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T H E r A I{ I' I-: U K E.
I'Hi:
PARTERRE;
OR,
U X I \' !•: K S A L S T O R \ - V E E E E K
A tor.I.ECTION' OF
OHUilNAL TALES, ROMANCES,
II I STOl'v I (A L i: R LA rioNS.
ll.I.USIHAI r.l) KV XU>tt:R()US ENGRAVINGS BY MK. S. WILLIAMS, Sa
1 X !• OUR V {) L U M !■: S.
vor.. I.
LO N DO N':
l'HINTi:i) I'flK THOMAS TlXifi AM) SON, 7.'; c:il KA J'SIDK ,
I i:(;<i AM) I (>. DUlil.lN ;
It. (illllKlN A N l» CO. Ul. A8UUW;
AI.80, J. AND H. A. T»:0<i, SYDNKY ANU IIUbAKT TOWN.
LONDON :
BAr.XK, PRINTEn, fiRACECnifRCQ STRKFT.
won
vA
U O N T E N T S.
TALES, ROMANCES, AND NARRATIVES.
Tlie Scrivener . . Page 1
Gregory Hiiikins, surnamed tlie
Unlucky ....!>, 21
Karl \Vynck ; a Lesrend of Amster-
dam ......
The Hear Hunt ....
The Phantom Skirniisli .
The Broken Miniature .
An Episode of the Revolution of
.Inly, 1S;{0 ....
.\ Talc for the Discontented .
Dick Doleful; a sketch from nature
Mairuanimity ....
The Dutch Lovers
The Death of the ChevHlier D'.Assas
.•\ Mi<lni^lit Invitation
The Heroine of the Tyrol
My First Duel . .
Poppins.' the (Question
A Page from a Hluc-Iacket's Log-
Book
Love and Gold ....
The Regicide ....
The Innkeeper of Treves and his
Wife
The .Sorrows of .Saunders Skelp
The Night Coach ....
A Dav by the Danube
Kvil May. Day
The Painter's Revelation
The Witch; an .\inerican Legend
'i'lie Nuptials of Count Rizzari
17
28
42
4;»
52
o5
57
74
81
85
90
97
105
11.?
IKi
. 118
. 123
. 12(i
129, 145
. I.i4
Pirate
a sketch
; a tale
of Love
The
The Rivals,
Marriage ....
W'olmar; a (lerman Legend .
Benefactors ....
I'xtract from the •loiirnal of
Odd relloM-
Thif Runaway Ni-gro
Loves of an .\ll<jrney
Astrolidi ; or, the Soothsayer
Bagdad ....
'I'he Ani^lo-SpaniKh Bride
Mr. If,, or Bfware of a Bad Nauu
i;{5
ol
1 5(i
Ifil
171
17.<
177
IHO
1H5
19;i
201
Death in the Tower
A Diligence Adventure
The Omnibus
The Fight of Hell-Kettle
MANORIAL ARCHIVES .
I. The Lady of ^Volf hamscote
II. The Scourged Page
III. The Solitary Grange .
Adventure in Italy
S])ecimen for a New Novel
The Indian Chief and his Dog
The Student of Heidelberg .
La Valliere ....
A Modern Brutus .
Cardinal Petralia .
A Brother's Miseries
Early Recollections
Eriag of Havti
POETRY.
The Grave of the Poetess
Dunbar Castle; by H. Guilford
Tarnaway Castle; by the same
Stanzas
To a Withered Flower
The May-flower
To Marg/iret
The Tower of the Plague
A Poet's Musings
The Spirit of Napoleon al the
of his .Son
.lericho Beleaguered
Stanzas; by 11. Guilford
The Miniature
Autumn I'lowers .
'i'he (Jrouse-Shooter's Call
On a coloured Tile; by H.
ford . . . '.
.Stanzas; by Horace (Juilfonl
W'(.uian; by R. Pollok .
'i'he Pype-Hall ^ ew Trees;
Horace (iuilford
Remonstrunce with the .Snai
Bier
(iuil-
PAGE
. 209
. 225
. 228
. 252
. 257
. 259
. 289
. 3;<7
. 280
. 281
. 299
. 302
. 322
. 3.33
. 3(i9
. 380
. 385
. 401
.)
(J
19
31
3fi
52
5(1
(i9
84
100
115
1.34
153
154
l(i8
178
1!»8
201
219
.384
GGii550
VI
CONTENTS.
ESSAYS, SKETCHES, LETTERS, &C.
Sydney and the Mauritius — Paul
and Virginia . . . Page. 5
Letters from the Lakes . 7, 22, 40
Privy Purse Expenses, temp. Hen.
viij.
Eccentricities of the Author of
"Br. Syntax" ....
Enraged Contrihutor
The Cries of London
Chess ......
American Society — Sketches from
the Springs ....
Habits of Sailors ....
On the Art of Dressing the Human
Body
Coleridge .....
Dalecarlian Marriage
Pirates of the Middle Ages
Memorabilia ; by a Descendant of
Oliver Cromwell — Parr, Cole-
ridge, &c. ....
Beauty and Association
Steam and its Prospects
Kentuckian's Account of a Panther
Fight
Appreciation of Shakspeare .
A Word in Favour of Novels
The Police of Vienna
Tradesmen's Tokens,
Century
First Impressions of
an American; No. I
The Indians . . . . ^
Martin Werner . . .
Insects of a Day
A Tra\'cller'o Note upon Tourville
of the 1 7 th
Europe, by
14
20
47
6;i
(J7
70
79
101
107
109
110
143
155
168
175
179
222
247
248
249
285
367
399
407
MISCELLANIES.
Contrivance for effecting the Escape
of Napoleon
Rebellion of females at Madagascar
The God of Thieves
Almanack-maker at Gudduck
A Giant ....
Fishing not a cruel Sport
Otto of Roses
Ginger Vill ....
Consequence of Popularity
Otway's Venice Preserved
Fashion ....
Literary Shoemaker
Pedigree of our Bishops
Blow at Freemasonry
Restitution ....
Echoes ....
15
15
16
16
16
31
31
32
32
32
32
32
47
48
48
48
PAGi;
Priests outwitted . . . .48
Diet of Byron and Shelley . . 48
Gift of tlie Gab . . " . .48
A Query 48
Unconscious Irony . . .64
Hints to Authors . . . .64
Origin of the word Bankrupt . 64
Fashionable Pair . . . .64
Sentiment — Exportation of Women 80
Moral Fortitude . . . .96
Moses outwitted . . . .111
Kentuckian in Company . . 112
Theban Monument . . .112
Rome 112
Astley and Ducrow . . . 144
Professional Envy . . .144
Literary Dispatch . . .144
Single Combat at Waterloo . . 144
Good Advice . . . .144
Apolog)' for the Modern Greeks . 160
Periodical Literature . . . 160
Woman 160
Marriage KiO
Campbell . . . . . 17()
Female Ingenuity .... 176
Mutton and no Mutton . .176
Interesting Question . . . 17(>
Orthography . . . . . 17()
American Acuteness . . .176
Romance of Real Life . .176
Rather hard . . . .192
Variation of the Roman Language 192
Specimen of the Sublime . . 192
Ancestry . . . . .192
Painter's Miseries . . .192
Ingenious Device . . .192
Specimen of the Absurd . . 208
Not Awake 219
Sunday Polish — Asking Favours —
A Chance for Life — Coleridge . 224
Anecdote of Dr. Johnson — Old
Quotations .... 232
Extravagant Expenditure . . 232
Curious mode of Catching Crow s —
Changes of the Mind . . . 256
The Cart before the Horse . . 272
Difficulty of Compression . . 288
Impudence — Hindu Legend . . 298
The Wise Women of Mungret . 304
Truth 314
Imitation ..... 317
Avarice 320
Precocity — Cheerfulness . . 336
Accuracy ..... 383
The Duke for a Day . . . 384
A Commandment — Infallibility . 384
Influence of Books . . . 40.)
Invasion averted by Stratagem . 408
Grace-ful ..... 408
( ONTr.NTS.
Vll
msroKICAI. SKETCHES.
No. 1. The Surprisi- nt' the Castle
ol' (iiiisnes Page 65
IIISTOKIC GLEANINGS.
Kdwaril \'I. — Mary — Elizabeth
The Motk Kiii^j
THE NATUR.\LIST.
Wliite-lieailid Sea Eagle
Sensible llor.se
Eels Travelling over Land
271)
200
200
200
NOTES OF A READER.
Extraordinary .Abstinence — Ghosts
— Krim Katli Glierri . . 11)8
Spanisli Politeness — Filial Affection
of the Moors .... 198
Weddings in Quito . 251
Counterpart of Napoleon . 255
Solitary Confinement . . 278
.Vrab Tournaments . 280
The Effects of Heat .287
Spani.sh E.xecution . 287
Energetic .Mode of Keasoiiing . 288
St. Vitus' Dance .... ;518
Indian War ...... ;U8
Atmospheric Phenomena .31!*
Egyptian .Antitiiiities
Geological Hypothesis
Incident at Sea
The Whale Fishery
Knowledge of the .\rts among the
.•\ncient Egyptians
Summary Justice .
English almost Mahometans
Dangerous Bathing
Rhodes
•AGK
;{1!»
;ui.T
36fi
37!)
383
383
408
NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.
The Beauties of Beaumont and
Fletcher . . . . .
The Angler in Wales
Ayesha, or the Maid of Kars
Memoirs of John Marston Hall
The Snuff-Box ....
Traits and Traditions of Portugal .
A!)botsford and Newstead Abbey .
Beale on the Sperm Whale .
Bruce, the Traveller
Journal of Frances Anne Butler
138
183
2l,(i
■2liH
320
331
361
376
389
392
ANECDOTES;
HISTORICAL AND RIOGKAril IC Al..
Anecdote of Dr. .lolinsoii . . 46
Nash, King of Math . . 93
.\ncestress of Franklin . . . 185
E M B E L L I 8 H M E N T S,
1. The Scrivener ....
PAGE
1
2. KarlWynck ....
. 17
.5. The Phantom Skirmish
•
. 33
4. A Tale for the Discontented
. 49
5. Surprise of the Castle of Guisnes
65
(i. Midnight Invitation .
81
7. Page of a Blue-Jacket's Log-book
97
8. The Regicide ....
113
9, 10. Evil May-Day .
12
% 145
11. Wolmar
161
12. The Runaway Negro ...
177
13, 14. The Anglo-Spanish Bride
19.
3, 241
15. Death in the Tower .
209
16. A Diligence Adventure
225
17. Tradesmen's Tokens
248
18, 19. The Lady of Wolf hamscote
257, 273
20, 21, The Scourged Page
289, 305
22. LaVallit;re ....
. 321
2.H, 24. The Solitary Grange ,
337, 353
2.5. Cardinal Petralia
. 369
26. The Sperm Whale Fishery
. 377
27. Early Recollections . . . .
, 385
28. Eriag of Hayti
. JOl
29. Vignette
in
Title,
THE PARTERRE:
A JOURNAL OF FICTION, POETRY, HISTORY, LITERATURE,
AND THE FINE ARTS
THE SCRIVENER.
(For the Parterre.)
The clock of St. Dunstan's had tolled
the hour of six, one evening in the month
of April, ami the fishmongers had begun
to close their stalls, when a young man,
attired in sober and somewhat rustic
costume, landed on the quay at Billings-
gate, from the Gravesend passage-boat.
Without heeding the crowd of idlers
around him, and the throng of porters,
who, doffing their hats, solicited the ho-
nour of carrying the small portmanteau
he held in his hand, the stranger saun-
tered carelessly along Thames-street, to-
wards Tower-hill. As he approached
that spot so long celebrated in our history,
Ins attention was arrested by a crowd of
people who wer'; listening to the dis-
course of a mountebank, who, with pill-
box in hand, was enumerating the almost
countless virtues of his medicines. Hav-
ing mingled in the crowd, the young
man watched with evid(;nt curiosity tlio
stran^'e (,'riinares and contortions of tlie
Hpeaker'H countenance. 'I'ho dress of the
(juack was iintupiated, and had probably
been fashioned in the time of thu fir.tt
(.'harleit. A doublet of tad coloured
P. 5.
cloth, much stained and worn, descended
as low as the hips. Slops, or breeches,
of a capacious size, concealed the shape
of the wearer's thighs, and shewed in
relief his hosp of black silk, upon which
many a careful and timely darn were
visible. At his feet sat a jester, or
jack-pudding, who from time to time
blew a discordant blast upon a cracked
trumpet at the desire of his master,
whose volubility and command of lan-
guage were truly surprising, added to
which was a sharpness of wit and repar-
tee, that plainly told him to be a man of
infinitely superior intellect to most of
those around him.
" Here is a liciuor," said the quack,
exhibiting a small phial, " that shall
cure all pains of the joints in a tew
f(!Conds : take but five drops of this
precious balm in a toss of a(jua vita;, and
it will make any of ye who are ailing
as sound as a roach. Tell me not of
Catholic miracles — whoreson cheats as
tliey bo ! — this goodly luiuor will do more
for ye than all tin; saints in the calen-
dar, ^'our caryo))hylati (coinmunded by
my Lord liacon; may be good, and so
may your rusa nio.s<'liuta, and your nardi
folium; but crueifV nie if '.liis will not
I
THE PARTERRE.
set you right in the turning of a die.
You all know Jonas Sands, the tanner,
of Bermondsej, — the poor soul was
racked in's joints, but one dose of my
precious cordial drove his pains to the
devil ! Here is an unguent for tetters
and pimples ; what say you, fair maiden,
will you not drive away that unsightly
object on your right cheek with a touch
of this salve 1 — the price ? — oh, a shil-
ling ; your quacksalvers would charge
you four for as much hog's-lard. Here
is a powder for the complexion, com-
pounded of simples. I learned this art,
when studying at the college of Parma,
of the illustrious Signor Boccalini.
What say you, gentle mistress in the
scarlet hood 1 Will you not try this
precious packet on your comely skin 1
Trust me, wrinkles fly at its very touch,
and a lovely bloom is suffused over the
whole countenance. Here," exhibiting
another phial, " is an elixir for all scor-
butic humours ; it hath cured the king's
evil in a few days, wdthout inconveni-
ence to the patient."
" Buy it, in God's name, good peo-
ple," said a man in the crowd, who had
hitherto remained unnoticed, "'tis a
thing of price, and we ought to value
it ; the king's evil hath prevailed greatly
of late." These words were said with
an emphatic and significant tone, which
could not be misunderstood, and all eyes
were turned towards him who had ut-
tered them. " Ha ! " cried the quack,
" have we puritans here? do you speak
treason in broad day-light, you shame-
less villian 1 hast no value for thine ears,
Issachar'!" " W^e know each other,
master mountebank," replied the man,
lifting his broad hat so as to expose his
countenance to full view ; " but both
have not a friend at court ! What if you
try the elixir j^ou boast of ; trust me, 't is
a disease which must be rooted out ere
long."
" Do you deal in ambiguities, you
villain?" cried the quack, who was
evidently disconcerted. " Away with
thee, or I will utter that which shall whisk
thee off to the Tower right quickly." —
" You dare not, master mountebank ;
but come, don't chafe it with me, we
were once friends, you know." This
was uttered with such a careless air, that
it vexed the mountebank to the quick.
His countenance grew pale with deadly
rage, and he cried out to two or three
soldiers from the Tower, who were lis-
tening to the squabble with evident
delight, — " Yon villain is Jasper Arkin-
stall, the Papist ; seize him, on your
allegiance ; he is encompassing the death
of the king."
"Stand off!" cried he, who was
thus denounced, to several who pressed
around him ; stand off, I say, and
let me reply to that old cheat, whom I
will ere long pluck by the gills. He
says he will sell you a salve or an elixir
for the king's evil, surpassing all others ;
will it, I ask, be as efficacious as the
famous Doctor Oliver's 1 " This unequi-
vocal allusion to the late Protector,
uttered in such a place and at such a
time, absolutely froze with horror many
of the bystanders, for several persons
had already suffered on that very spot
for less direct offences. Some of them,
nevertheless, drew their swords, and
advanced to seize the person of Arkin-
stall, who, however, proved a tartar ; for
in an instant his cloak was wound round
his left arm, and a rapier of uncommon
length bristled before their faces. Seve-
ral pushed at him at once, and among
the rest, one of the soldiers before-men-
tioned, who, stumbling forward, received
the point of Arkinstall's rapier in his
sword-arm, and instantly dropped his
weapon. The check which this accident
gave to the assailants, allowed their an-
tagonist an opportunity of retreating,
and he fled into a neigbouring house,
the door of which had been left ajar,
pursued by some thirty or forty persons.
But the fugitive was not to be taken ;
he had made his way through the house,
threatening those whom he met with
instant death if they opposed him, and
leaping out of a back window into a
court at the rear of the house, got clear
off.
The scene filled our traveller with
amazement ; he at first supposed Arkin-
stall to be under the influence of liquor ;
but a moment's reflection assured him
that it was a premeditated plan for an-
noying the mountebank, who seemed so
disconcerted by the interruption, that he
at once ceased to " ply his vocation," and
retired from the place. In the mean-
while, the young countryman bent his
steps across Tower-hill, and shortly ar-
rived at Aldgate, when having engaged a
bed at a neighbouring inn, he proceeded
to the house of a scrivener, named Ralph
Battencourt. Here he found the man
of business at his desk, wiapped in a
sort of old dressing-gown, and his head
covered by a worn -out velvet cap, from
under which his long grey hair de-
scended on each side of his sallow and
unprepossessing countenance. His small,
dark, piercing eyes, were almost hidden
THE PARTERRE.
bv his busliv brows and a pair of Lorn
spectacles. Ou the desk lay a piece of
sealing-wax and a large thumb-riug,
both of which had apparently been just
used, a pair of small scales for weigh-
ing gold, and a volume on Convey-
ancing. In the window-seat stood a
pile of books and papers ; and over the
chimney, up which no hospitable smoke
had passed for manj- years, hung an
old musketoon, an irou-haudled broad-
sword, and a rapier in a red leather
sheath, all covered with venerable dust.
"Well, ^Master Latymer," said the
Scrivener, pointing at the same time to
an emptv chair ; " I have closed the bar-
gain at last ; pray seat yourself ; 1 had
much trouble in the matter, I assure
ye."
" It is ever a hard bargain when we
wish to sell," replied Latj-mer ; " how
much have you obtained for the estate ?
Pr'ythee tell me at once ; I sit on thorns
the' while."
" Fifteen hundred pounds, Sir ; fifteen
hundred pounds ! " said the Scrivener,
placing his pen behind his ear, and rub-
bing his bands together with apparent
satisfaction. " O it was an excellent
bargain — an excellent bargain. Sir ! "
" And who may this prodigal be, who
has made up liis mind to give that sum
for an estate wliich cost my poor father,
in worse times, three thousand pounds?"
inquired the young man, in a tone that
shewed he did not partake of the Scri-
vener's enthusiasm. " Curse on the
cuckoldy clown ! would he not give
more 1 "
" Heaven forgive ye, for thus speak-
ing of an honest man ! " ejaculated Alas-
ter Battencourt. " Alas the day ! that
our citizens should be thus flouted. He
is of the Common Council, Sir; a man
of substance, — a mercer ; his name is
Andrew TroUope, and his house is the
sign of the Seven Fleur de Luces, in the
Alinories."
Latymer suppressed the reply which
rose to his lips, and inquired for the
money. The Scrivener informed him
that it would be paid on the morrow,
when the deed of conveyance would be
ready for his signature. It was arranged
that the purchaser should be ready with
the money at twelve o'clock on the fol-
lowing day ; and Latymer was about to
take his leave, when the latch of the
door was suddenly raised, and a gallant
entered with a careless air, and throwing
himself into a chair, surveyed his own
bote and his shoe-ties with evident sa-
tiafactioD. "Art busy, my old deity V
inquired the intruder, casting, at the
same time, a penetrating glance upon
Latymer. " A — no, my lor — your
worship, no ; I am at your — j-our wor-
sliip's commands," said the Scrivener,
stammering, and looking all confusion ;
for the gallant winked, and ej-ed him
significantly. Latymer now took his
leave, but not without observing the
face and lijrure of Battencourt's visitor.
The gallant appeared to be in the prime
of life ; he wore a long periwig of
brown hair, and his gaily trimmed
moustaches were of the same colour,
and turned up at the ends ; his eyes
were of a greyish hue, his complexion
fair, and the expression of his features
would have been feminine, but for a
rakish air which pervaded them. La-
tymer felt persuaded that he had looked
upon that face before. He returned to
his inn, and left iMaster Battencourt
and his visitor together.
In the morning, he resolved to have a
ramble through the city, to which he was
almost a stranger, before the hour appoint-
ed hy the Scrivener should arrive. He
had scarcely left the inn, when he beheld,
with some surprise, advancing towards
him, the man who had so strangely in-
terrupted and bearded the quack on
Tower-hill. His astonishment increased,
when Arkinstall saluted him by his
name, and inquired respecting the health
of his father.
" I have heard that he has been
ailing," said Arkinstall, "and as he
was roughly used in the late wars,
I fear the worst." " He has suffered
much, Sir," replied Lat^'mer ; " but I
wot not that you were acquainted."
" Accjuainted ! we were sworn friends !
Ah, youtli ! when thy father saved me
from death, and snatched me from before
a file of Corbet's musketeers waiting
for the word to fire, be dreamt not tliat
a life of privation and suffering would be
the lot of his friend — his schoolfellow !
I see thee look incredulous, — tut ! the
name that villain ilochester, for 't is he
thou sawest in the guise of a mounte-
bank — the name he used, is only one of
many wfiich I have found it expedient
to assume in these sad days ; — but how of
thy father?" — " He has been dead these
six months," returned Latymer, still sus-
|>icious of his interrogator, whoso thread-
bare garments were ill-roncealed hy the
large cloak he wore, from bi'iieath which
the long rapier before mentioned peeped
out menacingly. What, thought the
j'outh, if this should bo some bully, ready
to denounce me as a plolti r against the
THE PARTERRE.
state. Arkiiistall read what was pass-
ing within him. " Poor boy," said he,
" I blame thee not for thy suspicion in
such days as these. I will not bring
thee into danger by detaining thee in
the street, where every eye is upon us.
But a word in thy ear, ere we part :
mistrust not the tattered jerkin ; thou
hast more to fear in this city from silk
and velvet. Adieu ! we may meet again.
Walter Sibbel would peril life and limb
to serve the son of his friend." He dis-
appeared down a narrow street, and La-
tymer, who had no time to reply to this
caution, regarded his receding figure for
a moment, and then pursued his way.
" 'Tis strange, (thought he,)that this man,
of whom I have heard my poor father
speak in terms of friendship, should be
thus heedlessly hazarding life and pro-
perty by a quarrel with a nobleman so
powerful as Rochester ; and stranger
still, that he should be able to recognise
me, after a lapse of so many years. I
would fain know more, thougli his for-
lorn appearance tells me that he is needy
and desperate, and that any intimacy
with him might bring upon my head
the vengeance of his powerful enemy,
the profligate earl. Property, did I say?
his threadbare doublet leaves no doubt
of his being poor ; and he seems to set
but little value on his life. Misfortune
has, perhaps, scattered his wits to the
winds, for I noted the wild glance of his
light-grey eye."
JN'othing further occurred to inter-
rupt his reflections, and as the ap-
pointed hour arrived, he knocked at
the door of the Scrivener. Battencourt
was not alone ; he was engaged in
earnest conversation with a short, burly
personage, whom he at once introduced
to Latymer as JMaster Trollope, of the
Minories, and the deed of conveyance
was placed in his hands for approval.
He had scarcely read a dozen words,
when a loud knocking was heard at the
door ; and upon its being opened by Master
Battencourt'sboy, Walter Sibbel sudden-
ly entered the room. His eye glanced
fiercely on Trollope. " Ha ! " cried he,
" what ! the cuckold mercer joined in
the conspiracy to cheat a friendless youth
of his inheritance ! Art thou giving the
earl thy aid, in reward for bis having
deprived thee of an unworthy mate 1
William Latymer, I have arrived in
time to save thee. Sign nothing which
this hoary villain may tender thee. Bat-
tencourt, thy treachery is well known
to me. Thy grey hairs alone protect
thy recreant carcass. As for thee (ad-
dressing himself again to Trollope) my
sword would be dishonoured by con-
tact with thy vile body : begone, base
pander to the most abandoned of men,
lest I forget myself and do thee harm.
William Latymer, you must hasten
hence, and hie to the King, who can
alone protect thee — he cannot, abandoned
as he is, forget thy father's merits : the
Earl is in disgrace ; but if you take not
this step, you are lost."
" I am indeed lost," said Latymer,
" but it is in amazement ; — what am I to
learn from this?" "That this hoary
cheat has conspired with the noble Earl
of Rochester, aided by this trembling
slave — (pointing to Trollope, who stood
quivering with fear and rage) to rob
thee of the estate thou wouldst foolishh'
sell."
Here the Scrivener broke forth in a
shrill cracked voice, which age and wrath
had rendered strangelj^ discordant : " God
a-mercy," cried he, " what times we live
in, when every mad jackanape beards
us under our own roofs ! Get out of
my house, sirrah, or we shall find you a
lodging in the Compter. — Here, Will !
run and fetch a constable." " Summon
thy master, the devil, from his burning
throne ; he will hear thee sooner," cried
Sibbel fiercely. " The boy has done his
work bravely, and discovered the plot to
his real master."
" The accursed urchin ! " ejaculated
Battencourt. " I have been nursing an
adder, then : — where is this imp of Sa-
tan 1." " Beyond thy power, and in safe-
ty," rejoined Sibbel ; " but come. Master
Latymer, I must send you on your
errand, and let you further into the
mysteries of this plot ; " then taking
Latymer by the arm, he led him away,
casting, as he passed out, a threatening
look upon Trollope, who evinced an in-
clination to follow them. Upon gaining
the street, Sibbel hastily described the
plan which had been contrived by the
Scrivener to obtain tlie title-deeds from
his unsuspecting client. It had been
arranged, that Trollope should have the
documents sent to his home, which
would aSbrd him an opportunity of
absconding with them, while a ruflSan,
hired for the purpose, was to denounce
Latymer as a plotter against the state,
and get him lodged in Newgate ; the
Earl of Rochester was then to inter-
cede for him, and procure a commuta-
tion of his sentence to banishment to
the plantations. No time was to be
lost. Latymer flew to the court, and
laid the whole before the king; while
THE PARTERRE.
Sibbel hasteiit'd to take measures tor his
owa sat'etVi well aware that the Earl
would hesitate no longer to destroy
him. •
As the evening advanced, the bustle
on the river decreased, while the hum
of voices and the various sounds of
labour were hushed into a calm, when
Walter Sibbel iiuickly descended tlie
stairs at St. Catharine's, and jumping
into a wherrv, desired the waterman to
row across to Dock Head. The boat
had scarcely reached the middle of the
stream, when three figures were seen de-
scendin;? the stairs. They immediately
entered a wherry, and rowed after that
which bore Sibbel, calling loudl3' on the
waterman to lay-to, as he was bearing
one impeached of high crimes against
the government. The boatman seemed
inclined to obey this summons, but the
threatening aspect of Sibbel plainly told
that he dared not, while the two pistols
in his girdle, which his cloak, now laid
aside, no longer concealed, indicated that
any attempt to capture him would be
dangerous. Sibbel gained the shore, and
throwing the waterman a groat, hurried to
a wretched hovel in the neighbourhood.
Lilting the latch and dashing open the
door, the fugitive cut short the inquiries
of the old woman who acted in the capa-
city of his housekeeper, and throwing her
his purse which contained but a few pieces
of silver, forced her gently out of the
house and closed the door, at which his
pursuers were the next moment thun-
dering for admittance. One of them
was a constable, the others were soldiers,
and all were armed with swords and
pistols. Their loud knocking at the
door alarmed the neighbourhood, and
Drought many persoos to the spot.
They now attempted to gain admit-
tance by the small latticed window, but
this was strongly guarded by iron bars.
A large spar was at length brought, and
the besiegers using it as a battering-
ram, dashed the door into shivers ; then
rushing in sword in hand, encountered
the object of their pursuit, who was
well prepared for them. The constable
was instantly shot dead by Sibbel, who
kept his pursuers at bay, and gradually
retreated up the small staircase at the
end of the room. He gained the cham-
ber, and a shot was fired which broke his
sword ann. His rapier fell from his
grasp, and he uttered a groan of an-
guish ; another shot was firtMl, ;iiul Sihlx.d
^ta,'^'^red towards a barrel, into which
he Hniip|>ed his remaining |iistol — but it
missed fire, and he fell, exhausted from
loss of blood. " Thus perish the king's
enemies!" said the foremost soldier, star-
ing alternately at the now lifeless body
of Sibbel, and the barrel which was filled
with gunpowder. — " We have had a
narrow escape. Will I "
A. A. A.
THE GRAVE of THE POETESS.
Not there \ Not there !
The dull, damp church-yard earth should never
d'lrken
The crowned ringlets of her golden hair -.
Child of the Laurel ! be thy dreamless slumbers
Far from those charnel-regions of despair !
Make her a grave
By the low murmur of a sylvan fountain.
Where the wood-violets in the foam-drops lave,
And silvery aspen leaves and dewy roses
To the wild music of the breezes wave.
There should be heard,
\V'Tien the red light of summer eves is dying.
The low, sweet warble of some unseen bird.
Hymning the parting sunset, wild and lonely
As the wind-harp by aerial breathings stirr'd.
Fit dirge for thee.
Whose soul was music — beautiful departed !
Like the charm'd spell of some far melody.
Echoing within our souls a shadowy requiem
For happiness and love, no more to be.
But unforgot
Wilt thou be, sweet lanthe > Consecrated
By the heart's truest tears, the lonely spot
Where all that death can claim of thee shall
perish
But the bright spirit — Earth, thou hast it not i
Not, not of thee.
Ask we for ourbelov'd one. Soul-enfranchisrd :
Why should we murmur where thy dust shall be.
The undying has no grave, — ashes and darkness
Are all we give to earth. — Immortal,
Thou art free !
E.S.C.
SYDNEY AND THE MAURITIUS.
PAUL AND VIRGINIA.
As the intercourse between Sydney and
the ^Mauritius is now likely to become
more frequent and regular, the subjoined
details, collected from the most modem
authorities, may possess interest at this
time.
The Isle of France covers a surface
of 4(t(),()()0 acres. The temperature is
healthy, and the heat moderate ; but the
island is subject to hurricanes. The soil
is in general of little de])th, and full o
stones ; but it produces wheat, rice, maize,
sugar, coft'eo, cotton, and spices.
It was originally discovered by tlic
Portuguese, and afterwards occupied by
the Dutch, who gave it the name of
Mauritius (afttT .Maurice of Nassau,
Prince of Orange). The first French
inhabitants emigrated thither, from the
contiguous island of Bourbou, in 17V().
THE PARTERRE.
The late war placed it in the possession
of the English, who, much to the raor-
tificatiou of the French, did not cede it,
with Bourbon, by the treaty of 1814. It
is admitted by both, that in a commercial
point of view, the possession of the one
island is valueless without the other.
The annual production of sugar is, on
an average, 20,000,000 lbs.; of coflse,
600,000 lbs. ; of cotton, 500,000 lbs.
The population, in the year 1812, was as
follows : 17,000 whites, 4000 Creoles,
70,000 black slaves— total 91,000.
For the beauty and grace of the
women, and for the suavity and freedom
which reign in social intercourse, this
island is highly celebrated.
But it awakens peculiar interest, as
identified with tlie charming romance of
Paul and Virginia, of wliich it is the
scene. How often are the fictions of the
novelist, however, built upon the frailest
foundation .
" Paul, the hero of the tale" (it is re-
marked by a late reviewer of the voyage
of Captain Freycinet, in the Uranie
corvette, that touched here in 1819),
" is a mere creature of fancy. Madame
de la Tour, the mother of the heroine,
so far from dying in an agony of grief
for the loss of her daughter, survived the
catastrophe long enough to espouse three
husbands in succession ; and the pastor,
who acts so fine a part in the novel, is
transformed into a Chevalier de Bernage,
son of an echevin at Paris, who, after
serving in the Mousquetaires, and killing
an antagonist in a duel, had retired
thither, and taken up his residence at
the Riviere du Rempart, half a league
from the spot where the St. Gerand was
wrecked.
" But to make amends for this diversity
in the characters of real life and those
of romance, the Isle of France is cele-
brated for the residence of others, whose
adventures have partaken of the extrava-
gance of fiction. One of these was the
daughter-in-law of the Czar Peter, who,
escaping from Russia, sought an obscure
retreat at Paris. There she married. a
M. Moldac, sergeant-major of a regiment
which was sent thither ; and in consider-
ation of her rank, her husband is said to
have been promoted to a majority, by
an order of the Court. Another was
Madame de Puja, wife of a French colo-
nel, and recently deceased. She was the
celebrated Anastasia, the mistress of
Count Beniowsky, who, after facilitating
his escape from Kamschatka, accom-
panied him in his wanderings ; and when
he was killed at Madagascar, sought an
asylum in this island, where she termi-
nated her eventful career." C.
DUNBAR CASTLE.
BY HORACE GUILFORD.
Where fragments, rent as by an earthquake's
shock.
Root the green turf, or pile the jagged rock ;
While gulfs below, in sea-wrought fissures
spread.
Mask from the sun their horrid black and red,
— Gaze ! till you question the bewildered sense,
Where the rock ceases, where the walls com-
mence.
Approach, and lo ! the throne that nature gave.
Shews what a mighty lord art lifted o'er the
wave !
Ramparts are there, whose range fatigues the
eye ;
Halls too familiar with the churlish sky ;
Towers on disjointed craigs, where men com-
pare
The graceful roundel with the massy square ;
Grim bridges o'er the invading ocean flung ;
aieways with storm-defaced escutcheons,
hung;
Ribbed windows plundered of their gorgeous
pane ;
And the dim gallery's sea-lulled souterrain ;
And, throned the highest and the broadest built.
The haggard donjon, like the ghost of guilt 1
How stern they stand ! how bright they meet
the morn !
Though gaunt.august, — defying though forlorn.
Like gems, the bastion's crimson colour wears
The lichen's gold and silver seal of years.
And in and out (as daring and as free
As erst black Agnes) winds the German Sea.
Mocking with groans the long-hushed battle
shout,
'Twixt porch and chamber, winds he in and out.
Otice not so chartered, when each billowy road
The adamantine mass in sovereign pride be-
strode.
Then, while below the buried ocean raved.
Above, helms glittered, andgonfanons waved ;
Swept o'er its gulfs, unwet, patrician furs ;
And softly clinked the gold chivalric spurs.
Where'er a craig its threatening head uprear'd,
There the bold turret rose and domineered ;
Where'er deep rifts received the dauntless main.
Leapt the light ark, and made th' invasion vain.
Deep at its base Behemoth lay at rest.
And eagles wished their eyrie on its crest !
Man his bold work with conscious pride sur.
veyed.
And the curbed ocean bellowed — but obeyed.
Yet oft his floods the Barmkin's crest haveknoxvn.
Oft weltering watched the dire Mazmorra's
groan,
Oft round those moonlight towers, his waters
mute
Have lulled themselves with royal Mary's lute:
Or, lashed to frantic rivalry, have drowned
Agnes Corspatrick's wildest slogan sound ;
Pictured her patriot flag in waveless blue,
Or drenched its blazon with tempestuous dew.
And hath, indeed, the downy purple bed
In this damp, windy, grass-grown pile been
spread ?
Have torches glimmered, where the sun as
bright
Blazes, as o'er Dunpender's houseless height?
Or chequered tapestry's legendary pall
Decked with red raiment this bewildered wall >
Think of the warm green forestry that spreads
Where Southron castles rear their gleamy heads ;
THE PARTERRE.
Contrasting with iU pageantry of dyes.
The sun-gilt panes, grey towers, and mure skies.
Then on this ocean fortress lean, and look
Where ntful gales nor flower nor foliage brook !
Age brings no robe to dignify liis walls.
And, like the Roman, veils him as he falls :
Still, though dismantled, still that giant form
Salutes the sun, and challenges the storm.
Bids the bleak «ind his pealing watch-bell be.
The stars his sentinels, his moat the seal
Xote. — lUack .Vccnes was not the only
heroine of Duubar Castle, as the follow-
ing anecdote will shew, taken from the
lips of ^Nlrs. Grant, of Laggan, the de-
lightful writer of " Letters from the
Mountains."
It is said to be the prototype of Re-
becca's turret-scene in Ivanhoe, and is
interestiog, not only in itself, but also
as exhibiting the wonderful power of the
dead magician, in retaining every thing
he once heard ; and seizing in an instant,
and adapting to his purpose, anecdotes
which to others might have seemed com-
mon place ; but which, having passed
through his crucible, came forth with the
stamp of dramatic sublimity and pathos.
One of the loftiest remains of Duubar
Castle (1 think it is the porch, sur-
mounted bra coat of arms and a win-
dow), is easily accessible on one side ;
but on the other, looks do^vn into the
black scarped vaults by which the sea
intrudes into every quarter of this ex-
traordinary fabric, and -which make the
eye reel to measure them. As the day,
though sunnv, Vas excessively windy
when I was there in the autumn of 18'J8,
it was as much as I could do to creep,
on my hands and knees, within a few
yards of this porch, though anxious to
decipher the blazonry of its armorial
shield.
About forty years ago, one of the
bonnie lassies of Dunbar, with her bare
white feet and snooded golden hair, was
busily employed in the bleaching-iield,
whose wide green lies close under the
castle walls that shield it from the sea ; a
young officer of the — Dragoon Guards,
then (luartered at Dunbar, was lounging
about the ruins, — was struck with the
girl's extraordinary brauty, accosted her,
and met witii a civil, but short reply.
Kar from rebuffed, however, he pro-
ceeded to pour into her ear a jargon of
that equivocal stniin, at which a sensible
girl would laugh, aud a modest one
frown. — .\t length, ho offered to salute
her, and waa received with a ringing
box on the ear, wliicli stnfrgered our
amorouH Hon of .MarH, and (It-alinrd him,
for the time, to the loudest roar of the
neighbouring waves.
Half laughing, half indignant, the Ibrh
fled up the steep and broken gpallery,
that leads to the outer gateway of the
castle. Half laughing, and thoroughly
put to his mettle, thither the knight
pursued her ; till, finding she had no
other resource, this maritime Venus
sprang to the armorial porch already
mentioned, aud darting into its doorless
arch (from whose threshold a dizzy de-
scent shot perpendicularly down to the
hideous and roaring gulph below), she
clasped the pillar with one hand, aud
with the other waving back her pursuer,
she vowed that if he advanced another
step, she would dash herself into the
abyss of rock and wave at her feet !
There was too much earnestness in
the tone of her voice, the hue of her
cheek, and the glance of her eye to
permit her Lothario's doubting, one
instant, her resolution of executing what
she threatened. Still she was not satis-
fied that he instantly stinted in his pur-
suit, at her menace ; but extorted from
him the promise of a soldier and man of
honour, that he would permit her, un-
molested, to resume her labours on the
bleaching-green behind the castle.
And to this slight incident are we in-
debted, for that shuddering scene in
Ivanhoe.
For the Norman towers and embat-
tled platforms of giant Torquilstone, we
have the haggard, haughty spectre of
Dunbar ; and, for the turbaned and
high-souled Daughter of Jerusalem, the
barefooted, but equally intrepid Scottish
Maiden.
LETTERS FROM THE LAKES.
No. I.
THE REV. H. WHITE TO MISS .
Uiverston, Sept. i'y, 1795.
" When I left the Spiral Graces, your
idea, my dear , tiiat I should record
at evening the sights and events of the fi-
nished day, appeared reasonable and jirac-
ticable in theory ; and for this purj)Ose I
brought with me a blank paper book for
meniorabilias, which, alas! now lies by
my side, as innocent and unstained us
when it first issued from the paper-mill.
So much for practice ; but, in truth, there
has not occurred a single day, alter whose
full occupation my eyes would sulVcr me
to write a line, but called aloud with
Scotia's ([ueen, ' to bed, to hetl, to lied ;'
and it is iin|i()ssible for me to adduce a
Htronger jtroof of my desire to gratify
you, than by tasking my day-wcakeiied
sight to fill the present fc)lio blank. This
8
THE PARTERRE.
morning — but hold — I will commence
my journey regularly — after this assur-
rance, that every delight I have experi-
enced from sublime nature would have
been doubled to me, had your quick per-
ception and glowing enthusiasm been
the companion of my ' matchless ' way.
" On Sunday evening, 13th, I drank
tea with the Storers, and proceeded
through the gathering dusk, in shaded
road, to spire-crowned Uttoxeter. No
sooner had I alighted, than I perceived
a deficiency of that cash, which, like the
vinegar of Hannibal, was to obtain me
a passage amongst the towering Alps and
Appenines of this country. Not with-
out suspicion of having lost these neces-
sary viaticums, Sam retraced his way
to Lichfield at day-breat, and having
searched in vain the reading-desk and
pulpit at Ridware, at last found tlie
things needful, in my study at Lack-
lane. Not small was the anxiety I suf-
fered during his absence ; and imme-
diately on his return, mounted my steed
and arrived at Cheadle after dark. This
little town hangs upon the side of a vast
hill ; and the window lights, through
the dusk as we approached, appeared
like luminaries hung amidst the clouds.
" Tuesday morning, 15th, we set out
for Belmont ; and when I left the direct
road to wind along the Churnet's edge,
Sam was almost as much struck with the
vast mountains, the gloom of woods de-
scending to their base, and the lucid
prattling waters beneath, as he has since
been amidst our present far superior
rocks, waters, and vales ; indeed, the
exquisite scenery of Belmont did not
less enchant me at the second view, than
on September 30th, 1794, it did at the
first; it is yet almost unrivalled. No
diminution of friendly welcome and at-
tention appeared in my reception at
Belmont. A high-bosomed lively girl
was there, who, after the crate story,
cluug to me like a burr, and nutted with
me up the craggy steeps. Beneath this
hospitable roof I staid till Tliursday
(17th), and then descending to the hill,
that substitutes the residences of man
for grassy verdure, I baited at Leek,
and through a diversified and rich coun-
try proceeded to wide-spread, two-
towered Macclesfield, whose entrance by
the noble manufactory on one side, and
a rapid stream on the other, is striking.
From hence, detained only by the ele-
gant house of Sir George Warren, and
the expanded lake that skirts the road,
I passed, at dusk, tumultuous and noisy
Stockport, and reached Manchester about
eight. Mr. Simmonds was my obliging
conductor through the whole of Friday,
(18th). Only noticing the palace-like
infirmary, with a cheerful but imprisoned
water in front, the venerable schools with
their excellent library, and the numerous
buildings private and public, my spirit
anchored upon the inimitable paintings
of Mr. Hardman — three rooms and the
staircase contain them. Through the
door-way of the largest is seen the
' Mother of Ruth,' preparing her lovely
charge to visit their benefactor ; she is
stooping to bind the bracelets, and is
onh' not alive. The ' Tigers,' of Ru-
bens ; the ' Banditti,' of Mortimer ; the
' Falstaff,' of Fuseli ; the ' Burgomaster,'
of Rembrandt ; the ' Birds,' of Elmer
and Snyders ; the various productions of
Wright, particularly the ' Watch-tower
on i"ire,' with the moon rising opposite,
are all so exquisite, that their equal may
sometimes and separately be seen, but
their superiors never. Clothed in the
grey mantle of early morning, we left
populous, commercial Manchester on
Saturday, 19th ; a range of hills ex-
tended its huge sides for many miles.
About its centre, two men appeared sta-
tionarj' ; upon inquiry, we learnt that
the}' were two pyramidal stones, erected,
in ages long past, to memorize two bro-
thers, who, losing their way in a severe
winter, perished in the frost, and were
discovered the next day ' folded in each
other's arms.' I hope this simple narra-
tive will interest you as much as it did
me. The end of this mountain is called
Rivington Craig. We dined at Chorley,
a little way beyond Pipe Hall, and had
a most pleasant ride (save and except the
dust) to high situated Preston, which
looks down upon the tide-swelling Rib-
ble, crossed by many handsome bridges,
and the interesting village of Walton,
embosoming the handsome seat of Sir
Harry Hoghton. I here made an ac-
quaintance with the worthy vicar of the
principal church, Humphrey Shuttle-
worth ; did the whole duty twice on Sun-
day, and walked with him and his three
daughters in the environs till night.
" Yesterday I dined at Garstang, and
arrived at the brow of the hill which
overlooks Lancaster, by noon. Here
and through this day, descriptive lan-
guage can neither adequately inform
you, or even outline, what I have seen.
To the left, between twenty-one majes-
tic hills, shone in full hlaze the dazzling
ocean, to which the shining and mean-
dering Luna was hastening. Still to
the left, in the wide-spread valley, ap
THE PARTERRE,
peared the noble castle with all its bat-
tlements, and the principal part of the
front now rebuilding ; — the lofty flag-
crowned tower of the church immediately
below it. The mass of the town, with its
shipping sinking into a valley, on the
right, the back-ground formed by our
noble mountains faintly seen in distance.
" It is nothing, that I went last night
to the play, and saw young graceful Sid-
dons — 'his very mother : and now for
this dav, ' for aye to be remembered.'
After crossing, with honest Kendal — the
landlord of this signless house, Lancas-
tria's beautiful bridge, we arrived, after
four miles, where the sands commence :
ocean rolling to the left, and such a
uoble, diversified shore on the riglit as
impoverishes description. The huge
mountain of Ingleborough, the Gibral-
tar of England, is at first the principal
feature ; and the divine Claude, on liis
own Tiber, never introduced more hap-
pily his favourite Soracte. To the first
landing, we passed over sands for nine
miles. In the hollows, fishermen were
collecting their prey. Towards the ter-
mination of these first sands appeared
the guide on horseback, at the side of the
Eaii, so admirably painted by ^Irs. Rad-
cliflfe. At the end of this water we met
the Lancaster coach. After six miles of
land the Ulverston sands commence, and
with them the story of this never-to-be
surpassed ride. To the left, ships sailing
in the main sea — the light-house of Peel
Castle just discernible : in front, the
Eden of this place, Conishead Priory,
standing at the base of an immense hill
curtained with forest. More to the left,
at the foot of high mountains, stone-
built Ulverston, with its bay and ship-
ping and white-tower church; then, a
bare and craggy mountain, at whose
foot the eye enters a bay of inexpressible
richness, with the stupendous alps of
^Vestmoreland and Cumberland in dis-
tant majesty, as sovereigns of the vale.
To the right, the numerous woods of
Holker-hall, with tiie seat of Lord
George Cavendish. Ulverston is lovelily
situated, and I have dined upon just-
caught trout, fire-hot steaks, and deli-
cious apple-pie, serenaded by a hand-
organ ! 1 he aft<.Tnoon has biien spent
in the paradise of Conisliead Priory—
the roaring of a noble bull reverberated
to the opponite Hhore ; and 1 have stolen
a dear little dog, now lying at my side.
Farewell ; God bless you ! I daro not
jiromise to write aifain ; but if I do not,
It will be my misfurtuue, not mv fault.
" 11. WlllTt."
" Not one lake has been ^-et beheld,
though I have seen the mountains that
environ them. To-morrow morning
early, I purpose visiting Furness Abbe^',
the finest ruin in F^ngland, seven miles
distant ; and passing Coniston Lake in
the evening, to the foot of Winander
INIere. We passed an island this morning
caHed Chapel Island, the window of the
monastery only remaining, which is sin-
gularly picturesque, and has been unno-
ticed by all tourists ; it is the property
of the enviable possessor of Conishead
Priory, (Mr. Braddyll), one of the pre-
sent members for Carlisle. At Preston
I saw one of the governesses, who was
told in her prison at Paris that she was
sentenced to be drowned by Robespierre,
but the tyrant died within the time. She
still looks alarmed, and is in sad health."
GREGORY IIIPKINS, ESQ.
SURNAMED THE UNLUCKY.
There is a grave, respectable kind of
nonsense talked by grave, respectable
persons, when the undoing of some dear
friend is the subject, which is sure to
make it out that " it was all his own
fault." And a convenient aphorism it
is, when they think it prudent to leave
to their dear friend to get out of the
difficulty, which, according to their
amiable hypothesis, he has brought on
himself. But I, Gregory Hipkins the
Unlucky, deny the doctrine. I assert,
that in ten cases out of twelve, it is a
man's luck that strands him on the
sands and shallows of his existence. In-
dividuals there are, whom nature, in
her grand scheme, seems to have made
the pegs whereon she hangs the evils
requisite to complete it.
If Theophrastus had obliged us,
amongst the huge budget of character-
istics he has left us, with those of an
unlucky man, they would probably have
run tlius : — The Unlucky man is one
who, hastening at the very last hour to
give pledges of prosecution, meets on
the way some one who detains him with
a long story of a naval action, wiiich has
just reached ti)e Pini'us, till ho is too
late, and lias to pay a thousand draciimas
to liis adversary : — or one, wlio liaving
purcliased a new vestment to appear as
a witness before the dicasts, on coming
out of tiie bath, finds that a tiiief has
walked off witli it : — or one, who turn-
ing into another street to avoid an ill-
favoured actpiaintance, perceives that ho
' haa thrust himself into a cul-do-i>ao.
10
THE PARTERRE.
whilst his creditor is waiting for him at
the entrance.
But let us come to the real adversities
of life. The same Gregory Hipkins
maintains, that there are individuals
who have heen predestined to mishap
from their birth upwards — gifted with
an aptitude to misfortune — a proclivity
to ill — tossed, the mere playthings of
fortune, from one vexation to another.
Let them sail on what tack they please,
they will make no way. The tide that
bears onwards their competitors for
wealth or fame, stagnates the moment
they tempt it — the gale slumbers, and
their idle canvass shakes into tatters.
And a dismal voyage has it been to
Gregory Hipkins the Unlucky. For
ever has the current drifted him upon
the unpropitious shoals and flats that
lurked in his course, and at length left
him in sorrow and seclusion, " the world
forgetting, by the world forgot," unless
a kind friend or tw o, like the philosophi-
cal neighbours of Job that visited his
dunghill to read him moral and econo-
mical lectures upon his misery, comes
now and then to prove to me that I
have brought it all on myself. Admi-
rable judges of the game, when the cards
are down on the table! Has not Gre-
gory Hipkins been invariably doomed to
pla}^ on the losing seat 1 Oracles of re-
trospective wisdom, has not ill-iuck
dogged him from his cradle — hounding
him as the Fury did Orestes 1 The
earliest memorials of his childhood, are
they not of floggings vicariously in-
flicted for offences he was guiltless of —
sums extorted for broken windows on
the mere presumption of being seen near
the locus in quo — pains and penalties
suffered for plundering orchards, on no
better proof than that of having passed
close to the spot, or of an apple found in
his pocket, however fairly purchased in
market overt '
And in maturer life — what a serried
phalanx of misadventures — minor cala-
mities, petty mischances, you will per-
haps tell me — but on that account, good
Sir, not the more tolerable. The greater
ones may call up the fortitude that
breasts the surge, and rides in triumph
over it ; but patience itself will sink un-
der a prolonged struggle with the lesser
but more importunate troubles that make
up their want of power to crush, by their
efficacy to sting and lacerate. Ridicu-
lous it may seem to class them as griev-
ances ; yet in the Manichean conflict
of man's life, it is by means of such
auxiliaries, that the evil principle con-
trives to get the best of it. Repeatedly
have 1 uttered the happiest impromptus,
which some trifling accident of proxi-
mity has stifled — sometimes at their
birth, by the sudden flap of a door, or
the instantaneous j'ell of a vociferous
minstrel in the street — in one instance,
by an old lady, who sneezed so inoppor-
tunely, that the wittiest of bon-mots fell
still-born from my lips. Never shall I
forget — when dining with a party
amongst whom I was particularly anxi-
ous to shine — a certain physician's
making a forcible seizure of the best
thing I ever said, and by mere jockey-
ship passing it off as his own, — a fraud
which the unlucky circumstance of his
sitting next to me secured from detec-
tion. In the meanwhile, I had the
luxury of hearing the applause with
which it was received, though placed to
the doctor's credit, the feelings of a
gentleman forbidding me to put in a
claim to it. At another time, urged to
dine at a public meeting by some chari-
table feeling little in unison with the
state of my pocket, what was my cha-
grin, whilst I was detaching the half-
guinea I had destined for my subscrip-
tion from two guineas which 1 Lad
grasped along with it, to see them, by
reason of a sudden jerk from an awk-
ward booby who sat next to me, all
tumbling into the plate together, to the
great delight of tlie collector, who car-
ried about the unlucky recipient of my
unintentional munificence ! At other
times, if allured by the less laudable
motive of partaking in delicacies not
often in my reach, I paid my guinea at
the Albion, or at some other temple of
good fare — the last fragment of the
choicest delicacy — the last spoonful of
green peas in April for instance — was
sure to vanish the instant I applied for
it — or, as I was disjointing " a gnarled
and unwedgeable fowl," a duty which
its accursed proximity forced upon me —
my plate was sure to return from its boot-
less mission to the vol-au-vent, or the
becasse, for vihich I had kept it in
abej'^ance.
