spectacle; but none being admitted to him who had not concurred with him, it is not known what his laft thoughts and confiderations He died towards the end of December, before the Scots entered; and was buried with wonderful pomp and magnificence, in that place where the bones of our English Kings and Princes are committed to their rest. were. Elector ar- London. The arrival of the Prince Elector at London was no The Prince lefs the difcourfe of all tongues, than the death of Mr. rives at Pym. He had been in England before the troubles, and was received and cherished by the King with great demonstration of grace and kindness, and supplied with a penfion of twelve thoufand pounds fterling yearly. When the King left London, he attended his Majesty to York, and refided there with him till the differences grew fo high, that his Majefty found it neceffary to refolve to raise an army for his defence. Then, on the fudden, without giving the King many days notice of his refolution, that Prince left the Court; and taking the opportunity of an ordinary veffel, embarked himfelf for Holland, to the wonder of all men; who thought it an nu- BOOK VII. THE HISTORY
The Biblioteca Nazionale Vittorio Emanuele, Rome. The School Library, Rossall. The School Reading Room, Rugby. The St. Louis Mercantile Library, St. Louis, U.S.A. The Archaeological Museum, The University, Strassburg (per Prof. Michaelis). The Imperial University and National Library, Strassburg. The Free Library, Sydney, New South Wales. The Sachs Collegiate Institute, New York. The Foreign Architectural Book Society (Charles Fowler, Esq.), 23, Queen Anne Street, W. The University Library, Toronto. The General Assembly Library, Wellington, N.Z. The Library, Westminster School, S.W. The Boys' Library, Eton College, Windsor. The Public Library, Winterthur. The Free Library, Worcester, Mass., U.S.A. The Williams College Library, Williamstown, Mass., U.S. xxxii LIST OF JOURNALS &c., RECEIVED IN EXCHANGE FOR THE JOURNAL OF HELLENIC STUDIES. The Transactions of the American School, Athens. The Parnassos Philological Journal, Athens. The Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique (published by the French School at Athens.) The Publications of the Archaeological Society, Athens. The Mittheilungen of the German Imperial Institute at Athens. The Journal of the Historical and Ethnological Society of Greece, Athens. Bursian's Jahresbericht für classische Alterthumswissenschaft. The Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society. The Jahrbuch of the German Imperial Archaeological Institute, Berlin. The Revue Archéologique, Paris (per M. Georges Perrot, 45, rue d'Ulm). The Numismatic Chronicle. The Publications of the Evangelical School, Smyrna. The Revue des Études Grecques, Publication Trimestrielle de l'Association pour l'Encouragement des Études Grecques en France, Paris. The Mittheilungen of the German Imperial Archaeological Institute, Rome. The Journal of the American Archaeological Institute, Boston, U.S.A. The Publications of the Imperial Archaeological Commission, St. Petersburg. The Transactions of the Cambridge Philological Society, and the Journal of Philology. The Proceedings of the Hellenic Philological Syllogos, Constantinople. The American Journal of Archaeology (Dr. A. L. Frothingham), 29, Cathedral Street, Baltimore, U.S.A. The Journal of the Royal Institute of British Architects, 9, Conduit Street, W. Mnemosyne (care of Mr. E. J. Brill), Leiden, Holland. ADDENDA BOOKS, PERIODICALS, &c. OF IN THE LIBRARY OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE PROMOTION OF HELLENIC STUDIES. FEBRUARY 1889. Abbott (Evelyn). History of Greece. Vol. I. Crown 8vo. London. 1888. Vol. IV. Parts 1, 2, 3. 1888. American Journal of Archaeology. Annuaire de l'Association pour l'encouragement des Études Grecques en France. Vol. XXII. 1888. Archaeological Institute of America- Architects, Society of British Papers of the School of Classical Studies at Athens. Vol. II. An Epigraphical Journey in Asia Minor. By J. R. Sitlington Sterrett, PH.D. Vols. III., IV. Boston. 1888. 8vo. Vol. IV. 1888. Journal of Proceedings. Transactions. Vol. IV. 1888. Aristophanis Comoediae. Edidit Blaydes. Plutus. 1 vol. 8vo. London. 1888. Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique. Vol. for 1888. Collignon (Maxime) et O. Rayet. Histoire de la Céramique Grecque. Royal 8vo. Paris. 1888. Edmonds (E. M.). Greek Lays, Idylls, and Legends. Small 8vo. London. 1886. Ἐφημερὶς ̓Αρχαιολογική for 1887. Homer. Iliad. Ed. W. Leaf. Vol. II. 8vo. London. 1888. Jahrbuch des kaiserlichen deutschen Archäologischen Instituts. Vol. III. Royal 8vo. 1888. Jahresberichte über die Fortschritte der Classischen Alterthumswissenschaft. Vol. XIV. 1888. Joanne. Guides Joanne.-Athènes et ses Environs. 1 vol. 12mo. Paris. 1888. Journal of Hellenic Studies. Vol. IX., No. 1. 1888. Journal of Philology. Vol. XVII. 1888. xxxiv Ktesias. Fragments of the Persika. Edited by John Gilmore. 1 vol. 8vo. London. 1888. Mittheilungen des kaiserl. deutsch. Archäologischen Instituts. Mnemosyne. New Series. Vol. XVI. 1888. Nebraska University Studies. Vol. I. Nos. 1, 2. Lincoln, Nebraska, U.S.A. 1888. Numismatic Chronicle. Vol. VIII. Parts, 1, 2, 3. Penrose (F. C.). Principles of Athenian Architecture. Second Edition. Royal Folio. London (Society of Dilettanti). Plato. The Phaedrus, Lysis, and Protagoras. Translated by J. Wright. 1 vol. 12mo. London. 1888. Römische Abth. IIрaктikά for 1887. Rayet (0.). Études d'Archéologie et d'Art, avec une notice biographique sur l'auteur par S. Reinach. 8vo. Paris. 1888. Revue Archéologique. Vol. XI. 1888. Revue des Études Grecques. Vol. I. Nos. 1, 2, 3. Paris. 1888. THE SESSION OF 1887-88. The First General Meeting was held on October 20, 1887, MR. E. MAUNDE THOMPSON, Vice-President, in the chair. MR. MURRAY read a paper on two vases from Cyprus (Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol. VIII. p. 317). These were found in recent excavations on the site of the ancient Marion, and were both undoubtedly of Athenian origin. The older was an alabastron, with female figures finely drawn in black on a creamy surface. The scene was of Bacchic character, and the painting was signed by an artist Pasiades, a name hitherto unknown. The second vase was a lecythus, with red figures on a black ground, but with accessories of white colour and gilding. The figures represented were Oedipus, the Sphinx, Athena, Apollo, Castor, Polydeuces, and Aeneas, and the subject Oedipus putting an end to the Sphinx after she had thrown herself down from her rock on the solution of her riddle. The colouring seemed to Mr. Murray to suggest an attempt on the part of the painter to reproduce the effect of a chryselephantine statue. Mr. Murray was inclined to fix the date at about 370 B.C. MR. C. SMITH remarked that the interest of the vases lay specially in their coming from Cyprus, and dwelt upon the importance of working out so rich a mine. MR. WATKISS LLOYD argued that a column in the second vase, which Mr. Murray had considered to indicate a temple, was more probably the column on which the Sphinx is ordinarily seated in vase paintings. MR. T. CLARKE remarked upon the close relation between Athena and the Sphinx, which might be noticed in Asia Minor and elsewhere, and was certainly older than the myth of Oedipus. Hence, no doubt, her appearance on the helmet of the Parthenos at Athens. An abstract was read of a paper, by the REV. E. L. HICKS, on an inscription found last year by Mr. Bent in Thasos. This was a decree having reference to the revolution at Thasos described by Thucydides xxxvi (viii. 64) as part of the programme of Peisander and his friends in B.C. 411. The full text, with Mr. Hicks's restoration and commentary, was published in the Journal of Hellenic Studies, Vol. VIII. p. 409. MR. BENT gave an account of his discovery of the stone. A squeeze of it was taken later by Mr. Christides, from which it has been published in the last number of the Revue Archéologique. MR. C. WHITEHOUSE exhibited a fragment of an uncial MS. of Demosthenes from the Fayoum, and dwelt upon the importance of investigating the district from the archaeological point of view before it was injured by new irrigation works. The Second General Meeting was held on February 23, 1888, MR. WATKISS LLOYD in the chair. MR. H. H. STATHAM, in a short discourse upon Greek architectural mouldings, said that he was not proposing at that moment to bring forward. any new facts about Greek mouldings, but to call the attention of the Society to the interest of a phase of Greek work of which little was generally known outside the architectural profession. Referring to a small sheet of diagrams, which was handed round to the meeting, he pointed out the function of architectural mouldings as a means of producing changes of reflected light or shadow by changes in the plane of surface of the material, and that such a modelling of the surface, when drawn in profile (as mouldings always were drawn), became a form of lineal design.
I Desire. 189 good?" and "O satisfy us!" express the depths of the human heart as no other words can. This is just the very thing every man wants, and for which he ever toils. His entreaty to every object which he has pursued, has been nothing else than,-" Shew me good, satisfy my heart." Exorbitant may be the demand, and selfish may be the prayer, yet it is in the heart, if not on the lips of every man. Disguise it as he may, clothe it in what form he may, like a beggar he goes to the doors of earth and of heaven. with the cry "shew me good, satisfy my heart." This is the strong undercurrent in his heart, and, though hid from the eyes of others, the flowing river of desire rushes on with its unceasing prayer-"shew me good, satisfy me." In glancing at the history of man in the past, or in looking at his experience and conduct in the present, we cannot conceive of a more confused and contradictory scene. It presents to view an ocean of ceaseless activity. Now and then, a temporary calm may smooth its troubled surface; but usually it is rough and tempestuous, and the billows of contention run high. Each man has some object in view which, running counter to the desires of others, results in a general commotion and struggle between opposing forces. Surveying this scene of tumult and clashing interests among men, it is apparently a chaos without a single point of agreement. Yet the man conversant with the workings of the human mind penetrates beneath the discordant elements of human history, and sees that the turmoil and contention in man's career arise from the fundamental agreement of all hearts in the common radical desire after good of some kind to satisfy the soul and render it happy. Each man is saying "shew me good, satisfy me." So intent and ardent is every man in pressing for a satisfactory reply to his request, that in multitudes of cases he becomes heedless of his brother, and gathering himself up within himself, and conscious of his own great desire, he goes through the world alone, while at every step there comes from the depths of his soul the imperative cry," shew me good, satisfy me." What wonder that a very Babel of confusion should follow, when each man takes his own way, and seeks good from objects which appear to him the most likely to yield it. It is, moreover, the earnestness with which men seek for satisfying good or happiness that accounts for much of the zeal, courage, and perseverance with which they prosecute their chosen path. Under the inspiration of this desire of attaining good and happiness, men have signalized themselves by deeds the most heroic and the endurance of hardships the most severe. It has also, by its frenzied power, led men to enact cruelties and to perpetrate enormities in crime of which devils would be ashamed. And, in general, this desire, like a slow but steady fire, burns in I Desire. the heart of humanity, urging the multitudes to do and to dare; to invent and to carry out something to quench the quenchless thirst. 3. This universal and radical desire of good or satisfying happiness, is usually unmet. The proof of this is, that very few will dispute it. That there are some men truly satisfied, we firmly believe. But of men in general it is true that the great desire of their hearts is not yet enjoyed. This cannot be owing to negligence in searching after objects to meet their desire. For what is there on earth which has not been searched to the core, with a view to get something from it, to give the heart satisfaction? As bees suck honey from every flower and blossom, so men have examined everything on the globe in search of that nectar of happiness for which their spirits thirst. The search has been universal, continual, and thorough. But the result has ever been that to man's request "shew me heart-satisfying good," earth replies, "it is not in me." It is not in the wild mirth excited by intoxicating drinks in which so many of the sons of toil and sorrow seek their happiness; for were they to continue permanently in their alcoholic excitement, they would only be fit for bedlam. It is not in the splendours of the drawing-room and fashionable levee, where the wealth, the beauty, and the elegance of the nation assemble; for in the luxurious magnificence of art and amid the refinement of taste and manner every face is a smiling mask covering a cheerless heart of unsatisfied desire which pomp and ceremony cannot meet. It is not in wealth; for go to the rich, and if honest, they will tell you that while money has power over many things, and may be to a certain extent a means of happiness, yet so far from wealth thoroughly satisfying their hearts, they see many a poor man of whose happiness they are envious. It is not in learning, science, philosophy, or poetry; for they who addict themselves to such pursuits will tell you that all the scientific and abstract truths which they know, and all the beauty or sublimity which they discern, only make their ignorance and imperfection manifest, and can as little satisfy their hearts, as a mouthful of water can quench the intense cravings of a thirsty man. We deny not to man a certain kind and degree of satisfaction from the various objects to which his tastes incline him; but we affirm that such satisfaction does not fully meet the demand of his heart in its importunate prayer-"shew me good, satisfy me." 4. This universal, radical desire of good, indicates that God's design in the creation and mental constitution of man, was that hehould enjoy perfect happiness. The structure of man's mind I Desire. 191 contemplates a felicitous destiny. It is conceded by all, that every instinctive desire indicates an original element in the creature's constituted nature; and that this element is the subjective correlate to the objective destiny for which that creation is intended. This instinctive desire may be perverted and overridden by other desires, or by certain circumstances, but it cannot be eradicated. It will still hold its place, and aim at its end. The admitted fact, therefore, that every man's heart instinctively craves after perfect satisfaction, shews that God created man with a view to his attainment and enjoyment of perfect well-being or happiness. Towards this as its end the desire is, with urgent vehemence, continually going forth. Amid the vicissitudes of man's career, there is no principle of his nature which has appeared with more energy and constancy than this instinctive desire of happiness. As the man who once moved in refined society, but has sunk into social degradation, still retains something of his former elegance; or, as the mouldering pile of ruins tells you something of its original, as a fort, a temple, or a palace, so it is with man in his degradation and ruin. From that instinctive craving after something good, you are able to say that man was originally intended to be happy, to have his entire nature thrilled with perpetual pleasure. Had we no other evidence of man's degradation and fall, than his own craving but unsatisfied heart, that of itself would be sufficient proof that he has fallen from his original position and destiny. The human heart was made to be attracted by the true and the good, but, like the mariner's needle in an iron ship, untrue to the pole from the disturbing influence of the ship itself, -the heart of man has swerved from the central good, and through the attractions of earth, is moving toward a maelstrom of ruin, instead of a heaven of happiness.
but for the press Of matter on hand Col. GhOson never has Justice done him in his reported speeches His remarks are always extemplre-deivered on the spur ofthe occasion, and generally without any premeditauon Hence II is impossible for tie re- porter to give more than a mere outline Of his speeches. The sketch however, although il IS no doubt but the skeleton ufhs speech is excellent the language IS bold, manly, independent-justs such as should come from. the representative of free, chvalrous people. ~The proceedings of the meeting Of democratic cit Szens in ltawamba county, published in our last seems to give our neighbor of the Argus no little annoyance. The resolution to which he refers, as passed by the Bible Suciety of Columbus was GER talnly "hsrmIess" one-but the editor well knows, and the public too well know, that the resolution as originally introduced was intended to cast a slurreflection on the citizens of Itawamba, because they had given unanimous vote for the democrat &c ticket at the late election. The number of BIZ bes proposed to be sent in the original resolution was 2Ol, exactly the number Of democratic votes poled IN that countyin July last This could not be misunderstood. 1t said as plain as language could, that ''inasmuch as the citizens OF ltawamba who voted at the last election have shown that thew are poor, deluded, Ignorant beings, unworthy Of the rights OF suffrage, we therefore, te members Of the Columbus Bible Society, do resolve to fur nsh each of these benightrd people with copy of the scriptures in order 10 enlghten him and make HIM good ,rhig The resolution was insulting. and the good people of that county justly felt indig nant at it. They had, and couldhave had no DISPOSE ton 70 assail or inure the excellent" society of this place but being singled out as the object ofits es peclal charity, and an isutng reflection being there. by cast on their intelligence and patriotism, they considered 1t but justice to themselves to hur back the impuatlon upon Their character, and to give a public expression Of their indignant feelings al the insulting proceeding. As to the COMMUNICATIONS" OF which the Argus speaks we have only to observe that we know Of none worse than that of COM mlnglIhg the holy object OF spreading abroad the Gospel with the politics and party stries of the day. t5- For the latest Congressional news our readers are referred to the interesting letters from our attentive Washington correspondent Congress has probably not yet adjourned. The Committee of Elections, il will be seen have reported in favor of Messrs Claiborne and Ghoson holding their seats during the 25th Congress. The report was made the special order of the day for the Ind INST We shall most probably get the decison OF the House by the next mail SouTHERN LITERARY MEssnsGER.-This Peri odical one OF the ablest and most interesting works OF the kind in the Union is published at Richmond Va we have been politely favored by The editor with the July, August and September numbers A more particular notice of the Messenger will be given in our next 10 Subscriptions to the work will be received at this oaice.-Price S. The Columbus Rife Corps.-We were delighted with the fine appearance and martial bearing Of this beautiful company at their parade ON Monday last Captain Albert and his patriotic soldiers are entitled to great credit for their commendabe public spirit. They went through their evolutions with as much skill and precision veterans in the service The Columbus B nd too, with their bright scarlet coats attracted no small share of attention their profcency IN the science OF music for the limited time they have been practising, is unparalleled In answer to the inquiry Of respected correspon. dent, "why do you not publish the names Of all the candidates!" We have only to say, that no name is inserted without PAY. A special order is required before any candidates name will be published in our paper All candidates are charged TEN DOL LARS. This is the rule Of editors in this state we have mentioned this before and presume the expla. nation now made will cxcnlpate US from the charge Of !" Partially" Temperance Society .ueeting.-At the meeting Of this excellent Society last week, resolution was unanimously passed, requesting DR.. Estes to furnish copy of his address delivered before them for publica zion. 1t has been promptly delivered to us, and we Shall take great pleasure in laying this admirable producon before our readers as soon as the election is over, or sooner if possible. - = OBITUARY We perceive by the last Free Trader that some of our Old friends in Natchez, have fallen victims to the prevailing epidemic. The editor pays beautiful tribute to tho memory Of our friend, RUSSELL NJ. KIBBY-lt does honor TO his head and heart The died in the neighborhood Of Match ez on the 4th inst at TIN lof "a, we saw Mr.. X. in northern city just omit e Of starting for the sunny south; !" well do weTemembcr the glowing expectations which pcrvaded his generous bosom: we saw him TOO. while he wasa resident Of tia, beautiful ciiy-many time have we wandered together upon the g Bluffs viewing the "noble Mississippi," rushing on in grandeur to the Ocean -
Homeric Hymn to Demeter was discovered among the manuscripts of the imperial library at Moscow; and, in our own generation, the tact of an eminent student of Greek art, Sir Charles Newton, has restored to the world the buried treasures of the little temple and precinct of Demeter, at Cnidus, which have many claims to rank in the central order of Greek sculpture. The present essay is an attempt to select and weave together, for those who are now approaching the deeper study of Greek thought, whatever details in the development of this myth, arranged with a view rather to a total impression than to the debate of particular points, may seem likely to increase their stock of poetical impressions, and to add to this some criticisms on the expression which it has left of itself in extant art and poetry. The central expression, then, of the story of Demeter and Persephone is the Homeric hymn, to which Grote has assigned a date at least as early as six hundred years before Christ. The one survivor of a whole family of hymns on this subject, it was written, perhaps, for one of those contests which took place on the seventh day of the Eleusinian festival, and in which a bunch of ears of corn was the prize; perhaps, for actual use in the mysteries themselves, by the Hierophantes, or Interpreter, who showed to the worshippers at Eleusis those sacred places to which the poem contains so many references. About the composition itself there are many difficult questions, with various surmises as to why it has remained only in this unique manuscript of the end of the fourteenth century. Portions of the text are missing, and there are probably some additions by later hands; yet most scholars have admitted that it possesses some of the true characteristics of the Homeric style, some genuine echoes of the age immediately succeeding that which produced the Iliad and the Odyssey. Listen now to a somewhat abbreviated version of it. "I begin the song of Demeter" says the prizepoet, or the Interpreter, the Sacristan of the holy places "the song of Demeter and her daughter Persephone, whom Aidoneus carried away by the consent of Zeus, as she played, apart from her mother, with the deep-bosomed daughters of the Ocean, gathering flowers in a meadow of soft grass and the crocus and fair violets and flags, and hyaroses cinths, and, above all, the strange flower of the narcissus, which the Earth, favouring the desire of Aidoneus, brought forth for the first time, to snare the footsteps of the flower-like girl. A hundred heads of blossom grew up from the roots of it, and the sky and the earth and the salt wave of the sea were glad at the scent thereof. She stretched forth her hands to take the flower; thereupon the earth opened, and the king of the great nation of the dead sprang out with his immortal horses. He seized the unwilling girl, and bore her away weeping, on his golden chariot. She uttered a shrill cry, calling upon her father Zeus; but neither man nor god heard her voice, nor even the nymphs of the meadow where she played; except Hecate only, the daughter of Persaeus, sitting, as ever, in her cave, half veiled with a shining veil, thinking delicate thoughts; she, and the Sun also, heard her. "So long as she could still see the earth, and the sky, and the sea with the great waves moving, and the beams of the sun, and still thought to see again her mother, and the race of the ever-living gods, so long hope soothed her, in the midst of her grief. The peaks of the hills and the depths of the sea echoed her cry. And the mother heard it. A sharp pain seized her at the heart; she plucked the veil from her hair, and cast down the blue hood from her shoulders, and fled forth like a bird, seeking Persephone over dry land and sea. But neither man nor god would tell her the truth; nor did any bird come to her as a sure messenger. "Nine days she wandered up and down upon the earth, having blazing torches in her hands; and, in her great sorrow, she refused to taste of ambrosia, or of the cup of the sweet nectar, nor washed her face. But when the tenth morning came, Hecate met her, having a light in her hands. But Hecate had heard the voice only, and had seen no one, and could not tell Demeter who had borne the girl away. And Demeter said not a word, but fled away swiftly with her, having the blazing torches in her hands, till they came to the Sun, the watchman both of gods and men; and the goddess questioned him, and the Sun told her the whole story. "Then a more terrible grief took possession of Demeter, and, in her anger against Zeus, she forsook the assembly of the gods and abode among men, for a long time veiling her beauty under a worn countenance, so that none who looked upon her knew her, until she came to the house of Celeus, who was then king of Eleusis. In her sorrow, she sat down at the wayside by the virgin's well, where the people of Eleusis come to draw water, under the shadow of an olive-tree. She seemed as an aged woman whose time of child-bearing is gone by, and from whom the gifts of Aphrodite have been withdrawn, like one of the hired servants, who nurse the children or keep house, in kings' palaces. And the daughters of Celeus, four of them, like goddesses, possessing the flower of their youth, Callidice, Cleisidice, Demo, and Callithoe the eldest of them, coming to draw water that they might bear it in their brazen pitchers to their father's house, saw Demeter and knew her not. The gods are hard for men to recognise. "They asked her kindly what she did there, alone; and Demeter answered, dissemblingly, that she was escaped from certain pirates, who had carried her from her home and meant to sell her as a slave. Then they prayed her to abide there while they returned to the palace, to ask their mother's permission to bring her home. "Demeter bowed her head in assent; and they, having filled their shining vessels with water, bore them away, rejoicing in their beauty. They came quickly to their father's house, and told their mother what they had seen and heard. Their mother bade them return, and hire the woman for a great price; and they, like the hinds or young heifers leaping in the fields in spring, fulfilled with the pasture, holding up the folds of their raiment, sped along the hollow road-way, their hair, in colour like the crocus, floating about their shoulders as they went. They found the glorious goddess still sitting by the wayside, unmoved. Then they led her to their father's house; and she, veiled from head to foot, in her deep grief, followed them on the way, and her blue robe gathered itself as she walked, in many folds about her feet. They came to the house, and passed through the sunny porch, where their mother, Metaneira, was sitting against one of the pillars of the roof, having a young child in her bosom. They ran up to her; but Demeter crossed the threshold, and, as she passed through, her head rose and touched the roof, and her presence filled the doorway with a divine brightness. "Still they did not wholly recognise her. After a time she was made to smile. She refused to drink wine, but tasted of a cup mingled of water and barley, flavoured with mint. It happened that Metaneira had lately borne a child. It had come beyond hope, long after its elder brethren, and was the object of a peculiar tenderness and of many prayers with all. Demeter consented to remain, and become the nurse of this child. She took the child in her immortal hands, and placed it in her fragrant bosom; and the heart of the mother rejoiced. Thus Demeter nursed
I will, I see no one who has not a wherewithal-a something to trade upon real chattels, speaking to the dullest sense. And my stock in trade, thought I, with a despairing fall of the heart, is words; mere syllables. Alas! in the humility of my soul, I would have exchanged my richest stock for the slippers hawked by an old Levite past my door. Man can understand the worth of shoe-leather, when the best written foolscap shall be to him as waste-paper. Humbled by these thoughts, I returned to my chair; and again gazing on the barren sheet, groaned with sorrow that I had been born the genius of my house. How I chided fate that had not made me like my brothers, dull fellows -fools!" "Come to your story," said the Hermit, impatiently appealing to his tankard. "What were the first doings of your maiden quill?" "You shall hear," said Cuttlefish. "I know not how long I sat with my skull clasped by my hands, trying with all my might to conjure my brains. However, I was at length aroused by a sharp knuckle rap at my door; which then opened, and a gentleman- as he appeared to me→ of great dignity of manner, entered the room. Pray, sir, I asked with growing confidence, for I saw the man could not be a bailiff, 'To whom do I owe the honour of this visit?'' "As for my name, sir,'replied the stranger, with a melancholy smile, 'you know it well, though at present we will speak no further of it. You deal in pen and ink. I have a little job for you.' Saying this, the stranger laid aside his cloak, and displayed a very beautiful court-suit of black. His ruffles and cravat were of the most superb lace; and his finger bore a diamond, which shone like a little sun in the room, drawing my eye with it wherever it moved. He was in every respect most richly appointed, yet was there nothing in his bravery of the coxcomb. He must be a cabinet-minister was my first belief; and then I thought, perhaps, a quack doctor.” "Did you not ask his name?" inquired the Hermit. "Yes," answered Cuttlefish; "but his first reply was only a smile, and a gentle shake of the head. Then he said, 'Oh ! never mind my name-you have heard of me, who shall say how many times?' Then he drew himself a chair, and took a seat by the fire, which, for lack of fuel, was fast dying in the grate. Seeing this, he took the fragment of a poker, for it was no more, in his hand, and asking with the blandest smile 'Will you allow me?'. thrust it among the dying cinders. Instantaneously they blazed up, casting a brilliant light throughout the room. 'Bless me,' I cried, 'I thought the fire was out.' Whereupon the stranger, with the same sweet, yet strange smile, briefly remarked - 'Nothing like poking!' Then my visitor again looked melancholy--again was silent. At length, I observed-'You said, sir, something about a job of what character? A piece of large history -- or merely a little bit of private scandal?' "Not that not that,' said the stranger, with slight emotion. 'I have suffered too much from the scandal of the world; have too keenly felt its wickedness to inflict it even upon a beggar. The truth is, I came here to hire you to pen my defence.' "Alas, sir!' I cried, what have you done?' The stranger merely shook his head, and drew a deep, deep sigh. 'With what are you charged?' I demanded. "With everything,' answered my visitor; that is with everything which the world calls wicked.' “At these words, I leapt from my chair. "But, sir,' said the stranger, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, and passing it gently across his eyes, 'but, sir, though I do not wish to pass myself off as a pattern person, I am nevertheless cruelly slandered. Look here, sir,' and to my astonishment, my visitor drew a large folio from, his coat-pocket. 'Be good enough to run your eye along that passage.' "I did so, and read as follows:- Whereupon the old woman upon being questioned, confessed that the Devil had appeared to her in the shape of a black cat; that he promised her power over all things; and upon such promise, she became a witch. This happened at eleven at night, on the 24th of October, in the year "Now, sir,' said the stranger, ‘I am prepared to show the falsehood of every syllable of the old woman's story.' "You prove?' I cried; and then it immediately came into my mind that the unhappy gentleman was lunatic; and that it was his peculiar disorder-dreadful malady !-to believe himself no other than the Wicked One. Or, perhaps, thought I, he may be some poor hypochondriacal creature, who will be Beelzebub, and nobody else. I have heard of folks thinking themselves into teapots of insisting upon lowering themselves to mean and base vessels; with this man, the disease may have worked ambitiously. Hence, poor creature! he may be a demon in his own conceit and for a time, it may be humane to humour him. Then, sir,' I said to my visitor, 'there is no truth in the old gentlewoman's story? You were not bargaining with the witch on the night of “I can prove an alibi,' cried the stranger, with some vehemence. On that very night, I was closetted with a certain minister of state, whose name, by the way, I must beg leave to suppress― making a bargain between him and a noble duke, for a vacant garter. And yet, sir, you must remark the grossness of the libel. It is therein written that I appeared as a black cat ; that I visited a wretched old crone in a miserable, degrading disguise, as though ashamed of myself. Infamous scandal, sir! I tell you, at that very time I was in my own person talking to one of the first men of the land; to a man of wealth and education; to one who had taken all sorts of honours at college; to one whose eloquence would lead away senates captive; whose keen logic would split hairs as a bill-hook would split logs. It was with him, sir--with him, the noble and enlightened -- that I was chatting the whole of the night; and yet it is set down in that folio that I was wasting precious time, and forgetting what was due to myself, by masquerading it with some mumpish harridan as a black cat. Upon my word,' said the stranger, with a look of injury-'if men affect to despise my principles, they might respect my taste. The truth is, they commit all sorts of shameful deeds, and then lay the temptation upon my shoulders. Be it murder, or be it robbery of a hen-roost, I am called the wicked instigator of the enormity; when the assassin and the thief had nobody but themselves to thank for the evil-doing. It is, sir, upon this point that I wish the aid of your pen to set me right with the world.' ("It is clear, thought I, the man is mad. Poor fellow! But I'll hear his story out.") "Look here, sir,' said he, and again he dived into his coat pocket; again he pulled forth another large folio. 'Read this,' he said. "Obediently, I took the volume, and read the passage to which the stranger's finger pointed; it ran thus-'Furthermore it was a common report that when any gentleman or lord came to see the Lord of Orne, they were entertained (as they thought) very honourably, being served with all sorts of dainty fare and exquisite dishes, as if he had not spared to make them the best cheer that might be. But at their departure they that thought themselves well refreshed found their stomachs empty, and almost pined for want of food, having neither eaten nor drank anything, save in imagination only; and it is to be thought that their horses fared no better than their masters. It happened one day that a certain lord being departed from his house, one of his men having left something behind, returned to the castle, and entering suddenly into the hall where they dined a little before, he espied a monkey beating very sorely the master of the nouse that had feasted them of late! And there be others that
I soon recovered, and, at seven, preached in the sessions house, to a numerous congregation. But the greater part of them were like blocks, and some like wild asses' colts. I was constrained to reprove them sharply. They received it well, and behaved with more decency. Fri. 17.-We lost our way in setting out of the town. It rained most of the day: however, this was far better than sultry heat. In the evening we returned to Dublin. In my scraps of time this week I read over that wonderful poem, "Fingal." If it is genuine, if it is really extant, (as many assure me it is,) in the Erse language, it is an amazing proof of a genius in those barbarous times, little inferior to Homer or Virgil! Mon. 20.-A friend showed me the apartments in the castle, the residence of the lord lieutenant. The duke of Bedford made a noble addition to the lodgings, which are now both grand and convenient. But the furniture surprised me not a little it is by no means equal to the building. In England, many gentlemen of five hundred a year would be utterly ashamed of it. Tues. 21.-I received an account of a young woman, the substance of which was as follows:- "KATHERINE MURRAY was born February 2, 1729, at Carrick-on-Suir. She feared God from a child, and abstained from lying and speaking bad [July, 1767. words. When about thirteen, she stole some twigs of gooseberry bushes from a neighbour, and planted them in her father's garden. Immediately she felt she had sinned, knew she deserved hell, and feared it would be her portion. She began praying three times a day; but, notwithstanding, her sin followed her every where. Day and night it was before her, till, after some time, that conviction gradually wore off. "In the year 1749, her sister heard the Methodists, so called. She was soon convinced of sin, joined the society, and advised her to do so too. But hearing one named that was in it, she was filled with disdain: What' meet with such a man as that!' Yet not long after, she was convinced that the sins of her own heart, pride and passion in particular, were as abominable in the sight of God as the sins of that man or any other. This conviction was exceeding sharp. She could no longer despise any, but only cry out, day and night, God be merciful to me a sinner!' "In February she went to hear Mr. Reeves. He preached on part of the hundred-and-third Psalm. She was now more deeply than ever convinced of heart sin, of unbelief in particular; and had such a sight of the excellency of faith, that she determined to seek it with all her heart. "In the May following, she was sitting in her rooni, lamenting her state, and crying to God for mercy, when suddenly she had a sight of our Lord, from the manger to the cross. But it did not bring comfort; on the contrary, it so heightened her distress, that she cried aloud, and alarmed the family; nor could she refrain till her strength failed, and she fainted away. Often her sleep departed from her; her food was tasteless, and she mingled her drink with weeping; being resolved never to rest, till she found rest in Him whom alone her soul desired. "It was not long before the Lord looked upon her. As she was in prayer, she had a clear representation of our blessed Lord, as crowned with thorns, and clothed with the purple robe. In a moment her soul rested on him, and she knew he had taken away her sins. Distress was gone; the love of God flowed into her heart, and she could rejoice in God her Saviour. Her soul was so ravished with his love, that she could not hold her peace, but cried out to all she knew, 'You may know your sins forgiven, if you will come unto Jesus.' "Yet a while after she dressed herself as fine as ever she could, and went to worship God, as she expressed it, proud as a devil.' Upon the spot God convinced her of her folly, of her pride and vanity. She was stripped of all her comfort, yea, and brought to doubt the reality of all she had before experienced. The devil then laboured to persuade her that she had sinned the sin against the Holy Ghost; and pushed it so, that she thought her life would fail, and she should instantly drop into 'he pit. But the Lord did not leave her long in the snare; he appeared again, to the joy of her soul. Her confidence was more strong than ever, and the fear of God more deeply rooted in her heart. She abhorred all sin, that in particular which had occasioned her distress; of which, indeed, she had a peculiar detestation to her last hours. "God now made her heart strong; she walked seven years in the clear light of his countenance, never feeling a moment's doubt of his favour, but having the uninterrupted witness of his Spirit. It was her meat and drink to do his will: his word, read or preached, was her delight, and all his ways were pleasant to her. She said, she never came from a sermon unimproved; often so refreshed as to forget weariness or pain. And she was truly diligent in business,' as well as 'fervent in spirit.' "And now she thought she should never be removed, God had made her hill so strong. But soon after this, she was present when her sister was ill used by her husband. She gave way to the temptation, fell into a passion, and again lost all her happiness. Yet not long; she continued instant in prayer, till God again healed her backsliding. July, 1767.] 257 "But from this time, as her temptations were more violent, so she had a keener sense of the remains of sin. Though she enjoyed a constant sense of the favour of God, yet she had also much fear, lest inbred sin should prevail over her, and make her bring a scandal upon the Gospel. She spent whole days in prayer, that God would not suffer her to be tempted above that she was able, and that with every temptation he would make a way for her to escape. And she was heard, so that her whole conversation adorned the doctrine of God her Saviour. "Yet she suffered much reproach, not only from the children of the world, but also from the children of God. These wounds sunk deep into her soul, and often made her weep before the Lord. Sometimes she felt resentment for a short time, of which darkness was the sure consequence; but if at any time she lost the consciousness of pardon, it almost took away her life; nor could she rest satisfied a moment, till she regained the light of his countenance. She always judged it was the privilege of every believer, constantly to walk in the light; and that nothing but sin could rob any, who had true faith, of their confidence in a pardoning God. "She was tried from within and without for about five years, yet kept from all known sin. In the year 1761, it pleased God to show her more clearly than ever, under a sermon preached by John Johnson, the absolute necessity of being saved from all sin, and perfected in love. And now her constant cry was, Lord, take full possession of my heart, and reign there without a rival!' Nor was this at all hindered by her disorders, the gravel and colic, which about this time began to be very violent. "In the year 1762, she believed God did hear her prayer; that her soul was entirely filled with love, and all unholy tempers destroyed; and for several months she rejoiced evermore, prayed without ceasing, and in every thing gave thanks. Her happiness had no intermission, day or night; yea, and increased while her disorder increased exceedingly. "But in the beginning of the year 1763, when some unkind things were whispered about concerning her, she gave way to the temptation, and felt again a degree of anger in her heart. This soon occasioned a doubt, whether she was not deceived before in thinking she was saved from sin.
