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My regard for poetry and poets is only exceeded by my love of, and sympathy for, the humid and rheumatic Goddess of Truth, who has been forced to take up her abode in a well ; and it is in order to prevent any further waste of sympathy or love on an unworthy object, that I intend telling the truth about lambs. However unworthy the object on which we place our affection may be, we do not thank those who remove the scales from our eyes ; we do not like to see our idol broken, and discover that it is made of clay. I hope, however, that the reader will defer his judgment on me till he has read my experience, when I shall have more hope of being excused, or having my offence palliated. I can scarcely control myself to speak calmly on the sub- ject, when I think of, or try to imagine, the amount of sym- pathy and love which has " from time immemorial " been wasted on these unworthy objects ; and it is the poets who are principally to blame for rousing our sympathy and affection. 6o Pot Pourri. Poets have chosen lambs as the emblems of innocence and peace, and they never were further from the truth. It grieves me to disturb the proverbs of centuries, to strip the lamb of its false covering, and show up the ignorance of poets. What do poets know of nature ? Thomson wrote of the beauties of a sunrise, when it is well known he usually had breakfast in bed. They have written of " The ploughboy's whistle and the milkmaid's song " as some- thing enchanting, which only shows their utter disregard for truth, or their entire want of an ear for music. I have heard both, and they are extremely vulgar, and I hope to be spared the infliction again. Let a poet sit through a Harvest Home, and he will change his mind, but " revenons a nos moutons." Last spring I spent a good deal of time in the company of lambs, and my opinion, formed on close observation, is that they are the most selfish, idiotic, discontented, and combative animals on the face of the earth, leaving the following to support my assertion. When a lamb is about a week old it discovers that its mother is a lunatic, with one idea, and that is its lamb, and instead of returning its mother's love, it abuses it. Another lamb, which we will call B, comes to play with lamb A, when ^'s mother, fearing her offspring will be contaminated by such company, knocks over B with a box in the ribs. A naturally thinks it belongs to a superior set, and condescendingly visits lamb B, only to discover that i^"s mother holds similar opinions about its lamb, this reflection being made by A when it is knocked on its back. The Truth about Lambs. 6i A gets up and runs bleating to its mother, and gets a drink, and as the milk gets scarce it digs its mother with its little horns ; the mother, thinking it is time to stop, lies down for a rest, when the lamb climbs on her back, planting its sharp little hoofs between its mother's ribs, till the mother has to rise, when the lamb goes for another drink. A lamb pays no attention to its mother unless it wants a drink, which it usually does every few minutes. As soon as a lamb can walk straight on its clumsy legs it looks about for a smaller lamb to box, when the smaller lamb 62 Pot Pourri. is not looking. This is the nearest approach to humour in a lamb's composition, A lamb's legs look as if they had been made for its big brother, and it is as proud of them as a boy is of his first trousers. It tries to gambol, the result being, like a stool under the influence of spirit rapping, it throws its hind legs a few inches up into the heavens, and fancies it is fit for a circus. I was beside some sheep in a shed where they had more good turnips and hay than they could eat, and leaving the gate open, they rushed out and ate ravenously at rotten turnips which had been thrown aside as useless. This is the only human trait I have observed in sheep. After I had been about a week painting a picture of sheep and lambs, I laid down my pallette on the camp stool, and walked out of the shed to have a smoke, and a talk with a young girl who attended to the cows, and was just in the middle of an interesting conversation when she said, " I think the sheep have knocked over your picture." I thought she was only saying it to frighten me, but when 1 did go back I found my easel and canvas flat on the ground, and a lamb on the top of the picture, smelling if it was painted in oil or water colour. I drove them back, making some remarks which I do not remember now, and started to scrape the canvas, when the head of the lamb's mother came into violent collision with me, and I don't believe any artist ever before got through a picture of the size in such a short time, and it was completely finished. At the same time one cannot fail to see the want of anything like justice in that sheep The Truth about Lambs. 