By tliis time you will suspect, from
my thus scoring the words of proximity,
that there is some specific Hipkinean
theory relative to luck, which I have
mustered these incidents to illustrate.
And so there is. Accurately speaking,
perhaps, luck, good or bad, is not pre-
dicable of any human occurrence ; every
cliiinge that happens to a thing, whe-
ther sentient or inanimate, being only
explicable by the action of something
THE PARTERRE.
11
external upon it. But the doctrine of
the true church respecting luck is this —
that j-our weal or woe depends on cer-
tain relative positions you hold involun-
tarily, or have chosen spontaneously, to
that which is proximately the cause of
that weal or woe. If, hy your own free
agency, your juxta-position to that which
produces ill has brouglit tliat ill upon
vou, you are the architect of your own
misery. And of this, the world in its
wonted tenderness to misfortune, will
be sure to remind you. But if, wedged
in bv a coercive force of circumstances
which j-ou could neither evade nor re-
sist, you have been compelled into tliat
disastrous prorimitii, j'ou may call it, for
want of a better term, ill-luck ; it being
the necessary disposition of things, to
which your consent was never asked.
And this is what, in all ages, mankind
have understood by luck. It is the fate
of Homer — the destiny that hunted down
the house of Atreus — the necessity whose
scythed chariot cuts down the hopes
and prosperities of man — the irreversible
decree that went forth from the begin-
ning, containing and controlling all
things within its chain of adamant.
This is the Hijikinean theory — nor has
Hipkins the Unlucky found it without
its uses. In sorrow, penury, the deser-
tion of friends, and every circumstance
of outward evil, he has called to mind
the forced proiimities of his lot, and de-
rived comfort from the reflection.
In an evil hour, I chose the pursuit of
the Bar. Without a friendly star, and
guided only by the flickering taper of my
own understanding, 1 scrambled over
its rugged roads and through its deep
sloughs — from practice to doctrine —
from dry precedents and misshapen forms
to some obscurely-perceived principle,
that shot an uncertain ray on the chaos
which they told me was the law of
England. Happier circumstances would
have given a liappier direction, or at
least more of system and regularity to
my studies. It is not true, oh ye asser-
tors of general propositions, that poverty
stimulates to exertion : it retards — it
deadens exertion. It brings down tlio
clear spirit from its ethereal as]>iratioiis
to commune with gross and earthward
cares. At Icngtli, however, 1 reached
the bar, the tenniitm a quo. Alas ! the
terminxu in quern was dark and distant.
The decease of the individual, two days
after niy call, who to that day hud scan-
tily .suppli<-d the i!idi8[ieniiahlc ex|i)-n.ses
of niy education from a htock which they
had already cxhaiibted, left me nearly in
the condition that suggested Jaffier's bit-
ter thanksgiving to heaven, that he had
not a ducat. He was not my parent, nor
did I ever know that I had one. The
want, however, of parental kindness I
never felt, for he was in all other respects
a parent, and all he had was expended
upon my ill-starred ambition. On the
6th day of June, therefore, 1800, I
awoke one fine morning in Trinity
Term, with the sum of seven guineas in
my pocket. It was a slender capital, but
the last offices to my departed friend ab-
sorbed every reflection ; nor was it till a
week afterwards that I stared my actual
situation in the face. In truth, it had a
most repulsive look. I was drifting into
deep water in a frail canoe, with scarce
a pair of paddles to guide it ; — no being
who cared for me, and no " revenue
but my good spirits to feed and clothe
me."
This accursed profession, too — requir-
ing an outlay of money so far bej'ond my
means, my dreams even, of obtaining ;
but it was my choice — a boyish choice,
from which good advice might have di-
verted me. And here I cannot but re-
cur to the first determination of my mind
towards the bar, partlj' because it shews
what paltry accidents, at a given period
of our existence, irretrievably dispose
of the rest of it, and partly because it
is illustrative of the aforesaid theory of
contiguities. Whilst yet a boy, I was on
a visit to an old gentleman at Bedford,
whose bouse was closely — nay, inconve-
niently contiguous to the town-hall, the
noise and clamour of the assizes being
heard distinctly in every apartment.
This circumstance suggested to me, that
I might as well hear the trial of a nisi-
prius case, which had excited great ex-
pectation. I therefore squeezed myself
in, and began to take some interest in
the proceedings. One of the leaders of
the circuit was a prosy long-winded ser-
geant, whose powers in addressing the
jury, and ease and impudi-nce in puz-
zling and disconcerting an adverse wit-
ness, seemed, to my untutored apprehen-
sion, the perfection of forensic talent ;
and strange as it is, the voice and man-
ner of this person retained their hold
upon my judgment, long after it hud be-
come conversant with better models. I
sate near enough to him, inoreovor, to
discern the number of guineas marked
on his brief. JMy youthful emulation
was instantly in a blaze ; and, C'orrcgio-
like, I said, 1 too will be a barrister !
Thus I exclaimed in my foolisliness —
and thus my dosiros were hliudly lixoil
12
THE PARTERRE.
upon the profession, that was the corner-
stone of my evil fortunes.
Yet though I began under all the dis-
couragements of penurj'', I abated not
one jot of heart or hope. I prided my-
self upon an excellent classical education,
and upon this I had grafted a respectable
stock of municipal lore. Nor was I a
stranger to some internal convictions,
that even with such unequal chances,
I ought, and therefore should, distance
the greater number of my competitors.
It was a most defective syllogism. For
though my attendance in the court was
unremitted, term after term I sat amongst
the undistinguished occupants of the back
row. Term after term I answered the
usual question of the Chief Justice —
" Any thing to move, sir? " with " No,
my lord," and the usual bow. Term
after term I listened to the jests and
plaj'ful allusions of my fellow-juniors, to
our common want of success. Light of
heart, and backed with the purses of
friends and parents, they could afford to
laugh. To me it was the bitterest of
ironies. I lived I knew not how, and
was alike ignorant how I should live on
the morrow. Westminster Hall, chilly
sepulchre of the hopes that blossomed in
the paths of my early manhood ! beneath
thy cobwebbed roofs, how oft have
breathed the sighs of plundered suitors—
but oftener still, the subdued and stifled
sigh of the famished barrister pacing thy
drear}'' pavement — the tear stealing down
his cheek, as, with weariness of heart,
he bethinks himself how he is to provide
for the necessities of the day ! Grave of
my summer prospects ! I have now left
thee ; but even now the pangs of that
fevered state, half aspiration, half de-
spair, (how much worse than fixed, as-
sured indigence), still recur to me as
the legend of some fearful dream !
One afternoon, (the morning bad been
consumed in one of those unrequited
pilgrimages to Westminster Hall), I was
broiling my dinner at the homeless fire
of my chambers, when a double rap in-
terrupted my culinary labours. Having
risen to answer it, with no great alacrity
indeed, for I had few visitors but duns,
imagine my surprise, when an attorney's
clerk, walking into my room, laid a brief
on my table and a fee of six guineas,
with the usual supernumerary half-
crown for the clerk, and then hastily
descended the staircase. Was it a dream,
or, better late than never, had merit been
discovered, — or was it a mistake ^ The
latter hypothesis was little to my mind,
so I would not entertain it for a moment.
I pretend not to describe what I felt.
The returning springtide of hope and
joy rushed through my frame. Ye, who
endeavour to form a conception of the
feelings of a young barrister when his
first brief greets his eyes,— abandon the
task. They are not to be portrayed by
any limner. Six guineas — precursors of
hundreds more, hid in the prolific womb
of the future — it was gladness even to
ecstasy. My slenderness of purse had
occasioned a long suspension of payment
to my poor laundress, she herself strug-
gling with the ills of poverty, and a
brood of little ones. I flew across the
square of the Inner Temple to her hum-
ble abode, reckless of the pots of porter
I overturned in my way, and too rapid
in my flight to hear the execrations of
those whose equilibrium I had unsettled.
I threw into her lap four of the pieces so
auspiciously vouchsafed to me, feasted
upon the gratitude with which she re-
ceived them, and returned to my cham-
bers to eat my meal, or rather to feed
upon the folios of my brief, which I soon
began to unfold, chinking at the same
time the two remaining guineas, as they
discoursed a music not the less eloquent
to my feelings for the pleasing uses to
which the four others had been applied.
— Treacherous satisfaction !
In about an hour, a brisk knocking
announced an apparition I would gladly
have exorcised into the Red Sea. It
was the attorney himself, to inquire about
the brief which his clerk had delivered
at my chambers, instead of the contiguous
chambers occupied by a barrister of
some standing ; but the youth had as-
sured me he had been particularly di-
rected to my chambers, and though there
was no name of counsel on the back, it
being no uncommon omission, I was
satisfied that it had arrived at its right
destination. When it was explained,
however, by my new visitor, I made
what I conceived every requisite apology,
ingenuously avowing, as I placed the
residue in his hand, the appropriation of
four guineas, with a promise in a few
days to repay him the deficiency. " Set-
tle that matter," rejoined the churlish
attorney, " with Mr. C I shall
pay him the two guineas, and refer him
to you for the rest." I did not quarrel
with the proposal, assured that there was
not a man of honourable feelings or de-
cent manners at the i!nglish bar who
would thiuk harshly of me for an inno-
cent error. I was deceived. The Eng-
lish bar contained many such persons,
and no doubt does at this day. No
THE PARTERRE.
13
sooner had the attorney left Mr. C — ,
tbau the latter rushed in, and, in no
measured phrase, began abusing me for
the " trick " I had played him. The word
did not suit me, as he liimself perceived
bv my instant application to the poker,
which I intended making the arbiter
of the dispute, had he not sullenly re-
tired. His brutishness drove me to tiie
expedient of pawning the only legacy
of my deceased friend, a silver hunting-
watch ; a resource of no mean use in the
wavs and means of one so unencumbered
with wealth.
In itself the incident of the brief was
insignificant, and so I considered it at
the time. It proved afterwards a link
in the chain of those inauspicious conti-
guities, which I call ill-luck. Their
sinister influence on the fortunes of
Gregorv Hipkins will not be denied,
even by those who reject his theory.
So far forth, ye impugners of the
Hipkinean hypothesis, my conduct has
not been my fate. Nor, perhaps, shall
I be found more the accomplice of my
own evil fortunes in the sequel. By
some means hardly worth specifying,
but chieflj- through the kindness of one
who himself wanted the little aid he
imparted, I was enabled to join the
Circuit. I arrived at .Maidstone just as
the Bar were sitting down to dinner, of
course taking the lower end of the table,
as became a decorous junior. To my
infinite astonishment, however, my re-
ception was a freezing one. No hand,
as is usual on such occasions, was stretch-
ed out to greet me. It was clear I had
incurred what might be called a pro-
fessional proscription. How I had in-
curred it was a mystery. I ate my
dinner notwithstanding ; but no one, I
observed, asked me to join in a glass of
wine, or addressed to me one syllable
of discourse. This was perplexing, and
[ remained for some minutes in no very
enviable state of feeling. Yet my own
bosom knew no ill, and I shrunk not
from the studied contempt of wiiich I
was the object. At last, observing a
barrister whose looks I did not dislike,
leaving the room, I followed liiin, trust-
ing to 6nd in him some 8ym[)athy for
a young man who had innocently fallen
under condemnation, and besought him
to explain the myst<'ry.
" Mr. ni[ikiiiH, is it possible," he said,
" you should be uiiapprizod of our deter-
mination after dinner to discuss your
admissibility to the (!ircuit-tahle ? '
" Admiiiftibility ! Is it called iu ques-
tioa ? "
" You will hear soon. It is the
awkward aftair of a brief, intended for
the gentleman occupying the chambers
next to your own, and the appropriation
of the fee to your own uses."
" Heavens ! am I accused of theft 1 "
" Whatever you are accused of, your
defence will be heard ; and if you are
innocent, you have nothing to fear."
" Defence 1 Never will I make one,"
was my reply. " He who defends him-
self under such an imputation, half
admits it to be just."
The barrister, not entering into my
refinements, shrugged up his shoulders,
and went his way. I retired also, with
the twofold resolve to bid adieu to bar
and barristers, after I had obtained from
the person, whose inauspicious proximity
to my chambers had brouglit this per-
secution on mv head, a written recanta-
tion of what he had said to my prejudice ;
it being clear that he must have spoken
of me unfairly and untruly. Nor was
it long before I obtained, in his own
hand-writing,the attestation I demanded.
In strength and size he was a Polyphe-
mus, (as to manners, the Cyclops would
have appeared polished gentlemen by
his side) and might have jerked me out
of his window, had he been so minded ;
but he quailed in every limb whilst he
was writing and describing the docu-
ment of his shame. This I instantly
forwarded to the senior of the Circuit,
by whom I was unanimously acquitted,
and Mr. C — severely stigmatized for
his baseness. Indeed, it was pure defe-
cated malice on his part, to throw so
false a colouring upon an innocent mis-
take. The man died not long ago, un-
honoured and undistinguished in his
profe.ssion, and neither loved nor re-
spected out of it.
And there is one, the gentlest of her
kind and sex, who having taken the liber-
ty which Alexander indulged to Parme-
nio, of peeping over my shoulder as I was
recording this passage ot my history, asks
me, in the tone of artectionato remon-
strance, why I did not brave the incjuiry
with tlie pride and confidence of an
innocent man ! Friend of my later days,
prolonged by your cares — never may
you know the ragged film out of which
the world spins its judgments ! Dream
on, dear creature, the dream that tells
voii they are swayed by justice and
virtue. Other men, I admit, miglit
have done so, and been acquitted, and
taken a seat at the same hoard, stunned
witli congratulations on all sides, from
those whusu hearts yearuud to convict
u
THE PARTERRE.
him. Not so Gregory Hipkiiis the
Unlucky. His inward, his outward
pride, — the whole bundle of habits and
opinions that make up his individuality,
forbade it. He would have been an
outcast from himself — a thousand times
worse than an exile from the whole herd
of humanity — had he bowed to such a
jurisdiction. Where moral infamy is
the question, inquiry is conviction.
Infinitely did I prefer having it supposed
that 1 had done what I was accused of,
than that I was capable of doing it.
From this time things went on with
me indifferently. Days revolved, bring-
ing on the usual changes in their round.
The sterility of winter was succeeded by
the second life of spring ; but there was
no second life to my black coat, wliich
had arrived, through successive trans-
migrations of colour, at that dingy brown
which is generally considered as its
euthanasia. Was I to sink without an
effort "? I should not, indeed, have met
with much interruption in so doing.
The whole world was before me, and I
might choose what hole or comer I liked
to die in. Indolence, for penury is
naturally indolent and irresolute, came
over me, or I might have tried my
chance in the field of literary labour,
which was not then overrun, as it is now,
with half-pay officers and the literature
of the quarter-deck. Yet I shrunk from
the hemming and hawing of booksellers,
editors, and critics, and gave up the
notion.
To beguile unpleasant reflections, I
occasionally heard the debates of the
House of Commons, which, at that un-
reforming era, were really worth listen-
ing to. Your ears were not then shocked
with the coarse Lancastrian burr of
tedious delegates from the clothing dis-
tricts. Fox, Pitt, Windham, were in
the fulness of their fame, and the setting
glories of Burke were still above the
horizon. I observed the reporters ply-
ing their nightly labours, and under-
standing that they were not badly paid,
again I said with Corregio, " 1 too will
be a reporter." I could not, it is true,
write short-hand, but I could rely upon
a strong memory, having more than once
borne away an entire speech of one of
those great men, with a truth and fidelity
that rendered it at once, as a verbal and
intellectual copy, far superior to the
reports of the papers. In particular,
I addressed myself to the peculiar cha-
racter of Fox as a speaker, having often
heard it remarked, that it resembled
that of Demosthenes. I found the
parallel, however, erroneous. In i
ling or sarcastic interrogatory, in rapid
lightning flashes of indignation, wither-
ing where it fell, there was some ana-
logy. But the compression of Demos-
thenes, close and adamantine, — even the
graces, equally the result of severe, per-
haps midnight toil, that play over his
discourses, like the smiles of the terrific
ocean, rendered his manner unlike that
of Fox, whose eloquence, seemingly
impeded by the rapidity of his concep-
tions, and like a great stream hiding
itself among tangled thickets, and then
re-appearing in its full expanse of waters,
rushed forth like a torrent from his soul.
In Fox's reasoning, I thought also that
I could discover what was too evanescent
for the commonplace reporter, a refined
logic, conducting to the most beautiful
of moral demonstrations.
(Concluded at p. 24.^
PRIVY PURSE EXPENSES IN THE REIGN OF
HENRV THE EIGHTH.
The following extracts are taken at ran-
dom, from a list of the privy purse
expenses of the family of Lestrange of
Hunstanton, given by the Society of
Antiquaries in their last volume of the
Archaeologia. They were communicated
by Daniel Gurney, Esq., who, in an
introductory article, observes that " the
average money value of things in these
accounts is about one-tenth of what they
are at present ; and where this does not
hold good, it probably arises from the
article being more or less scarce by com-
parison with the present day ; manufac-
tured goods being of higher value from
the absence of any but the most simple
machinery at that period ; and the very
great variation in the price of wheat;
shewing the uncertainty of the supply."
" 11 Henry 8, 1519. s. d.
Fyrst. Pd to John Brown, for
ix. stone of beffe . . . iiij j ob
Itm. to a wiff of Vngaldes-
thorpe for vj Gees . . xx
,, for vj Checons .... vj
,, for vj lb. Candell ... vij ob
,, for a gallon and di. of
Rynnyshe Wyne . . xviij
,, Pd Robert Grome for v.
barrels and di. of Bere . xj
,, Pd for a pecke of otemele iij
„ Pdforvij.dussenCandylls viij vj
,, Pd to John Brown, of
Lynne, for a hoggyshed
of Claryett Wyne . . xxiij iiij
THE PARTERRE.
15
Pd to y* same John for j. d.
C wejtt of grete Reasons
(Raisin) v
Pd to hvm for a teppenett
of FygETS ij
Pd to bym for vjtb.Almans xviij
Pd to — Fewterer of I'horn-
ham for xiiij. cLalderof
C'olys and di ... liiij
Pd to Robert Grome for ij .
barrels of Sengill Here y'
was droQcke wban be
ware at Anm . . . ij viij
Pd for a payer of Sbowse,
for Hove of y« Kech_vn vij
Pd for a payer of Sbowe
for James y« Fawken . ix
Pd for a paA'er of Gloves
for my xM aster ... j
MISCELLANIES.
CONTRIVANCE FOR F.FFF.CTING THE
ESCAPE OF NAPOLEON FROM ST. HELENA.
It is not, perbaps, generally known tbat
a few years since a vessel was engaged to
be built at Battersea, by tbe renowned
Johnson tbe smuggler, for tbe purpose of
liberating Buonaparte from tbe island of
St. Helena. Tbe vessel was about 90 feet
long, and of tbe burden of 100 tons. It
was built of half-incli plank ; tbe grain of
two of sucb planks was placed in a vertical
aud tbeothertwo in aborizontal position.
Tbese planks were so well caulked and
cemented together, tbat tbe thickness of
tbe sides of tbe vessel did not exceed tbat
of an ordinary washing-tub. The masts
were so contrived, tbat they could be
lowered to a level with the deck, and
tbe whole vessel might be sunk in shoal
water, with the crew on board, without
danger. Ample means were provided
for supplying the vessel with fresh air.
Tbe plan was, to sail up at night, within
a short distance of St. Helena, and sink
the vessel until the next or some sub-
Ber]uent night, when tbe emperor would
he enabled to make his escape to the
beach, at which lime the vessel was to
be raised, Buonaparte to get on board,
and sail away in the dark. It happened,
however, tbat Buonaparte died before
tlie vessel was quite finished ; and it is
a curious coincidence that she was to be
co])i>ered the very day the news of bis
death arrived. Johnson was to have re-
ceived 10,000/. an soon as tbe vessel bad
got into blue watt-r, exclusive of tbe re-
ward to be given in case the enterprise
liufceeded. 'I'his JohniMin bad jireviouhly
offered his hervices to the Admiralty,
and affirmed tbat he could blow up any
ship without being hurt. Accordingly,
a trial was given him in the Thames,
accompanied by a boatswain to one of
his ^lajesty's ships, who bad been mar-
ried ouly a week before, in a boat of a
similar construction to the one before
described, to a barge moored in the
middle of the stream. They sunk their
boat, made fast the torpedo to the bottom
of the barge, and lighted the match.
Johnson then perceived tbat his vessel
remained fast, having got (as tbe sailors
express it) his cable athwart hawse of
tbe barge. Upon which he pulled out
his watch, aud having looked at it atten-
tively, told tbe boatswain tbat he had
only two minutes aud a half to live.
Upon this the boatswain began to make
grievous lamentations — " Oh, my poor
dear Nancy !" said the boatswain. " what
will she say ?" — " Avast, blubbering,"
said Johnson ; " doff your jacket, and
be ready to stuff' it in the hawse-hole
while I cut the cable." Upon saying
this, Johnson seized an axe, and cut the
cable. The boatswain stuffed his jacket
into the hole, and they got out of the
reach of the torpedo, which blew up tbe
barge.
A REBELLION OF FEMALES IN MADA-
GASCAR.
A FEMALE rebellion took place a little
while ago, in consequence of tbe follow-
ing extraordinary grievance : — It was the
privilege of persons of that sex to dress
the king's hair ; and in the beauty of
their long black locks, both men and
women take great pride. When Prince
Rataffe returned to Madagascar from
England, his head had been shorn of its
barbarous honours, and converted into
a curly crop. Radama was so pleased
with this foreign fashion that he deter-
mined to adopt it, — to rid himself, pro-
bably, of the periodical plague of hair-
dressing, which, accordingtothe costume
of bis country, was a work of no little
labour on the part of his female barbers,
and of suffering patience on bis part.
Accordingly, he took an opportunity,
when he happened to be at some distance
from his capital, to have his head polled
nearly to tbe scalp. His first appear-
ance in public, so disfigured, threw the
women, whose business was thus cut up,
into ecjual consternution and frenzy.
They rose in mass, and their clamours
threatened no little public commotion.
But Hadama was not a man to be in-
timidateil or averted from his pur])ose,
by such means. His measures were
severe aud decisive. He surrouiicled the
whole insurgent mob witli a body of
16
THE PARTERRE.
well-disciplined soldiers, and demanded
the immediate surrender of four of their
ringleaders. These being given up, he
turned to his guards and said, " Will no-
body rid me of these troublesome wo-
men 1" when those present rushed upon
the poor creatures, and slaughtered them
at once. Radama then commanded the
dead bodies to be thrown into the midst
of their companions, who were kept three
days without food in the armed circle of
military, while the dogs, before their
eyes, devoured the putrid corpses of their
friends. The consequences did not stop
here ; infection broke out, some died,
and the rest fled, and returned to their
homes. — Bennet and Tyerman's Voyages
and Travels.
THE GOD OF THIEVES.
Having occasion to recur to the former
state of society in the Sandwich islands,
we have just heard that, among other idols,
there was a god of thieves, held by his
worshippers in the highest honour. He
was called Hiro ; and among his votaries
were many of the cleverest men, not from
the lower ranks only, but even some of
the principal chiefs. The arts and con-
trivances which these resorted to, in order
to obtain the property of their neighbours
and strangers, proved that this strange
representative of Satan was served with
more than ordinary devotion. His rites
were celebrated in darkness, at the change
of the moon. While the husband prowl-
ed forth to rob, the wife went to the
marae to pray for his success ; yet, if
success were not always found, it would
be with an ill grace if they should charge
Hiro with bad faith towards his fol-
lowers ; for faithful as they were in making
vows, they were knavish enough in per-
forming them : thus, if a hog had been
stolen, an inch or two of the tail was
deemed sufficient thank-offering to him,
THE ALMANACK-MAKER AT GVDDUCK.
The festival of the new year com-
mencing with the new moon, to-day,
we, being at the village of Gudduck,
went to the police-office, (which serves
for a town hall,) where nearly the whole
population was assembled, at 8 o'clock
in the evening. The oldest Brahmin
in the place, and all the principal men,
were seated upon a carpet at one end of
the room. Among these was the astro-
loger of the district, whose business it
was 10 read over the new almanack, or,
at least, announce to the good people
the most remarkable events which it fore-
told. After a prologue of music, singing,
and dancing (as usual) by girls, the astro-
loger began to act bis more solemn mum-
meries. The book was lying before him ;
a small quantity of rice and some betel-
nuts were then poured on the ground at
his feet ; after which a few green leaves,
and a little red powder, on a piece of
paper, were brought. First he made a
brief poojah, or prayef ; he then mixed
some of the rice with the red powder,
and distributed the grains among those
who sat near him. A piece of camphor
was next placed on a green leaf, and,
being ignited, was carried round, when
all that pleased held their hands over the
flame, and then folded them in the atti-
tude of supplication. Afterwards the
betel-nuts and cere-leaves were given
away by him to persons on the right
hand and on the left. All this was done
over the new almanack, which being
thereby consecrated, the astrologer began
to gabble over its pages with marvellous
fluency, but, apparently, with not less
precision. This fool's calendar (as it
was assuredly in many parts, though
equally suited to wiser men's occasions
in others,) contained the usual heteroge-
neous prognostications, calculations, and
lucubrations on the weather, the hea-
venly bodies, the prevailing vices, and
the impending judgments, which charac-
terise similar compositions in Christian
Europe. The ceremony was concluded
with another fit of music, singing, and
dancing ; after which chaplets of sweet-
scented flowers, sandal-wood, snufF, and
plantains, were presented, as new year's
gifts, to the chief inhabitants and those
strangers who happened to be there, —
among the rest to ourselves, with a mo-
dest expression of a hope, on the part of
the astrologer, that the gentlemen would
give him cloth for a mantle."
A GIANT. — Grimstone, in his history
of the Netherlands, speaks of one Klaes
van Knyten, a man of enormous size
and stature. " This giant, (says he),
was born in the village of Sparenwoude,
near Haarlem : his father and mother
were of ordinary stature, yet no man
might be compared unto him, for the
tallest men of all Holland might stand
under his arm and not touch him ; and
yet there are commonly seen at this day
(1627) verie tall men in that countrie.
He would cover four ordinary soles of
shoes with his foot ; he terrified little
children to behold him ; and yet there
was not any roughness or malice in
him, but was gentle and mild as a
lambe. For if he had been fierce and
cruel answerable to his greatnesse and
proportion, Lee might have chased u
whole armie before him."
Till' PARTF.RRR.
17
— I^SPSISP^iiii •
r. 18.
KARL WYNCK.
A LEGEND OF AMSTERDAM.
(For the Parterre).
" In our o«"ne times Sathan hath bin busie
«-Uh divers persons, and in the time of our
torefathers the de\Tls were wont to plale strnnRe
pranke!! with men." iVitchrraft Unveil I 1<>4'.*.
" I 'M a liappy fellow — a very hajipy
fellow ! " exrliiiiiu'd Karl Wyrick, a jioor
tailor, who dwelt in one of tlie old-
fashioned narrow streets of Amsterdam.
" The money I shall receive from the
Burpoma.ster Harmen for making: this
cloak, shall be placed alon^' with that I
have already laid up, and, if fortune does
not jilt in«', I'll wed my little Rilizabeth
before I am six months older."
So savnng, he rubbed his hands to-
gether with much satisfaction, and draw-
ing his legs still closer under him, re-
sumed his needle, sinpinj; merrily as he
worked. Hut fate interferes with the
humble as well as with the exalted ; and
the cup of felicity is as often dashed
from the lips of Uiilors, as from those of
more digiiilied jirofessions; and Karl had
•oon experience of the? truth of this
axiom. His song, which in the fulness
of his heart he was carolling at the top
of his voice, was suddenly hushed, for a
handsomely dressed cavalier (Lisliiti);
violently into the house, seized an old
sword which hung over the (ire-place,
and disappcareil as 'juickly as he hail
entered.
"This is strange!" muttered Karl;
" my \-isitor does not look like a thief."
So he flung aside his work, jumped from
the board, and running to the door,
beheld at a short distance two gentle-
men engaged in fierce strife. One of
the combatants almo.st instantly fell
dead, while the victor, casting away his
weapon, fled precipitately up the street.
Karl paid little attention to the fugi-
tive, but flew to the assistance of the
fallen cavalier, whose haiul still grasped
his rapier : he had been thrust through
the heart with the sword which had
remained for many years a harmless
occupant of the nail over the poor tailor's
fire-place, but now lay near the corpse
of the cavalier stained with gore, — the
sight for tlu' moment de|)rived Karl of
speech and motion. His horror in-
creased a-s he heard several voices in the
crowd which had been drawn to the s])ot,
denounce him as the assassin. Kail
gave himself up for a lost man : — he.
attempted to explain the matter, but he
did it in such a confused manner and
trembled so vicjiently, that many of the
bystanders, who knew him to be a peace-
able and inoflTensive young man, now
considered him guilty ; in short, he was
immediately liurrie(l off to prison as a
miirdirer. Here he was left to feel the
horrors of his miserable situation : he
|i.'ici'<| his dungeon with a tliroliliing
heart and racking' brain, and thon^lit on
his blightetl hopes and his sweetheart,
c
18
THE PARTERRE.
who he felt persuaded M'ould erase his
very name from her remembrance. He
had, however, the melancholy satisfac-
tion to find that this was not the case :
Elizabeth was soon at the prison, where
in the arms of her lover, she endeavoiired
to whisper the comfort she herself so
much needed. But the " gentle reader,"
as in all such cases, is requested to
imagine the grief of a young couple un-
der such heavy aflliction.
The next day came, and a priest was
ushered into Karl's prison. There was
a something in the countenance of the
ecclesiastic which the prisoner did not
fancy: his grey, sharp, twinkling eye
had more of cunning than of sanctity in
it, and his whole manner was unpre-
possessing. His subsequent advice cor-
roborated the prisoner's suspicions.
" Karl Wynck," said the priest, " you
are a lost man, unless you make a bold
effort for your deliverance."
" That is too true, father ; but I see
no means of escaping frpm this dungeon,
from which I shall soon be dragged to
the scaffold. Oh ! 'tis terrible to have
one's name pronounced with horror by
the good, and scoffed at by the wicked ;
but I die innocent of murder."
" This is but idle prating, my son,"
interrupted the priest ; " will you profit
by my advice, or will you die that death
you dread so much?"
" I would fain hear your counsel,
father."
•'' Hearken then," rejoined the priest ;
" the keeper of the gaol has a son who
was tliis day married, and the wedding
will be kept in the rooms above : an
hour before midnight every one will be
engaged in the revel, except the man
whose duty it is to see all safe. When
he enters your dungeon, use this knife
resolutely — why, what ails thee, boy ? "
cried the priest, perceiving Karl's already
pallid features become still paler.
" Oh father !" said the poor prisoner,
" counsel me not thus; t/iat would indeed
be murder — I cannot do it."
" Fool ! " muttered his adviser as his
thin lip curled with scorn : "is it for such
as thee to judge of sin or virtue ? hast
thou not heard how Moses slew the
Egyptian who smote his countryman ?
was that" — Karl heard no more.
" Begone ! (he cried) begone, tempter !
I have heard how the blessed Saint
Anthony was beset by devils who afiect-
ed sanctity, and I begin to fear that thou
art on£ ot that hellish legion. Begone,
Isay!"
The priest (or devil, if you please)
smiled another dark smile, and his eyes
gleamed like bright coals of fire.
" Idiot," he muttered, as he turned
upon his heel, " thou art lost ! Perish
in thine own obstinacy !"
Karl heard the door close upon his
visitor, and falling on his knees, uttered
a prayer to heaven.
The stranger who had been killed was
not kno^^^l to any of the town's-people.
He had that day arrived at Amsterdam,
and from his appearance was judged to
be a gentleman. Karl was put upon his
trial, and the evidence against him being
deemed conclusive, he was condemned
to die. In vain did he urge his inno-
cence; in vain did he repeat his story
of the combat between the two cavaliers,
and how the slayer had procured the
weapon with which he had destroyed his
antagonist ; and equally vain were the
numerous testimonials of good conduct
and sobriety which his neighbours ten-
dered in his favour. Poor Karl was
condemned to die ; and though pitied by
many, was thought deserving the fate
to which he had doomed another.
The day of execution arrived, and Karl
took leave of his dear Elizabeth with a
bursting heart ; but he resolved to meet
death like a man, and walked with a firm
step to the place of death. Ascending
the scaffold, he looked with a hurried
glance upon the vast crowd which had
assembled to see him die. A body oi
the town-guard sm'rounded the scaffold
to keep off the throng which completely
filled the square, while every window
and house-top was occupied by the
burghers and their families. The me-
lancholy sound of the death-bell mingled
with the murmur of the immense crowd,
from which Karl endeavoured to avert
his face ; but as he did so, his eye rested
on the athletic figure and stem features
of -Xhe executioner, whose brawny arms,
bared to the elbows, reposed on his huge
two-handed sword, which, already un-
sheathed, gleamed brightly in the mom^
ing's sun.
Alas ! thought Karl, what preparation
for the death of a poor tailor 1
A priest, unobserved, ascended the
scaffold and knelt by his side : it was he
who had visited him in prison.
"Karl Wynck," whispered the temptfr,
" I can save thee even now."
"How?" murmured the tailor, his
blood curdling at the sound of that voice.
" Acknowledge thyself mine, and I
will transjjort thee in an instant to some
far distant country.
Kaii started on his feet so suddenly,
THE PARTERRE.
19
tnat the guards grasjied their halberds,
sujiposing he meditated an escape, but he
had no such intention.
"Avaunt, fiend!" he cried, shudder-
ing \'iolently; "remember the reproof
which our blessed Lord gave thee of old,
Sathanas, avaunt !"
The headman's assistant here advanc-
ed, and bade Karl prepare himself. The
sufferer observed that he was ready, and
begged that the false priest might be
dismissed ; but when they turned to bid
him begone, he was nowhere to be seen.
Karl knelt again to receive the fatal
blow; the headsman approached and
raised his huge sword, but suddenly
withheld the blow, for a thousand voices
bade him desist, and a horseman was
seen to urge his foaming steed through
the dense crowd.
"Hold! hold !" cried the new comer,
" for Jesu's sake forbear — stay the exe-
cution. / am the slayer, and that poor
man is innocent of murder !" It was,
indeed, the cavalier who had possessed
himself of Karl's sword ; and the poor
youth, overcome by this unexpected
rescue, fell senseless into the arms of the
executioner.
" Sir," said the cavalier, surrendering
himself to the oflicer of the town- guard,
" the crime is mine, if crime it be to
destroy one of the most barefaced villains
that ever scourged society. I am a
gentleman of Leghorn, my name is Ber-
nardo Strozzi: the man I slew was of
good family, but he robbed me of all I
valued in this world, and I resolved to
seek him wherever he tied. Chance
led me to your city, and walking out
\vithout my sword, 1 met my foe in the
street. He would have avoided me, but
I resolved to possess myself of even a
knife, so that I might destroy him. I
luckily seized a sword in the house of
this poor man ; vengeance nerved -my
arm, and he fell, almost as soon as our
weapons had crossed. The combat was
fair and efjual. 1 left Amsterdam im-
mediately ; and at the next town, learnt
that another had been condemned for
the slayer. Tlie saints be praised that
my good steed bore me here in time !"
Oowds pressed around Karl to con-
gratulate him u])on his escape from
death, while the cavalier jilaced in his
hands a purse well filled witli gold.
" Friend," naid he, " take this and be
happy. I regret the misery you have
•ufTered, but tliis may make you some
amends."
Our tale i" ended ; but as nome may
need a postscript, we add for their espe-
cial information, that Karl, with such an
acquisition of wealth, forgot the suffer-
ing he had endured, and was the happiest
man in Holland. He married his dear
Elizabeth, by whom he had many chil-
dren, became rich, and died at an ad-
vanced age. The house in which he
lived, was formerly shewn to the curious,
and there was an inscription over the
door, recording in a few brief lines the
history we have endeavoured to give in
detail; but modem improvements have
crept even into Holland, and the dwelling
of honest Karl Wynck is no longer shewn
to the inquisitive traveller. A. A. A.
THE BARONIAL HALL IN
TARNAWAY CASTLE.*
Palace of thunder! mighty hall,
Built on the Pagan temple's fall ;
Where the sacrificial splendour.
Wreathed flamen, virgins tender.
Hymned th' Olympian idol's sway,
Hail gigantic Tarnaway !
Imperious pile ! when first you soared
Triumphant o'er the lightning's lord, —
Over shattered fane and altai-,—
Did your builder never falter.
Thinking there must come a day
Of doom to feudal Tarnaway? —
High-titled house ! when round thy rooms
Red tapestry hung its silken blooms,
Minstrel harps the dance entwining,
Rubied cups and gold lamps shining,
Did no warning demon say,
' Darkness will come to Tarnaway?'
Darkness ts come! thy Titan hall
Hath not tottered to its fall ;
But thy pomps are all departed ; —
By thy recreant lords deserted,
N\'hat a lumpish pile of clay
Mocks old towcry Tarnaway!
Yet I reverence thy form.
Fane of th' unworshipixd fiend of storm I
Though no more the Randolf's towers
Fro\^^l above their beechen bowers.
And the dull builders of the day
Have libelled ancient Tarnaway.
Still thy hall, high Randolf's hall, —
Sole relic, and chief boast of all, —
Tells too magnificent a story
Of thy vanished graci' and glory,
Not to lauKh at the decay
That overshadows Tarnaway.
• Supposed to Jiave been built on the
hite of an ancient temple to Ju|)iter Ta-
ranis; so calli'd froi'.i the Norse word,
Tuian, signifying thunder.
c'2
20
THE PARTERRE.
The sculptured chestnut's Norman roof,
Soaring imperially aloof,
With sublime acclaims hath trembled,
WTien the princedom's power assembled,
Making the angry thunder-bray
Faint in the Hall of Tarnaway I
And I have sate in Moray's chair,
(That lion of this lofty lair!)
All his subtle snares untwimng,
All his foul designs divining,
Forged, while his queen a captive lay,
And he usurped at Tarnaway ! —
Oh, storied house ! with claims like thine,
Lament no more thy pomp's decline,
Though the shrine no longer cliiim thee,
Though unwieldy walls defame thee.
Those, who tread this hall, shall say,
"Behold thy temple, Tarnaway!"
Note. — Tarnaway was a magnificent
old castle, or rather palace, built in all
the freakish splendour of the Flemish or
Burgimdian style of architectme. In
its vast hall (built by Thomas Randolf,
the nephew of Bruce), the puissant Earls
of Moray used to assemble the inferior
barons, and they, in turn, were attended
by the several ranks of their house and
maintenance, till a puisne parliament
was displayed in all its ceremony and
importance — the great feudal superior
being the comes or earl, who occupied
an elevated seat or siege, as it was term-
ed, in the centre of the dais; the minor
barons, &c. being duly ranked on each
side. It would hold upwards of a thou-
sand men fully armed. This illustrious
and venerable fabric has of late years
been pulled down, with the sole excep-
tion of the hall ; and the most execrable
mass of deformities that ever teemed from
builder's brain has arisen in its stead.
But it was built only to be deserted,
so it did not much matter! It stands
about four miles to the north of Forres.
HORACE GUILFORD.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES.
' ECCENTRICITIES OF THE AUTHOR OF
"DOCTOR SYNTAX."
In the Life of Mrs. Siddons, by the poet
Campbell, there is an amusing account
of the author of Doctor Syntax, which
we here place before our readers. It is
not a solitary instance of a man of genius
playing the vagabond; but Combe was
no ordinary performer, as the following
extract will demonstrate.
"Mr. Combe's history is not less re-
markable for the recklessness of his early
days than for the industry of his ma-
turer age, and the late period of life at
which he attracted popularity by his
talents. He was the nephew of a Mr.
Alexander, an alderman of the city of
London; and, as he was sent first to
Eton college, and afterwards to Oxford,
It may be inferred that his parents were
in good circumstances. His uncle left
him sixteen thousand pounds. On the
acquisition of this fortune he entered
himself of the Temple, and in due time
was called to the bar. On one occasion
he even distinguished himself before the
Lord Chancellor Nottingham. But his
ambition was to shine as a man of fashion,
and he paid little attention to the law.
\\liilst at the Temple, his courtly dress,
his handsome liveries, and, it may be
added, his tall stature and fine appear-
ance, procured him the appellation of
Duke Combe. Some of the most exclu-
sive ladies of fashion had instituted a
society wliicb was called the Coterie, to
which gentlemen were admitted as visi-
tors. Among this favoured number was
the Duke Combe. One evening. Lady
Archer, who was a beautiful woman, but
too fond of gaudy colours, and who had
her face always lavishly rouged, was
sitting in the Coterie, when Lord Lyttel-
ton, the graceless son of an estimable
peer, entered the room evidently intoxi-
cated, and stood before Lady Archer for
several minutes with his eyes fixed on
her. The lady manifested great indig-
nation, and asked why he thus annoyed
her. " I have been thinking," said Lord
Lyttelton, " what I can compare you to,
in your gaudy colouring, and you give
me no idea but that of a drunken pea-
cock." The lady returned a sharp answer,
on which he thiew the contents of a glass
of wine in her face. All was confusion
in a moment ; but though several noble-
men and gentlemen were present, none
of them took up the cause of the insulted
female till Mr. Combe came forward,
and, by his resolute behaviour, obliged
the offender to withdraw. His spirited
conduct on this occasion gained him
much credit among the circles of fashion ;
but his Grace's diminishing finances ere
long put an end to the fashionableness
of his acquaintance. He paid all the
penalties ofaspendthrift, and was steeped
in poverty to the very lips. At one time
he was driven for a morsel of bread to
. enlist as a private in the British army ;
and, at another time, in a similar exi-
gency, he went into the French service.
From a more cogent motive than piety,
he afterwards entered into a French mo-
nastery, and lived there till the term of
THE PARTERHE.
21
bis noviciate expired. He returned to
Britain, and took service wherever he
could get it ; but in all these dips into
low life, he wa.-^ never in the least em-
barrassed when he nut with his old ac-
quaintance. A wealthy divine, who had
known him in the best London society,
recognised him when a waiter at Swansea
actually trip|)ing about with the napkin
under his arm, and, staring at him,
exchiiined, " You cannot be Combe ? "
'■ Yes, indeed, but I am," was the waiter's
answer. He married tlie mistress of a
noble lord, who promised him an annuity
with her, but cheated liim ; and in re-
venge he wTote a spirited satire, entitled
"The Diaboliad." Among its subjects
were an Irish peer and his eldest son,
who had a quarrel that extinguished any
little natural affection that might have
evcrsubsisted between them. The father
challenged the son to fight ; the son re-
fused to go out with him, not, as he ex-
pressly stated, because the challenger
was his own father, but because he was
not a gentleman
After his first wife's death, Mr. Combe
made a more creditable marriage with a
bister of Mr. Cosway, the artist, and
much of the distress which his imjiru-
donce entailed upon him was mitigated
by the assiduities of this amiable woman.
For many years he subsisted by writing
for the booksellers, with a reputation
that might be known to many individuals,
but that certainly was not public. He
wrote a work, which was generally as-
cribed to the good Lord Lyttelton, en-
titled " Letters from a Nobleman to his
Son," and " Letters from an Italian Nun
to an English Nobleman," that professed
to be translated from Rousseau. He
published also several jjolitical tracts,
that were trashy, time-serving, and scur-
rilous. Pecuniary difficulties brought
him to a permanent residence in the
King's Bench, where he continued about
twenty years, and for the latter i)art of
them a voluntary inmate. One of his
friends offered to effect a compromise
with his creditors, but he refused the
favour. " If I rom])oun(ied with my
creditors, ' said Mr. Combe, " I should
be obliged to sacrifice the little substance-
which I possess, and on whiili I subsist
in prison. These chambers, the best in
the Bi-nch, are mine at the rent of a few
shillings u-week, in right of my seniority
ati a prisoner. .My luibits are become
so sedentary, that if I liveit in the airiest
it(|uarc of London, I slmuld not walk
rounri it onn- in a month. I am con-
tented in my <-licai> quarters."
M hen he was near the 8ge of seventy,
he had some literary dealings with Mr.
Ackermann, the bookseller. The late
caricaturist, Rowlandson, had ofteied
to Mr. Ackermann a inmiber of draw-
ings, representing an old clergyman and
schoolmaster, who felt, or fancied him-
self in lovewith the finearts, quixotically
travelling during his holidays in (juest of
the picturesque. As the drawings needed
the explanation of letter-press, Mr. Ack-
ermann declined to purchase them unless
he should find some one who could give
them a poetical illustration. He carried
one or two of them to Mr. Combe, who
undertook the subject. The bookseller,
knowing his procrastinating temper, lefl
him but one drawing at a time, which
he illustrated in verse, without knowing
the subject of the drawing that was next
to come. The popularity of the " Ad-
ventures of Dr. Syntax," induced Mr.
Ackermann afterwards to employ him
in two successive publications, " The
Dance of Life," and " The Dance of
Death," in England, which were also
accompanied by Rowlandson's designs.
It was almost half a century before
the appearance of these works, that Mr.
Combe so narrowly missed the honour
of being Mrs. Siddons's reading-master.
He had exchanged the gaieties of Lon-
don for quarters at a tap-room in Wol-
verhampton, where he was billeted as a
soldier in the service of his Britannic
Majesty. He had a bad foot at the time,
and was limping painfully along the high
street of the town, when he was met l)y
an acquaintance who had known him in
all his fashionable glory. This individual
had himself seen better days, having ex-
changed a siib-lieutenancy of marines for
a strollershij) in Mr. Kemble's company.
" Heavens!"said tlieastonished histrion,
" is it jiossible. Combe, that you can
bear this condition ? " " Fiddlesticks !"
answered the ex-duke, taking a ])ini'h
of snuff, "a philoso])lier can bear any-
thing." The i)layer ere long introduced
him to Mr. Roger Kemble ; but, by this
time, Mr. Combe had become known in
the jdace through his conversational ta-
lents. A gentleman, passing tlirougli the
|iublic-house, had obscrxcd liini reading,
and, looking over liis slioulder, saw with
surprise a co]>y of Horace. " What,"
said he, " my friend, can you read that
I)ook in the original?" *' If 1 cannot,"
rei)lied Combe, " a great deal of money
has been thrown away on my ednratioii."
His landlord soon found the hlei^jy red-
coat an atlraeliv r ornament to ills tap-
room, which was filled ever) ni^'lit willi
22
THE PARTERRE.
the wondering auilitovs of the learned
soldier. They treated him to gratuitous
potations, and clubbed their money to
l)rocure his discharge. Roger Kemble
gave him a benefit-night at the theatre,
and Combe promised to speak an addaess
on the occasion. In this address, he
noticed the various conjectures that had
been circulated respecting his real name
and character ; and, after concluding the
enumeration, he said, " Now, ladies and
gentlemen, I shall tell you what I am."
While expectation was all agog, he added,
" 1 am — ladies and gentlemen, your most
obedient humble servatit." He then bowed,
and left the stage.
LETTERS FROM THE LAKES.
No. 2.
THE REV. H. WHITE TO MISS .
Ullswater, October Sd, 1795.
" For the last ten days, dear , leisure
has made her curtsy to admiration and
delight, who have so fully occupied her
place, as not even to allow a momentary
cessation, till the present evening. In
my last, I omitted to notice the immense
flocks of sea-gulls that enlivened Lan-
caster's first sands — some gracefully cir-
cling with shev\'y, black tipt wings, either
alighting or ascending ; but the majority
were feeding in the little ponds left by
the tide, occasionally flocking away in
troops at the approach of the horses.
At Lancastei-, that art might not insult
nature, I went out of powder, and my
head has been in admirable unison with
this new world, this sublime Eden. " I
ask no other proof," said an elegant
female at Keswick yesterday, " of your
being u-orthy to enjoy our matchless
scenery." From dear Ulverston, my
last was dated; its environs abound both
in shady and exposed walks, the princi-
pal leads through the neat church-yard
to a level terrace, commanding the chan-
nel and the to\vn, lined with seats, from
whence you soon reach the foot of a Very
steep mountain, whose summit com-
mands the sand view before described,
and peeps into a green valley, protected
by the immense hills of Cumberland and
Westmoreland. Wednesday, 23d Sep-
tember, I took chaise for Furness Abbey;
and if this wide extent of noble ruins,
its overhanging night of woods peopled
with ever-cawing rooks, its rapid stream,
checked by fallen fragments, and foam-
ing in rage over them, had been the sole
object of my tour, I should not have
considered it as an unwQrthy one. Thurs-
day, 24th, ihejirst lake of this unrivalled
country met my enraptured view; it
was Coniston.— I and Sam broke our
fast within a snug cove, where the lucid
waters gently passed at our feet. Pas-
tures stored •with cattle, or grain now
collecting, descended to the very brim.
Our road was shaded by trees,- which
admitted partial gleams of Conistonia's
sunny bosom — huge hills clothed with
timber, were our immense barriers to
the very skirts of the road. As we pro-
ceeded, they closed around the head of
the lake, and wonderfully elevated the
view with them ; the water also changed,
the wind arose, the billows swelled, till
they became " tempest tost," and I'eared
aloft theirwhite and angry heads, till they
appearedno mean emblems of the mighty
sea. Their roar was a grand accompa-
niment to the wonderful scene. The
head of Coniston has not been excelled,
unless by that of Ullswater, to whose
upper waves, the meads of Patterdale,
its low-towered church, the numerous
groves and humble cottages, crowd a-
round as if embracing, and guarding the
glassy mirror, that I'eflects and adorns
their varied features. Beneath her Ma-
jesty, who hangs forth, in point-lace ker-
chief, like the covering of a breast of veal,
at the pretty town of Hawkstead, I stayed
from Sunday to Friday noon 25th, and
then descended into a lovely valley, glow-
ing with EsthAvaite Water, upon which
the sun-beams spread diamonds. The
road leads by its side for two miles, and
at its croAvn two large promontories em-
bowered in wood, rush into its waves,
and create a scene of exquisite beauty.
Leaving this liquid gem, we soon arrived
at an almost precipitous ascent, and from
its brow beheld majestic Windermere
stretching to the right — a long breadth of
water flowing beneath supreme majesty
of rock. To the left our view was ob-
structed by a sky-aspiring cliff", which
had rolled down vast portions of stone
beneath our feet, and appeared shudder-
ing ly awful. As we descended the steep
declivity, the lake shone forth, at hap])y
peeps. At the bottom of the hill, the
silver-edged billows welcomed us in
soothing murmurs ; but owing to jutting
elbows of the crag, we could only see
across the lake, which here inlets and
forms a reedy bay. We now passed at
the foot of the terrific precipice, large
gleams of the lake bursting upon us in
exquisite contrast, till we gained an
eminence that presented long reaches or
animated waves on either hand studded
with verdant islands, whose Queen bears
a temple, with a lofty alcove containing
THE PARTERRE.
ao
thirty-six rooms, and now the residence
of Mrs. C. and her pretty squirrel-mouth-
ed children. On the opposite shore the
various picturesque coves, white villas,
rich meadows, the church and village of
Bowness, its pine-enveloped puisonage,
and a wooded promontory that runs
into the lake, frieudlily to land the
passengers from the ferry-boat, set at
nought all power of description. We
landed at Bowness, where my honest
friend, John Ulloek, landlord of the
White Lion, with a countenance so open,
so exactly indicating a laker, that I anti-
cipated truly the civility and attention I
afterwards experienced. Fortunately,
no company was then there, and I ran
up a flight of steps into the garden, over
the little bowling-green, and took pos-
session of a summer-house that looked
down upon the matchless lake, the great
island, the Hy-staff island, and the two
Lily-of-the- Valley islands, where these
lovely flowers bes|)read the surface as
thickly as grass. Here the tea-tray was
immediately brought, and I enjoyed the
viands with positive happiness. The
worthy rector, Mr. Barton's, arrival
broke my reverie of bliss, and I learned
that as he was rather an invalid, my
assistance on the Sunday would be a
kindness. Saturday 'iGth, the whole of
the morning was spent upon the water,
fishing (Sam's rod, for Perch), and sail-
ing down to Rawlinson's Nab: the length
of this king of the lakes, is thirteen miles.