6. In an action by one town against another pauper's husband had his settlement in H.; for the support of a female pauper, it appeared that the question of his settlement was the that, prior to St. 1874, c. 274, under which it only question in issue in that action; that, on was contended that she had acquired a settle-filing the answer, H. was requested by A. to ment in the defendant town as an unmarried assume the prosecution of the action, and did woman, she had resided there for five years so, and that A. obtained a judgment, which without receiving aid as a pauper. There was evidence that she married a person thirty years ago and lived with him in the defendant town about three months, and he then went to another State and died; but there was no evidence of the time of his death. Held, that the action could not be maintained. Uxbridge v. Northbridge, 131 Mass. 454 (1881). was satisfied by S. Held, that these facts did not estop S. from raising the question of the husband's settlement in the present action. Shutesbury v. Hadley, 133 Mass. 242 (1882). 12. Under Gen. Sts. c. 70, §§ 17, 18, if the overseers of a town, when notified that a person, whose settlement is supposed to be in that town, has become chargeable to the town sending the notice, and a request is made that 7. In an action by one town against another he be removed, neglect in their answer to deny for the support of a pauper, it appeared that that the pauper has his settlement in their the pauper had no settlement in this Com- town, the town, in an action for the expenses monwealth, except one acquired under St. of his support, is estopped to deny the fact of 1874, c. 274; that prior to 1865, being twenty-settlement. Easton v. Wareham, 131 Mass. one years of age, he resided five years in the town of G., and paid the taxes assessed on him for three years within that time; that in 1865 he removed to the town of A., and continued to reside there for five years, and paid taxes assessed upon him for three years within that time; and that he had since then gained no settlement elsewhere. Held, upon these facts, that the pauper acquired a settlement in G., under St. 1874, c. 274, and that the town of A. was not liable for his support [FIELD, J., dissenting]. Fitchburg v. Ashby, 132 Mass. 495 (1882). 13. In an action by one town against another for the support of a female pauper, the main issue was whether the pauper's husband, who was an alien, and was assessed and paid taxes in the defendant town from 1837 to 1845, and resided there until April 1, 1846, was domiciled there on April 1, 1836. The plaintiff offered in evidence a certified copy from the town clerk's records of another town, purporting to be the copy of a marriage certificate made in April, 1837, certifying that the magistrate joined the pauper's husband 8. St. 1874, c. 274, does not give a settle- and a former wife in marriage on May 24, ment to a person who voluntarily ceased to be 1836, and describing the husband as of the a resident of the Commonwealth twenty years defendant town. The plaintiff also introbefore it was enacted; nor by derivation to duced evidence that the husband had lived in the son of such person, the son not having the defendant town several months before his resided in the Commonwealth within seven-first marriage, but the witnesses were unable teen years before, nor at any time since the to fix the date of that marriage. The deenactment; nor by derivation to the wife of fendant admitted that the husband was marsuch son, who resides in, and after the enact-ried to his first wife on the day named in the ment becomes a pauper within, the Common- certificate; but objected to the admissibility wealth. Fitchburg v. Athol, 130 Mass. 370 (1881). 9. St. 1871, c. 379, § 1, in amendment of St. 1868, c. 328, does not give a settlement by derivation to the child of an unsettled person who died before its passage. Taunton v. Boston, 131 Mass. 18 (1881). 10. In an action against the town of H. for aid furnished a female pauper in 1878 and 1879, it appeared that the husband of the pauper, an alien, being of age, lived in H. ten years from 1836 to 1846, and paid taxes there for five years during that time; and died in 1872, never having been naturalized. Held, that, under Gen. Sts. c. 69, § 1, cl. 12, and St. 1868, c. 328, as amended by St. 1871, c. 379, the husband of the pauper gained a settlement of the certificate to show that at that time the husband was a resident of the defendant town. But the judge admitted it as prima facie evidence that the husband's residence was in the defendant town on the day named, but not of his residence there before that date. Held, that the defendant had no ground of exception. Shutesbury v. Hadley, 133 Mass. 242 (1882). 14. In an action by one town against another for the support of a female pauper, the agreed facts on which the case was submitted stated that the pauper contracted a valid marriage with a person in a town in another State, where they both resided, and they lived there as husband and wife for three years, when he left his home and family, and had not been PAYMENT. heard from by her since; that, in the next was that the pauper had acquired a settlement month after he left her, she removed to the in a third town by reason of his military serdefendant town, where, five years and eight vice in the army of the United States as part months afterwards, she married a person who of the quota of that town. The pauper testihad a legal settlement therein, and they lived fied that he heard that he was drafted, and together as husband and wife in the plaintiff went into another State to avoid the draft, town, where he soon after deserted her and and there enlisted, but was not mustered into removed out of the Commonwealth. Held, the service; and that he then left that State, that the agreed facts did not warrant a find- and enlisted and served as part of the quota ing that the pauper's first husband was dead of the town in question. Held, that this eviwhen she contracted her second marriage. \| dence did not show that he had been "proved Hyde Park v. Canton, 130 Mass. 505 (1881). guilty of wilful desertion," within the mean- 15. A man was mustered into the mili-ing of St. 1878, c. 190, § 1, cl. 10. Milford tary service of the United States during the v. Uxbridge, 130 Mass. 107 (1881). civil war as part of the quota of a town in 20. The overseers of a town sent a notice this Commonwealth; and became a deserter to the overseers of another town that a female from such service with no intention of return-pauper, wife of J. S., "whose settlement is ing thereto. Subsequently he surrendered in your town," had applied for relief, and rehimself as a deserter under a proclamation of questing that she be removed. The answer the President of the United States, and was acknowledged the receipt of the notice "in honorably discharged as a surrendered de- regard to the circumstances" of the pauper; serter. Held, on the issue whether he had stated that, "under the circumstances," they duly served one year, within St. 1878, c. declined to pay the bill; and added that the 190, § 1, cl. 10, so as to entitle him to a settle- woman, when married to J. S., was insane, ment in a town of whose quota he was a part, and an inmate of the almshouse of the town that the time he was absent as a deserter was sending the notice, and that the marriage to be excluded. Lunenburg v. Shirley, 132 was for the purpose of making their town re- Mass. 498 (1882). sponsible. Held, that the answer did not deny the settlement of the pauper's husband. Easton v. Wareham, 131 Mass. 10 (1881). 66 16. A man, who, under St. of 1870, c.
Dollars. Dollars. Dollars. 100 2,399 Foreign. 862 71, 148 8,362 216, 286 7,242 1,000 35,500 for the three months ended March 311883. Dollars. 20,000 5, 846 71, 248 525,000 226, 357 21, 820 1,000 35, 500 4,846, 899 1,900 304, 358 823 2,169,368 19, 156 8, 249, 275 for the three months ended March 311882. Dollars. 90,410 11, 043 38,815 5,100 1,005, 449 49,996 19, 708 120 Countries from which imported- Belgium... Central American States. China..... Danish West Indies....... France 8 French Possessions, all other 9 Germany 10 England. 11 2222222287 French West Indies French Possessions in Africa and adjacent islands. Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island 12 Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, and the Northwest Territory British Columbia 13 14 British West Indies. 15 British Honduras 16 British Possessions in Africa and adjacent islands.. British Possessions in Australasia. Hawaiian Islands.. 29 30 31 17 18 19 Hayti.. 20 Japan... 21 Liberia Mexico 23 24 Dutch Guiana. 25 Azore, Madeira, and Cape Verde Islands. 26 San Domingo Cuba Dutch West Indies Porto Rico...... United States of Colombia. Venezuela All other countries Total for the three months ended March 4, 228, 171 2345 ****NKRA 21, 474 43, 202 28 121, 542 29 21,759 30 31 27 No. 4.-IMPORTS AND EXPORTS OF GOLD AND SILVER COIN AND BULLION, &c., during the Three Months ended March 31, 1883-Continued. 1 Champlain, N. Y Key West, Fla. 123456 123456 7889129 11 Ne 13 Bedford, Mass New Orleans, La Total for three months ended March 31, 1882 Countries to which exported- Central American States China France Germany. England. Quebec, Ontario, Manitoba, and the Northwest Territory- British West Indies. Hong Kong 10 Hayti Hawaiian Islands EXPORTS OF DOMESTIC COIN AND BULLION. Japan Peru Azore, Madeira, and Cape Verde Islands Bars. Dollars. 5, 600 5, 600 5,600 GOLD. Other bullion. Dollars. 1,275 1,275 28, 155 1,275 THREE MONTHS ENDED MARCH 31, 1883. Coin. Dollars. 29, 500 56, 695 Bars. Dollars. 2,773, 384 1, 175, 229 3,948, 613 1, 118, 097 208, 605 972, 200 1,592, 579 981, 897 193, 332 SILVER. Other bullion. Dollars. 2,587, 948 Trade dollars. Coin. Dollars. 3,600 Other. Dollars. 4,367 340 39,680 800 45, 187 181, 318 900 800 340 for the three months ended March 311883. Dollars. 700,000 4,367 340 for the three months ended March 311882. Dollars. 1, 125 15,757 1,770 18, 901 1388C--2 LILIT San Domingo. Cuba Porto Rico United States of Colombia. Venezuela Total for the three months ended March 31, 1882 5, 600 1,275 28, 155 1, 285 50,000 65, 000 933, 655 9, 887, 012 3, 948, 613 1, 118, 097 2, 587, 948 3,600 19, 500 14,526 9, 121 45, 187 181, 318 19, 500 14,526 10, 406 50,000 65, 000 4,934, 330 23, 757 49, 335 40,000 13, 806, 130 14 15 16 17 18 No. 4.-IMPORTS AND EXPORTS OF GOLD AND SILVER COIN AND BULLION, &c., during the Three Months ended March 31, 1883-Continued. 1234567 6 Saluria, Tex Baltimore, Md... Boston and Charleston, Mass Brazos de Santiago, Tex. Corpus Christi, Tex 10 11 12 13 14 15 Total for the three months ended March 31, 1882. Countries to which exported- Central American States China. France 4 5 6 British West Indies. Germany England 7 Hong Kong Hawaiian Islands. Mexico.. San Domingo Cuba.. Porto Rico...... United States of Colombia..... EXPORTS OF FOREIGN COIN AND BULLION. All other countries in South America, n. e. s All other countries in Africa, n. e. s. Total for the three months ended March 31, 1882 THREE MONTHS ENDED MARCH 31, 1883. GOLD. Bullion. Dollars. 2,100 2,100 Coin. Dollars. 123, 365 123, 365 SILVER. Bullion. Dollars. 74,000 74,000 11, 668 74,000 74,000 11, 668 Coin. Dollars. 5,000 5,000 Total for the three months ended March 311883. Dollars. 5,000 5,000 Total for the three months ended March 311882. Dollars. 1, 400 1,322, 545 62, 179 2,700 2,017, 044 1234567 183416789OLEST5 10 11 12 13 14 15 No. 5.-SUMMARY STATEMENTS of MERCHANDISE and GOLD and SIL- VER COIN and BULLION Imported into and Exported from the United States during the Three Months ended March 31, 1883, and the corresponding period of 1882. MONTHS. 1883-January February March Total Twelve months ended March 31, 1883 1882 January. February March Total Twelve months ended March 31, 1882 1883-January February March 1882-January February March Total Total...... Twelve months ended March 31, 1883 MONTHS. MONTHS. Twelve months ended March 31, 1882 1883 January February March Total Twelve months ended March 31, 1883 IMPORTS. 1882-January February March Total Twelve months ended March 31, 1882 Free. DOMESTIC EXPORTS. MERCHANDISE. Dutiable. Total. Dollars. 208, 923, 086 491, 919, 788 700, 842, 874 58, 021, 811 Free. Dollars. 39, 662, 876 FOREIGN EXPORTS. Dollars. 56, 971, 198 60, 780, 603 174, 052, 319 742, 508, 875 Dutiable. Dollars. MERCHANDISE. MERCHAN- DISE. Dollars. Total. GOLD AND SILVER COIN AND BULL- ION. Dollars. 749, 329 864, 962 739, 646 Dollars. 1,488, 975 7,725, 787 10, 130, 588 17, 856, 375 Dollars. GOLD AND SILVER COIN AND BULL- ION. Dollars. 1, 953, 075 1,484, 470 GOLD AND SILVER COIN AND BULL- ION. Dollars. 598, 814 685, 439 1,744, 869 3,029, 122 TOTAL Dollars. TOTAL Dollars. 80, 844, 353 66, 945, 204 TOTAL. Dollars. No. 6.-STATEMENT showing the Quantities and Values of IMPORTED MERCHANDISE REMAINING in the WAREHOUSES of the United States, January 31, February 28, and March 31, 1883, respectively. [Abbreviation: n. e. s., not elsewhere specified.] Coffee Ind go. Tea ARTICLES. Dutiable. Animals, living Beer, ale, porter, and other malt liquors.. Books, pamphlets, engravings, and other publications, n. e. s... Brass, and manufactures of. lbs. .lbs. .lbs. -galls. BREADSTUFFS, AND OTHER FARINACEOUS FOOD: Barley Barley malt. Oats Rice Rye. Wheat .bush. bush.. .bush.. Pease, beans, and other seeds of leguminous plants. All other farinaceous food, and preparations of, including arrowroot, pearl or hulled barley, &c. .lbs. .bush.. bush. bush.. .lbs. Bristles. Buttons of all kinds, including button materials partly fitted for buttons exclusively Chemicals, drugs, dyes, and medicines, n. e. s Chiccory, ground or prepared, and root. CLOTHING (EXCEPT OF BILK, AND EXCEPT HOSIERY, ETC., OF COTTON OR WOOL): Cut and sewed together. Articles of wear, n. e. 8. Cocoa, manufactured, not including chocolate. .lbs. lbs 3,349 January 31. February 28. 84, 792 410, 970 11, 811 9,550 QUANTITIES. March 31. 339, 506 4,515 Dollars. January 31. February 28. 553 11, 797 VALUES. 1.139 64, 530 1883. Dollars. 11, 797 3,748 203, 020 March 31. Dollars. 11,797 3,748 216, 325 231,870 160 34,500 Ore Pigs, bars, ingots, old, and other unmanufactured. Manufactures of.. Cordage, rope, and twine, of all kinds. Bleached and unbleached. Printed, painted, or colored.. Hosiery, shirts, and drawers.. Jeans, denims, drillings, &c........ Other manufactures of, n. e. s... Earthen, stone, and china ware Fancy goods.... FISH, NOT OF AMERICAN FISHERIES: Herring, pickled.. Sardines and anchovies, preserved in oil. All other, n. e. s..... FLAX, AND MANUFACTURES OF: Flax, raw.... Manufactures of, by yard.. Other manufactures of, n. e. s Fruits of all kinds, including nuts Furs and dressed fur-skins. GLASS, AND GLASSWARE: India rubber and gutta-percha, manufactures of IRON AND STEEL, AND MANUFACTURES OF: Pig-iron Castings. Bar-iron Band, hoop, and scroll iron Railroad bars or rails, of iron. Sheet-iron Old and scrap iron Hardware. Cylinder, crown, or common window. Cylinder and crown, polished. Cast polished plate, not silvered Cast polished plate, silvered. HAIR (EXCEPTING THAT OF THE ALPACA, GOAT, AND OTHER LIKE ANIMALS), AND MANUFAC- TURES OF: Hair, human, and manufactures of. Hair, other, and manufactures of, n. e. s.. F: Raw HEMP, AND MANUFACTURES Manufactures of, by yard. Other manufactures of, n. e. s .. Anchors, cables, and chains, of all kinds. Machinery.
display, gossip, sensual gratification, or the more serious business of High-life-fortune-hunting by men and husband-catching by women! The Waltz and Dance are, however, the great game (for they are really one) of Barbarian life. Every Caste, according to its ability, dances the low imitating, to their best, all the "airs and graces," dress and flirtations of their superiors. In the Waltz, when the music strikes up, the man takes the woman about the waist, standing with the other dancers in the middle of the floor, and she leans upon his shoulder interlocking the fingers of her disengaged hand in his. In this close position, they begin to wheel around, around; one couple follows another about the clear space left for them, till many couples are seen twirling, whirling about, around to the sound of the music-ever in this wild, whirling sort of a gallop, following one after another, rapidly! The long trails of the woman are held up, the embroidered skirts fly out, the silken shoes and hose flash; she is held close and more closely in the supporting arm, her cheek almost touches, her bust, neck, and face glow with excitement, the eyes and jewels sparkle, the man and woman whirl about, till intoxicated, dazed, and nearly exhausted, she sinks upon his arm and motions for rest, and he half supports and half leads her to some soft bench or chair! Such briefly is the Waltz. The dance is the same thing nearly, only more variety of movement is introduced. The whole object is to bring the sexes together, and keep Society alive, as before. Flirtation and matchmaking being main elements of social life. The manners of the High-Caste are not really more HIGH CASTES: refined than elsewhere; only there is a cool tone. Nothing must surprise, nothing confuse, nothing abash. A blush must be as rare as a laugh. A young woman seeing a young man gazing at her with bold admiration, must coolly look him down-if she please. His is an action of mere rudeness, or should be, when directed to a virtuous woman: but no, "a man may gaze upon what is everywhere exhibited for his admiration--may he not?" And yet, with strange inconsistency, a woman has a right to complain if a man, captivated by the very means designed, too rudely express his pleasure. And one man is required to chastise another for the rudeness to his relative, though he know that, in the nature of things, the female should expect what she encounters and more, the complexity is further involved, that though one man must call another to account for this sort of rudeness, yet every man indulges in it! Young people, in public, of the two sexes, without shame appear in close intimacy-and will look upon statues and paintings of naked women and men, talking and criticizing, examining the works and looking at them in company, without confusion, or appearance of there being any indelicacy. As if, in fact, in the bosoms of the High-Caste there did not exist any of the passions of ordinary mortals ! There are very numerous galleries of Art, where statues, paintings, pictures, models, and the like, are shown, which are always crowded by High-Caste women, children, and men. And shop-windows are made attractive by displays of pictures of nude, or half- nude, women and men, who act in the Plays, or who are notorious in Spectacles. This sort of indecency prevails; and strikes one, not used to it, with an unpleasant surprise. He knows not what to think of its significance-have all his ideas of decency been indecent? I am not able to say much of the interior life of the family. I was told that a happy family was rarequite an exception. It is only where the wife rules that any peace is secured. The wife is allowed to do, generally, in Society and at home, as she will. The husband goes off to his pastimes and pursuits. Children whilst young are committed to the care of servants, and when older sent away to be educated and trained by hirelings. The daughters, when grown, often move the jealousy of the mother by attracting more attention from menthey are often snubbed and made to dress unbecomingly, so that the mother may shine. Marriage among the High-Caste is an arrangement for an establishment; and to secure the succession of family name and title. To these ends great care is given to the money question. The man demands money for taking the wife. Domestic happiness is hardly thought of; unless, occasionally, by very young people, and they are laughed out of their ridiculous romance. In the marriage ceremony, the wife, in the presence of the Idols, and following the Invocations of the Priest, solemnly promises to obey the husband. But this is regarded as a mere form. Any husband who undertakes to enforce obedience, finds himself branded by HIGH-CASTES: Society, as a "brute!" Much of the infelicity in marriage rests upon this false basis. For, with the virile instinct, man naturally expects obedience; yet has, in his unmarried days, fallen in with the false notion of woman's superiority in delicacy and moral virtue. This peculiar affectation colours all Barbarian intercourse with the sex. It has its root in the Superstition, possibly; where an immaculate virgin gives birth to a Son of god-Jah! who is the Christ-god. Thus, woman came to be mother of God! From this, very likely, followed all the false worship and gallantry of the barbarians; who still, keeping up this mode of treating women as superior in excellency, could scarcely deny to them a superior place in the family. Assumed to be absolutely chaste and pure, they are to be implicitly trusted--nor to them is there impropriety! Hence follows the fine Art exhibitions the undress dress; the waltz; the mixed crowds-the everything, where women, according to the ordinary feelings of cultivated men, should not be, or be in a very different way. But the man before marriage, and afterwards, too, (excepting to his own wife), pretends to look upon woman as a divinity-as something far above him in moral goodness! After marriage, it is difficult to dethrone this divinity-the man has not a divinity at the head of his family; but all his friends (male friends) pretend to think so; Society says so; and he is himself compelled to pretend to the same thing. Under these circumstances he will never be likely to get much obedience. None the less, a struggle commences; the man persistent, strong; the woman unyielding, crafty; the family divided; the children demoralized; a false and wretched farce of conjugal Play, so badly acted as to deceive not even Society! and finally ending in the Divorce Court. This is the tribunal where Causes Matrimonial are settled; and, if one may judge from its Reports in the Gazette, conjugal contention is exceedingly common. For the public cases must be few, compared with those where publicity is avoided by private arrangement. Doubtless, a fine man and an excellent woman may unite, and live happily together, in spite of the unfavourable conditions. But, more commonly, the highminded man, really believing in the superior purity of the sex, and her greater moral delicacy, finds his Ideal to be too high; and without absolute cause to quarrel; in fact, seeing that his Ideal was itself only an error of the prevailing delusion; ever after struggles to bring himself into harmony with the existing fact-to love and respect a woman and only a woman, with a woman's vanity, love of excitement, frivolity and caprice-a very weary work. The woman, too, still flattered, and exacting the devotion which her lover (now her husband) gave to her in his days of delusion, thinks herself treated with coldness; and, gradually, by her unreasonable complaints, estranges altogether the husband, whom she, too, tries to forget, in the admiration, flatteries, and excitements of Society!