63 butting me for trying to prevent the lamb from injurinq- my property. I hope I have justified my assertion, and if the reader can now enjoy his roast lamb and mint sauce without compunction, I have not lived in vain. The Beautiful I. HE mystery of Loveliness, that lies, Like light from some diviner heaven than ours. On visible Nature : mountains, streams and flowers, On man's proud front, in depths of woman's eyes ; The mystery of Loveliness, that is The Law of Nature's being : moulding all — The measureless great, the infinitely small — To its own perfect beauty. What is this But the translation of God's inmost thought ? And that is Love ; Nature the mighty scroll Whereon 'tis writ. Thou readest it, my soul ! Each sacred syllable, yet graspest not, Save in dim gleams, the message written there. Though questioning evermore in Work and Prayer. n. Yet, O my soul ! thank God that He hath sent. In loving answer to thy life-long cry, These shadowings of the holier Mystery Behind the veil — for rapturous moments rent As by a still, small voice from highest heaven. The Beautiful. 65 If thou with feeble hand and care-clogged brain Through life's grey clouds hast groped — alas ! in vain — To catch their import, thou at least hast striven ; And, striving, won the guerdon ne'er denied To those who battle bravely — though they fail. For such one day the Angel calm and pale With tender hand will draw the veil aside, And they shall stand within the Holy Place, And read the Secret in The Master's face. The Gypsy Wooer THE young lords rade frae east and west, Sae blithe were they and bonny, And all to court our lady gay, For she was best of ony. The young lords rade to east and west, Wi' heavy dule and grieving, Their hearts were wae, for she said them nay, And bade them cease their deaving. She looked frae her bower window, The sun it shone sae brightly, An' over field and over fell A gypsy steppit lightly. The gypsy man cam doun the brae. An' clear his pipes were singing An outland sang as wild and fey As Elfin bridles ringing. O whiles the sang went wud wi' joy. And whiles it sorrowed sairly ; The saut tear stood in our lady's ee, It rang sae sweet and rarely. The Gypsy Wooer. 67 " An' are ye come at last ? " she said, " An' do I see and hear ye ? If this be no my ain true love Then nane shall be my dearie. " An' where hae ye been sae lang ? " quo she, " An' why cam ye ne'er before, O ! If ye be no my ain true love, My heart will break for sorrow." O never a word the gypsy said, And naething- did he linger, But his een laughed bright as he turned his head. And beckoned wi' his finpfer. She's casten off her silken snood, And taen her mantle to her, An' she's awa to Silverwood, To follow the gypsy wooer. /Cf^^^ An Old World Matter IN the old world of Edinburgh, when the High Street, the Canongate, and the Cowgate. with their adjacent closes, constituted the royal burgh, it was not often that anything occurred to disturb the still and tranquil life of the peace-loving citizens. No visit of royalty had taken place since the time of Charles I. True, the Royal Commissioners walked (literally then) on the opening of the General Assembly ; but at the time of which I write, the " walking " or procession of Parliament had long since been discontinued, and Edinburgh, the metropolis of Scotland, could boast of little excitement or bustle beyond that of any provincial city in the kingdom. For all that, many of the old nobility still remained domiciled in the quaint turreted flats that frowned in the moonlight from either side of the High Street, and in the gatherings of the select, the " assemblies," and the weekly " concerts " of the " Musical Society," much blue blood as well as youth, beauty, and intellect gathered together to enliven w^hat must have been, upon the whole, a dull existence. The Pretender, with his ill-equipped followers, passed through the town in 1745. The romance attached to that fatal expedition has already been amply written. What the following brief narrative has to record is but a small matter concerning the history of two people of no more impor- tance than an actress and an actor, who, so far as Edinburgh An Old World Matter. 69 counted, could certainly boast, after the manner of Caesar, that they came, were seen, and conquered. It was in the year 1762 that the Courant newspaper announced that " a oj-entlewoman will appear for the first time on the stage of this kingdom in four plays. Particular tickets (at the usual prices) will be printed, as no money will be received at the door." Such was the first announcement of the beautiful and fascinating Mrs Bellamy who, in London, had secured for herself at once a fame and a notoriety that have seldom been equalled, even in the annals of the stage. Fresh from the whirl of London excitement the previous year, she had visited Dublin, and there she met West Digges, an actor who, in addition to great personal recommendations, was possessed of genuine histrionic ability. She had been warned against Digges' persuasive tongue and insinuating manners ; but, possibly for that very reason, all the sooner suc- cumbed to the blandishments of a oentleman who had almost no equal in the power of persuading. While in Dublin they lived together happily enough ; but for some strange reason Mrs Bellamy had a strong dislike to Scotland, and swore (ladies did swear in those days) she would never act in that country. This she did, no doubt, knowing that Digges was co- lessee in the Edinburgh Theatre. He, however, was manager first and lover second, and so contrived to get her trans- ported to Edinburgh without her knowing where she was being taken to. Entering the town she enquired where she was ? to which the ready response came — " the Grassmarket," and in the simpleness of her soul she thought such was the name of a town. She was driven to a lodging in the Canon- gate, and while combing her hair a sound ofmusic saluted her yo Pot Pourri. ears. " What is that sound ? " she cried. " The theatre," re- plied her maid. At once seeing she had been trapped, she seized a pair of scissors and cut all her hair off quite close to her head, in order that she might be unable to appear. Such was the impulsive character of the lady, so it is not sur- prising that Digges soon persuaded her (no doubt after a stormy interview) to appear in the plays for which she had already been advertised. A wig supplied the place of the demolished hair, and a greater or more fashionable event in the local theatrical world had never been witnessed than her first appearance. The highest of the land filled the pit, while the boxes were packed with the first ladies in society, and it is said the servants in attendance were so many that they could not find room in the gallery — a portion of the house then exclusively reserved for such gentry. During her stay in Edinburgh Mrs Bellamy was /^/^c/ far beyond any actress who had preceded her. Everything that she could possibly want was hers if she only expressed a wish to have it ; yet her old character of improvidence never forsook her, and when she was on the eve of leaving Edin- burgh for Glasgow, where a theatre had been specially built for her to appear in, she found she had no money, and sent her maid to pawn a beautiful gold repeater which Digges had presented to her. The maid, luckless woman, took it to the identical watchmaker from whom it had been pur- chased not many days previously, but not paid for, and was immediately taken into custody. Mrs Bellamy remained sitting in her carriage for over an hour for the return of her messenger, until guessing what had happened, she drove to one of the Lords of Session, her friend, who not only gave her sufficient money, but got the girl instantly released, and An Old World Matter. 71 so enabled this charming actress, but frail woman, to proceed to Glasgow, where alas she found that the theatre which had been specially built for her to appear in, had been burnt to the ground the previous evening, by some over-zealous bigots of the Methodist persuasion, in obedience to the desires of their preacher, who had announced to them that he liad seen a vision commanding them to commit arson. The course of true love between Digges and Bellamy did not long run smooth. The following season they took a house in Bonnington (still standing), then an oudying village, ■K-f ' --r''-"-^.-^ which had to be reached by way of the Horse Wynd, Low Calton, and Leith Walk, then a dismal country road or track. The only mode of conveyance was in chairs, very unsafe in- deed, considering the roads were of the roughest, the " bearers " seldom of the soberest, and the chance of meeting footpads not by any means remote. At Bonnington the twain lived in great luxury, but family feuds were not uncommon. One night the argument ran so high that Digges stripped off the most of his clothes and ran from the house with the intention of drowning himself in a pond near to the house. Mrs Bellamy surveyed the proceeding with the utmost coolness, and when he made his exit, calmly locked the door. The 72 Pot Pourri. result may be o^uessed, for the cold east wind and snow soon made the gentleman change his mind and repent his haste ; but when he returned and found the door barred against him, it was only by going down on his naked knees on the snow, and swearing all sorts of repentance, that he gained admittance at last to the cheerful glow of the fire, perhaps more essential under the circumstances than even the smiles and caresses of the authoress of his affliction, which, by the way, he certainly never deserved and never after secured. Sic transit gloria imindi. MR DIGGES IN THE CHARACTER OF SIR JOHN BRUTE. " OONS, GEl- YOU GONE UP STAIRS." Men and Books " The proper study of mankind is man."