An agreeable party now were arrived
at the inn, and after dinner we again
launched forth, and landed at Belle- vue,
.Mr. Curwen's island of forty-one acres,
and from every side of it we enjoy ex-
quisite views of Windermere, with its
variegated shores. So high was the
wind, that the placid lake became a
stormy sea. Sunday '27th, walking forth
to church, a mitred carriage i)assed me,
and I instantly recollected divinity's
lion. Or. Watson, Bishop of Llandaff.
In ttature, in look, and in gesture, no
less than in miiul, is he the grmltst of
men. He is amongst men what Skiddaw
is amongst mountains. A bevy of Wlics
followed this Leviathan into church; but
seeing me and Barton a])i)roaching, lie
^tllpped at the door, and with the dignity
ami air of the royal Dane's spectre, he
turned to make a very graceful bow.
While I wa^^ hurplicing, Barton went to
the pew and informed him of my name,
&c. : in an instant he returned and told
me lluit bin lordship gave no answer to
this, and iw he friglitens them out of
their hcnacH, he came iiuinedia'vly Irom
liini. Little did I regard this ap])arent
pride; but no sooner was the service
ended, than forth from his pew stalked
this mighty lord; complacency upon his
brow, and paternal affection in his eye;
took me by the l)and, and insisted that i
should accompany him to Calgarth, or
if I stayed at Bowness, that I would
visit him as frequently as I could. En-
gaged to dinner at the rector}-, and
obliged to depart the next morning, I
could only lament my inability to ac-
cept so condescending and flattering an
invitation. " Come then," said his lord-
ship, in a tone of softened thunder, " we
will compropiise this matter — I will lend
you to Barton during dinner, ])rovided
he will let me have you early in the after-
noon." This was settled, and I walked
four miles to Calgarth, lingering to
behold glimpses of the lake on my left
hand, and a torrent roaring at the base
of a wooded dell, on my right. The
wine was yet on the table, I was received
\nth ineffable kindness, introduced to
Monsieur D'Ormond, the bosom friend
of Louis XVI., Sir John St. Ledger,
and the two Sunderlands of Ulvcrston :
so much information sweetened by such
urbanity of manners, so much attention
to each guest, particularly to me, I never
enjoyed or witnessed at any table. Mrs.
Watson shone no less in the drawing
room, and they both seemed to regret
that I could not spend Monday with
them, as Mr. Watson the eldest son,
now in the army, then became of age.
Early on Monday morn, September 28th,
I ascended the heights above Winder-
mere, and did not imitate Mrs. Lot till
I reached the mountain's brow. Well
was I rewarded: — the entire lake was
extended, with all its angles and pro-
montories, bays and islands, at my feet.
On my left appeared Lancaster Sands,
bounded by the ocean; to the right,
mountains of all sizes and variations — .
terriijle, sublinu', wooded, and cultivated,
and in the "path of beauty," variegated
inclosures, hanging to the eye in every
sweet and picturesque form.
Now do nward as I bend my sight.
What is that atom I espy?
Is that a man ?
And hath that little six'ck its cares.
Its freaks, \t-^ follies, and its airs?
And do I hear the insect say,
" .1/ V lakes, mi/ mountains, mi/ domain ?"
C) weak, conteinptihlc! and vain —
'I'he tenant of a fhiy I
" Were you to receive a picture some-
thing like this celebrated water, CUtude
THE PARTERRE.
niust throw his delicate sun-shiiie over
the cultivated vales, the scattered cots,
the groves, the lakes, and the woods ;
Salnator must dash out the horror of the
impending cliffs, the steeps, the hanging
woods, the foaming water-falls ; while
the grand pencil of Foussin should crown
this unattainable chef-d'oeuvre of perfec-
tion with the solitary, tyrannic majesty
of the beetling mountains.
•' Write y«^/^ to Liverpool, on Sunday
.uorniiig, at Mrs. S — 's, 44, Duke street.
Most truly yours, H. White."
GREGORY HIPKINS, ESQ.
SURNAMED THE UNLUCKY.
Perry, of the Morning Chronicle, saw
iry specimen, and forthwith I became
a reporter. I did not succeed quite so
well with Pitt. The impression pro-
duced by one of his speeches on my
mind was that of a pageant, or a pro-
cession of beautiful figures, like those
which embellish the friezes of an ancient
temple. Every word, by a miraculous
collocation, found its place — yet, as a
whole, it was too uniform and finished,
and with too few under parts, to sink
deeply into the memory, which requires
frequent contrasts to aid it. In a word,
Pitt was the perfect rhetorician; whilst
Fox, like an athlete, threw aside the
ornaments of rhetoric as so many en-
cumbrances to the muscular play of his
limbs. It was this circumstance that
diminished the value of ray services as
a reporter. There was another. I
could make no hand of the second and
third-rate speakers. If I abridged them,
they complained of being mutilated: if
I served them up in their own miadul-
terated nonsense in its primitive state,
they vowed they were misrepresented.
It chanced, that in the ordinary routine
of duty, I had to report the speech of a
member whom I could not well hear,
and who was supporting a certain job
with all his might and main. Finding
the effort to follow him painful in the
extreme, I asked a person who sat
next to mc, if he had collected the sub-
stance of what he had said. My in-
formant, as I afterwards learned, was
adverse to the job, — and, unfortunately,
so imj)regnated with the arguments
against it, that he began instantly to
state them one after another. I took it
for granted they were those of the in-
audible member, whom he perhaps might
have heard more distinctly than I could,
from having the advantage of quicker
organs; and with this impression, hasten-
ed with my report to the ofhce. The
next morning, the orator figured as a
powerful opponent of the job he had
supported through thick and thin. I
was obliged, therefore, to resign my post.
Such was the sinister result of a mere
casual proximity to the officious gentle-
man, who so kindly led me into the
error.
And now the demon of contiguity
seemed disposed to assist me in repair-
ing the ills he had done me. At a
friend's, house, I was seated next to his
daughter, who was likely, on the ex-
pected demise of a relative, to be pos-
sessed of a tolerable fortune. I met her
at the same table frequently, each time
contriving to sit next to her. She was
what peojjle call sensible; that is, she
spoke common things on common sub-
jects; — nor did I like her the worse for
not being crammed with reading. My
assiduities pleased her, and — we were
married.
No mortal man could feel more sen-
sitively the transition to a married state,
than Gregory Hipkins the Unlucky.
It was a change, physical and moral, of
the entire man — a new idiosyncrasy, as
it were, kneaded into his own. It
brought new connexions, new habitudes
— fathers-in-law — brothers-in-law —
mothers-in-law. It was like a change
of tribe to an Israelite. I could only see,
or think, or feel, as they did — enter
into their squabbles on one side or
aTiother, for neutrality is an indulgence
seldom permitted. As I said, my wife's
property was only an expectancy; but
so little likely to be defeated, that my
father-in-law gave us, in the interim,
a scanty stipend to live on. Expectation
is a fine glittering thing, but a most
sorry purveyor for immediate wants. I
was in reality a pensioner upon my wife's
caprices ; of which, to say the truth, she
had no scanty assortment.
I had my cue, however. It was to
get into the good books of the uncle,
whose will was in a short time to be the
cornucopia to render us easy and affluent.
We spent much of our time at his villa,
near liOndon. He was a Lieutenant-
Colonel in the India service, and a
bachelor ; and having scraped together
a few lacs of rupees, he had returned
with a sallow complexion, and the re-
duced portion of liver usually brought
back to England by old Indians. It
was in truth an easy commerce we had
to carry on: on our part, to hear his
militfuvy adventures, surj)assing every
THK PARTERRE.
ihiiig the world of fiction or reality had
hiTt'tofore yit'ldc'd, — on his, to recount
them troni morn till ni^ht. A vnUs
tloriosus of this description would have
een a treasure to Plautus or Ben Jon-
son. He stood nine hours up to the
neck in water at the tirst breach in Se-
ringapatain — looked tigers full in the
face while he sketched their likenesses
— crossed the Ganges with bullocks and
baggage, over a bridge formed by the
backs of sleeping alligators — slept in cots
with cobra di capellos coiled upon liis
pillow, while scorpions dropt into liis
mouth when he gave his tirst yawn in
the morning — and, on one occasion,
having accidentally met with a fall, dur-
ing the procession of Juggernaut, lay
St retched at full length, whilst the chariot
followed by myriads of worshippers went
over him. In short, it became a pen-
ance beyond my powers of endurance, to
live on terms of ordinary complaisance
with a liar of such magnitude. As often,
however, as I was about to utter an
incredulous expression, the conjugal
frown of .Mrs. Hipkins rebuked me to
silence ; and sometimes a pinch of the
arm, with a " Can't you be quiet, Gre-
gory ? " was requisite to keep me quiet.
And thus things went on, till the day
of our departure. In the room, which,
from its containing about a dozen vo-
lumes, the Colonel called his librar}% I
saw on his desk the portrait of a feroci-
ous royal tiger, which he had sketched in
India, and had exhibited to us the even-
ing before. He had been giving it, I sup-
pose some additional touches, for a pen-
cil lay beside it. The proiitnity of the
pencil j)roved my ruin ; for seeing the
words, " Drawn on the spot,'" in his own
hand at the bottom, an irresistible im-
pulse seized mc to add the additional
ones, " in the absence of the tiger." The
interpolation, at once reflecting on his
veracity and his courage, did not meet his
eve till some days after our dc|)arture.
The moment he saw it, he was at no
loss to discover its author, made ancjther
will instantly in favtnir of some distant
relations, ami died n(jt long after he
made it. At this most seasonable! junc-
ture, my father-in-law, who, though
overflowing with atfcction for his daugh-
ter, had possibly, with •Shaks|)care, aline
poetical feeling n-specting " the uses of
adversity," withdrew, on some kind pa-
rental pret«iiceorothcr, the little stipend
he had allowed us.
In this ebb of rjur fortunes, Mrs.
Gregory Hipkins tound relief in amuse-
ment, and ainn.<) -ment at the play. All
the world was about that time mad to
see the young Roscius, an urchin not
above four feet high, play the heroic
characters of Shakspeare. He was, how-
ever, at the height of his fame ; — the
universal theme of that idiot wonder,
which, at certain periods, leads the play-
going part of the public by the nose, and
tills the theatres to overflowing. We
succeeded in getting into the pit, with-
out any accident worth mentioning, un-
less it was the loss of a valuable shawl
from my wife's shoulders, the gift of our
dear dejiarted uncle, who had scaled the
walls of a zenana to receive it as a gift
from the fair hands of a rich Begum,
who was in love with him, having tirst
put to death half-a-dozen Mussulman
guards, who, with naked scimitars, op-
posed his entrance.
We were not so fortunate in getting
out. The inconvenient vonntories of a
London playhouse are proverbial. On
this occasion there was such a pressure,
that .Mrs. Hipkins found great difficulty
in keeping hold of my arm, and I had to
endure grumblings of the true conjugal
kind without end — " Dear me, Gregory
how can you be so stupid — Lord, how
you pull — Heavens, why don't you come
on !" I could get on no farther. There
had been seated rieit to me a person with
a wooden leg, which had more than once
bruised my shins during the perform-
ance, and, by its accursed proximity, was
still destined to torment me ; for it had
fixed itself upon my foot, and kept me
immovable, and in great agony, till the
tide of human beings jiassed by, separat-
ing my wife from me, and carrying that
gentle creature onwards in its vortex.
In vain I remonstrated, bellowed, swore,
— he himself could not stir, for a con-
tii^uous door-post, behind which the
crowd had jammed him. At length he
released me, and again feeling the jires-
sure of a female arm ujion my own, I
hobbled on, deeming myself not unfor-
tunate in having so soon been rejoined
by Mrs. Hipkins. At this moment a i)re.s.
sure of the hand, somewhat tenderer
than betokens the second post-nnitrinu)-
nial year of eoni)les much more tender
than Mr. ami .Mrs. Gregory Hipkins, in-
duced mc to turn my face towards her.
Uns])eakable horror — one moment for
the magic pen of Spenser! to i)aint me
the lineaments of the foulest of hags,
that oglcci, as 1 bent my liead beneath a
flaunting, tau'dry bonnet, with a grin
that revealed teeth of every size, shape,
and hue, huddled together like grave-
stones that had felt the upheaving of uii
'2G
THE PARTERRE.
earthqiiiike — and breathing — powers of
heaven, rather of hell — such vapours as
were never brushed from the unwhole-
some fens of Sierra Leone itself. — " Dear
Gregory," she croaked, "beloved, have I
found you at last?" She must have
caught my name from my wife, as she
followed us on our return from the play,
into the pit avenue. "Dear Gregory!"
— Frantic even to madness, I strove to
shake her off with efforts almost super-
natural; but she clung to me as the veno-
med shirt to Alcides, renewing her un-
earthly raptures, and beseeching me
not to desert her in tones, or rather howls,
of so unusual a kind, as to invite a crowd
of linkboys and hackney-coachmen to
take an interest in the spectacle. The
philoso])hy of the moment is the best in
these cases. "It is a poor unhappy
maniac," I said, walking quietly home-
wards, and hanging down my ears, as Ho-
race did, when he vainly strove to shake
off the friend he met in the Via Sacra of
Rome. But did my eyes deceive me?
No; they did not.
A few yards onwards, and not many
from my own residence, I could perceive
Mrs. Gregory Hipkins in close proximity
to a tall Irish hussar, who had satnext her
at the play. She was leaningon his arm,
and listening to his discourse, or rather
rhodomontade, with much earnestness.
The proximity of person, too, was greater
than was required in the casual escort of
a gentleman to a lady who accidentally
stood in need of his protection. In the
meanwhile, the increasing raptures of the
hideous Duessa still sticking to my arm,
attracted the notice of my wife and the
hussar, who turned back to have their
share of the diversion.
"This poor wretch," I said to Mrs.
Hipkins, " is out of her mind. Common
humanity will not suffer me to use violent
means of getting rid of her."
" Oh, Mr. Hipkins," replied my amia-
ble spouse, "your part of the piece is
well got up. An old attachment per-
haps."
I relished her irony but little, and
tnat of her Hibernian gallant still less,
who, eyeing the withered fragment ot
the female form that hung on my arm,
rant<'d in the truest of brogues,
" Warm in their ashes live her wonted fires!"
Had my arm been unfettered by its loath-
some burden, I should have aided his
gravitation to the earth by an immediate
application of my fist to the untenanted
skull of this most impudent of block-
heads. But I was bent upon effecting my
dcli\'erancc. It was a struggle that lasted
three or four minutes, during which Mrs.
Gregory Hipkins, with her one-eyed
beau ( I forgot to mention that her Apollo
was a mutilated statue) walked towards
my house with all possible composure.
Nor was it but by the fortunate accident
of mypersecutor's stumblingon abroken
part of the pavement, and thereby losing
hold of my arm, that I succeeded in
giving her a push that laid her at full
length in the mud that had collected in
tne chasm, and breaking away from her
in the midst of mingled moans for the
desertion of " her Gregory," and the ruin
of her gros de Naples gown and Brussels
veil. My wife was at the door, in the
act of wishing her Damon good night ; but
there was something in the mode of wish-
ing it, that " denoted a foregone conclu-
sion." I rushed in — Mrs. Hipkins had
squatted herself on a sofa. She sighed,
as vulgar women do on such occasions —
alas ! Gregory Hipkins the Unlucky had
made, some months before, the pleasant
discovery that his wife was essentially
vulgar — and genuine thorough-bred vul-
garity is a compound of all that is horrid
in the female creation — and began a series
of upbraidings after the truest precedents
of vulgar women.
" Well, Mr. Hipkins — you have part-
ed on good terms, I trust, Avith your old
flame?" she ejaculated.
"And you with yours, I hope, madam,"
was my reply.
A sort of peace was patched up. It
seems that she had met her friend Cap-
tain Mahoney somewhere before, and
that the acquaintance was renewed by
his accidentally sitting next to her at the
play. The step of captain, indeed, was
a piece of promotion she herself gave
him, perhaps euphonic gratia; for the
fellow was only an ensign.
" And you know, Gregory, I could
not decline his arm, when I lost you in
the crowd; besides, really, he was so
civil, really."
My own story told itself; and Mrs.
Hipkins was, or pretended to be, satis-
fied.
Strange incidents bring on strange in-
dispositions. Mrs. Gregory Hipkins be-
came bilious. Cheltenham is the only
place for bilious people. Her whole
family, she pleaded, were afllicted with
" the bile," and Cheltenham had cured
them, one after the other. I had no
counter plea but the hourly-wasting con-
dition of my purse. What is that against
an expedition on whicha female sets her
heart ? So behold us inmates of Stiles's
boarding-house at Cheltenham.
THE PARTERRE.
• It is written!" says tiie Turk. 1
was still to be the victim of these prori-
mities. NVe were sittiiier down at the
public diiiing-table, when who should
advance towards my wife, and, with the
easy assurance of a face thrice dipped in
the brazen stream of tlie Shannon, take
his seat next her, but the same Captain
Mahoney I He honoured me with a slight
token of recognition, and began pouring
his unmeaning volubilities into her ear ;
and really .Mrs. Gregory Hipkins did
seriously incline to hear them. Ne.\t
day — several days in succession — the
same proximity of seat — the same stream
of nothings absorbing all her faculties ;
but by degrees a closer contiguity of liead
and cheek, and the talk frequently sub-
siding into murmurs.
I was always inclined to think jealousy
a very foolish species of self-tormenting.
The woman who makes a man jealous is
never worth being jealous about. But
who can control liis fate? ' We were
seated at the diimer-table as usual — the
Cai)tain, of course, next to Mrs. Hijjkins.
The jangling of a post-chaise was heard
at the door ; and in a few minutes bounced
into the apartment — accursed fatality ! —
the infernal hag that had tormented me
to deatli on the niglit of the play. Seeing
the chair ««it my own unoccupied, toad-
like she squatted in it, witli an agility of
whidi I did not deem her cajjable, and
began a series of embraces — tlie mere
recollection of which brings a cold faint-
ing sickness over me even at this mo-
ment. I brushed them off as well as I
could ; but to stop her tongue, whilst it
was revelling in the maddest hyperboles
of fondness, was im])ossible. " Dear
Gregory — beloved Gregory ! We meet
to part no more ! Cruel man', to leave me
in that dirty puddle — my gros de Naples
will never more be fit to wear."
All eyes were upon me. A buzz went
round — " A pleasing recognition," said
one. " Hi- h>oks confoundedly sh('e]iish,"
remai'ked another. " His wife does not
»eeniover-ide!uscd,"said u third. "Wife!"
observed a fourth, with an air of p(jsi-
tivc information ; " don't you see that
the lady who is just arrived is his lirst
wife, whoiscometoclaim her husband?"
And in this interjirctation, which, merely
implying that I was guilty of bigamy,
reroinmended itself by its siin]dii-itv,
•■very one acquiesi-ed. Nay, I I'ould
di-tini-tly hear a young barrister at the
end of the table hiying it down to be
a f('lony, and quoting the DucIichh of
KingHton'ft cuhe to prove that it was
clergyable.
My tormento7'r p. ate being laden with
meat, I had a short respite whJ.st she
devoured it. The farce, however, whii-h
was so highly amusing to every body
but myself, was soon renewed, and mo-
tioning Mrs. Hipkins to follow me, 1
endeavoured to steal away. But Mrs
Hipkins, amiable woman, not wishing
to increase the uproar, as I supposed,
stirred not, and the frantic bedlamite
again clung romid me. In vain I strove
to impress the company with the obvious
fact, that the woman was insane. Pro-
bably I might have succeeded, had not
the unaccountable conduct of Mrs. llij)-
kins encouraged alesa favourable theory.
Some, however, were candid enougli to
admit the insanity — but believed it was
my misconduct that had occasioned it.
The hag followed me into the High
Street, whither I had betaken myself as
a refuge, and renewed her loathsome
endearments. At last, seeing a mob of
a less refined class collecting around us,
I thought the jest was becoming some-
what too serious, and called in the aid
of a constable or two, who, with some
difficulty took her into custody. Thus
the affair would have ended, had it been
that of any other of the myriads that
l)eople God's earth — but Gregory lli])-
kiiis the Unlucky. The sage tribunal
of e\t'ry liluary, the assembled wisdom
of the pump-room, gave it against me.
It was quite dear that 1 had married a
second wfe, the first being still living,
which the young barrister had convinced
them amounted to bigamy — -having,
moreover, cla])])ed my first wife into pri-
son to get rid of her evidence. The
lawyer thought that a magistrate should
call on me to find bail — -others thought
that I ought not to be at large upon any
terms wliatever.
CJonjugal disputes are settli'd or re-
vived at night. I bitterly reproached
Mrs. (Gregory Hipkins. She was dread-
fully alFected by my rei)roaclies — and
Went to sleep. The next morning slit-
rose early, to take the wati-rs at the
j)ump-room. Worn out by the petty per-
secutions of the |)recediiig day, I claim-
ed the |>rivilege of a ])rotracted slumt)er.
I could r(-niark, huwev(-r, that slu- was a
coMsidcrabli- timeat hertoib-t, and heard,
thtjugh indistinctly, a confused noise oi
rustling, and a stirring (jf band-biix(-s
Ix-tokening a packing-up. Nor was I
deceived. On going down into ilie
break fast-room, I learned that Mrs. (In--
gory Hipkins and Captain Mahoney had
departi-d lour hiiurs before, si-att-d »ii'i(to
each olliir in a posl-chai--e. -liluckuiHid.
28
THE PARTERRE.
THE BEAR HUNT.
" A bear," commenced our Alcibiades,
" as colossal in size as unequalled in
strength, had become the terror of the
inhabitants of the whole country between
Bucharest and Cempino, near the Car-
patho- Romano- Moldavian mountains.
The haunts of the monster were chiefly
confined to the interminable forest of
Poeinar, which is traversed by the road
from Bucharest to Kronstadt, at Tran-
sylvania. This dreadful animal had been
known to the inhabitants for about eight
or ten years, during which time he had
destroyed more than four hundred head
of oxen, and other domestic animals. It
appeared as if the inhabitants were panic-
siruck, for no one dared to attack him ;
his last exploit, and which at length
awakened the attention of the chief divan
of the district, was as follows : —
" A large quantity of wine, destined
for Bucharest, was being slowly trans-
ported across the hills, and, according to
the usual custom, the drivers halted for
repose and refreshment during the heat
of the day. The animals were released
from their teams and left to graze along
the side of the road close to the forest,
when suddenly a dreadful roaring was
heard; the drivers ran to the spot, and
beheld in the midst of the buffaloes a
black animal of most formidable dimen-
sions, who had already seized one and
thrown it on its back, where he held it,
in spite of the fearful struggles of the
agonized victim, with one of his claws,
like the grasp of an iron vice, and escaped
upon his other three legs with his ill-
fated prey.
"This apparently half- fabulous intel-
ligence attracted not only the attention
of the government, but that of the lovers
of the chase in Bucharest and the adja-
cent country; namely, the bojars Kos-
taki, Kornesko, Manoulaki-Floresko, the
bey Zadey- Soutzo, and myself. A grand
hunt was speedily projected, and the
whole admirably organized by one of the
party, Signor Floresko, of the foreign
department.
" It was planned that the bear, when
first traced, was to be driven forward by
five or six hundred peasants into a semi-
circle composed of about a hundred
huntsmen.
"The appointed day arrived, and
these arrangements having been made in
the most silent manner possible, the
gignal was given to commence the chase
by a long blast of the hunting-horn,
which was quickly followed by the
sounds of other most noisy instruments
and the loud shouts of the peasants; it
was not long before a shot resounded to
my right, near the spot were Signor
Kornesko stood, which was succeeded
by a dead silence; after the lapse of a
few minutes, I heard the rush of some
animal through the thickets, the noise of
whose steps among the dry leaves was
doubled by the stillness of a clear Oc-
tober day. My visitor was a well-fed
fox ; he presented himself about eighty
paces distant; I shot him through the
head, and again the former stillness suc-
ceeded: but the drivers drawing nearer,
the tremendous uproar re-commenced.
It was perfectly frightful to hear our
Moldavian peasants (scattered over two
leagues of ground) utter their piercing
cries and still more frightful wailings,
while they beat the trees with sticks,
clappers, and other discordant noisy in-
struments. I now heard at about the
distance of half a league two shots, which
were immediately followed by the most
deafening yells, — and the word Ours!
Ours I (which in the Romano- Molda-
vian language is sounded as in French)
fell distinctly on my ear.
"The prince, or bey, Zadey- Soutzo,
came up to me, saying, ' Seigneur Alci-
biades, the bear has broken through the
cordon formed by the drivers. What
have you killed? '
" ' A fine fox, as you see here before
you.' The Mameluke who attended him
carried the animal away.'
" At this moment Signor Kornesko
joined us, and we all went together to
the spot where the bear had disappeared ;
there we found Floresko, who was en-
deavouring to ascertain the track. On
demanding who had shot at the bear?
we were told it was Lazar, the hunter,
but that he had merely grazed his back ;
the other shot was from the musket of a
peasant, past whom the bear ran with
astonishing rapidity, breaking down the
young trees which interrupted his pro-
gress. The poor fellow, excessively
frightened, fell upon bis back, which
caused his rifle to explode without his as-
sistance ; his deplorable plight was the
subject of much merriment to us, and we
re-called his scattered senses by a pretty
strong dose of brandy.
"We now followed the track of the
bear, and about a hundred paces further
discovered spots of sweat on the leaves
and bark of the trees; they were about
the height of a middle-sized man. I de-
manded of Lazar, who had shot at him,
whether he ran on his hind legs or ail
TIIK PARTERRK.
•29
fours? ' On all fours, like ii dog,' was
the answer.
" I now beg:an to attach some rredit to
the marvellous aeeouuts I had heard of
the enormous size and strength of the
monster; and my euriosity to see him,
together with my desire for his destruc-
tion, were most strongly excited.
" For a considerable time I wandered
about with the rest of the company, who
had sent for a pack of hounds that had
been left at the nearest vilhige ; until,
weary of this ineffectual search, I took a
wild, unfre(|uented ])ath, and turned to
the left in the thickest part of the forest,
where I ho])ed to be able to find a pas-
sage to lead to the provision-carriage,
which I knew was in this direction, for I
had become excessively hungry.
" After walking a short distance, I
entered a valley which might with truth
be termed virgin; tremendous oaks had
here died through age, and wild herbs
and young plants had grown up in the
cheering light of the sun out of their
decayed tninks, while eternal twilight
reigned beneath the wide-spreading
branches of those which still bloomed in
all the >'igour and freshness of youth.
Invited by their cooling shades, I sought
repose for a few minutes ; 1 had not long
enjoyed it, when I was suddenly startled
by a noise resembling that of a whole
squadron of cavalry bearing down in full
gallop upon me ; when, behold, I saw
the terrific coal-black monster, flying
with the rapidity of lightning, at about
two hundred paces distant; there was no
possibility of getting a shot at him, but
his size, strength, and j)rodigious swift-
ness, far exceeded any I had ever seen
among the white Arctic bears, or the
black .Siberian. I j)ursued him in a
we>terly direction, guided by the loud
barking of the dogs, who were upon his
scent. I soon joined a bojar, the chief
officer of Signor Fh^resko; the unfor-
tunate man seemed much animated by
the chase, for he said, ' I have a strong
presentiment that I shall reach the bear,
and I have ordered some of the best shots
in the band of huntsnwn to follow me.'
" We now entered a deep part of the
forest, thickly overs])read withwih! fruit
trees ; here, among old trunks of trees,
and rocky caverns, was, I presumed, the
bear's favourite retreat: indeed, we soon
dittcovered traces of him, and the earth
was covered in sevi-ral places with his
excremerit.H. In this strange and savage
»pot I dctcrniineil to take up my posi-
tion, and await the chance of riiicling the
enemy. Signor Kostaki continued the
pursuit. Tired, and suffering from ex-
cessive heat, 1 lay down, together with
my faithful dog, beneath the extensive
foliage of an immense wild ai)ple-tree,
lighted up my tchoubouk, and com-
manded Amico, a most powerful wolf-
dog, thoroughly trained against man or
beast, to keep a strict watch. 1 might
have dreamed for about lialf an hour,
enveloped in the elysium of clouds of
smoke, when I was suddenly aroused by
the violent rushing of approaching ani-
niiils. I cautiously arose smd stejiped
behind the trunk of a large tree, when I
observed about a dozen wild swine, pre-
ceded by an immense boar, who acted as
leader ; these were quickly followed by
others, until I distinctly reckoned twen-
ty-three. Holding my dog back, 1 crept
like a serpent under the protection of a
fallen oak, till I came within eighty paces
of them; myobject was to bring down the
great boar, as 1 knew from long and dan-
gerous experience in the Mongolei, that
on such occasions, unless the chief falls,
the continuance of the life of the hunter
is doubtful; but, as if influenced by a
presentiment of what was likely to hap-
pen, he continued moving onward, and
as I feared that the whole band would
soon be out of the reach of a bullet, I
determined, cost what it would, to secure
one of them ; and as a full-grown one,
armed with huge tusks, haj)pened topre-
sent himself in the right position, I took
a deadly aim and fired, when, after
running a few paces, he fell; the others
disappeared in an instant, and the
former stillness again reigned in the
forest.
" It appeared the hunters were scat-
tered in different directions, each expect-
ing that the dogs would drive the bear in
his own immediate vicinity; for myself,
feeling secure that I had ascertained his
retreat, I waited in anxious expectation
of surprising him.
" My shot in the meantime must have
been heard, and I soimded several times
on my horn, in order to collect a few of
tiie peasants to carrj' off the boar I had
killed. I was speedily joined by about
thirty. Though mortally wounded, he
gnashed frightfully with his teeth, until
one of the huntsmen dispatched him
with a short hunting-sword : it was a
noble animal, both in size and fatness,
and I received thecongratulationsof the
whole party. During this time, I ob-
Berveda peasant from tiie neighliourliood
of I'oeinar attentively <)bser\ ing my
booty. ' What dost thou seem to wonder
at in the boar, friend?' said I.
du
THE PARTERRE.
" ' It IS very singular, signer,' answer-
ed the peasant, ' but I could have sworn
that this fellow is no stranger to me.
About five or six years ago, one of my
finest pigs formed a connexion with a
flock of wild swine, and shortly after
entirely disappeared in the woods ; but,
however, we can see if he has my mark
— a slit in the left ear.' ' Donner und
Wetter,' cried the peasant, in raptui'es,
' he is mine!' and without a doubt the
mark was visible to us all. It may
easily be supposed that my trophy, a
noble boar of the free- forests, transform-
ed into a household pig, the property of
a Moldavian peasant, became the subject
of the united laughter of my compa-
nions.
" I know not when the jokes of the
hunters would have ceased, if they had
not been interrupted by the distant
tumultuous noise of the dogs, who seem-
ed approaching, and we concluded, by
the sound, they might be still about a
league from us. The whole party left
me, except Lazar, the same hunter who
had first shot the bear. As the cry of
the hounds died away, I seated myseJf
by my inglorious game, and again com-
menced smoking my tchoubouk ; but I
was almost immediately aroused by the
near approach of the dogs in full cry,
succeeded by a frightful roar, which
seemed to overwhelm every other sound.
With my gun on the cock, I flew for-
ward ; a momentary silence ensued,
which was almost instantly succeeded
by a violent crash like a thunder-storm,
for I observed the undervi'ood before me
bowing and crackling, and on the very
same foot-path which I had taken, the
long sought for hideous monster stood
before me, completely filling the space
between the trees vdth his enormous
mass. I was no sooner observed by the
ferocious brute than he flew at me with
a powerful spring, sending forth a howl
so loud and piercing that it nearly stun-
ned me, and literally shook the air. Con-
scious, however, that there was now no
other alternative but death or victory, I
allowed my opponent to approach within
six paces, took a deadly aim, and fired
with the same lucky barrel that had
already laid prostrate the fox and the
boar. The ball struck the terrific animal
exactly between the eyes ; he seemed
paralysed for a moment, in which happy
pause my faithful Amico gallantly sprung
forward. Bewildered perhaps by the
unexpectedappearance of the large white
dog and its furious bellowing, he afford-
ed me sufficient time to lodge a second
bullet precisely in the same spot, whilst
Lazar, who had taken up a safe position
behind a large oak, sent him a third,
which however did hum but little injury,
as the buMet was afterwards found buried
in his fat.
" I distinctly saw, by the two streams
of blood which issued from his forehead,
his hopeless situati-on ; this was also
evinced by his breathing. I drew my
hunting-knife and sought, aided by my
dog, to stun him with the loudest shout-
ing ; upon which, perceiving us advance,
he roared tremendously, and seemed
disposed to escape into the thicket ; his
tottering walk proved that his strength
was fast declining, and when aboiit
thirty paces distant, he fell.
" As J could not follow him with per-
fect safety, I re-loaded my gun, and tried
to irritate him, in order that he might
turn round and give me an opportunity
of sending him another bullet in the
most vital part. He lay perfectly still,
occasionally wiping the streaming blood
from his face with his fore-paws, like a
human being : assisted by my dog, we
attacked him with great fury, and per-
ceiving no chance of safety, he com-
menced breaking the branches of the
trees which surrounded him, and hurled
them at us with immense force; then
raised himself up, and apparently, with
all his pristine strength, attacked me
with the force of desperation ; but his
last moment was approaching. I allow-
ed him to advance, and when almost
touching the barrel of my gun, he re-
ceived the entii'e charge — my last deadly
shot. The death-struggle was momen-
tary, for he sunk forward, sprinkling my
face with his blood, and almost burying
me under his enormous mass. The last
groan he uttered exceeded in horror all
that I had ever heard — a tone so full and
deep, so despairing and piercing, that
the whole forest resounded, and the
echoes of the rocks seemed to repeat it
with a shudder !
" I was now surrounded by Signor Flo-
resko and hundreds of men, each looking
at the huge beast almost with affright. I
was overwhelmed with congratulations
by all present, at having slain the mon-
ster which had been so long the terror
of the whole country.
" I must confess that I had never
before encountered a danger so immi-
nent, so formidable in its aspect ; neither
did I ever obtain a victory that gave me
gi'eater pleasure.
" We were obliged to have the young
wood cleared away before we could drag
THE PARTERRR.
Ill
tlie fallen monster out of the thicket into
the nearest road, wliere he lay for some
time.
" In the meantime, Floresko informed
me that he feared his chief oflScer, Ko-
staki, would be the victim of this day,
for he had been found in a horrible
situation. Shortly after, the unfortu-
nate young man was conveyed to us on a
bier in a most deplorable condition ; his
clothes and limbs rent and mangled, his
entrails torn out, his spine broken; in
short, it was impossible to save him.
After lingering a few hours in dreadful
agony, he died.
" Thus the death of the ferocious ani-
mal was avenged, and our victory dearly
purchased !
" The bear was placed on a wagon,
drawn by four horses, to be conveyed to
Bucharest, but this plan we were obliged
to abandon, as the body emitted such a
noisome stench that the whole atmo-
sphere was poisoned ; it was therefore
flayed on the spot. The fat was found
to weigh 800 pounds, and the flesh and
bones 963 pounds. From between the
ears to the extremity of the back, he
measured nineteen feet; and, according
to a calculation based on Gall's system,
must liave been between 170 and 180
years of age. He was entirely black,
and his teeth much worn, and was no
doubt a Siberian bear, which at difl^erent
times had been hunted to this wood,
where he had found a secure asylum ;
in his left leg and back were two broken
arrows- I presented the skin to my
friend, Namick Pasha, a general in the
service of the Ottoman empire. His
skull I have retained for myself, and also
part of his fat, which I have preserved
in my ice-house at Bucharest.
" The female, with two young ones,
which have already arrived at the size
of large oxen, have been seen about
F'ocinar and tlie neighbouring forests ;
she is said to be very little inferior to her
consort, either in magnitude or ferocity.
You may therefore, gentlemen," con-
cluded Seigneur Alcibiadcs, laughing,
"obtain laurels similar to those with
which I am crowned^ and, by perform-
ing Huch an exploit, you would eclipse
old Hercules and his boar, because th.'it
animal can scarcely see two feet beyond
his head, is very awkward at turning,
and never climbs a tree; whereas no
mortiil foot can escape the pursuit of an
enraged bear." — From I'utti Frutti, by
a (iermati Prince (Puckler .Muskau),
author of the most delightful " 7'our in
Knoliinil, ,J[f." that we have ever ])erui«ed.
STANZAS.
{For the i'urterre.')
\Micn fell Disease, with serpent fold.
Involves this frame of mortal mould.
And, spent and woni, our struggles cease.
Death gives us, from the coil, release.
But no such happy lot is mine,
M hen I the menUii strife resign.
The thought that tells me strife is vain,
Gives immortality to Pain 1
H. GlILFOIlD.
MISCELLANIES.
FISHING NOT A CKUEL SPORT.
" Fishes (you know a whale is not a fish)
have no natural aflTection. How can you
expect it in spawn? Fry, half an inch
long, issue from the gravel without paren-
tal eyes to look after tbem, so they arc
fortunately incapable of filial ingratitude.
You do not reduce a whole family to
starvation by clappingan odd old fish into
your creel. Nor can you break the heart
of an odd old fish by wheedling before
his eyes all the younkers out of a pool
who owe their existence to him, and to
the old lady you captivated and seduced
in early spring, by the lure of a march-
brown, the most killing of Quakers." —
Blackwood's Magazine.
OTTO OF ROSES.
In a work published some time since,
by Monsieur de Maries, entitled " His-
toire Generale des Indes Ancienne et
Moderne," etc., we find the following
account of the discovery of this very
fragrant extract. " It is said to have
been in Lahore that chance led to the
discovery of the essence of rose. The
Begum or favourite Sultana of the Em-
[leror Shah- lehaun, seeking to strengthen
lis passion by attaching liim to herself
by delightful sensations, conceived the
idea of bathing in a pool of rose-water,
and had the reservoir of her garden iilU-d
with it. The rays of the sun acting
upon this water, the essence whicli it
contained concentrated itself in lit tie i)ar-
tides of oil which floated on the surface
of the basin. At first it was thought
that this matter was produced by fer-
mentation, and that it was a sign of
corru])tion or fetidity ; but as they tried
to gather it in order to dean the basin,
they perceived that it exiialed a delicious
smell. 'Ihis it was tiiat gave tlie idea
of extracting in future the essence <if
roses, by a process corresponding with
that which nature had eini)loyed."
32
THE PARTERRE.
GINGL'R YILL.
A short time since, a Baillie of Glas-
gow invited some of his electioneer-
ing friends to dinner, during which
the champagne circulated freely, and
was much relished by the honest bo-
dies ; when one of them, more fond of
it than the rest, bawled out to the ser-
vant who ^vaited, " I say, Jock, gie us
some more o'that ginger yill, will ye !" —
B. Q. T.
CONSEQUENCE OF POPULAllITY.
" My door," says Mrs. Siddons, " was
soon beset by various persons quite un-
known to me, whose curiosity was on
the alert to see the new actress, some of
whom actually forced their way into my
drawing-room, in spite of remonstrance
or opposition. This was as inconvenient
as it was offensive ; for, as I usually
acted three times a-week, and had, be-
sides, to attJend the rehearsals, I had but
little time to spend unnecessarily. One
morning, though I had previously given
orders not to be interrupted, my servant
entered the room in a great hurry,
saying, ' Ma'am, I am very sorry to tell
you, that there are some ladies below,
who say they must see you, and it is im-
possible for me to prevent it. I have
told them over and over again that you
are particularly engaged, but all in vain ;
and now, ma'am, you may actually hear
them on the stairs.' I felt extremely
indignant at such unparalleled imperti-
nence ; and before the servant had done
speaking to me, a tall, elegant, invalid-
looking person presented herself (whom,
I am afraid, I did not receive very gra-
ciously) ; and after her, four more, in
slow succession. A very awkward silence
took place; when presently the first lady
began to accost me, with a most inve-
terate Scotch twang, and in a dialect
which was scarcely intelligible to me in
those days. She was a person of very
high rank: her curiosity, however, had
been too powerful for her good breed-
ing.
' You must think it strange,' said she,
'to see a person entirely unknown to
you intrude in this manner upon your
privacy; but, you must know, I am in a
vei-y delicate state of health, and my
physician M'on't let me go to the theatre
to see you, so I am come to look at you
here.' She accordingly sat down to
look, and I to be looked at, for a few
painful moments, when she arose and
apologized ; but I was in no humour to
overlook such insolence, and so let her
depart in silence."
Campbell's Life of Siddons.
OTWAY'S VENICE PRESERVED.
" It is pretty well known," says Campbell,
"that Otway founded his tragedy on
St. Real's history of the Venetian con-
spiracy in 1618. Nearly the whole of
the dramatis personse are real persons.
Belvidera, however, is fictitious. The
real Renault was no villain, and the real
Pierre was privately strangled on board
his own ship, by order of the Venetian
senate. The prose and true Jaffier was
not melted in his faith to the conspiracy
by a woman's tears, but was struck with
compunction during a city jubilee, when
he contrasted its gaiety with the horrors
and massacres that would result from
the plot. Otway's Jaffier is eventually
more pathetic and dramatic, but St.
Real's history iswonderfuUyimpressive.
Voltaire compares its author to Sallust,
and not unworthily."
Fashion is a deformed little monster,
with a chameleon skin, bestriding the
shoulders of public opinion. Though
weak in itself, like most other despots, it
has gradually usurped a degree of power
that is irresistible, and prevails in vari-
ous forms over the whole habitable earth.
It is the greatest tyrant in the world.
A LITERARY SHOEMAKER.
" Hans Sachs, the old poet of Nurem-
berg," says Mrs. Jameson, "did as much
for the Reformation, by his songs and
satires, as Luther and the doctors by
their preaching. Besides being one of
the worshipful company of meister-
singers, he found time to make shoes,
and even to enrich himself by his trade;
he informs us himself, that he had com-
posed and written with his own hand,
'four thousand two hundred mastership
songs ; two hundred and eight comedies,
tragedies, and farces ; one thousand
seven hundred fables, tales, and miscel-
laneous poems; and seventy-three devo-
tional, military, and love songs.' It is
said he excelled in humour, but it was
such as might have been expected from
the times — it was vigorous and coarse.
' Hans,' says the critic, ' tells his tale
like a convivial burgher, fond of his can,
and still fonder of his drollery.' If this
be the case, his house has received a very
appropriate designation : it is now an
ale-house, from which, as I looked up,
the mixed odours of beer and tobacco,
and the sound of voices singing in chorus
streamed through the latticed windows.
' Drollery and the can,' were as rife in
the dwelling of the immortal shoemaker,
as they would have been in his own days,
and in his own jovial presence."
THE PARTERRE.
33
P. 35.
THE PHANTOM SKIRMISH.
( For the Parterre.)
" Fierce spirits of those stormy times
When civil strife clisturbed the land,
Why at the clush of midnight chimes.
Appears in arms your spectrul band ?
" Your amiour in the moonlight ({leunis,
Your white plumes in the nifrht breeze wave.
Why thus disturb the silent night ;
Does hate extend beyond the grave ?
•' Why in the pale moon's gentle light
Do ye in arms attain appeiir ;
Is not f<jr ever hushed the strife
Of Puritan and Cavalier >" MS.
My uncle was a warm-hearted and hos-
pitable man, with a liMiniiiR towards
superstition. A >;Jiost story was his
dcli^fht, and he would listen to a iiiUTa-
tive of ^;ol)lins and fairies with iiiteii>e
interest. .Many a eiinniij); fellow took
advantii^e of this, and often invented
tales of people " coming again " (the
re-appearanee of jtersons after death is
thus termed in Berkshire) for his edifi-
cation. One fine evening in the spring
of the- year 17 — , my revered relative,
and four friends, were sitting within the
little how-window of hin house at (' — ,
chiitting on various suhjects, when my
uncle entered upfm his favourite tlienie,
and treated his guests with two or three
narrativcH of undoubted authenticity.
First, how Jem, the gardener, had seen
a blue light dancing in the chancel
window of the old church on the very
night that farmer R^ 's eldest son got
so drunk at market, hat, on his road
home, he fell from his liorsc and broke
his neck, to the great grief of his father,
but to the inexpressible joy of the whole
village. Secondly, how the de\il, in
the time of his grandfather { ! ), was wont
to dance every night round a huge
thistle in the paddock ; and, lastly, how
the sheplierd's son Dick had been aluios*
terrified to death by the appearance of a
strange animal, which, after changing
itself successively into a calf, a hog, and
a goat, finished the hellish |)antoiiiim^e
by vanishing in a flame of fire ! During
these recitals there were plenty of ohs !
aiifl ahs ! you may be sin'c ; but one of
the company, whose organ «)f credulity
was not so fully develo|)ed, took the
liberty of ex|)ressing his total imla-lief
in such " stuff," as he termed it, and
rashly ventured to assert that these tales
were invented by old woii'en, who re-
leated them so often that they at length
adieved them to be true, and persuaded
others to do the same. The uidieliever
wan H young man, named (ieoige N — ,
who had arrived the preceding day from
Oxford, where he liad been pursuniK bin
studies. lb- was of a ronnmtic turn,
n
34
THE PARTKRRR.
and wrote poetry for the magazines ; but,
tliougb lie could have relished a bit of
true German diablerie, tiiese village
tales only excited his laughter.
My uncle took several rapid whiffs at
his pipe, and then attacked the scoffer in
right earnest. He shewed that to be-
lieve in ghosts was a part of the Christian
creed ; that from time immemorial these
supernatural visitants were permitted to
warn the good and terrify the wicked,
and that, in fact, to be sceptical on such
a subject argued a leaning towards Soci-
nianism, and other heresies. The stu-
dent saw that it was of no use to attempt
to controvert the opinion which his host
had maintained in such orthodox style,
and, before long, was himself an atten-
tive listener to the numerous ghost stories
related by the company.
" Ay, ay," said mine uncle, as one
of the guests cpncluded a narrative re-
plete with hobgobliury, — " that's nothing
to what we have in this village, on the
anniversary of this very night. You
must know, gentlemen, that in the time
of the civil wars there was a sharp
skirmish one night between a party of
Royalists and the Parliamentarians, in
which the former were great sufferers.
It was a severe conflict, though of short
duration, and many noble fellows were
slain on both sides. The next day a
large pit was dug in the church-yard,
and about forty Englishmen were tum-
bled into this rude grave in the land of
their fathers without the burial service,
for the clergyman had fled from the vil-
lage. The Royalists, wearing their shirts
over their clothes, advanced upon the
village in the hope of surprising their
enemies, but their approach was disco-
vered •, yet so fiercely was the charge
made, that the Roundheads were driven
out, but not until the attacking party
had nearly half their number killed or
disabled. Well, gentlemen, this skir-
mish on every anniversary of that fatal
night, is performed by phantoms, who
go through the scene of strife with the
same energy as the originals. I have
beard say, that it is an awful sight, and
dangerous to the beholder, to whom it is
also a bad omen."
Here the student smiled incredulously.
My uncle did not fail to observe it.
" Well, well," he continued, " smile
and doubt : I question, though, whether
you would have nerve enough to witness
this shadowy spectacle, notwithstanding
your incredulity."
The student made no reply, because he
thought that if he expressed his willing-
ness to make the trial, some of tlie com-
pany might be upon the watch to play
him a trick ; but he inwardly determin-
ed to be near the spot at the particular
hour ; not that he anticipated any such
a sight as a combat of spectres, but
merely that he might have a good laugh
against his host at breakfast the next
morning. The church clock had struck
eleven before the party broke up, and
George N — was conducted to his cham-
ber.
" Good night, George," said his host,
smiling; "you will find your bed and a
sound sleep, better than sitting on a
stile watching the manoeuvres of spectre
visitants. Good night."
George smiled, and closing his cham-
ber door, threw himself on the bed witli-
out taking off his clothes, for he found
that the ale he had drunk had made his
head somewhat lighter than his heels.
He discovered also, as is the case with
some persons, that it had not improved
his spirits, and he began, as he afterwards
confessed, to feel very old womanish.
He lay for a considerable time ruminat-
ing on the strange stories he had heard,
and had already planned " An Essay on
Superstition," to be comprised in a small
octavo volume, when the candle which
had burnt down into the socket, flashed
brightly for a moment and then suddenly
went out, leaving the chamber but dimly
lighted by the full moon.
Our student, in spite of himself, waxed
each moment more nervous : he arose,
and throwing up the window, looked
into the garden below. It was a lovely
night ! the dew drops sparkled in the
mild rays of the moon, and all nature
seemed to slumber. George N — felt
his nervousness departing as he looked
on the tranquil scene, and he determined
to have a stroll in the moonlight. To
enjoy this without disturbing the family,
he cautiously jumped from the window,
which was but a little distance from the
ground, into the garden, and alighted on
one of the flower-beds. Passing through
the garden gate he entered the littU
paddock, in which was a colt and a pet
lamb, who, startled at liis appearance at
that hour of the night, scampered to the
farther side, and left the student to gaze
undisturbed upon the scene before him.
At the foot of the small hill on which
the village stood, ran a trout-stream,
which, gleaming briglitly in the moon-
light, contrasted strongly with the long
grass of the meadows through which it
ran. On its summit were five venerable
elms, of the same age perhaps as the rem-
THE PARTERRE.
35
naot of an aiicifiit cross wLich tbey
shadowed. It had sutVered in the civil
wars of Cliarles and his parliament, and
its steps had been since defaced by the
rustics, wlio were at one time in the habit
of sharpeniufj their knives upon them, a
practice whicli was ut length forbidden
by my uncle, under pain of his displea-
sure. Behind die elms, wrapped in
deep shadow, stood the small church with
its s(iuareivy-covered tower, and Norman
arched door witli its zig-zag ornaments,
hi front was the road, which turned
abruptlv where the cross stood, and de-
scended witl) a gentle slope to the stream
just mentioned.
George strode along the paddock, and
leaning against a stile which fronted
the church, fell into a reverie. Imagi-
nation conjured up the times when the
travel-worn pilgrim knelt before that
now ruined cross ; when the sculptured
<ioorway of the ancient church was fresh
from the chisel of the workman, glad-
dening the heart and delighting the e^-e
of the pious founder. He thought, too,
oa the violent scenes of the Reformation,
and then of the skirmish which in after-
times had taken ])lace on that very spot,
and spite of himself, he felt a thrill through
his frame which recalled the nervous-
ness he had not long since contrived to
dismiss. Our student was preparing to
reason liimself out of this fit, when lo !
he beheld two dusky figures on horse-
back turn the corner of the road. The
tramp of their horses' feet was lost in the
hollow, rushing noise, which sounded in
their rear. George felt that they were
not of this world, and he would have
fallen to the ground from terror, had it
not been for the stile upon which he now
leaned. The two horsemen were clad in
cuirasses and barret caps of un|iolished
iron, and they held their carabines in
their hands, resting the but-end on their
thighs. Another minute, and the troop
winch they jireceded appeared in sight,
their armour and accoutrements hidden
by their white shirts, just as had been
described to the territied mortal who now
beheld them. Ihev halted, as if by- con-
cert, and the student heard the jan;,'l('
of iheir accoutrements as each figure
wriggled hinis'-lf closer into bis saddle.
Me looked 111 the opjiosite direction, and
saw a iHjdy of jiikeiuen and musketeers
nuddenlv wheel into the road, from under
the shadow of an old barn. Instantiv
the leader of the infantry cried out, with
u voice like the blant of a triiinpet,
" l'ik<-H against cavalry ' "
1 he command was obeyed with the
rapidity of lightning, and the long pikes
bristled across the road, while each figure
grasped in his right hand a stout cut-aud-
thrust sword.* Then followed, in rajiid
succession,
"Musketeers, blow your matches I
Open your pans ! Give fire ! "
Ere the echo had replied to this com-
mand, a broad sheet of fiame flashed along
the line of musketeers, reaching as far
as the steel of the pikes, and the volley
pealed like a thunderclap. It was an-
swered by the two trumpeters of the Ca-
valiers, who had moved to the road-side,
and now sounded the charge, which
was made with the fury of a whirlwind,
amidst the smoke of the musketry, that
for a moment half concealed the com-
batants. The night breeze soon blew
aside this veil, and the student could
perceive that the ranks of the Parlia-
mentarians had been broken, and that,
although they were fighting desjierately
in detached parties, they were falling fast
under the heavy swords of the troopers.
Several wounded Jiorses were rolling
in the dust, and the bodies of the fierce
partisans were thickly strewed around.
Our student would have tied, but his
legs refused to do their office. On a
sudden, several of tlie Parliamentarians,
who had thrown themselves into a ring
and resisted the troopers for some time,
made a rush to the stile, as if to escape
from their enemies. George again at-
tempted to move, as the fugitives ad-
vanced, with wild gestures, their eyes
streaming with a supernatural light, lie
made an effort to speak, and the spell
was at once broken ; he found that he
had been dreaming t He had fallen into
a sound sleep immediately after he had
thrown himself upnn the bed, from which
he now awoke treinliling in every limb.