Occham all these celebrated men were friars, and most of them, as well as other distinguished men of the day †, were of Merton College, in The Oxford. But the friar of the Canterbury Tales is a being of a very different class from that of the philosophical inhabitants of the universities; he is distinguished neither by the astrological and alchemical knowledge of Hendy Nicholas, nor by the logic of his fellow pilgrim, to whose taciturnity the merry and gossiping Limitour affords a marked Friar. contrast. * On the state of the University libraries, see Wood's History of Oxford, apud Dibdin's Bibliomania. + Simon Islip, Archbishop of Canterbury, and William Rede, Bishop of Chichester. For a full exemplification of the character of a friar of this class, see the Sompnour's Tale. Of yeddinges* he bare utterly the pris, And knew wel the tavernes in every toun, And every hosteler and gay tapstere. It is observable, that both Nicholas and the friar are distinguished from the clerk, by their musical tastes and talent. Above the "bokes gret and smale,” the “astrolabe," and "augrim+ stones" of the former, lay the instrument to which the clerk is said to prefer "Aristotle and his philosophie :" A gay sautrie, On which he made on nightes melodie, So swetely, that all the chambre rong; And "angelus ad Virginem" he song. The musical performances of the friar, who is altogether a less accomplished man, are less ela And certainly he had a mery note; Well coude he singe and plaien on a rote. And it would seem also, from the following lines, that his songs were in English rather than Latin : * The precise meaning of "yeddinges" is unknown: it probably signifies songs, or story-tellings. +"Augrim," a corruption of algorithm, the Arabian term for numeration. Augrim stones;" stones used in numeration. See Warton, vol. ii. p. 260. 66 The Pardoner. Somewhat he lisped for his wantonnesse, To make his English swete upon his tonge, And in his harping, when that he had songe, His eyen twinkled in his hed aright, As don the sterres in a frosty night. The chief business of the pardoner was, as his name expresses, to sell the pardons or indulgences of the Pope, for which trade he was regularly licenced. But he was also, like the Fra Cipolla of Bocaccio, armed with relics, the exhibition of which he turned to profit: His wallet lay beforne him in his lappe, Bret-ful of pardons come from Rome al hote. And again :- But of craft, fro Berwicke unto Ware, Ne was their swicke an other pardonere ; For in his male he had a pelwebere , Whilk as he saidé, was our Ladie's veil. He saide he hadde a gobbet † of the seyl Thatte Seint Peter had, when he went Upon the see, till Jesu Christ him hent. He had a crois of laton + full of stones, And in a glasse he hadde pigge's bones. But with these relikes, whanne that he fond A poure persone dwelling up on land§, The covering of a pillow. A piece, or bit. A sort of adulterated metal like brass. § In the hill or poorer country, a Jack Upland. Upon a daie he gat him more moneie, Than that the persone gat in monethes tweie. In the Canterbury Pilgrimage, the pardoner is represented as the friend and "compere" of the Somnour, or Summoner to the Ecclesiastical Courts, who, perhaps, ranked next to him in extortion and roguery. So acknowledged an impostor was the pardoner, that in the first years of the Reformation we find him satirized by a zealous papist, and an intimate friend of Sir Thomas More. John Heywood, one of the very oldest of our dramatists (if, indeed, he can justly claim that title), introduces the pardoner in his play, called the "Four P.'s," as also in another dialogue of the same kind, between a pardoner, a friar, a curat, and neighbour Pratte. In the former of these two pieces, in which he is associated with a palmer, a potecary, and a pedlar, he decries pilgrimages as a laborious and expensive mode of going to heaven. I say yet agayne my pardons are suche That yf there were a thousand soules on an hepe, I wold bring them to heaven as good chepe* * A bon marché; chepe being an old word for market. As ye have brought yourself on pylgrymage, In the least quarter of your vyage. With smalé cost and without any payne, These pardons bring them to heven playne; Give me but a peny or two pens, And assone as the soule departeth hens, In halfe an houre, or thre-quarters at the moste, The soule is in heven with the Holy Ghost. A contemporary of Heywood, but of a very different religious persuasion, was Sir David Lyndesay, who, in his "Satyre of the Three Estaites," puts the following words into the mouth of a pardoner :- I am schir Robert Rome-raker, Ane perfyte publik pardoner, Admittit by the Pape: Sirs, I sall shaw you, for my wage, My pardons, and my pilgramage, Quhilk ye sall se, and grape. I give to the devill with gude intent This unsell† wickit New Testament, With thame that it translaitit : Sen layik men knew the veritie, Pardoners getis no charitie, Without that they debait it. Grope, feel. + Evil. Chalmers's Lyndesay, vol. ii. p. 10. After venting his indignation against Martin Luther, Bullinger, Melancthon, and even Saint Paul, Lyndesay's Pardoner proceeds to detail his wares, which are well calculated to win the heart of a Scotchman, such as the jawbone of Fin- Mac-Coul, or Fingal, and the rope which hung Johnny Armstrong. The Sergeant-at-Law has little in his character that is obsolete, except his practice of frequenting the Parvis. The general signification of this word is the portico of a church; as here applied, it means, in all probability, what Dugdale calls the Pervyse (portico) of Paul's. In Dugdale's time, as we know from the contemporary authority of Ben Jonson and Bishop Earle, not only the steps, but even the aisles of Paul's church, were the common resort of sharpers and idle loungers of all descriptions. In the days of Chaucer, perhaps, the visitors were confined to rather a higher grade, who resorted there for business only; nor was the sanctuary itself, as it appears, as yet invaded. The Frankelein is scarcely yet extinct, except in * See the scene in the middle aisle of Paul's, in "Every Man out of his Humour," and Bishop Earle's character of a Paul's man. Pilgrimages. name. In fortune, station in society, character, and habits, he corresponds to the general mass of the provincial country gentlemen of this day. He is the St. Julian* of his neighbourhood, and he takes pains to tell us that he is a borel or unlettered man, who knows no terms of astrologiet. The term yeoman, or young man, signifies an attendant; and in that sense it is still used in speaking of the yeomen of the guard. In most languages, the word signifying boy, signifies also servant. ¤âs, puer, knave, or garçon, either are, or were, applied to attendants, without reference to the actual age of the party. Perhaps the origin of this is to be sought for in the patriarchal, the most primitive of all forms of society, in which the youngers waited upon the elders‡. The object of foreign pilgrimages, was sometimes of a superstitious nature, sometimes for the sake of The pilgrimage to Rome was usually commerce. * The patron saint of hospitality. In Paris there is, or was, a street called Rue St. Julien des Menestriers. To be ignorant of astrology in the days of Chaucer was a mark of a deficient education. A practice common also in feudal times.-In the houses of the great nobility, the youth there educated were required to perform menial services. So the Squier "carf before his fader at the table." undertaken for the sake of obtaining absolution from the Pope *: that to Jerusalem with the view of visiting the holy sepulchre, or of procuring relics, which might be turned to profitable advantage. The most usual of the foreign pilgrimages are enumerated in the description of the Wife of Bathe's character:- Thries hadde she ben at Jerusalem,-- She hadde passed many a strange streme.
In the course of four months' residence at Walbourne, she recovered a placid cheerfulness, which afterwards continued to be the habitual tenor of her mind. If she looked forward to the future events of her life, it was to resolve that they should be subservient to the great end of her being. If she glanced backward, it was less to lament the disappointment, than to blame the error which had led to it; and she never allowed her thoughts to dwell upon her unworthy lover, except when praying that he might be awakened to a sense of his guilt. 46 reason. She was chiefly concerned to improve and to enjoy the present; and in this she was successful in spite of the peevish humours of Lady Pelham, mixed occasionally with ebullitions of rage. Those who are furious where they dare, or when the provocation is sufficient to rouse their courage, sometimes chide with impotent perseverance where they are awed from the full expression of their fury: as the sea, which the lightest breeze dashes in billows over the sandbank, frets in puny ripples against the rock that frowns over it. If Lady Pelham's temper had any resemblance to this stormy element, it was not wholly void of likeness to another-for it changed as it listed," without any discoverable It would have lost half its power to provoke, and Laura half the merit of her patient endurance, if it had been permanently diabolical. The current, not only serene but sparkling, would reflect with added beauty every surround-spirited, and imprudent, Herbert was his wife's ing object, then would suddenly burst into foam, opposite; and Laura had not been half an hour or settle into a stagnant marsh, Laura threw in his company, before she began to tremble for oil upon the torreut, and suffered the marsh to the effect of those qualities on the irascible clear itself. She enjoyed Lady Pelliam's wit temper of her aunt. But her alarm seemed and vivacity in her hours of good-humour, and causeless; for the easy resoluteness with which patiently submitted to her seasons of low spirits, he maintained his opinions, appeared to extort as she complaisantly called them. from Lady Pelham a sort of respect; and, though she privately complained to Laura of what she called his assurance, she exempted him, while present, from her attacks, seeming afraid to exert upon him her skill in provoking. Laura began to perceive, that a termagant is not so untameable an animal as she had once imagined, since one glimpse of the master-spirit is of sovereign power to lay the lesser imps of spleen. But though Lady Pelham seemed afraid to Mrs. Herbert had no resemblance to her mother. Her countenance was grave and thoughtful; her manners uniformly cold and repulsive. Laura traced, in her unbending reserve, the apathy of one whose genial feelings had been blunted by early unkindness. Frank, high Laura at last, undesignedly, opened a new direction to her aunt's spleen. From her first introduction to Lady Pelham, she had laboured assiduously to promote a reconciliation between her aunt and her daughter, Mrs. Herbert. Her zeal appeared surprising to Lady Pelham, who could not estimate the force of her motive for thus labouring, to the manifest detriment of her own interest, she being (after Mrs. Herbert) the Still Laura was not discouraged for she had often observed that what Lady Pelham declared on one day to be wholly impossible, on the next became, without any assignable reason, the easiest thing in nature; and that what to-day no human force could wrest from her, was yielded to-morrow to no force at all. She therefore persisted in her work of conciliation; and her efforts at last prevailed so far, that, though Lady Pelham still protested implacability, she acknowledged that, as there was no necessity, for her family feuds being known to the world, she was willing to appear upon decent terms with the Herberts; and, for that purpose, would receive them for a few weeks at Walbourne. Of this opening, unpromising as it was, Laura instantly availed herself; and wrote to convey the frozen invitation to her cousin, in the kindest language which she was permitted to use. It was instantly accepted; and Mrs. Herbert and her husband became the inmates of Walbourne. SELF-CONTROL. measure her strength with spirits of kindred irascibility, she was under no restraint with Mrs. Herbert, upon whom she vented a degree of querulousness which appeared less like the ebullitions of ill-temper, than the overflowings of settled malice. Every motion, every look, furnished matter of censure or of sarcasm. The placing of a book, the pronunciation of a word, the snuffing of a candle, called forth reprehension; and Laura knew not whether to be most astonished at the ingenious malice which contrived to convert "trifles, light as air," into certain proofs of degeneracy, or at the apathy on which the venomed shaft fell harmless. Mrs. Herbert received all her mother's reprimands in silence, without moving a muscle, without announcing, by the slightest change of colour, that the sarcasm had reached further than her ear. If, as not unfrequently happened, the reproof extended into a harangue, Mrs. Herbert, unmoved, withdrew no part of her attention from her netting, and politely suppressed a yawn. These discourteous scenes were exhibited only in Mr. Herbert's absence; his presence instantly suspended Lady Pelham's warfare; and Laura inferred that his wife never made him acquainted with her mother's behaviour. That behaviour formed an exception to the general unsteadiness of Lady Pelham; for to Mrs. Herbert she was consistently cruel and insulting. Nothing could be more tormenting to the benevolent mind of Laura, than to witness this system of aggression; and she repented having been instrumental in renewing an intercourse which could lead to no pleasing issue. But the issue was nearer than she expected. One day, in Herbert's absence, Lady Pelham began to discuss with his wife, or rather to her, the never-failing subject cf her duplicity and disobedience. She was not interrupted by any expression of regret or repentance from the culprit, who maintained a stoical silence, labouring the while to convey mathematical precision to the crimping of a baby's cap, an employment upon which Lady Pelham seemed to look with peculiar abhorrence. From the turpitude of her daughter's conduct, she proceeded to its consequences. She knew no right, she said, that people had to encumber their relations with hosts of beggarly brats. She vowed that none such should ever receive her countenance or protection. Her rage kindled as she spoke. She inveighed against Mrs. Herbert's insensibility; and at last talked herself into such a pitch of fury, as even to abuse her for submitting to the company of one who could not conceal detestation of her, a want of spirit which she directly attributed to the most interested views ;--views which, however, she absolutely swore that she would defeat. In the energy of her declanation, she did not perceive that Herbert had entered the room, and stood listening to her concluding sentences, with a face of angry astonishment. Advancing towards his wife, he indignantly inquired into the meaning of the tumult. 1 "Nothing," answered she, calmly surveying her handywork; “only my mother is a little angry, but I have not spoken a word." He then turned for explanation to Lady Pelham, whom the flashing of his eye reduced to instantaneous quiet; and, not finding in her stammering abstract of the conversation, any apology for the insult which he had heard, he took his wife by the arm, and instantly left the house, giving orders that his baggage should follow him to a little inn in the neighbouring village. Thus did the insolence of one person, and the hasty spirit of another, undo what Laura had for months been labouring to effect. The Herberts never made any attempt at reconciliation.
The appearance is somewhat different, but yet very interesting, in Insects and Crustacea. In these classes the sexual organs are double, and distinct, arranged one on each side of the elongated mesial line. It sometimes happens that a species in which the sexes are of a different colour, or markings, or form, has one sexual organ of each sort, male and female, in which case each half of the same insect is developed under the exclusive influence of the sexual organ on its own side. Instances are preserved among our collections of butterflies, moths, and beetles; and I have seen it twice in the common lobster. Nor is the human race exempt from the operation of the law which prevails in the Mammalia. In women, at an advanced age, hair appears on the chin and upper lip, and the voice alters, becoming deep in its tone. The beard in old men becomes thin and soft, and our own inimitable Shakspeare has told us, "his big manly voice, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound." Catalogue of the Homopterous Insects collected at Singapore and Malacca by Mr. A. R. WALLACE, with Descriptions of New Species. By FRANCIS WALKER, Esq., F.L.S. [Read May 6th, 1856.] To carry 'out the object I had in view, as explained in the note to Mr. Walker's paper on the Diptera of Singapore and Malacca, published in the first number of the "Journal of Proceedings," I have induced the same author to undertake the following Catalogue of Homopterous Insects from the same localities. The specimens were procured during the six months commencing with May and terminating with October, and are all in my collection. W. WILSON SAUNDERS. 3rd May, 1856. Ord. CICADINA, Burmeister. Fam. STRIDULANTIA, Burm. Gen. PLATYPLEURA, Amyot et Serv. 1. Platypleura semilucida, Walk. Cat. Homopt. pt. 1. 20. 27. Inhabits also Java. Gen. DUNDUBIA, Amyot et Serv. 2. Dundubia imperatoria, Westw. Arc. Ent. ii. 13. pl. 51 (Cicada). Inhabits also Borneo and Sumatra. 3. DUNDUBIA GUTTIGERA, n. s. Testacea, capite suprà vittis tribus angulosis, anticè annulo elliptico lineisque transversis lateralibus nigris, prothorace vittis duabus dorsalibus subparallelis nigris, mesothoracis scutello vittis quinque nigris, abdomine ferrugineo, alis vitreis; anticarum venis marginalibus apice venulisque transversis fusco maculatis. Testaceous. Head above with three angular black stripes, and in front with a black elliptical ringlet, which has black transverse lines on each side. Prothorax with two black dorsal nearly parallel stripes. Scutellum of the mesothorax with five black stripes, the inner pair abbreviated, the outer pair interrupted. Drums small, rounded. Abdomen ferruginous. Wings vitreous. Fore wings with a brown spot on each transverse veinlet and on the tip of each marginal vein. Length of the body 11 lines; of the wings 34 lines. 4. DUNDUBIA ALBIGUTTA, n. s. Viridis, ex parte testacea, capite suprà lineis duabus obliquis duabusque lateralibus transversis nigris, anticè lineis nonnullis transversis lateralibus nigris, abdomine subtùs tuberculis quatuor nigris, alis vitreis; anticis apice subfuscescentibus, guttâ costali albidâ, venulis transversis lâ et 2â fusco-maculatis. Green, partly testaceous. Head with two black lines forming an angle in front of the ocelli which are bordered with black; a black line on each side of the fore-border; front with black transverse lines along most of the ridges on each side. Drums small, rounded. Abdomen with two black tubercles on each side beneath. Wings vitreous. Fore wings slightly clouded with brown at the tips; a whitish spot on the costa at the tip of the front areolet; 1st and 2nd transverse veinlets with brown spots. Length of the body 9 lines; of the wings 32 lines. 6* 5. DUNDUBIA INTEMERATA, n. s. Testacea, alis vitreis, costâ fulvâ, venis viridibus. Testaceous. Drums small, triangular. Wings vitreous; costa tawny; veins green; 2nd marginal areolet a little shorter than the 1st; 1st transverse veinlet oblique, hardly curved, parted from the 2nd by full thrice its length; 2nd straight, more oblique and much shorter than the 1st; 3rd nearly straight, longer than the 1st; 4th a little shorter than the 3rd and as long as the 5th, from which it is parted by about thrice its length. Length of the body 10 lines; of the wings 34 lines. Gen. CICADA, Linn. 6. CICADA VIRGUNCULA, n. s. Viridis, capite parvo, abdominis basi suprà et segmentorum marginibus posticis luteis, alis vitreis, costâ venisque viridibus. Green. Head small. Drums very small. Abdomen luteous above at the base; hind borders of the segments luteous. Wings vitreous; costa and veins green; 2nd marginal areolet much shorter than the 1st; 1st transverse veinlet straight, very oblique, parted from the 2nd by about thrice its length; 2nd upright, nearly straight, much shorter than the 1st; 3rd almost straight, as long as the 1st; 4th longer than the 3rd and as long as the 5th, from which it is parted by much less than its length. Length of the body 6 lines; of the wings 17 lines. Gen. HUECHYS, Amyot et Serv. 7. Huechys sanguinea, Deg. Ins. iii. 221. 18. pl. 33. f. 17 (Cicada). Malacca. Inhabits also Java and China. Fam. FULGORINA, Burm. Subfam. FULGORELLE, Spinola. Trib. FULGORITES, Spinola. Subtrib. FULGOROIDES, Spinola. Gen. HOTINUS, Amyot et Serv. 8. Hotinus subocellatus, Guérin; Delessert, Souvenirs Voy. Inde, 66. pl. 16. f.1; Rev. Zool. 1839 (Fulgora). Malacca. Inhabits also Nepaul. Subtrib. LYSTROIDES, Spinola. Gen. APHÆNA, Guérin. 9. Aphaena rosea, Guérin, Voy. Belanger, Zool. 454. pl. 3. f. 3. Malacca. Inhabits also Sumatra. 10. Aphaena Saundersii, White, Ann. Nat. Hist. 1846, xvii. 330. Malacca. Inhabits also Hindostan and Borneo. Subtrib. DICTYOPHOROIDES, Spinola. Gen. DICTYOPHORA, Germar. 11. DICTYOPHORA SPEILINEA, n. s. Viridis, capite lanceolato prasino carinis tribus suprà unâque subtùs luteis, prothorace carinis tribus prasinis dua- busque luteis, mesothorace carinis tribus lateribusque ex parte prasinis, tibiis anticis tarsisque anterioribus fulvis, alis limpidis, venis stigmateque viridibus. ; Green. Head emerald-green, with three luteous ridges above and one beneath protuberance lanceolate, ascending, as long as the hind part of the head. Prothorax with three emerald-green ridges, the lateral pair marginal and accompanied by two luteous ridges. Mesothorax with three emerald-green ridges; sides partly emerald-green. Fore tibiae and anterior tarsi tawny. Wings limpid; veins and stigma green, the latter occupying three areolets. Length of the body 5 lines; of the wings 14 lines. Singapore. Gen. CROMNA, n. g. Dictyophora affinis. Caput suprà conicum, subascendens; frons lanceolata, subcarinata, marginibus vix elevatis. Antenna breves; articulus 1us 20 multò brevior. Thorax subcarinatus. Prothorax subarcuatus. Pedes breves. Alae latae; anticae areolis costalibus et marginalibus ordinariis areolisque plurimis minutis discalibus abuormibus, costâ subconvexâ, margine exteriore subquadrato, angulo interiore peracuto. Allied to Dictyophora. Head conical above, very slightly ascending; front lanceolate, indistinctly keeled, with the margins hardly elevated. Antennae short; 2nd joint very much shorter than the 1st. Thorax with a slight keel. Prothorax somewhat arched. Legs short. Wings broad. Fore wings with regular areolets along the costa and along the exterior border, and with very numerous minute irregular areolets over the rest of the surface; costa slightly convex, forming a slightly obtuse angle at the tip; exterior border straight, subquadrate; interior angle very acute. 12. CROMNA ACUTIPENNIS, n. s. Viridis, subtùs pallidior, capite thoraceque testaceo-vittatis, alis anticis lineâ marginali fuscâ, posticis albis.
She, however, can no more be bound to retain, than you to receive, this property." "We had three hours' talk," said Harry, in writing this to Captain Dodge, "and I ascertained that this very property she is now so anxious to be free of, had formed up to this the pride and enjoyment of her life. She had labored incessantly to improve it and the condition of the people is very unlikely. who lived on it. She had built a schoolhouse and a small hospital, and strange. enough, too, a little inn, for the place was in request with tourists, who now found they could make their visits with comfort and convenience. Cane also showed me the drawing of a monument to my father's IT was late at night when Harry landed memory, the Last Luttrell of Arran,' she on Arran. Dark as it was, however, his called him; and I own I was amazed at the sailor's eye could mark that the little jetty simple elegance and taste of the design was in trim order, and that steps now led made by this poor peasant girl. Even if down to the water where formerly it was all these had not shown me that our old necessary to clamber over rugged rocks and home has fallen into worthy hands, I feel slippery seaweed. A boatman took his determined not to be outdone in generosity carpet-bag as matter of course, too, as he by this daughter of the people. She shall stepped on shore, and trifling as was the see that a Luttrell understands his name service, it had a certain significance as to and his station. I have told Cane to inform the advance of civilization in that wild her that I distinctly refuse to accept the spot. More striking, again, than these cession; she may endow her school or her was the aspect of the comfortable little inn hospital with it; she may partition it out into which he was ushered. Small and unamongst the cottier occupiers; she may pretending, indeed, but very clean, and not leave it-I believe I said so in my warmth destitute of little ornaments, sketches of -to be worked out in masses for her soul the scenery of the island, and specimens of -if she be still a Catholic-if all this ore, or curious rock, or strange fern, that while none of her own kith and kin are in were to be found there. A few books, too, want of assistance; and certainly times were scattered about, some of them presmust have greatly changed with them if ents from former visitors, with graceful testimonies of the pleasure they had found \| ing them in their cabins, teaching them in the trip to Arran, and how gratefully in the school, getting them seed potatoes they cherished the memory of its simple from Belmullet, and hasn't she set up a people. store there on the shore, where they can Harry amused himself turning over buy pitch, and hemp, and sailcloth, and all these, as he sat at the great turf fire wait- kinds of cordage, for less than half what it ing for his supper. Of those who served costs at Castlebar?" him there was not one he recognized. Their looks and their language bespoke them as belonging to the mainland, but they spoke of the island with pride, and told how, in the season, about July or August, as many as fifteen or twenty strangers occasionally came over to visit it. "There was a day," said the man, "in the late Mr. Luttrell's time, when nobody dare come here; he'd as soon see ould Nick as a stranger; and if a boat was to put in out of bad weather or the like, the first moment the wind would drop ever so little, down would come a message to tell them to be off." Harry shook his head; an unconscious protest of dissent it was, but the other, interpreting the sign as condemnation, went on :- "Ay, he was a hard man! But they tell me it wasn't his fault; the world went wrong with him, and he turned against it." "He had a son, hadn't he?" asked Harry. "He had, sir. I never saw him, but they tell me he was a fine boy, and when he was only ten years old, got a broken arm fighting with a seal in one of the caves on the shore; and, what's more, he didn't like to own it, because the seal got away from him." "What became of him ?" "He was lost at sea, sir. I believe he turned pirate or slaver himself, and it was no great matter what became of him. They were all unlucky, men and women. No one ever heard of a Luttrell coming to good yet." "That's a hard sentence." "You'd not think so, sir, if you knew them; at least, so the men tell me about here. They liked the man that was here last well enough, but they said that nothing he could do would ever prosper. "And who owns it now ?" "Kitty O'Hara that was-Neal O'Hara's daughter-he that was transported long ago -she's now the mistress of the whole island, and her name-she took it by his will-is Luttrell-Luttrell of Arran."" us. "How has she money to do all this ?" "Just because she lives like the rest of Sorrow bit better dinner or supper she has, and it's a red cloak she wears, like Molly Ryan, and she makes her own shoes, and purtier ones you never looked at." "And who taught her to manage all this so cleverly?" "She taught herself out of books; she reads all night through. Come here, now, sir! Do you see that light there? That's her window, and there she'll be till, maybe, nigh five o'clock, studyin' hard. Molly says there's nights she never goes to bed at all." 66. "That light comes from the tower." "So it does, sir, however you knew it," said the man "but it was the favorite room of him that's gone, and she always sits there." "And are strangers permitted to see the Abbey ?" asked Harry. Yes, sir. All they've to do is to write their names in this book and send up a message that they want to see the place, and they'd see every bit of it but the two little rooms Mr. Luttrell that was, used to keep for himself." "And if one wished to see these also ?" "He couldn't do it, that's all; at least, I'd not be the man that axed her leave !" "Take my name up there in the morning," said Harry, as he wrote "H. Hamilton" in the book, that being a second name by which he was called after his father, though he had long ceased to use it. The supper made its appearance at this moment, and little other conversation passed between them. As the man came and went, however, he continued to speak of Miss Luttrell, and all she had done for the people, in terms of warmest praise, winding up all with the remark, "That no one who had not lived the life of hardship and struggle of a poor person could ever be able to know what were the wants that press hardest-what the privations that cut deepest into the nature of the poor. And that's the reason, he said, "that she'll never let any one be cruel to the children, for it was as a child herself she knew sorrow!" "Do the people like her?" "Why wouldn't they like her? Isn't Long after the man had left him, Harry she working and slaving for them all day sat at the fire thinking over all he had long, nursing them at the hospital, visit-heard. Nor was it, let us own, without a ing to train a creeper to reach the window- Molly Ryan was out, and a strange face that Harry knew not received him at the door, leaving him, as he entered, to go where he pleased, simply saying, "There's the way to the Abbey, and there's where she lives." certain irritation that he thought of the contrast the man drew between his father sill. and this girl-his father, the man of mind and intellect, the scholar, the orator, the man whose early career had been a blaze of success, and yet all his acquirements and all his knowledge paled beside the active energy of a mere peasant. The reflection pained him; it chafed him sorely to admit, even to his own heart, that birth and blood were not always the superiors, and he casuistically suspected that much of the praise he had heard bestowed upon this girl was little other than the reflex of that selfish esteem the people felt for qualities like their own.