— POPK. TH E gods make living- poems ; what we write Is photograph, unreal shadowy stuff; Their words have wings of power and thews of might, Ours float like mist, and vanish with a puff. There are who love to pore o'er musty books. Scholars, who heap up stores of printed breath. And spell with painful care and peeping looks The quaint memorial blazonry of death. But let me read God's best of living books. The rosy child, with eyes of trustful blue, The lightfoot youth, the girl with radiant looks, Or, like thee, Gordon, the brave captain, who Leaps into danger, and sublimely rash, Turns panic into victory with a flash ! The Prayer of the Pompeian Mothei OH ! spare my child, ye Gods who dwell on high ! Ye gave him unto me ; — my only joy, Oh ! rain not ashes on my darling boy. Hear me, great Zeus, hear a mother's cry, For his dead father's sake let him not die ; Hear from his boyish lips the piteous cries ! Shield us from trembling ground, from falling skies. Cease but a moment, that we both may fly This choking sand, these reeling rocks and trees : Return once more thy sweet and balmy breeze, So that our parched tongues again may raise Before thy altar, songs of love and praise : Send us again the cheering light of heaven. And to thy service shall his life be given. C\) * 60 ' o)W^>-Ma/vc-vu THE POMPEIAN MOTHER SHIELDING HER CHILD FROM THE SHOWER OF ASHES. A.D. 79. l-ROM THE GROUP BY D. W. STEVENSON, R.S.A. An Easterly Har WE who have been dwellers in the East, — not the pic- turesque East of palm trees, camels and caravans, but the bleak East of our own little kingdom, — know what an easterly harr means, and we have been told on good authority where the visitor comes from. Erom the low lands of Hol- land the visitor travels to our coast, we are assured ; and we can believe it. We are not so well informed with regard to the origin of our enemy's name, though it is a singularly expressive and suitable name ; for while the thing itself is dim and misty, soft and fleecy, with a certain impalpability in its fleeciness, it has a rough edge ; it grates in the throat and the chest ; it cuts and pricks with a saw-like jaggedness wliich answers exactly to its strange title, to the two " r's " that end the word, which we pronounce with an emphatic zest, as a Northumbrian rattles his bur, "har-r." The season of the year when the harr was most apt to descend upon us was " the sweet spring time ; " a time not quite so sweet in the north and the east as in the south and the west, yet glad exceedingly in the lengthening daylight, the budding trees and hedges, the sprouting grass, the first lamb, the first daisy — a time all the brighter to the young and hale because it was keenly bracing in its brightness. Even so late as the month of May, during the General Assembly of the representatives of its national Churches, An Easterly Harr. 79 when its streets, old and new, swarm with black coats, the grey metropolis of the north is not unacquainted with easterly harrs. But the Dutch invader recurs to our memory chiefly as it was wont to assail " country sides," when the young wheat showed a fresh, green braird in fields near the sea, above which the lark sang long before the bells of the golden cowslips nodded in the chill breeze over the pasture, or the primroses did more than lift up their meek, pale faces in the garden-borders. The infliction had a habit of presenting itself at any hour. It started with the sun, and rendered his beams watery and wan. After a bright morning, it fell upon us at high noon like a wet blanket, and shrouded the landscape for the rest of the day. It rose with a ghostly wraith-like appear- ance, and obscured the full moon. It was always densest nearest the sea, but it did not disdain to stretch a consider- able distance inland, creeping on with a stealthy motion, or suddenly descending after the fashion of the drop-scene of a theatre. It hid man and beast ; especially beast, — for a dog rashly running ahead disappeared in it, as if a cloud had come between the creature and his owner. Birds of the air were not only invisible, they became mute as fishes in the sea, under the influence of an easterly harr ; indeed, it was a singularly muffling, dulling process in nature resembling, so far, the hush of a snow-storm. The harr clung in a close, white drapery to trees; it swallowed up houses ; it obliterated hills. Standing on the shore, the presence of a boat was only known by the splash of the oars. Plodding along the Queen's highway, or stumbling over the deep ruts in a bye-road, the approach of a 8o Pot Pourri. cart, or of one of the gigs of the day, or of a man or boy on horse-back, was not to be detected save by the rattle of the wheels, and the beat of the horses' feet. Such moving figures, looming gigantic in the magnifying medium, came in sight, and vanished with the astonishing celerity of a dissolving view. The commonest objects borrowed a weird aspect from an easterly harr. Dutch courage was wanted to face the " Hollander," for it froze the marrow in your bones, caused your breath to labour, hung your garments with drops of moisture, as of the heaviest night-dews. But it met you straight in the face, and was even puritanically fair and clean. Who, that has ever encountered the murky abominations of a London fog, w^ith the solid vileness of its pea-soup atmosphere, and its effect as of jaundice on every face exposed to it, would not choose An Easterly Harr. 8i a thousand times, in preference, the sharpest bite of an easterly harr. Then, as a rule, the reign of the foe did not last long — it went as unexpectedly as it came. It was gone before you knew where you were or it was. The winding-sheet, wrapping all creation in its folds, was transformed in the twinkling of an eye to a nun's veil, modest and