The morning had dawned, and ojiening
his chamber window, George looked out
on the little garden, from which a ihou-
• For the information of the unini-
tiated, we give the Sicur de Lostleneau's
instructions to the pikemen, when charged
by cavalry : — " Pour niettre la j)i(|ue en
defense contre la cavalerie, il Cant ap-
puyer le talon (the but-end) do la piijue
contre le pied droict ; avaiicer le pied
gauche un grand jias en avant ; jirendre
la pi'iue de la main gauche environ an
contrepoids ; plier fort lo gonouil de de-
vant ; baiter lejer de la pique a la hauteur
(lu jMiitral d'tiii cheial, et mettre I'espee n
III main par ilrsfus le bras gauche, ("est
en ceste posture i|u"oii peut niieiix ro-
MiMter li lu cavulerie. "
3':
THE PARTERRE.
sand flowers sent up their grateful per-
fume. The purple-tinged clouds be-
tokened a warm day ; but at this early
hour he f»it himself refreshed, as the
cool breeze fanned his pale cheek.
At breakfast our student was moody
and thoughtful, which his host observed.
" Why, George," said he, " you look
as pale and spiritless as if you had seeu
the tussle between the Cavaliers and
Roundheads ! "
"I have seen them, sir," replied
George, " though in a dream ; the sight
might have gladdened an antiquary ;
tLere were the musketeers with their
rests and lighted matches, and the pike-
men in their corslets and ' aprons of
maile,' as old Stow calls them, as plainly
as "
Here the piece of gammon of bacon
which my honoured relative had just
conveyed to his mouth was well nigh
choakiug him, as he burst out into a
laugh that my Lord Chesterfield would
have anathematized.
*' I thought as much ! " said he, his fat
sides shaking in an awful manner ; " but
if you look so scared after a dream, what
might we expect if a ghost were really
to cross your path 1 But come, I will
tell you a story that was related to a
friend of mine some years since."
My uncle hereupon began another
awful narrative ; but this must be re-
corded at some future time. A. A. A.
TO A WITHERED FLOWER.
Ses vives couleurs s'effacent, elle languit, elle se
dessfeche, et sa belle t6te se penche, ne pou-
vant plus se soutenir. — Fenelon.
Last tenant of the lonely reef,
Thy bloom is gone — thy beauty wasted ;
Yet oft upon thy silken leaf
Ambrosial dew the bee has tasted.
How sweetly rose thy tender stem,
Fanned by the fostering sighs of even ;
Till blew the breeze, and leaf and gem
Lay mould'ring 'neath a wintry heaven.
Yet thou'lt revive when genial Spring
Begems the lawn with rosy finger ;
Again the bee with wearied wing
Upon thy honeyed leaf shall linger.
But ah ! when shall that Spring arrive,
A deathless bloom around her throw-
ing'
Ah, Laura! when wilt thou revive,
In renovated beauty glowing?
I,ike that sweet floweret's was thy bloom.
That bloom, alas ! how short it lasted!
The untimely cypress wreaths thy tomb ;
And hope and joy with thee are blasted.
Hesper.
THE BROKEN MINIATURE.
FOUNDED ON FACTS.
Two young officers belonging to the same
regiment aspired to the hand of the same
young lady. We will conceal their real
names under those of Albert and Ho-
race. Two youths more noble never saw
the untarnished colours of their country
wave over their heads, or took more un-
daunted hearts into the field, or purer
forms or a more polished address into
the drawing-room.
Yet was there a marked difference in
their characters, and each wore his vir-
tues so becomingly, and one of them at
least concealed his vices so becomingly
also, that the maiden, who saw them
both, was puzzled where to give the pre-
ference ; and stood, as it were, between
two flowers of very opposite colours and
perfumes, and yet each of equal beauty.
Horace, who was the superior officer,
was more commanding in his figure than,
but not so beautiful in his features as,
Albert. Horace was the more vivacious,
but Albert spoke with more eloquence
upon all subjects. If Horace made the
more agreeable companion, Albert made
the better friend. Horace did not claim
the praise of being sentimental, nor Al-
bert the fame of being jovial. Horace
laughed the most with less wit, and Al-
bert was the most witty with less laugh-
ter. . Horace was the more nobly born,
yet Albert had the better fortune, the
mind that could acquire, and the circum-
spection that could preserve one.
Whom of the two did INIatilda prefer ?
Yes, she had a secret, an undefined pre-
ference ; yet did her inclinations walk so
sisterly hand in hand with her duties,
that her spotless mind could not divide
them from each other. She talked the
more of Horace, yet thought the more
of Albert. As yet, neither of the as-
pirants had declared themselves. Sir
Oliver, Matilda's father, soon put the
matter at rest. He had his private and
family reasons for wishing Horace to be
the favoured lover ; but, as he by no
means wished to lose to himself and to
his daughter the valued friendship of a
man of probity and of honour, he took a
delicate method of letting Albert under-
stand that every thing that he possessed,
his grounds, his house, and all that be-
longed to them, were at his service. He
excepted only his daughter.
When the two soldiers called, and they
were in the habit of making their visits
together. Sir Oliver had always some im-
provement to shew Albert, some dog for
THE TARTERRE.
37
him to admire, or some horse for }iim to
try ; and even in wet weatber, tliere was
never wanting a manuscript for him to
decipher ; so that he was sure to take
him out of the room, or out of the house,
and leave Horace alone with his daughter,
uttering some disparaging remark in a
jocular tone, to the eftect that Horace
was fit only to dance attendance upon
the ladies.
Albert understood all this, and sub-
mitted. He did not strive to violate the
rites of hospitality, to seduce the affec-
tions of the daughter, and outrage the
feelings of tlie fatlier. He was not one
of tliose who would enter the temple of
beauty, and under pretence of worship-
ping at the shrine, destroj' it. A com-
mon-place lover might have done so, but
Albert had no common-place mind. But
did he not suft'er 1 O ! that he suffered,
and suffered acutely, his altered looks,
his heroic silence, and at times his forced
gaiety, too plainly testified.
He kept his flame in the inmost re-
cesses of his heart, like a lamp in a
sepulchre, and which lighted up the
ruins of his hajipiness alone.
'I'o his daugliter. Sir Oliver spoke more
explicitly. Her affections had not been
engaged ; and the slight preference that
she began to feel stealing into her heart
for Albert, had its nature changed at
once. When she found that he could
not approach her as a lover, she found
to spring up for him in her bosom a re-
gard as sisterly and as ardent, as if the
same cradle had rocked them both. She
felt, and her father knew, that Albert's
w;i8 a character that must be loved, if
not as a husband, as a brother.
The only point upon which Matilda
differed from her father was, as to the
degree of encouragement that ought to
be given to Horace.
" I,et us, my dear father,'' she would
cntreatingly say, " be free, at least for
one year. lA-t us, for that period, stand
committed by no engagement : we are
both 3'oung, myself extremely so. A
peasant maiden would lay a lunger pro-
bation ui>on her swain. Do but ask Al-
bert if I am not in the right? "
The appeal that she made to Albert,
w!iich ought to have assured her fatlier
of the purity of her sentiments, fright-
ened him into a susjiicion of a lurking
affection liavirig crept into her bosom.
AffaifH were at tliiH rrisis when Najio-
leon returned from iJba, and burst like
the demon of war from a thunder-cloud,
upon thi- jihiins of Krnnce ; and all the
warlike and the valorous aru»e and walled
her in with their veteran breasts. The
returned hero lifted up his red right
hand, and the united force of France
rushed with him to battle.
The regiment of our rivals was ordered
to Belgium. After many entreaties from
her father, INIatilda at length consented
to sit for her miniature to an eminent
artist; but upon the express stipulation,
when it should be given to Horace, that
they were still to hold themselves free.
The miniature was finished, the resem-
blance excellent, and the exultation and
rapture of Horace complete. He looked
upon the possession of it, notwithstand-
ing IMatilda's stipulation, as an earnest
of his happiness. He liad the picture set
most ostentatiously, in the finest jewels,
and constantly wore it on his person ;
and his enemies say, that he shewed it
with more freedom than the delicacy of
his situation, with respect to IMatilda,
should have warranted.
Albert made no complaint. He ac-
knowledged the merit of his rival eagerly,
the more eagerly, as the rivalship was
suspected. The scene must now change.
The action at Quatre Bras has taken
place. The principal body of the Bri-
tish troops are at Brussels, and the news
of the rapid advance of the French is
brought to Wellington ; and the forces
are, before break of daj', moving forward.
But where is Horace? The column of
troops to which he belongs is on the line
of march, but Albert, and not he, is at
its bead. The enemy are in sight.
Glory's sunbright face, gleams in the
front, whilst dishonour and infam}' scowl
in the rear. The orders to charge are given^
and at the very moment that the battle is
about to join, the foaming, jaded, breath-
less courser of Horace strains forward
as with a last effort, and seems to have
but enough strength to wheel with its
rider into his station. A faint huzza
from the troop welcomed their leader.
On, ye brave, on !
The edges of the battle join. The
scream — the shout — the groan, and the
volleying thunder of artillery, mingle in
one deafening roar. 'i"he smoke clears
away — the charge is over — the whirl-
wind has passed. Horace and Albert are
both down, and the blood wells away
from their wounds, and is drunk up by
the thirsty soil.
Mut a few days after the eventful bat-
tle of Waterloo, .Matilda and Sir Oliver
were alone in the drawing-room. Sir
Oliver had read to his daughter, who wan
sitting in l>reallile>is agitation, the details
ol tlie battle, and was now reading down
3«
THE PARTERRE
slowfy and silently the list of the dead
and maimed.
" Can you, my dear girl," said he,
tremulously, " bear to hear very bad
news 1 "
She could reply in no other way than
by laying her head on her father's
shoulder, and sobbing out the almost
inaudible word — " read."
" Horace is mentioned as having been
seen early in the action, badly wounded,
and is returned missing."
" Horrible !" exclaimed the shudder-
ing girl, and embraced her father the
more closely.
" And our poor friend, Albert, is
dangerously wounded, too," said the
father.
Matilda made no reply ; but as a mass
of snow slips down from its supporting
bank — as silently, as pure, and almost as
cold, fell Matilda from her father's arms
insensible upon the floor. Sir Oliver was
not surprised, but much puzzled. He
thought that she had felt quite enough
for her lover, but too much for her
friend.
A few daj'S after, a Belgian ofiicer was
introduced by a mutual friend, and was
pressed to dine by Sir Oliver. As he
had been present at the battle, Alatilda
would not permit her grief to prevent
her meeting him at her father's table.
Immediately she entered the room the
officer started, and took every opportu-
nity of gazing upon her intently, when
he thought himself unobserved. At last
he did so, so incautiousl}', and in a man-
ner so particular, that when the servants
had withdrawn. Sir Oliver asked him
if he had ever seen his daughter before.
" Assuredly not, but most assuredly
her resemblance," said he, and he imme-
diately produced the miniature that Ho-
race had obtained from his mistress.
'I'he first impression of both father and
daughter was, that Horace was no more,
and that the token had been entrusted to
the hands of the officer, by the dying
lover ; but he quickly undeceived them,
by informing them that he was lying des-
perately, but not dangerously, wounded
at a farm-house on the continent, and
that, in fact, he liad suffered a severe
ami>utation.
'' Then, in the name of all that is ho-
nourable, how came you by the minia-
ture !" exclaimed Sir Oliver.
" O, he had lost it to a notorious
sharper, at a gaming-house in Brussels,
on the eve ot the battle ; which sharper
offered it to me, as he said tliat he sup-
posed tiie gentleman from whom he won
it, would never come to repay the large
sum of money for which it was left in
pledge. Though I had no personal
knowledge of Colonel Horace, yet as I
admired the painting, and saw that the
jewels were worth more than the rascal
asked for them, 1 purchased it, really
with the hope of returning it to its first
proprietor, if he should feel any value
for it, either as a family picture, or as
some pledge of affection ; but I have not
yet had an opportunity of meeting with
him."
" What an insult ! " thought Sir Oli-
ver.
" What an escape ! " exclaimed ^Ma-
tilda, when the ofiicer had finished his
relation.
I need not say that Sir Oliver imme-
diately repurchased the picture, and that
he had no further thoughts of marrying
his daughter to a gamester.
" Talking of miniatures," resumed the
officer, " a very extraordinary occurrence
has just taken place. A miniature has
actually saved the life of a gallant young
officer of the same regiment as Horace's,
as fine a fellow as ever bestrode a
charger."
" His name?" exclaimed Matilda and
Sir Oliver together.
" Is Albert ; he is the second in com-
mand ; a high fellow that same Albert."
" Pray, sir, do me the favour to relate
the particulars," said Sir Oliver ; and
Matilda looked gratefully at her father
for the request.
" O, I do not know them minutely,"
said he, " but 1 believe it was simply
that the picture served his bosom as a
sort of breast-plate, and broke the force
of a musket-ball, but did not, however,
prevent him from receiving a very smart
wound. The thing was much talked of
for a day or two, and some joking took
place on the subject ; but when it was
seen that these railleries gave him more
pain than the wound, the subject was
dropped, and soon seemed to have been
forgotten."
Shortly after the officer took his leave.
The reflections of Matilda were bitter.
Her miniature had been infamously lost ;
whilst the mistress of Albert, of that Al-
bert whom she felt might, but for family
pride, have been her lover, was, even iu
eSigy, the guardian angel of a life she
loved too well.
Months elapsed, and Horace did not
appear. Sir Oliver wrote to him an in-
dignant letter, and bade him consider all
intercourse broken off" for the future.
He returned a melancholy answer, in
THE PARTERRE.
30
which be pleaded guilty to the charge —
spoke of the madness of intoxication,
confessed that he was hopeless, and that
he deserved to be so ; in a word, his
letter was so humble, so desponding, and
so dispirited, tliat even the insulted Ma-
tilda was softened, and shed tears over
his blighted hopes. And here, we must
do Horace the justice to say, that the
miniature was merely left in tiie hands
of the winner, he being a stranger, as a
deposit until the next morning, but which
the next morning did not allow him to
redeem, though it rent from him a limb,
and left him as one dead upon the battle
field. Had he not gamed, his miniature
would not have been lost to a sharper,
the summons to march would have found
him at his quarters, his harassed steed
would not have failed him in the charge,
and, in all probability, his limb would
have been saved, and his love have been
preserved.
A year had now elapsed, and at length
Albert was announced. He had heard
that all intimacy had been broken off
between Horace and Matilda, but no-
thing more. The story of the lost mi-
niature was confined to tiie few whom it
concerned, and those few wislied all me-
mory of it to be buried in oblivion.
Something like a hope had returned to
Albert's bosom. He was graciously re-
ceived by the father, and diffidently by
Matilda. She remembered " the broken
miniature," and supposed him to have
been long, and ardently attached to an-
other.
It was on a summer's evening, there
was no other company, the sun was
setting in glorious splendour. After
dinner, Matilda had retired only to the
window to enjoy, she said, that prospect
that the drawing-room could not afford.
She spoke truly, for Albert was not
there. Her eyes were upon the de-
clining sun, but her soul was still in the
dining-room.
At length Sir Oliver and Albert arose
from table, ^nd came and seated tlium-
sclves near .uatilda.
" Come, Albert, the story of the mi-
niature," said Sir Oliver.
"What! fully, truly, and unreserv-
edly 1" said Albert, looking anxiously at
Matilda.
" Of course."
" Offence or no offence V said Albert,
with a locjk of arch meaning.
" Whom could the lalo possibly of-
fend !" said Sir (Jliver.
" I'hat 1 am yet to learn. Listen."
As far !x» regarded .Matilda, tin' l.isi
word was whoyy superfluous. She
seemed to have lost every other faculty
but hearing. Albert, in a low, yet hur-
ried tone, commenced thus : —
" I loved, but was not loved. I had a
rival that was seductive. I saw that he
was preferred by the father, and not in-
different to the daughter. My love I
could not — I would not attempt to cou-
quer : but m_v actions, honour bade me
control ; and 1 obeyed. The friend
was admitted where the lover would
have been banished. My successful
rival obtained the miniature of his mis-
tress. O, then, then I envied, and, im-
pelled by unconquerable passion, 1 ob-
tained clandestinely from the artist a
fac-simile of that which I so much en-
vied him. It was my heart's silent com-
panion ; and when at last duty called
me away from the original, not often did
I venture to gaze upon the resemblance.
To prevent my secret being discovered
by accident, 1 had the precious token
enclosed in a double locket of gold,
which opened b}- a secret spring, known
only to mj-self and the maker.
" I gazed on the lovely features on the
dawn of the battle-day. I returned it to
its resting-place, and my heart throbbed
j)roudly under its pressure. I was con-
scious that there 1 had a talisman, and,
if ever I felt as heroes feel, it was then —
" On, on 1 dashed through tlie roar-
ing stream of slaughter. Sabres flashed
over and around me — what cared 1 ? I
had this on my heart, and a brave man's
sword in my hand — and come the worst,
better I could not have died than on that
noble field. The showers of fated balls
hissed around me. What cared I ? I
looked round — to my fellow-soldiers I
trusted for victory, and my soul I en-
trusted to God, and — shall 1 own iti for a
few tears to my memory I trusted to the
original of this, my bosom companion."
*' She must have had a heart of ice,
had she refused them," said Matilda, in
a voice almost inaudible from emotion.
Albert bowed low and gratefully, and
thus continued. — " NVhilst I was thus
biirne forward into the very centre of
till! struggle, a hall struck at nij' heart —
but the guardian angel was there, and it
was protected : the miniature, the double
case, even my fiesh were jienetrateil, and
my blood soiled the image of that beauty,
f(jr whose |irotoction it would have joyed
to flow. The shatlered case, the brukeii,
the blood-stained miniature, are now
dearer to me than ever, and so will re-
main until life itself shall desert nie."
" May 1 look upon those hajipy feu-
40
THE FARTERRE.
tures, tLat have inspired and protected a
heart so noble V said Matilda, in a low,
distinct voice, that seemed unnatural to
her from the excess of emotion.
Albert dropped upon one knee before
Jier, touched the spring, and placed tlie
miniature in the trembling hand of Ma-
tilda. In an instant she recognised her
own resemblance. She was above tbe
affectation of a false modesty — her eyes
filled with grateful tears — she kissed the
encrimsoned painting, and sobbed aloud
— " Albert, this shall never leave my
bosom. O, my well — my long beloved!"
In a moment she was in the arms of
the happ)' soldier, whilst one hung over
them with unspeakable rapture, bestow-
ing that best boon upon a daughter's love
— " A father's heart-felt blessing ! "
Metropolitan Mag.
LETTERS FROM THE LAKES.
No. 3.
THE REV. H. WHITE TO MISS .
Thursday Morni7ig, Oct. 15, 1795.
Fhom narrow-streeted Warrington, ren-
dered more dark and Londonish from
the rain now descending with a liberality
proportionate to that total exemption,
which exhausted the million sources of
cataracts and mourwam torrents in the
beloved country I have regretfully left, I
now proceed to continue my journal, first
thankfully acknowledging, dear ,
your letter of Monday, Sept. 28.
Riding on the ever-varying shores of
Windermere, and leaving White Rayrig,
with its overshadowing groves, smiling
" as in scorn" of every other situation, I
passed the sublime head of this match-
less lake, to piue-screened Ambleside,
built apparently before the Hood, for the
ark still remains in its centre, but placed
among an inimitable profusion of na-
ture's grandest and most lovely scenes.
Scorning the friendly Salutation, I rode
through the town and descended into a
valley, which, with almost all its suc-
cessors, batfles description. " The longing
jyen toils after them in vain." Upon a
terrace, smooth shaven, in the midst of
an immense hill buried in timber, stands
the superb seat (Rydal Hall) of Sir
Michael Le Fleming, who beholds the
graceful majesty of Windermere float-
ing above the groves beloiv the house.
Guided by a pretty golden-haired nymph,
we scaled the mountain's brow through
a night of woods, animated by tlie con-
stant dasliing of angry waters, and ar-
rived at the first and great cascade,
which pours an unbrokeu sheet, for
many yards, into a basin of dark-
green liquidness, and clearer than you
can imagine ; as, indeed, are all the
lakes. Disdainful of this placidity, the
checked waters then rush down a chan-
nel of huge stones, some of which they
have worn through, resounding along the
woods till they reach the second fall.
And now for effect of this latter : no-
thing was seen, though heard, till we
reached, through dark shrubberies a mile
below the former, a time-worn build-
ing, sunk in shades, whose door had the
effect of Circe's wand, for it magically
opened into a square room, from whose
large and glassless window we beheld
this unrivalled basin ; while exactly op-
posite the door, our sight was dazzled
by the silver sheet of falling waters, over
which a rustic bridge terminates and
completes the scene ; not exceeding, as
Mason says, in size, one dropt from a
theatre. We then passed the skirts of
Rydal Water, whose bosom is over-
shadowed by immense superincumbent
mountains, which, while they guard in
sullen dignity the lake, contrast with
shuddering awe its peaceful quietude.
Our panting steeds now " wound their
toilsome march" upon the side of one of
those giants, and again descending it,
upon our enraptured view, bosomed in
her sequestered valley, peeped forth
" Grasmere's sweet retreat." Tlie rocks,
softened by her bewitching graces, lose
something of their majesty. The tor-
rents bound adown their cliffs, telling
the rapt beholder that they are jump-
ing for joy that they are so near the
embrace of their lovely queen. Nothing
can disturb her serene reign, for it seems
consecrated to peace and devotion by the
white-towered chapel, with three houses
around it, and a bridge of the same hue.
From the village, this is the view : Gras-
mere sleeps between the long and culti-
vated reach of Fairfield on one side, and
beyond some pastures, silver the other ;
at the upper end, stupendous Lough-
lligg Fell ascends to heaven, the stream
from Water pouring from its
craggy side ; behind the village, the
cleft head of Helm Cragg rears its tre-
mendous height ; and immediately op-
posite, the immense Seat-Sandal shews
her hollowed bosom ; between these pro-
tectors, the road is seen towards Kes-
wick, with an angle of huge Helvellyn.
Beneath the roof of worthy Robert
Newton I staid three days ; and on Wed-
nesday, the 30th, I passed Dunmail-
Raise, a vast conglomeration of stones
which divide Cumberland from West-
THE PARTKRRE.
41
moreland, and came to a four-mile ride
upon the borders of Leathes Water,
called also Wythbiirn, a new and sin-
srular object ; to the left, extensive and
verdant pastures spotted witli cattle, and
at intervals sending forth gjeen promon-
tories in the lake, present a landscape of
agricultural beauty, while to the right,
the narrow road threads the base of a
most horrid part of Melvellyn, whose
brow has cast forth fragments large as
houses, and appears ready to hurl others
at the terrified passenger ; some lie on
the very path ; others have crossed it,
and taken refuge in the water. About
tiie middle of the lake, below a neat
and excellent villa, two closing stripes
of land rush from either side, and come
so near, that tliree little bridges cross the
narrowed stream, somewhat like an hour-
glass, which again immediately expand-
ing, resumes its wonted breadth. After
turning aside to view the entrance of the
exquisite vale of St. John (where hills of
strange form and sky-aspiring height
almost close over a rapid stream, to
guard the entrance, and when passed,
open into lands of cultivated loveliness),
we ascended the precipice that overlooks
the vale of Keswick, serenely smiling
beneath the dominion of majestic Skid-
daw. He was the sole feature of the
right hand ; to the left, beneath moun-
tains scarcely less sublime, swam Der-
went Water, spotted with islets and dis-
gracing summer-houses. In front, the
large white church of Crossthwaite would
not be overlooked, as it rises about a mile
over the town, and is its only church ;
beyond it, Bassenthwaite Water looked
dark from surrounding hills. In Kes-
wick, both the museum and the amiable,
diffident, intelligent girl who daiighterites
to its founder,' merit a particular notice,
that want of room could alone deny.
Nor can I do the least justice to my
ride on Thursday, October 1st, so abun-
dant in before unbeheld sublimity and
grace. LowJore, the Megara of the
Lakes, was, alas ! only distinguishable
by two silver threads ; but this defect
was somewhat com|>eusated by the sub-
lime cataract of Scale Force, which, not
depending upon casual rains, poured
in an unbroken perpendicular stream,
cipialling in lieiglit the largest spire of
tlie cathedral. 1 liis Mtream has worn
itmrlf fifty yards within a solid rock ;
after forming a pool, it again rushes
with ihunderiiig iioiito over its stony
\hh\, tiTniin.tliiig in the lake of Oomack.
Ihe roads here are all liut iiiacceitHible :
iiu Staliordshire liuriw could travel down
precipices covered with stones, to which
our rocks are pebbles. We passed beneath
Honistcr Craig, on whose brow, at the
shout of my guide, two miners appear-
ed ; like unto birds, he said, for tliough
I strained my glass-aided eyes, 1 could
not see them. The Craig is above six
times higher than our spire, for honest
Thomas Hutton, tie clerk of Mr. |Gis-
bome, had seen both ; though nearly
perpendicular, the miners climb up and
down it with laden sledges every day.
We dined by the side of Buttermere lake,
totally out of all the world, and returned
down Newland Vale, which is almost
literally *' Beauty in the lap of Horror,"
skirted the opposite side of Derwent
Water, and, after a circuit of thirty miles,
I alighted at the parsonage, where Gray
says, " Could I have fixed the view ki
my mirror, and transferred it to canvas,
a thousand pounds would cheaply pur-
chase it." Friday, Oct. 2, I attempted
an ascent to Skiddaw (five miles), in op-
position to the discouraging opinion of
many, for the clouds enveloped all the
top. When we had wound along the
side of Lattrig (Skiddaw's Cub) rolls of
vaj)our arose from St. John's Vale, and
mantled us, the sun gilding the valley
below. " Now, sir," saith Thomas,
" it is all over, this obscurity will darken
more and more.'' And so it was ;
though an instant before, breathless with
heat and fatigue, 1 had opened every
garment to the wind, now, dews de-
scending, and the cold blast blew, I
began to shiver. Sam tied my hat over
my ears ; but though we had now a mile
and a half of ascent, 1 was determined to
scale the top. W'hen we reached it, the
drops pearled my coat ; so dense was the
fog, that we could not see each other,
but explored our way to a huge hea]) of
stones, that marked the extreme summit.
Here, as I leaned for some time, to re-
cover breath and meditate upon sublunary
disappointments, — " Look, sir, look I"
burst from ray astonished companions.
As if the Superior Tower liad said,
" The preacher of my word shall not
return ungratified by a sight of my
cliiefest work," the sun burst through
the involving shades, and drove with un-
utterable majesty the whole host of
clouds bt.'fore him. As they went, the
view unfolded the whole vale : holow
appeared the Irish Channel and Sea, the
Scotch mountains, the Frith of Forth,
Gretna Green ; and to the right, the
mountains of Durham and Nurlhuiiiber-
hiiid. In ten niiiiulcs tiic d irkncMS re-
turned ; no view has been since visible.
42
THE PARTERRE.
1 descended awe-struclc. It might be
chance, but I cannot believe it was.
Thomas Hutton has ascended almost
every day for twenty-seven years, and
never beheld the like. Saturday, Oct.
3d, we enjoyed an alpine ride ; the
left-hand barriered by huge Saddle-hack,
divided only by a brook from Skiddaw,
and apparently as high. We entered
Gowbarrow Park, at Matterdale, and
turned aside to view one of the loveliest
sports of nature ever beheld — the Fall of
Airey-Force ; from thence we soon ar-
rived at the Borders of Ulswater, near
Lyulph's Tower. No time to describe
what I esteem the first water of the
whole. Including its borders, to go to
Penrith (O, sweet town !), the road is
nine miles, within an arboured road,
with the lake purling in mildness, and
roaring in majestj' at our feet. At Pat-
terdale, John Mounsey, the quite unedu-
cated king (a name whose sound he
abhors), is the worthiest and most bene-
volent of men ; the father, not of nine
children (out of fifteen, and he but
thirty-six), but of the whole country.
On Sunday evening, the 4th of Oct., he,
the parson, and the clerk, attended me to
the summit of huge Helvellyn, forty-five
yards higlier than Skiddaw. Mounsey
and I rode, but he was thrown from iiis
horse in a morass, immediately before
me, so that I had but just time to save
mj^self. On my return, Lodona herself
was not more dripping, thongb from a
different liquid. Tuesday, Oct. the 6th,
ascended the long precipice of Kirk-
stone, saw the thrice lovely Vale of
Troutbeck, obtained a new, and, if pos-
sible, more charming view of Kimber-
mere, and dined at Kendal ; reached
Lancaster the 7th, Preston the 8th, and
for the sake of Mrs. Kemble's benefit,
Yarico and the Pannel, Liverpool the
9th ; preached morning and evening at
Old Church, 11th, after seeing all the
walks, docks, &:c. on the lOth, with Sir
Nigel ; came to the dear village of VVa-
vertree on Monday ; dined at floyle
Lake Tuesday (13th), and came here
last night. Enter Sam, with an account
that the weather clears, so abruptly adieu !
— Never mention me, but still less shew
my epistolary libels to any one. Adieu !
H. W.
A GOOD MAXIM.
Believe not each accusing tongue.
As mo8t weak persons do ;
But still believe that story wrong.
Which ought not to be true,
SHUaiDAN.
AN EPISODE OF THE REVOLU-
TION OF JULY 1830.
The last rays of the setting sun fell upon
the gilded dome of the HStel des Invalides ;
a thick smoke rose from the barriers of
Paris; — the provocations of the popu-
lace were answered by the thunderiog
cannon, and the tocsin rent the air : — it
was July 1830.*
A young man, named Pierre, arrived
at the gates of the metropolis at this awful
moment. His parents were respectable
inhabitants of Paris, who had been re-
duced to indigence by unfortunate specu-
lations ; and Pierre was now on his re-
turn from the south of France, whither
he had gone in search of employment.
His family had heard nothing of him
since his departure ■,—he had not, how-
ever, forgotten either his widowed and
high-spirited mother, his brother — the
companion of his earlier years, his little
sisters, or his aged grandmother : —
often did he think of their destitute con-
dition, yet he had never afforded them
any assistance ; — nevertheless, Pierre
was not exactly a mauvais sujet, but his
best intentions were, but too often, frus-
trated by the variability of his character.
He was an odd compound of folly and
intelligence, — being a frequenter of petty
coffee-houses, a great billiard-player and
news-devourer.
When the young traveller arrived at
the barrier, he beheld a crowd of frantic
beings who were singing — or rather
howling — the Marseillaise ; — and there
* The above is a sketch written by the
Viscount d'Arlincourt, a zealous partisan
of the fallen dynasty, and the facts de-
tailed are stated by him to be actually
true, although the names of the parties are
concealed. We rejoice in the conviction
that amiable and talented gentlemen,
such as the Viscount d'Arlincourt, may
indulge their literary taste in penning
sl^etches on whatever subject they please,
but assure them, when the^acfs to which
they pledge themselves are of a political
nature, that a friendly allowance will be
made for the imagination of the roman-
tic and the prejudice of the partisan.
In the struggle of contending interests,
although peace is sometimes lost, intel-
lectual energy is roused : and while the
strife of emulation, and the restlessness
of ambition disturb the quiet of society,
they produce, in their collision, tne geiiius
that adorns it. A spiritless tranquillity
may be obtained ; but the mind of man,
to improve must be agitated.
THE PARTERRE.
43
were some persons close at band, distri-
buting arms, ammunition, and brandy.
" Ho, tliere ! citizen," cried one of tlie
group, " wbat business have you here
unarmed I Take this sabre, and musket,
and en avant."
Another man grave him n brace of
pistols and a poniard, and thus, in an
instant, he was armed to the teeth.
" Vive Napoleon II." vociferated the
insurgents.
" Ah I" exclaimed Pierre, " they are
fighting for the young King of Rome,
then ! \\ e\\ then, here goes for Napo-
leon II."
" rite la Repuhlique!" roared another
band of Patriots.
" Napoleon If. and the Republic are
two different things !" replied the young
man, " I don't uniierstand this."
" rice la Charte!" was the rejoinder.
•' Another change !" cried Pierre ; " la
C/uirfesignifies the government of Charles
X."
" No, no, la Charte is liberty."
" Yes," added a man in a smock-
frock, " and liberty is the Republic."
, " And the Republic is the son of Na-
poleon," said an old ei-Garde Imperiale.
.\ cry of " I'ii'e le Due <f Orleans !'' was
now heard.
In the midst of this turmoil, Pierre
entered the city, and was soon in the
hottest of the fight. He was still in the
dark as to the real cause of the horrid
strife, but be drank — swore — loaded and
fired again and again, — cut and slashed
in every direction, shouting T'ire la
Charte! — to which the groans of the (ly-
ing re3])onded mournfully.
He thus reached the boulevard, and
took his post behind a barricade, formed
of magnificent trees which had been cut
down in full leaf, blood-stained paving-
stones, and broken carriages. A lad
about twelve years old was amusing
biniself in the midst of this sanguinary
drama, by jilaying the horn of an omni-
bus which had been overturned : — the
child of disorder laughed at this strange
music, which formed a warlike accompa-
uimeut to the rolling of the drums, and
the ithouts of the combatants. Pierre
l>xjk<>d at him, and laughed also : — both
made a $port nj' the work of deitruct'wn !
At length the uhades of night over-
spread the horizon — the roaring of the
cannon ceaaed, the tocsin's awful tones
no longer vibrated on the ear : there
were no more bhouts— -no more murders.
'I he barricaded streetM witre deHerled,
Slid thtt silence ol the grave hud hiic-
cevded to the war-cry.
Pierre was not in a condition to avail
himself of this favourable moment to re-
pair to his mother's dwelling : — at dawn
of day, he lay stretched upon the un-
paved ground, in a state of complete
intoxication. Suddenly a man shook
him rudely —
" To arms, comrade, to arms !"
Pierre, thus violently aroused, started
up, rubbed bis eyes, and cast a heavy,
stupid look around.
" Yes, 3-es, I understand ; we must
fight, eh ! — very well, I am ready. What
are we to fight for to-day 1 "
" For the same thing as yesterday —
rice la Charte!"
" And the Republic 1"
" ' Tis the same thing."
•• And the King of Rome V
" The same — the same ; 3'ou liave been
told so twenty times over."
" I can't, for the life of me, compre-
hend them," muttered Pierre ; " wbat
do they want 1 — c'est egal — let us fight
away."
"An individual named Jacques had fol-
lowed Pierre closely during the whole of
the preceding day. This man was the
very personification of a firebrand, for he
kept up the flame of rebellion wherever
ho passed. He was one of those stubby,
brawny men, whose frames denote great
bodily strength, whilst their hard fea-
tures announce doggedness of character.
Jacques continued to excite his comrades,
and Pierre admired his valour. The
former now led the way to a large build-
ing, the abode of luxury and opulence.
" Let us go in here," said Jacques, in
an under tone.
" What for 1" demanded the astonish-
ed Pierre.
" To be paid for our day's work."
" What do you mean V
" I meau that you are a blockhead, if
you suppose that all this uproar is the
effect of mere chance. 'I'bis scene has
been a longtime in prejiaration. Do you
imagine that I would be such an idiot as
to help to overthrow Charles X. without
gaining somothiiig by his ruin 1 I am
paid for it, man, by two rich houses."
I'he struggle continued. Pierre ' again
dragged on by the force of example) was
at the taking of the Hotel de Ville ; bo
afterwards entered the Louvre in tri-
umph, and soon found himself in the
'J'uileries.
Having visited the cellars of the royal
palace, he ascended to the grand apart-
ineiitM — traversed the spleiuiid galleries
( which a few minutes before bad lieeii
iliu llieairu of bloodshed), overturuiii)^
u
THE PARTERRE.
breaking, and destroying every thing
that presented itself to his view. His
brain was in a ferment from the effect of
the wine he had drunk, and he was se-
conded in the work of devastation by a
horde of armed ruffians; be stopped short
in front of the throne — a dead body, co-
vered with black crape, was placed upon it .'j
"Have they, then, assassinated Charles
the Tenth?"
"That is not the old king," replied
one of his companions.
" Has there been a new one, then ; and
have they killed him already 1"
" Not at all, — what you see there was
a young student."
" Why is the corpse placed on the
throne V
" He represents o dead king."
" Is all this a farce, then V
" Far from it."
" Is the youth really dead V
" Certainly ; and well did the brave
lad deserve to be seated where he is. He
was a noble little fellow — a thorough
Buonaparte. He stood fire for all the
world like a vieille moustache, and died
for the salvation of the Charter."
" And have we saved it V cried Pierre.
" Down with all kings," responded the
crowd.
The work of destruction went on.
Pierre, completely beside himself, play-
ed his part in these scenes of carnage and
confusion with savage delight. He was
foremost in every attack, and his intem-
perance was boundless. He was a bold
cpmbatant — a bloody enthusiast — in
short, Pierre was a hero of July ! ! !
Having been slightly wounded in the
leg, he sat down under a parapet of one
of the quays. Whilst he was stanching
the blood, Jacques ran up to him with
an air of triumph.
" All 's right — Vive la revoke ! "
" La revolte!" cried Pierre ; " and the
Charter, in the name of which we have
conquered ?"
Jacques burst into a fit of laughter.
" We have destroyed the old musty
parchment," said he ; " 't is only fit for
wadding, and they are getting up a new
oue."
" But hundreds fell in defence of the
other !"
" Very true, 't is the same thing ; they
will be buried with military honours."
" And young Napoleon V
" None of us ever thought of him."
'* Bah! For whom then have I been
fighting r'
" For Loidi- Philippe d'Orleans : — he
had possession of our hearts, though his
name was never uttered by our lips."
" But we shouted — Vive la Repub-
lique!"
"Our thoughts," replied Jacques, "are
better known to others than to ourselves :
— the people are proclaimed sovereign."
"The people! — what becomes, then,
of the sovereignty of the Duke of Or-
leans?"
" The people have decided in his fa-
vour."
" Already ! — where 1 — when? — how V
" N.o matter -.— Vive la liberty !"
" The more I hear, the less I under-
stand," said Pierre.
" Comrade, thou art a fool," replied
Jacques.
We ought to have mentioned that
Pierre had a small bag of money con-
cealed in the red woollen sash that en-
circled his loins ;. and that the contents
of this bag — the product of the savings
he had made in the south of France —
were destined for his mother. It was
to see that afflicted parent, and to lay his
little offering at her feet that he had
undertaken the weary journey, the ter-
mination of which was marked by such
unlooked-for and such maddening events.
— Just as Jacques pronounced the word
fool, Pierre discovered that his precious
sash was gone ! — He uttered a piercing
cry — then, turning abruptly away, he
bent his steps towards the dark, narrow
street where his family formerly resided :
— disappointment and self-reproach sat
on his brow.
He knocked loudly at the door — it
flew open, and the portier thrust his head
out of the window of his lodge. He was
an old man and nearly blind ; he did not
recognise Pierre, but put the usual ques-
tion to him : —
" Qui demandez-vous?"
" My mother."
"Ah! Pierre," cried the portier, re
collecting the young man's voice, " when
did 3'ou return V
"Yesterday ; does my mother still live
on the fifth floor V
" No ; she occupies the entresol"
" Impossible ! she was so poor, I left
her in the garret without resource !"
" Her misery became known to good
people, who lodged and fed her, and a
small pension was granted to your grand-
motlier."
" By whom 1"
" By Charles the Tenth,"
' ' C barles the Tenth ! "exclaimed Pierre,
and tlie blood forsook his cheeks.
" Certainly, and your mother's rent
THE PARTERRE.
45
was regularly paid by Mwlume la Dau-
phine ; your brother (poor fellow !) was
admitted into the Garde Roiiale, and
your sisters were provided for by the
Uucliess of Berri."
Pierre stapgered : the old portier seized
his arm, and, dragging him across the
obscure parte cochere, brought him into
a small vard which was tolerablv light,
thougii surrounded by high buildings.
" Ha! friend Pierre, you are armed,"
said the portier ; " what ! a sabre, a mus-
ket, and, by heavens, the tri-coloured
cockade ! "
Pierre struck his forehead violently ;
for a few seconds lie remained motionless
— then, rusliing up the stairs, he soon
reached the door of Lis mother's apart-
ment — it was open. A most awful scene
met his gaze.
His aged grandmother was reclining
in a large arm-chair, counting, mecha-
nically, with her lean and withered fin-
gers, the worn beads of a rosary. SJie
was evidently praying, yet her lips moved
not ; big tears rolled down her furrowed
cheeks, but her brow was unclouded ;
the grief which was visible in her coun-
tenance appeared to aripe from sympathy,
or instinct — thought or reflection had no
share therein.
The mother of the hero of July was
ujjon her knees, dressing the wounds of
a royal guardsman, who seemed to be at
the point of death. Two young girls
stood, pale and trembling, by the side of
their afflicted parent, whose sobs almost
suffocated her. Despair was stamped
u{>on her features, and her eye was con-
stantly fixed upon the soldier, for whose
last gasp she seemed to be wildly watch-
ing ; all her faculties appeared to be
concentrated in one immovable gaze 1
her eyelids were red and swollen.
" Give me your band, my son — your
hand ! Hut he no longer hears me !
And he has been massacred by French-
men ! the murderers are not far otf; if
they should enter our home,perhai)s they
would tear my poor boy in pieces, even
on the brink of the grave ! Do not in-
sult a mother's feelings, girls, by offering
me consolation ; 1 want none — leave me
— leave mi-."
I'li-rre was still on the threshold, for
he had not dared to enter this chamber
of affliction and death ; his hair stood on
end — hiH tongue clave to the roof of his
mouth — the musket f<-ll from his hand !
Housed by the heavy ring of the
^un, the wretched mother, turning her
eypi towards the door, perceived her
child.
" Pierre," she cried, in a tone of ma-
ternal joy, which even the horrible spec-
tacle before her could not restrain, " my
own Pierre ! " and she was on the point
of casting herself into lus arms. But a
cry, very different from the former, now
escaped her : Pierre's clothiug was stained
ivith blood ! his hands the same — a sword —
a musket — the cockade had met her eye !
" Oh ! God," she exclaimed, in a hol-
low voice, " Pierre ! no — no — I mistake ;
this ruffian cannot be my son ! Nay, it
is not he. I ask, are you Pierre ? Speak
— answer. OIi ! my brain turns."
Pierre's head fell upon his breast — he
could not reply — he wept.
At this juncture the old woman rose
— the name of Pierre had fallen on her
ear ; it seemed to awaken her torpid
faculties. She tottered towards him — a
strange, unearthly smile played upon
her thin and trembling lips.
" Pierre ! " she cried ; " somebody said
Pierre, I believe — the dear boy 1 loved
so well ; where is he ? "
She now recognised her grandson, and
her shrivelled arms were extended to-
wards him ; but the hero of July did
not respond to the movement — he turned
away his head — and shed bitter tears !
" My poor Pierre," said the old dame,
" hast thou forgotten me 1 I am thy old
grandmother — delighted to see thee!
thou art come to protect us — yes, I knew
thou wouldst be with us in the hour of
danger ! '
The mother of the royal guardsman
led her aged parent back to her seat.
" Whether he be Pierre or not," she
said, in a mysterious and agonized tone,
" do not interrogate him — oh ! let him
be silent ! — let him be silent ! "
Then she thus addressed the conqueror
of July : —
" You understand me — and yet you
remain in my presence! — Pierre, the
cuRiE IS ui'ON MY LIPS — it lias uot yet
escaped them ; but, do not remain — this
is no place for you — begone, Pierre —
begone ! "
A deep groan now proceeded from the
further end of the room ; the royal
guardsman gave signs of life ; he opened
his eyes for an instant — they aj)peared to
seek his brother.
" Look ! your brother is dying," con-
tinued the distracted mother ; " and
from whom did ho receive his death-
wound 1 From V"", perhaps ; yes, you
or your com|ianions — the guilt is Iho
same ; the blood with which you arc
stained is French blood : Vain, thou
hubt iliiin thy brother!"
4(>
THE PARTERRE.
" Daugliter ! he weeps," said the old
grandmother.
" Weeps ! "rejoined the mother, " were
he to shed tears all his life, they would
never wash out the remembrance of his
crime. O most unnatural child ! you
have turned your arms against the bene-
factors of your family : I will not curse
you, for self-condemnation is already de-
picted on your countenance ; my male-
diction would be superfluous."
"Pardon! pity him! he repents,"
exclaimed the poor sisters, both at once.
" Repents ! " replied the distracted
mother ; "to what purpose 1 Can he
recall the past ? "
The guardsman raised himself upon
his elbow : " Forgive him, mother, —
forgive him ! " he said, in a voice of
agony ; " Pierre, my poor brother, God
bless you ! "
The hero of July darted towards the
soldier — caught him in his arms — looked
on his face — but met only the glazed stare
of' a corpse! Weak was the living! —
heavy the dead ! — the brothers fell down
upon the bed together I — Monthly Mag.
ANECDOTE of DR. JOHNSON.
When Dr. Johnson first conceived tJie
design of compiling a Dictionary of the
English language, he drew up a plan,
in a letter to the Earl of Chesterfield.
This very letter exhibits a beautiful
proof to what a degree of grammatical
perfection and classical elegance, our
language is capable of being brought.
The execution of this plan cost him tlie
labour of many years : but when it was
published in 1753, the sanguine expec-
tations of tlie public were amply justified,
and several foreign academies, particu-
larly Delia Crusca, honoured the author
with their approbation. " Such are its
merits," says the learned Mr. Harris,
" that our language does not possess
a more copious, learned, and valuable
work." But the excellency of this great
work will rise in the estimation of all
who are informed, that it was written,
as the author declares, " with little assist-
ance of the learned, and without any
patronage of the great ; not in the sort
obscurities of retirement, or under the
shelter of academic bowers, but amidst
inconvenience and distraction , in sickness
and sorrow." Lord Chesterfield, at tliat
time, was universally esteemed the Ma?-
ceuas of the age ; and it was in that
character, no doubt, that Dr. Johnson
addressed to him the letter before men-
tioned. His lordshij) endeavoured to
be grateful, by recommending the valu-
able work in two f^ssays, which, among
others, he published in a paper entitled
' The World,' conducted by Edward
Moore, and his literary friends. Some
lime after, however, the Doctor took
f reat offence at being refused admittance
to Lord Chesterfield ; a circumstance
\\hich had been imputed to the mistake
of the porter. Just before the Dictionary
w as published, Moore expressed his sur-
jirise to the great Lexicographer, that he
did not intend to dedicate the work to
his lordship. Dr. Johnson answered,
" That he was under no obligation to
any great man whatever, and therefore
lie should not make him his patron."
" Pardon me, sir," said Moore, " you are
certainly obliged to his lordship for two
elegant papers he has written in favour
of your performance." " You (juite
mistake the thing," replied the other, " I
confess no obligation ; I feel my own
dignity, sir. 1 have made a Commodore
Anson's voyage round the world of the
English language, and while I am com-
ing into port, with a fair wind, on a fine
sun-shining day, my Lord Chesterfield
sends out two little cock-boats to tow
me in. I am very sensible of the favour,
Moore, and should be sorry to say an
ill-natured thing of that nobleman ; but
I cannot help thinking he is a lord
amongst wits, and a wit amongst lords."
The severity of this remark seems never
to have been forgotten by the Earl,
who, in one of his Letters to his son, thus
delineates the Doctor: — "There is a
man, whose moral character, deep learn-
ing, and superior parts, 1 acknowledge,
admire, and respect ; but whom it is so
impossible for me to love, that I am
almost in a fever whenever I am in his
company. His figure, without being de-
formed, seems made to disgrace or ridi-
cule the common structure of the human
body. His legs and arras are never in
the position, which, according to the
situation of his body they ought to be in,
but constantly emploj-ed in committing
acts of hostility upon the Graces. He
throws anywhere but down his throat,
whatever he means to carve. Inatten-
tive to all regards of social life, he mis-
times or misplaces every thing. He
disputes with heat, and indiscrimi-
nately ; heedless of the rank, character,
and situation of those with whom he dis-
putes. Absolutely ignorant of the social
gradations of familiarity or respect, he
is exactly the same to his superiors, his
equals, and his inferiors, and therefore
by a necessary consequence, absurd to
THE PARTERRE.
47
two of tbe three, fs it possible to love
such a man ? No ; the utmost I can do
for him, is to consider him a respectable
Hottentot."
AN ENRAGED CONIRIBUTOR.
Scene. — Editor's Chambers.
[Enter an outrageous Author.
Author. (In a suppressed tone, and
with an unnatural smile.) Will yoxi
have the fjoodness, Mr. Editor, to inform
me why (bursting into a fury) — Zounds I
I can't be calm ! — Why the Devil has
dared to abuse the two very best lines
(yes, the very best, sir!) of my poem?
Tell me that, sir, thou unhappiest of
editors — tell me that!
Editor. (Evidently caught in the
manner.) Lines, sir! the best lines!
I — 1 — 1 — allow me to look —
Author. Look? — ay! — and -like the
Princess Tourandocte, in the Persian
Tales, that look ought to drive you
mad. Look here ! Look here ! Read
those two lines.
Editor. (With evident reluctance.)
" Bids the bleak wind his healing
watchbell"—
Author. " Healing "watchbell! ! Why
healing ? ]\Iister Editor, why healing I
Thou —
Editor. Bless me, sir — really — why,
it u a sad mistake !
Author. Mistake! it's murder! At
least, unjustifiable homicide ! I shouldn't
have cared if it had been any other lines !
but (hose two ! the concluding two .' those
two that I used to repeat so fondly, long
before 1 thought of dignifying your two-
penny-halfpenny —
Editor. — ( Firing in turn, glad to get
on the defensive, and with much dignity,)
thrtepenny, sir, if you please!
Author, (Not heeding.) Publication!
it is enough to —
Fxiitor. (With a soft, subacid smile.)
To make you turn editor yourulj ! Oh !
my good sir, if you did but know those
tiresome Deiili —
Author. I know 'em well enough,
thanks to you ! You complain of 'em,
and then, begging for a few of my poor
otri|.nng, protest you will |)rotict tlieni
from all harm ; and then, leaving thcin
in the hands of those Molochs, if they do
not male them pass tlirough the Jire,
they come out of their hands in such a
plight an leaves them fit for nothing «/«?.
h'AitoT. " Tanta^ne animis ctL-leatibus
irx V
Author. I answer in your own jargon,
" Flectere si nequeo superos, Acheronta
movebo ;" that is as much as to say, if I
cannot get redress from you, I will take
the very Devils themselves by the nose.
Editor. Oh ! sir, you shall have ample
redress.
Author. What redress ? thou most
un —
Editor. Why, the whole of this con-
versation shall be published in our next,
and it shall be — " pealing watchbell."
Author. Well, then, I have no hesita-
tion in saying, that tlie Parterue is
the prettiest, the very best written, best
jirinted, best papered production in the
world. [Exit, much motliJied.'\
[We insert the above at the request of
our much abused, but much respected,
correspondent. The blunder is provoking
in the extreme ; but we have very great
doubt, notwithstanding what our friend
says, whether he is aware of the care ne-
cessary to the production of a sheet of
the Parterre. Upon the discovery of
the error, we summoned the compositor
before us, our editorial eye flashing fire
on the caitiff. He received the attack
with the coolness of an experienced hand,
and respectfully though firmly assured
us, that the gentleman's p was very like
an h; intimating, also, that there was
something soothing in the distant sound
of a bell, and that Dante himself had
said so. We were obliged to dismiss the
rogue, for fear we should laugh in his
face ; not, however, without resolving to
be more careful ourself for the future.
Occasional errors of the press are almost
unavoidable in weekly publications ; and
it cannot be wondered at, since they have
so often crept into works of much higher
pretensions. Erasmus tells us, that he
would have given a purse of gold crowns
to have avoided a sad misprint in a work
which he had dedicated to a princess.
We shall some day write a chapter on
these plaguesto authors; and in the mean-
time beg our kind readers and corre-
spondents, from whom we have received
numerous assurances of support, to cor-
rect any typographical errors with their
pens, assuring them that they shall be
corrected as the opportunity is aH'orded
by a reprint, which we feel confident
will ere long be recjuired. — ICd.]
MISCELLANIES.
pedigrees 01- OUIl UISII0P8.
The present Primate of all England
is the son of a poor country clergy niuii.
The Bishop of London Ui-nves his de-
\
48
THE PARTERRE.
scent from a scftoolmaster in Norwich.