Burden of ThXntiOn-Hc Calculates on the New Law Yielding "A ReVe- nue. OF 1925, 900, 900 Next Year, $751; 100000 More Than the Present Law. Washington, July 20, / a. m.-The conference report on the tariff bill was adopt ed by the House shortly after midnight by vote of 1855 to lis, and at noon to-day the report will go to the Senate for action there This eclpses all previous records. The result was accomplished after twelve hours of continuous debate But two speeches were made by the republicans, one by Mr.. Dlngley in opening the debate and one by MIR. Payne of New York in closing it. The democrats were thus fore ed to put forth speaker after speaker. but their bombardment of the republican position was unanswered. In ali ten democratic and one populst speeches were made. Messrs. Wheeler of Alabama. Swanson of Virginia, Ball of Texas, Lam ham of Texas, Kelly of North Dakota, Fleming OF Georgia, Handy of Delaware, Mcdowell Of Ohio, Berry of Kentucky, Bailey of Texas and McMillin of Tennessee, being the speakers. The sugar schedule was the main point OF assault. The most interesting feature Of the debate occurred when Mr.. Bailey and Mr.. McMillin, the two rival democratic lead ers, crossed swords on the question of the orthodoxy Of the free raw material doc trine, the former opposing it and the lat ter championing it. The galleries were crowded up to the time the vote was taken, many distinguished people being present Among them were a number of senators, several members of the cabinet and a few men, bers of the diplomatic corps Every republican in the House who was present voted for the report. The demo- Gratis, with five EXCEPTIONS voted against the report. The exceptions were Messrs. Slayden of Texas, Broussard, Meyer and Davey of Louisiana, and Kleber of Texas. The populists and silverites did not vote solidly, Messrs. Shafroth of Colorado, Newands of Nevada and Hartman OF Montana, sllverites, did not vote. The populists who voted against the report were Messrs. Baker, Barlow, Bot kin. Fowler. Jett, Lewis. Marshall, Mar tin, Peters, Simpson. strowd and Vincent Four did not vote-Messrs. Howard, Kelly Stark and Switzerland. The other populists were absent. An analysis OF the vote shows that 1s0 republicans and five democrats voted for the report, and 1O6 democrats and twelve populists against 1t. Washington. July 19.-The floor OF the House presented an animated appearance long before the speaker raped that body to order to-day. Members stood about in groups and dis cussed, sometimes in excited tones, the result of the conference agreement on the tariff bill, which was to be presented for final action to-day. The galleries were comfortably well filled and every member in the city was in his seat when Speaker Reed ascended the rostrum at noon. Most of the conferees on the tariff bill were In their places, their desks piled high with papers and documents. The blind chaplain in his prayer invoked a blessing on to-day's work. MAY the history of this day." he prayed, "be worthy Of this great nation, and rebound to the good Of all its sitizens." Before Mr.. Dingley presented the tariff conference report, Mr. Cannon presented the final conference report on the general deficiency bill. which was agreed to with out difficulty. After a few minor matters had been dis posed OF. Mr.. Dingley arose. Holding aloft the report and a great mass OF papers he said In calm tones: Speaker, desire to present the conference report on the tariff bin" Salvos Of applause from the republican side greeted this announcement The pa pers were carried 10 the clerks desk The reading OF the formal report was dis pensed with al the request Of Mr. Dingley, and the usual statement Of the effect OF the changes was read Mr. Bailey, the leader OF the minority, disclaimed. before the reading began. any responsibility for the statement which. he said. the minority had had, as yet no opportunity to read Al the conclusion OF the reading OF the statement. Mr.. Dingley took the floor. Be fore he began his speech. he said, he de- SIRED n possible, 20 enter into an agree ment with tho minority as to the length OF time the debate should run. Mr. Bailey said the minority would like three days. but knowing that much time could not be obtained, he would be willing 10 agree 10 allow tho debate 10 run today and tomorrow, with provision for a vote before adjournment tomorrow. Mr.. Dingloy. In reply. said he was not prepared 20 agree 20 Mr.. Bailey's proDo- sition. when be expressed tho hope that a vote could be reached to-day, the republicana broke into long and loud applause. Talk az this time ~ very expensive" said Mr.. Dingley. 1T costs the treasury 10000 a day" f. All efforts TO reach an agreement failed Mr.. DinEloy, with the statement that he would confer with Mr. Bailey later. opened hts speech on the conference report. The figures and details OF the explanation Of the changes were very dry but the House fsnua him HlUu0 ana fnFnnuf attention Tfa
To make its shame more vile. I am a wretched, but a spotless wife, I've been a daughter, but too dutiful. But, oh! the writhings of a generous soul Stabb'd by a confidence it can't return, To whom a kind word is a blow on th' heart- I cannot paint thy wretchedness! Clo. Nay, nay, [Bursts into tears. Dry up your tears; soon will your lord return, Let him not see you thus by passion shaken. Imo. Oh! wretched is the dame, to whom the sound "Your lord will soon return," no pleasure brings. Clo. Some step approaches. [Looking off, L.] 'Tis St. Anselm's Monk. Imo. Remember! Enter a MONK, L. Now, what wouldst thou, reverend father? Monk. St. Anselm's benison on you, gracious dame! Our holy Prior by me commends him to you. The wreck that struck our rocks i' th' storm Hath thrown some wretched souls upon his care, (For many have been saved since morning dawned); Wherefore, he prays the wonted hospitality That the free noble usage of your castle Doth grant to shipwrecked and distressed men. Imo. Bear back my greetings to your holy prior; Tell him, the lady of St. Aldobrand Holds it no sin, although her lord be absent, To ope her gates to wave-tossed mariners. Now Heaven forfend your narrow cells were cumbered, While these free halls stood empty! Tell your prior, We hold the custom of our castle still. [Exeunt, IMOGINE and CLOTILDA, R., MONK, L. BERTRAM. 35 An Apartment in the Convent a couch, R.C. The STRANGER discovered sleeping on the couch, and the PRIOR (L.) watching him. Prior. He sleeps-if it be sleep; this starting trance, Whose feverish tossings and deep-muttered groans, Do prove the soul shares not the body's rest. [Hanging over him. How the lip works! how the bare teeth do grind, And beaded drops course down his writhen brow! I will awake him from this horrid trance; This is no natural sleep. Ho! wake thee, stranger! Str. What wouldst thou have? my life is in thy power. Prior. Most wretched man, whose fears alone betray thee- What art thou?--speak! Str. Thou sayest I am a wretch, And thou sayest true-these weeds do witness it-- These wave-worn weeds-these bare and bruised limbs- What wouldst thou more? I shrink not from the question. I am a wretch, and proud of wretchedness, 'Tis the sole earthly thing that cleaves to me. Prior. Lightly I deem of outward wretchedness, For that hath been the lot of blessed saints: But, in their dire extreme of outward wretchedness, Full calm they slept in dungeons and in darkness,― Such hath not been thy sleep. Str. Didst watch my sleep? But thou couldst gain no secret from my ravings. Prior. Thy secrets! wretched man, I reck not of them; But I adjure thee, by the church's power, (A power to search man's secret heart of sin,) Show me thy wound of soul. Weep'st thou, the ties of nature or of passion Torn by the hand of Heaven? Oh, no! full well I deemed no gentler feeling D 2 DRAMATIC SCENES. Woke the dark lightning of thy withering eye. What fiercer spirit is it tears thee thus ? Show me the horrid tenant of thy heart! Or wrath, or hatred, or revenge, is there- [The Stranger suddenly starts from the couch, raises his clasped hands, and comes forward, R. Str. I would consort with mine eternal enemy, To be revenged on him! Prior. Art thou a man, or fiend, who speakest thus ? Str. I was a man; I know not what I am- What others' crimes and injuries have made me- Look on me! What am I? [Advances, c. Prior. [Retreating to L. corner.] I know not. Str. I marvel that thou say'st it, For lowly men full oft remember those In changed estate, whom equals have forgotten. A passing beggar hath remembered me, When with strange eyes my kinsmen looked on me. I wore no sullied weeds on that proud day When thou, a bare-foot monk, didst bow full low For alms, my heedless hand hath flung to thee. Thou dost not know me! [Approaching him. Prior. Mine eyes are dim with age-but many thoughts Do stir within me at thy voice. Str. List to me, monk; it is thy trade to talk, As reverend men do use in saintly wise, Of life's vicissitudes and vanities. Hear one plain tale that doth surpass all saws- Hear it from me- -Count Bertram-aye, Count Bertram !-- The darling of his liege and of his land, The army's idol, and the council's head- Whose smile was fortune, and whose will was law→→→ Doth bow him to the Prior of St. Anselm For water to refresh his parched lip, And this hard-matted couch to fling his limbs on. Prior. Good Heaven and all its saints! Bertram. Wilt thou betray me? BERTRAM. 37 Prior. Lives there the wretch beneath these walls to do it ? Thou man of many woes.-- Sorrow enough hath bowed thy head already, Far more I fear lest thou betray thyself. Hard by do stand the halls of Aldobrand, (Thy mortal enemy and cause of fall,) Where ancient custom doth invite each stranger, Cast on this shore, to sojourn certain days, And taste the bounty of the castle's lord. If thou goest not, suspicion will arise; And if thou dost (all changed as thou art,) Some desperate burst of passion will betray thee, And end in mortal scathe- Why dost thou gaze on with such fixed eyes? Ber. What sayest thou ? I dreamed I stood before Lord Aldobrand Impenetrable to his searching eyes- And I did feel the horrid joy men feel [A pause. Measuring the serpent's coil, whose fangs have stung them; Scanning with giddy eye the air-hung rock, From which they leapt and live by niracle;-- To see that horrid spectre of my thoughts In all the stern reality of life- To mark the living lineaments of hatred, And say, this is the man whose sight should blast me; Yet in calm dreadful triumph still gaze on:-- It is a horrid joy. Prior. Nay, rave not thus, [Crosses to L. Thou wilt not meet him; many a day must pass Till from Palermo's walls he wend him homeward, Where now he tarries with St. Anselm's knights. His dame doth dwell in solitary wise, Few are the followers in his lonely halls- Why dost thou smile in that most horrid guise? Ber. [Repeating.] His dame doth dwell alone. chance his child- Oh! no, no, no! it was a damned thought. Per- DRAMATIC SCENES. Prior. I do but indistinctly hear thy words, But feel they have some fearful meaning in them. Ber. Oh, that I could but mate him in his might! Oh, that we were on the dark wave together, [Crosses to R With but one plank between us and destruction, That I might grasp him in these desperate arms, And plunge with him amid the weltering billows And view him gasp for life!--and-- Ha! ha!--I see him struggling!- I see him!-ha! ha! ha! Prior. Oh, horrible! [A frantic laugh. Help!-Help to hold him, for my strength doth fail. Enter MONK, L. Monk. The lady of St. Aldobrand sends greeting- Prior. Oh, art thou come; this is no time for greeting- Help-bear him off-thou see'st his fearful state. [Exeunt, bearing off BERTRAM, R. Rampart of the Castle of St. Aldobrand. IMOGINE discovered, R. U. E.--she gazes at the Moon for some time, and then slowly advances. Imo. Mine own loved light, That every soft and solemn spirit worships, That lovers love so well-strange joy is thine, Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath power, Who lend'st thy light to rapture and despair!-- Bertram-Bertram. How sweet it is to tell the listening night The name beloved-it is a spell of power To wake the buried slumbers of the heart, Where memory lingers o'er the grave of passion, Watching its tranced sleep! Enter CLOTILDA, L. U. E. Clo. Why dost thou wander by this mournful light, Feeding sick fancy with the thought that poisons ? BERTRAM. Imo. I will but weep beneath the moon awhile. Now do not chide my heart for this sad respite. Clo. Nay, come with me, and view those storm-'scaped men A feasting in thy hall, 'twill cheer thy heart. Of perils 'scaped by flood and fire they tell, And many an antique legend wild they know, And many a lay they sing- [Bacchanalian Chorus and laughter without, L. U. E.
In this record we find, also, the origin of what afterwards became a settled practice,-that of paying the representatives of the people, wages, or expenses of attending parliament; for a writ is recorded to the sheriff of Yorkshire, commanding that the two knights who should attend the parliament should be paid their reasonable expenses in coming to the parliament, of staying there, and of returning to their own parts; which expenses the sheriff was directed to levy on the community of the county. When the civil war had terminated, and Henry's authority was restored (which happened after the battle of Evesham, on the 4th of August, 1265, in which Leicester was slain, and the King was released from bondage by his son, Prince Edward), the precedent of Leicester, regarded as an act of usurpation, was discontinued, and was not revived during the remainder of Henry's reign, and the greater part of the following reign; but the great council of prelates and barons went on in its old course. Edward I. succeeded his father Henry III., on the 16th November, 1272. He held his first Parliament at Westminster, on the 5th April, 1275. The Statute of Westminster was then passed, which consists of fifty-one chapters, and is called "the Acts of King Edward, made at his first Parliament, after his coronation, by his council, and by the 1 The following is the substance of the three writs :-- "Item mandatum est singulis vicecomitibus per Angliam ; quod venire faciant duos milites de legalioribus, probioribus et discretioribus militibus singulorum comitatuum, ad regem London', in octab' praedictis, in forma supradicta. "Item in forma praedicta scribitur civibus Ebor', civibus Lincoln' et ceteris burgis Angliae, quod mittant in forma praedicta duos de discretioribus, legalioribus et probioribus, tam civibus, quam burgensibus suis. “Item in forma praedicta mandatum est baronibus, et probis hominibus Quinque Portuum, prout continetur in brevi irrotulato inferius." (Rymer's Foedera, vol. i. p. 449.) 1295.] assent of archbishops, bishops, abbots, priors, earls, barons, and all the commonalty of the realm." But a subsequent statute of Edward I.--the Statute of Gloucester-made in the sixth year of his reign, 1278, omits any allusion to the commonalty, stating that the statute was made by the king, calling together the prelates, earls, and barons, and his council. Edward made a nearer approach to the precedent of Leicester in the eighteenth year of his reign, 1290; when writs of election were addressed to the sheriffs, directing them to return two or three knights, to appear at Westminster, with full powers for themselves and the 'communitas' of the shire, to consent to what should be then and there ordained by the earls, barons, and certain other of the 'Proceres' of the kingdom. In 22 Edward I., 1294, similar writs were addressed to the sheriffs, stating that the king intended to have a colloquium' (a term used for parliament) with the earls, barons, and other magnates of the kingdom, at Westminster, on the morrow of St. Martin; and ordering the sheriffs to cause two knights to be elected, with full power to consent, for themselves and the communitas,' to what should be ordained by the earls, barons, and proceres.2 REPRESENTATION RESUMED. 77 The duties assigned to the knights in these parliaments were to consent to the ordinances of the earls and barons; but a more complete adoption of the precedent of Leicester soon followed. In 23 Edward I., 1295, writs of election were addressed to all the sheriffs of England, reciting that the king intended to hold a parliament, with the earls, barons and other proceres of the kingdom, for the purpose of providing against the dangers which threatened the kingdom; for which purpose they had been summoned to come to the king on Sunday next after the feast of St. Martin. 1 Parliamentary Writs and Records (Record Commission edition), vol. i. p. 15. 2 Idem, p. 20. "Between 49 Henry III. and 18 Edward I. there is no evidence to prove that the members of the House of Commons were present in Parliament; in fact, the records which are extant prove the contrary." (Hardy, on the 'Modus Tenendi Parliamentum,' pref. p. xi.) REPRESENTATION ESTABLISHED. [CH. VI. The writ then commands the sheriff that he should cause to be elected of his county, two knights; and of every city of the same county, two citizens; and of every borough, two burgesses; and cause them to come to the king at the same time and place; so that the knights should have sufficient power, for themselves and the 'communitas' of the shire; and the citizens and burgesses, for the communitas' of their respective cities and boroughs, to do what by common consent should be ordained in the premises. The sheriffs were respectively commanded to have there the names of the several knights, citizens, and burgesses, with their respective writs.2 Thus it appears that this great and important innovation in the constitution of the legislative assembly, was not the result of deliberate and express legal enactment, but rather a spontaneous act of Royal pleasure. It seems to have been a concession to the advancing prosperity and influence of the people, in accordance with a principle set forth in the writs summoning the prelates to the same parliament, "that what concerns all should be approved by all; and that for common dangers remedies should be provided in common.' 113 1 Parliamen Writs and Records, vol. i. p. 22. 2 Peers' Report, vol. i. p. 212. In the following year, 1296, there are records of the election of two citizens for London, and for Hereford. In the former, the election was made by the aldermen and four men of every ward, who at the same time grant twenty shillings per diem to the citizens elected, for their expenses in going to and returning from Parliament. In the latter, the election was made in the presence of the custos and aldermen, by "six of the best and most discreet of every ward." (Parliamentary Writs and Records, vol. i.) The wages were afterwards settled at a much lower rate. 3 Fod., vol. i. p. 827. Peers' Report, vol. i. p. 211. House of Lancaster. House of York. CHAPTER VII. Plantagenet EDWARD II. Kings. EDWARD III. RICHARD 11. HENRY IV.. HENRY V. HENRY VI. EDWARD IV. EDWARD V. RICHARD III. GROWTH OF PARLIAMENT. 23 EDWARD I. .A.D. 1295 1307 1327 1377 1399 1413 1422 1461 1483 1483 12 years. 20 50 22 14 39 22 "9 39 188 years. Ancient Records of Parliament.-Statute Rolls.-Parliament Rolls.- Humble position of Citizens and Burgesses.-Legislative power in the King.-Concession as to Taxation.-Judicial Functions of Parliament. -Petitions.-Triers Petitions.-Opening Parliament.-Proxies.- Origin of Convocation.-Complaint of Grievances.-Aid by Commons alone.-Edward II.-Confederation of Barons.-Ordinances.-Re voked as contrary to authority of Parliament. -Peers of the Land- Deposition of Edward II.-Edward III.--Advice of Parliament asked and given as to War.-Royal Commission for Tallage repealed.--Separate deliberation and subsequent agreement of Lords and Commons. -No negativing power yet appeared.-Taxation by Lords and Commons.-Peers and Commons consult as to Loan.-Commons appointed to frame Petitions into Statutes.--Taxation by Privy Council restrained. -Commons' Complaint of bad Government.-Statutes not according to Petitions.-Commons consulted on Foreign Affairs.-Grievances redressed.-Ordinances illegal.--Dukes first created.-Statutes to be in English.-Concurrence of both Houses not yet settled.-First Im. peachment by Commons.-First Speaker.--Commons petition against evil counsellors; urge the Clergy to submit to Taxation in Parlia ment.-First Grant of Tonnage and Poundage.-Enfranchisement of EDWARD I. [CH. VII. Villeins.-Marquesses created.-Barons by Patent.-The Three Estates of the Realm declared.-House of Lords' exclusive Judicature.--Tax ation by Commons, with assent of Lords.-Parliamentary Privilege.
And now give me my boy once more, upon my breast to hold, That he may drink one farewell drink before my breast be cold.' "Why would you waken the poor child? you see he is asleep; Prepare, dear wife, there is no time, the dawn begins to peep.' 'Now, hear me, Count Alarcos! I give thee pardon free: I pardon thee for the love's sake wherewith I've loved thee;- "But they have not my pardon, the king and his proud daughter; The curse of God be on them, for this unchristian slaughter. I charge them with my dying breath, ere thirty days be gone, To meet me in the realm of death, and at God's awful throne !'" The Count then strangles her with a scarf, and the ballad concludes with the fulfilment of the dying lady's prayer, in the death of the king and the Infanta within twenty days of her own. Few, I think, will be disposed to question. the beauty of this ancient ballad, though a refined and cultivated taste may revolt from the seemingly unnatural incident upon which it is founded. It must be recollected that this is a scene taken from a barbarous age, when the life of even the most cherished and beloved was held of little value in comparison with a chivalrous but false and exaggerated point of honor. It must be borne in mind also, that, notwithstanding the boasted liberty of the Castilian hidalgos, and their frequent rebellions against the crown, a deep reverence for the divine right of kings, and a consequent disposition to obey the mandates of the throne, at almost any sacrifice, has always been one of the prominent traits of the Spanish character. When taken in connection with these circumstances, the story of this old ballad ceases to be so grossly improbable as it seems at first sight; and, indeed, becomes an illustration of national character. In all probability, the story of the Conde Alarcos had some foundation in fact.* The third class of the ancient Spanish ballads is the Moorish. Here we enter a new world, more gorgeous and more dazzling than that of Gothic chronicle and tradition. The stern spirits of Bernardo, the Cid, and Mudarra have passed away; the mail-clad forms of Guarinos, Orlando, and Durandarte are not here: the scene is changed; it is the bridal of Andalla; the bull-fight of Ganzul. The sunshine of Andalusia glances upon the marble halls of Granada, and green are the banks of the Xenil and the Darro. A band of Moorish knights gayly arrayed in gambesons of crimson silk, with scarfs of blue and jewelled tahalíes, sweep like the wind through the square of Vivarambla. They ride to the Tournament of Reeds; the Moorish maiden leans from the balcony; bright eyes glisten from many a lattice; and the victorious knight receives the prize of valor from the hand of her whose * This exaggerated reverence for the person and prerogatives of the king has furnished the groundwork of two of the best dramas in the Spanish language; La Estrella de Sevilla, by Lope de Vega, and Del Rey abajo Ninguno, by Francisco de Rojas. beauty is like the star-lit night. These are the Xarifas, the Celindas, and Lindaraxas, the Andallas, Ganzules, and Abenzaydes of Moorish song. Then comes the sound of the silver clarion, and the roll of the Moorish atabal, down from the snowy pass of the Sierra Nevada and across the gardens of the Vega. Alhama has fallen! woe is me, Alhama! The Christian is at the gates of Granada; the banner of the cross floats from the towers of the Alhambra! And these, too, are themes for the minstrel,themes sung alike by Moor and Spaniard. Among the Moorish ballads are included not only those which were originally composed in Arabic, but all that relate to the manners, customs, and history of the Moors in Spain. In most of them the influence of an Oriental taste is clearly visible; their spirit is more refined and effeminate than that of the historic and romantic ballads, in which no trace of such an influence is perceptible. The spirit of the Cid is stern, unbending, steel-clad; his hand grasps his sword Tizona; his heel wounds the flank of his steed Babieca ; "La mano aprieta á Tizona, Y el talon fiere á Babieca." But the spirit of Arbolan the Moor, though resolute in camps, is effeminate in courts; he is a diamond among scymitars, yet graceful in the dance; "Diamante entre los alfanges, Gracioso en baylar las zambras." The ancient ballads are stamped with the character of their heroes. Abundant illustrations of this could be given, but it is not necessary. Among the most spirited of the Moorish ballads are those which are interwoven in the History of the Civil Wars of Granada. The following, entitled "A very mournful Ballad on the Siege and Conquest of Alhama," is very beautiful; and such was the effect it produced upon the Moors, that it was forbidden, on pain of death, to sing it within the walls of Granada. The translation, which is executed with great skill and fidelity, is from the pen of Lord Byron. "The Moorish king rides up and down, Through Granada's royal town; From Elvira's gates to those Of Bivarambla on he goes. Woe is me, Alhama! "Letters to the monarch tell How Alhama's city fell; In the fire the scroll he threw, And the messenger he slew. Woe is me, Alhama! "He quits his mule, and mounts his horse, And through the street directs his course; Through the street of Zacatin To the Alhambra spurring in. Woe is me, Alhama! "When the Alhambra's walls he gained On the moment he ordained That the trumpet straight should sound With the silver clarion round. Woe is me, Alhama! 66 "And when the hollow drums of war Beat the loud alarm afar, That the Moors of town and plain Might answer to the martial strain, Woe is me, Alhama! "Then the Moors, by this aware That bloody Mars recalled them there, One by one, and two by two, To a mighty squadron grew. Woe is me, Alhama! "Out then spake an aged Moor In these words the king before: 'Wherefore call on us, O king? What may mean this gathering?' Woe is me, Alhama! "Friends! ye have, alas! to know Of a most disastrous blow, That the Christians, stern and bold, Have obtained Alhama's hold.' Woe is me, Alhama ! "Out then spake old Alfaqui, With his beard so white to see: 'Good king, thou art justly served; Good king, this thou hast deserved. Woe is me, Alhama ! "By thee were slain, in evil hour, The Abencerrage, Granada's flower; And strangers were received by thee Of Córdova the chivalry. Woe is me, Alhama! "And for this, O king! is sent On thee a double chastisement; Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, One last wreck shall overwhelm. Woe is me, Alhama! 666 "He who holds no laws in awe, He must perish by the law; And Granada must be won, And thyself with her undone. Woe is me, Alhama! "Fire flashed from out the old Moor's eyes; The monarch's wrath began to rise, Because he answered, and because He spake exceeding well of laws. Woe is me, Alhama! "There is no law to say such things As may disgust the ear of kings!' 10 Thus, snorting with his choler, said The Moorish king, and doomed him dead. Woe is me, Alhama!" Such are the ancient ballads of Spain; poems which, like the Gothic cathedrals of the Middle Ages, have outlived the names of their builders. They are the handiwork of wandering, homeless minstrels, who for their daily bread thus "built the lofty rhyme "; and whose names, like their dust and ashes, have long, long been wrapped in a shroud. "These poets," says an anonymous writer, "have left behind them no trace to which the imagination can attach itself; they have 'died and made no sign.' We pass from the infancy of Spanish poetry to the age of Charles, through a long vista of monuments without inscriptions, as the traveller approaches the noise and bustle of modern Rome through the lines of silent and unknown tombs that border the Appian Way." Before closing this essay, I must allude to the unfavorable opinion which the learned Dr.
153 leucoglochin, Eh. (E. J. 2.) spike about 4-flowered; staminate flower mostly solitary fruit lanceolate, 3-sided-terete, much reflexed, hardly twice as long as the lance-oblong scale. 6. Wet. fraseri, Sims. (A. 2.) spike cylindric: fruit globe-ovate-triangular, entire at the orifice, striate, longer than the oblong scale. 1 f. (Spikes several.) orata, Rudge. (Canada.) spikes in fours and fives, ovate, dense-flowered, peduncled, pendulous, bracted: fruit ovate, compressed, acuminate, bifid, equal to the ovate acute scale. (One radical peduncle, or more, single-spiked.) wildenowi, Sh. (J. 2.) stems 1 to 3 from the same root: one spike staminif erous above, ovate at the base: fruit 3 to 6, globe-ovate, beaked, sub-inflated, somewhat 3-sided scales ovate, acute, inferior filiform, very long, much longer than the spike-sometimes the staminiferous spike is distinct. 101. Dry woods. S. pedunculata, M. (O. Ap. 2.) spikes about in fives, 3-cornered, distant, longpeduncled: fruit obovate, 3-sided, recurved at the apex, commonly glabrous, a little longer than the oblong or obovate, mucronate scale. 6i. Woods. 2. Stamens at the base of the spikes. squarrosa, (E. 2.) spikes one, two, or three, oblong-cylindric fruit imbricate, ovate with a long beak, 2-toothed, spreading horizontally, glabrous and subsquarrose, longer than the lanceolate scale.. Var. typhinoides, (Dewey) spike long-cylindric, tapering above, mostly in pairs, often approximate. S. atrata, (A. 2.) spikes somewhat in fours, oblong-ovate, somewhat nodding, terminal one androgynous, staminate below; upper ones crowded, sessile; lower ones somewhat distant, peduncled, round-oval, compressed, glabrous, short-beaked, with a 2-lipped aperture, a little shorter than the oblong, acutish, black scale. 1 f. S. F. Terminal spike androgynous, pistillate at the summit: the others wholly pistillate. virescens, M. (E. M. 2.) spikes in threes, oblong, erect, alternate; upper one peduncled, beneath staminiferous; the rest bearing fruit, sub-sessile, bracted: fruit ovate, obtuse, ribbed, pubescent, nearly equal or exceeding the ovate, pubescent, mucronate scale. 201. Wet-upland. Var. costata, has its fruit strongly ribbed, and its outer sheaths purplish-brown-leaves more numerous and larger. irsuta, W. (E. M. 2.) spikes in threes, oblong, alternate, erect; upper one short-peduncled and staminiferous below; the rest sub-sessile, leafy-bracted; all approximate, dense-flowered: fruit 3-sided-ovate, nerved, obtuse, entire at the aperture, about equal to the ovate, acuminate, glabrous scales. Var. pedunculata, T. has oblong-cylindric, peduncled spikes, and slightly pubescent leaves. S. Anbaumii, Wh. (J. 2.) spikes distinct, or hydrogynous, about in fours; upper spike staminiferous, often androgynous, peduncled, clavate, fruit-bearing above; the rest fruit-bearing, oblong, somewhat remote, sessile, bracted, sometimes with but 2 stigmas: fruit oblong-ovate and obovate, obtuse, somewhat 3-sided, nerved, glabrous at the sub-entire orifice, equalling the oblong, mucronate scale. 18 i. Wet. S. Firidula, Mx. (1) (Hudson's bay. 2f.) spikes about in threes, oval, sessile, approximate; terminal one androgynous, staminiferous below; lower ones axiilary fruit ovate, 3-sided, glabrous, acuminate, about equalling the ovate acuminate scale. 1f. Damp. formosa, Dewey, (E. M. 21.) spikes oblong, thick, one-sided, in fours, distant, exsertly peduncled, nodding; upper one staminate below: fruit oblong, 3- (1) triceps, E. BRYUM, BUNIAS. 2. Staminate flowers sessile, terminal, bud-form: capsules peduncled. carneum, stem simple: leaves lanceolate, acute, entire, reticulate, remotish: capsule pendulous, ovate. In damp shades. argenteum, stem ramose at the base, cespitose: leaves ovate, concave, mucronate, imbricate, glaucous-silvery capsule ovate-oblong, pendulous. On walls, houses and sandy soils. coespiticium, stem ramose at the base: leaves lance-ovate, acuminate, imbri. cate: capsule oblong, pendulous: lid convex. On walls, houses, &c. 3. Staminate flowers sessile, terminal, with a disk-like tuft of leaves. roseum, stem erect: leaves crowded together, stellate, oblong, entire, acute capsule oblong: lid conic. In woods and bushes. cuspidatum, leaves lance-ovate, serrate: capsule ovate, pendulous: lid conic, obtuse. In moist shades. ciliare, Greville, (Canada.) stem elongated: leaves obovate, acutish, finely reticulate-margined, serrate-ciliate; serratures jointed: capsule oblong, pendulous, pale: lid a conical hemisphere: apex minute. punctatum, stem erect, sub-simple: leaves obovate, entire, punctate-reticulate : capsule ovate lid subulate, incurved. In damp shady lawns, &c. 4. Flowers perfect; germs nodding. nutans, stem sub-simple: leaves lanceolate, acute, keeled: capsule obovate, nodding; lid convex, short-mucronate. In dry barren situations. Arrhenopterum. 13-2. BUCHNERA. 40. 34. americana, W. (blue-hearts. O. b. Au. 2.) stem simple: leaves lanceolate, sub-dentate, rough, 3-nerved: flowers remote, spiked. In the herbarium this plant becomes black. 1 f. S. Antirrhinum, 5-1. BUMELIA. (1) 43. 48. Southern. lycioides, Ph. (E. g-w. M. h.) spinous, erect : leaves broad-lanceolate, smooth both sides. Fruit a drupe. Wood hard and heavy. reclinata, Ph. (E. J. h.) spiny, spreading: sterile branches spreading: leaves small, obovate, very smooth. lanuginosa, (g-y. J. 5.) spiny: branches expanding, hairy leaves lance-oval, woolly under side. 10 f. tenax, (g-y. J. b.) spiny: leaves lance-wedge-form, mostly obtuse, silk-downy beneath. 25 f. oblongifolia, N. (W. h.) spiny: leaves oblong-ovate, obtuse, narrowed at the base, hairy beneath flowers conglomerate, sub-sessile, numerous : segments of the nectary 3-cleft. 18 f. Lisianthus. 14-1. BUNIAS. (1) 39. 63. maritima, W. (sea-rocket. L. p. Ju..) var. americana, T. leaves wedge-oblong, obtuse, sinuate-toothed: joints of the silicle 1-seeded; upper ones ovate, acute. Plant fleshy, corymbed. edentata, Bw. (L. Ju..) leaves obovate, sinuate silicle with 2 smooth, one-seeded, toothless, joints. Plant fleshy, in terminal spikes or racemes. Thlaspi, (1) Sideroxylon, Ms. (2) Cakile. BUPHTHALMUM, CACALIA, 17-2. BUPHTHALMUM. 49. 55. Southern. frutescens, (ox-eye, y. J. b.) leaves opposite, wedge-lanceolate, fleshy, whitish: petioles 2 toothed stem shrubhy. 2 f. 149 angustifolium, Ph. (E. 2.) leaves alternate, linear, broader near the summit, entire, glabrous involucre of acute, lanceolate, leafets. sagittatum, Ph. (W. y. J. 2.) tomentose: radical leaves long-petioled, oblong, sagittate, entire, somewhat 3-nerved; cauline ones oblong, tapering into the petiole stem about 3-flowered outer leafets of the calyx longer than the disk. Helianthus, Burmannia, TRIPTERELLA. 21-2. BUXBAUMIA. 56. 4. ophylla, (leafless moss.) capsule long-peduncled leaves none. In barren places. Funaria. 19-4. BUXUS. 38. 96. [Generic character is here given, it having been omitted after MORUS, p. 68.] Staminate flowers-calyx 3-leaved petals 2: germ a mere rudiment. Pistillate flowers-calyx 4-leaved petals 3 styles 3: capsules 3-beaked, 3celled: seeds 2. 38-96. (box.) Exotic. sempervirens, (box. h.) leaves ovate, petioled, somewhat hairy at the margiu : anthers ovate, arrow-form. Var. angustifolia, leaves lanceolate. Var. suffruticosa, leaves obovate, stem hardly woody. Pachysandra. C. Cabomba, NECTRIS. 17-1. CACALIA. 49. 55.