demure. In another moment it too was changed. The sun's rays flashed forth and lit it up with silver radiance. It was no longer a sober vestal's veil, it was the veil of a blushing bride, ready to be flung back that she might receive the kiss of her eager bridegroom. For it is true that — " Old earth is fair, and fruitful and young, And her bridal-day will come ere long." ^o^uUv T^CU^ The Poppy Blows TH E careful farmer ploughs and hoes ; The weeds he slays with ceaseless pains, And every idle flower that grows. Broadcast he sows his chosen grains ; His harvests whiten o'er the plains, S^i/l in his wheat the poppy bloivs. Forth to the world the prophet goes ; Of wrath and sin and grief he plains, To careless hearts denouncing woes : He damns the worldling and his shows. A rich reward for him remains ; Yet in his wheat the poppy blows. The Poppy Blows. 83 So He the human heart that sows, Untiring-, with His golden grains, Truth, Virtue, Love, with ceaseless pains, So vainly, often, — well He knows! — How patient that Great Heart remains, Though in His wheat the poppy blows ! "The Castled Rhine" " Spake full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the Castled Rhine." — Longfellow. WE are on the Rhine — the beautiful Rhine at last ! All the freshness of early summer is on the vine-clad hills and waving forests. The cuckoo still rings his queer note out from some ravine or leafy glade. If the Rhine country can ever look less than lovely, it is surely not in June! And we two islanders, who, free from desk and drudgery, stand to-day under an awning on board the good DampfscJiiff " Schiller," as it speeds up the shining river, are naturally in the very best of humours for appreciating it all, since this is the crowning holiday we have been looking forward to for years. What does it matter to us that everybody else seems to have "done" the Rhine? — that Brown, Jones, and Robinson, with their respective spouses and families, declare it to be hackneyed and over- rated ? " A nice enough run, )ou know ! Pleasant scenery, and no end of old castles ; all that sort of thing, certainly, but not a bit fresher than the Clyde ! " Well, perhaps it isn't, but it may be worth seeing for all that, surely ; so let them say any disagreeable things that occur to them, by all means ! IVe have no^ seen the Rhine ! ''The Castled Rhine." 85 I have called it a holiday, but it is a holiday with certain limitations. For what means that pile of books my comrade lugs along with him at every turn, as if his personal safety depends on the same ? They mean for me a considerable amount of work, — steady, absorbing, persevering work ! For my friend takes out his sketch-book, calmly remarking that it will take all his valuable time to catch an outline here and there, and so it will be as well if I take Baedekker in hand, and also look up the maps as we go along, if I don't mind ! Of course I have to say that "I don't mind," and I bend cheerfully to my task. But there is not only Baedekker, but a large selection of minor guide-books that have to be compared therewith, and a set of huge, unfolding maps that persist in fluttering wildly in the breeze, whenever you look them up, in the most exasperating manner. Before the first hour is over, what a flood of ancient history I have had to wade through ! From the days of Julius Caesar downwards, there is not a moment of repose for the earnest and enquir- ing tourist. He must face the iron legions and the conquer- ing eagles, crusading armies and marauding bands. No wonder if he turn sometimes with a sigh of relief to the bit of love-story, legend, or fairy-lore, Baedekker inserts as a sort of padding here and there. The student sadly needs some such refreshment. He finds something life-like and interest- ing in the two brother-knights who so provokingly fall in love with the very same lady ! She is a lady, however, whose beauty and fascinations are sufficient to account for any number of knights falling in love with her at the same time. How vivid, too, is the picture of the rash female who per- 86 Pot Pourrl. sists in rushing- off to a convent — of the very strictest kind, of course, from which she can never again emerge — on hear- ing some maHcious on dit from Syria of her absent lover's faithlessness or death. No warrior is so safe to turn up again as that warrior. Don't we feel the most comfortable assurance that before we turn the page again Roland will be standing before us on the very ledge of the rock where his father's castle still stands ? And don't we know for certain that, however much appearances may have been against him, the languishing looks of Syrian belles have had no power over him, his heart having been with his adored Hildegunde all the time ? Here, however, hope and comfort end. We know only too well that it is "all up" with Hildegunde. The lady abbess will never let her out of her clutches in this world. All that remains for her Roland is to stand starinof down from that beetlino- cliff overhanorino- the convent — where, however, he has the prudence to build a neat stone edifice to shelter him in cold weather — until one mournful day the tolling of the convent bell shall announce to him that his beloved Hildecrunde is no more. How he knows that it is Hildegunde, and not one of the ordinary sisters, is a question that occurs to me as I read, but to which Baedekker gives no response. Perhaps he doesn't know himself! It is in this species of study that much of my time has been spent this morning, and pleasant as it sounds, I don't know that I have worked harder among books, histor)', and dates in particular since my school-days. Rut to proceed. It is said that there were originally sixty-six castles on " THE CASTLED RHINE. "The Castled Rhine." 