The father of the Bishop of Durham was
a shopkeeper in London. The Bishops
of Winchester and Chester boast no
nobler lineage than belongs to the sons
of an under-master at Harrow. Bishop
Burgess, as all the world knows, is the
son of that illustrious citizen with whose
excellent fish-sauce civilized men are ge-
nerally well acquainted ; while his lord-
ship of Exeter dates his parentage
through a long line of hereditary inn-
keepers in the town of Gloucester. Be-
sides these, we have the Bishop of Bris-
tol, the son of a silversmith in London ;
the Bishop of Bangor, the son of a
schoolmaster in Wallingford ; the Bishop
of Llandaff, whose father was a country
clergyman ; with many others, whom it
were superfluous to enumerate. Lin-
coln, St. Asaph, Ely, Peterborough,
Gloucester, all spring from the mid-
dling classes of society.
A BLOW AT FREEMASONRY.
The New World appears to be deter-
mined not to adopt as matters of course
either the habits or the institutions of
the Old World. America established
" temperance societies" to explode dram
drinking: it has now its anti-Masonic
convention, the object of which is to
explode the mysteries of Masonry, as
pretexts for convivialities that separate
men from prudent habits and domestic
duties.
RESTITUTION.
A celebrated advocate, being on the
point of death, made his will, and be-
queathed all his wealth to idiots and
lunatics. On being asked the reason, he
replied that he wished to return his
riches to those from whom he had
drawn them.
ECHOES.
The best echoes are produced by pa-
rallel walls. At a villa near Milan,
there extend two parallel wings about
fifty-eight paces distant from each other,
and the surfaces of wliich arc unbroken
either by doors or windows. The sound
of the human voice, or rather a word
quickly pronounced, is repeated above
forty times, and the report of a pistol
from fifty to sixty times. The repeti-
tions, however, follow in such rapid suc-
cession that it is difficult to reckon them,
unless early in the morning before the
equal temperature of the atmosphere is
disturbed, or in a calm still evening.
Dr. Plot mentions an echo in Woodstock
Park, which repeats seventeen syllables
by day and twenty by night. An echo
on the north side of Shipley church,
in Sussex, repeats twenty-one syllables.
There is also a remarkable echo in the
venerable abbey church of St. Albans.
THE PRIESTS OUTWITTED.
King Joam of Portugal, in one of his
public edicts, with the view of recruiting
his cavaliy, ordered all his subjects to be
in readiness to furnish excellent war-
horses. The churchmen pleaded their
immunities, and some of them went so
far as to say that they were not his sub-
jects, but those of the Pope. Where-
upon Joam loudly asserted that he had
never regarded them as subjects ; and by
another ordinance he forbade all smiths
and farriers to shoe their mules and
horses, they being no subjects — a mea-
sure which soon compelled them to
submit.
DIET OF BYRON AND SHELLEY.
The reason for Byron's abstemiousness
was a very different one from Shelley's.
Shelley's frugality arose from a desire to
render his intellect the more clear ; but
Byron, like George IV., was horrified
at the idea of getting/at; and to coun-
teract his tendency to corpulency, morti-
fied his epicurean propensities. Hence
he dined four days in the week on fish
and vegetables ; and had even stinted
himself, when I last saw him, says Med-
win, to a pint of claret. He succeeded,
it is true, in overmastering nature, and
clipping his rotundity of its fair pro-
portions ; but with it shrunk his cheek
and his calf. This the fair Guiccioli
observed, and seemed by no means to
admire.
"THE GIFT OF THE GAB."
The common fluency of speech in
many men, and most women, is owing
to a scarcity of matter and of words ;
for whoever is master of a language,
and has a mind full of ideas, will be
apt in speaking to hesitate on the choice
of both ; whereas common speakers
have only one set of ideas, and one set
of words to clothe them in, and these
are always ready, and at the tongue's
end. So people come faster out of
a public place when it is almost empty,
than when a crowd is at the door.
A Manufacturer from Scotland, when
on a visit, a short time since, to one of
his best customers, an alderman in Lon-
don, could not conceal his surprise at
the number of his host's servants. He
wondered how a man of business could
keep up such an establishment, and
turning to his entertainer, inquired in
an under tone — " I say, Mr. — , are
a' those chaps in the plush breeks y'er
ain?" B. Q. T.
THE I'AKTF.KIIK
V.I
Page 50.
A TALE
FOR THE DISCONTENTED.
(^For the Parterre.)
Popf: has bi-autifiiUy said, that every
mail is ha|)i>y while eiigai^'ed in liis fa-
vourite jmrsuit; that even the fnol is
happy l)eeause his stock of knowledge is
limited to what it is ; and yet, strange
paradox! all men are grumblers. The
merchant freights a vessel for a foreign
rountry, anri after niontlis of anxiety to
its owner, tlie nohh,- craft returns from a
prosperou.s voyaije ; then does the man
of business shake his head, and regret
the loss of the insurance he paid at
Lloyd's. The married man who, two
(rears since took to himself a young and
M'autiful wife without dower, utters a
nigh of discontent as he sees the name
of a schoidfellow among the list of mar-
riage's in the newspaper — ".Married, at
St. (jeorge's, Hanover-square, by the
very liev. the Dean of , Cm — S — ,
Ks<j. to Anne, only daughter of the late
Sir Richard ," etc. etc. The iu-wh is
f(all and wormwood t(i the reader, and
his envy ordy sulfides a little upon hear-
ing tliat tlie bride is "iiti/ plain." The
youn^' hrir pants for the day that shall
nail him twi.-nty-one, and release hint
vuL. I.
from the trammels of his guardian ; and
the guardian himself sighs for the days
that are gone, and growls his uneasiness
at the ajtiJroach of .ige and its iniirnii-
ties. All men are grnmliU'rs ; noiu-
seem to value the o])inioii ot the Latin
])<)et, who says, that contentment is the
nearest approcich which mortals can cx-
l)e<'t to make towards ha])piness.
Many years ago, Mr. B — was one
of the most nourishing West India mer-
chants in Broad-street, London. He
married early in life, and in the course
of five years his wile bidiiKlit him three
daughters. Just after the birth of his
third child, the death of his wife's un<de,
a rich old bachelor, so increased his
means, that he at once gave up business
and retired into Hertfordshire, where he
purchased an estate, and might have
lived happily — but, he Wils a fi-umhtfr.
He wished for a son; and when a
fourth (hiii^iiter wiis |iresented to him
by his airi'i'tioiiate wife, he complained
bitterly that she had not brought him
a boy to peijK'tuate the family name.
Always restless and ambitions, INIr. B —
began to feel tired (da country life, and
occasionally visited London. He en-
g.iged in Hcveral s|ireiilali(i]is, which
jiroved unsuccessful, and tended to suiir
50
THE PARTERRE.
his temper; and when his wife again
threatened to add to his family, he told
her, with much asperity, that he would
never acknowledge the infant unless it
were a boy.
An incident shortly occurred, which,
though it would have had its full effect
upon vulgar minds, might, notwith-
standing, have led the father to reflect
on the absurdity as well as brutality of
the determination he had expressed to
his unoffending wife. A party of friends
had arrived at. Mr. B — 's mansion on a
visit, and one day taking a walk before
dinner, they strolled along a shady lane
in the neighbourhood, and came upon
an encampment of gipsies. Of course
the ladies had their good or ill fortune
predicted, and the sybil who thus read
their destinies reaped a plentiful harvest.
She was a wretched-looking old hag,
with scarcely a tooth in her head, and
had been for many years totally blind.
At the earnest entreaty of her friends,
Mrs. B — was persuaded to hear the de-
cree of fate from the lips of the gipsy.
Drawing her wedding-ring from her
finger, the lady tendered her hand to the
beldame, while her husband looked on
with a sneer. " Madam," mumbled the
hag, as she received in her shrivelled
hand the long white fingers of the lady,
"you are married, I find; you have not
deceived me by taking off your ring."
" We know that already, mother," said
Mr. B — , pettishly ; " be quick, and
tell us something of the future." Then
turning to his wife, — " Ellen, I am
ashamed of this foolery." "My dear
George, it is only a frolic, you know,"
said his wife, endeavouring to mollify
her husband's temper, which she per-
ceived was beginning to manifest itself.
" Be quick, then, " muttered the hus-
band; "I don't like these vagabonds."
" Lady," said the gipsy, addressing Mrs.
B — , "you will shortly bear a son."
The words startled both husband and
wife, but neither of them spoke. The
beldame continued, — " Ay, you will
have a son, surely, and he will grow to
be a fine lad, and clever, and the like;
but he will love dicing, and drinking,
and — ah, madam, I had a son once " —
" He was hung," would probably have
terminated the sentence ; but Mr. B
interrupted the oracle, and threaten-
ing to put the whole pack of gipsies
into the stocks, hurried his wife away,
with many reproaches for her wicked-
ness, as he termed it, in listening to the
absurd mouthing of an old hag.
Mrs. B — a few weeks after gave birth
to a fourth child, and the joy of her hus-
band was boundless, as he found him-
self the father of a beautiful boy; his ill-
temper no longer manifested itself, he
appeared a totally altered man. Nume-
rous were the visits of congratulation
which he received, and his house was a
scene of gladness and hospitality for
many days together.
Time rolled on, and the infant grew
apace ; but ere he had cast aside his pet-
ticoats, he began to shew symptoms of a
perverse and untractable disposition, and
by the time he had reached the age of
twelve, he was cordially hated by every
servant in the house, and every body in
the neighbourhood. Mischief was his
delight, and he would have his frolic,
though it gave pain to others ; a sufficient
proof, if no other exists, of a depraved
and insensible heart. This proneness to
mischief at length led to a tragical occur-
rence. Master Edward had a favourite
pony, which his father had presented to
him on his birih-day, to the great alarm
and chagrin of the cottagers in the
neighbourhood, whose pigs and poultry
he was continually hunting in all direc-
tions. He had been engaged in this
amiable employment one morning, and
was returning home on his pony, when
he thought proper to enter a field, the
long grass of which was just ready for
the scythe of the mower. He galloped
round the field, then to and fro, across
and back again, until he had left scarcely
a square yard of grass standing upright.
His freak was not unobserved ; and ere he
could escape from the scene of his ex-
ploit, the farmer confronted him with a
good hazel rod, which he applied with-
out ceremony to the back of the mis-
chievous urchin.
Mr. B — saw with surprise the
spoilt boy return home weeping bitterly,
and on inquiring the cause, vowed
to be revenged upon the man who
had presumed to chastise his child.
Ordering his horse to be immediately
saddled, he rode off to the farm-house.
High words ensued, and might have
terminated in blows, but for the en-
trance of the farmer's son, a young lieu-
tenant in the navy, who of course took
part ^vith his father. Mr. B — 's ire was
now provoked to the highest pitch, and
he applied an offensive epithet to the
young sailor, who immediately resented
It by a blow, which laid the complaining
party prostrate. Farther hostilities were
prevented by the servants, but the squab-
ble did not terminate here. Mr. B —
had scarcely reached home burning with
THE PARTERRE.
6)
rage and inortitioalion, when he re-
ceived a elialk'iijfe froiii the lieutenant.
Mr. B — now bo!r<in to reflect, and
although no coward, he shrunk from the
meetinj; ; but, like many others in a si-
milar situation, he dreaded the sneers of
his acquaintance if he refused to fight.
He thought too of his son, whose wanton
mischief had thus involved him in a se-
rious quarrel ; and the unhappy father,
after penning a hasty answer, In which
he named the place of meetinp. imme-
diately set about arranging his affairs in
the event of his being the \-ictim of the
approaching duel.
The parties met by day-break the
following morning, and Mr. B — return-
ed to his house a homicide ! The lieu-
tenant had fallen in the contest, and on
the evening of the next day, the survi-
vor wiis pounced upon by the officers of
justice, and committed to gaol as a mur-
derer. Here the affectionate attentions
of his wife tended to soothe the anguish
of his mind, but Mr. B — from that fatal
morning was an altered man : he saw,
when too late, that he had ruined his
child by excessive indulgence, and that
the worst had probably not arrived. His
trial soon followed, and although acquit-
ted of murder, .Mr. B — felt, as he left
his i)rison, like another Cain .- few pitied
him; and some of his neighbours, who
formerly sought his company,now always
found a pretext for avoiding him.
He at length determined to travel ;
and after placing his son at a select school
a few miles distant, Mr. B — set out for
France and Italy. The letters which he
received from home during his travels
were any thing but satisfactory ; they
were generally tilled with accounts of the
misconduct of his son, whose behaviour
at school became at length so bad that
he wa-s threatened with dismissal. This
disgrace, however, the boy avoided by
running away. Whither he went no one
could tell, but it was supposed that he
made his way to some sea-])ort, and enter-
ed on board an outward bound vessel ; for
when he presented himself at his father's
hou-te three years afterwards, he was
dressed in the tattered garb of a sailor.
An attempt was made to reclaim him;
and his mother, whose health had been
declining, endeavoured by every gentle
meanH to effect a reformation in her
unfortunate Hon. But it was too late ;
the iMJltlf, and low (•()m|)any had givi-n
a blacker tinge to a heart naturally
dead to amiable feelings. iJespising
the coufiM-l ot hiii parents, and anxioun
to return to his old habitn, the wr<titi< d
youth one day took advantage of his
father's absence, and breaking open a
writing-desk in which was a considerable
sum in gold, he decamped with the booty.
The shock which this gave his mother has-
tened her dissolution, and she died a few
months afterwards — her last words ex-
pressing anxiety for her abandoned child.
Several years passed away, during
which no tidings were heard of the lost
Edward ; but the amiable disj)osition of
his daughters afforded Mr. B — some
relief, and in their society he endeavour-
ed to forget that he had a son.
It happened that news of the sudden
illness of an uncle arrived one evening,
and .Mr. B — ordering his carriage to be
got ready, set off for the nietroi)olis an
hour before dark. As he proceeded on
his journey, his thoughts reverted to the
various events of his life: his marriage —
his son — his duel with the unfortunate
lieutenant, and the death of his amia-
ble ^^•ife. He at length fell into a slum-
ber, from which he was awoke by the
stopping of the carriage.
Supposing that he had arrived at his
journey's end, Mr. B — was about to let
down the window, when a hoarse voice
cried out to the footman —
" Get down, you rascal, and let 's see
what your master 's got aboMt him. Get
down, and open the door, or I'll spoil
your livery, my fine fellow."
The door was immediately opened,
and two highwaymen, uttering fierce
oaths, made the usual demand.
Mr. B — never travelled without arms,
and he replied by discharging a pistol at
the foremost thief; but the flash scared
the highwayman's horse, which threw
up its head, and the bullet, lodging in
the animal's neck, caused it to start off
at full speed, in spite of the rider's en-
deavour to restrain it. The remaining
highwayman, nothing daunted, fired
without effect, and received Mr. B — 's
.second shot on the forehead. The ball
glanced from the forehead of the villain
without seriously wounding him, but he
was comiiletely stunned by the blow, and
fell hca\ily from his horse.
As the i)rostrat(> rullian recovered, he
found himself in the hands of his in-
tended prey, and tlie footman, detaching;
one of the carriage lamps, held it up to
take a view of the prisoner's features.
One glance was sufhcient for his master,
who uttered a groan of anguish as he
beheld, in the now pale and blo(;(l-stained
countenance of the captive rullian, the
lincamentH of his son !
• • • • •
THE PARTERRK.
Notwithstanding the precautions of
Mr. B— the adventure got wind, but
not before his abandoned son had reach-
ed the West Indies, where, however, (a
few months after his arrival) he died of
the yellow fever. Mr. B— lived to an
old age, but the recollection of that
dreadful night haunted him till his dying
hour. E. F.
THE MAY-FLOWER.
(For the Parterre.)
Lo! where the green turf, by the hedge-row gate,
Strewn with the pearly hawthorn blossom,
shews
Where late the lovers loitered. What a t.ale
Might this white tolten of the sabbath-tryste
Unfold ! Did maiden coyness cast it there,
A thing less spotless than her trembling heart,
While rosy blushes made the sideling light
Of her blue bashful eye more eloquent ?
Or was it the rude hand of cold disdain
That cast the poor swain's offering to the earth.
And let it die in dew-tears > Nay, perhaps.
Two some-time lovers plucked it carelessly
As their _tir-s-t jn!/.<i, and, tired of it as soon,
Flung it away as wantonly. Or else
That pallid wreath did gem the verdant sod.
Sliding unmissed from fingers pale and thin
Of the betrayed one, when she heard (//««• lips
That hers had pressed so warmly, say " Fare-
well !"
And saw no kindness in those altered eyes
(That were her day-stars once) to rob that word
Of its despiteous bitterness.
HORACE GUILFORD.
DICK DOLEFUL.
A SKETCH FROM NATURE.
It was to the late Captain Chronic, R. N. ,
I am indebted for the pleasure of
being but very slightly acquainted with
Richard Doleful, Esquire. The father
of Dick had, during the captain's long
and frequent absences on service, acted
as his agent and factotum : receiving
his pay and his prize-money, managing
his disbursements and investing the an-
nual surplus to the best advantage ; and
I incline to attribute to old Chronic's
kindly and grateful remembrance of the
father, rather than to any personal regard
for the son, his tolerance of the hitter
as the almost daily visitor at his house.
Dick's "good friends" are "sorry to
admit" that there are many bad jjoints
about him ; his " liest friends " com-
passionate him into the possession of
ten times more : hence it may be infer-
red that Dick, ujjon the whole, is a
much better person than tlie best of his
friends. Yet even I, who do not pre-
sume to be his friend, consequently have
no motive for speaking in his dis])arage-
ment, must allow him to be a very un-
pleasant fellow. Now, as the term
" un])leasant fellow " may be vfiriously
interpreted, I would have it distinctly
understood that I do not mean to accuse
him of ever having thrashed his grand-
mother, or kicked his father down stairs,
or poisoned a child, or set fire to a bam,
or burked a female, young, beautiful,
and virtuous, or encouraged an organ-
grinder, or a Scotch bagpiper to make a
hideous noise under his window, or, in
short, of any enormous wickedness ; I
mean — and whether his case may be
rendered better or worse by the explana-
tion, must depend upon individual taste
— I mean only that he is a bore.
For the last three years of his life, the
captain, whose health was gradually de-
clining under the effects of an uncured
and incurable wound in the side, had
scarcely ever quitted his house ; and for
a considerable portion of that period he
was imable, without assistance, to move
from his sofa. In addition to his suffer-
ings from his glorious wound, he was sub-
ject to the occasional attacks of inglori-
ous gout, and of three visits a-day from
Dick Doleful. Under such a compli-
cation of ailments, his case, both by his
friends and his physicians, had long
been considered hopeless. Indeed the
captain himself seemed aware of the
fatal character of the last-named malady;
and more than once expressed an oj)inion,
that if he could be relieved from that, lie
had strength and stamina sufficient to
conquer the others. I paid him a visit
one day, and entered his room just as
Mr. Doleful was leaving it. Doleful
sighed audibly, shook liis head, muttered
" Our poor dear friend !" and withdrew.
This, from any other person, I should
have construed into a hint that our
" poor dear friend " was at his last gasp ;
but being acquainted with Mr. Doleful 's
ways, I approached the captain as usual,
shook his hand cordially, and, in a cheer-
ful tone, inquired how he was getting
on.
" Ah, my dear fellow," said he, at the
same time slowly liftinghis head from the
sofa-cusliion, "I'm glad to see you; it
does me good ; you ask me how I do,
and you look, and you speak as if you
thought there was some life in me. But
that Mr. Doleful ! — Here he comes, sir,
three times a-day; walks into the room
on tii>toe, as if he thought I hadn't nerve
to bear the creaking of a shoe ; touches
the tip ot one of my fingers as if a cordial
grasp would shatter me to atoms ; and
says, 'Well, how d'ye do now, ca))tain?'
with fuch a look, and in sucli a tone ! — -
THE FAHTERRE
63
it always sounds to my ears, ' NVliat '
am't you dead yet, captain?" Then
he sits down in that chair ; speaks three
words in two hours, and thatiu a whisi)cr ;
pullsalontr farc,s(|ueezcs out a tear — his
dismal undertaker-countenance lower-
ing over nu' all the wliile ! I'm not a
nervous man, but — " ; and here he rose
from his sofa, struck a blow on a table
which made every article uj)on it sjiiii,
and roared out in a voice loud enough
to bo heard from stem to stern of his
old seventy-four, the Thunderer, — " I'm
not a nervous man ; but d — n me if he
doesn't sometimes make me fancy I'm
riding in a hearse to my own funeral,
with him following as chief mourner. I
shall die of him one of these days," add-
ed he emphatically, " / know I shall."
" He is not exactly the companion
for an invalid," said I : " the cheerful
address of a friend, and his assuring
smile, are important auxiliaries to the
labours of the physician ; whilst, on the
contrar)', the "
" Ay, ay ; the hore of such visits as
his ! They would make a sound man
sick, and hasten a sick man to the grave.
And, then, that face of his I I couldn't
help saying to liim the other day, that
wlien I shot away the figure-head of the
French frigate. La I^aruKjyeuse, I should
have liked to have his to stick up in its
place."
" It is evident his visits are irksome
and injurious to you. Why, then, do
you encourage them?"
" I don't cur-ourage them, and if he
hadanyfcelinghe would perceive Idon't;
but hnrrs have no feeling. Besides, I
can't altd^'cther heli) myself. His father
was useful to me ; he managed my
miiiu-y-matters at home when I was
arioat — a kind of work I ne\er could
have ddiie for niVNclf — and so well, too,
that I consider my pre--rnt indcjpcriden<"e
a-, of his creating. liemcmbering tliis,
I could not (lii'cnily toss tlie son out of
window; do you think I could, eh?"
My lionevt o|)iriion u|)on the matter
bring one which niiglit liave put the
cai)taiii to some trouble at his next in-
tcrvi<'W with the gentleman in ijucstion,
I suppr('s>c(| it, and nuTrly observed,
" .Mr. Doleful has told me how useful
bis father was to you."
" Ay, and -n he tells everybody, and
'O he reliiiniU me as often as I see him,
and ihdt'iii bon*. Now, I inn not an
ungratetul man, and am as little likely
aj4 any one to forget a frieiul, or a friend's
son; Init every tinu- ibis Kin^; of the
Dismals icminds me o| m) obligation,
I consider the debt of gratitude as some-
what diminished : so that if I live much
longer, the score will be entirely rubbed
out, and then, d — n me, but 1 uilt toss
him out of window."
After a momentary pause the cai)taiu
resumed : —
" Then, there 's another bore of his.
We take physic because we are obliged
to take it ; it isn't that we like it, you
know ; nobody does, that ever I heard
of. Now, he fancies that I can't relish
my medicine from any hands but his ;
and he uilt stand by wliilst I take my
])ills, and my dranglits, and my powders
l])ecacnanha and l)ick Doleful! Faugh!
two doses at once ! Will you believe it,
my dear fellow? the two ideas are so
comiected in my mind, that I never see
])liysic without thinking of Dick Dole-
ful ; nor Dick Doleful without thinking
of physic. I must own I don't like him
the better for it, and that he might i)cr-
ceive. IJut, as 1 said before, bores liave
no feeling — they have no percei)tions —
they have no one faculty in nature but
the faculty of boring the very sonl out
of your body."
Seeing me take a book from amongs<
sevenJ which lay on the table, he con-
tinued : "Ay; there's Mr. Dick again
I send him to get books to annise mo,
and that's what he brings. I'retty li\-ely
reading for a sick man, eh ? Nice things
to keep up one's drooping sjiirits?
There's ' Reflections (m Death,' Dodd's
' Prison Thoughts,' the ' Death-bed Com-
panion,' ' Hell: a Vision.' I must have
a tine natural constitution tolive through
all this!"
I took my leave of the invalid ; and,
at the street-door, met Dr. Druggem,
his physician, and his surgeon. Sir Slasli-
ly Cutmorc, who were about to visit him.
I mentioned tliat I bad just left their
patient, sulfering under eotisi'Ierahle ir-
ritation, caused by the unwelcome inter-
ference of D<iltfnl ; and ventured to
express an opinion that a hint ought to
be given to the latter, of the desirable-
ness of diminishing isoth the length
ami the frequency of his visits to the
captain.
" Hint, sir?" said Druggem ; "a hint
won't do. Slight aijcrienls will base no
elFeet in this case ; I am lor adminis-
teriiiK a poweitui eatliaitie :— this Mr.
D(jleful must be carried olf at once —
forbid the h<»use, sir."
" 1 am quite of Dr. Druggem's opi-
nion," said Sir Shushly. " Tlu- captain
nnist instantly submit to tlie operation ;
he must consent to the iiiinu di.ite am-
54
THE PARTERRE.
putation of that Mr. Doleful, or I '11 not
answer for his life a week."
The next day Mr. Doleful favoured
me with a visit.
" I call," said he, " to lament with
you the unhappy state of ' our poor dear
friend,' " and he burst into a tear.
Now, as I knew that the state of " our
poor dear friend " was no worse then
than the day before, I interrupted his
pathetics, by telling him that I was not
in a lamenting mood ; and, rather un-
ceremoniously, added that it was the
opinion of his medical advisers, that the
state of "our poor dear friend" might
be considerably improved if he, Mr.
Doleful, would be less frequent in his
visits, and if, when he did call upon
"our poor dear friend," he would as-
sume a livelier countenance.
" Well ! — Bless my soul ! this is un-
expected — leri/ unexpected. I — ! Me — !
The son of his friend — his best friend !
Why — though I say it, had it not been for
my poor departed father — [and here he
burst into another tear] — I say, had it not
been for my poor father, the captain
might, at this moment, have been
Well ; no matter — but Me ! — how very
odd! — I, who sacrifice myself for the
poor dear sufferer ! with him morn-
ing, noon, and night, though it af-
flicts me to see him — as he must per-
ceive : he must observe how I grieve at
his sufferings ; he muft notice how much
I feel for him. Why, dear me ! What
interest can I have in devoting myself
to him ? Thank heaven, I am not a
LEGACY-HUNTER."
This voluntary and uncalled-for ab-
negation of a dirty motive, placed Mr.
Doleful before me in a new light. Till
that moment, the suspicion of his being
incited by any prospect of gain to bore
" our poor dear friend" to death, had
never entered my mind.
Captain Chronic lived on for a twelve •
month, during the whole of which, ex-
cepting the very last week, Dick Dole-
ful, spite of remonstrance and entreaty,
continued to inflict upon him his three
visits per diem. A week before his death,
the captain, who till then had occupied a
sofa, took to his bed ; and feeling his
case to be hopeless, and conscious that
he had not many days to live, he desired
that his only two relations, a nephew
and a niece, might be sent for, and that
theii alone should attend him to the last.
Dick, greatly to his astonishment,
thus excluded from the bed-chamber,
still continued his daily three visits to
the drawing-room. Upon the last of
these occasions, so vehemently did he
insist upon seeing " his poor dear friend,"
that, without asking the captain's per-
mission, he was allowed to enter his bed-
room. The opening of the door awoke
the captain from a gentle slumber into
which he had just before fallen. Per-
ceiving Dick, he uttered a faint groan.
Dick approached the bed-side, as usual,
on tip-toe ; as usual, he softly pressed
the tip of the captain's fore- finger;
squeezed out the usual tribute of one
tear ; and with the usual undertaker-
look, and in the usual dismal tone, he
said, " Well, how d'ye do 7iow, cap-
tain?" The captain faintly articulated,
"Dick, Dick, you've done it at last!"
fell back upon his pillow, and expired !
At about ten o'clock on the same
morning, Dick Doleful, looking very
like an undertaker's mute, called upon
me. He was dressed in black, and had
a deep crape round his hat. " The dear
departed ! " was all he uttered.
" Is it all over with the poor captain,
Mr. Doleful ? "
" He 's gone ! Thank heaven, I was
with the dear departed at his last mo-
ments. If ever there was an angel upon
earth ! so good, so kind, so honour-
able, so every thing a man ought to be.
Thank heaven, I did iny duty towards
the dear departed. This loss will be the
death of me. I haven't the heart to
say more to you; besides, the mil of the
dear departed will be opened at twelve,
and it is proper that some disinterested
friend should be present at the reading.
Good morning. Oh, the dear departed !
But he 's gone where he will get his
deserts."
At about two o'clock Mr. Doleful was
again announced. I observed that his
hat was dismantled of the ensign of
mourning, which it had so ostentatiously
exhibited but a few hours before. He
took a seat, remained silent for several
minutes, and then burst into a flood of
real, legitimate tears.
" Be composed, my dear sir," said I ;
"recollect, your grief is unavailing; it
will not recall to life the dear departed."
"The dear departed be d — d!" ex-
claimed he, starting in a rage from his
chair. " Thank heaven, I am not a
legacy-hunter, nevertheless I did expect
You know what I did for the old
scoundrel, you know what time I sacri-
ficed to him, you know how I have watch-
ed the hour and minute for giving the old
rascal his filthy physic, and yet ! I
repeat it, I am not a legacy-hunter ; but
1 put it to you, sir, as a man of sense,
THE PARTERRE.
55
as a man of the world, as a man of
honour, hadn't I a right to expect, a
perfect right to expect What should
x/o'u have thought, sir ? I merely ask
how much should you have thought?"
'• Why, perhajis, a thousand pounds."
" Of course — to be sure — I am any
thing but an interested man ; and had
he left rae thut, I should have been satis-
fied."
" How much, then, has he left you?"
" Guess — I only say. do you guess."
" Well — five hundred ? "
" Whv, even that would have served
as a token of his gratitude ; it isn't as
money I should have valued it : or had
he left me fifty pounds for mourning,
why even that or five pounds for a
ring, even that would have been better
than But, sir, you won't believe
it ; you cant believe it : the old villain
is gone out of the world without leaving
me a farthing ! But I am not disap-
pointed, for I always knew the man. So
selfish, so unkind, so hard-hearted, so
ungrateful, so dishonourable, so wicked
an old scoundrel! — If ever there was
a devil incarnate, take my word for it
he was one. But he 's gone where he
will get his deserts." And, so saying,
eiit Dick Doleful.
It is but justice to the memory of the
captain to state, that in the body of his
will there had stood a clause to this
effect: "To Richard Doleful, Esq., in
testimony of my grateful remembrance
of the services rendered me by his late
father, I bequeath One Thousand
Pounds." By a codicil of a later date,
this bequest was reduced to five hun-
dred ; by a third, to three hundred ; and
so on, by others, till it was reduced to —
nothing. Thus had poor Dick Doleful
bored his friend out of liis life, and
liimsclf out of a legacy. — Neiu MonOtly.
MAGNANI.MITY,
(For the I'arlerre.)
A warlike j)rince of P^truria had taken
the field against the Romans, and ex-
pected, before many days should i)ass,
to come to an engagement. The cani])-
orders respecting the sentries were con-
sequently very strict.
One night, a soldier, stationed on a
bridge, was f<jniid absent from his i)ost.
He had gone away for a few minutes to
nee hiB father, who wa» juHt Hying of
wounds iiirtirted in a recent skirmish ;
arifl, having received hi<< blexsing, was
hastening bark, when hi- wax detected
by the patrol.
The following morning, he was order-
ed out at day-break for execution. He
requested to be heard in extenuation ;
but the prince was so angry at the offence,
that he refused to listen to him. Well
remembering, however, that this man
had signalized himself upon several occa-
sions, and been hitherto of irreproach-
able conduct, he spared his life; at the
same time (^chietly for the sake of exam-
ple") ordering him to be beaten before
the whole army, and then thrust out of
the camp, as unworthy to remain among
his fellow-soldiers.
Foaming with this disgrace, the sol-
dier went forth into the woods, where he
accidentally met with a little child, who
was ])laying there. It was the only son
of the prince, who most tenderly loved
him. In the fever of the moment, the
sojdier gave way to a sense of revenge ;
and, catching the boy in his arms, bore
him off.
He carried him away into the depths
of the wood, many miles distant ; and
being of a great and generous spirit, he
treated the child with extreme kindness ;
so that, ina short time, they grew mutual-
ly attached to each other. Meanwhile,
the prince was inconsolable at the loss
of his son.
As their food was supplied by the sol-
dier's hunting, he was not unfrequently
followed by some of the wild beasts al-
most to the mouth of his rude shed ; and
one evening, as he was lying asleep, a
wolf, who had been watching round the
environs all the day, suddenly sprang in
and seized u])oii him ! 'I'lie cliild at first
screamed with terror ; but seeing the
danger of his jirotector, snatched a brand
out of the wood fire, and running up, as
they were struggling on the ground,
thrust it into the wolf's face !
The ferocious animal immediately
loosed his prey, and springing upon the
child, carried him swiftly out of the
cave. The soldier instantly ])ursued,
with his drawn sword, and killed the
wolf; but tiie child was so mangh'd by
its jaws, that it only survived a few
miiuites.
I'pon this, the soldier was overcome
with grief and remorse ; and taking up
the child in his arms, he folded it round
witii his mantle, and straightway set off
for the canij).
On arriving there, lie gave out tiiat
he brought news of the prince's lost son ;
and was immediately taken into his pre-
sence.
" Prince," said he, " I am the soldier
who was absent from his post one night,
56
THE PARTERRE.
whose offence you punished without a
hearing. My father was a veteran in
your service; and you will remember
that he was as faithful as brave. He was
dying of his wounds, and I solicited my
officer that I might be relieved from my
sentry for a little while, in order to go
and receive his last breath. This was
denied me ; so I privately removed the
main supporters of the wooden bridge I
was guarding, in case the enemy should
arrive in my absence. On my way back
I was discovered ; and the punishment
awarded me was worse than death — I was
for ever disgraced before a,ll those who
knew me, and whose opinion I valued.
In the high excitement of this sense of
my life's irremediable blight, I met your
child in the woods, and carried him away.
But I have too great a pride to be revenge-
ful, as I have too much humanity to be
cruel ; so I treated the boy with tender-
ness, and, after a while, would have re-
turned him to you, had 1 known how to
do so without danger to myself. Now,
I am come to say that he is dead. He
was killed by a wolf, in saving my life
from its fangs. This life is therefore
forfeited. I have a grieved disgust to it,
both from my heart-stamped disgrace,
and at this unintentional revenge upon
you who disgraced me. It places me
l)elow your level, as I before felt a])ovc
it ; so being quite reconciled to die, I am
now here only for that purpose."
Saying this, he unfolded his mantle,
and laid the dead body of the child
before the prince's feet. The father
caught up the child in his arms, and
hurried away into his private tent.
Three days after this, the prhiee or-
dered the soldier to appear before him,
in presence of all his chief officers and
men ; and he said thus : — " I pardon you
for the unintentional death of my son ;
and, as my deep grief for his loss is
without remedy, it may induce you to
pardon me for the irremediable disgrace
I have put upon you, not knowing the
nobleness of your nature. Accept this
pin-se of gold. Depart with honour.
Go, and live happy in some foreign
land."
The soldier stood with an overwhelm-
ed heart ; — confused — prostrate — ab-
sorbed, in sense, and spirit, and mind.
He received the purse with an abstract-
ed air; and, bowing low, departed, — liis
knees almost failing under him as he
went.
His comrades came thronging round
him with congratulations and expressions
of friendship and respect; but it was too
much to bec.r, and he avoided them.
Taking one aside, however, he sent the
purse to his aged mother, who was living
at a considerable distance, with these
words : — " Honoured parent, — The
prince sends you this purse, in acknoAV-
ledgment of the long and faithful ser-
vices of your deceased husband."
He then hurried away into the woods.
Some days after, the prince received
the following: — "The soldier who was
the means of the prince losing his only
child, returns all grateful thanks for the
undesired clemency so generously shewn
him. This, added to the other circum-
stances, fills his bosom to bursting, and
will continue so to do, until his last
sigh."
A short time after this, the body of
the soldier was found in the shed wherein
he had protected the child, he having
died there of a broken heart.
These two men were worthy of each
other; for the actions of both were
thoroughly consistent with the eleva-
tion of their moral characters.
R. H. H.
TO MARGARET.
Though, lady, round that heart of thine,
The silken ties of friendship twine.
To bind thee to thy home ;
Some mightier passion still may reign,
And rend those silken ties in twain.
And teach that heart to roam.
For friendship knows a fonder name.
As thousands daily prove.
And home resigns its modest claim.
To tyrannizing Love.
For Fashion
And Passion
Since Beauty's tresses curl'd.
Of yore were
And still are,
The tyrants of the world.
But Love, that rules the willing mind,
Is still to gentleness inclined,
And fain would make us free ;
For thougha few maybreathe complaints.
The many say, its fond restraints
Are glorious liberty: —
Such freedom, lady, be thy lot,
To life's remotest day.
And yet, let friends be ne'er forgot.
Or near — or far away : —
For life is sweet.
To friends that meet.
Whom lingering years have parted^
And blest for life,
Are man and wife,
Wlien both are constant hearted
THE PARTERRE.
57
THE DUTCH LOVERS.
A SKETCH niOM LIKE.
Sitting one eveiiinir in .t parlour next
the street, at a window, in order to en-
joy a beautiful inoonliirlit niirlit, I saw
from behinil tlie lilinii, without l)einu:
seen myself, my next-door neighbour's
daujihter, a sweet, modest, and orderly
younptnri, eiirhteeii or nineteen years of
atje, stand on the stei>s before her door,
with a stove under her a|>ron — [a stove
is a snudl wooden box, a hollow eube of
ten inches, with holes in tlie top, eon-
taiuincan earthen pan with liiJihted turf,
whieh tlie women in Holland jilaec un-
der their feet in winter], probably wait-
ing for her mother, a worthy decent
widow, who, assisted by this her only
child, creditably jrained her livelihood by
needlework. While she was standing
there, a carpenters api)rentice, a well-
made young lad, apparently not much
ohler than the girl but somewhat clumsy,
approached licr with his hat in his hand,
and with every symptom of bashfulness.
She immediately retreated towards the
door, a little suri>rised, when the young
man accosted her thus : — " O ! neigh-
bour, I beg you will not be afraid of
me; I would not hurt a child, muc-h less
you; I only re<pie>t, my dear girl, that
you will permit me to light my pij)*- at
your stove." These words, spoken with
a trembling voice, and which rather ap-
peared to ])roceed from one who was
iiimself alraid, than who wished to make
others so, made Agnes easy. " O yes,
friend," answered she, " t is much at
your service ; but what ails you, you
appear to hi- disordered." ( She then
handed him the stove). " 'I'hat I iini,
inv dear child," replie<l lie, " and if you
wfll allow me a few minutes, 1 will tell
you the reason." In the niciin time h(;
was busy in attempting to light his pi])e
as >lwwly as possible, and every pulf
elided with a sigh. At la^t lieiiig a little
rii-overed, " iJo not you know me then,
neighbour?" said the poor lad. " Well,
I own I have some slight knowledge of
your |)erson," says siie, "as I have seen
you jiass this way more than once."
" No wonder, surely," rejilied tlu- yoimg
Mian ; " I have pas>.e<l by this door above
;i liiiiidred tinu's, but I nevi-r dared to
speak to yon : 't was as if I had an ague-
lit, \t lien I (jnly attem|>leil to move a loot
tow.irdM you. Miit now I have taken
courage. I.iHteii, I must break the ice,
without which I cannot rcKt night or day,
for your sake; and I ho|K*, uiy dear girl,
yiiii will t.ike it in good part, and not be
angry vt ithnie, beiaii'-e I h)\i' )oii, w hich
cannot possibly do you any harm." . •
" Ah ! do but hear this mad boy, '
interrupted Agnes, " how nicely he
wheedles ; one might think him in earn-
est. Come, come, my lad, that pipe-
lighting lasts too long; you have not met
with the proper person, I assure you.
Had 1 known you came here to make a
fool of me, you should not have had the
use of my fire ; come quickly, friend,
return the stove, and march otl" to other
girls, who may believe such stories."
" I make a fool of you ! I make a fool
of you ! see, when 1 hear such words
from yoti, 't is as if a knife was ])icrciiig
my heart. Oh ! my angel, my dear siuil,
do not believe that of me, there is not a
bit of falsehood in my whole heart from
to]) to bottom : everyone who knows me
will bear witness to that, my dearest
girl." " Come, come," said she, " don't
dally, give me my stove directly, I must
go in doors, and moreover I am not
called dearest, nor angel, and 1 do not
permit you to call me by thosi' naines
any more. Agnes was I christened, and
so you must call me, if you have any
thing to say to me." " Well now, then,
my dear Agnes," resumed the lad, apj)a-
rently hurt by the s])itefuliiess of the
girl, " I did not know I thereby olfeiid-
ed you : those words issued from my
mouth of their own accord ; I never
sought for them, they were at my
tongue's end. I am quite ine.xpcrieneed in
the world, and you are, as true as I live, the
first young woman I ever s])oke to. 1
shall take better care in future, my dear
Agnes ; here is your stove, hut I beg
y<iu will grant me leave to say a few
more words. What would you gain by
my becoming ill through soirow ? yon
need not believe what I tell you of my-
self, but only hear me. My i)arents live
just by, in the next street, and are es-
tei-med as worthy honest in'ople. lam
their only son, and have one sistci. They
are in easy eircunl^tanees, and i am of a
good profession, which I diligently t\>\-
low : moreover, I lia\e an old aunt, who
lives warmly on her income, she loves
me as if I were her own child, and my
sister and I are her heirs : so that in
time I may be master-carpenter, and
make you a hai)py wife, my <learest
Agnes. Nobody ever sees me in taverns
or alehouses, I go to church every ."^iin-
riay, aiirl at Kaster I ho|)e lo make my
confession. You will, on iiupiiry, find
all tiiis to lie exactly as I have stated ;
and if 1 liase told y<iu the smallest fib,
lain content never more to sic your
pii'lly fuel-, and thai is all I can ^ay. '
58
THE PARTERRE.
The young woman had listened with
too much attention to all this, to have
heard it with indifference.
" Neighbour," says she, in a more
friendly tone, all that you have now told
me, may be true ; I have not such a bad
opinion of you, even to doubt it. But
there is no occasion for me to inquire
about the matter, I have nothing to do
with it, it is none of my business. You
have parents, and a rich aunt ; so much
the better for you. I wish you a good
night, I must retire. I expect my mo-
ther every minute, and if she found me
here so late in the evening talking with
a man, she would make a fine uproar,
and in which she would certainly not be
to blame."
Upon this the young man took Agnes
by the hand with a friendly force, and
entreated her, sobbing, (and I really be-
lieve the poor fellow shed tears), not to
send him away so comfortless. " I beg
of you, dearly as I love you, sweet
Agnes, to remain here a little longer ;
how can you have the heart to part with
me in this manner, good-natured as you
are ?".... " Do but see, now," said
Agnes, laughing, " this is too foolish to
mind ; how can you know whether I am
good-natured or not, when this is the
first time you ever spoke to me? or
have you been inquiring about me, as
you want me to do about you ? "
" Inquire about you, my dear Agnes !
about you ! I had rather lose my life. I
want no information ; I am certain that
you are good-natured, that you are vir-
tuous, and that you are as deserving a
young woman as any living. Do not
ask me how I know it, I see it in your
dear face, and I feel it in my heart :
that cannot deceive me, and I would
stake my life for its truth. But hearken,
Agnes, I should be sorry your mother
should scold you upon my account, and
I also feel your little hands grow as cold
as ice ; only let me ask you one question :
is there another lover who may have
spoken to you first ? if so, I would drop
the affair, notwithstanding the hardship
it would be to me, because I am too
honest to endeavour to be another man's
hinderance."
" As to this," said Agnes, " I will
give you a direct answer. No, I have
never had any lover ; neither do I want
any, be he whom he will. I can easily
wait eight or ten years for that, and I
love my mother too much to leave her so
soon. Therefore, neighbour, do not give
yourself any fruitless trouble about me.
In the situation you have represented
yourself, you will soon find a handsomer
girl than I am, and perhaps a pretty
penny into the bargain, which you will
not get with me ; for my mother and I
have enough to do, with economy, to
get through the world creditably."
" So much the better, my dear Agnes,"
said the young man ; " so much the
more pleasure I shall have, if I may be
so happy as to enable you to live more
comfortably. Oh ! if I might obtain
from you, my dear Agnes, leave to visit
you now and then : if you would only
grant me this favour, I would not wish
to change with the richest burgomaster's
son in the whole city." " At any rate,"
said Agnes, "you cannot ask that of me,
but of my mother. But you need not
trouble yourself about that, because she
would not listen to it ; and if she did, I
should not allow it. Once is as good as
a thousand times, and I tell you I will
have nothing to do with lovers." " But,
my dear Agnes, may not I now and then
pass by your door ? "
" Well, silly boy," says she, laughing,
" can I liinder that ? Is not the street as
free for you as for another?" " Yes,
but you know, cunning Agnes, what I
want, whicli is to see you at the door."
" That might possibly happen," said
she ; " but if it did, you are not to speak
to me, or I should take it very ill."
" No, you won't, my dearest Agnes."
" You shall find it so — only venture."
This she said with a kind of peevishness
which appeared to me affected ; and Avith
this, after the good-tempered youth had
in vain begged for a kiss, which however
he did not dare to press much for, from
the respect peculiar to honest and heart-
felt tenderness, the courtship of the
evening ended But what I thought a
good omen in favour of the young man,
was, that Agnes, having shut the door
after her, opened it again as softly as
possible in order to have a peep at him,
and afterwards as softly shut it.
" Ah ! sweetest maid, my flame approve,
And pardon an impatient love." Ovid,
After this first attack of our appren-
tice on the heart of the good Agnes, I
thought he would not fail to take his
chance of renewing it on the following
Sunday. In this I did not mistake ; and
in the afternoon, as soon as service was
ended, I beheld him slowly approaching,
neatly dressed and his hair powdered,
which greatly mended his appearance.
But the poor lad's trouble was fruitless.
Agncs's door and windows still remained
shut, which, when he strolled past the
THE PARTERRE.
59
house for the third time, made him de-
iectedly cast his eyes up to heaven, as it"
in reproach for Agncs's cruelty and want
of feeling. I am sure, if the lass had
seen him in that condition, she would
have pitied him. However, it was not
her fault, as she was just pone out with
her mother, a prayer-book under her
arm, probably to attend evenini; service.
My compassion was excited for the poor
hopeless youngster, who, as all real and
tender lovers always fear the worst,
certainly fancied that Agnes disliked,
and would never have a favourable opi-
nion of him.
During the rest of the week I was
either from home, or engaged, so that I
learnt no more of the matter till the
Sunday following ; when, on returning
from church, I saw the young man walk
before mc towards our street, but was
surprised to find he accompanied a young
woman, with whom he was earnestly
discoursing. She appeared to be about
the age of Agnes, and as pretty, but
although not more fashionably, she was
more expensively dressed, and wore va-
rious golden trinkets. I doubted not
but his view was to outbrave Agnes, and
to revenge himself for her crossness, by
she^ving her that he needed not be so
much concerned for her, and although
she slighted him, he could be well re-
ceived by other girl.s, her equals at least.
I followed them gently, and to my great
astonishment saw this yoimg cou])lc
knock at Agncs's door : this astonish-
ment however subsided, when I heard
him call the young woman sister. I
then immediately understood the mat-
ter, and perceived that James must have
acquainted his sister with his distress ;
and that love had inspired him with sense
enough to discover, that there could be
no means more certain of obtaining ac-
cess to his sweetheart, than by making
the two girls acrpiainted with cacli other.
Whether this visit was under pretence
of hesjicaking s<ime linen, or tiiat the
roast was already ''lear, I know not ; but
I perceived that the do(jr was oi)ened by
the mother herself, and brother and
sister entered, the latter a little startled,
the former as pale as death antl, donbt-
h"-*, with u paljiitating heart. Aft<-r tlicy
had stayed abi^ut an hour, I <'ould hear
that thev rose to ile])art, and I went im-
mediately to my window. When the
door o|(ened, I heard the motlier say,
"Well then, Agru'w, 'tis charming wea-
ther, I have no object irm, child ; but do
not stay out long." " No niother," was
the ansWfT, "h-h Kitty desires me, we
sl'ull only take a turn, and be back in
half an hour." On this they marched
otf, and really returned within the time.
Agnes was going to knock, but was
prevented by her gallant, who, in the
most moving tone, begged to take leave
with a single kiss. Notwithstanding he
ajipeared to have greatly forwarded his
suit, 1 doubt whether he would have
succeeded, if sister Kitty had not in-
terfered. " Well, my dear Agnes," said
the friendly girl, " that is no such great
matter; any young lass will readily grant
so slight a favour, even to a stranger who
has seen her safe home. Besides a kiss is
nothing; if you don't likeit, wipeitoff."
Upon this Agnes submitted, and I
counted distinctly by the smacking, that
it cost her three kisses, — the first, as I
firmly believe, she had ever granted to a
man, and which I do not think the en-
raptured James would have missed for
three thousand florins. Since that day
Kitty visits hernew friend at least three
times a-week ; her brother never fails
coming to fetch her home, and when the
weather permits, takes a walk with his
sweetheart, — pleading the cause of his
honest love, even in presence of his sis-
ter. Not only my maid-servants, but
also all the women in the noighbour-
liodd have discovered the whole aflair;
and kiu)wing James to be a sober young
num, and in circumstances that the girls
would be glad of him for themselves, as
well as the mothers for their daughters,
speak spitefully of tlie imprudence of my
neighbour who suflers such an inter-
coiu'se. One of my maids even told me
that some of them, under pretence ot
friendship, had been trjing to persuade
Agnes's mother that James could not
mean honourably, and that, if he did, his
father, who is proj)rietor of se\eral
houses, and master of a lucrative pro-
fession, would never i)crniit his only son
to marry a girl without any fortune : but
our dame, who does not want sense,
coolly thanked them for their advice,
begging that they would not trouble
themselves about her affairs, which >he
was very able to manage without their
interlcrence.
It is hardly to be imagined how miu-h
our young nuin is altered, since his suit
goes on so swinuningly. He is as close
as a rose-bud, and though he was for-
merly a nuTc milk-sop, with his head
hanging, his arms and legs used for no
other pur|)ose than to work and change
his place, lu' now marches as erect, imd
with us easy an iiiras most ynung mm ;
his hair is neatlv and iashimuiMy cut.
60
THE PARTERRE.
his hat cocked, and although he wears
the same clothes, they appear to fit him
very differently. His method of speak,
iiig is no longer the same, and his tongue
is loosened and voluble.
It is exactly the same with Agnes : all
her features, however beautiful,were dull
and unmeaning, from her innocence and
insensibility; at present they are ani-
mated and expressive, and her bright
eyes begin to learn their proper lan-
guage, and at times shoot forth glances,
unexpected, and heretofore unknown to
them. Perhaps I may be asked, how I
became acquainted with this total change
in the manners of these young people,
which I shall shortly answer. I soon
learned that James's father was a man
with whom I was well acquainted, hav-
ing served him in my character of coun-
sellor many times with success, which
caused him frequently to solicit my ad-
vice and assistance in other affairs not
relative to my profession.
One day, I received an unexpected
visit from the good old man, purposely
to know my opinion about his son's
courtship. " You have so frequently suc-
cessfully assisted me, Mr. Counsellor,"
said he, " that I trust you will not refuse
hearing me now, about a matter of im-
portance to me. You certainly know,
as the whole neighbourhood talks of it,
that my son courts your neighbour
Agnes, He is crazy after her, which is
no wonder ; we have been in the same
situation — and I must say, that he is so
careful, so orderly, that he pleases me
and his mother so well, that we should
be sorry to cross his inclinations, which
would certainly render him miserable,
and perhaps lead him to the grave. You
probably are acquainted with your neigh-
bours, and may be able to inform me
what they are."
I now thought the good man wished
to* know if the girl had any money, so
that [answered him that " I did not think
they possessed much ; that, as far as I
could see, the young woman had plenty
of clothes, but that I did not sui)])ose
that the mother could give her daughter
any marriage-portion." " I did not ask
you that," replied my honest client ;
" the daughter herself told the very same
thing to James at the first outset, and
that is a matter of indifference to us ;
the sweetest money in what one earns
oTie's self. My son understands his j)ro-
fession, and is industrious. I shall sliortly
let him exhibit his masterj)ie('c, and un-
dergo his exaininaMon; and JM'tween you
and me, I have with care and economy
accumulated much more than people
think for. I only want you to tell me
whether Agnes conducts herself with
propriety, and esjiecially if she is good-
tempered; for my James is a sheepish
boy, and if he married a vixen it would
break his heart. This, however, I cannot
believe of the girl, pleasing as she is : our
Kitty is almost as much in love with her
as her brother is, and my dame is already
as fond of her, as if she were her own
daughter." 1 answered him', " that his
and his family's friendship could not be
better bestowed than on Agnes ; that I
durst venture to be answerable for her
good temper, that she was well-educated,
and that, although I could in my house
hear almost every thing that was going
forward next door, I had not, during
six years, heard the least noisy word be-
tween mother and daughter ; that she
was as dutiful as possible to the old lady;
and as to neatness and economy, my
neighbour was well grounded in both,
and that her daughter, sensible as she
was, must have learnt the same from her.