Spinoza. as knowledge--by the only absolutely satisfactory test, that, if this particular instance of a knowledge were not as it is, reason could not be reason, and hence neither a question could be asked concerning it, nor an answer desired; if this absolute certainty in all actual and possible phenomena of life, and the unwavering self-sufficiency and reliance resulting therefrom, can be called skepticism, then Kant was a skeptic. But at this clear insight it was impossible for Spi-noza to arrive, from the very fact that he chose the geometrical method for the elaboration of his investigation. For that method necessarily prevented him from going to the ultimate phenomenon before mentioned, the phenomenon of the synthetical character of the ego, and kept him halting in the regressus at a point chosen ad libitum, which point thus became his fundamental axiom. It will hereafter appear that this arbitrarily chosen fundamental axiom in Spinoza's regressus is the conception of Substantiality. It may seem strange that an earnest and acute investigator of a problem should adopt a method for his investigation, which can be à priori shown to cancel the possibility of arriving at a solution of the problem, and be so blind to this its nature; yet the phenomenon is really not strange nor difficult to explain, though this is not the place to explain it; indeed that blindness is so universal, that up to the discovery of Kant all men labored under it; and, even since his discovery was made public, only the smallest number of men have worked their way out of it. That Spinoza was fully conscious of the problem--as, indeed, were Descartes, Leibnitz, and most of the great minds of that age--is evident enough from his letters, namely, the problem to discover a Science of all knowing, which should set at rest forever all metaphy sical disputes, and furnish an indisputable basis for every other science. In a letter to John Bresser on the best method of arriving at absolute as distinguished from contingent knowledge, Spinoza thus expresses this point: "From what I have now said, it clearly appears what the true method must be and wherein it chiefly consists; namely, in a knowledge of pure intellect alone, its nature and its laws." But this knowledge could clearly be obtained only from an examination of the "intellect alone," causing it to arise as it Spinoza. 369 were and construct itself before his own examining intellect, and in this self-constructing revealing necessarily all the conditions of its possibility, that is, "its nature and its laws." In this way Fichte afterwards proceeded in his Science of Knowledge; but Spinoza, utterly regardless of his purpose, and following the mathemathical method, took his start from axioms; although these very axioms were, and always had been, the points in dispute among philosophers. Now geometry can very well start from axioms, for geometry does not pretend to deduce its axioms from the ultimate "laws of the intellect"; it takes space, point and line, simply as presuppositions, from philosophy, and leaves it the duty of philosophers to account for them as phenomena of the intellect; in short, geometry has nothing to do with the faculty of thinking, which faculty involves a duplicity, but simply with the faculty of contemplation, by means of which it constructs. But the science of philosophy, in the sense in which Spinoza proposed it to himself, as seen above, has no earthly raison d'être if it does not build itself up without any axiom, and from out of itself furnish all the axioms that any other science requires. In addition to this ruinous defect of starting with the very axioms in dispute, and to the still worse absurdity of producing arbitrarily, at the commencement of each new part of his Ethics, new axioms, to any extent it may suit his purpose -a mode of proceeding by which anyone could easily build up any imaginary science-there occurs at the very beginning of the Ethics one of those word-subterfuges which run through the whole book, and which are contemptible when he uses them in such instances as "God," "freedom," and "immortality"; and this use he indulges in continually, although he himself warns against this abuse of words in the Second Part of the Ethics, p. 47. Take as an instance that very famous opening definition of the Ethics wherein causa sui is defined as that the essence or nature whereof includes existence. Now, here the word causa is either utterly meaningless, or else surreptitiously carries along the conception of cause, which, in the case applied to "God" or "substance," would be the very point in dispute; so also the word "existence" has here either the surrepti- Spinoza. tiously appended meaning of "existence in time," or else none at all. Now, a thing, call it "A" if you please, existing in time, can, in no meaning of the word, be called its own cause, since it would then have to be thought existing previous to its existence in order to become thinkable as its own effect. The phrase "self-cause,” or “cause of itself," is, therefore, utterly meaningless and absurd. The word "cause" is simply inapplicable in the case. If existence does not include time, however, and be here merely a--very awkward, to be sure-metaphor for "being represented in mind," there would again be no cause, in any sense of the word "cause" -unless, as indeed is the case, the mind be taken as such cause; but, as this view is the only one dogmatists of every description are incapable of entertaining, the definition would have to be expressed thus: "To that which I cannot conceive except as being represented in my mind, I cannot assign another cause; hence I can assign no cause for it: hence I call it causa sui." But I might just as well, to all intents and purposes, call it X, or Y, or Z, or Nothing. Why not at once say boldly, that it is absurd to apply any category of Being at all to the conception of that totality of all the universe which men call God, and which Spinoza calls alternately God, Nature, or Substance; and that, just as well as call it God, we might call it X, and confess that we could say no more about it, since "every determination would be a negation," and an infinity of determinations would only be increasing the number of determinations and hence of negations. To this argument Leibnitz, indeed, had ready to oppose the great discovery of his Calculus, that the infinity of fractions do not merely increase their number but involve the conception of an "actual" unit, as the infinite straight lines of a curve involve the circle, and that this totality remains complete and determined in itself in spite of-nay, by virtue of--the infinity of the determinations. Having here touched the fundamental basis and error of Spinoza's system-for the Ethics is a system, however unartistically built up on a wrong method and upon arbitrarily chosen axioms-let us improve the opportunity to enter upon its thorough examination. It is even the paramount problem, or subject of thought, of every self-conscious intelligence, no Spinoza. 371 matter how low in grade, that ever looked upon itself and the universe. It is, therefore, almost unnecessary to premise that we enter upon it in a spirit of utmost reverence; but having thus drawn off our shoes to tread the consecrated ground, it is of equal importance to roll up our sleeves, so to speak, and go to work in dead earnest, caring for no previous spoken or written word, but looking the thing calmly in the face. Nor let any one be afraid that we shall thereby lose sight of Spinoza; on the contrary, it is he, though his name be not mentioned always, who shall be continually kept in view; and let it be remembered, that with him falls the whole present school of popular writers on the metaphysics of physical science.
Tempt the vague will tried standards to disown, Nor only palpable restraints unbind, But upon Honour's head disturb the crown, Whose absolute rule permits not to withstand In the weak love of life his least command. V. NoT to the object specially designed, Howe'er momentous in itself it be, Good to promote or curb depravity, Is the wise Legislator's view confined. His Spirit, when most severe, is oft most kind; As all Authority in earth depends On Love and Fear, their several powers he blends, Copying with awe the one Paternal mind. Uncaught by processes in show humane, He feels how far the act would derogate From even the humblest functions of the State; If she, self-shorn of Majesty, ordain That never more shall hang upon her breath The last alternative of Life or Death. VI. YE brood of conscience - Spectres! that frequent The bad Man's restless walk, and haunt his bed Fiends in your aspect, yet beneficent In act, as hovering Angels when they spread Their wings to guard the unconscious Innocent Slow be the Statutes of the land to share A laxity that could not but impair Your power to punish crime, and so prevent. And ye, Beliefs! coiled serpent-like about The adage on all tongues, "Murder will out," How shall your ancient warnings work for good In the full might they hitherto have shown, If for deliberate shedder of man's blood Survive not Judgment that requires his own? VIII. FIT retribution, by the moral code Determined, lies beyond the State's embrace, Yet, as she may, for each peculiar case She plants 'veil-measured terrors in the road VII. BEFORE the world had past her time of youth While polity and discipline were weak, The precept eye for eye, and tooth for tooth, Came forth -8 light, though but as of day-break, Strong as could then be borne. A Master meek Proscribed the spirit fostered by that rule, Patience his law, long-suffering his school, And love the end, which all through peace must seek. But lamentably do they err who strain His mandates, given rash impulse to controul And keep vindictive thirstings from the soul, So far that, if consistent in their scheme, They must forbid the State to inflict a pain, Making of social order a mere dream. Of wrongful acts. Downward it is and broad, And, the main fear once doomed to banishment, Far oftener then, bad ushering worse event, Blood would be spilt that in his dark abode Crime might lie better hid. And, should the change Take from the horror due to a foul deed, Pursuit and evidence so far must fail, And, guilt escaping, passion then might plead In angry spirits for her old free range, And the "wild justice of revenge" prevail. IX. THOUGH to give timely warning and deter Is one great aim of penalty, extend Thy mental vision further and ascend Far higher, else full surely shalt thou err. What is a State? The wise behold in her A creature born of time, that keeps one eye Fixed on the statutes of Eternity, To which her judgments reverently defer. Speaking through Law's dispassionate voice the State Endues her conscience with external life And being, to preclude or quell the strife Of individual will, to elevate The grovelling mind, the erring to recal, And fortify the moral sense of all. X. OUR bodily life, some plead, that life the shrine Of an immortal spirit is a gift So sacred, so informed with light divine, That no tribunal, though most wise to sift Deed and intent, should turn the being adrift Into that world where penitential tear May not avail, nor prayer have for God's ear A voice that world whose veil no hand can lift For earthly sight. "Eternity and Time" They urge, "have interwoven claims and rights Not to be jeopardised through foulest crime: The sentence rule by mercy's heaven-born lights." Even so; but measuring not by finite sense Infinite Power, perfect Intelligence. XI. AH, think how one compelled for life to abide Locked in a dungeon needs must eat the heart Out of his own humanity, and part With every hope that mutual cares provide; And, should a less unnatural doom confide In life-long exile on a savage coast, Soon the relapsing penitent may boast Of yet more heinous guilt, with fiercer pride. Hence thoughtful Mercy, Mercy sage and pure, Sanctions the forfeiture that Law demands, Leaving the final issue in His hands They know the dread requital's source profound; Nor is, they feel, its wisdom obsolete -- (Would that it were!) the sacrifice unmeet Whose goodness knows no change, whose love is sure, For Christian Faith. But hopeful signs abound; Who sees, foresees; who cannot judge amiss, And wafts at will the contrite soul to bliss. The social rights of man breathe purer air; Religion deepens her preventive care; Then, moved by needless fear of past abuse, Strike not from Law's firm hand that awful rod, But leave it thence to drop for lack of use: Oh, speed the blessed hour, Almighty God! XII. SEE the Condemned alone within his cell And prostrate at some moment when remorse Stings to the quick, and, with resistless force, Assaults the pride she strove in vain to quell. Then mark him, him who could so long rebel, The crime confessed, a kneeling penitent Before the Altar, where the Sacrament Softens his heart, till from his eyes outwell Tears of salvation. Welcome death! while Heaven Does in this change exceedingly rejoice; While yet the solemn heed the State hath given Helps him to meet the last Tribunal's voice In faith, which fresh offences, were he cast On old temptations, might for ever blast. XIII. CONCLUSION. YES. though he well may tremble at the sound Of his own voice, who from the judgment-seat Sends the pale convict to his last retreat In death; though listeners shudder all around, XIV. APOLOGY. THE formal world relaxes her cold chain For one who speaks in numbers; ampler scope His utterance finds; and, conscious of the gain, Imagination works with bolder hope The cause of grateful reason to sustain; And, serving Truth, the heart more strongly beats Against all barriers which his labour meets In lofty place, or humble life's domain. Enough: before us lay a painful road, And guidance have I sought in duteous love From Wisdom's heavenly Father. Hence hath flowed Patience, with trust that, whatsoe'er the way Each takes in this high matter, all may move Cheered with the prospect of a brighter day. 1840. 21 MEMORIALS OF A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT, 1820. DEDICATION. DEAR Fellow-travellers! think not that the Muse Presents to notice these memorial Lays, Hoping the general eye thereon will gaze, As on a mirror that gives back the hues Of living Nature; no-though free to choose The greenest bowers, the most inviting ways, The fairest landscapes and the brightest days, Her skill she tried with less ambitious views. For You she wrought; ye only can supply The life, the truth, the beauty: she confides In that enjoyment which with you abides, Trusts to your love and vivid memory; Thus far contented, that for You her verse Shall lack not power the "meeting soul to pierce!" W. WORDSWORTH. RYDAL MOUNT, January, 1822. I. FISH-WOMEN.-ON LANDING AT CALAIS. "Tis said, fantastic Ocean doth enfold The likeness of whate'er on Land is seen; But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen, Above whose heads the Tide so long hath rolled, The Dames resemble whom we here behold, How terrible beneath the opening waves To sink, and meet them in their fretted caves, Withered, grotesque -- immeasurably old, And shrill and fierce in accent! - Fear it not; For they Earth's fairest Daughters do excel; Pure undecaying beauty is their lot; Their voices into liquid music swell, Thrilling each pearly cleft and sparry grot The undisturbed Abodes where Sea-nymphs dwell! II. BRUGES. BRUGES I saw attired with golden light (Streamed from the west) as with a robe of power: "Tis past and now the grave and sunless hour, That, slowly making way for peaceful night,
Sitting at the right-hand of God (Eph. i. 20 and Acts ii. 32, seqq.). According to Luke xxiv. 51 and Barnabas xv. 9, perhaps also John xx. 27, the Ascension took place on the day of the Resurrection, and is hardly to be understood as an event happening only once (for the origin of the idea the passages John iii. 13, and vi. 62, are very instructive; see also Rom. x. 6, seq., Eph. iv. 9, seq., 1 Pet. iii. 19, seq.). According to the Valentinians and Ophites (Iren. I. iii. 2, xxx. 14) Christ was taken to heaven eighteen months, according to the Ascensio Isaiae (ed. Dillmann, p. 43, 57, &c., s.c. ix. 16) 545 days, according to the Pistis Sophia eleven years after the Resurrection. The statement that the Ascension took place forty days after the Resurrection appears first in the Acts of the Apostles." Lehrb. d. Dogmengeschichte, B. I. p. 172, note 1. ↑ Ibid. xxiv. 42. [Book IV. must conclude that, since the composition of his gospel, something had brought home to the evangelist the need of a larger allowance of time to find room for the known historical order of development of the young community. That an interval of suspense still more considerable followed on the crucifixion may be fairly inferred, as Weizsäcker remarks,* from the account which Tacitus gives of the origin of the Christian denomination: "It had its origin from Christus, who in the reign of Tiberius had been executed by the procurator Pontius Pilate. The deadly superstition, though suppressed for a time, broke out again and spread not only through Judea, which was first to suffer from it, but through Rome also, the resort which draws to it all that is hideous and shameful.” † The interruption and period of suppression which are here implied, and which are consistent with all that we learn from the apostle Paul, disappeared from view, under the influence of the later tradition of bodily Christophanies, and left in its place the continuous story, around the tomb as its centre, which the harmonists gather from our evangelists. Yet, even here, there are unobliterated vestiges of the historic truth in the mention of the "scattered sheep," of the "going before" of the risen Christ "into Galilee," of the appointed and the actual meeting with the disciples there, under conditions so far mystical that, in the absence of adequate spiritual preparation, "some doubted." If the life of the Crucified with God were revealed by "heavenly vision," the reason is plain why he appeared only to his disciples. But were it announced by a return of the human personality in its bodily frame, it is impossible to account for his having never appeared to the enemies and blind multitude who most needed to be convinced. In such case, well might Peter say to them that had "killed the Prince of Life," "I know, brethren, that in ignorance ye did it." If Jesus would neither, before his passion, suffer his Messiahship to be told to any man, nor, after it, present himself in living evidence of it to those who knew it not, how is it possible, on the strength of a single refusal at his trial to disown the character, to treat the downfall of the Jewish state and what is called the "casting-off of Israel," as the righteous * Das apostolische Zeitalter, S. 1. Tacitus, Ann. XV. 44. Acts iii. 17. Chap. II.] judgment of God on a people who laid hands upon his Son, misled by his reserve and his disguise? The dependent and supplementary character of the traditional Christophanies at or near the sepulchre is indicated by their aimlessness. They simply serve the purpose, already served by the message of the angel, of referring the disciples to the real rendezvous in Galilee; or else, of merely verifying the fact of "the rising on the third day" already known as a necessity" according to the scriptures." The real object of the interview appointed by the heavenly Christ with his disciples was that they might receive from him their mission to take up his gospel of the Kingdom and proclaim it to the world until his return. This was the end of his appearing; and the idea of reducing it to a mere evidential instrument, as if prophetic certainty needed eking out by palpable perception, plainly belongs to the temper of a later time. And in the whole series of traditions, whether referring to Galilee or Jerusalem, we cannot fail to observe, as a mark of their visionary character, their conformity, not to the relations of the universe as it objectively exists, with its infinite space sown with scattered worlds, but to the little cabinet picture of the Jewish imagination, the angels in white, the celestial home just above the clouds, from which the heavenly messengers promise Messiah's return, and to which the person of Jesus visibly ascends, the throne of God and the seat of Jesus beside him. So long as we find ourselves in scenery like this, we evidently stand within the mind of the seer who paints it, and must seek the whole drama for which he prepares it in his own experience. From this review of the early Christian traditions we issue with one indisputable historical fact, the intense belief of the personal disciples of Jesus and of their quondam persecutor Paul, that, in spite of the cross and the sepulchre, he had passed into a heavenly life whence he would visit or whither he would lift those who were his by the pure power of faith and love. That belief was the essence of their message, the inspiration of their labours, the creative energy out of which Christendom was born. If we find that it did not come to them by physical experience, by handling a [Book IV. resuscitated body, by talking on the road with a mysterious stranger, lost as soon as identified, in the breaking of bread, by ascension of a standing figure from their midst into the clouds, is it stripped of its validity and dropped out of the religion? If we find that of no one else, under like external conditions, would they have had this belief, that it was contingent on their state of mind towards him alone, that it was due to a personality of unique power to enshrine itself in reverence and love and render Death itself conceivable only as a new birth, do we on this account turn it into an illusion? On the contrary, no physical fact, simply as perceived, touches the essence of religion, but lies within the knowledge of the seen; while all faith in the unseen, inseparable from trust in the Divine Perfection, is born out of the inner experiences of the soul in looking up to one who at once lifts and humbles it, out of the infinite moral ideality of the human affections. When I am told that, to be his disciple, I must believe in the resurrection of Jesus, I invert the order, and reply, to believe that Jesus is risen and lives the heavenly life, I must be his disciple. Unless, with the little flock who could not leave him because he had the words of eternal life, I recognize in him the attributes that are worth immortalizing,-indeed, cannot dispense with it,-I shall not invest him with immortality; and if they bring me to his feet, I shall not go in quest of his body out of the tomb, as if it were the Holy Grail. Not only do I conceive that the disciples' visions of him as risen depend on their entrancement by his transcendent personality, and could never have visited them had he been of lower spiritual stature, but I also admit that for us these visions cannot in themselves serve as objective proofs of his immortal life. As psychological facts in the consciousness of others, their validity is simply for the persons to whom they were present; and to us the only thing they attest is, the intense power of his spirit over the springs of veneration and trust in them. We may be sure that if there were a cynic or a Sadducee, or even an indifferent stranger, mixed up with the five hundred brethren at once on the Galilean mountain, the vision could not come to him. And if the indifferent stranger, though seeing nothing himself, were to let himself be borne 1
D., 233; Position of Christianity in the United States, from a Pamphlet, by S. Colwell, 257; Scope of the Amer. Home Miss. Soc., 281; Religious Liberty in America, from a Pamphlet, by S. Colwell, 805; Missions in Cities, 822; Weakness of Churches, its Causes and Effects, 329; Permanence of the Pulpit, from an Article, by Rev. E. W. Gilman, 858 7 Editorial Remarks-Ungodly Preaching, 9; Duty of Churches at the East, 14; Be ye also Patient, 17; Forbearing and Forgiving, 19; Pulpit or Counter, Which? 20; Practical Religion, 214; Juniatta-Christian Colonies, 218; Fidelity and Non- Fidelity, 219; Walking by Faith, 220; Maine Law, 246; Profitable Investment of Wealth, 289; Temptations to Pray, 249; Violation of the Ballot Box in Kansas, 249; Ministers for Oregon, 289 House of Worship at Lawrence, 292; Missionary Work in Massachusetts, 298; Cure for Emigration, 301; Remember Kansas! 801; Oregon, its Mode of Settlement, 815; Be Liberal to Kansas, 817; Need of Ministers, 319; Missions in Cities, 822; The "Cent Institution," 824; Explorations, 842; Infidel Towns, 846; Monthly Concert and Home Missions, 849; Explorations, by Rev. H. Clark, 861; Remember Kansas! 365; The Minister a Citizen, 870; Kansas, 390 "Eleventh Hour," 99 220 224 251 275 887 831 266 51 General Assembly, Cowlitz Landing, Wash. Ter., Credulity of unbelievers, A brighter side, 69; Interesting Sabbath-The Field, Dallas, Or., Revival in, Daily concert of prayer, 249 Danger to our country, 235 Dead branches, 847 Dead Christians, 293, Ratio of the dead to the living, 884; Individual examples, 294 Death, and the house on fire! 227 Repentance, 891 Death-bed, 872; of the Righteous, 819; "of Mrs. Fay, 100; Mrs. French, 98; Rev. T. D. Hudson, 278; Rev. S. Peet, 79; Rev. I. Smith, 228; An aged disciple, 16; Ar aged father, 227; A righteous man, 319; A thoughtless young man, 319; An unbeliever, Death unexpected, 100 Embarrassments of a new country, Emigrants, A swarm of, 76 and the Sabbath, Emigration, Weakened by, Escape of Rev. Mr. Chamberlain from shipwreck, Excitements, Religious, 222 Explorations in Cal., and Or., by Rev. 878 808 10 222, 248 219 105 861 12 Deaths, a contrast, 102 Mr. Hunt, 261, 886 Declaration of Independence, 75 "6 in Oregon, by Rev. Harvey Dedication, 104 Clarke, 842, 861 Denominations, Harmony of, 19 Departure of an aged disciple, 16 Dependence on God, 270 Fairbanks, J. P., Letter of, 849 Desert revived, 245 Female prayer meeting, 19, 244 Discouragements, Distractions, Desolations, Destitutions in Southern Iowa, 98; in Western Iowa, Difficulties, Do men naturally love God?" Downieville, Cal., Dream of the future of Wash. Ter., Duty of the New World to the Old, Dying Christians, Eastern Churches, Duty of,. Fields multiplying, 78 Fireside preaching, 79 298 Forbearing and forgiving, 19 102 Foreigners, Influence of, 894 91 Foreign Romanism and Infidelity, 341 Frontier station in Min., 895 71 807 Fruit gathered, 73 840 Gathered to the fathers, 209 Gaylord, Rev. Reuben, Removal to Oma- 295 ha City, 871 889 Generosity of steam boat companies, 261 14 Georgetown, Cal., 215 INDEX. Germans and Temperance, 46 in America, 66 Lawlessness among, Girl Preacher, PAGE 221 248 820 12 God, not the God of the hills or the valleys, 250 Good compound interest, 289 Goodell, Rev. J. W., 888 Good old age, 866 Gospel, Influence of, 396 Man's only hope, Gossip, 884 Grass Valley, Cal., 881 Greatest trial, 816 Haddock, Prof. C. B., Address by, Hale, Rev. Mr., Cal., Hampden, Kan., . Happy meeting, Hard at work, Hard Shell Baptist, Harvest gathered, Heavy grief, Hindrances and encouragement, Home Missionary, The, A new year of Object of, 1; How to promote its usefulness, 2; A word to pastors, 4; A word to laymen, Home Missions, Appeal in behalf of, Home Missions as connected withChrist's 61 209 881 ries, 48; Sufferings in Winter, 48; Invasion of, 48; Annual report of Rev. Mr. Lum, 58; The Election, 55; Making a beginning at Juniatta -Discouragements, 69; Rev. Mr. Knight's Journey to, 70; First Experiences, 70; Pioneer life no Romance, 216; Ministers wanted, 217; Meeting-house wanted, 217; Juniatta, 218; The Difficulties, 249; Manhattan-Pawnee--Rains--House of worship at Lawrence, 292; Importance of the present Emergency, 298, 301; Labors and prospects at Juniatta, 807; Church in Lawrence, 864; Lawrence-The Invasion-Its Demoralizing Influence, 864; Condition and prospects, 70 Knoxville, Iowa, 268 Keokuk Co., Iowa, 8; Religion-Minis- 240 72 ters, 94 Laborers wanted in Oregon, 97 348 Lawrence, Kan., Meeting-house needed in, 54; Radicalism and ultraism strong, 55; The election, 55; True men needed, 287 95 73 91 222 291 dominion, 288 Home Missions for the sake of Home, 85 Hope for the Catholics, . Hope on and pray on, Hot-bed system, . House of worship completed, How hard for them that have riches, 296 Hudson, Rev. Thos. D., Obituary, 278 I did not think of dying, Ill health, Illinois, 42; Railroads, 867 "Southern, 78 Illinois and the Amer. Home Miss. Soc., 271 Illness of Mrs. Starr, Or., 878 Inability, Physical and moral, Indiana, 41 Indians in Oregon, 386 Indian War in Oregon, 841, 860, 879; Causes of the hostile feeling, 880 Infidel towns, In labors abundant, Instability a weakness, Install your minister, Intemperate anti-temperance, in, Iowa Hill, Cal., Iowa, 45; Keokuk Co., 8; Destitutions Iron sharpeneth iron, "Isins." Itinerants and books not sufficient, Itinerary of a missionary, Jacksonville, Or., 95 Lambs among wolves, 5 Letters from--G. H. Atkinson, 213, 239, 287, 313, 361, 879; W. A. Atwater, 247; A. A. Baker, 67, 364, 384; P. Barbour, 104; G. Barnum, 246; S. H. Barteau, 394; S. A. Benton, 75; P. Bevan, 820; T. Bird, 345; D. Blakely, 90; A. Bliss, 56; C. E. Blood, 69, 292, 817; E. T. Branch, 76; W. W. Brier, 8, 291; S. Bristol, 94; J. H. Brodt, 6, 816; E. Brown, 74, 95, 295; C. Burnham, 9, 92; C. C. Cadwell, 249; P. B. Chamberlain, 358; A. D. Chapman, 321; G. C. Clark, 77; H. Clarke, 290; H. W. Cobb, 78; B. F. Cole, 250, 871; W. Coleman, 267; T. Condon, 6, 862; T. Cook, 896; O. W. Cooley, 18, 222 D. M. Cooper, 96; I. N. Cundall, 12, 222; D. B. Davidson, 845; D. S. Dickinson, 16; 0. Dickinson, 289, 841; J. R. Dunn, 16, 367; C. Duren, 106; L. L. Fay, 100, 101; W. Frear, 385; A. N. Freeman, 57; C. R. French, 12, 98, 820, 895; O. French, 844; T. A. Gale, 103; R. Gaylord, 389; J. Gordon, 98, 271, 391; D. Gore, 225; O. M. Goodale, 224; S. Hall, 71, 218; J. T. Hargrave, 102; S. S. Harmon, 52; J. Hawks, 868; R. Hawley, 20; S. P. Hildreth, 99; G. B. Hitchcock, 298, 345; J. Howell, 347; T. D. Hudson, 108; T. D. Hunt, 261, 814, 836, 344, 880; W. L. Jones, 241, 882; R. Knight, 70; M. Kellogg, 362; L. Kelsey, 79; E. S. Lacy, 68; D. Lamb, 394; A. C. Lathrop, 269; F. Lawson, 395; C. S. Le Duc, 818; G. E. W. Leonard, 391; J. P. Lestrade, 105; T. Lippincott, 18; S. Y. Lum, 14, 53, 216, . 864; H. Lyman, 51, 91; D. McClure, 52, 215; J. W. McCord, 78; A. Manson, 73, 393; H. Marsh, 245; E. R. Martin, 227; C. W. Matthews, 819; S. E. Miner, 221; A. R. Mitchell, 244; W. Mitchell, 821; J. Monteith, 97; L. R. Morrison, 249; C. W. Munroe, 98; W. A. Niles, 74, 221, 246; H. M. Nichols, 318; H. M. 846 248 895 98 370 92 891, 885 807 898, 894 807 Journey of Mr. Gaylord to Nebraska, Joy in the wilderness, Juniatta, Kan., 227 265 390 887 Kansas-Difficulties, 14; Opposition to the Gospel in,14; A brighter Side, 15; Missionaries in, 15; A new Field in, 15; Climate of, 16; Motives to its settlement, 47; Sending of Missiona- 890 218 55 269 vi INDEX. Parmelee, 245; J. Patch, 20; A. Patten, 105; J. M. Phillips, 90, 219, 398; J. Pierpont, 7; S. W. Pond, 71, 243; W. C. Pond, 342; A. Prescott, 226; L. L. Radcliff, 10; J. A. Ranney, 75; E. H. Rice, 105; G. G. Rice, 72; K. Reiss, 892; C. E. Rosenkrans, 73; A. Rowe, 365; W. P. Russell, 223; F. E. Sheldon, 99;