89 the Rhine, and of the residue we have already passed a goodly number, still perched jauntily enough upon their airy crags for all that time and warfare have done to destroy them. And we have gazed on the " Seven Mountains," a grand unfolding panorama, a blending of the lovely and the sublime, with the haunted " Drachenfels" as its crowning glory. Also we have seen Bonn — the old university town and the pleasant modern residence, and dozens of little villages dotting the green shores with mountains, rising so abruptly at their backs that one wonders they don't get toppled over into the water by these protecting giants. Each of these minor Dorfejt sends out its wooden jetty, or its tiny shallop with a flag flying from the stern, to meet the passing steamers. Ours is one of the slow boats, and we stop at every such call ; others go right on, only stopping when Coblentz is reached, then again at Bingen and May- ence, or such important places. But here is Coblentz, where we shall stay over night. The blue Moselle joins the Rhine's brown waters here. Truth to tell, the latter liquid is not merely brown, but decidedly " drumly." Yonder is the giant rock of Ehren- breitstein, with its well-kept fortress — a second Gibraltar — and also recalline Edinburgh Castle to the faithful denizen of "Auld Reekie." It is quite a fashionable, busy tourist re- sort now-a-days, this Coblentz — full of big hotels and noisy with touters. But there is the queer old church of St Castor, and a fine fountain, and the new parade along the river bank, to take up one's attention while we linger here. Besides, a good deal of pleasant boating may be done on the Moselle as well as on the Rhine itself. 90 Pot Pourri. Another bright summer morning has just dawned upon us, and here we are breakfasting on the deck of the " Bismarck " — it seems that all the steamers are called after eminent Germans — puffing from Coblentz, and rapidly getting to a much more picturesque bit of the river than any we have yet seen. There are sterner hills and more rugged rocks, one of which, with a foaming whirlpool at its feet, is the far-famed Lorlei-berg itself. Alas ! the fatal syren who sang there so sweetly to infatuated boatmen has now departed for ever. And no wonder! The East Rhenish Prussia railway has bored a tunnel right through the base of her royal seat, and the shrill shriek of its engines must have proved too much for such a musical ear as hers ! Then yonder are the " Seven Sisters " just popping up their dark heads above water — seven huge blocks of stone, said to be the mortal remains of as many fair maidens who, having offended the river god by refusing various eligible young men — favourites of his, it is to be presumed — were thereupon turned into stone — a severe comment on the petrified condi- tion of their hearts previously ! Stalwart damsels indeed they appear to have been, and the gap thus created in the family circle must have been no slight one. But turning from these long past troubles we find ourselves looking v.'ith fresh interest on the Pfalz Castle, rearing its white walls from a low rock in mid-stream, then the many towers of Obcr-Wezel and the " Golden City " of Bacharach, so called from a supposed resemblance to Jerusalem. There stands the beautiful ruin of St Werner's Church, named after a boy martyr whose body was miraculously floated up the river to this spot. " The Castled Rhine." 91 Another little round fortress rises now from a rocky bed in the river. It is the celebrated " Mause Thurm," or Mouse- tower, where a certain unamiable old bishop was devoured by mice after having" refused corn to his starving" people, and retired to this wave-guarded castle to enjoy himself in peace. " Amen," says the devout tourist, " so perish all such grasping souls!" And here is Bingen — that "calm Bingen on the Rhine," beloved of all amateur readers and reciters, rather a busy little place it seems to us ; and before long we are in Mayence or Maintz, where our pilgrimage up the river must end. We have been passing through wonderful ranges of vine-fields lately, clothing the hills on each side with their trim green rows and terraces, the Rheingau and Johannisberg being the largest and most famous. And here at Mayence we find a sort of emporium ready to receive the fine vintage of all these, and to disperse it through the world, for it is said there are more than six hundred wine merchants in that tiny city alone ! We have just time to run through Mayence and glance at its great cathedral, rich with golden shrines and massive sculptures, before returning to our quiet little retreat down the river, w^hich we had fallen in love w^th simultaneously, and at once selected for our resting place, — St Goar. Does anyone want to know of a sweet, quiet village on the Rhine, where he may fare well and cheaply, and enjoy the loveliest scenery, and be w^ithin ten minutes' walk of the very finest and largest of the sixty-six ruined castles ? By all means let him go to St Goar. It has the queerest little streets, and the quaintest old Kirciie, and the sweetest nook of a /'>/>«'//(?