In a word, that I did not doubt but
James had made an excellent choice, and
would with Agnes be a happy man."
" Well, I am heartily glad you give
the girl such a good character," said the
worthy man ; " but do not you think it
better the young folks should wait a year
or two before they mai'ry ? At present I
fear it would only be children's play."
" No, my dear neighbour," said I,
" that is not by any means my opinion.
These matters must not be kept drawling,
or we risk their non-completion through
envy and slander. I would immediately
bring every thhig to a conclusion, and
the sooner the better."
" Well, then, Mr. Counsellor, it will
be best to conclude the wedding directly.
But I have one request to make you,
which I hope you will not refuse : I have
invited Agnes and her mother to dine
with us to-morrow. Our aunt will like-
wise be of the party ; one of these days
the children will inherit a pretty sum
from her, but it is better to wait, than to
fast for it, for she may, as you know,
bequeath it from them. So much for
this. My request is, therefore, that you
partake of our meal, and then we may
come to some resolution on the subject.
You will not bo sumptuously entertained,
we know nothing of such things; we
shA\ send some ribs of beef to the oven,
and my dame will ])reparc a dish of gray
])c'ase, and some otljcr trifles ; at any
lute there will l)c enough."
I was much pleased with this invita-
THE PARTKRKli.
G(
tion, and promised tli;it I would cer-
tainly attend at the hour appointed.
" We found, to make a hajipy party.
A eheerful face and welcome hearty."
As I endeavour to avoid the repeti-
tion of unnecessary compliments, when
I visit my friends, I never am the tirst
comer ol the guests ; so that I suited
myself to the precise dinner-hour of my
worthy client, and made my appearance
with the first dishes. 1 was the only
person waited for, and I do not remem-
lier to have heen received any where
with more natural tokens of inifcigned
regard. The company consisted of Agnes
an<i her mother, and the family, which,
with mysflf and the old aunt, (whose
l>reseuce I thought a good sign), made
the number eight. The old man took
my hand, which, from mere frank-heart-
eduess he scjneezed roughly. His dame
came and offered me her lips, which I
kissed with a loud smack, as well a.s
those of our aunt, who mumbled ten
times that I was heartily welcome.
For this slightly disagreeable job, I
was amply made amends by three kisses
without guile, which each of the young
girls exchanged for as many of mine, and
which I enjoyed with less noise and
more leisure than the former. Agnes,
who doubtless knew I had used my best
endeavours to forward the match, seeing
me ai)|)roaeh her, turned as red as scarlet,
alth(tugh her beautiful brown eyes ap-
peared very friendly. But I cannot
express the hearty kindness with which
.James received me, for the same reason :
I could hardly loosen my hands from
liis. Had he not bcthouglit himself, I
really believe he would have kissed them,
and his gratitude was plainly legible in
fVi-ry feature.
The father and mother in their Sunday
clothes looked neat, though only a.s
common tradespeople. The ainit wore
brownish tresses unrler her cap, which,
like the rest of her dress, appeared to l»e
at least half as old as herself. Agnes,
sister Kitty, and the younger suitor
were in new clothes, a degree smarter
than they had itvvT before w<irn ; and the
mother wa.H dressed like a respectable
citizen's widow, without any ornaments,
but |)erfeetly nice.
As she appeared to have been brought
il|> rather better than the jieople of the
hou>e, I dare say shi; hiul giv«'n them
both her iwlvicc and iissistance towards
arranging the tjible. Kvery thing was
in exact order. 1"he table-i-loth whk line
and large, and the napkins curiously
folded, witli a roll ol bread in each. On
the side of e\ cry pewter plate lay a new-
fashioned knife, with a siher fork and
spoon, which looked as if just come from
the shop. Whilst I was making these
observations, the first course wa.s brought
in, which consisted merely of a very
large basin of broth, containinga knuckle
of veal, with a dish of forced-meat balls
and sausages.
" Come, friends," says the old man,
" don't let the victuals cool, but take
your places, if yon ])lease."
" Let me manage this," says the mo-
ther, " I shall soon settle the matter as
it should be. Mr. Counsellor is a bache-
lor, he shall sit between the girls ; James
ne.xt to Agnes, then the widow, and
aunt, and we shall find our jjlaces." So
said, so done ; and in a minute this
skein was unravelled and wound up.
Agnes, her mother, and I, immediately
took something on our plates, in which
James, who, like the others, had begun
to sip the broth from the basin, imitated
us, instigated by Agnes, who softly said
to him, " fie, James !"
After the soup was removed, a large
sirloin of beef was set on the table, be-
tween two dishes of gray pease, a salad,
and stewed apples. " There, my friends,
you see the whole," said the father;
" there is a venison-jjasty in the middle,
and the more you eat, the more plcjisure
you will give me." After this hearty
conii)linieiit, as I found nobody ventured
to attack the beef, I, although an indif-
ferent carver, undertook to help the
company, which I did to their satisfac-
tion. James, who saw his beloved, hor
mother, and me, eat with a fork, being
upon his guard, after his mistake with
the sjioon, likewise tried to do so, and,
considering it was his first essay, suc-
ceeded tolerably; — indeed, what camiot
love teach ! The father took notice of
his son's dexterity, " Well, my lad," says
he, " where have you learnt to eat with
a fork? and you do it well, too! Well,
keep to that new fashion. I w(nild do so
likewise, wiTe I not too (jld to alter my
habit ; I have uot been accustonu'd to it.
'^'(nir mother and I, my boy, (never
forget it, in whatev«'r station you may
hereafter be), were brought up here in
the orphan's hospital, and we have rai.sed
ourselves fioin the ground without ever
having, thank (jod ! \\r(niged our con-
sciences, or any jx-rson ; and, as we have
haved a pretty penny for our children.
we are very willing they should fare
better than we did: 'Tell me what I
am, and not what I was,' »ayH the old
62
THE PARTERRE.
Dutch proverb; what say you, mother?"
" Honour be to your heart, father," said
the good woman, " we will not give our-
selves out for what we are not, as many
do who come floating on a straw : no-
body has any claims on us, not even for
a farthing."
In the mean time James hardly ate or
drank any thing ; he satiated and intoxi-
cated himself with gazing at his beloved.
He eyed her incessantly, as if he beheld
her for the first time in his life, or rather
as if he should never see her again. One
would have sworn he vi^as deaf and dumb,
except towards what related to Agnes.
Although he certainly did not grudge her
her dinner, he continually took hold of
her hand, and looked at it as if he were
going to eat it, but let go his hold ten
times in a quarter of an hour, after one
or other of the following reprimands : —
" Are you not ashamed, James ? be quiet,
let me loose, what will people think?"
upon which James immediately begged
pardon, and the next minute was at it
again. When the dishes, which were all
good of the kind, were removed, the
whole family, except Agnes and James,
retired into the next room for a few mi-
nutes ; and, as I only remained with the
lovers, James, who had, instead of one,
drank five or six glasses of wine to
Agnes's health, transported with love,
and overpowered with wine, took hold of
his angel's arm and attempted to ravish
a few kisses. But the sweet girl was
much displeased, and pushed him gently
aside.
" Is that well done, my dear Mr.
Counsellor, now we have got so far?"
said James with a distressed look. "Well,
James," answered I, " the lass is not so
much in the wrong ; remember the old
saying, 'Wise before people, and mad in
a corner.' " — "In a corner?" interrupted
he, " that is worse ; but, sir, you are such
a worthy man that I appeal to you, whe-
ther, as the bargain is now almost con-
cluded, can there be any harm in her
granting me a trifling favour now and
then, by way of earnest?" " Hark, James,"
was my answer ; " Agnes behaves ex-
tremely well, for in general in these kind
of bargains, the more earnest is given,
the less they are stood to." I had no
sooner said this, to the great surprise of
James, who thought it impossible for his
patron to give it against him in a thing
which appeared to him so very reason-
able, than the company returned, and I,
after having privately exchanged a few
words with the father and mother, took
my leave, as I had some pressing busi-
ness to transact, but on condition of sup-
ping with them.
When I returned, I found my friends
in another apartment, playing a round
game at cards, and was told that James
had been continually making mistakes,
as his thoughts were otherwise engaged.
Soon after, we returned to the dining-
room, where we found the table covered
with the cold beef, a small ham, a salad,
pickledherrings,smokedbeef,butterand
cheese, almonds and raisins, neatly plac-
ed. We seated ourselves as at dinner ;
our aunt, who seemed to relish the wine
much, after declaring that the sight of
the young people's courtship renewed
her youth, began to sing : I took the
opportunity, as much for my own sake
as that of James, of asking the good
old soul, if she did not remember any
song of old times, where kissing was
mentioned.
She Avas immediately ready,and chaunt-
ed one in her best manner, wherein
kisses were stuck as thick as hailstones.
The girls, especially Agnes, were at first
extremely shy ; but I had no sooner assur-
ed them that such was the usual custom
among the most virtuous girls, when the
men did not behave too grossly, than
James added, " See now, my dear Agnes,
the gentleman himself says so," and every
thing went on as smoothly as rain slides
from a slated pent-house. This game
pleased me wonderfully well, but no
tongue can tell how James fed in clover;
his happiness was so great that it might
be said he was hardly able to bear it.
When this had continued a little while,
the father knocked on the table with the
haft of a knife ; " Hark, my friends,"
said he, "there is a time for all things."
— Here the mother interrupted him.
" Come, husband, let me speak. You see,
Mr. Counsellor, the young people are
not averse to each other; my master and
I do not object to their marriage, neither
does Agnes's mother. Moreover, our
aunt is very fond of Agnes, and loves
James so much that she thinks, and so
do we, matters should be concluded, the
sooner the better : but mention is made
of marriage-conditions; with these we
are unacquainted, and beg, as you have
always been our friend, you will lend us
your assistance."
" Hearken, mother," said I, " I shall
give you my sentiments candidly: what
need we trouble ourselves about mar-
riage-settlements? the youngpeople love
each other, and where heart and body are
in common, money ought likewise to be
so." " You express yourself well," said
THE PARTERRE.
CM
the father ; " an augel speaks out of
your mouth," echoed James : but re-
questing their attention a little longer, I
thus continued. " Although I do not
certiiinly know, yet 1 have reason to sus-
pect that Agnes's mother is not in such
atHuent circumstances as my client, and
that probably the young woman besides
her economy and knowledge of lu)usc-
keeping possesses littleor nothing, but —
The aunt here burst out, " How! little
or nothing? no, no, that shall not go
thus : I do not understand it so, and
shall never permit it, if it was ever so :
not at all."
Not a little astonished at such an un-
expected interrujition, and thinking no
otherwise than that she wanted to i)ut a
clog to the wheel; " How," said 1, "what
do you mean by this ? 1 always thought
the match was to your liking ; from
whence then arises this sudden and un-
accountable change ? "
" \Vho says I have altered my mind? "
says aunt ; " but I again repeat tbat I
will not suffer the girl to bring notliing
for her portion : if her mother cannot
give her any thing, I shall. I know
James is to ha\ e a thousand rix-dollars,
and she shall have the like, and this will
be no hinderance to you, niece Kitty;
for if you meet with a worthy young
man, although he has not a doit in the
world, you shall have the same." Upon
this, the whole company recovered their
spirits, especially James, who, on hearing
his aunt's first words grew as pale as a
criminal who had just heard his sentence
of death pronounced.
A general silence still continuing, she
resumed, "N\'ell, what do ye stare at me
for ? I hope you do not think I am be-
come so suddenly generous, because I
have drank a glass too much : what I say,
i mean ; send for a notary to write it
down. \N hat I am now doing I always
intended, for I am old and not accus-
tomed to li\ (• ex])cnsively, so tliat I can-
not spend all my money, and 'tis all the
same to me whether you ha\ e it now, or
after my death." No sooner had she
said this, than James, overjoyed witii
(iuch unexpected good fortune, flung
himself, crying, al»out his aunt's neck. I
made a sign to Agnes to do the same,
and notwithstanding she was disordereil,
tihe acquitted herself of that duty with
tokens of unafl'ected and tender gratitude,
in which Wf all followed her. I could
not help sliedditig tears uh the others did.
Aunt cried too, through joy that she had
uccotnplihhed such a good deed. She
ptrsiited in her desire of havmg a no-
tary sent for, and although I thought it
might appear dishonourable, as if mis-
trusting her word, we were obliged to
comply, especially as she added that hav-
ing no other near friends than those i)re-
sent, the wedding might as well be con-
cluded that same evening. Every thing
she wished was done in a very short time,
which raised James's rapture to the high-
est p. tch. He caught Agnes in his arms,
crying, " Now, however, you are mine."
She fell into his, so agitated as hardly to
know what she did, and she ajipeared to
be just on the point of fainting, had not
her lover restored her spirits witli a
thousand loving kisses. It may be easily
imagined, that the rest of the evening
passed with redoubled pleasure.
Richard Twiss.
THE CRIES OF LONDON.
{^For the Parterre.)
There are some cries in London which
strike the ear of the dullest, whether
countryman or cockney. I mean those
which intimate, even to the busy and
bustling, the revolution of the seasons.
The cry of the knife-grinder, the tinker,
or the mender of old chairs, is not peri-
odical ; neither is that of " old clothes ; "
it resounds from one end of the me-
tropolis to the otlier every morning
throughout the year. But there are
many cries which come with the season,
like the cuckoo and the swallow. That
of primroses is as pleasant as any ; it tells
of the approach of spring; and the un-
fortunates who are doomed to be peinied
u|) in town, dream o' nights of the coini-
try, and fancy they are watching the
trees jiut on their green liveries, while the
primroses look meekly up to the jiatter-
ing of the light showers among the al-
most leafless branches above them. We
would rather have a tuft of j)rimroses
than the finest geranium that ever graced
the button-hole of a linen-draper's ap-
j) rent ice's .Sunday-coat.
Another cry is, " marrow-fat peas ; "
and a June sun is bla/ing above you,
the streets are hot and close in spite of
the water-carts, and the peoj)le are glad
to get on the shady side of the way; but
they can only do tliis in the morning
and evening; while the sun is in llu' me-
ridian there is no shelter, except within
doors, and there you have no air, so you
must make u|i your mind either to be
Kuffocated, or broiled to death. Steam-
boats swell the noble current of the
Thames, and eiulang<r the lives of tiie
lieges, while thousands of the Londoner*
64
THE FAllTEKllE.
hasten to gulp the air at Mart^atc,
Ramsgate, or Gravesend. Mrs. Wig-
gins, the fat butcher's wife, thinks Mar-
gate " so wulgar " and Gravesend into-
lerably dull, and therefore goes to Brigli-
ton and stares at its Chinese monstrosi-
ties, and spends her husband's six months'
profits. Wagon loads of cabbages and
other esculents, come groaning into town
to the different markets, which teem
with fruit, flowers, and vegetables.
July arrives, and the cries of almost
every kind of fruit are heard ; but there
is one, which even at this period sounds
to our ear like the approach of winter :
it is that of" walnuts to pickle ! " When
walnuts are fit for the table, the glory of
autumn is departed, and we reckon on
the short time that will elapse before
they will be denuded of their green hides
and rattling in the china plate after
dinner.
There is another cry, which we had
almost forgotten. It is — water-cresses.
Listen to that call — "water-cresses!" It
is not that of some
" ^wretched matron forced in age for
bread.
To strip the brook with mantling cresses
spread, "
(for water-cresses in this age of im-
provement are regularly cultivated like
other plants,) but the note of a poor
sickly girl, who, though it is Sunday
morning, is thus compelled to earn a
miserable subsistence. See, she is called
by yon sleek-faced hypocrite opposite,
who is rating her soundly for vending
her cresses on the Lord's day. She
leaves the house without a penny ; and
her monitor's carriage drives up to the
door to take him to the top of the street,
where he has a chapel, in which he plays
the mountebank, and talks familiarly of
holy things, and rails against pride and
ostentation ! Reader, this is no fable !
Walworth, July 1834. A.
MISCELLANIES.
UNCONSCIOUS IRONY.
Some time ago, the clerk of one of the
chapels at Birmingham, previous to the
commoncementof the service, dirtied his
hand with putting some coals on the fire,
and unconsciously rubbing his face, be-
smeared it so as to resemble a son of
Vulcan. He turned into the reading-
desk, where he naturally attracted much
attention, which was considerably in-
creased when he gave out the first line
of the hymn, "Behold the brightness of
my face." T-iie congregation could no
longer j)rcserve their gravity, and an in-
voluntary laugh burst from every corner
of the chapel.
HINT TO AUTHORS.
It is the business of an author to employ
himself perpetually in observing and re-
flecting. He must be careful also to
set down his observations and reflections,
or they will pass away from his mind, so
as to be never recovered. If the most
ordinary individual were to arrest all his
thoughts, much would be found both
amusing and instructive He should
consider that walk as almost wasted
time, from which he returned with no
new thought or discovery.
ORIGIN OF THK WORD BANKRUPT.
The term Bank is derived from the
Italian word Banco, (bench). The Lom-
bard Jews in Italy kept benches in the
market-places, where they exchanged
money and bills. When a banker failed,
his bench was broken by the populace,
hence the term Bankrupt, from the
Latin ruptm, (broken.)
A FASHIONABLE PAIR.
Lady Anne never failed to be agreeable.
Vanity was with her the one great
moving principle of thought and ac-
tion. She sought admiration from all,
and obtained it from many ; for she pos-
sessed, in a remarkable degree, that
quick discrimination of character, which
taught her to select with judgment the
weakness she assailed. Coquetry be-
came to her an art; and, like the skilful
chess-player, she laid her plan upon a
sagacious application of rules founded
on experience. But though the charm
of conquest was great, the pain of defeat
was greater ; and her life was one of
triumph without happiness, and mortifi-
cation without humility. — Mr. Preston
was a good-looking young man, about
twenty-seven years of age, of serious
pursuits, and a frivolous mind. Not
fond of study, and very fond of display,
he affected deep researches and acquired
shallo\v knowledge. An early propen-
sity for collecting shells and stuffing
birds had been construed into a love of
science, and a memory for technicalities
into the fruits of labour. The decora-
tions of his library confirmed him a
scholar, whilst the imagination of an up-
holsterer, and the judgment of ajeweller,
gave pretensions to taste. Thus dis-
guising the soul of a dandy in the garb
of a pedant, he deceived himself, if not
others, into the belief that his objects
were elevated and his abilities imiversal.
— Dacre, hy the Coiuitess of Morley.
TUE PARTF.RRi:.
<;:.
&&
HISTORICAL SKETCHES.
No. 1.
(For the Parterye.)
THE SUHPaiSE Of THE CASTLE OF GUI8NES.
The reipn of Edward the Tliird is dis-
tiiipuisliL'd for martial splendour beyond
that of any other English sovereign.
During the sway of this sagacious and
warlike prinre, our ancestors performed
many feats which would be considered
as improbable, if related by the novelist.
Events took jilace which exceed in in-
terest the wildest creations of romance ;
and they have been chronicled by one
who was in every resj)ect worthy to
recorn them — the concise, energetic,
and chivalrous Froissart. Where is the
Kn^'lishnian who does not feel a glow of
pride, a.H his eye loiters over the jjages of
that veracious j>ld chronicler ! Nearly
live centuries have passed sinceourmail-
dad iiercMJs earnrd deathless fame on
till- plains of Crescy and I'oictiers ; yet
the naincH of thosr brave knights are
familiar to our ears " as household
words."
Hut it was not always in pitched bat-
tles tluit the courage and prowesH of our
anccHtors were tried. The hosts that
vol.. I.
Vn'-e liC.
opposed them at Crescy, at Poictiers,
and at Agincoiirt, were disordered by
their very numbers : in petty battles
and skirmishes the French chivalry
performed deeds of valour, of which
their descendants may proudly boast : of
this we have innumerable proofs, and it
would be detracting from the glory of
our countr3men to deny to their rivals
the possesbion of courage, enterprise,
and fortitude, worthy of the age in
which they lived.
In the year l;3oI, the twenty-fifth of
the reign of Edward the Third, the
castle of Guisncs, then held by the
French, was surprised and taken ]>osses-
sion of by the English. The historians
are not unanimous in their account of
this capture ; but the following ajipears
to bear the stamp of authenticity, and
is, besides, more circumstantial than
the others.
The town of Guisncs, situated about
five miles from Calais, was, at the time
referred to, merely surrounded by a deep
ditch ; but the castle, which comnianded
it, Was a place of great strength, mid
always r'ontained u good garrison, much
to the annoyance of the English. Tin-
French well knew the iniportiitu-e of
the (ilace as a I'heck to the Ibriigers of
I-
66
THE PARTERRE.
Calais, and in this year were busily em-
ployed in repairing and adding to the
fortifications.
It chanced that among the English
prisoners detained at Guisnes was one
John Lancaster, an archer, who had not
been able to obtain a sum sufficient for
his ransom. The Englishman had been
leleased from confinement, upon condi-
tion of his assisting the workmen em-
ployed in the repair of the castle. This
afforded him an opportunity of engaging
the afljections of a young laundress, who
infoi'med him that a wall two feet broad
crossed the ditch a little below the
water, which entirely concealed it. The
archer took especial notice of the place,
and watching his opportunity, obtained,
by means of a line, the height of the
castle walls; then letting himself down
from the ramparts, crossed the hidden
wall of brick, and concealed himself in
the marshes until night-fall. As the
night advanced he entered within the
English pale, and proceeded towards
Calais. He waited without the town
until day-break, for the gates were closed
against all comers during the night, and
being admitted, hastened to his compa-
nions, to whom he related the particu-
lars of his escape. A council was held,
the surprise of the castle contemplated,
and about thi/ty daring spirits prepared
themselves for the hazardous attempt.
Scaling ladders of the proper height
were got ready according to the archer's
instructions, and at night the English-
men advanced cautiously towards the
fortress. Silently crossing the ditch,
they planted their scaling ladders, and
mounting the walls, seized and dispatch-
ed the sentinels, and threw their bodies
into the moat below. Totally uncon-
scious of their danger, the knights and
their ladies, in the chambers and tur-.
rets, were buried in sound sleep, but
several of the chief officers were still sit-
ting in the great hall playing at chess.
Suddenly the archer and his friends
burst in upon them, and the scene was
changed into one of wild uproar. The
astonished Frenchmen flew to their
arms and stoutly defended themselves ;
but victory declared in favour of the in-
truders, and the survivors were disarmed
and bound. The Englishmen then
broke open the chambers, seized on the
sleeping inmates, whom they also bound,
and having secured them in a strong
room, they released the English prison-
ers that had l)een taken the preceding
year, and set them as a guard over their
former masters.
The castle was now reduced, and the
Englishmen shewed themselves not un-
worthy of the victory, by allowing the
ladies to depart on horseback whither
they pleased, with their furniture, ap-
parel, and jewels. With the morning
came the French workmen engaged in
the repair of the castle, but their con-
sternation was great as they beheld the
walls manned by strangers ; and flying
in haste from the spot, they commu-
nicated the sad tidings to the towns-
people, who were totally unconscious
of what had happened. Additional
force soon arrived from Calais, and the
castle was properly garrisoned by the
English.
Loud were the complaints of the
Frenchmen, which reached the ears of
King Edward, who, rejoicing at the
possession of this important fortress, re-
turned for answer, " that what was done,
was without his knowledge and consent,
and that he would send his command
to the new possessors to deliver it up
to the rightful owner." The Earl of
Guisnes appearing before the castle, de-
manded in whose name and by whose
authority they held the place.
" We hold it in the name and on behalf
of John Lancaster," was the reply.
The earl then inquired, if the archer
considered himself as the liegeman of
King Edward: upon which Lancaster
himself replied, that he knew not what
messengers had been in England, and
that he had resolved to keep himself
secure where he was. An ofljer of forty
thousand crowns, with an indemnity from
the King of France, proved of no avail ;
the archer was inexorable.
"Before the taking of this castle,'*
said he, " we were all good subjects of
England, but by this offence during the
time of truce, we are no better than
banished men. The place which we
now hold, we would willingly exchange
or sell, but to none sooner than to our
natural lord. King Edward, by which
we may obtain a pardon ; but if he should
refuse the offer, we \vill then sell it to
the French king, or to any one who
may offer most."
This bantering stung the earl to
the quick ; and he quitted the place,
which remained in the hands of the
English.
In answer to the renewed complaints
of the French monarch. King Edward
reminded him that, " there was no arti-
cle in the truce which prohibited btiyin}^
and selling." B
THE PARTERRE.
C7
CHESS.
Some pique themselves on the discern-
ment of character by physiojinomy, some
look to confi|.^ration ot" brain, while
others augrur from hand- writing ; this spe-
cie* of divination, however, being mainly
monopolized by the feminine gender.
As to ourselves wc hold to chess-playing,
We calculate upon prognosticating more
of character, intellect.and predominating
passions by playing with a man at chess,
than by all the instructions of Lavater,
Spurzheim, and Deville, put together.
It is the " speaking grammar" of the
human heart. It approaches nearest to
what a fanciful man is said to have once
desired, that men's hearts were cased in
glass, so that each might peer into the
innermost recesses of his neighbour's
soul. It is an illustration of the cele-
brated Novum Orf;anum ; you deduce
causes from their effects after the manner
of the Baconian philosophy, and a know-
ledge of those causes is a knowledge of
the man ; and whereas success in gene-
ralization depends on the accuracy of in-
dividual experiments, so a correct know-
ledge of individual character is essential
to true knowledge of the world.
This new system of notation is to
the moral world what the discovery of
flu.xions, in their facilitation of calcula-
tion, wa-s to the mathematical. From the
incalculable advantages derivable from
chess as a test of character, we may not
unreasonablysurmise that a certain pro-
ficiency in this science will form, ere long,
an indispensable qualification for all am-
bassadors to foreign courts, law officers,
post-masters, and police superintend-
ents ; while we confidently anticipate the
lia[)piest residts from the application of
the same test in naval and military i)ro-
motions. Domestic life might at the
same time jjarticipate in the general be-
nefita. Preliminary matrimonial calcu-
lations or courtships might on this iilari
be conducted, if not witii greater satis-
faction, at iea-st with more certainty of a
desirable finale, and many a heart might
flutter on unbroken.
For the present, we attempt only a
peneral outline, reserving our more elabo-
rate treatise for a neat little po<;ket I'iino,
— having bi-en jirevented accepting an
offerniade us to concentrate our remarks
in a review of .Mr. Lewis's two last ad-
mirable octav(j« in the Quarterly, by the
annexatirin to the offer of a condition
our indoinitabb- spirit (unlike some
ochem, we opine,) utterly abhoro, that of
intersprinkling our literary and |)hilo-
sophical lucubrations with political allu-
sions. — Respondeat superior.
Attend then to the following rules : —
In sitting down to play, take notice
how far your adversaiy troubles himself
about arranging the board and men, or
whether he obtrudes all the ])reliminary
settlement upon yourself. If the latter,
and if he makes you set a good i)art of
his own men for him, you may be sure
he reckons himself something too good
for you, and stands high in his own
esteem. At Cambridge, we called such
a man bumptious. It attends him in all
his actions through life. — " L'dme n'a
pas de secret que la conduite ne revile.
Uamour propre est le phis grand de tons
lesjlatteurs."
Some players move very quick, not
only at the commencement of the game,
but all through it. They sometimes
make good moves, but always many blun-
ders. The most critical situations, alike
with the easiest, command only a mo-
mentary regard, and pass half-examined.
Such men are clever, and get on in the
world by pure luck — rash in enterprise,
uncertain in execution. Avoid much
dealing with them. Of high mettle,
impatient of control, and reckless of
consequences, they will bring you into
trouble. The quickest player we ever
met with was a S])anish refugee. All
Spaniards play quick. Their nation;il
character is impetuosity. " Aussitot dit,
aiissitot fait."
If an adversary, to whom yoii know
yourself to be greatly superior, refuses
to take odds in jjlaying with you, and yet
does not scruple to be perpetually taking
back moves when he leaves a piece " en
prise," set him down for a good-for-no-
thing, shufliing fellow. He has a mean
heart. Hewill retail wise men's sayings
as his own: he will be a downright j)Iii-
giarist, cut a dash on borrowed finances,
or exem])lify what is termed the shaltby
gentecL Have no concern with him.
L'orntteil ne vent pas devoir, et I'amour
propie ne veut pas payer. — Rochcfou-
cault.
A chess-player always opening his
game when he ha.s the attack, on the
queen's side, may be generally set down
as a stujiid fellow, of ])aucity of ich-as,
and stnall inventive resources, — a bad
com])anion,— his teinjieranu'iit nervous,
and jioiitieal creed conservative. Many
old bachelors a(io|>t this opening, Itiit by
no means «'xcliisively. // n'a jmsimfnU
la pondre. — Old pro\( rb.
r2
THE PARTERRE,
If your antagonist on being check-
mated, or receiving unawares any deci-
sive blow, takes the liberty of giving the
chess-table a summerset, and inflicts a
general dispersion on the men ; discuss
not with such a man politics, religion,
or the fair sex, lest you die by the hand
of a duellist. Genus irritabile.
An artful chess-player, ever and anon
tempting you by exposure of pieces to
gain his end, perpetually endeavouring
to blockade your pieces, and aiming at
double checks and checks by discovery,
will not be unmindful of the stratagems
of chess in the game of life. Bon avocat,
mauvais voisin.
If your adversary plays well, in the
attack, the king's gambit ; is nothing
disconcerted, though skilfully opposed ;
deep in his plans, decisive in execution,
and keeping you from first to last in im-
broken turmoil by the dexterity of his
manoeuvres, he will usually make his
way in the world, or he will be a rich
man without a shilling in his pocket.
He will be a good military tactician, and
an acute advocate. He will expose fal-
lacies, detect hypocrisy and fraud, and
make himself master of any subject
he applies himself to investigate. He
will sift deeply and ponder with pa-
tience. He might form an ingenious
mechanic, and succeed in scientific in-
ventions.
An indecisive character may be de-
tected in a few moves. Indecision and
caution must not be confounded : the
latter is essential to a fine chess-player
as to success in all the undertakings in
life, and is an act of the judgment; —
the former is an evidence of deficiency
in the reasoning powers, and adverse to
their free exercise. It arises from want
of concentration of our ideas ;. from a
weakness, or (if we may apply to intel-
lectual the same term as to physical
faculties) from a relaxed condition of the
mental energies. To have any dealings
with such men, especially to co-operate
with them, is a positive nuisance ; and
to place our interests in their hands,
may be emphatically called, placing them
at their disposal 1 Deliberat Roma, perit
Saguntum.
Those players who are exceedingly
fidgety and fretful under defeat, though
often tolerable players, are invariably
impatient of contradiction, and positive
on all subjects on which they conceive
themselves well informed. This class
will usually be found amongst elderly
persons ; and they will sometimes soon-
er refuse to encounter a j-outhful anta-
gonist whose superiority they have ex-
perienced, than subject themselves to
the annoyance of yielding to the greater
merits of one they are conscious of
surpassing in general acquirements.
Such men lie sleepless all night after
a beating, and rise feverish with a head-
ache.
A good player husbands well all his
resources, never gives up an advantage
he can possibly maintain, or thibks the
smallest advantage too mean an acqui-
sition. Such men die rich, A player
careless in his good fortune and prodigal
of his advantages, will experience re-
verses in his passage through life, and
complain of the decrees of Providence.
No chess-player who attempts to succeed
through unfair means, or by snappish
play, can be a man of integrity. An
honourable-minded man will rather lose
a trifling advantage, than leave an im-
pression on his antagonist that he has
been deficient in courtesy and liberality.
The object in playing at chess is to win
the game, but the end only satisfies the
means under the ordinary honourable li-
mitations. He who would violate this
generally received rule, — founded on the
best feelings of virtue and justice, will
sell not his birthright only, but his
conscience, for a mess of pottage : if a
monarch, he will rule by torture, and
terror, and venality ; if a subject, he will
compromise his principles with a bribe,
hesitate atnothing in securinga favourite
object, and set consistency and moral
honesty at defiance. Such a character
must Mrs. Trollope's reviewer in the
Quarterly have been, who could hymn
the praises of a book in which every
principle of decency, morality, and reli-
gion is thrown to the winds, to get a
fling at republican institutions ; and we
cannot but suspect the communication
must have emanated from that gentle-
man by whom the appearance of our re-
view, before alluded to, was interdicted,
unless we illustrated the evils of power
being lodged in the middle classes, by
an exemplification of the weakness of
pawns sustained by the superior comba-
tants. Let the reader mark well the
foregoing illustrations, and, adding to
them the results of his own experience,
we shall leave him in possession of a
chess-table answering some of the most
valuable purposes of P'ortunatus's wish-
ing cap. " Has vaticinationes eventus
comprobavit,"
New Monthly Magazine.
TllF, PARTERRE.
GO
The tower of the I'LAGUE,
BV HOKAt'E GllI.FORD.
( For the Parterre. )
No legend decked its pray, pray wiill ;
Nor guilt nor plory's startling dye
Gave it prerogative to call
The wanderer's foot, the seeker's eye:
But still, with ramparts all a-row,
The loue bleak Tower stood in the snow.
No grace, no grandeur had its form ;
'Twas not majestically tall;
Nor broad as to defy the storm,
Nor circled with ])rotecting wall; —
But, whether Seasons lauph or lower,
Impressive still is that gray Tower.
3.
No smoke- wreath o'er its ramjiart hangs,
No voice is in its ancient hall ;
Yet 'tis not like a ruined house, —
Or one that 's likely soon to falL
But still, with ramparts all a-row.
That strange bleak Tower stands in the
snow.
4.
There's not a stone from its peaked roof,
Though lichen's coloured gems are
there ;
And that one midmost weathercock,
Rustling, sleeping, mocks the air.
And, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
Reverend still is that gray Tower.
5.
The lattice, shaped in diamonds.
Blazons the traiisomed windows wide,
(Like golden braids on solemn robe).
Framed up the sad Tower's gloomy
side.
For still, with ramparts all a-row,
The strange old Tower o'ershades the
snow.
6.
A sun-dial once gilt the wall,
With flourished legend pictured fair;
But gilding 1WU-, nor colouring.
Nor Roinan-figuri'd brass is there.
For, whether Sciisons laugh or lower,
Dismal still is that strange Tower.
7.
Centring the roof, the Loverj' stands
Aloft ; the dovecote's dome was there :
But now no silvery purple wings
Flash with wilil tiuttcr through the air.
But still, with ramparts all a-row.
The strange gray "I'ower o'erlooks the
HHOW.
H.
The little corruT belfry tower
.Still holds its soliuiry bell.
But NO moHh-niantled, — to the wind
M(^t times 'f will neither swing nor
swell.
For, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
Silent still is that strange Tower.
9.
" My taper, from each windowed room,
Hath nightly cast a ruddy glow
Upon those^blackening lattices.
Whose frames are garlanded with snow.
But iiou\ if Seasons lauph or lower,
Wrapt up in gloom is that strange Tower.
10.
" That taper's light, whose long long ray
Shot down the shiidowy avenue.
The chimney blaze o'erpowered within,
Gleaming on tapestries red and blue.
But now, with ramparts all a-row,
The Tower stands cold and black in
snow.
11.
" And I remember sire and son.
And dame and daughter, well,
Grandame and grandsire holding there
Their family festival.
But now,thougli Seasotis laugh and lo w'r.
Vacant still is that gray Tower.
1-2.
" The Plague came there —
• • •
• • *
1.3.
" The old man's Bible, on its desk
Of walnut- wood and ebony.
Lies open at the very page
Where lingered last his failing eye.
P'or still, with ramparts all a-row,
That Tower o'ershadoweth the snow.
14.
" The dame's embroidery, on its frame,
With idle dust is mantled o'er.
Where once, in gaudiest colours, glowed
Deeds of traditionary lore.
For, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
Untrodden still is that Plague Tower.
lo.
" In yon dim oriel, — wandering winds
The maiden's ghittiTii now salute ;
F"or since her witching hand grew cold,
To every other touch 'tis mute.
But still, with rami)arts all a-row,
That Tower of Plague broods o'er the
snow.
la
" The young man's hawk-bells hang
beside
The scabbard worn in Worcester's
fuld :
No other voice his falcons hear.
His sword iiunther arm shall wield.
For, whether Seasons laugh or lower,
No foot invades flu- dreadi'lagueTower."
70
THE PARTERRE.
AMERICAN SOCIETY.
SKETCHES FROM " THE SPRINGS."
Congress-hall, Saratoga, July, 1834.
Dear W— . The tides of fashion, like
those of the sea, are constantly in mo-
tion : no sooner does one wave recede,
than another takes its place ; and so, at
the Springs, as one carriage passes away
with its light-hearted occupants, ano-
ther arrives at the gate ; and there
stands mine host of the Congress, with
his ever-pleasant smile and coiirteous
bow, ready to
"Welcome the coming — speed the
parting guest."
The hasty farewell is scarcely spoken,
before the " new arrival " engrosses all
the attention; and your mineral- water
companion of yesterday vanishes from
your memory to make room for some new
acquaintance of to-day, who, in his turn,
is also doomed to mingle with the misty
recollections of the past, and, in a brief
period, to be forgotten for ever. Friend-
ships formed here are fleeting and eva-
nescent. Excitement is the grand ob-
ject of pursuit; and how can people be
so unreasonable as to expect those to
feel, who never have leisure to think?
Nearly every house in the village is
overflowing, and visitors are still coming.
I shall not attempt to give you a parti--
cular description of all the individuals
I have encountered here; and for ten
thousand reasons, three of which, how-
ever, will suffice at the present time.
In the first place, I have noidea of manu-
facturing a book of travels during this
hot weather. In the second, (mark
what an eye I have for business,) most
of the people here will be subscribers to
the Parterre, and I cannot take any
liberties with them, of course. And
"lastly, and to conclude," those who
will not become subscribers, cannot be
supposedworthyof either the time or the
trouble. Yet, dear , if you will take
a chair with me in this spacious draw-
ing-room, (you shall have a glimpse of
the piazza in my next), I will point out
a few characters from among the com-
pany there assembled, and tell you
all I know about them. This may
amuse you till the bell rings for tea.
Oh, come along ; we will say nothing
to wound the feelings of anybody, for
scandal, I am aware, is your utter ab-
horrence ; yet it is a very fashionable
accomplishment at most watering-
places, although, I am happy to say, I
iuive heard little of it here,
You observe that mild, matronly-
looking lady, near the Avmdow yonder ?
Is she not a pattern of neatness and pro-
priety ? Her story must be an interest-
ing one, and not destitute of a moral. I
wish I knew it. I remember her from
my boyhood, and shall never forget her
looks one fine Sunday morning, as she
entered Trinity church, leaning on the
arm of poor . I never saw any
thing more beautiful than she, at that
moment, appeared to my inexperienced
eyes: all my after dreams of female
loveliness were associated with her. I
could not imagine a being more perfect ;
but I was very young then, and she was
engaged to be married. I saw her again,
after I had arrived at man's estate ; but
oh, how altered ! She was still single. J.
and she had some misunderstanding, and
he had gone to England, and died there,
I think they told me. I never heard any
further particulars. Still she was much
admired for her beauty, and beloved for
her goodness of heart : and, as she was
immensely rich, must have had opportu-
nities enough of forming what is gene-
rally understood, a " convenient alli-
ance," for men, or I am much mistaken,
were as worldly-wise formerly as now.
I never saw her afterward, until we met
the other day at these Springs. There
are more old maids in the world than
remain so from necessity.
That "no American should wish to
trace his ancestry further back than the
revolutionary war," is a good sentiment.
I admire and will stand by it. Yet,
while I disapprove, most heartily, of the
conceited airs and flimsy pretensions
which certain little people arrogate to
themselves on account of their birth-
right, I cannot subscribe to one particle
of the cant I am in the habit of hearing
expressed on these subjects. It is not
" the same thing," to me at least, whether
my father was a count or a coal-heaver,
a prince or a pickpocket. I would have
all my relations, past, present, and to
come, good and respectable people, and
should prefer the blood of the Howards
to that of the convicts of Botany- Bay, —
nor do I believe I am at all singular in
these particulars. It is nothing more
than a natural feeling. Still I would
not think ill of a man on account of any
misfortune that may have attended his
birth, nor well of a man simply because
he happened to be cradled in the lap of
affluence and power. The first may be
one of nature's noblemen, and the other
a poor dog notwithstanding all his splen-
THE PARTKRRE
71
dour ; and thhl this frequently happens,
every day's experience affords us abun-
dant testimony. Tliat the ehiinis of all
to distinction should rest upon one's own
individual talents, dei)ortnuMit, and cha-
racter, is also sound doctrine, and cainiot
be disputed ; yet this is no reason why
we should not feel an honest and becom-
ing pride in the genius, integrity, or gal-
lant bearing of those from whom we
sprung. Now, yonder stands a gentle-
man, who, in my humble judgment,
cannot but indulge a secret glow of satis-
faction, while contemplating the roots
of his family tree. He came from a
pood stock — the old Dutch settlers of
New- Amsterdam — than which no blood
that flows in the human veins is either
purer, better, or braver. His forefathers
were eminently conspicuous as chris-
tians, soldiers, and sages ; they occupied
the high-places of honour and authority
— were the ornaments of their day and
generation, and, notwithstanding the
shade of ridicule which a popular writer
has cast around and interwoven with
their history, their memories will ever
be cherished until virtue ceases to be an
attribute of the human mind. The
iJublic spirit of this gentleman and his
liberal views have long been the theme
of universal praise ; and, although I do
not enjoy the privilege of his personal
acquaintance, I know he must be a gen-
tleman ; the mild and benignant expres-
sion of his face — his unassuming habits
— his bland and courteous demeanour,
all bespeak it ; and, to use the language
of Queen Elizabeth, are unto him " let-
ters of recommendation throughout the
world."
That gentleman is one of the few
Americans who combine a fine literary
taste with indefatigable business-habits.
Had he devoted his life to letters instead
of merchandise, he would have been con-
spicuous among the most gifted of his
countrymen. 1 heard him deliver an
address once, that surprised me for its
elegance of style and literary discrimi-
nation. But this is a money-makitig
land ; and Mr. , (like Halleck, Wet-
more, Sprague, aiul others,) has found
the counting-house more prolitable than
the Muses' temple — his accoiuit-book
more certain than all the books besides
— and bank-notes the very best notes in
the universe.
Young is famous for his flute,
his dog, and the number of his servants.
He never travels without half a dozen.
One he dresses in liverj', and has him
always within calling distance. He plays
the Gernum tlute with great unctioH
and with a most determined air, and
keei)s an enormous dog, of a very pecu-
liar breed, constantly at his heels. He
lodges at hotel, near the top of the
house — that apartment having been as-
signed him on account of his musical
pro|)ensitics— he not wishing to be in-
terru])ted in his studies, and the land-
lord desiring to have the neighbourhood
disturbed as little as possible by his eter-
nal noise. He is the horror of the snr-
romiding country, and conij)laints have
frequently been lodged against him for
annoying quiet, well-disposed citizens
throughout the day, and keeping them
awake during most of the night.
MTierever he goes he pays double board,
as all Jiuting gentlemen undoubtedly
ought to do, and he therefore enjoys a
kind of privilege to blow away as long
and as often as he thinks proper. His
man in livery answers his bell, which is
everlastingly going. At the first stroke
of the hammer away runs John, and
away runs the dog close behind him. It
is curious to see these two worthies hur-
rjing up-stairs, and the exhibition never
fails to create a laugh throughout the
building, which, however amusing to the
spectators, is a source of the deepest
mortification and chagrin to poor John,
who is the butt of all his associates in
the kitchen on this account. John has
long looked upon himself as an injured
and most unfortunate man, and once
summoned suflicient resolution to re-
monstrate with his master upon his griev-
ances — telling him, with tears in his
eyes, and in a heart-rending manner,
that if the dog was not discharged, he
should be com])elled, however reluctant-
ly, and notwithstanding the high wages,
to look out for another situation, as it
was quite impossible to say, when the
bell rung, which was wanted, tiie dog
or himself. It is entirely out of the
question to describe the indignation of
Monsieur Hute, on hearing this com-
plaint. At first he turned all the colours
of the rainbow — then arose from his seat,
eyed his reljcllious subject from head to
foot, and trit'd to give vent tt) his ]iasslon
in a stream of words; but, finding tlie
effort vain, he promiuly kicked liim out
of the room, and commanded him from
his presence for ever! John, however,
is a prudent fellow, and knows the value
of a good place and high wages, or, to
use liis own jihrase, "which side liis
bread and butter is buttered;" so he
72
THE PARTEURE.
concluded to retain his place, in defiance
of the laugh and the kicking, and still
remains in his former service, and is
still followed by that everlasting dog.
Now, young is a nuisance, and so
is his dog, and so are his servants, and
so are all private servants at public hotels.
During meals, they are always in the
way. You are liable to mistake them
for the regular waiters of the house, and
issue your orders accordingly. These
they refuse to obey, of course. This is
provoking. Then they seize upon all
the choice dishes on the table, to convey
them to their masters, who sit gorman-
dizing while your plate is empty, and
the dinner is getting cold. This is
monstrous. Then the man with a servant
sometimes gives himself airs towards
the men without servants. This is in-
tolerable. I have heard of two duels on
account of private servants, and therefore
I repeat, they are a nuisance in a moral
point of view, and ought to be abated.
There is a knot of politicians — the
" great hereafter " and his distinguished
colleagues, whom I must not mention,
for fear of entering the dreaded arena
of party politics ; near them are the
descendants of Carroll, Clinton, and
other renowned men,
" Whose names are with their country's
woven ;"
and the room is filling with beauties,
belles and beaux of all descriptions.
The gentleman in a drab coat, is quite
a famous fellow here — a member of the
temperance societies — temperate in eve-
ry thing but water, of which he drinks
twenty tumblers every morning before
breakfast at Congress Spring, and has
done so for the last six summers. He
is a firm believer in its efficacy — delivers
long orations on the subject to any person
who will listen to him — pulls every new
comer bythe button,as soon as he enters
the premises, and is known and avoided
by the name of the " Water King. "
That little girl in black, who snaps hgr
fingers at the slender buck in whiskers,
has refused six offers of marriage within
the last twelve days. She is certainly a
bewitching creature, and often puts me
in mind of Clara Fisher in the Country
Girl.
Ah, ha ! my little Frenchman ! — that
fellow is a character. I will tell you a
story about him. I stopped at West
Point, not long since, and found the
hotel crowded with visitors. It was
late in the evening when I arrived, and
being almost worn out with the fatigue
of my journey, for I had been the inmate
of stage-coaches, railroad-cars, and ca-
nal-boats, without closing my eyes for
the last two days, I repaired, with all con-
venient haste, to the solitary couch that
had been assigned me in the basement
stoiy, in the fond hope of passing a few
comfortable hours in the "arms of Mor-
pheus ;" but ose glance at the " blue
chamber below," convinced me of the
utter folly of any such expectation. I
found it nearly crammed with my fellow-
lodgers, who, if I might judge from the
melancholy display of hats, boots, socks,
and other articles of wearing apparel,
scattered over the lloor in most "ad-
mired disorder," had evidently retired
with unbecoming eagerness to secure
their places to themselves, and thereby
guard them against the possibility of in-
trusion from others, doubtless believing,
that in this, as well as similar cases, pos-
session is nine points of the law. As
the apartment was very confined, and all
the inhabitants wide awake, I thought I
might as well spend an hour or two in
the open air before going to-bed, and
was about to retire for that purpose,
when a voice called out — " If you do
C wish to lose your berth, you had
better turn in." Observing that nearly
all the cots, sofas, settees, chairs, etc.,
were occupied, and hearing that several
of my fellow-passengers were sleeping
on the house-top and in the halls, I
deemed it prudent to follow the advice
just given to me, so at once commenced
disrobing, and was soon stowed away
in a snug corner, and it was not long
before I found myself gradually and
imperceptibly sinking under the influ-
ence of the gentle god. I began to
congratulate myself, to commiserate the
unhappy condition of my less fortunate
companions, and to bid good-night to
all my cares, when that short, thin, merry
little Frenchman came dancing into the
room, and, after cutting a pigeon-wing
or two, humming a passage from a fa-
vorite opera, and skipping once or
twice around the vacant beds, sat himself
upon the foot of the most commodious,
with the exclamation — " Ah, ha ! I find
him — this is him — number ten, Mag-
nifique ! Now I shall get some little
sleeps at last." Again humming part
of a tune, he proceeded to prepare him-
self for bed. After divesting himself of
his apparel, and carefully depositing his
trinkets and watch under his pillow, he
fastened a red Bandana handkerchief
around his head, and slid beneath the
counterpane, as gay and lively as a
THE PARTERRE.
7:}
cricket. " It is superb," he once more
exclaimed aloud. " I have not had some
rest for six dozen days, certainmnent —
and now I shall have some little sleeps.
But, waiter," bawled he, suddenly re-
collecting himself. John came at the
call. " What is it o'clock, eh ?"
" Nearly ten, sir."
" What time de boat arrive ?"
" .■\bout two."
'• N\'hen he do come, you shall wake
me, some little minute before."
'• Yes, sir."
" .\nd you shall get some of de cham-
pagne and oysters all ready for my sup-
pare."
" Very well, sir."
" Remember, Jean, I would not be
pass ovare for ten tousand dollare."
" You may depend upon me, sir,"
said John, as he shut the door and made
his exit
*' Ah, tres bien ; and now for de little
sleeps." Utteringwhich, he threw him-
self upon the pillow, and in a few se-
conds was in a delightful dose.
The foregoing manoeuvres and con-
versation had attracted the attention of
all, and aroused me comjiletely.
" D that Frenchman !" growled a
bluff old fellow next him, as he turned
on the other side, and again went to
sleep.
Most of the other gentlemen, how-
ever, raised their heads for a moment,
to see what was going on, and then de-
posited them as before, in silent resig-
nation. But one individual, with more
nerves than fortitude, bounded out of
bed, dressed himself in a passion, swore
there was no such thing as sleeping
there, and went out of the room in a
huff. This exploit had an electric effect
upon the melancholy spectators, and a
general lau^h, which awoke all the base-
ment story, v.as the result. For some
minutes aftenvard the merriment was
truly ap])allinp. Jokes, niiiigled with
execrations, were heard in every direc-
tion, and the uproar soon became uni-
versal. Sik-nce, however, was at length
restored; butallsymjitoms of repose had
vanishedwith the mcident that gave them
birtli. The poor Frenchman, howiver,
whose slumbers had been sadly broken
by the nervous man, had turnecl himself
upside down, and had actually gone to
Hleep once more ! He began to breathe
hafl, and, finally, to snore — and tuch a
gnore I — it was enough to have awakened
the dead ! There was no such thing as
•tanding it. The equanimity of his
immediate neighbour — a drowsy fellow,
who, OP first lying do\\Ti, said he was
resolved to "sleep in spite of thunder" —
was the first to give way. He sprang
bolt upright, hastily clapt both luuids
over his ears, and called out, at the top
of his compass, for the Frenchman to
discontinue " that diabolical and dreadful
noise." Up jumped the red nightcap,
rubbing its eyes in mute astonishment.
After hearing the heavy charge against
it, with " a countenance more in sorrow
than in anger," and making every apo-
logy in its power for the unintentional
outrage it had committed, down it sunk
once more upon the pillow, and glided
away into the land of Nod. But new
annoyances awaited my poor Frenchman;
for scarcely had this event happened,
when the door was flung open, and in
came a gentleman from Cahawba, with
a fiercc-lookingbroad-brimmed hat u])on
his pericranium, that attracted general
attention, and struck awe and conster-
nation to the hearts of all beholders.
He straddled himself into the middle of
the floor, thrust both hands into his
breeches jjockets, pressed his lips slowly
together, and cast his eyes deliberately
around the apartment, with the ex])res-
sion of one who intended to insist u])on
his rights. " Which is number ten ?"
he demanded, in a tone which started
all the tenants of the basement story.
" Ah, I perceive !" continued he, ap-
proaching the Frenchman, and laying
violent hands upon him. " There 's
some mistake here. A man in my bed,
hey ? Well, let us see what he 's made
of. Look here, stranger, you 're in the
wrong box 1 You 've tumbled into my
bed ; so you must shift your quarters."