which occurred yesterday, has been gieaneo from authentic sources; 80 a. On Sunday night. Col Devens with the 50th Mass. who for some time guarded dar' rison's Island with ono company, capt Fhilbrick. Co. H., and Quartermaster Howe oil hi, staff. with a detachment OF twenty men 10 scout the Virginia shore in the direction of Ieesburg. They crossed from the Island 70 the shore and executed the order by APP proaching within three-fourths Of mile OF Ieesburg Returning to their starting point about ten o'clock at night, discovered as they supposed. n small camp one mile VI more from Leesburg. On reporting to Col. Dew ems. the latter with about three hundred men pushed forward by direction Of Gen. Stone, In the same locality with orders to destroy the camp at daybreak. When about mile and a half from the river aud four hundred yards in advance Of Col Devens' Reserve. Captain Philbrck, accompanied by Col. Devens, at tackled and drove back company of Mississippi rihemen and fell back to the rear on the appearance of body Of rebel cavalry. Capt. Philbrick had some difficulty in getting near enough to the enemy for his smooth bore guns to have effect as the rebels used long range rifles on our forces. At daylight and at the same hour that Colonel Dew ems command left the shore to make the advance. Colonel Lee OF the Twentieth Massachusetts, sent over one company Of his regiment which remained on shore to cover the return of Col Devens. Col. Devens maintained his ground and was reinforced during the morning by three hundred men Of his regiment under Lieut.. Col. Ward. About one o'clock he was attacked by considerabic force of rinemen who attempted to out flank him Fearing they might be success full. and after resisting them for some time, Col Deyens slowly return in perfect order to the river where Gen. Baker had arrived with h battalion Of the California regiment, com handed by Lieutenant Colonel Wistar.- Gen. Baker then took command, first com plimenting Col. Devens for his successful resistance to superior force, and giving his command, now less than six hundred, the right of the line of battle. The center and left wing being formed Of about three hun bred of the Massachusetts Twentieth I'M der Colonel Lee and the California Battalion, about five hundred, under Lieut.. Col Wistar. Two mountain howitzers commanded by Lieut. French, and one piece Of the New York battery commanded by Bramban we're in front of the centre just previous to the commence ment of the action. The attack was com menced by the enemy on our right but was soon directed more heavily to the center and left For about two hours the battle ragged terrihcally and was complete shower OF laden hail Three several times the left of the line made an advance but were compelled to retire as often. The right was better protected and held their position. An order came from Gen. Parker to throw two companies OF the 5th Mass. to the center which was i'm mediately executed. This produced the i'm preston that the battle was going against us, but caused no confusion or disorder. The left was hard pressed but remained firm. About this time the news spread that Gen eral Baker was killed while in the act OF pushing a cannon forward with his shoulder to the wheel. He was pierced by six balls, being evidently the object of the enemy's sharp shooters. After this there cessation of the fire for few minutes, during which Col. Cogswell of the Tammany regiment arrived with two companies, and he being the senior officer, the command devolved upon him. In a short time it became evident TO Col. Cogswell that the day was lost, and he thought it best to cut his way through to Edwards Ferry, where General Dorman was in charge throwing over reinforce mepts by direction of General Stone, who was within sight of the battlefield at Ed ment The order was now issued to transfer the 5th Massachusetts, from the right to the left, which was executed as calmly as bat tallion drill. Col. Cogswell soon became satisfied OF the impossibility of reaching Ed wards Ferry as he desired and gave an order to fall back towards the river which was exc cuted as well as the circumstances would per nit. They reached the river bank about 20 minutes before night fall. Here the Fifteenth Massach usetts deployed as skirmishers along the shore The only means of conveyance to the Island was large boat capable Of car rying about forty persons, which was over crowded and swamped, and also one of small er dimensions. The troops remaining OF shore made desperate resistance and it i, believed that the enemy took comparativel, few prisoners in consequence. Those VIII could swim. plunged into the water, thos carrying their arms who could and other throwing them into the river to prevent thei falling into the enemies hands. Some escap ed by availing themselves of the darkness aud the heavily wooded banks but several ar, known to have been drowned in the waters o the Potomac. The behavior of our troops before su peror number of the enemy, was marked a noble, brave and enduring. Near the clos of the action and after the day was consid cred as irretrievably lost, the two recent, arrived companies of the Tammnny regimen made a gallant charge, but were met with desperate FIRE by the enemy. II is probabl that rebel officer was mistaken for one @ our commanders who appeared in front AM gave the order to charge. The brave Lieut. Bramhall lost one Of his guns and hmsel was wounded severely but not fatally The gallant Lieut. French, of the howitze battery, fred with his own hands four shot after the day was lost and his men was scat tered. he was shot in the left breas and ANGLE, but not MORALLY wounded He reached the Island by throwing hi sword and revolver into the river, an swimming across. Colonel Deyens a once posted about thirty Of his men to prevent any attempts of the enemy at pursuit. This force was subsequently augmented b the arrival there of other companies from tn Maryland shore under Colonel Kinks Of III 10th Massachusetts. Colonel Devens receive slight confusion in the breast from a mus ket ball. The killed among the commits stoned officers of the Massachusetts Efficient are Captain George w. lockwood, Compan
Henry. But the greater Norman barons made no overtures to her. Their inclinations were directed towards Stephen's elder brother, Theobald the Great, Count of Blois, Chartres, and Champagne, a man of much higher character and abilities than Stephen. A Provincial Council was held at Le Neubourg,5 at which Theobald was present. Their deliberations were cut short by the appearance of a monk commissioned by Stephen to announce his coronation. That settled the 4 Count Theobald. 1 Orderic, 901, 903; H. Hunt; W. Malm, H. N. s. 462. At the Reformation Henry's tomb was destroyed, and the remains thrown out. Monasticon, IV. 39. See Foss, Judges, I. 123; and Pipe Roll, 31 H. I. Milo's father Walter built Gloucester Castle; while his mother Emma was sister of Hamelin of Balun, one of the barons of the Conquest; Foss, sup. Lansdowne MS. 229, f. 109; given Round, sup. 10. Another charter to the same effect, also dated at Reading, gives the further names of Robert of Ferrers, afterwards Earl of Derby; Baldwin of Clare, and a third scion of the same house, Walter of Clare, son of Richard. Walter and Robert would be uncles of Richard of Clare the Lord of Cardigan, whose death we shall shortly record, and Baldwin might be his great-uncle. W. Jum, 312; R. de Monte, A.D. 1136. But Richard also had a brother of the name of Baldwin. 4 See Norgate, Angevin Kings, I. 275. 5 Eure. A.D. 1135-1136] 347 AFFAIRS matter, as what the Norman lords still wanted was one man to rule over England and Normandy. Theobald felt mortified, but, as a sensible man, he acquiesced in their decision, and shortly returned to his own dominions. Count Meanwhile Matilda's chances had been extinguished for the time by the impolicy and folly of her husband. Following hard on the steps of his wife he had crossed the border with an army of Angevins and Geoffrey in Manseaux, and was admitted to Séez and other places through Normandy. the influence of his ally, William Talevas of Ponthieu. But Geoffrey, behaving not as a peaceful candidate for a vacant coronet, but as a conquering lord among rebels and enemies, indulged his men in such license that the whole country rose against him, and at the end of a few days forced him to retire in confusion. The petty campaign, so damaging to his wife's prospects, must have been over by Christmas, as Theobald, to do the best that he could for his brother and for Normandy, signed a truce with Geoffrey to last from that day to June 6th.1 The two Counts then retired for a time to their own dominions, Matilda apparently remaining at Argentan, as we hear that in the course of the ensuing summer she gave birth there to her third son William.2 Unable to make any progress through her own efforts, she made a weak appeal to the Pope against the perjured traitor Stephen, with what results we shall see. The Welsh, Neither the Welsh nor the Scots could remain idle under the circumstances. As early as January we hear of a rising in Gower, and a party of 516 men--we know not whether to call them English or Normans-cut off to a man.3 Further and greater reverses will be noticed shortly. King David, as in honour bound, promptly drew the sword on behalf of his niece's rights. At the first report of Stephen's proceedings he called out an army and crossed the Border. Carlisle, Carham otherwise Wark, Norham, Alnwick, and Newcastle surrendered to him, only Bamborough holding out. For once, however, we hear of no ravages. Unlike Geoffrey, David endeavoured to men to the cause that he supported, and contented himself with taking hostages and oaths of allegiance to Matilda.1 The Scots. Stephen in the North, At the report of these affairs Stephen hastened from Reading to the North, reaching Durham on February 5th, in time to save the place from falling into the hands of the Scottish King, who drew back to Newcastle, where he remained a fortnight. Negotiations were opened, and David was induced by liberal concessions to recognise Stephen and make peace. Stephen conferred on David's son Henry the earldom of Huntingdon, previously held by his father, with Doncaster and Carlisle in addition, Carlisle carrying with it the Cumbrian district won back by Rufus. But David had A Treaty. 1 Orderic, 902, 903. 3 Flor. Cont.; Gesta, II. 2 August, R. de Monte. 4 R. Hexham, 145; Sym. H.R. Cont. 287. [A.D. 1136 THE QUEEN to restore the other English strongholds that he had won. Stephen also intimated that if he should appoint an Earl of Northumberland-the post had been vacant since the rebellion of Mowbray in 1095-he would consider the claims of young Henry as grandson of Waltheof. On these terms Henry accompanied Stephen to York, and there did homage.1 Again the exact scope of the recognition is not given, but in itself it might fairly be taken as rendered simply for the English estates. Stephen, who was making every concession, could hardly stand out for the obnoxious suzerainty. But we are told that David himself was only excused from doing homage on the ground of the oath that he had taken to Matilda.2 Corona on The Scottish Earl followed Stephen to London to assist at the coronation of Queen Matilda, his own first cousin.3 At table he was placed on the King's right hand, a distinction that gave great umbrage of Queen to the Archbishop of Canterbury, who withdrew from court. Matilda. 1. Earl of Chester also and others took the matter up, and used such offense language towards young Henry that his father did not allow him to come agan to the English court for some time.5 We are told that these coronation testivities were marked by a splendour of expenditure, and a display of plate and jewels quite unprecedented.6 Stephen was free with his money, and he had mt yet had time to dissipate Henry's treasure. Soldiers of fortune naturally flacked to his court. But beyond all that, extant charters issued on this occasion show that, whatever their ultimate intentions, the Baronage of England for the time, had accepted Stephen. The Episcopate was there almost to a man, with Acceptance the Archbishop of Rouen and other prelates from Normandy; while four Earls (Surrey, Chester, Meulan, and Warwick), Reginald the son of the late King, and the bearers of all the best known names in England represented the laity.8 But the multiplication of posts of honour betrays the King's weakness. We have three Constables, three Chamberlains, three or four Stewards (Dapiferi)-a superabundance sure to lead to contention and jealousy.9 of Stephen. 1 Sym. H.R. Cont. 287; R. Hexham, 145, 146. 2 H. Hunt.; 3 Stephen's wife was daughter of Eustace III. of Boulogne by Mary, daughter of Malcolm Canmore and Margaret. Thus she was niece to King David, and also to Matilda the Queen of Henry I.; W. Malm. H.N. ss. 497, 498. 4 Ralph II., surnamed "de Gernons," son of Ralph I. and Countess Lucy. Ralph I. died before 1130; Pipe Roll, 31 H.I. p. 110. 5 Sym. Cont.; and R. Hexham, sup. 6 H. Hunt. 7 See W. Malm. HN. s. 463. The lists include such names as Albemarle, Senlis, De Vere, Aubigny, Malet, Beauchamp, Ferrers, Lacy, Espec, fitz John, Peverel, Talbot, Mandeville, Arundel, etc. The charters to which these names are appended were, one a grant to the Set of Winchester; the other the appointment of Robert of Lewes to be Bishop of Bath; Round, Mandeville, 18. 9 See the signatures to the above charters, and to two other charters given by Mr. Round, sup. 262; comparing those to the later Oxford Charter, also given Select Charters, 115. Meulan's presence in England at Easter is specially noticed by Orderic, 903. A.D. 1136] 349 THE POPE But Stephen had also received the gracious confirmation of Pope Innocent II., a man on friendly relations with the Bishop of Winchester. Matilda's appeal against her rival had turned out very unfor- The Empress and Innocent tunately.. To represent her cause she had sent Ulger Bishop
"While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal."-2 COR. iv. 18. SOMETIMES amid the hurry, toil and strife, The claims, the urgencies, the whirl of life, The soul-perhaps in silence of the night, Has flashes,-transient intervals of light; When things to come, without a shade of doubt, In terrible reality stand out. Those lucid moments suddenly present A glance of truth, as though the heavens were rent, And through that chasm of pure celestial light, The future breaks upon the startled sight; Life's vain pursuits and Time's advancing pace Appear with death-bed clearness face to face; And Immortality's expanse sublime, In just proportion to the speck of Time! While Death, uprising from the silent shades, Shows his dark outline ere the vision fades : In strong relief against the blazing sky Appears the shadow as it passes by. Though overwhelming to the dazzled brain, These are the moments when the mind is sane : For then a hope of Heaven,--the Saviour's cross, Seem what they are-and all things else but loss. Oh! to be ready-ready for that day, Would we not give Earth's fairest toys away? Alas! how soon its interests cloud the view, Rush in and plunge us in the world anew. JANE TAYLOR. NOT NOW. "He that had been possessed with the devil, prayed Him that he might be with Him."-MARK V. 18. NOT now, my child,-a little more rough tossing- A little longer on the billows' foam,-- A few more journeyings in the desert-darkness, And then the sunshine of thy Father's Home! Not now, for I have wand'rers in the distance, And thou must call them in with patient love; Not now, for I have sheep upon the mountains, And thou must follow them where'er they rove. Not now, for I have loved ones sad and weary ; Wilt thou not cheer them with a kindly smile? Sick ones, who need thee in their lonely sorrow; Wilt thou not tend them yet a little while? Not now, for wounded hearts are sorely bleeding, And thou must teach those widowed hearts to sing; Not now, for orphans' tears are thickly falling; They must be gathered 'neath some sheltering wing. Not now,--for many a hungry one is pining ; Thy willing hand must be outstretched and free; Thy Father hears the mighty cry of anguish, And gives His answering messages to thee. Not now, for dungeon walls look stern and gloomy, And pris'ners' sighs sound strangely on the breeze- Men's prisoners, but thy Saviour's noble free-men ; Hast thou no ministry of love for these? Not now,--for hell's eternal gulf is yawning, And souls are perishing in hopeless sin; Jerusalem's bright gates are standing open,- Go to the banished ones, and fetch them in ! Go with the name of Jesus to the dying, And speak that Name in all its living power; Why should thy fainting heart grow chill and weary? Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour? One little hour!--and then the glorious crowning--- The golden harp-strings and the victor's palm,-- One little hour!-and then the Hallelujah! Eternity's long, deep, thanksgiving psalm ! C. P. PROVIDENCE OF GOD EXEMPLIFIED. Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land and verily thou shalt be fed."-PSALM Xxxvii. 3. It was a cold and bleak evening in a most severe winter. The snow, driven by the furious north wind, was piled into broad and deep banks along the street. Few dared or were willing to venture abroad. It was a night which the poor will not soon forget. In a most miserable and shattered tenement, somewhat remote from any other habitation, there then resided an aged widow, all alone, and yet not alone. During the weary day, in her excessive weakness, she had been unable to step beyond her door-stone, or to communicate her wants to any friend. Her last morsel of bread had been long since consumed, and none heeded her destitution. She sat at evening by her small fire, half famished with hunger,-from exhaustion unable to sleep-preparing to meet that dreadful fate from which she knew not how she should be spared. She had prayed that morning in full faith, "Give me this day my daily bread," but the shadows of evening had descended upon her, and her faithful prayer had not been answered. While such thoughts were passing through her weary mind, she heard the door suddenly open, and as suddenly shut again, and found deposited in her entry, by an unknown hand, a basket crowded with all those articles of comfortable food which had all the sweetness of manna to her. What were her feelings on that night, God only knows! but they were such as arise up to Him-the great deliverer and provider-from ten thousand hearts every day. Many days elapsed before the widow learnt through what messenger God had sent to her that timely aid. It was at the impulse of a little child, who on that dismal night, seated at the cheerful fire-side of her home, was led to express the generous wish, that that poor widow, whom she had sometimes visited, could have some of her numerous comforts and good cheer. The parents followed out the benevolent suggestion; and a servant was soon despatched to her mean abode with a plentiful supply. What a beautiful glimpse of the chain of causes, all fastened at the throne of God! An angel with noiseless wing, came down, and stirred the peaceful breast of a pure-hearted child, and with no pomp or circumstance of the outward miracle, the widow's prayer was answered. 66 'Happy the man whose hopes rely On Israel's God: He made the sky, And earth and seas, with all their train, And none shall find His promise vain. His truth for ever stands secure ; He saves th' oppressed, He feeds the poor; He sends the labouring conscience peace, And grants the pris'ner sweet release." III THE WATER AND THE.FLOWER. ONE quiet eve, in years gone by, whilst lingering by a stile That stood across the wayside path, to watch the clouds awhile, Ere thought had lifted from my heart the shadow of her wing, I saw a child--a little girl--returning from the spring. Her well-filled pitcher lightly pressed her curls of silken hair, Supported by a tiny hand, and she was very fair :; With something in her sunny face, pure as the sky above, And something in her gentle eye that guardian angels love. A little flower, blossoming a step or two aside, This happy child of innocence with sudden joy espied; Then letting down her pitcher, with the same sweet joyous song, She watered it half laughingly, and gaily tripped along. The flower seemed to raise its head, bowed by a summer's sun, And smiled beneath the act which she unconsciously had done; While wandering on with fairy tread, as merry as before, I saw her pass the garden gate, and close the cottage door. Oh! often when this little scene has crossed my thoughts again, I've wondered if, with all the love that warmed her spirit then, This little girl has tripped through life as joyous to the last, II Refreshing all the weary hearts that met her as she passed; If, with unconscious tenderness, her heart has paused to bless The poor amid their poverty, the sad in their distress; Still following up God's teaching, day by day and hour by hour, Foreshadowed in that simple scene-the water and the flower; If, with a song as pure and sweet, the voice has hushed to rest The troubles of an aching heart, a sorrow-laden breast; If, to the wayside wanderer, where'er her steps have led, The pitcher hath been lowered ever kindly from her head. Oh! holy, happy Charity! how many pleasures, lost By those who have not known thee, had been worthy of the cost; How many heads a blessing from a better world had borne, Whilst lowering the pitcher to the weary and the worn. Thou who hast stood beside God's spring of blessings day by day, To fill the pitcher of thy wants and carry it away;
- lDflas III u lftAHit Iait Of the heuse,) four doors north OF the Bank OF grginia, A BATH loe The application Of Sui phufous Funligsiions, Tor The cure Of Gout, Rhenmaiisn, All diseases OF the skin. Palsy, &C &c. Ia Europe this mode Of practice has been pors9ied with the lanEiest result dis eases The most painful apd losthsome ie which mankind Is subieef, - have been com plctely eradioated by iew applications. This remedy may be applied at all seasons, without regard TO age or So A this practice has been but recently intro duced into the United States, \| will take the liberty, dor tie information OF the aiieied,) OF extracting some OF the cases, from n pam. phlet published by Dr. Revere, Of Baltimore tairosai Paraiisw. One Of the patients OF the Hospital Of ST Louis, about iory.li years OF age, was at tackled in june, 1911, with typhus fever, then preyalentin the Hospital The nervous symptoms II the ease were OF the mosi urgent character aud terminated IN universal pal sy, for which the sulphur himigatioHs were tried The patient took about forty lumiga. tons her health gradually improved, until ii was perfectly re.estabiishod she is now well, aud is one OF the aundrcsses OF the Hospital Roseoits Affection Of The Face A lady OF n sangnne temperament had been sever1 months afflicted with singnarly an pleasant aud obstinate roseolus affection OF the face and neck On ordinary occasions, very little external appearance OF disease was per cepuble, bat apon tie slightest excitement, sueh rs mental agitation, exercise or warmth, however produced, a high degree Of flushing cnsued, attended with an intolerable sense oil burning and itching. In shof, the unpleasant condition OF this Hdy cannot easily BE- ina. g'ned. In the month of October, 1921, she subject. ed herself 10 four general fumgations, taken IN ~ many days. The immediate fleet Of the brsf was apparently 10 aggravnie her complaint, which, irom the common effect OF heat, was TO be expected. the tiiird application seemed 10 check tlie disorder completely. To test the efficacy Of the femcdy, sheenow exposed her sell Tor several iions 10 the heel of n warm lire, wien no Inconvenience resulted. She receivcd u fourth fumgaion, aud has ever since remained free from the disease. What IS most worthy of remark IN this case Is, the great and sudden influence eserted upon the par.not subjected 10 the immediate operation OF the 81 rhurous gas. Rheumatic .i8ect'on Of The Heod 4 snrgeen, thirty two years OF age, of a good constitution, had suffered for five years, pain with a sensation Of pressure, aud prick ling in the scalp, arising from Sudden check of the persrrati0n, from n cold bath Du- ting the same period, the skin Of the body was covered with liver coloured spots, which caused AZ, iusuppodable fishing These pains OF the head had incapacitatod him from doing sny thing that required at tention, be WINS therefore compelled 10 a. handon his profession, and even botany. his tnvourIte stndy. Five iuiniaaions, taken from the fourth 10 The eighth of Dec, dsspated the palms. removed the uncaslness IN the scalp, and enabled him 10 return 10 his usual occupations. month after this treatment the cutiCle was renewed over the whole body Isew the patientcght months afterwards, he still enjoyed sound health of mind and DO. dy. Chronic RheamGtiSp, complicated Uih Gola A man, aged dlty-four years, oil good con stitniion, had been habNnaIly affected, for five years, with rheumatic pains, shifting from the head 10 the breast, aud all the Joints aud who had govt alternately in each foot received three applications tho fumigations, from the 10th to the 18th Of April---thc first of which produced copious pespiraton. lie was deli yerrd, as II by masie, from his pains, aud the heA'biliiy OF his Innbs restored Dry 1eiter A man, fortythrce years of age, an inhab tHnt OF one pf the ports 81 The Adriatic, In been afflicted for ten years with avery eAten. sve letter, surrounding the neck aud should ders. The letter was dry, aud often covered with red points, with snppnraiing tumors, to which the li,icn adhered II was attend cd with excessive itching The general health was good, except slight chronic opthamia, attributed 10 the sea air. He,recollected having been informed by his mother thai she had suffered during her youth from an hrlpetic e. ruption lie had tried IA lew remedies among others, a solution Of muriatic acid, rubbed up. on the part, without success, After the first iumigation, taken on the 22d otJoae, the itching diminished, and, ms the patient was therefore prevented from scratch Ihs, the linen no longer adhered 10 the back. Alter the seventh application, the improve mcnt was truly astonishing, the itching hay ing almost entirely ceased. An eruption, ari- SIM rum the tumgations, appeared upon the rIght arm, so as 10 interrupt tfe treatment /; but fourteen lumlgations in ten days complc / ted the cure. ! Tins establishment has but recently gone in ! 10 operation. have n number of inFeterate cases under Encouragement, all of which have Improved greatly beyond my expectations. BENZ. +. OWENS. ! n Is. An extensive assortment of MFDI- , ClNES, PAINTS, DYE-sruFFS, &c. for sale upon the most reasonable terms. b F.O. October IL cots A.