/ imaginable— a very garden of roses which might 92 Pot Pourri. half disarm the king of terrors, where the gardener offers you a bunch of his finest Marechal Niel, and points to you the grave of some soHtary Enghshman, as if he divined at once what must interest you most. The old saint who gave his name to the place in the days gone by, is stated to have hung his cloak on a sunbeam — whether from any deficiency of pegs in his hermitage or not is left unchronicled — but one can fancy that something of that gentle power of his that prevailed even on the flickering sunbeams to wait upon him still lingers about the place of his dwelling, so attractive did St Goar appear to our eyes. And now we are saying good-bye, a long good-bye, to our queen of rivers. Looking regretfully on the brown waters at this quiet evening hour as we linger on its banks, we think of all the old stories and legends they have told us, and once again as the waves throb and wrestle among the reedy banks, we seem to hear the plash of long- forgotten oars. Is it the royal barge of Charlemagne coming slowly up the stream with floating banners and martial music ? or is it Queen Frastrada, in her coffin of glass, being silently drifted down towards Aix ? or is it the saintly Ursula and her many maidens ? And, yonder on the shore just behind us, may not that be the hoofs of Roland's palfrey bringing him back from the Holy Land once more ? The Rhine has all these visitants, and countless others for every listening ear, from early morning until dewy eve ; for she is a haunted river, and keeps her long train of olden-time spectres as royally as any olden-time castle with bolts and bars and rattling chains can do ! One recalls readily by her banks Alexander Smith's fine '' The Castled Rhine." 93 poem about the Tweed at Peebles, making- one slight altera- tion to suit the name : " Who knows? but of this I am certain, That but for the ballads and wails That make passionate dead things, — stocks and stones, Make piteous hills and dales ; The Rliine were as poor as the Amazon, That for all the years it has rolled, Can tell but how fair was the morning red, How sweet the evening gold ! " //Jdi^a. K /'^oj^du. ■^ USIC, on thy wide i)lumes thou bear'st me forth , . Into the Infinite I My spirit spurns Her mortal prison-house, and wildly yearns Towards the empyrean of her birth : The starry spaces whence in godlike mirth The Sons of Morning 'Jubilate ' sang, While from the void abyss Creation sprang. So this new heaven and diviner earth, Sprung from thy teeming depths, majestic Power ! I too would sing ! For on thy thunder-tide Upborne, in rapture of ecstatic pain From human weakness washed and jiurified, 1 feel a god — with godhood's boundless dower ! . . . The music dies — and I am dust again. < •^^/^^' Bazaars THEIR OBJECT. THE object of bazaars is threefold : I. To give persons of moderate income an oppor- tunity of furnishing economically. 2. For the encouragement of Art. At bazaars everything is hand-painted, from cigars to coal-scuttles. 3. To please the men. woman's true mission. Most of us must at some time have asked our friends' wives how they could ever have married such men. The reason is that they wanted to marry and settle down to bazaar work. It does not so much matter whom a woman marries, the oreat thine is to ijet into a o-ood bazaar connection. If women sat in Parliament matters would be quite different. They would buy out the Irish landlords with a bazaar. The Emin Pasha Relief Committee (says a London corre- spondent) now regret bitterly that they sent no lady explorers with the Stanley Expedition. It is generally admitted at the clubs that had a lady been left with the Rear Guard she would have inaugurated a bazaar, sold hand-painted rice and tapioca to the natives for fowls, and diddled Tippu Tib out of all his vast possessions. 