\Vlio shall depict the Frenchman's coun-
tenance, as he slowly raised his head,
half opened his droo])ing organs of vision,
and took an oblique squint at the gen-
tleman from Cahawbiu " You are in
the wrong bed," rei)eated he of the hat ;
" number ten is my projxTty ; yonder
is yours, so have the politeni'ss just to
ho]> out." The Frenchman was resign-
ed to his fate, and gathering iiinisclf to-
gether, transposed his mortal remains
to the vacant bed, without the slightest
resistance, and in eloquent silence. It
was very evident to him, as well as the
rest of us, that there was no withstand-
ing the persuasions of his new ac(iuaint-
ance, who had a fist like a mallet, and
who swore thiit he always carried loatU
ed pistols in iiis ])ocki'ts, to be ready for
any emergency. The inhabitants ot the
basement would iiave screamed outright
this tinu', but lor prudential consideru-
74
THE PARTERRE.
tions, for the gentleman trom Cahawba
realized the description of the " deter-
mined dog," mentioned in the comedy,
who " lived next door to a churchyard,
killed a man a-day, and buried his own
dead." Was this, then, a man to be
trifled with ? Certainly not Better to
cram the sheets down the throat, and
run the riskof suffocation from suppress-
ed laughter, than to encounter the dis-
pleasure of a person who wears such a
hut. They are always to be avoided.
But to return to the Frenchman. He
was no sooner in his new resting-place,
than John came to inform him that his
champagne and oysters were ready. Like
one in a dream he arose, sat upon the
side of the bed, and slowly dressed him-
self, without a single murmur at his
great disappointment. He had hardly
finished, when the steamboat bell sound-
ed among the highlands, and he received
the gratifying intelligence, that in con-
sequence of the time he had lost in
dressing, he had none left to eat his
supper ; and that, if he did not hurry,
he would be too late for the boat 1 At
this, he arose — yawned — stretched his
person out at full length, and, with the
ejaculation — " I shall get some sleeps
nevare" — bade us good-night, and slow-
ly took his leave. N. Y. M.
THE DEATH OF
THE CHEVALIER D'ASSAS.
" Aux armes ! Auvergne ! I'ennemi 1"
Dying words of Chevalier D'Assas.
Lovely art thou, O Rhine ! with thy
castle-crowned precipices — and lovely,
surpassing lovely, thy vintage-rejoicing
slopes.
But iron-fronted war has led his ex-
ulting slaves over thy paradise, and the
rude tramp of his myriads has crushed
thy springing harvests, ever since the
first Csesar pursued thy blue-eyed chil-
dren into thy reluctant waves, till the
last fled in baffled rage across thy re-
joicing tide, and thy unfettered sons
hailed again their long-lost " Father
Rhine."
Exult ! for thy hour of bondage
hath passed — from the hated, fickle Gaul
thy deliverance shall come — the spear
that inflicted the wound, shall prove the
sovereign balm — and from the abodes of
despotism shall Liberty proceed, with
stride of power, till her beneficent smiles
gladden the toiling serf of the Ural, and
loose the frozen current in the soul of
the ice-bound Siberian.
Yet hath it not been alway thus ; and
thy daughters have oft trem{)led with
affright, as the plumed troop swept by
their lordly abodes in gorgeous circum-
stance of war, and the peasant far a-field
has listened to the shrill cry in the dis-
tance, and thought it the greedy fish-
hawk that rose laded from thy eddying
circles ; when it was the shriek of the
partner of his bosom, Avhose home was
invaded by a licentious soldiery, while
her beloved leans unconscious upon his
spade, and eyes with curious specula-
tion the misty column rising in wild
grandeur against the dark blue sky.
How shall he curse that day, as over the
glowing ruins he calls those names he
loved ! Echo alone shall repeat the
sounds, and the distant rushing wdnd
mock him with delusive wailings. The
fiend of the war has passed with scathe
ing desolation, and domestic quiet and
connubial felicity have vanished like
dreams beneath his frown.
On the eve of that revolution which,
for a quarter of a century, convulsed
Europe, a French army lay encamped
about Gueldres, in the province of the
same name. They had passed the Meus,
and, by a series of successful manoeuvres,
forced the Austrians to retreat to the
Rhine, leaving Flanders entirely defence-
less. Accordingly the left wing of the
army was detached for the purpose of
occupation, and the main body lay en-
trenched in line, awaiting the move-
ments of the enemy, who had assembled
in force upon the Rhine, and it was fore-
seen would shortly advance to retrieve
their reputation, and repossess the in-
vaded province. As yet, however, no
demonstration had been made beyond
a simple reconnoissance. The French
awaited, with impatience, the expected
attack. As the campaign wore away,
they grew less and less ardent, as the
chances of a conflict diminished. No
symptoms of a movement were detected
among the enemy, though light parties
of observation were pushed even to the
river side. And finally, when October
had half elapsed, and winter-quarters
were nearly prepared for the reception of
the troops, the eager desire of combat
had entirely subsided, and the soldiers
looked forward with joyful anticipations
to the delights and revels of the winter
quarters of the old military school.
* m * *
" Bravo ! Pierrot, and you even crossed
the river," said the Chevalier D'Assas
to a sous-lieutenant, who stood cap in
hand before a table loaded with papers
and military sketches.
THE PARTERRE.
75
" Nicolai and I found a skiff close un-
der the bank, and in the dark managed
to escape the river sentinels. We landed
at the lower point, and stumbled upon
one fellow lying asleep across his musket.
Nicolai would have got rid of him by a
short method; but 1 interposed — ' Let
the poor devil alone,' said I ; 'if he dies
hard, he'll raise the vidcttes, and then
the whole outposts will come tumbling
in upon us.' So, although it went
against the grain, Nicohii left him to
snoose, unconscious of the interesting
discussion we had been holding over his
body."
" And what then?" interrupted D'As-
sas, smiling internally at the subaltern's
vivacity.
" We then followed the river bank
until the dark line of an entrenchment
appeared di.^tinct in the starlight; and
we heard the hail of the sentinels, pass-
ing far along in the distance, ^yhich led
us to believe we had come upon their
extreme left; then, with great caution,
approaching near the outworks, we put
our ears to the ground, to distinguish
any sounds that might proceed from the
encampment. But nothing could be
heard— all was as silent as death ; und
finally we resolved to return.''
" Thank Heaven ! now is Eloise safe,"
murmured U'Asass. "They will not
fight this campaign.''
" You may well say that," continued
Pierrot, " for the general himself said the
same, after I had reported my return to
him. But, sir, I must tell you further
about that same sentinel. We fell in
with him on our retreat, and Nicolai
again argued the point of disi)atching
him ; but I determined, if possible, to
carry him off alive, so we each seized an
arm and leg, and Nicolai swore a Gascon
oath at him that sealed his mouth ; and
before he was well awake, half the Rhine
flowed between him and his comrades.
These Austrians are a patient set, when
they are in a scrape, and see no chance
of getting out of it."
" Was the sentinel questioned by the
general?"
" Yes, and his story confirms thy sup •
position of the enemy's inactivity."
" Then am I blessed indeed ! " said
D'AsHait, rising and walking around,
with a springing sti-p of exuIt;ition.
The htincst Pierrot looked at bis co-
lonel in uhtonishment.
" HiTir, my friend, is a louis d'or to
reward thy Miigacity and humanity, and
here anotlu-r for Nicolai. Nay, bow
not so, I am otill ycjiir debtor."
The flattered sous-lieutenant, with a
low obeisance of profound respect, re-
tired from the apartment.
D'Assassank into his chair, and seem-
ed immersed in melancholy reflections;
then he rose, and unlocking an escri-
toire, drew from it a miniature. It was
of a young lady, lovely beyond compare.
As he gazed on it, he grew wildly excitec ;
the tears trickled in large drops down
his cheeks, and his whole frame seemed
moved with convulsive agitation. Then,
with a violent effort, he controlled the
ebullition of feeling, rej)laced the minia-
ture, turned the key on the precious
deposit, seized nis hat, and hurried out
into the open space just as the gun
announced the evening parade.
• « • •
The Chevalier D'Assas was one of
those who, in the midst of the degene-
racy and corruption of France before
the revolution, recalled the memory of
her Bayard and Conde. Inflexible in
principle, undaunted in resolution, he
mingled with the sterner qualities of a
hero the most winning affability and
gentleness of disposition, that contras-
ted strongly v^^th the hauteur of the
nobles of the old "regime," and secured
the enthusiastic attachment of all who
kneu^ him. He had, by untiring exer-
tions and the resistless force of merit,
opened the road to military preferment,
at that time accessible only through court
influence and monopolized by a privi-
ledged few, and with eager hopes look-
ed forward to that distinction, of which
his conscious sense of worth assured
him the attainment.
Another cause operated powerfully
upon his sensitive mind and doubly in-
flamed his ardour in his military career,
— and this was love. Before the com-
mencement of the war between France
and Austria, w'hile on a mission to Mun-
ster, he met Eloise Von Steinheim, the
daughter of a W'estphalian count, at the
court of the elector. His stay at the
ca])ital was j)rolonged some weeks, in
expectation of private despatches, and
his leisure so well improved, that casual
admiration deepened into ardent love,
and mutual pledges of constancy were
interchanged, while with the father's
consent, the winter ensuing was ap-
pointed for their nuptials. Hut a
sudden blight threatened these i)lans
of happiness. Returning to his hotel,
on the evening of the same day
that Seemed to comi)lete his felicity,
iJ'Assas found a courier, whose disor-
dered a])|):irel indicatedthegri'atest haste,
76
THE PARTERRE.
and who bore orders for him to rejoin
his regiment without delay, as war had
been declared, and the frontier line of
the army had commenced its march on
Flanders.
What an annunciation to a lover ! — to
find himself torn from his beloved by
the imperative duties of a military com-
mand — exposed to all its hazards and
privations — and, more dreadful than all,
to be forced to contend in arms against
those in whose safety and happiness his
heart was bound !
But his principles of honour came to
his aid, and, awakening the dormant
desire of military fame, restored, in some
degree, the balance of his mind. He
repaired instantly to the house of the
count, explained the cruel necessity of
his departiu-e, and after a thousand pro-
testations of eternal attachment, broke
from her arms, returned to his hotel,
where, after a few hurried arrangements,
he mounted his horse, and followed by
the courier,passed swiftly from the west-
ern gate, in the direction of the Rhine,
just as the full moon arose, blood red,
in the night dews, and seemed to rest
like a lurid mass of fixe on the tops of
the distant forest.
He met his regiment on the advance,
and resumed his command. The French
army were successful — atleast as success
was estimated in that day, before the
torrent of the revolution swept away all
the trophies of preceding wars, and made
crowns and nations the stakes of victory.
The Austrians retreated into Westphalia,
and concentrated their forces around the
capital and upon the further bank of the
Rhine, apparently upon the defensive.
The object of the French was attained
by opening Flanders, and the season was
passed away in those unimpoi"tant recon-
noissances and demonstrations which
the fiery energy of the new school has
held up to merited ridicule.
* * * *
" They Avill not fight, D'Assas, this
campaign," said the general. " It can
hardly happen," replied he ; " at least, if
at all, they must be speedy — the season
will not allow us to keep the field much
longer."
" Your lieutenant's report confirms
me in my opinion. However, colonel,
as every mischance should be guarded
against, I have resolved to strengthen
the outposts opposite the river-line, and
will place your regiment in advance of
the rest, on the skirts of the forest.
Auvergne needs no incitementwhen dan-
ger and honour unite. An army might
sleep securely under its guardian eye."
And he touched his hat in graceful com-
pliment.
" Ah, general," exclaimed D'Assas,
delighted, " you may command my life.
I go instantly to arrange the orders of
the corps."
" Yet more," said the general archly,
at parting, "you should be pleased with
the change, since it brings you a full
mile nearer your inamorata."
An ingenuous blush of modest sensi-
bility told what was indeed passing in
the heart of D'Assas.
" Well, as I thought. A pleasant bi-
vouac to you, mypreux chevalier ; I shall
expect an orderly at ten, wdth the night
report."
Thus was D'Assas placed in the most
dangerous post in the army. It was a
Thermopylae, since it commanded the
only practicable road to the French lines,
and in the event of an attack, would ex-
pose its defenders to the whole weight of
the enemy's force. But these were cir-
cumstances which to D'Assas, burning
with a morbid desire of fame, enhanced
the pleasureof theappointment. He saw
himself placed in that critical spot, where
honour was to be surely won ; he felt
that the safety of the army depended
upon his vigilance, and his heart swell-
ed with pride and joyful emulation as he
accepted the trust.
The general touched his hat, and they
separated.
His regiment, in an hour, were on
their march to the pass before mentioned,
and as the evening closed in, arrived upon
the ground. Before them lay the forest,
and in the obscurity of night presenting
the appearance of a black wall, seem-
ingly impervious to human footsteps.
On each side shelving ledges of rock rose
abruptly at the distance of a hundred
paces, and opposed an efl^ectual barrier to
hostile attacks, since the precipitous de-
scent preluded the possibility of an as-
sault in flank ; and in attempting to turn
his position, the enemy must inevitably
encounter the main body in his rear.
The colonel inspected the ground with
a penetrating eye, perceived at once the
points of defence, and having stationed a
line of videttes along the skirts of the
forest, and a second body half-way be-
tween them and the regiment, retired to
his quarters ; and having ordered the sen-
tinel to apprize him of the slightest
interruption, threw himself, wearied in
body and sated in mind, upon his simple
military cot.
THE PARTERRE.
77
" Qui vive?" cried the tent-guard, in
a low, distinct tone, bringing forward
his nmsket at the word.
" La France," was the reply.
"The word?"
" Amitit."
" The countersign ? "
" Leoiiidas. 1 would see the com-
mandant."
" I'ass on," said the sentinel, recover-
ing his arms.
As they entered the tent, D'Assas
started to his feet.
It was Pierrot, and a woman muffled
in a lontr cloak.
" Wo encountered this female on the
borders of the forest ; on ])eing seized
and questioned, she said she was the
bearer of important news, and demand-
ed to be conducted to head-quarters."
" This is well, Pierrot," said D'Assas;
then looked inquiringly at the closely
enveloped form before him.
The disguised lady shook her head,
and was silent.
'• I comprehend," said D'Assas; "you
would be private. Pierrot, I would
sjjcak alone with your charge ; leave the
tent, but remain within call"
The moment the honest lieutenant
departed, the female threw aside her
mantle, and burst into a flood of
tears.
" Ha ! Lottchen ! "
It wii-s the trusted and faithful attend-
ant of his Eloise — the well known confi-
dant and messenger of his love, whom
he had left at his last partiiig supporting
the fainting form of his mistress, when
her grief proved too strong for physical
endurance, and she sank into the arms
of her servant, losing the remembrance
of her sufferings in insensibility. D'As-
sas, much agitated, led the new-comer
to a scat.
" What means this, my good Lottchen ;
liath aught befallen Eloise? Are you
the bearer of any commands from her?
.Sjieiik, and save me from this torturing
suspense."
The st-rvant of Eloise, after the vio-
leiu-e of liiT grief had somewhat abated,
bi-gail as follows :
" Ah, Hir, you can hardly imagine what
Miy poor unstress hits had to cont<'nd
with hince this cruel war called you
aw ay. Her father, you know, jiridcs him-
self iipiin hJH loyalty to his emperor ; and
\\ hi-n the Austrians were fon-ed to re-
treat, he lilt ihf disgrace so tleeidy, that
III- s|)arrd not even you in his deimiiei-
ations. Your Eloise timidly ventured to
become your advocate, when her father,
with a terrific frown, turiu-d the torrent
of his reproaches upon her, till she
fainted with the shock. Since that time,
his very nature seemed changed ; he
treated his once-loved daughter with
repulsive coldness, and completed her
misery by introducing at the castle Baron
Von Oppenheim as a suitor, ordering
her to dismiss you from her thoughts,
and in your stead take this brutal, un-
gaiidy baron from the border forests."
'•How bore she this?" said D'As-
sas, in a low tone, through his set
teeth.
" Poor lady ! at first she was like one
distracted ; but, by degrees, she settled
down into a dumb melancholy, which to
tlie baron seemed acquiescence iji his
suit."
" Cursed idiot!"
" But, sir, the end is yet to come.
Under this passive appearance she con-
cealed the resolution of flying from
Munster; and upon the eve of the day
appointed for the wedding witli the
baron, we made our escape in disguise,
and had nearly reached the Rhine, when
we encountered the Austrian posts. The
rough soldiers took us for j)easant girls,
and insulted us with coarse jests, ami
compelled us to wait the orders of the
commanding oificer in the guard-house.
By this time, my mistress was totally
overi)owered with the fatigue of the
journey and this new' embarrassment, and
when the commandant went the rounds,
she felt the approach of a violent fever.
The oflicer,commiserating our condition,
dismissed us without any close inter-
rogatories, and my mistress had hardly
left the outposts, before her sickness
overcame her entirely, and she was
forced to take refuge at a farm-house
about half-way between the armies."
"Good heavejis I and what next?"
gasped D'Assas.
" She immediately became delirious,
calling upon your name in her ravings,
and then upon her father's, and for a
week I have hardly stirred from her
bedside ; but, ])C)or lady, her strengtli
has yielded to the disorder, and when
she canu' to her senses, she said feebly,
' I must die, Lottchen ; but before I
rjuit this world, I would see him for
whose sake I have undergone this weight
of trouble. Let nu' but see him, and 1
die content."'
" Oh ! that this should be, and I not
know it."
" I have coiiu- a<'cordingly, to lead
you to her; the fiirm house is but a mile
nence — hasten, or she nuiy be a lifeless
corpse before we reach it;" and the tears
of Lottchen (lowed fast.
78
THE PARTERRE,
The calls of duty and military disci-
pline vanished beneath the overpowering
force of love. He hastily muffled him-
self in his cloak, passed the cordon of
sentinels, g:i\ang the word and counter-
sign, and plunged, with his guide, into
the forest.
« « *
In an old ruinous farm house, midway
between the two armies, on a rude and
humble bed, lay Eloise Von Steinhem,
as pale and corpse-like as though life
had indeed deserted her wan and ema-
ciated frame. Still her eyes gleamed
with an intense ardour, and seemed to
shew the fear that the mission of Lott-
chen was fruitless, and a last look of him
for whom she had endured such pangs
would be denied her. A step is heard
— the door opens — it is he ! She utters
a faint cry — raises herself in her bed —
and falls back senseless into his sup-
porting arms.
What were the feelings of D'Assas,
as he looked upon that shrunken, livid
face, and endeavoured to trace in it the
lineaments of his beloved 1 How he
writhed inwardly in spirit, and felt his
love for her mingled with the gall of
bitterness, as he thought of her misfor-
tunes and their author ! Was she, who
now lay like an inanimate weight upon
his arm, the same beautiful one whom
he had watched in silent ecstasy thread-
ing the mazy dance, like a form of air ;
and enchanting his seeminglyinattentive
ear with the sweet music of her voice,
rendered more fascinating by the attrac-
tions of wit and sense, till his heart was
gone far away out of his keeping, ere he
dreamed of love ? These and a thou-
sand thoughts rushed at once upon his
mind.
She moved — opened her eyes — mur-
mured his name — and was again a
heavy weight in his arms. She had
expired.
He gazed with fixed and glassy eye
upon her stiffening form — uttered a few
words — cut off a ringlet of auburn hair
that hung curling over her snowy fore-
head — placed it in his bosom — and
strode from the apartment into the open
fields. The faithful Lottchen flung her-
self upon the body of her mistress in a
paroxysm of grief!
The east began to brighten with the
gray of the morning, and D'Assas swift-
ly measured the intervening space that
separated him from his post. Distracted
Avith the overwhelming loss of his loved
one, he moved rapidly on over the dewy
herbage, unconscious alike to every ob-
ject around him, and meditating plans
of revenge upon those who had so in-
humanly sacrificed her. He came to
the forest which masked his station, and,
passing through it, already beheld the
white tents glimmering in the morning
light, when both his arms were seized
with an iron gripe. He looked and be-
held two Austrian grenadiers — at the
same time he saw the woods alive with
the enemy, passing quickly and noise-
lessly among the trees, and preparing to
overwhelm the post.
" Silence, or death ! " and they pre-
sented their bayonets to his bosom.
D'Assas took his resolution — he cared
nought for life — the safety of the French
army depended upon his efforts, and
drawing in his breath to add to the
power of his voice, he cried in a tone
of thunder —
" To arms ! Auvergne ! the enemy ! "
He fell, pierced with bayonets. But
the French were roused, and before the
Austrians could extricate themselves
from the wood and form in the open
ground beyond, they poured in from the
encampment, and after a sharp and short
skirmish, drove back the assailants with
great slaughter. The Austrians retreat-
ed precipitately from the wood, Avere
pursued by the infuriated French to the
river side, and would have been annihi-
lated but for a corps de reserve that cross-
ed the river in time to succour their
comrades. This was the last action of
the campaign.
• * » *
But D'Assas — he was found by the
French advance, lying at the foot of a
tree, while his' life-blood dyed red the
herbage around him. Pierrot, the sous-
lieutenant, first perceived his command-
ing officer, and running up to him,
loosened his vest to find the wound and
attempt to stanch the flow of blood.
D'Assas pressed his hand convulsively
to his bosom, looked with a sign of re-
cognition at Pierrot, and expired.
On removing his hand and examin-
ing the wound, a long lock of hair was
found in it, soaked in blood so that the
colour could not be distinguished. It
seemed as if the bayonets had forced it
into his breast, in their deadly passage
to his heart.
Thus did D'Assas satisfy the call of
love and honour. Of Eloise Von Stein-
heim and her obdurate father nothing
more is known, or whether her remains
lie near the lonely farm-house, or in the
gorgeous tomb of her fathers in the capi-
tal of Westphalia; but in the subsequent
flight of the nobles of that country, after
the retreat of the army of the prince of
THE l-ARTEURE.
79
Coiide and the emigres, before the vic-
torious generals Hochc and Dumouriez,
he is supposed to have fled to England,
and passed, in dependent exile, the end
of that life, whose primehe had disgraced
by the death of his daughter.
Louis XVL granted a perpetual pen-
sion to the eldest male branch of the
family of D'Assas, in commemoration of
his heroism. But the mighty revolu-
tion succeeding with the destruction of
the king, involved the ruin of all his
courtiers and dependents, and the pen-
sion was discontinued. But when Na-
poleon assumed the reins of government,
he, with that magnanimity tor which the
world at this late hour have just begun
to e.vtol him, revived the j)ension to the
heirs of D'Assas, and remitted it punc-
tiuUlv through good and evil fortune,
till his star was blotted out from among
the lights of the earth, and the ruler be-
came a captive. Since then, to the reign
of Louis Philip, it has been regularly
jmid; and it is an honest boast of the
enthusiastic Frenchman, that with such
a reward, merit knows not age, and
waits not for posterity.
With these remarks I close this hur-
ried sketch, and add, that if we consider
the situation of D'Assas, when silence
would have purchased life, and death
was the certain doom of breaking it, but
where honour triumphed over the love
of life, and impelled him to self-sacrifice,
— when we consider this, we must con-
fess it to be .OS strongly marked an ex-
ample of voluntary heroism as ancient
or modem times' can produce. In the
rnindof the writer, the stand of Leonidas
at Thermopyla;, the plunge of Curtius
into the yawning gulf, or the constancy
of the martyrs in the early iiges of Chris-
tianity, do not surpass the celebrated
act of the Chevalier D'Assas. N. Y.M.
HABITS OF SAILORS.
" Saii-or8 have a passion for their ves-
sel. They weep with regret on quitting
it, and with tenderness on returning to
it. They cannot remain with their fa-
milies. After having sworn a hundred
times to expose themselves no more to
the sea, they find it impossible to live
away from )t, like a young lover who
cannot tear himself from the arms of a
faithless and stormy mistress. In the
docks of London arid I'lynioiilh, it is not
rare to find sailors born on hoard sliip ;
from their infancy to their old age they
liuve never been on shore, and ]\:i\v
never seen the land but from the deck
of their float ing cradle.— sj)ectator» oft hf
world they have never entered. Within
this life,narrowed to so small a space un-
der the clouds and over the abyss, every
thing is animated for the mariner : an
anchor, a sail, a mast, a cannon, are the
creatures of his affections, and have each
their history ' That sail was shivered
on the coast of Labrador ; the master
sailsman mended it with the piece you
see. That anchor saved the vessel, v.-hen
all the other anchors were lost in the
midst of the coral rocks of the Sandwich
Isles. That mast was broken by a hur-
ricane off the Cape of Good Hope ; it
was but one single piece, but it is much
stronger now that it is composed of two
pieces. The cannon which you see is the
only one which was not dismounted at
the battle of the Chesapeake.' Then the
most interesting news a-board. — ' The
log has just been thro\\Ti — the vessel is
going ten knots an hour — the sky is
ciear at noon — an observation has been
taken — they are at such a latitude — so
many leagues have been made in the
right direction — the needle declines, it
is at such a degree — the sand of the
sand-glass passes badly, it threatens
rain— flying fish have been seen towards
the south, the weather will become
calm — the water has changed its co-
lour — pieces of wood have been seen
floating by — sea-gulls and wild-ducks
have been seen, a little bird has perched
upon the yards; it is necessarj' to stand
out to sea, for they are nearing the
land, and it is dangerous to approach it
during the night. Among the poultry
is a favourite sacred cock which has sur-
vived all the others ; it is famous for
having crowed during a battle, as if in
a farm yard in the midst of its hens.
Under the decks lives a cat of tortoise-
coloured skin, bushy tail, long stiff nnis-
fcjches, firm on its feet, and caring not
for the rolling of the vessel : it has twice
made the voyage round the world, and
saved itself from a wreck on a cask.
The cabin-boys give to the cock biscuits
soaked in wine ; and tlie cat has the pri-
vilege of sleeping, when it likes, in the
hammock of the first-lieiiteirant.'
" The aged siiilor resembles the aged
labourer. Their harvests are different,
it is true ; the sailor has led a wandering
life, the labourer has never left his field,
but they both consult the stars, and jire-
diet the future in ploughing their fur-
rows ; to tlie one tlie lark, the redbreast,
and niglitingale— to the other, fhi' alba-
tross, the curlew, and the kingfisher,
are prophets. They retire in the even-
ing, the one to his cabin, the other intt)
his cottage ; frail teiienu'iits, but where
80
THE PARTERRE.
the hurncane which shakes them does
not agitate their tranquil consciences.
' In the wind tempestuous blowing,
Still no danger they descry ;
The guiltless heart, its boon bestowing.
Soothes them with its lullaby.
Lullaby,' &c. &c.
" The sailor knows not where death
will surprise him, or on what coast he
may leave his life. Perhaps he will
mingle his last sigh with the wind, at-
tached to a raft to continue his voyage ;
perhaps he will be interred on a desert
island, which one may never light upon
again, as he slept alone in his hammock
in the middle of the ocean. The vessel
is itself a spectacle. Sensible to the
slightest movement of the helm, an hip-
pogriff or winged courser, it obeys the
hand of the pilot, as a horse the hand of
its rider. The elegance of the masts and
cordages, the agility of the sailors who
cluster about the yards, the different
aspects in which the ship presents itself,
— whether it advances leaning upon
the water by a contrary wind, or tlies
straight forward before a favourable
breeze, — make this scientific machine
one of the wonders of the genius of man.
Sometimes the waves break against its
sides, and dash up their spray ; some-
times ihe tranquil water divides without
resistance before its prow. The flags,
the lights, the sails, complete the beauty
of this palace of Neptune. The main-
sails, unfurled in all their breadth, belly
out like vast cylinders ; the top-sails,
reefed in the midst, resemble the breasts
of a mermaid. Animated by impetu-
ous wind, the vessel with its keel, as
with the share of the plough, furrows
with a mighty noise the fields of the
ocean.
" On these vast paths of the deep,
along which are seen neither trees, nor
villages, nor cities, nor towers, nor
spires, nor tombs — on this causeway
without columns, without mile-stones,
which has no boundaries but the waves,
no relays but the winds, no lights but
the stars — the most delightful of adven-
tures, when one is not in quest of lands
and seas unknown, is the meeting of two
vessels. The mutual discovery takes
place along the horizon by the help of a
telescope ; then they make sail towards
each other. The crews and the passen-
gers hurry upon the deck. The two
ships approach, hoist their flags, brail
half up their sails, and lay themselves
along-side of each other. All is silence ;
the two captains, from the poop, hail
each other with speaking trumpets.
' The name of the vessel — from what
port — the name of the captain — where
he comes from — where he is bound for
— how many days his passage has lasted,
and what are his observations on the
longitude and latitude ?' These are the
questions — ' Good voyage !' The sails
are unbrailed, and belly to the \vind.
The sailors and passengers of the two
vessels follow each other with their eyes,
without saying a word ; these going to
seek the sun of Asia, those the sun of
Europe, which will equally see them
die. Time carries away and separates
travellers upon the earth more promptly
still than the wind separates those upon
the ocean. They also make signs of
adieu from afar — good voyage — the com -
mon port is Eternity. " — Blackwood's Mag.
MISCELLANIES.
SENTIMENT.
It is very easy to cherish, like Sterne,
the sensibilities that lead to no sacrifice,
and to no inconvenience. Most of those
that are so vain of their fine feelings are
persons loving themselves very dearly,
and having a violent regard for their fel-
low-creatures in general, though caring
little or nothing for the individuals
about them. Of sighs and tears they
are profuse, but niggardly of their
money and their time. — Sharp's Essays.
exportation of women to VIRGINIA
IN THE YEAR 1620.
" The enterprising colonists," says
Holmes, " being generally destitute of
families. Sir Edward Sandys, the trea-
surer, proposed to the Virginia Com-
pany to send over a freight of young
women to become wives for the planters.
The proposal was applauded, and ninety
girls, ' young and uncorrupt,' were sent
over in the ships that arrived this year,
and the year following sixty more, hand-
some and well recommended to the com-
pany for their virtuous education and
demeanour. The price of a wife, at the
first, was one hundred pounds of tobacco ,
but as the number became scarce, the
price was increased to one hundred and
fifty pounds, the value of which, in
money, was three shillings per pound.
This debt for wives, it was ordered,
should have the precedency of all other
debts, and be first recoverable." An-
other writer says, " that it would have
done a man's heart good to see the gal-
lant young Virginians hastening to the
water side, when a ship arrived from
London, each carrying a bundle of the
best tobacco under his arm, and each
taking back with him a beautiful and
virtuous young wife." C.
THE PARTEIiRE.
81
P. 83.
A MIDNIGHT INVITATION.
(^For the Parterre.")
"Lunnun is the Devil." — Old Son^.
DcRivc, my noviciate in the office of
Mr. Latitat, in King's Bench Walk,
Temple, I became acquainted with a
young man, who was managing clerk to
an attorney in the neighbourhood. Our
acfjuaintance commenced at a tavern in
Fleet-street, where I was in the habit
of taking my quotidian choj) or steak,
and th(jugh he was my senior by several
years, I contracted a friendship for him
which, luckily, I had never cause to re-
-■ret. I say luckily, because I have now
>irown older and mr)re cautious, and
should certainly not look for chums in a
tavern.
I'hili|) Harvey (for such was his
name) was a very intelligent fellow, a
good scholar, and possessed of consi-
derable learning ; but he was, to use the
words of (Jhaucir, " as modest as a young
maiden," and these qualities were never
jjer<:i-ived by the superfn-ial observer.
One thing, however, which I had alwavs
looked upon as a drawback, must be told
ol my friend; he wa<<,— ahme! Iiow
much I dread to tell it — an obdurate
Uichelor, one whom llx- ''elibacy-loving
Anthony Wood might have idolized •,
and though at the time of our first
acquaintance he was in his twenty-si.xtli
year, an age at which most young men
begin at least to tulkoi' that blissful state,
he always heard of matrimony, not with
abhorrence but with absolute terror.
Poor Harvey had been left an or|)han
at a tender age, and he and his brother,
who was three years younger than him-
self, were, after being sent to school by
a distant relation, turned out in the
world to seek tlieir fortunes ; the eldest
having been articled to an attorney,
while his brother, with some difficulty,
procured a situation as clerk in the
counting-house of a merchant in Min-
cing-lane, from whose employment he
was, however, soon discharged for dis-
honesty.
This was a dreadful shock to Philip ;
and he who had at one time consoled
himself with the reflection that he was
not left alone in the world, now almost
wished that he had no brother. W illi
some ditliculty lie iirocured a situation
as ca])fuin's clerk fur the unfortunate
boy, and then steadily a|)plied himself
to the duties of his |)rofcssion. His
assiduity arul attention obtained for him
the t'steem and conlidence of his em-
i;
82
THE PARTERRE.
ploycrs, and he would have been happy
but for the thought of his brother, who
turned out a thorough scoundrel, and
caused him a world of uneasiness.
Not to tire the reader with a relation
of all the pranks of this graceless fellow,
it will be sufficient to say, that he ra-
pidly sunk lower and lower in vice, and
became a finished vagabond. No one,
says Juvenal, ever became suddenly
very base ; but the rapidity with which
men pass from bad to worse has often
been remarked. All at once he disap-
peared, and his brother's purse, which
had been so constantly drained, was no
longer exposed to his repeated attacks.
Philip knew not what had become of
him, but though he would have been re-
lieved by the news of his death, he was
uneasy while in ignorance of his fate.
Philip Harvey kept a good library of
books at his lodgings, and spent his
evenings in study ; and although the
good people with whom he lodged smiled
at his sedate habits, his old-fashioned
way, as they termed it, they admired
his quiet and unobtrusive manner.
Those hours which many young men in
large cities generally spend in the ta-
verns and theatres, were devoted to the
perusal of the best authors in the an-
cient and modern languages ; but his
thoughts often wandered from them to
his abandoned brother.
But let it not be supposed that Philip
Harvey was a sour and taciturn fellow.
He loved a joke, and his wit was bril-
liant: he might have "set the table in
a roar," but he was not fond of feasting;
he was not unsocial, but he abhorred
" company."
One cold winter's night, when the
snow was on the ground, our bachelor
lay snugly in his warm bed awake and
thoughtful. During the day, I had
joked him on his anti-matrimonial no-
tions, which he parried with his usual
dexterity. He was now ruminating on
that conversation.
" Ah !" said he, mentally, " 't is a
fine dream to be sure, and it has entailed
much misery on better and wiser men
than myself; but are not these things a
warning to those who con»e after them ?
Comfort, indeed ! it 's impossible. No
time for study or reflection."
At this moment a hasty step sounded
in the street under his window, and the
watchman bawled " Half-past one !"
" AhJ" said Harvey, "there's some
unhappy wight disturbed out of a sound
sleep by the cries of his wife, who
threatens him with an addition to his
already numerous family — celibacy for
ever !"
His soliloquy was cut short by a vio-
lent ring at the street-door bell, to
which, at that hour, as might be sup-
posed, the servant did not pay prompt
attention. It was repeated again and
again, when a window was thrown up,
and the ringer was asked who he
wanted.
" I want to see Mr. Harvey immedi-
ately," replied the disturber ; " pray
wake him at once — every minute is of
consequence."
" My rascal of a brother!" exclaimed
Philip, as he reluctantly turned out of
bed. Laving distinctly heard the conver-
sation below. " What the devil can he
want at this hour ? Could not he wait
till the morning ? " And then he began
to utter sundry anti-fraternal threats
between his teeth, which chattered like
a pair of castanets.
At length he descended, and beheld
in the hall, which the servant had taken
care not to leave after she had acquainted
him with the message, a very suspicious
looking personage, wrapped up to the
chin in an old white great coat.
" Is your name Harvey, sir?" in-
quired the messenger, keeping his broad
brimmed hat on, from under which a
pair of large black eyes, luminous as an
owl's, gleamed with a most sinister ex-
pression.
" Yes," replied our bachelor, yawn-
ing ; " what, in the name of all that 's
abominable, do you want with me at
this unseasonable hour ? "
" Your brother 's at the point of
death !" said the man in a serious tone :
" and he has sent me to beg that you
will come and forgive him before be
die!"
Poor Harvey was thunderstruck. His
brother's wicked courses were forgotten,
and he mechanically hurried on his
great coat without asking another ques-
tion. In less than five minutes he was
in the street with his sinister-looking
guide.
The cold was intense, and the pave-
ment was slippery with the frozen snow,
but Harvey thought only of his brother,
though there blew a piercing wind which
made him shiver. His guide walked
fast, and was soon in the purlieus of the
great theatres, a neighbourhood i-eplete
with every abomination to be found in
this overgrown metropolis. But the
fellow did not stop here, and Harvey
was too much agitated to make any
inquiries ; his mind was occupied only
THE PARTERRE.
88
by the fear that he miplit arrive too hite
to receive his brother's last breath, and
some token of his repentance.
The streets were almost deserted; but
a few drunken wretches, who had been
ejected from the taverns with which
that e.vecrable neighbourhood abounds,
were reeling along, or supportini; tlieni-
selves by the posts, while they heaped
their foul abuse on the watchmJn or the
casual jiassenger. They j)assed through
it all, and Harvey soon found himself
in the ding)-, squalid, and gloomy region
of St. Giles's, the very name of which
is synonymous with beggary and crime.
The street in which they now stood
was very dark, for gas light was not then
adopted ; and Harvey began to hesitate,
eyed his conductor, slackened his pace,
and at length stood still.
" Oh ! you need n't be afeard, sir,"
said the man, divining the reason of his
halt ; " they are very poor people where
vour brother is, but they 're as honest as
the day."
Harvey thought it might be other-
wise ; but he had gone too far to turn
back, so he determined to put a boldface
upon the matter. " Go on. my friend,"
said he, and they again i)roceeded on-
ward. Suddenly his guide entered a
dark alley, and our baciielor, shudder-
ing, heard him give a low whistle.
A door was opened by an old hag,
grimy and ugly, and Harvey and his
guide entered. The house was a large
one, and perhaps had been tenanted by
some person of fortune in earlier days,
when the neighbourhood had not be-
come celebrated. It appeared to be oc-
cupied by several families, but the
kitchen into which they now descended
w;i.s filled with a strange comjjany. The
worst fears shook the frame of the un-
welcome visitant, who would have re-
treated, but his guide took him rudely
by the shoulders, and thrust hin» into
the room. Then the trutli Hashed up(jn
th(! mind of our bachelor, and he wished
himselfin anyplace except that in which
he now stood.
Round a great table, tipon wliich,
stuck up in their own grease, flared
three or four large candies, sat about
two dozen male and female wretches, of
the mo.st forbidding aspect, singing,
talking, swearing, (juarrelling. i)laying
at cards, Hmoking, eating, and drinking.
As an arc(jni|ianiment to these s(junds,
a .Scotch bagpiper was si)iici-/ing out his
diabolical music; abf)ve which sounded
tlie hcrcaming of a cracked flute. 1 lu;
fume of bread and cheese and onions.
and tobacco smoke, was overpowering,
and an old woman at a large fire was
frying some apocryphal compound re-
sembling forced-meat balls, which added
to the horrible din.
As soon as these worthies espied
Harvey, the hag])ipe and the flute were
hushed, and a loud laugh of derision
greeted the poor fellow, who was hor-
ribly alarmed.
" Well, I 'm blowed if we hav'n't
done the lawyer's clerk," cried a rasc;il
with a wooden leg ; " shove him this
way, Tim, and let's look at his leg."
SVhereu])on an atldetic Irishman, with
a short pipe in his mouth, advanced and
made their victim approach the table.
" It 's a nice gintale young man ye are,"
said he, giving him a slap on the back
which shook his hat from his head, upon
which a greasy tattered woman's bonnet
was immediately j)laced by another of
the company. This caused another yell
of laughter, in which Harvey did twt
join.
" Gentlemen," said he, (and here he
could not help smiling), " what have I
done to be treated in this manner ? Is
there one of ye whom I have ever of-
fended ? If you want money, you sliall
have all I have got about me," and he
accordingly emptied his pockets on the
table.
Sundry pairs of dirty hands were
stretched out to grasp the coin, when
the fellow with the wooden leg seized
a large knife.
" Let the blunt alone !" cried he,
fiercely : " I '11 spoil the first mawly
that 's laid upon it. You, Tim Dona-
van, sit down — Here, young man, take
a sip : " and he proffered a quart pot to
Harvey, to whom, however, the smelt
was enoughc
" What ! won't you drink with us ?"
said the rufhan, perceiving his grimace
at the abominable comj)ound of gin and
beer.
" I am not thirsty," was the reply.
" Ho! ho!" shouted tin* gang, " ])cel
him, peel him I" and they accordingly
began to strip the poor fellow of his
clothes.
Harvey still held the quart pot, and
finding his case desperate in the hands of
such wretches, he was about to com-
mence an assault and battery u|iiin the
sinister features around iiim, when one
of the gang, a fellow who swej)t tin-
crossing at the Temple-gate in Kleet-
street, and to whom Harvey had ofuii
given a jieimy, whispered in iiis ear —
" (Jive way to "em, master," said lie;
i; -2
84
THE PARTERRE.
"and let 'em have your toggery, or
they '11 cut your tliroat as sure as New-
gate."
" You be d — d," said a she-devil, who
overheard this advice ; " get out of the
vay, Bill Ivans ; there 's no call to hurt
the lad, but I vant a good vipe."
And she thrust her hand into our
bachelor's pocket, and extracted his
handkerchief in a trice.
" I'll have his upper benjamin," cried
the fellow with the wooden leg ; and in
a few minutes Harvey was deprived of
every thing except his pantaloons, stock-
ings, and boots.
They would have had the panta-
loons, after taking his boots and stock-
ings, but they were much the worse for
wear.
" The kickseys are too seedy ! " roar-
ed a one-eyed rogue, as he felt the
napless inexpressibles ; — " I vont have
'em!"
Just at that moment the old woman,
who acted as portress, popped her head
in at the door, and called out in a shrill
voice, — " The traps ! the traps !"
The effect was magical. The lights
were instantly extinguished, and the
whole group were in dismay : a dirty
ragged great coat was thrown over the
shoulders of our bachelor by the street-
sweeper, who took the opportunity of
hurrying him out of the place.
As they reached the street the sweeper
said, " This wouldn't have happened, if
it hadn't been for your brother, sir."
He disappeared in a twinkling, and
Harvey tied from the spot with the speed
of the wind. As he passed through
several dark courts and alleys, the cause
of the confusion was explained ; the
Bow-street officers were in search of a
denounced burglar, and the whole neigh-
bourhood was in commotion.
" The beaks have offered a reward of a
hundred pounds," said an old woman at
a window, to her neighbour opposite,
who replied —
" Ay, ay, he '11 be scragged for it, I
dare say."
" The devil scrag the whole neigh-
bourhood, if scragging means hanging or
burning," exclaimed Harvey between
his chattering teeth.
He reached home half dead with fa-
tigue and terror, and succeeded, with
some difficulty, in establishing his iden-
tity. When I heard his story, I could
not refrain from laughing heartily, in
which the good-natured fellow joined.
He would, no doubt, have consulted the
magistrates on the subject of his St.
Giles's friends, but the words of the
street-sweeper restrained him — he could
not criminate his brother.
Poor Harvey is now under the broil-
ing sun of India, beyond the reach of
his unnatural relative, who has probably
by this time visited the colonies.
E. F.
A POET'S MUSINGS.
(^For the Parterre.)
" Look within
This dark enchanted mirror, thou shalt see
What the green laurel hides."
My heart has poured its treasures forth
Too wild and free ;
The broken urn is all that now
Is left to me ;
And wither'd leaves, and ashes dark
As my despair.
Are all that shew there has been light
And perfume there.
My soul's bright hopes ! how glorious
once
Did ye not seem.'
Alas ! how fearful 't is to wake
From such a dream :
The bitterness of death is there —
Oh, idol fame !
Thy martyrs perish in the hope
To win a name.
Renowned in future ages, far
Above their lot —
They mingle with the unnumber'd dead.
And are— ;/aro-ot .'
Or, if some wild and thrilling lay
Survives their fate,
Men wonder who has framed a song
So passionate.
And offer (what he sought in vain)
A POET'S FAME,
But where is he? — unknown he died.
Without a name ! —
They have no record of his fate ;
Perchance he bore
Scorn — hunger — madness : all is past —
He IS NO MORE !
And I, what have I won, for all
The sacrifice
Of feelings, pure as the first spring
In Paradise?
A shadowy name, untimely traced
In Passion's page —
A heart grown old in youth, and cold
As frozen age :
Oh wild, ambitious heart ! thy hopes
Have perished long,
What hast thou more to dedicate
To fame or song ?
E. S. Craven.
THE PARTERRE.
85
The heroine of the TYROL.
A STORY FOUNDED ON FACT.
My regiment was quartered hi the an-
cient town of Trent, from the year 1R)(3,
when the Tyrol was annexed to the realm
of Bavaria, until 1S09; and the latter
part of this period will ever exist in my
recolleetion, as the most eventful epoch
I have hitherto encountered.
The Bavarian sway, as is well known,
was exceedintrly unpopular throughout
the newly-ineorporated country; and, in
consequence, our sojourn was none of
the pleasantest : in fact, for a long time
we were sedulously cut by the inhabitants
of Trent and its neighbourhood ; and
when at lengtli they condescended to
notice us at all, it was most frequently
to pick a quarrel, and to shew their teeth
at least, if they dared not bite.
It will readily be imagined, that this
state of things was particularly irksome
to a party chietly consisting of young
olticers eager in the pursuit of diversion,
and wearied with the monotony of a
garrison life. We were compelled to
contract our enjoyments within a very
narrow circle, which almost prohibited
the chance of variety ; when, one even-
ing, after a jovial mess, it was proposed
by two or three of the most volatile
amongst us, that we should, at any risk,
oisiit at a ioirce which we had heard was
to be given the same night, at a mansion
within a mile or two of the town. This
mad-headed project was adopted — de-
spite the remonstrances of the more
sober and reflecting of our cloth — by
myself and some half dozen other swag-
gering, or rather staggering youths, who
modestly deemed themselves thec7((eof
his Bavarian .Majesty's regiment of
light dragoons.
Amidst continued and boisterous mer-
riment at the idea of aTyrolese uisembU'e,
we pursued our route, and reaching the
chateau, penetrated, ere the wonder-
stricken domestics had time to announce
us, into the principal iulmi, which to our
surprise, was filled with a com|)any ap-
parentlyas well-dressed and well- bred as
might on an average be found at the con-
i<rr»a;(oni of .Munich itself. Our sudden
and unexpected presence seemed U> ])ara-
lyse the whole assemblage ; and many
eyc?i were turned upon us as glaring as
those of Tybalt at tiic intrusion of the
hostile .Montagues. As in that instance,
however, so now, the host — a benevolent
and Hensible man — beto(jk himself to
soften matters; and politely advancing,
both welcomed and invited us to sit.
We had prepared ourselves for every
circumstance save one — which one was
precisely that I have just related. We
should infallibly. Hushed as we were
with wine, have persisted in exchanging
some chit-chat with the country belles,
even had we been subsequently obliged
to retreat, sword in hand, to our quarters.
But thus received by the master of the
house, our heroism fell fruitless, and we
certainly cut but a sorry figure : it was
fortunate that one of our party possessed
presence of mind enough to extricate
himself and comrades from so embar-
rassing a dilemma.
In candid terms, he begged pardon of
the host for our unauthorized and un-
mannerly intrusion : pleaded, in excuse,
the miserable monotony of our quarters ;
appealed to the ladies indulgently to step
forward as peacemakers between us and
their male friends ; and, in short, suc-
ceeded in placing all parties finally on
easy and good-humoured terms.
Amongst the numerous damsels pre-
sent, one in particular attracted and fixed
my notice. She was very young : but
her whole contour, and the sweet intel-
lectuality of her countenance, impelled
me to devote to her my entire attention ;
nor did the fair Dorothea — for I found
she was so called — seem disposed to repel
these advances. In fact, the whole of
the company grew more and more socia-
ble, with one solitary exception — that of
an individual called Rusen, whose dark
complexion and wily features looked
more Italian than German, and formed
a striking contrast to the smiling, sunny
aspect of Dorothea. It was indeed dif-
ficult to imagine that any thing could
exist in common between two persons
apj)arently so opposite ; but I observed
that in proportion to the increase of my
familiarity with the latter, the sinister
countenance of Rusen waxed more and
more gloomy.
The lady evidently remarked this
change ; and when it became so j)alpable
as not to be mistaken, she made up to
him, and tried sundry little arts and en-
ticements to win him back to com])la-
cency. This undoubtedly looked like
love ; and the strange susjiicion was con-
firmed by a bystander, who, on the young
lady\ quitting my neiglii)ourlio(jd, laugii-
ingly said, " Take hied ; you will incur
the vengeance of Rusen, who is a selieu;-
ing sort <if fellow, if you continue lojiirl
with /lis betrothed." The W(jr<ls sounded
unaccountably; for even at that moment,
as I gazed on the |)air, her anxious, agi-
tated manner bore rather the semblance
BO
THE PARTERRE.
of fear than affection. Indeed, from a
feeling I could scarcely define, I resolv-
ed that this alleged contract should not
prevent my offering to escort the fair one
home — which, when the hour of sepa-
ration arrived, 1 accordingly took occa-
sion to do. She declined the offer with
a bland smile. I did not press it, under
the circumstances, but turned away to
saunter once more through the rooms.
On returning however toward the spot,
my surprise was great to see Dorothea
still seated there, alone, and apparently
much chagrined. " Captain," said she
as I approached, and striving to assume
a tone of gaiety, " I fear you will accuse
me of caprice, but were your offer now
repeated, I should accept it." Of course
I lost no time in profiting by this altera,
tion ; and having summoned Dorothea's
attendant, we at once set forward for
her home, which I understood to be at
some little distance on the Botzen road.
The night was dark and the streets
deserted. The domestic preceded us with
a torch, and by its rays I could perceive
that my companion's features were
thoughtful and abstracted. To all my
efforts to engage her in conversation,
she answered by monosyllables ; until at
length she suddenly exclaimed, " Cap-
tain Lieber, I am now near home, and
have no further cause to dread inter-
ruption or molestation. You, on the
contrary, being unfortunately a Baca-
rian," (and I thought I could detect a
sigh as she spoke), " are obnoxious to
many around us. I entreat you, there-
fore, to return to your quarters : do so
as expeditiously and quietly as may be,
and forget a weakness which has pos-
sibly caused me to lead you into peril."
She uttered these words, though whis-
peringly, with much earnestness ; and,
as if to give them greater force, at the
same time pressed my arm with fervour.
That pressure thrilledthrough my heart;
but its effect was different from what
she had intended, for I was the more de-
termined to escort her safely to her door.
On reaching the chateau, we found it
enveloped in darkness and silence, but
Dorothea having knocked at a window,
it was gently opened, and after a mo-
ment's whispering, a large cloak and
slouched hat were handed out to her.
" Fake these," said she to me, " disguise
may 7iow be necessary. They will serve
to conceal your uniform and your cap."
" What dread you then ? " I inquired,
somewhat startled. " We Bavarians and
the Tyrolese now form one people r we
ajcti not at war with each other, and even
the peasantry will soon become friendly
to a government which requires nothing
but order and submission to lawful
power. "
" Lawful power," responded the love-
ly rebel, " can proceed neither from the
sword nor pen — from the issue of battles
nor negotiations of peace."
" From whence, then, does it pro-
ceed ? "
" From the will of the people. But I
must not argue with you," pursued she,
smiling ; " all I seek just now is a sound
night's repose, which I am sure you will
not, by neglecting my caution, deprive
me of,"
By way of answer, I enveloped myself
in the ample folds of the mantle. I
raised her delicate little hands to my
lips ; and, tempted by her acquiescence,
exclaimed, " You are obeyed ; but ere I
go, dear Dorothea, tell me — are you in-
deed betrothed to that gloomy-looking
Rusen?"
" Yes no !" replied she, and rush-
ing into the house, put a stop to all
further communication.
Transported with an indistinct emo-
tion of hope, I quitted the dwelling of
the lovely Tyrolese, and commenced
my journey homewards. For awhile my
imagination wandered into all sorts of
delightful prospects for the future, until
the obscurity of the path recalled me to
the passing moment. I fancied that,
through the prevailing gloom, I could
distinguish, in the distance, the faint
lights of the little town of Trent ; and
thus encouraged, was walking briskly
onward, when my progress was arrested
by coming close upon a human figure,
apparently mantled like myself, and
gliding forwards with noiseless steps.
Whilst listening for some signs of life
from this object, it suddenly disappeared.
I paused in surprise ; and a moment
after, a voice fte/iind me murmured softly,
" Is it time ? " Instinctively disguising
my tones, I replied, " Time to be snug
in bed, friend;" on which the challenger,
as if mistaken in the party he had ad-
dressed, without another word retired.
There was something about this cir-
cumstance, coupled with the preceding
ones, that I did not altogether like —
particularly as I thought I recognised,
in the voice I had just heard, that of
Rusen. Gras))ing the hilt of my sabre,
I struck out of the main road, and took
a by-path, which, at the expense of a
little ditour, might, I conceived, save me
from the hazard of being waylaid. This
path led through some conventual ruins,
THK PARTKRRR.