South of England: hardly indeed all that; for Herefordshire, Worcestershire, and the neighbouring parts, which had belonged to Sweyn, Harold's brother, were still insecure; and the noble old city of Exeter, confident in her Roman walls, did not yield till two years after, in A. D. 1068. North of his conquered territory, Mercia stretched almost across England, from Chester to the Wash, The Wake. 217 governed by Edwin and Morcar. Edwin called himself Earl of Mercia, and held the Danish burghs. On the extreme north-west, the Roman city of Chester was his; while on the extreme south-east (as Domesday Book testifies), Morcar still held large lands round Bourne, and throughout the south of Lincolnshire, besides calling himself the Earl of Northumbria. The young men seemed the darlings of the half Danish Northmen. Chester, Coventry, Derby, Nottingham, Leicester, Stamford, a chain of fortified towns stretching across England, were at their command; Blethyn, prince of North Wales, was their nephew. Northumbria, likewise, was not yet in William's hands. Indeed it was in no man's hands, since the free Danes north of the Humber had expelled Tosti, putting Morcar in his place. Morcar, instead of residing in his earldom of Northumbria, had made one Oswulf his deputy: but he had rivals enough. There was Gospatric, claiming through his grandfather Uchtred, and strong in the protection of his cousin Malcolm king of Scotland; there was young Waltheof, "the forest thief," -or rather, perhaps, "the thief of slaughter," who had been born to Siward Biorn in his old age, just after the battle of Dunsinane; a fine and gallant young man, destined to a swift and sad end. William sent to the Northumbrians one Copsi, a thane of mark and worth, as his procurator, to expel Oswulf. Oswulf and the land folk answered by killing Copsi, and doing every man that which was right in his own eyes. William determined to propitiate the young earls. Perhaps he intended to govern the centre and north of England through them, as feudal vassals; and hoped meanwhile to pay his Norman conquerors sufficiently out of the forfeited lands of Harold, and those who had fought by his side at Hastings. It was not his policy to make himself, much less to call himself, the conqueror of England. He claimed to be its legitimate sovereign, deriving from his cousin Edward the Confessor; and Hereward whosoever would acknowledge him as such, had neither right or cause to fear. Therefore he sent for the young earls. He courted Waltheof, and more, really loved him. He promised Edwin his daughter in marriage. Some say it was Constance, afterwards married to Alan Fergant, of Brittany: but it may also have been the beautiful Adelaide, who, none knew why, early gave up the world, and died in a convent. Be that as it may, the two young people saw each, and loved each other at Rouen, whither William took Waltheof, Edwin, and his brother; as honoured guests in name; in reality as hostages likewise. With the same rational and prudent policy, William respected the fallen royal families, both of Harold and of Edward; at least, he warred not against women; and the wealth and influence of the great English ladies was enormous. Edith, sister of Harold, and widow of the Confessor, lived in wealth and honour at Winchester. Gyda, Harold's mother, retained Exeter and her land. Aldytha, or Elfgiva, widow of Harold, lived rich and safe in Chester. Godiva the Countess owned, so antiquarians say, manors from Cheshire to Lincolnshire, which would be now yearly worth the income of a great duke. Agatha the Hungarian, widow of Edmund the outlaw, dwelt at Romsey in Hampshire, under William's care. Her son Edgar Etheling, the rightful heir of England, was treated by William not only with courtesy, but with affection; and allowed to rebel, when he did rebel, with impunity. For the descendant of Rollo the heathen Viking, had become a civilized chivalrous Christian knight. His mighty forefather would have split the Etheling's skull with his own axe. A Frank king would have shaved the young man's head, and immured him in a monastery. An eastern sultan would have thrust out his eyes, or strangled him at once. But William, however cruel, however unscrupulous, had a knightly heart, and somewhat of a Christian conscience; * See her history, told, as none other can tell it, in Bulwer's "Harold." The Wake. 219 and his conduct to his only lawful rival is a noble trait amid many sins. So far all went well, till William went back to France; to be likened, not as his ancestors, to the gods of Valhalla, or the barbarous and destroying Vikings of mythic ages, but to Caesar, Pompey, Vespasian, and the civilized and civilizing heroes of classic Rome. But while he sat at the Easter Feast at Fécamp, dis playing to Franks, Flemings, and Bretons, as well as to his own Normans, the treasures of Edward's palace at Westminster, and "more English wealth than could be found in the whole estate of Gaul; while he sat there in his glory, with his young dupes, Edwin, Morcar, and Waltheof, by his side; having sent Harold's banner in triumph to the Pope, as a token that he had conquered the church as well as the nation of England, and having founded abbeys as thank-offerings to Him who had seemed to prosper him in his great crime: at that very hour the hand-writing was on the wall, unseen by man; and he, and his policy, and his race, were weighed in the balance, and found wanting. For now broke out in England that wrong-doing which endured as long as she was a mere appanage and foreign farm of Norman kings, whose hearts and homes were across the seas in France. Fitz-Osbern, and Odo the warrior-prelate, William's half-brother, had been left as his regents in England. Little do they seem to have cared for William's promise to the English people that they were to be ruled still by the laws of Edward the Confessor, and that where a grant of land was made to a Norman he was to hold it as the Englishman had done before him, with no heavier burdens on himself, but with no heavier burdens on the poor folk who tilled the land for him. Oppression began, lawlessness, and violence; men were ill-treated on the highways; and women-what was worse-in their own homes; and the regents abetted the ill-doers. "It seems," says a most impartial historian,* "as if the Normans, released from *The late Sir F. Palgrave. Hereward all authority, all restraint, all fear of retaliation, determined to reduce the English nation to servitude, and drive them to despair." In the latter attempt they succeeded but too soon; in the former, they succeeded at last but they paid dearly for their success. Hot young Englishmen began to emigrate. Some went to the court of Constantinople, to join the Varanger guard, and have their chance of a Polotaswarf like Harold Hardraade. Some went to Scotland to Malcolm Canmore, and brooded over return and revenge. But Harold's sons went to their father's cousin, Ulfsson of Denmark, and called on him to come and reconquer England in the name of his uncle Canute the Great ; and many an Englishman went with them. These things Gospatric watched, as earl (so far as he could make any one obey him in the utter subversion of all order) of the lands between Forth and Tyne. And he determined to flee, ere evil befel him, to his cousin Malcolm Canmore, taking with him Marlesweyn of Lincolnshire, who had fought, it is said, by Harold's side at Hastings, and young Waltheof of York. But, moreover, having a head, and being indeed, as his final success showed, a man of ability and courage, he determined on a stroke of policy, which had incalculable after-effects on the history of Scotland. He persuaded Agatha the Hungarian, Margaret and Christina her daughters, and Edgar the Etheling himself, to flee with him to Scotland. How he contrived to send them messages to Romsey, far south in Hampshire; how they contrived to escape to the
Also, I may say, without vanity, that if the high and mighty Princess detested me, the Countess (though she was of extremely low origin, it is said) had better taste and admired me. She often did us the honour to go partners with us in one of our faro-banks, and declared that I was the handsomest man in the duchy. All I was required to prove was my nobility, and I got at Vienna such a pedigree as would satisfy the most greedy in that way. In fact, what had a man descended from the Barrys and the Bradys to fear before any von in Germany? By way of making assurance doubly sure, I promised Madame de Liliengarten ten thousand louis on the day of my marriage, and she knew that as a play-man I had never failed in my word: and I vow, that had I paid fifty per cent. for it, I would have got the money. Thus by my talents, honesty, and acuteness, I had, considering I was a poor patronless outcast, raised for myself very powerful protectors. Even his Highness the Duke Victor was favourably inclined to me; for, his favourite charger falling ill of the staggers, I gave him a ball such as my uncle Brady used to administer, and cured the horse; after which his Highness was pleased to notice me frequently. He invited me to his hunting and shooting parties, where I showed myself to be a good sportsman; and once or twice he condescended to talk to me about my prospects in life, lamenting that I had taken to gambling, and that I had not adopted a more regular means of advancement. "Sir," said I, "if you will allow me to speak frankly to your Highness, play with me is only a means to an end. Where should I have been without it? A private still in King Frederick's grenadiers. I come of a race which gave princes to my country; but persecutions have deprived them of their vast possessions. My uncle's adherence to his ancient faith drove him from our country. I too resolved to seek advancement in the military service; but the insolence and ill-treatment which I received at the hands of the English were not bearable by a highborn gentleman, and I fled their service. It was only to fall into another bondage to all appearance still more hopeless; when my good star sent a preserver to me in my uncle, and my spirit THE DUCHESS'S INFATUATION. 149 and gallantry enabled me to take advantage of the means of escape afforded me. Since then we have lived, I do not disguise it, by play; but who can say I have done him a wrong? Yet, if I could find myself in an honourable post, and with an assured maintenance, I would never, except for amusement, such as every gentleman must have, touch a card again. I beseech your Highness to inquire of your resident at Berlin if I did not on every occasion act as a gallant soldier. I feel that I have talents of a higher order, and should be proud to have occasion to exert them; if, as I do not doubt, my fortune shall bring them into play." The candour of this statement struck his Highness greatly, and impressed him in my favour, and he was pleased to say that he believed me, and would be glad to stand my friend. Having thus the two Dukes, the Duchess, and the reigning favourite enlisted on my side, the chances certainly were that I should carry off the great prize; and I ought, according to all common calculations, to have been a Prince of the Empire at this present writing, but that my ill luck pursued me in a matter in which I was not the least to blame,-the unhappy Duchess's attachment to the weak, silly, cowardly Frenchman. The display of this love was painful to witness, as its end was frightful to think of. The Princess made no disguise of it. If Magny spoke a word to a lady of her household, she would be jealous, and attack with all the fury of her tongue the unlucky offender. She would send him a half-dozen of notes in the day: at his arrival to join her circle or the courts which she held, she would brighten up, so that all might perceive. It was a wonder that her husband had not long ere this been made aware of her faithlessness; but the Prince Victor was himself of so high and stern a nature that he could not believe in her stooping so far from her rank as to forget her virtue and I have heard say, that when hints were given to him of the evident partiality which the Princess showed for the equerry, his answer was a stern command never more to be troubled on the subject. "The Princess is light-minded," he said; "she was brought up at a frivolous Court; but her folly goes not beyond coquetry: crime is impossible; she has her birth, and my name, and her children, to defend her." And he would ride off to his military inspections and be absent for weeks, or retire to his suite of apartments, and remain closeted there whole days; only appearing to make a bow at her Highness's levée, or to give her his hand at the Court galas, where ceremony required that he should appear. He was a man of vulgar tastes, and I have seen him in the private garden, with his great ungainly figure, running races, or playing at ball with his little son and daughter, whom he would find a dozen pretexts daily for visiting. The serene children were brought to their mother every morning at her toilette; but she received them very indifferently: except on one occasion, when the young Duke Ludwig got his little uniform as colonel of hussars, being presented with a regiment by his godfather the Emperor Leopold. Then, for a day or two, the Duchess Olivia was charmed with the little boy; but she grew tired of him speedily, as a child does of a toy. I remember one day, in the morning circle, some of the Princess's rouge came off on the arm of her son's little white military jacket; on which she slapped the poor child's face, and sent him sobbing away. Oh, the woes that have been worked by women in this world! the misery into which men have lightly stepped with smiling faces; often not even with the excuse of passion, but from mere foppery, vanity, and bravado! Men play with these dreadful two-edged tools, as if no harm could come to them. I, who have seen more of life than most men, if I had a son, would go on my knees to him and beg him to avoid woman, who is worse than poison. Once intrigue, and your whole life is endangered: you never know when the evil may fall upon you ; and the woe of whole families, and the ruin of innocent people perfectly dear to you, may be caused by a moment of your folly. When I saw how entirely lost the unlucky Monsieur de Magny seemed to be, in spite of all the claims I had against him, I urged hin to fly. He had rooms in the palace, in the garrets over the Princess's quarters (the building was a huge one, and accommodated almost a city of noble retainers of the family); but the infatuated young fool would not budge, although he had not even the excuse of love for staying. "How she squints," he would say of the Princess, "and how crooked she is! She thinks no one can perceive her deformity. She writes me verses out of Gresset or Crébillon, and fancies I believe them to be original. Bah! they are no more her own than her hair is!" It was in this way that the wretched lad was dancing over the ruin that was yawning under him. I do believe that his chief pleasure in making love to the Princess was, that he might write about his I RESTORE THE EMERALD. ISI victories to his friends of the petites maisons at Paris, where he longed to be considered as a wit and a vainqueur de dames. Seeing the young man's recklessness, and the danger of his position, I became very anxious that my little scheme should be brought to a satisfactory end, and pressed him warmly on the matter. My solicitations with him were, I need not say, from the nature of the connection between us, generally pretty successful; and, in fact, the poor fellow could refuse me nothing: as I used often laughingly to say to him, very little to his liking. But I used more than threats, or the legitimate influence I had over him.
Devil's kitchen " "; "Handy as a pocket in a shirt"; "He's a whole team and the dog under the wagon ; "All deacons are good, but there's odds in deacons (to deacon berries is to put the largest atop); "So thievish they hev to take in their stone walls nights"; may serve as specimens. "I take my tea barfoot," said a backwoodsman when asked if he would have cream and sugar. (I find barfoot, by the way, in the Coventry Plays.) A man speaking to me once of a very rocky clearing said, "Stone's got a pretty heavy mortgage on that land," and I overheard a guide in the woods say to 99 99 1 66 1 And, by the way, the Yankee never says o' nights," but uses the older adverbial form, analogous to the German nachts. his companions who were urging him to sing, “Wal, I did sing once, but toons gut invented, an' thet spilt my trade." Whoever has driven over a stream by a bridge made of slabs will feel the picturesque force of the epithet slab-bridged applied to a fellow of shaky character. Almost every county has some good die-sinker in phrase, whose mintage passes into the currency of the whole neighborhood. Such a one described the county jail (the one stone building where all the dwellings are of wood) as "the house whose underpinnin' come up to the eaves," and called hell "the place where they did n't rake up their fires nights." I once asked a stage-driver if the other side of a hill were as steep as the one we were climbing: "Steep? chain lightnin' could n' go down it 'thout puttin' the shoe on!" And this brings me back to the exaggeration of which I spoke before. To me there is something very taking in the negro "so black that charcoal made a chalk-mark on him," and the wooden shingle "painted so like marble that it sank in water," as if its very consciousness or its vanity had been overpersuaded by the cunning of the painter. I heard a man, in order to give a notion of some very cold weather, say to another that a certain Joe, who had been taking mercury, found a lump of quicksilver in each boot, when he went home to dinner. This power of rapidly dramatizing a dry fact into flesh and blood and the vivid conception of Joe as a human thermometer strike me as showing a poetic sense that may be refined into faculty. At any rate there is humor here, and not mere quickness of wit, the deeper and not the shallower quality. The tendency of humor is always towards overplus of expression, while the very essence of wit is its logical precision. Captain Basil Hall denied that our people had any humor, deceived, perhaps, by their gravity of manner. But this very seriousness is often the outward sign of that humorous quality of the mind which delights in finding an element of identity in things seemingly the most incongruous, and then again in forcing an incongruity upon things identical. Perhaps Captain Hall had no humor himself, and if so he would never find it. Did he always feel the point of what was said to himself? I doubt it, because I happen to know a chance he once had given him in vain. The Captain was walking up and down the veranda of a country tavern in Massachusetts while the coach changed horses. A thunder-storm was going on, and, with that pleasant European air of indirect self-compliment in condescending to be surprised by American merit, which we find so conciliating, he said to a countryman lounging against the door, "Pretty heavy thunder you have here." The other, who had divined at a glance his feeling of generous concession to a new country, drawled gravely, "Waal, we du, considerin' the number of inhabitants." This, the more I analyze it, the more humorous does it The same man was capable of wit also, when he would. He was a cabinet-maker, and was once employed to make some commandment-tables for the parish meeting-house. The parson, a very old man, annoyed him by looking into his workshop every morning, and cautioning him to be very sure to pick out "clear mahogany without any knots in it." At last, wearied out, he retorted one day: "Wal, Dr. B., I guess ef I was to leave the nots out o' some o' the c'man'ments, 't 'ould soot you full ez wal!" seem. If I had taken the pains to write down the proverbial or pithy phrases I have heard, or if I had sooner thought of noting the Yankeeisms I met with in my reading, I might have been able to do more justice to my theme. But I have done all I wished in respect to pronunciation, if I have proved that where we are vulgar, we have the countenance of very good company. For, as to the jus et norma loquendi, I agree with Horace and those who have paraphrased or commented him, from Boileau to Gray. I think that a good rule for style is Galiani's definition of sublime oratory, "l'art de tout dire sans être mis à la Bastille dans un pays où il est défendu de rien dire." I profess myself a fanatical purist, but with a hearty contempt for the speech-gilders who affect purism without any thorough, or even pedagogic, knowledge of the engendure, growth, and affinities of the noble language about whose mésalliances they profess (like Dean Alford) to be so solicitous. If they had their way "Doch es sey," says Lessing, " dass jene gothische Höflichkeit eine unentbehrliche Tugend des heutigen Umganges ist. Soll sie darum unsere Schriften eben so schaal und falsch machen als unsern Umgang?" And Drayton was not far wrong in affirming that ""T is possible to climb, To kindle, or to slake, Although in Skelton's rhyme." Cumberland in his Memoirs tells us that when, in the midst of Admiral Rodney's great sea-fight, Sir Charles Douglas said to him, "Behold, Sir George, the Greeks and Trojans contending for the body of Patroclus!" the Admiral answered, peevishly, "Damn the Greeks and damn the Trojans! I have other things to think of." After the battle was won, Rodney thus to Sir Charles, "Now, my dear friend, I am at the service of your Greeks and Trojans, and the whole of Homer's Iliad, or as much of it as you please!" I had some such feeling of the impertinence of our pseudo-classicality when I chose our homely dialect to work in. Should we be nothing, because somebody had contrived to be something (and that perhaps in a provincial dialect) ages ago? and to be nothing by our very attempt to be that something, which they had already been, and which therefore nobody could be again without being a bore? Is there no way left, then, I thought, of being natural, of being naïf, which means nothing more than native, of belonging to the age and country in which you are born? The Yankee, at least, is a new phenomenon; let us try to be that. It is perhaps a pis aller, but is not No Thoroughfare written up everywhere else? In the literary world, things seemed to me very much as they were in the latter half of the last century. Pope, skimming the cream of good sense and expression wherever he could find it, had made, not exactly poetry, but an honest, salable butter of worldly wisdom which pleasantly lubricated some of the drier morsels of life's daily bread, and, seeing this, scores of harmlessly insane people went on for the next fifty years coaxing his buttermilk with the regular up and down of the pentameter churn. And in our day do we not scent everywhere, and even carry away in our clothes against our will, that faint perfume of musk which Mr. Tennyson has left behind him, or worse, of Heine's patchouli? And might it not be possible to escape them by turning into one of our narrow New England lanes, shut in though it were by bleak stone walls on either hand, and where no better flowers were to be gathered than goldenrod and hardhack? Beside the advantage of getting out of the beaten track, our dialect offered others hardly inferior. As I was about to make an endeavor to state them, I remembered something that the clear-sighted Goethe had said. about Hebel's "Allemannische Gedichte," which, making proper deduction for special reference to the book under
nequeat deprendere. Idem quoque judicium esse potest de translatione per caminum. Siquidem si caverna igniflua justae amplitudinis est ut nullo impedimento et haesitatione corpus humanum eam perrepere possit, diabolo impossibile non esse per eam eas educere. Si vero per inproportionatum (ut ita loquar) corporibus spatium eas educit tunc meras illusiones praestigiosas esse censeo, nec a diabolo hoc unquam effici posse. Ratio est, quoniam diabolus essentiam creaturae seu lamiae immutare non potest, multo minus efficere ut majus corpus penetret per spatium inproportionatum, alioquin corporum penetratio esset admittenda quod contra naturam et omne Physicorum principium est." This is fine reasoning, and the ut ita loquar thrown in so carelessly, as if with a deprecatory wave of the hand for using a less classical locution than usual, strikes me as a very delicate touch indeed. Walburger wrote this in 1757. Grimm tells us that he does not know when broomsticks, spits, and similar utensils were first assumed to be the canonical instruments of this nocturnal equitation. He thinks it comparatively modern, but I suspect it is as old as the first child that ever bestrode his father's staff, and fancied it into a courser shod with wind, like those of Pindar. Alas for the poverty of human invention! It cannot afford a hippogriff for an every-day occasion. The poor old crones, badgered by inquisitors into confessing they had been where they never were, were involved in the further necessity of explaining how the devil they got there. The only steed their WITCHCRAFT 357 parents had ever been rich enough to keep had been of this domestic sort, and they no doubt had ridden in this inexpensive fashion, imagining themselves the grand dames they saw sometimes flash by, in the happy days of childhood, now so far away. Forced to give a how, and unable to conceive of mounting in the air without something to sustain them, their bewildered wits naturally took refuge in some such simple subterfuge, and the broomstave, which might make part of the poorest house's furniture, was the nearest at hand. If youth and good spirits could put such life into a dead stick once, why not age and evil spirits now? Moreover, what so likely as an emeritus implement of this sort to become the staff of a withered beldame, and thus to be naturally associated with her image? I remember very well a poor half-crazed creature, who always wore a scarlet cloak and leaned on such a stay, cursing and banning after a fashion that would infallibly have burned her two hundred years ago. But apart from any adventitious associations of later growth, it is certain that a very ancient belief gave to magic the power of imparting life, or the semblance of it, to inanimate things and thus sometimes making servants of them. The wands of the Egyptian magicians were turned to serpents. Still nearer to the purpose is the capital story of Lucian, out of which Goethe made his Zauberlehrling, of the stick turned water-carrier. The classical theory of the witch's flight was driven to no such vulgar expedients, the ointment turning her into a bird for the nonce, as in Lucian and WITCHCRAFT Apuleius. In those days, too, there was nothing known of any camp-meeting of witches and wizards, but each sorceress transformed herself that she might fly to her paramour. According to some of the Scotch stories, the witch, after bestriding her broomstick, must repeat the magic formula, Horse and Hattock! The flitting of these ill-omened night-birds, like nearly all the general superstitions relating to witchcraft, mingles itself and is lost in a throng of figures more august.1 Diana, Bertha, Holda, Abundia, Befana, once beautiful and divine, the bringers of blessing while men slept, became demons haunting the drear of darkness with terror and ominous suggestion. The process of disenchantment must have been a long one, and none can say how soon it became complete. Perhaps we may take Heine's word for it, that 66 Genau bei Weibern Weiss man niemals wo der Engel Aufhört und der Teufel anfängt." Once goblinized, Herodias joins them, doomed still to bear about the Baptist's head;2 and Woden, who, first losing his identity in the Wild Huntsman, sinks by degrees into the mere spook of a Suabian baron, sinfully fond of field-sports, and therefore punished with an eternal phantasm of them, "the hunter and the deer a shade." More and more vulgarized, the infernal train snatches up and sweeps along with it every lawless shape and wild conjecture of distempered fancy, streaming 1 See Grimm's D. M., under Hexenfart, Wütendes Heer, &c. 2 Probably through some confusion with Eurydice, whose name became Erodes in Old French. WITCHCRAFT 359 away at last into a comet's tail of wild-haired hags, eager with unnatural hate and more unnatural lust, the nightmare breed of some exorcist's or inquisitor's surfeit, whose own lie has turned upon him in sleep. As it is painfully interesting to trace the gradual degeneration of a poetic faith into the ritual of unimaginative Philistinism, so it is amusing to see pedantry clinging faithfully to the traditions of its prosaic nature, and holding sacred the dead shells that once housed a moral symbol. What a divine thing the outside always has been and continues to be! And how the cast clothes of the mind continue always to be in fashion! We turn our coats without changing the cut of them. But was it possible for a man to change not only his skin but his nature? Were there such things as versipelles, lycanthropi, werwolfs, and loupgarous? In the earliest ages science was poetry, as in the later poetry has become science. The phenomena of nature, imaginatively represented, were not long in becoming myths. These the primal poets reproduced again as symbols, no longer of physical, but of moral truths. By and by the professional poets, in search of a subject, are struck by the fund of picturesque material lying unused in them, and work them up once more as narratives, with appropriate personages and decorations. Thence they take the further downward step into legend, and from that to superstition. How many metamorphoses between the elder Edda and the Nibelungen, between Arcturus and the "Idyls of the King"! WITCHCRAFT Let a good, thorough-paced proser get hold of one of these stories, and he carefully desiccates them of whatever fancy may be left, till he has reduced them to the proper dryness of fact. King Lycaon, grandson by the spindleside of Oceanus, after passing through all the stages I have mentioned, becomes the ancestor of the werwolf. Ovid is put upon the stand as a witness, and testifies to the undoubted fact of the poor monarch's own meta morphosis :- "Territus ipse fugit, nactusque silentia ruris Exululat, frustraque loqui conatur." Does any one still doubt that men may be changed into beasts? Call Lucian, call Apuleius, call Homer, whose story of the companions of Ulysses made swine of by Circe, says Bodin, n'est pas fable. If that arch-patron of sorcerers, Wierus, is still unconvinced, and pronounces the whole thing a delusion of diseased imagination, what does he say to Nebuchadnezzar? Nay, let St. Austin be subpoenaed, who declares that "in his time among the Alps sorceresses were common, who, by making travellers eat of a certain cheese, changed them into beasts of burden and then back again into men." Too confiding tourist, beware of Gruyère, especially at supper! Then there was the Philosopher Ammonius, whose lectures were constantly attended by an ass, - a phenomenon not without parallel in more recent times, and all the more credible to Bodin, who had been professor of civil law. In one case we have fortunately the evidence of WITCHCRAFT
Duke of York, contemptuously encountering, pays a bloody penalty for the folly of rashly despising an enemy. He was slain at the battle of Wakefield; and, in as short a time as two months after he had walked in procession to St. Paul's, as the newly-declared heir-apparent, his gory head, insulted with a paper crown, was set upon the gates York. After such a catastrophe, the reader of history naturally looks for the establishment of Lancastrian supremacy; but no-the rights of the Duke of York, and the feudal inheritance of vengeance for his death, pass to his son, the Earl of March, a youth of nineteen years of age; and from this time, the war becomes more ferocious than ever, and with a deeper thirst for revenge. The warlike queen pursues her success by the rescue of her husband from his captivity, but the young Duke of York enters London, and is proclaimed King Edward the Fourth. The coronation of the new monarch was postponed until further hostilities should give him stronger possession of the throne. There were now two kings in the land, Henry the Sixth and Edward the Fourth; and the battle that soon followed between the two royal armies, shows, more impressively, perhaps, than any other in the war, to what fearful issues of carnage and bloodshed the passions of faction and civil war can drive men of the same kindred and the same homes. No foreigner shared in the strife; there were none but Englishmen present, and of them more than one hundred thousand were drawn up, in no very unequal division, in hostile array on the field of Towton. Both sovereigns were present, King Edward and King Henry, or, perhaps we had better say, Queen Margaret. Proclamation had been made that no quarter should be given; and faithfully and fiercely was the order obeyed, so that it proved probably the bloodiest battle in British history. The desperate conflict lasted more than a day; and some idea may be formed of the slaughter, when it is said the number of the Englishmen. slain exceeded the sum of those who fell at Vimiero, Talavera, Albuera, Salamanca, Vittoria-five great battles of the Peninsular War-and at Waterloo combined.* This enormous shedding of English blood was by English I do not know the authority for this exact statement. In Southey's Colloquies, vol. i. p. 210, Montesinos says:-" More Englishmen fell at Towton than in any of Marlborough's battles or at Waterloo." Lingard says that Edward the Fourth, in a confidential letter to his mother, while he conceals his own loss, tells her that his heralds counted twenty-eight thousand Lancastrian dead on the field. "It was," says the historian, "a decisive victory, but it cost the nation a deluge of blood." LECTURE NINTH. hands. The battle ended in the total rout of the Lancastrians, and the crown was firmly placed on the brow of Edward the Fourth. So decided a victory, one would imagine, must have closed the contest; but no; for ten perilous years was the struggle continued, chiefly by the indomitable energy of Queen Margaret. Poor King Henry took refuge in the secluded regions of the North of England, but was betrayed and committed prisoner in the Tower of London, while his queen, eluding her enemies, is with difficulty followed in her rapid and unwearied movements, at one time rallying her English partisans and risking battle, again seeking alliance and help from the King of France. Perils by land and perils by sea making up the wild story of her adventures, we hear of her at one time shipwrecked, and, at another, falling into the hands of a band of roving banditti. She struggled to the last as long as she had a husband or a child whose rights were to be contended for. The later years of the war are no less perplexed than the beginning; and I do not know that, in the events that follow, there is to be discovered any thing especially characteristic of the age or expressive of the spirit of the times, except the conduct of that great feudal lord, the Earl of Warwick. It was chiefly by him that Edward the Fourth had been helped to the throne; and, when the king-maker found cause of quarrel with the monarch, he turned his allegiance away, and the greatest of the Yorkist chieftains was afterwards an adherent of the Lancastrians. King Edward became the prisoner of the proud nobleman, and one of the extraordinary spectacles which England exhibited in this war, was that of two rival kings, each confined in prison and at the same time. The king-maker was strong enough to lift up the prostrate Lancaster. Edward the Fourth fled from the palace and the kingdom; and his imprisoned rival was led forth from the Tower to hear the streets of London resounding once more with the name of King Henry. This surprising restoration gave, however, but a brief respite to the Lancastrian family before its final overthrow. The fugitive Edward returned to recover the crown, and, as it proved, to extinguish the opposing dynasty. He landed at Ravenspurg-the very place, as has been observed, where Bolingbroke, the Lancastrian progenitor, landed, when he came to deprive Richard the Second of the crown and to usurp it for himself; so fatal was that spot for the Plantagenets, first of the one and then of the other line. The landing of Edward at Ravenspurg has been compared to the return of Napoleon from Elba, when he came to shake the Bourbons again from the throne so lately restored to them. The comparison holds good as to the boldness and rapidity of the exploits; for, in about forty days, the counter-revolution of Edward was completed. In regard to the first reception and the final results, the parallel fails. When Edward landed, he found that none durst speak in his favour for dread of Warwick; and he could advance into the country only, as Bolingbroke had done, under the crafty plea that he came to claim no more than his duchy. The disguise was, ere long, thrown off: he fought and gained a battle in which his chief adversary, the king-maker Warwick, was left dead on the field. He entered London in triumph, was king again, and poor King Henry, of whom we never LECTURE NINTH. hear any thing, except when something is done to him, was remanded to the Tower, never again to leave it alive. The last convulsive effort of Queen Margaret was made at Tewkesbury, where the Lancastrian party met with its final defeat. The misery of the hapless queen was completed by the barbarous murder of her only child, the young Prince of Wales, who was stabbed to death, it is supposed, by King Edward's brothers, Clarence and Gloster the horrid deed which Shakspeare has fitly made one of the phantoms that haunted the death-dream of Clarence: "Then came wandering by, A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood;-and he shriek'd out aloud, 'Clarence is come-false, fleeting, perjur'd Clarence, That stabb'd me in the field by Tewkesbury;-- Seize on him furies,-take him to your torments."" The murder of the old king, the harmless Henry, soon followed, the bloody release to his grieved spirit being given by the dagger of the Duke of Gloster-if popular belief has rightly rested on that, one of the dark deeds which belong to the history of the tower of London. The Lancastrian king and the Lancastrian heir having ween destroyed, their great champion, the queen, Margaret of Anjou, is left alone; and, so far as the story of her life is connected with the annals of England, the last image which we have of her is, as she stands in the tragic sublimity of wo, discrowned, widowed, childless, captive, and desolate. * After five years of captivity in England, she was ransomed by the King of France and returned to her native country; where, in about For sixteen years had the War of the Roses lasted, and eleven fierce and bloody battles had been fought by English with English alone within the narrow limits of
The count's journey was of necessity tedious and indirect, as the horrors of war every where obstructed or followed him: his route, therefore, included the town to which he had requested that the answer he had flattered himself with receiving from his father might, under a fictitious name, be addressed; but the channels of correspondence were at that period even uncertain, except in great commercial cities: the state of the country rendered them still more so; and as near two years had elapsed from the time he had written, his inquiries, hitherto fruitless, now seemed almost irrational: yet that restlessness which still attends incertitude induced him to renew them. The postmaster paused a few moments; examined a small drawer that appeared full of discarded papers, and then, to his astonishment, produced a letter, the superscription of which he instantly knew to be the writing of his father. Could that father have seen the breathless impatience with which he tore it open, he would probably have fallen on his neck, and believed he had indeed found his son again. The date of the letter was not very far back, and the first lines of it expressed surprise at that of his own, which appeared to have been nearly lost, and very long retarded. A tender inference was, however, obviously to be drawn from the various precautions that seemed to have been taken to preserve the answer from failing: it was written from the camp. 66 Count Siegendorf passed over, in gentle but dignified terms, that part of his son's letter on which he could not rely; but though he had, unhappily, little confidence in his professions, he spoke with sensibility of the returning consciousness of duty and honour which dictated them. He demanded, however, to be informed most explicitly of the nature and extent of the offences he was called upon to pardon. "The narrative," he observed-and the observation was not made without an expression of the most impassioned regret, now included the events of years; but on his part he was prepared to temper the severity of a judge with the indulgence and patience of a father. As he was not aware of the reasons that had induced his son to change his name, he highly praised the delicacy that led him to renounce, rather than continue to disgrace it. He adverted, in strong though broken starts of tenderness, to the hour when that name might resume its first splendour; but he peremptorily forbade him ever to appear in his native country till such an hour arrived. Finally, he touched upon his son's pecuniary resources, and desired him to name the spot whither such remittances might be made as his exigencies could not but require." And now again the heart of the young man beat high with habitual self-applause and congratulation. Plunged as he had just before been in a gloom almost approaching to despondency, with a sensibility yet aching under the recent loss of all dear to him, and an imagination prompt to magnify every possible evil, he rushed at once into the contrary extreme. Far from seeing in his father's letter what he justly might-a mind self-balanced, and prepared to make, if necessary, a desperate sacrifice to honour, he dwelt only on the tender passages of it, and believed he discerned in them a thousand struggling though half-suppressed feelings, which his answer, for he answered it on the spot, would, he flattered himself, render unconquerable. The enthusiasm of the moment could not but dictate more of promise than detail. He avowed, indeed, the circumstance of his marriage, and the birth of his son; and he was careful to satisfy the pride or the prejudices of the count, by an assurance that the family from which Josephine sprang was such as did not attach disgrace to his own. The remainder of the letter consisted of a solemn asseveration of his sincerity, of the temperance and simplicity long since established in his modes of life, and of the unshaken fidelity with which he meant to fulfil all his engagements. The tenor of the whole was, indeed, well calculated to raise the hopes and expectations of a fond parent to the most sanguine pitch: it was dated from the spot on which it was written; and he concluded by saying, that he should pursue his journey as far as Cassel," there to attend the further orders of his father, and to receive testimonies of his kindness in any way he should deem it suitable to offer them." The event which had thus intoxicated his heart remained to be related to Josephine. Ah, why could he not press her to his bosom! read in her eyes the sweet participation of his hopes, and communicate them by that intuitive and sympathetic power which leaves language so far behind! He was sensible that the letter he addressed to her, though the honest effusion of his own heart, was not such as to create unmixed pleasure in hers. The glaring colours with which his imagination painted the future, were calculated imperceptibly to throw into shade the retired and humble happiness of the past; and, by a peculiarity with which he had tinged his own fate, he felt that he could not exult in the distinction he was to bestow, without involuntarily taking something from that he had received. ened finally to destroy both, he was even indiscreet enough to forget all the importance attached by his father to the renunciation of his name. He did not indeed formally resume it; but he was sufficiently willing that his rank should be acknowledged, and it was too necessary a claim in the circle with which he mingled not to become generally so. Four months rolled away in excesses, which, with his usual self-complacency, he persuaded himself were venial, as he was fully resolved the summons from his father should end them. Whenever that arrived, he solemnly promised his own heart to abjure all pleasure incongruous with his duties-to live only for Josephine and his family, and to limit his follies for ever. It was so long ere any intelligence reached him from Prague, that he almost began to doubt some second delay, more unexpected than the first, had attended his letter. The answer to it at length arrived, and his follies were, indeed, for ever limited-but, unhappily, by no forbearance or virtue of his own. Contrary to his expectation, the packet was addressed to him by the name and titles of his family; as though the flaming indignation of his father disdained all concealment, and was willing to announce itself at the first glance. Count Siegendorf, in the most pointed terms, and such as bespoke him well acquainted with all that was passing at Cassel, at once renounced a son to whom it was evident no promise was sacred; "who had flattered his hopes only the more grossly to betray them; who had sported with the name of his family again to disgrace it; who was alive to no feeling of duty, no principle of honour; and whom time and misfortune, far from reforming, had only taught duplicity." He enjoined him, as he valued his liberty, never again to venture within the limits of Bohemia, much less dare to appear in his presence. He concluded with saying, that, "worthless as he feared the scion might prove of such a stem, he was nevertheless willing to receive the little Conrad, and secure for him those claims he was born to, under the express condition that his parents should see him no more. That if they acceded to these terms, he would remit to his son an annual provision; but if otherwise, he disclaimed him for ever."