96 Pot Pourrl. PREPARING FOR THE BAZAAR. Among the proudest moments in a man's life is when he exclaims to his wife, " What ! another bazaar ? " He now hurries home every evening from the office, con- fident that something more has been hand-painted since morning. It may be a table, or vases, or one dozen tobacco pouches, or two fire-screens. The articles are hand-painted in his private den, because it would be a pity to disarrange the other rooms. He does not object in the least to having to smoke on the door-step. If he is not doing anything particular would he mind hold- ing up this rocking-chair while she hand-paints it ? There are twelve young ladies coming to-morrow to hand- paint twelve mantelpiece borders. He will have to see them home. She writes twenty letters every day to ladies whose ad- dresses she finds in the directory, inviting them to co-operate. This makes many homes happy. She asks literary characters to write a little thing for the bazaar, because, though she does not know them personally, she is sure they are over-working themselves, and change of work (she has heard) is the best kind of relaxation. They consent with gratitude. During the three days prior to the bazaar her husband and his friends are allowed to carry the hand-painted articles (which are nearly dry) to cabs. They are also permitted to help in the decking of the stalls. This is great fun. B azaars. 97 THE FIRST DAY OF THE BAZAAR. It never rains on the first day. The gentleman who opens the bazaar is a prodigious success. He never says that they could have got some one of more eminence than he to discharge these onerous duties, and then waits for cries of " No, no." He always puts things in a way they have never been put before, and when he declares the bazaar open, he never slips away by a side door. There is no rivalry at the different stalls, for all are working for the cause (see Prospectus). The articles are sold at great bargains. Nothing is to be raffled, as the committee disapprove of raffling. Now is your chance for a hand-painted writing desk. Men enter briskly, as if eager to begin buying at once. There is no hanging back at the doors nor buttoning of coats. The ladies who serve are anxious that you should buy nothing except what you really want. Are you dying for a hand-painted soup tureen ? THE SECOND DAY. There is still the same desire to let you decide for yourself what you are to buy. Perhaps you have only dropped in to look round ? You are welcome. None of the articles have been reduced in price, because somehow they did not sell yesterday. Not one of the ladies serving has wakened with a head- G 98 Pot Pourri. ache and sent an excuse for her non-appearance. All are as enthusiastic as ever. Among the men buying are a great number who were here yesterday, and have come back because they enjoyed themselves so much. No man says that unfortunately he left his purse in his other coat, nor that he is merely fixing to-day on what he would like to have that he may come back and buy it to-morrow. The hand-painting comes off nothing while in your pocket. THE LAST DAY. Ladies do not now arrive in great numbers, because on the last day things are sold for a mere song. No contributors are angry because their hand-painted ink bottles have not sold. No man is ordered to buy his wife's contributions because they are still on sale. No one goes home with dolls in hand-painted pinafores, and sits on them in the hansom. There is no desperate raffling of screens at twenty guineas on the last day. The committee are still as polite as ever. The stallholders are quite delighted with the way every- thing has been managed ; and can you tell them of any minister who wants a new church, hand-painted or plain .-* 3. h^. c»_A>*t_Aje_ Madrigal HARK ! the mcrr)- wedding bell Peals its changing notes of gladness, Giving holiday to sadness, Sweet and low its accents swell. Loud it tells of hearts united : Low it breathes of love requited. Where the mortal who says no, When sly Cupid bends his bow ? Thus it comes to one and all, Be they great or be they small. Love will chain them in his thrall. Sing fal ! lal ! lal ! Fools who rail at Hymen's bliss Cease your jealous idle scorning ! Taste the dew of love's fresh morning, Heave soft sigh and steal sweet kiss. Swift the flower of life is blowing, Ripening fast for passions glowing ; Cull its blossom while you may, Death to-morrow ! Love to-day. And 'twill come to you as all, Be they great or be they small. Love will chain you in his thrall. Sing fal ! lal ! lal ! 10^1^-^LMa^^ The End of It I GAVE my heart to a woman — I eave it her branch and root. She bruised, she wrung, she tortured, She cast it under foot. Under her feet she cast it, She trampled it where it fell, She broke it all to pieces, And each was a clot of hell. There in the rain and the sunshine, They lay and smouldered long ; And each, when again she viewed them, Had turned to a living song. VA/. r ^<^M-Jx^ TLKNBULL AND SI'EAKS PRINTERS EDINBURGH u\ mt^ o VINaOJTlVO dC 3fl o AUsaaMNfi 3H1 MS o io A»vaan 3Hi ° / ' SANTA BARBARA o THE 118RARY Of "^^ C&f^ THE UNIVERSITY \^ 1C Si J fe o OF CAIIFORNIA vavasivB vinvs V ^ 3^^ o viNaOiiiv:> JO JO .i>av8aii 3Hi A,llSa3AlNn 3H1 o OF CAHfOPNu 1^ THE UNIVERSITY THB liaf.ARY OF THE LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA Santa Barbara o V!IV9av9 VINVS o l~;- V t B THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW. ./ Of C JO /■iva'iin 3H1 '^ 3f^|j J lSfBj J i |c^ SANTA BASOAKA o WINIiOJIlVD JO o \ SITY o -^ lo ■i-JS :i^ ^ S 12 3t o AiisaaAit / juu incur;. ..M.iof./^, i_i[iPA,-, 111"..;^..';' L'-'PAny. ABILITY / AUlA dmKOmi 3 1205 02126 5770 AA 001252 987 X / / /iNaOiiivJ* 3O " / - Allsaj/viN v_ _