4. One other plea remains to be discussed. You contend that you are still in a state of unbelief, because you feel the power of sin to be strong within you. Faith, you aver, would purify the heart, would deliver you from the bondage of corruption, would renew you to the divine image in righteousness and true holiness. But does not this complaint also arise from ignorance and error? Faith is indeed the seed of holiness: the seed, which, when once sown in the heart, will necessarily produce its correspondent fruits. But all contrary and opposing principles are not at once eradicated or supported. In the renewed heart sin is prescribed, dethroned, weakened ; but not at present finally destroyed. The work of sanctification, like that of vegetation, is progressive. First appears "the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear." Grace may be with you in the blade. But the appearance of the blade as incontestably proves the previous insertion of the seed, as even the full corn in the ear. If much remains to be accomplished before you can arrive at the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ, there may yet be evidences sufficient to evince, that the life of Faith is begun within you. Are you allowedly guilty of any known violation of the law of God? Is not sin your shame, your burden, your grief? Do you not incessantly struggle against its corrupt and secret workings in your heart? While your practice, your conversation, John, vi. 67, 68. your tempers, are decidedly amended, do you not feel more real concern from the remaining opposition of sin, than you once felt from even your open, your allowed, and gross offences? Does not this sense of your depravity and weakness drive you unfeignedly to call upon Christ for help; that he would deliver you from the body of this death; would subdue your corruptions, and would sanctify you wholly in body, and soul, and spirit? My brethren, if you thus hunger and thirst after righteousness, Christ has pronounced you blessed. Class not then yourselves with unbelievers. If you were destitute of Faith, you would be destitute of spiritual feeling. You would not be sensible of the burden of sin, and conse- That very quently would not desire deliverance from it. conflict between the flesh and the spirit, which you assign as the proof of your unbelief, justly constitutes to others a decisive evidence of your Faith and interest in Christ. Such are some of the probable causes of that despondency, which you profess to entertain in respect to your spiritual state. May the discussion of this subject be instrumental in removing them! But whether such be the effect produced, or not; whether your fears be needless, or well founded : whether they be speedily dispelled, or continue undiminished; still, in conclusion, let me earnestly remind you, that the Lord only, from whom alone every good and perfect gift doth come, can fill you with real peace and joy in believing. If at present you are destitute of Faith, He only can create it in you. If your Faith be weak and little, He only can strengthen and increase it. If clouds and darkness intercept your views, or cast a gloom over your prospects, He only can dissipate the mists, and cheer and illuminate your paths. Look then to the Lord for help. Be diligent in using the means, which He has appointed for the communication of spiritual blessings. Read the word. Meditate upon it. Be instant in prayer. Then shall ye know, if ye thus follow on to know the Lord. of your desires be for a time withholden, "It will surely come, it will not tarry." Be not discouraged. Be not impatient. If the Lord keep you for a season in a state of suspense and anxiety; be assured, that he has wise, that he has merciful ends in this dispensation. He would stimulate your exertions. He would quicken your prayers. He would exercise your patience. He would Should the object yet wait for it. teach you submission to his will. He would for a short season delay the grant: that, when it comes, it may be more acceptable. He would abase you the lower, that hereafter you may be exalted the higher. He would impart to you a more experimental knowledge of his ways, that hereafter you may be better able to impart it to others. Let these reflections sustain and animate you. The Lord, when his time shall arrive, will wipe away every tear. He "will extend to you peace as a river." He will say to the troubled waves, "Be still ;" and there will be a great calm." Thy sun shall no more go down; neither shall thy moon withdraw itself; for the Lord shall be thine everlasting light; and the days of thy mourning shall be ended." END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. DATE DUE OCT 04 1996 3 2044 038 432 100 DEMCO, INC. 38-2931
From one to three he was extremely restless and uneasy, from, as he expressed it, the extreme irritability of the whole nervous system, which he said was as great as could be imagined. At times he rambled a little, but said; "I find all things must be endured. Do you, who judge in the light, judge me for impatience?" I answered, Quite the reverse, and that we were sensible his bodily distress was great, and wished to alleviate it. He added, "I cannot charge myself on that account," meaning impatience. About four he seemed in great agony and conflict, turning his head frequently on the pillow; and said, "Can it be upon any other ground but that the time is come that the purpose must be effected?" Quarter past four, he desired to be turned on his right side, which seemed a momentary relief. Calling to P. Johnson, he said, "Make great allowance for me, my distress is nearly as much as is supportable by human nature. possibility of my getting any relief? the inexpressible pain of my lungs!" Is there no Oh! the pain, P. J. tellin JOB SCOTT. 359 him, that from appearances, there was a likelihood of his being very soon released, perhaps within an hour or two, he replied; "If so, the Lord's name be blessed and praised for ever! I had much rather it were so than otherwise; for some time I have perceived it hastening fast." Afterwards he added; "The desire of my heart is the consolation of eternity." In a while said to a friend; "Guard against right hand errors, and left hand errors; let self be of no reputation; trust in the Lord, and he will carry thee through all." About five he appeared to be wrestling with death; but struggled little, considering his remaining bodily strength. Being asked to take a little drink, he appeared quite sensible, and said, "Yes, yes ;" took it, and continued without much struggle, until about a quarter before seven, when he moved to the side of the bed, but soon returned to his former position, and drew his breath gently shorter and shorter, until seven o'clock; after which he breathed no more in these regions of pain and distress, but ascended with joy to his heavenly mansion, and the glory of an incorruptible inheritance with the saints in light. His remains were interred on First day, the 24th of the Eleventh month, 1793, in Friends' burial-ground at Ballitore. FINIS. W. IRWIN, Printer, 10, Merchants' Square, Market-street, Manchester. SOCIETY OF FRIENDS LIBRARY 20 RUSSELL STREET, MELBOURNE, SOCIETY OF FRIENDS LIBRARY 20 RUSSELL STREET, MELBOURNE,
Though four miles out, he is always in From Rev. A. H. Brown, Jackson, Jackson his seat on the Sabbath, and with the class in the Sabbath-school. He likewise was present at the weekly prayermeeting, walking to and fro, the four miles, till circumstances rendered it impossible. If he is a specimen of the freedmen at the South, those who have gone among them must find their field of labor very interesting and encouraging. The Field. ago, This field, as you are aware, was for several years occupied as a "mission" of the First Congregational church. When I commenced my labors here, one year there had been no regular preaching for six months, and only six months preaching had been enjoyed at all. I immediately began to move in the matter of a church organization. We did not succeed in organizing, however, until the 25th of June, and then with only There are several fifteen members. others who will doubtless unite with us soon. MICHIGAN. Colonized by Satan. I realize more fully the longer I remain here, and the more the mask is thrown off, that this is a fearfully wick- First Bereavement. But how shall I speak to you of our loss? How convey to your mind the sense of bereavement that settles down into all our hearts, as we gather in the sanctuary and in the meeting for social worship? God has seen fit in his wisdom (and in his love, shall we not say?) to take from us the most zealous, the most devoted, the most shining member of our little band. A widow of much physical infirmity, she was in her place in all our meetings with a regularity and punctuality that was the astonishment of her minister and her brethren in the church. Possessed of some wealth and moving in the best circles of society, she yet did not hesitate to cast in her lot with the little company who felt that the gospel banner must be elevated in this part of the city. When I spoke to her in reference to the organization of the church, she replied, “I suppose no one has stronger attachments in the old church than I have. It has been my home for more than twenty years; but when a question of duty arises, I will not allow my feelings to influence my action. You can have my name." And this was in accordance with her whole life and character. She had so subordinated her own desires and inclinations to the interests of the cause of Christ, that the path of duty became the path of sweetest enjoyment. She was sick less than a week, and departed without a struggle, calmly falling asleep in Jesus. Oh, that her mantle may fall upon those who remain ! The College. Our College interest is still near our hearts, though, like almost every thing of the kind in a State like this, we meet with counter currents, and often find apathy and indifference where we looked for earnest cooperation. I am confident, however, that with the blessing of God it will succeed and become a power for good. Here is a work for the Christian educator, second only to that of the church and ministry. First, almost every one is in debt for land or improvements, and must labor hard to meet his obligations. An agent for the sale of land here, informed me that more than a thousand dollars had been due him for months, and that after December 1st ten per cent. is to be added, but still the money does not come. In most cases a forfeit of land, according to the contract, is wrought; but being a kind-hearted Christian man, he does not insist on the forfeiture, knowing the stringency in money matters. Second, in a new country almost every thing is yet to be done. Lands must be fenced, buildings erected, im- provements made, before much return can be received, and this takes time and money, and generally all that can be spared or obtained of both. Enduring Hardness. The minister feels this state of things most keenly, and were it not for your Society, it would be impossible to maintain a stated ministry here. I find that it calls for skilful financiering to "make both ends meet," and sometimes I have thought, when con- MISSOURI. From Rev. G. G. Perkins, Kidder, Caldwell sidering my family of five children, with County. their bodily and intellectual wantsbut I will not write it. It is a glorious work to labor for Christ in these new sections, and lay the "foundations of many generations;" and the Master will not leave us. "If we suffer with him, we shall also reign with him." I Poverty of the People. During the past quarter I have been most sensibly impressed with the poverty of these new sections of the West and South, compared with older sections in the East and elsewhere. February, trust all our Home Missionaries will be enabled to endure hardness, as good soldiers," and show themselves approved of God and man. three years, has now become strong enough to go alone, and, as I suppose, will be to the Society a friend and supporter a giver, and not a receiver. Instead of being an "Independent Church," they have now become connected with our new Association formed ILLINOIS. County. Growth. The church is more harmonious, and more encouraged than heretofore. The congregations on the Sabbath have constantly improved, so that, for the past six months, especially at the morning service, the house has been full. It is impossible for families to obtain seats that they may call their own. From Rev. E. C. Barnard, Jefferson, Cook at Aurora, and called the "Aurora Association." With their new minister they will, I trust, be a power for good in the region round about. I am thankful that, instead of the feeble band I found them-weak, disheartened, and almost at the point of extinction-I have left them in possession of a fine house of worship, instead of an old dilapidated school-house; their membership trebled in number, and more than quadrupled in resources, and now, as I understand, about building a parsonage, that their minister may have a home and devote his whole time to the interests of Christ's cause among themselves. During the past year there have been about ten hopeful conversions. Last Sabbath we had an addition of six to the church, all good working members. We have been praying and hoping for a revival for some time past, and a few drops have come, the forerunners, we trust, of a glorious refreshing. Self-support. There is much to contend with here, but it is a very important field, and the help you have rendered has been invaluable. We must be self-supporting now, I think. The work is much more encouraging here now than ever before, and on account of our proximity to the eity, and the constant growth of the population, there must be, I think, at no distant day, a strong church here. Now is the time for Christ's people to be active, that they may keep abreast of the worldly bustle and activity that are surging about us. Oh, that we might possess this community for Christ! Resolved to Go Alone. The main point that has claimed the greater share of my labors the past OHIO. From Rev. J. H. Jenkins, Lebanon, Warren County. Discouragement. Our members are continuing to remove from us. The West attracts them. The cold weather has diminished our congregations. We shall be obliged to forsake our audience-room during the winter. We cannot carry with us into the prayer-room those who have, during the summer, become regular attendants upon our services. I feel sad, as I look around for the young men who had been slowly gathered in during the warm weather, and find their places vacant. When another summer comes, their old habits of carelessness will again have From Rev. C. C. Breed, East Paw-Paw, possessed them, or they will have found a more comfortable place of worship. De Kalb Co. An Experiment. I have been laboring to make the church feel that its only hope now is in 243 God. We must have the primitive style of piety. We must worship God because we love him and his service.
the most beautiful, is the seed of shame and death. This is the profound truth to which the Idylls of the King and Paradise Lost alike bear witness. And to teach this, to teach it in forms of highest art which should live forever in the imagination of the race, was the moral purpose of Milton and Tennyson. But there is another aspect of this theme, which is hardly touched in the Idylls. Sin has a relation to God as well as to man, since it exists in His universe. Is it stronger than the Almighty? Is His will wrath? Is His purpose destruction? Is darkness the goal of all things, and is there no other significance in death; no deliverance from its gloomy power? In Paradise Lost, Milton has dealt with this problem also. Side by side with the record "of man's first disobedience" he has constructed the great argument whereby he would Assert eternal Providence And justify the ways of God to men. The poem has, therefore, parallel with its human side, a divine side, for which we shall look in vain among the Idylls of the King. Tennyson has approached this problem from another standpoint in a different manner. And if we wish to know his solution of it, his answer to the mystery of death, we must look for it in In Memoriam. This poem is an elegy for Arthur Hallam, finished throughout its seven hundred and twenty-four stanzas with all that delicate care which the elegiac form requires, and permeated with the tone of personal grief, not passionate, but profound and pure. But it is such an elegy as the world has never seen before, and never will see again. It is the work of years, elaborated with such skill and adorned with such richness of poetic imagery as other men have thought too great to bestow upon an epic. It is the most exquisite structure ever reared above a human grave, more wondrous and more immortal than that world-famous tomb which widowed Artemisia built for the Carian Mausolus. But it is also something far grander and better. Beyond the narrow range of personal loss and loneliness, it sweeps into the presence of the eternal realities, faces the great questions of our mysterious existence, and reaches out to lay hold of that hope which is unseen but abiding, whereby alone we are saved. Its motto might well be given in the words of St. Paul: For our light affliction which is but for a moment worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal. At first sight it may seem almost absurd to compare the elegy with the epic, and impossible to discover any resemblance between those long-rolling, thunderous periods of blank-verse and these short swallow-flights of song which "dip their wings in tears and skim away." The comparison of In Memoriam with Lycidas would certainly appear more easy and obvious; so obvious, indeed, that it has been made a thousand times, and is fluently repeated by every critic who has had occasion to speak of English elegies. But this is just one of those cases in which an external similarity conceals a fundamental unlikeness. For, in the first place, Edward King, to whose memory Lycidas was dedicated, was far from being an intimate friend of Milton, and his lament has no touch of the deep heart-sorrow which throbs in In Memoriam. And, in the second place, Lycidas is in no sense a metaphysical poem, does not descend into the depths or attempt to answer the vexed questions. But In Memoriam is, in its very essence, profoundly and thoroughly metaphysical; and this brings it at once into close relation with Paradise Lost. They are the two most famous poems with the exception of Dante's Divine Comedy - which deal directly with the mysteries of faith and reason, the doctrine of God and immortality. There is a point, however, in which we must acknowledge an essential and absolute difference between the great epic and the great elegy, something deeper and more vital than any contrast of form and metre. Paradise Lost is a theological poem, In Memoriam is a religious poem. The distinction is narrow, but deep. For religion differs from theology as life differs from biology. Milton approaches the problem from the side of reason, resting, it is true, upon a supernatural revelation, but careful to reduce all its contents to a logical form, demanding a clearly-formulated and closely-linked explanation of all things, and seeking to establish his system of truth upon the basis of sound argument. His method is distinctly rational; Tennyson's is emotional. He has no linked chain of deductive reasoning; no sharp-cut definition of objective truths. His faith is subjective, intuitive. Where proof fails him, he will still believe. When the processes of reason are shaken, disturbed, frustrated; when absolute demonstration appears impossible, and doubt claims a gloomy empire in the mind, then the deathless fire that God has kindled in the breast burns toward that heaven which is its source and home, and the swift answer of immortal love leaps out to solve the mystery of the grave. Thus Tennyson feels after God, and leads us by the paths of faith and emotion to the same goal which Milton reaches by the road of reason and logic. Each of these methods is characteristic not only of the poet who uses it, but also of the age in which it is employed. Paradise Lost does not echo more distinctly the age of the Westminster divines than In Memoriam represents the age of Maurice and Kingsley and Robertson. It is a mistake to think that the tendency of our day is toward rationalism. That was the drift of Milton's time. Our modern movement is toward emotionalism, a religion of feeling, a subjective system in which the sentiments and affections shall be acknowledged as lawful tests of truth. This movement has undoubtedly an element of danger in it, as well as an element of promise. It may be carried to a false extreme. But this much is clear, it has been the strongest inspiration of the men of our own time who have fought most bravely against atheism and the cold negations of scientific despair. And the music of it is voiced forever in In Memoriam. It is the heart now, not the colder reason, which rises to Assert eternal Providence And justify the ways of God to men. But the answer is none other than that which was given by the blind poet. The larger meanings of In Memoriam and Paradise Lost whatever we may say of their lesser meanings the same of find their harmony in Strong Son of God. Is Tennyson a Pantheist because he speaks One God, one law, one element, And one far-off divine event To which the whole creation moves ? Then so is Milton a Pantheist when he makes the Son say to the Father,- Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee Forever, and in me all whom thou lovest. Is Tennyson an Agnostic because he speaks of the "truths that never can be proved," and finds a final answer to the mysteries of life only in a hope which is hidden "behind the veil"? Then so is Milton an Agnostic, because he declares Heaven is for thee too high To know what passes there. Be lowly wise; Think only what concerns thee and thy being. Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid; Leave them to God above. Is Tennyson a Universalist because he says, Oh, yet we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood? Then so is Milton a Universalist when he exclaims, - O, goodness infinite, goodness immense, That all this good of evil shall produce, And evil turn to good! The faith of the two poets is one; the great lesson of In Memoriam and Paradise Lost is the same. The hope of the universe is in the Son of God, whom Milton and Tennyson both call "Immortal Love." To Him through mists and shadows we must look up, Gladly behold, though but his utmost skirts
She trampled some beneath her horses' heels, And some were whelm'd with missiles of the wall, And some were push'd with lances from the rock, And part were drown'd within the whirling brook : O miracle of noble womanhood!" So sang the gallant glorious chronicle; And, I all rapt in this, "Come out," he said, "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister Lilia with the rest." We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) Down thro' the park: strange was the sight to me; For all the sloping pasture murmur'd, sown With happy faces and with holiday. There moved the multitude, a thousand heads: The patient leaders of their Institute Taught them with facts. One rear'd a font of stone And drew, from butts of water on the slope, The fountain of the moment, playing, now A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Or steep-up spout whereon the gilded ball 40 50 60 40. More than mortal, a phrase from the classics, equivalent to like a god. 42. Brake, broke. 57. The characteristic motion in a dense crowd is that of the heads. Notice throughout the following passage the attempt to heighten the prosaic detail of mechanical terms by the loveliness and color of the inserted adjectives and phrases. 63. Steep-up, perpendicular, a Shaksperian word; the ball is kept in the air, supported by the stream. PROLOGUE] A MEDLEY Danced like a wisp and somewhat lower down A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon Echo answer'd in her sleep From hollow fields: and here were telescopes For azure views; and there a group of girls In circle waited, whom the electric shock Dislink'd with shrieks and laughter: round the lake A little clock-work steamer paddling plied And shook the lilies: perch'd about the knolls A dozen angry models jetted steam: A pretty railway ran a fire-balloon Rose gem-like up before the dusky groves. And dropt a fairy parachute and past : And there thro' twenty posts of telegraph They flash'd a saucy message to and fro Between the mimic stations; so that sport Went hand in hand with Science; otherwhere Pure sport a herd of boys with clamour bowl'd And stump'd the wicket; babies roll'd about Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light And shadow, while the twangling violin Struck up with Soldier-laddie, and overhead 70 80 64. Wisp, will-o'-the-wisp, the light seen in marshy places; the metaphor is suggested by the motion and color of the ball. "My soger laddie is over the sea, And he will bring gold and siller to me," etc. 66. Echo, personified as a nymph. 70. Dislinked. Dis-an alternative form for un-- -is common in poetry. 74. Fire-balloon, one inflated with heated air by means of a burning ball attached to it underneath. 86. Soldier-laddie, A favorite Scotch song, printed in Allan Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, 1825, vol. ii., p. 297. Words (under the title of the Soldier Laddie) and music seem to have appeared first in Thompson's Orpheus Caledonius, 1725. Burns is responsible for the statement that the first stanza is old, known before Thompson's time, and The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy-claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden lawn: And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, Half child half woman as she was, had wound A scarf of orange round the stony helm, And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk, That made the old warrior from his ivied nook Glow like a sunbeam near his tomb a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, 90 100 that the rest is by Ramsay. See Stenhouse, Illustrations of the Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland, 1853, p. 310. 87. Ambrosial, fragrant. 89. The time, the contemporary age. The best poetic expression of the time that then was is in Tennyson's Locksley Hall, which is fully inspired with the larger excitement of "this march of mind." 92. Gothic, of Gothic architecture; contrasted with the Greek as a perpendicular with a horizontal line, or as a cone with a cube; the Gothic carries the eye up toward heaven, the Greek detains it within the limits of the building offered to its view; the mood of the one is endless aspiration, that of the other is completely realized beauty and majesty. 93. Through the rent in the Abbey walls made by time and frost they disclosed. Notice the way in which the poet presents the outer landscape as framed in the ruined wall, and contrasts it with the small-scale picture within, though both are wrought out with equally careful detail. 98. Seats, country seats. PROLOGUE] A MEDLEY And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt Took this fair day for text, and from it preach'd An universal culture for the crowd, And all things great; but we, unworthier, told Of college he had climb'd across the spikes, And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars, And he had breathed the Proctor's dogs; and one Discuss'd his tutor, rough to common men, But honeying at the whisper of a lord ; And one the Master, as a rogue in grain Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory. But while they talk'd, above their heads I saw The feudal warrior lady-clad ; which brought My book to mind and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where," Ask'd Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay Beside him) "lives there such a woman now ?" Quick answer'd Lilia "There are thousands now Such women, but convention beats them down: It is but bringing up; no more than that: 110 120 108. This fair day, the holiday of the people. 111, 112. He . . . he, this one and that. The "spikes" are on the walls of the college garden; the "bars" on the windows of students' rooms. [These and the following collegiate notes follow Wallace.] 113. Breathed the Proctor's dogs, tired out in the chase the Proctor's assistants who pursue students to arrest them, and are called in college slang "bull-dogs." The Proctor is a subordinate officer of college discipline. 114. Tutor, an officer in charge of both education and discipline, and adviser of students under him. 116. Master, head of a college. 128. Convention, the need of conforming to social rules and usages, of doing the conventional, that which all do, not because it is reasonable, but because it is usual. You men have done it how I hate you all ! Ah, were I something great! I wish I were Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then, That love to keep us children! I wish That I were some great Princess, I would build Far off from men a college like a man's, And I would teach them all that men are taught; We are twice as quick! And here she shook aside The hand that play'd the patron with her curls. And one said smiling "Pretty were the sight If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair. I think they should not wear our rusty gowns, But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear, If there were many Lilias in the brood, However deep you might embower the nest, Some boy would spy it." 130 Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laugh'd; A rusebud set with little wilful thorns, And sweet as English air could make her, she: 140 At this upon the sward She tapt her tiny silken-sandal'd foot: "That's your light way; but I would make it death 150 For any male thing but to peep at us."