87
;.nd I resolved, on reaching them, to play
the sentinel tor a tew minutes, and re-
connoitre before I penetrated further
into the valley before nie. I threaded
my way among the rotting walls cau-
tiously and in silence — and it was well I
did so, or I should have stumbled right
upon a man, who, witli folded arms, was
leaning against a parapet. He must
have been dozing, for the next moment
he started at the voice of a person (who
approached from another ((uarter) utter-
ing the question I had before heard, " Is
it time?" The voice was certainly Ru-
sen's, and his interlocutor answered with
the word, " Salurn !"
" Has he passed you?" inquired
Rosen.
" No : not a mouse could have gone
by me unobserved," rejoined the iLatchful
sentinel, " much less an accursed Bava-
rian."
" Come back with me then to the high
road, and we will go onward, for he can-
not be much longer, and the more dis-
tant we are from the town, the better."
The conspirators (whose purpose was
now evident) retired, and as soon as their
footsteps grew faint in the distance, I
emerged from the friendly buttress which
had concealed me, and hastened, with
returning conlidence, to my quarters.
On iiKjuiry, next morning, I learnt
that Rusen was a native of Verona, but
jiossessed of great property and induence
in the neighbourhood of Botzcn. He
v,-as considered as the accepted lover of
Dorothea, who however, it was generally
suspected, in receiving his addresses, was
swayed more by political motives than
the h(jpe of connubial hajipiness. This
remarkable young creature, at that time
just budding forth a delicate and fragile
maiden, had distinguished herself three
years previously, when her country fell
into the hands of Bavaria, by her in-
gemiity in suggesting continual obstacles
to the domination of the Bavarian go-
vernment. Yet, urged by my hopes, I
<-ou!d iKJt helj) imau'^ining (from the in-
terest she took in my l)re^(•rvatioll) that
her hostility to my native land was either-
decreased, or had been exaggerated.
Some time elajtscd, after these occur-
rences, ere I coiibl again obtain un in-
terview with Dorothea. .Meanwhile, I
one evening received orders to escort
■■. ith my trocjp a supjily of money to Bot-
/i-n. Ah I must pass her father's ciiateau
on the route, I resolved at all hazards to
attempt to see the object of so many bot!i
ot my waking and hlee|>ing thoughts.
I therefore gavi- instructions to my lieu,
tenant to await me at a \illage a little
further on, and dismounting, struck into
a circuitous path which led to the hall-
door of the mansion. Finding this open,
I was in the act of presenting myself un-
amiounced in the parlour, when I was
tixed to the s])ot by the startling voice of
Rusen. ^•To-morrow night, then!" he
exclaimed to some other person in the
apartment, " to-morrow night, in the
Saturn Castle !"
" Agreed ! — but stay — hear me !" and
I recognised the tones of Dorothea.
I recollect not the jjrecise train of
thoughts that whirled through my brain
— there was something of jealousy — of
disappointment — of indignation : when
my consciousness flowed again in a clear
stream, I found myself in full gallop
after my troop in advance.
Upon our return the following after-
noon, I shifted the quarters of my com-
pany to the village of Salurn, and having
seen both men and horses properly billet-
ed, crossed, towards twilight, a wild and
terrific chasm, forming one of the natu-
ral defences of the ruined castle which
towered high over-head, its turrets glow-
ing with the rays of the setting sun,
whilst beneath all was quickly becoming
immersed in gloom. Having never be-
held these majestic remains at so favour-
able a moment, I was for some time
absorbed by the contemj)lation. From
this reverie, however, I was aroused
by the sudden apparition of a young
mountaineer, who lea])t from crag to
crag with inconceivable agility. To
avoid any risk of insult from the peasan-
try, I had laid aside my regimental dress,
and therefore watched the boy's j)rogress,
heedless whether or not he should be
followed by a train. He ])assed swiftly
as the wind, but in passing threw toward
me a scraj) of jjaper, which he took from
a small basket on his arm. I eagerly ex-
amined it, but found nothing more than
the enigmatical words — " 'Tis time .'"
I turned o\ er and over in my mind the
probable nu'aning of these emphatic syl-
lables, 'iheir reference to Kusi'u's mys-
terious ((uestion was jiaipable; hut what
did both conjointly imply? Although the
Tyrolese were known to be generally
disaffected to their existing rulers, yet
no evifiences had been given of ojien and
organized hostility. It is true — for my
suspicions now aggra\ated e\ cry occur-
rence I could not thoroughly explain
— that I had latterly observed several
grou|)es of persons engaged in close
and anxious conversation ; and, in niu>
instance, saw a considerable Ixidy of ni( n
fixing their eyes intently on the summit
of ijulurn Castle; but these words were
88
THE PARTERRE.
vague circumstances, which yielded no
positive deduction.
What was to be done ? At first, I felt
strongly disposed to return to the village
and get my troops under arms ; but my
interest to discover whether Rusen and
Dorothea met at so strange a time, and
in so strange a place, was unconquer-
able, heightened too by their manifest
connexion with what I now began to
consider a watchword. I resolved finally,
since I was so far on the road, to satisfy
myself first in this matter, and then
hasten to Salurn and Trent, and take the
necessary precautions.
Accordingly, I pushed on my way,
nor relaxed in my pace, although I had
to struggle with sundry steep ascents and
rude crags, until I found myself at the
foot of the immense rock whereon the
castle stands. The grand difficulty now
was, to discover the direct rough-hewn
flight of steps leading up to the structure,
in seeking which I explored the entire
circumference, and lost so much time
that it had grown dusk all round me.
What my sensations were during this
interval it is impossible to describe !
Thus situated, my quick ear detected
the voice of Rusen. It sounded from
beyond a projecting corner of the cliff.
Favoured by the darkness, I groped
round, and had scarce doubled the point
when the transient gleam of a lantern
fell on three figures, in whom I recog-
nised Rusen, Dorothea, and a female
whom I did not remember to have seen
before. This momentary light likewise
enabled me to attain a spot whence I
could hear, at least, whatever passed.
Complete silence was maintained by
all three for some time, and in the
doubtful light their outlines reminded
me of a group of marble statues. " Hear
me," at length exclaimed Rusen, in a
rough and angered voice, " and let us
fully understand each other. I am, as
you know, not a Tyrolese. I have no
personal feelings to gratify by setting
this unhappy country in a blaze. On the
contrary, those peaceful plans of com-
merce which have brought me hither,
thrive best when public tranquillity is
established. If, therefore, I stand com-
mitted to this confederacy, and throw
into the scale my money, influence, and
credit, my reward must be rendered cer-
tain. Pronounce therefore the word,
Dorothea ; say that to-morrow you will
be my wife, and this moment will I
spring up the rocky height. Speak
clearly and firmly ; for no longer, and
least of all here, will I be trifled with."
A few moments elapsed ere Dorothea
answered, and when she did, her tones
were so faint and tremulous that it was
quite impossible to distinguish them.
" She ftas consented," exclaimed the other
female ; " up then, if you be a man ! "
So intense was my excitement that the
whole scene was, as it were, branded
upon my heart. The parties moved away,
and with stealthy pace I followed. A
minute after, the light was seen ascend-
ing, as if spontaneously, the face of the
cliff. Its position enabled me to hit upon
the steps, which, without a moment's
hesitation, I began to mount. They
were almost perpendicular — slippery and
dangerous; but, as if by instinct, my feet
fixed themselves firmly in the friendly
cavities. I quickly gained upon the light,
whilst I felt my strength redoubled by
that tiger-like feeling which works on
man when he finds almost within his
grasp a deadly foe. Immediately above
us was a narrow platform running round
the base of the building, and here 1
overtook my rival.
My advancing footsteps induced him
to turn in surprise, and at the same in-
stant I rushed on him and seized him by
the throat. " Jesu Maria !" cried he, as
his fingers convulsively sought some firm
hold upon me, " Is it not time?"
" Yes ! " I rejoined, " it is time ! " and
as the gleam of the lantern shewed him
my features, his own expressed a mingled
feeling of exultation and horror. " In
the name of the king," I pursued, " I
apprehend you as a traitor. Will you
resign yourself my prisoner?"
" Never !" shouted he.
" Then do\vn with you ! " and with my
collected strength I dragged him to the
brink of the precipice.
The Italian struggled desperately, and
we hung together for several minutes
over the abyss. A complexity of passions
nerved my arm. Personal antipathy to
the man, loyalty to my king, love of
Dorothea, all combined to animate me ;
but my antagonist possessed consider-
able muscular strength, and I doubt
whether the issue would have been suc-
cessful for me, had he not relaxed his
hold in order to draw a poniard. This
action was fatal to the unfortunate Ru-
sen. I had obtained considerable cele-
brity in wrestling, with which manly
exercise we often beguiled a wearisome
hour in garrison, and the instant he
loosed his grijjc, I got my foot between
his, and fairly tri])ped him up.
He fell heavily and headlong from the
platform upon the mass of rock beneath,
uttering a piercing yell. I stood a mo-
ment almost iietrified ; but having rcco-
THE PARTERRE.
89
vered from this stupor, my next step was
to descend again the rocky stairs and
discover whether my victim yet lived.
On reaehing the spot whereon he had
fallen. I found already there Dorothea
and her friend, bendintr with speechless
horror over the motionless body of Kii-
sen, at wliose breast the lantern still
remained suspended and unextinguished.
" Are uou here, captain ? " exclaimed
Dorothea, half shrieking. " Merciful
heaven, is this a dream ?"
" Let us think of it hereafter but as
one," replied I. " You, at any rate,
must have no share in this scene of
crime and death."
She answered not, but knelt and un-
loosened the lamp from the body of
Rusen. " Leave me, leave me. Captain
Lieber. I must hence, to obey the call
of a sacred duty. As poor Rusen, alas !
no longer lives to perform it, I must
complete his intention !"
" Dorothea ! ' exclaimed I, " this is
the language of madness. You are at
present strongly excited, and not able to
think for yourself. I must therefore in-
sist on conducting you from this accursed
spot. Come, let us begone ! my duty
summons me away."
"What duty?" rejoined sue, firmly
but sadly. " You go to be the means of
betraying, perhaps to death, the ill-fated
being you have said you loved."
" Never, by heaven ! " cried I : " not
by a word, not by a look."
" But there may be other witnesses of
this transaction, and — " she paused a
moment, and then resumed — " In the
centre turret of the castle above us are
deposited certain papers, which I am re-
solved to demolish with the tlame of this
lamp : otherwise I cannot rest in peace."
" If that be all, I will accomplish it.
Give me the lamp."
" You, captain !" — and she shuddered
as she spoke.
" Nay, dearest Dorothea, hesitate no
longer ; time presses."
The maiden wrung her hands and
wept aloud.
" Do you fear, ' resumed I, scarce
knowing what 1 said, " that I should
examine the papers, and betray their
contents?"
" I confess that is my fear," she re-
plied lingeringly.
" .Shall I then swear not to <io so?"
" No, but promise by your honour, by
your love for me, that when you have
ajtcerided the turret, and found the packet
which in placed upon a small box on a
flat stone near its top, you will— without
looking for any inscription — instantly
burn both box and packet, and watch
their gradual consumption to ashes. Do
you promise this?"
" 1 do, on the honour of a soldier."
The agitating occurrences of the night
had thrown my mind into a state of
chaos. I was incapable at the moment
of any connected train of thought, and
my predominant feeling was the renewed
hope of at length attaining Dorothea's
heart and hand.
I seized the lamp from the grasp of the
heroic though trembling girl, and having
once mure climbed the precipitous steep,
gained its pinnacle without accident. I
felt dizzy for a moment on reaching the
level from which the unfortunate Rusen
had been dashed ; but with unflinching
resolution waded over broken stones and
rubbish, until I was at the foot of the
ruined central tower. Its winding-stair
was imperfect and dilapidated, and I was
half dead with fatigue ere I had reached
the top. The fresh air, however, which
then blew unimpeded over my head, did
much to revive me, and at length I ap-
proached the mysterious jjacket. It was
dejjosited on a stone which ])r()jected a
little from the wall.
True to my jjromise, I averted my
eyes whilst applying the flame to the
objects mentioned. The paper however,
having probably become damp, would
not readily ignite, and I was thus un-
willingly forced to turn and look toward
the stone whereon it rested, when I per-
ceived its surface to be — completely blank!
An icy coldness shot through every
vein as I made this discovery. Mean-
time, the pa])er had taken fire, and as it
blazed, emitted sundry sparks as if from
guni)owder ; and having communicated
to tile box beneath, immediately a huge
column of blue flame ascended, steadily,
high into the air.
My mental perceptions became clear
on the instant. All traces of confusion
vanished from my brain, and the whole
truth was at once developed. With sud-
den impulse and supernatural strength,
I drew the stone from the wall, and
hmled it, box and all, into the void be-
low : but it was too late ! — the sionai,
was given. From the summit of every
hill, far and near, fires arose, as if simul-
taneously, tossingabout theirllameslike
so many hell-s])irits in tiu' iiiackness of
ni^'iit, replying to each other's cull. The
next niDnient were heard the drums of
the infantry, and the trumjiets of the
dragoons, and these were jpiickly suc-
ceeded liv the thunder of small arms and
90
THE PARTERRE.
cannon which echoed from valley to
valley I
How I descended, first the turret, and
then the rock, 1 have not the most dis-
tant knowledge. Tearing myself from
the outstretched arms of Dorothea, I
sprang like a maniac into the village.
Alas ! I just arrived in time to see my
brave fellows, surrounded and over-
whelmed, cut to pieces by armed pea-
santry. Every where around was shouted
the signal cry — "it is time!" On
that fatal night the Tyrol was lost to
Bavaria 1
Struck by a bullet, I fell ; and when,
after great and protracted suffering, I
was once more enabled to conceive what
passed around me, I found the mountain,
land restored into the arms of Austria,
and recognised in my nurse its heroic
patriot, Dorothea; who — hostilities
having ceased, and no further national
jealousy existing between us — shortly
afterwards became my wif&
MY FIRST DUEL.
" This is an awkward affair, Frank."
" Why, yes," said Frank, " it is an
awkward affair."
" But I suppose I must go through
with it," I continued.
" No doubt," rejoined my friend ;
" and you may rest assured, that although
the anticipation is not very agreeable,
you'll find the thing a mere bagatelle
when on the ground."
" You '11 take care to have every thing
ready, and to call me betimes ; will you,
Frank?"
" Certainly, my dear Ephraim, rely
upon me ; and now, as it is already
twelve, and we have to go out at six,
perhaps I had better wish you good
night, that you may rest and have a
steady hand in the morning. Before 1
go, however, there is one thing I wish
to mention to you."
" And what is that ? " said I.
" Why," replied Frank, hesitatingly,
' it is hardly worth troubling you about ;
lut the fact is, there is a custom — that
is, people have on these occasions a sort
of habit of making their — their — "
" Their exit, I presume you mean?"
" Not so, my dear fellow ; nothing
was farther from my thoughts, as I hope
(with God's will) nothinj; is farther
from fact than the probability of such a
catastroj)he to the present — "
" Farce ; but come, Frank, what is
this that you would require of me, or
enjoin me to ?"
" Briefly, then, Ephraim, might it
not be as well now as at any other time,
just for form's sake, to scratch down a
memorandum of your wishes respecting
the disposal of your property ? "
"Oh Lord!" said I, "is that the
mouse your mountain laboured with?
My property ! God forgive you, Frank !
Well, as Tom Moore says —
' I give thee all ; I can no more ; '
I will bequeath you my debts, with a
proviso that you don't pay interest ; but
seriously, I '11 think of what you say ;
and now, good night ; and for heaven's
sake be punctual in the morning ! "
" Never fear that. Good night,"
said Frank ; "and do you hear, Ephraim ?
You may take a pint of Madeira, if you
have an inclination to it, to-night ; but
not a drop of port, sherry, or biandy.
I must have you placed with a cool head,
clear eye, and a steady fist."
" Very well," said I, " I promise you
to be observant of your orders ;" and
fifter once more exchanging greetings,
the door closed, and I was left to myself.
" Well," said I, when I found myself
alone, " this is a delightful sort of di-
lemma to be placed in. If I loved the
girl, there would be some satisfaction in
standing up to be shot at for her ; but to
be blazed away at for a wench that I
don't care a curse for — to be compelled
to fight for mere flirtation — is certainly,
at the least, very disagreeable. How-
ever, I suppose I must let the fellow
have a brush at me, and so there is no
more to be said on that head. By-the-
by, Frank hinted (with prophetic fore-
sight, I presume) at the necessity of my
disposing in writing of my movables.
Allans done, let me see. First, there is
my linen and my clothes ; let poor Betty
have them, to recompense her in part for
the colds she has caught in letting me in
many a morning; the chances are, she 'U
catch no more on that errand. My coins
and medals may be given to C. Then
there are my books, and chief of them
all, sinner as I am, my Bible, if I dare
name it with the purpose of blood u])on
my mind. I charge you, Frank, deliver
it yourself to my dear and widowed
mother ; tell her I revered its precepts,
although I lacked the strength of mind
that should have made me hold them
fast and follow them ; and, above all,
never, never crush her bowed, and bruis-
ed, and lowly spirit with the truth of all
the weakness, the folly, the impiety,
that will mingle in my end ! Tell her
I fell by sword, plague, pestilence, or
famine ; but tell her not I fell at a task
THE PARTERRE.
91
my common sense — my lieart — my soul,
which owns its divine origin — revolts
from ! — tell her not I tell as a duellist —
Down, down my heart ! the world must
be worshipped. My other books may
be divided between and and
-, except my series ot" .\na, my Ho-
garth, and Viel's, and Bachaumunts, and
La Chapelle's, and Langle's Journeys,
and my Bigarrures ; reserve them, with
my meerschaum, to yourself, and over
them remember the happy hours that
you have sjient before with them and
him who thanks you now for all your
warm-hearted kindnesses. In the drawer
of my desk will be found a portrait and
some letters ; I need not say whose they
arc, but I entreat you, my dear Frank,
I conjure you, to take them into your
own iiands — to let no other look upon
them, and to deliver them to her! Gloss
the circumstances of my death, and let
the tidings fall gently on her; but tell
her, amid all my sins and all my follies,
I remembered her, and loved her, and
her only, and more earnestly in the last
moments of my life than when I held
her on my bosom. Tell her — "
I had written thus far when I was
interruiited by a tai>i)ing at my door,
and when I opened it Frank was there.
" Is it time then already? " said I.
" Yes," said he. " I am glad to see
you ready. Come, we have few mo-
ments to lose."
" The hours have flown with strange
rapidity, " I said ; " but I am prepared.
You spoke to me last night of a will;
doubtless it was a necessary precaution,
and I thank you for the hint. I have
attended to it, and have noted down my
wisiies ; here is a memorandum of them,
and I conlide the execution of them to
you ; I know you will not refuse the
task."
" God forbid," said Frank, taking my
hand, "that I should ; but God forbid
there should be occasion for my ofticcs."
" I also hope, my dear friend," I re-
I)lied, "that there may be no such neccs-
bity; but I have a presentiment (and
my presentiments have seldom boded
me falsely; that this morning's work
will lie my la.st."
" Don't say that, Ejihraim," said
Frank; "if 1 thought tliat — but, good
(jod ! how can I get you out of it?"
"Out of it!" I i-xclainu-d, "you mis.
take me. I cannot prevent my convic-
tion ; but if I saw my grave dug at my
feet, I Wfjuld not retrace the htei)s I have
taken Come, come, I am ready ; " and
taking him by the arm, I drew bim from
the room, and we (quitted the house
silently, and in u few minutes were on
the ground.
On arriving there, I foimd that my ad-
versary (whom I iiad never seen before)
was beforehand with us ; he was a tall,
raw, gaunt, nmscular fellow, with an
enormous pair of mustacliios, and ha\ iiig
altogether very much the ap])earance of
one of Napoleon's old siihreurs. We
saluted each other coldly, and then
turned away, while the seconds retired
to settle the preliminaries ; their con-
ference lasted some time, and ajjpi'ured
to bear grievously upon my adversary's
patience, for he seemed eager to dispatch
me.
At last he addressed them. " Gentle-
men," he said, " I beg pardon, but I
tliiiik we may arrange in a breath all
that is to be arranged. P'irst, then," he
said, speaking to Frank, " do you choose
lifteen or twenty paces?"
Frank unhesitatingly named the latter,
out of regard to my safety.
" Bon," said the fellow, as he made a
scratch in the turf with his heel, and
prepared to take the distance.
I confess I was rejoiced at the thought
of his measuring it, for I thought I per-
ceived an omen of salvation in the lengtli
of his legs ; in this, however, I was dis-
ujjpointed, for the vagabond stepped the
ground as mincingly as a lady in pattens.
" And now," when he had finished
that part of the busiisess, "and now,"
said he, with a coolness that matched
that of the morning, and besjioke him
terribly an fmt to the business, "whose
weapons are we to use? Yours? They
are only a common holster pair ; mine
are ritlc-barrelled and hair-triggered,
and in every way suj)erior to those
machines: what say you to using mine?
they'll make shorter work of the busi-
ness."
" No doubt," thought I.
" What say you, Ephruim ? " said
Frank.
" O, by all means ; what is good for
the goose is good for llie gimder," I
answered, with an attempt at a smile.
Frank therefore assented.
" 7<(i;i," said the fellow again; "and
now for the first fire : has anybody a
l)iece of money about them ? Oh, here,
I have one;" and he handed it to his
second, who tiung it uji, and the result
was in his favcnir.
Frank tijcn came up to me, and, seiz-
ing my hand with ])assionate interest,
said to nn-, in u tone of agitation,
" Fjihraini, my dear boy, be of good
92
THE PARTERRE.
cheer; that hulking blackguard is evi-
dently trying to bully you, but be of
good cheer ; let me place you ; you are
but a lath, give him your side ; you
know it is disputed whether on these oc-
casions it is most prudent to give the
front or the side, but let me govern you
here ; you are but a lath, give him your
side, and the devil himself can't hit you.
God bless you, and keep you ! " And
so saying, and again pressing my band,
he withdrew. Immediately after which
we placed ourselves, and the next instant
the signal was given. As soon as I
heard it, I looked straight at my adver-
sary, and saw him raise his pistol and
steady it ; I saw him eye me with the
keenness of a hawk and the precision of
a master ; it was but the fair half-second,
but I knew and was certain he had co-
vered me. The next instant I felt a
blow, as it were, on the outside of my
right elbow, and a something like ice
stealing along the arm as it dropped
nerveless and with the weight of lead by
my side, and I heard the report of his
weapon. I was winged clean as a
whistle.
Frank perceived how it was with me,
and was by my side in a twinkling, ban-
daging my arm with the handkerchief
he tore from his neck. " Are you faint,
Ephraim ? "
"Not at all," I said; "but make*
haste, I long for my revenge."
"Is the gentleman hurt?" inquired
my adversary, with a half-stifled sardonic
grin.
" Not a whit," said I ; and he bowed.
" Can you give him his charge?" in-
quired Frank.
" never fear," I answered ; " let me
have the pistol." He handed it to me ;
I grasped it, but I essayed in vain to
raise it; my right arm was more dis-
abled than I had thought.
" Try him with the left," said Frank.
I did so, but found the pistol far
heavier than I had conceived, and much
heavier than I knew my own to be ; it
was impossible to level it with my left.
I looked at my adversary, and saw his
features relax into a damnable Mephis-
tophelic grin. I maddened with un-
speakable rage. " Hell and the devil !"
I exclaimed, " is there no having a slap
at the long-legged rascal?"
" I fear not," said Frank ; " but," he
added with affectionate warmth, " stand
back, and I'll fight his second for you."
" That's out of the question," I re-
plied : " let me try my left again." 1
did so, and felt convinced the pistol was
more than usually heavy. I held it by
the barrel, and then I felt assured the
butt was plugged heavily with lead.
The thought of treachery immediately
came across me. The first fire won at
his own call, on the toss of a florin from
his own purse probably, and a piece con-
trived for these occasions, with the same
impression on both sides ; my right
arm shattered certainly by aim, and his
pistol of a weight that prevented all
possibility of its being levelled with the
left hand ; all concurred to assure me I
was the victim of a scoundrel.
" But it shall not go thus," I said, as
I thrust Frank on one side, and ad-
vanced towards the villain with the cool
purpose of blowing his brains out : " It
shall not go thus ! " And as I neared
him, 1 poised the butt of the pistol with
my left hand against my chest, and put
my finger on the trigger to draw in his
face. Fortunately, Frank, who was ig-
norant of my suspicions, closed on me at
the very critical instant, and wrenched
the weapon from my grasp, exclaiming,
at the same time, " Would you commit
murder?"
" With pleasure," I answered, "upon
such a murderous villain as this 1" But
he was now secure from my fire, and
seeing himself so, and safe in his supe-
rior physical strength, he sneered at me
with such mean demoniacal insult, that
unable to withhold myself any longer,
I rushed on him and grappled with
him ; but I was weak from pain and
loss of blood, and I fainted.
Suddenly I was aroused by some one
shaking me violently. I looked up ; it
was Frank. " Up, up, man," he cried.
" Up," I said, "for what?"
" For what ! " he replied, " to save my
character and your own, if you have care
about either. Why, it wants but a
quarter to six, and at six we must be
on the ground."
" What, have not I been shot, then ? "
I said.
"Shot!" he exclaimed, "who the
devil has been here to shoot you ? Why
you have been dreaming."
It was true ; I had drawn my table to
my bed-side to make my will, and had
fallen back asleep, and dreamed what I
have related.
" Then I suppose I must be shot
again?"
"There's little fear of that, thank
Heaven," said Frank, " for I have just
learnt that your adversary, in alarm at
your prowess, has bolted."
" Indeed," said I, as coolly as I could;
THE PARTERRE.
93
but inwardly thanking God heartily for
my deliverance from jeoj)ardy.
" Yes," continued Frank, " so it is ;
but come, we must take our ground,
and pve the vagabond an hour's law."
" NVith all my heart," said I; and in
five minutes I was dressed and on my
way to the spot, with a lighted cheroot
m my mouth, and, truth to say eiitre
nous, a lighter heart under my waistcoat
than I think I should else have carried
to the field.
On the ground we found Captain M.,
the fellow's second, who informed us he
understood his principal had taken flight,
and vowed sumniiiry vengeance on him
when and wherever he should meet him,
for the insult he had offered him by his
pusillanimous conduct. To be brief, we
waited one hour, and my antagonist did
not appear. Frank thus addressed him-
self to his second : —
" Captain M. ," he said, " you will do
my friend the justice to say he has
behaved as becomes a brave and an
honourable man ? "
" Most certainly," said the captain :
and we quitted the ground, and I pro-
ceeded to post the recreant; after which
the captain, Frank, and I together took
steaks and claret for breakfast. And
thus ended "the first duel" of a half-
bearded boy. Ephraim Twigg.
Xew Monthlii Ma".
NASH, KING OF BATH.
(For the Parterre.)
Of the many instances of humanity re-
corded of this celebrated individual, the
Spectator takes notice of one, though his
name is not mentioned. NVlien he was
to give in his account to the Master of
the Temple, among other articles he
charged, " For making one man happy,
10/." Being questioned about tlie
meaning of this strange item, he frankly
declared, that, happening to overhear a
poor man declare to his wife, and a
large family of children, that !(»/. would
make him happy, he couhl not avoid
trying the experiment. He added, if
they did not choose to acquiesce in his
charge, he was ready to refund the
money. The Master, struck with such
an uncommon instance of good nature,
publicly tlianked him for his benevo-
Icnfe, and di-sircd tlie sum miglit be
doubled, as a iiroof of iiis satisfaction.
The above circumstaiu-e probably took
Its rise from the fr>lli)wing story. — A
genth-man told Mr. Nash uiu- day, tiiat
he had ju«t come from (seeing the most
pitiful sight his eyes ever beheld ; a poor
man and his wife, surrounded with seven
iieliiless infants, almost all perishing for
want of food, raiment, and lodging, aiul
their apartment was as dreary as the
street itself, from the weather beating in
upon them from all quarters; that upon
intiuiry, he found the parents were ho-
nest and sober, and wished to be indus-
trious, if they had employment, and that
lie had calculated the exjiense of making
the whole family comfortable and happy.
" How much money," exclaimed Nash,
"would relieve and make them hajjpy?"
" About ten guineas," replied the
friend, " would be sufficient for that
purpose."
Nash instantly went to his bureau,
and gave him the cash, at the same
time pressing him to make all possible
haste, for fear of the sudden dissolution
of the miserable family.
" I need not go far." said the friend,
smiling and putting the money into his
pocket : " you know you have owed me
this money a long while, and that I have*
dunned you for it, for years, to no man-
lier of j)urpose : excuse me, therefore,
for having thus imposed on your feelings,
not being able to move your justice, tor
there are no such objects as I have de-
scribed, to my knowledge : the story is a
^ction from beginning to end, you are a
dupe, not oi justice, but of your human-
ity." W. G.
POPPING THE QUESTION.
BY AN OLD BACHELOR.
" Faint heart," says the adage, " never
won fair ladye." I know not who it
was that gave birth to this " wise saw,"
— whether it is to be found in Homer,
as some say all things may, (it is along
time since we read Homer) — or whether
some gallant son of Mars introduced it
to the world by way of forwarding the
views of himself and comrades. But
this 1 know, that whoever the jierson
may be, he has much to answer for :
much to answer for to the ladies for sub-
jecting them to the airectations and im-
pertinences of our sex — much to answer
for to us, tor encouraging the belief that
such a behaviour is pleasing to the fair.
Perhaps it may be urged that a mis-
a))|)reljeiision and misapplication of the
adiige have caused the grievance I com-
plain of. It maybe so: but it is not
enough that a law is made with a view
to encourage merit; it should be so
IVanu'd as to defy a perversion to the
purposes of evil. In the blessed days of
94
THE PARTERRE.
chivalry, no doubt, the bravest knights
were — as they deserved to be — the most
successful pleaders in the bower of
beauty. But let it be remembered that,
in those days, the gallants were bold as
lions in battle, but in a lady's boudoir,
(if such an anachronism may be allowed, )
meek as so many lambs. Now, I much
fear, the high bearing of our gallants is
chiefly displayed in the chambers of
their mistresses, while craven hearts are
found to tremble in the tent. Alas, for
the days of chivalry ! In a word — though
I speak it with the most perfect good
humour, and without a particle of jea-
lousy — I consider the young men of the
present day a saucy, empty, assuming,
ill-bred set of fellows, and altogether
unworthy the favours of the belles of
the nineteenth century.
I am not a nineteenth-century man
myself, and I thank the gods (particu-
larly the god of love) for that consola-
tion in the midst of all my sorrows.
Forty years ago things were very dif-
ferent : the young folks of that age were
men of another calibre, men who paid
some regard to decencji, and were not
ashamed to wear the blush of modesty
upon all proper occasions. 1 was a lover
then ; and I confess, (though at the risk
of getting laughed at for my pains,) felt
as much alarm at the idea of " popping
the red-hot question," as facing a fifteen-
pounder. An offer of marria2;e at that
time of day was matter of delibei'ation
for weeks, months. — nay, frequently for
years : not as now, an affair of three in-
terviews — a ball, a morning call, and an
evening at the opera. No, no : Gretna
Green was a terra incognita in those days ;
and except in plays and romances, no
man ever dreamt of stealing a heiress
burglariously,{ior I can find no softer term
for it,) or running away with a beauty,
and asking her consent afterwards.
The manner of popping the question,
certainly, must always vary considerably
with the varying dispositions and habits
of men. The young lawyer, for instance,
would put it in a precise, parchment
sort of way, — I, A. B., do hereby ask
and solicit, &c. — while the poet, no
doubt, would whip in a scrap of Ovid,
and make it up into a sonnet, or moon-
light impromptu. I remember the opi-
nion of a young beau of Gray's Inn,
(macaronies we used to call them in
those days,) who, on its being suggested
that the best way of putting the query
was by writing, replied, " No, that would
never do ; for then the lady would have
it to shew against you."
But to my tale. About twenty years
ago, (I was not then so bald as I am
now,) I was spending the Midsummer,
with my old friend and school-fellow,
Tom Merton. Tom had married early
in life, and had a daughter, Mary Rose,
who, to her " father's wit and mother's
beauty," added her uncle Absalom's good
humour, and her aunt Deborah's nota-
bility. In her you had the realization of
all that the poets have sung about fairy
forms, dulcet voices, and witching eyes.
She was just such a being as you may
imagine to yourself in the heroine of
some beautiful romance — Narcissa, in
Roderick Random, for instance — or So-
phia, in Tom Jones — or Fanny, in Joseph
Andrews — not the modern, lackadaisical
damsels of Colburn and Bentley. If she
had met the eye of Marc Antony, Cleo-
patra might have exerted her blandish-
ments in vain : if Paris had but seen
Mary Rose Merton, Troy might have
been standing to this day. Such was the
presiding divinity of the house where I
was visiting. My heart was susceptible,
and I fell in love. No man, I thought,
had ever loved as I did — a common fancy
among lovers — and the intensity of my
affection I believed would not fail to se-
cure a return. One cannot explain the
secret, but those who have felt the influ-
ence, will know how to judge of my feel-
ings. I was as completely over head and
ears as mortal could be : I loved with
that entire devotion that makes filial
piety and brotherly affection sneak to a
corner of man's heart, and leave it to
the undisputed sovereignty of feminine
beauty.
The blindness incidental to my passion,
and the young lady's uniform kindness,
led me to believe that the possibility of
her becoming my wife was by no means
so remote as at first it had appeared to
be ; and, having spent several sleepless
nights in examining the subject on all
sides, I determined to make her an offer
of my hand, and to bear the result, pro
or con, with all due philosophy. For
more than a week I was disappointed in
an opportunity of speakingalone with my
adored, notwithstanding 1 had frequently
left the dimier-table prematurely with
that view, and several times excused
myself from excursions which had been
planned for my especial amusement.
At length the favourable moment
seemed to be at hand. A charity sermon
was to be preached by the bishoj), for the
benefit of a Sunday-school, and as Mr.
Merton was churchwarden, and destined
to hold one of the plates, it became im-
THE PARTERRE.
95
perative on his family to be present on
the occasion. I, of course, proffered my
services, and it was arranged that we
should set off early ne.\t nioriiinp, to se-
cure pood seats in the centre aisle. I
could hardly close my eyes that night for
thinking how I should "poj) the ques-
tion ; " and when I did pet a short slum-
ber, was waked on a sudden by some one
starting from behind a hedge, just as I
was disclosing the soft secret. Some-
times, when I had fancied myself sitting
by the lovely .Mary in a bower of jasmine
and roses, and had just concluded a beau-
tiful rhapsody about loves and doves,
myrtles and turtles, I raised my blushing
head, and found myself tete-a-tete with
herpajja. At another moment, she would
slij) a beautiful, pink, hot-pressed billet-
doux into my hand, which, when I un-
folded it, would turn out to be a challenge
from some favoured lover, desiring the
satisfaction of meeting me at half-past
si.\ in the morning, and so forth, and
concluding, as usual, with an indirect
allusion to a horsewhip. Morning dreams,
they say, always come true. It 's a gross
falsehood — mine never come true. But
I had a pleasant \ision that morning,
and recollecting the gossiji's tale, I fondly
believed it would be verilied. Metliouglit
I had ventured to " pop the question"
to my Dulcinea, and was accepted. I
jumjied out of bed in a tremor. " Yes,"
I cried, " I uill pop the question. Ere
this night-ca]) again envelope this un-
happy head, the trial shall be made ! "
and 1 shaved, and brushed my hair over
the bald place on my crown, and tied my
cravat with unprecedented care; and
made my appearance in the breakfast-
parlour just as the servant maid had
begun to dust the chairs and tables.
Poor servant maid ! I exclaimed to
myself — for I felt very Sterne-ish — was
it ever thy lot to have the question Jiop-
ped in tiiy imsopliisticated ear ? Alay-
hap, even now, as thou dustest the ma-
hogany chairs, and rubbest down the legs
of the rosewood tables, pangs of unre-
quited alfection agitate thy tender bosom,
or doubts of a loverV faith arc preying
upon thy maiden heart ! I can fancy
thee, fair domestic, standing in that neat
dress thou wearest now — a gown of dark
l)lue with a little white sprig, a|)ron of
erisH-cross, (housemaids were not above
checked aprons in those days), and black
<'(jtton htoi-kings — that identical ditiler,
]>erhaps, waving in thy ruby hand: I
can fancy thee thus standing, sweet help,
with thy lover at thy feet — he ail hope
and prot('stati<jn, thou all fear anfl hcsi-
tation — his face plowing with affection,
thine suffused with blushes — his eyes
beaming with smiles, thine gushing with
tears — love-tears, that fall, dro]) — droj)
— slowiy at first, like the first drops of a
thunder-storm, increasing in their flow,
even as that storm incrcaseth, till finding
it no longer j)ossible to dissemble thy
weeping, thou raisest the duster to thy
cheeks, and smearest them with its pul-
verized impurities. But Lo\e kiu)ws
best how to bring about his desires : that
little incident, simple — nay, silly as it
may seem, has more quickly matured the
project than hours of sentiment could
have done ; for the begrimed counte-
nance of the maiden sets both the lovers
a laughing ; she is anxious to run away,
to wash " the filthy witness " from her
face — he will not suffer her to depart
without a ])romise, a word of hope — she
falters forth the soft syllables of consent
— and the terrible task of " popping the
question " is over.
Breakfast-time at length arrived. But
I shall pi!ss over the blunders 1 commit-
ted during its progress ; how I salted
Rfciry Rose's muffin instead of my own,
poured the cream into the sugar basin,
and took a bite at the tea])ot lid. " Pop
the question " haunted me continually,
and 1 feared to sj)eak, even on the most
ordinary topics, lest I should in some
way betray myself Pop— ])op — pop !
e\ery thing seemed to go off with a pop ;
and when at length Mr. .Merton hinted
to Mary and her mother that it was time
for them to fwp on their bonnets, I
thought he laid a ])articular stress on the
horrible monosyllable, and almost ex-
pected him to accuse me of some sinister
design ujjon his daughter. It passed off,
however, and we set out for the church.
Mary Rose leaned upon my arm, and
com|)lained how dull 1 was. 1, of course,
])rotested against it, and tried to rally ;
vivacity, indeed, was one of my charac-
teristics, and I was just beginning to
make myself extremely agreeable, when
a little urchin, in the thick gloom of a
dark entry, let off a j)op-gim close to my
ear. The scnmd, simple as it may sei'm,
made me start as if a ghost had stood
before me, and when Mary ol)ser\ cd that
I was " very nervous tliis morning," I
felt as if I could have throttled the lad ;
and inwardly cursed the inventor of jjoj)-
guiis, and (hxjnied him to the lowest pit
of .Acheron.
I strove against my fate, iiowever, ami
made several obser\ations. " Look,"
crieil .Mary Rose, as we gained I lie end
of the street, "what a beautiful child!"
96
THE PARTERRE.
I turned my head to the ^diidow
when the first object that met my eyes
Nvas a square blue paper, edged with yel-
low, on which was written in too, too
legible characters, " Pop." I believe I
was surprised into an exclamation strong-
er than the occasion would seem to war-
rant, and the poor child came in for a
share of my anathema. I didn't intend
it, however, for I am very fond of chil-
dren : but it served Mary Rose to scold
me about till we came to the church
door, and, if possible, bewildered me
more than ever. We had now arrived
in the middle aisle, when my fair
companion whispered me — " My dear
Mr. , won't you take off your
hat ? " This was only a prelude to
still greater blunders. I posted myself
at the head of the seat, sang part of the
hundredth psalm while the organist was
playing the symphony, sat down when I
should have stood up, knelt when I
ought to have been standing, and just at
the end of the creed found myself point-
ed due west, the gaze and wonder of the
congregation.
The sermon at length commenced ;
and the quietness that ensued, broken
only by the perambulations of the beadle
and sub-schoolmaster, and the collision
ever and anon of their official wands
with the heads of refractory students,
guilty of the enormous crime of gaping
or of twirling their thumbs, gave me
an opportunity of collecting my scatter-
ed thoughts. Just as the rest of the
congregation were going to sleep, I be-
gan to awake from my mental lethargy;
and by the time the worthy prelate had
discussed three or four heads of his text,
felt myself competent to make a speech
in parliament Just at this moment,
too, a thought struck me, as beautiful
as it was sudden, — a plan by which I
might make the desired tender of my
person, and display an abundant share of
wit into the bargain.
To this end I seized Mary Rose's
prayer-book, and, turning over the pages
till I came to matrimony, marked the
passage, " Wilt thou have this man to
thy wedded husband ?" with two empha-
tic dashes, and pointing significantly
and confidently to myself, handed it to
her with a bow. She took it ! — she read
it ! ! — she smiled !!! Was it a smile of
assent ? O, how my heart beat in my
bosom at that instant — so loud, that I
feared the people around us might hear
its palpitations ; and looked at them to
see if they noticed me. She turned over
a few leaves — she took my pencil, which
1 had purposely enclosed in the book —
and she marked a passage. ye gods
and demigods, what were my sensations
at that moment ! Not Jove himself,
when he went swan-hopping to the
lovely Leda — nor Pluto, when he per-
petrated the abduction of the beautiful
Proserpine, could have experienced a
greater turmoil of passions than 1 that
moment. I felt the score — felt it, as if
it had been made across my very heart :
and I grasped the book — and I squeezed
the hand that presented it ; and, opening
the page tremblingly, and holding the
volume close to my eyes, (for the type
was small, and my sight not quite so
good as it used to be), I read — O Mary
Rose ! O Mary Rose ! that I should
live to relate it ! — " A woman may not
marry her grandfather."
Metropolitan Magazine.
MISCELLANIES,
MORAL FORTITUDE DEPENDENT ON HABIT.
When life is in danger either in a storm
or a battle, it is certain that less fear is
felt by the commander or the pilot, and
even by the private soldier actively en-
gaged, or the common sailor laboriously
occupied, than by those who are exposed
to the peril, but not employed in the
means of guarding against it. The
reason is, not that the one class believe
the danger to be less : they are likely in
many instances to perceive it more
clearly. But having acquired a habit
of instantly turning their thoughts to
the means of counteracting the danger,
their minds are thrown into a state which
excludes the ascendency of fear — Mental
fortitude depends entirely upon this
habit. The timid horseman is haunted
by the horrors of a fall. The bold and
skilful thinks only about the best means
of curbing or supporting his horse.
Even when all means are equally unavail-
able, and his condition appears desperate
to the by-stander, he still owes it to his
fortunate habit that he does not suffer
the agony of the coward. Many cases
have been known where fortitude has
reached such strength that the faculties,
instead of being confounded by danger,
are never raised to their highest activity
by a less violent stimulant. The distinc-
tion between such men and the coward
does not depend upon difference of opi-
nion about the reality or extent of the
danger, but on a state of mind which
renders it more or less accessible to fear.
tiir James Mackintosh.
THE PARTERRE.
97
A PAGE KKOM A BLUE JACKET'S
LOG HOOK.
(For the Parterre.)
1 1 may be of his wish to roam
Repented he ; but in his bosom slept
The silent thoiii<ht, nor ("rum his lips did come
One word of wail. — liyrun.
Thf. Klliotts of Swingdale, till towards
the hrfjiiiniiif^ of the last century, liad
been for time immemorial, a faiiii-ly of no
mean note amongst the border aristo-
cracy of Scotland. But from this period,
owin^ to the improvidence of two or
three succcH.sive |)ro|)rietors, it bei-ame
gradually reduced ; and the last of the
lairds, still more profuse and hos|)itahle
than his predecessors, with ^,'reatly di-
minished means, was, after a fruitless
htru(;gle, compelled to part with the last
rood of his paternal lands, and seek re-
fuse with his faithful, unconiplaining
partner and their boys, in a sujall moun-
tain dwellint', provided for them by the
humanity of liis relations.
.Mr. Elliott, as he was designated
Irom courtesy, |)assed his time in alter-
nate grumblings at his fallen fortuiies,
which he imputed to every chumc except
the true oiM- — his own improvidence,
P. 99.
and in instilling into the minds of his
boys high ideas of the antiquity of their
race. The armorial shield of the El-
liotts, cut from the panel of his old-
fiishioncd chair before it was sold, did
not certainly serve, like the clay of
Caesar, " to stop a hole to keep the
wind away ;" but it occupied a conspicu-
ous station on the bare wall of the cot-
tage, which sheltered the last laird of
the once proud race. To this inoinnnent
of the rank of his family hi; would often
point with jjride, when recounting to
his sons the "tales of other days," and
the part taken by their ancestors in the
l)order feuds ; and in such reminiscences
the old man contrived to soften the mor-
tification of his fallen condition.
Not such were the instructions of
Mrs. Elliott ; she performed towards
them H far better part, by imj)ressing
on their ductile minds the necessity for
self-exertion us the only sure jjath to
honour and ha|)|)i;iess.
But she did more: she relinquished,
though not without a se\('re struggle,
her two eldest hoys, when they had
Bcarcely attained the age of adolescence,
to the care (»1 a relative, a nuin of
Wealth and im|>ortance in the Fvast, who
kindly promised to forward their for-
7
98
THE PARTERRE.
tunes — and solemnly was that promise
fulfilled.
For three years subsequent to their
arrival at Madras, this affectionate mo-
ther was annually cheered by news of
their welfare under their own hands,
and by accounts of their well-doing in
letters from her relative, who seemed
to have contracted for the youths a re-
gard truly paternal.
As the fourth season approached, a let-
ter arrived from their protector ; but it
contained not the usual enclosure from
her sons. For this disappointment she
was, however, more than consoled, by
learning that the eldest had been appoint-
ed master of one of his cousin's country
ships, in which his brother sailed as clerk,
and that, having a considerable venture
of their own on board, they would most
probably realize a considerable profit.
Time wore away ; the dreary season
of Avinter came and disappeared, and
May, with its sunshine and its flowers,
again gladdened the face of nature, when
the aged pastor of Bedrule rode up one
morning to the door of Mr. Elliott's
humble dwelling. His presence, which
had hitherto always diffused a gleam of
gladness over the desolate heart of its
mistress, now failed of its usual effect,
and she felt as if it would prove the
foreruinier of more heavy misfortune.
After the usual greetings, the divine led
to the subject of the trials and crosses of
life, and the instability of all sublunary
blessings ; when Mrs. Elliott, unable
longer to repress her terrors, clasped her
hands together, exclaiming, " You have
heard bad news from India ! "
It was but too true. The Nabob,
after a prosperous voyage, sunk when
almost in sight of Madras Roads, and
every soul on board perished !
The sorrow of the bereaved mother
was silent, but deep ; and she clung
with increased affection to her only
remaining treasure, her last-born son.
This boy went daily to a school about
two miles distant from the cottage ; and
being too young at the time to retain
any distinct recollection ofthe more pros,
perous fortunes of his family, was joyous
and gay as youth, health, and innocence
could render him. With the master he
had the reputation of being an apt scholar,
but somewhat inclined to neglect his
book ; whilst his schoolfellows regarded
him as a kind of leader, wherever fun,
frolic, or rare mischief was going for-
ward. It was one of young Andrew
Elliott's duties to go every Saturday to
the neighbouring market- town, andbring
back the few luxuries which habit had
rendered necessary to his father's com-
fort. On an inclement December morn-
ing, Andrew received the half-crown,
which, as usual, had been saved at the
expense of many privations to his mo-
ther, from the small sum settled on his
parents by a few opulent relations, and
had reached the threshold ofthe cottage,
when he was stopped by Mrs. EUiott,
who declared it would be madness to
proceed.
The fall of snow had been incessant
throughout the night, and lay many
feet deep on the raoor-land tract he had
to traverse ; but the adventurous youth,
nothing daunted, kissed her affection-
ately, saying, " Never fear, mother,"
and bounded off, whistling a merry tune,
ere she had time to utter another word.
Anxiously she gazed after her sole
earthly treasure, till recalled by the
querulous voice of her husband, who
was incommoded by the inrush of cold
air from the open door.
"John Elliott," said the meek wife,
roused to resentment at his selfishness,
by fears for his son, " you have perilled
the life of Andrew for the gratification
of a pampered appetite ; and should
aught that is evil befall him, miserable
will be your latter end ! Unfeeling man !
surely the brown bread, which nourishes
your wife and boy, might have sufficed
you one day at least :" and covering her
agonized features with her apron, she
burst into tears.
It was the first reproachful word that
had ever passed her lips, and it sounded
in the ears ofthe astonished husband as
prophetic of evil. Gladly, had it been
possible, would he have recalled the boy;
for, if he loved any thing on earth be-
yond his own ease, it was little Andrew;
and the hours of this weary day were
passed in torturing anxiety by the mo-
ther, and in fitful gloom and unkind
fretfulness by the laird. In the mean-
while, Andrew, struggling with the bit-
ter blast, at length reached the house of
a lady nearly related to his father, half
frozen with cold, and covered with snow.
Here he received the utmost attention
and kindness, and after dinner went out,
as she thought, to purchase the few
articles he wanted.
" Dinna idle away y'ere time. An.
drew," said the old domestic of his re-
lative, " or ye'll na see home this night."
" That's true, Janet," replied the boy,
as he passed through the door he was
never again fated to enter.
The idea of pushing his fortune abroad
T!IE PARTKRRK.
99
had first occurred to Andrew, on the
suggestion of apprenticing him to a
wealthy tobacconist at Glasgow. He
Lad often felt the Saturday niaikcting
galling to his feelings ; but it was for his
father's comfort, or ratlier, to save a
beloved mother from his repinings. But
to become the drudge of a low trader!
the proud spirit of his ancient race re-
volted at the anticipated degradation.
" Rather, far rather, will I be a soldier,"
soliloquized the youth, as he butfeted
the wintry blast on the Dunion-side.
'• .\h, no ! not a soldier, but a sailor."
.'\t this moment the sound of cart-
wheels, dragging heavily along the deep
road, attracted his notice, and he halted
till the vehicle came in sight.
It was the minister's man of Bedrule,
going to Ital for coals ; the temptation
was too j)owerful to be resisted. " As
1 am resolved to embrace a seafaring
life, this day is as good as another,"
cogitated Andrew. " Hut, my mother —
well, never could I take leave of my
poor mother."
This last idea was conclusive. Symie
agreed to take him to Ital for a shilling ;
and, on leaving the house of his relative,
the runaway found the n)an ready to
start from the toll-house, where he had
stojtped to bait his horses. Many were
the misgivings of the wanderer, as
mile after mile intervened between
him and the cottage of his parents, and
sad became his heart as the image
of his deserted mother rose to his
mental vision.
Hut who can paint the anxiety of the
bereaved mother through this wearisome
day, or the agony she suffered during
the lagging hours of the long dark night
which succeeded? The image of her
b(jy perishing with cold on the black
Dumon's hide, or entombed beneath the
deep wreaths of snow accunmlated in
the hollows of the road, was ever [)resent
to her imagination. Kre day-dawn she
rose and made iier way to the house of a
neighbcjiir, whom she entreated to ac-
company her to the town in seurrrh of
her son. Tlie track was nearly imjjass-
ablt! by an additional fall of snow in
the night ; but the tears of the distract-
ed parent prevailed, and they set out
on one of .Mr. Dickson's stoutest
horses, slowly picking their way along
the road.
On alighting at the house of the lady
already mentioned, sus])cnse was at an
end. The runaway had intruHted a line
U) one of the Berwick carriers whom
they met at a hedge ale hoiixe, and
which, though it allayed the terrors of
Mrs. Elliott for the life of her son, over-
whelmed her with affliction for the step
he had taken.
She returned heart-stricken to her
now solitary cottage, dreading to en-
counter alone the expected repinings
of her husband; but .lulin Elliott ex-
pressed an exultation at the spirit of his
son, that sounded still more discordant
in the ears of the survi\ ing mother than
would have done the most unseasonable
comi)lainings.
On reaching Berwick, the half-crown
was nearly exhausted, and Andrew El-
liott, perhaps, in the interior of his
bosom, repented of the precipitancy of
his flight. But he wandered to the
shore ; and gazing on the bay, the most
extensive sheet of water that had yet
met his eye, he forgot his destitute
plight, and stood transfixed with delight,
unheeding the ajjproach of footsteps,
till a rough hand was placed on his
shoulder, and a man in a sailor's jacket
exclaimed,
" Hast got out of soundings, young-
ster? Wouldst like to be a sailor?"
" That I would, above all things,"
answered the wanderer ; and he looked
wistfully towards the smacks in the
ofling.
" Jerry Ward 's your man then, my
lad, if you're neither a runaway 'pren-
tice nor a deserter."
The frankness of the skipper oj)ened
the heart of Andrew, and in a few mi-
nutes he was master of his history. The
old seaman pondered a little; it was a
moment of intense anxiety to the young
adventurer.
The ponderings of Jerry ended, how-
ever, favourably to his wishes.
" Thou canst not do better, boy; the
sea will make a man of thee;" and bawl-
ing, " Boat, a-lioy !" the skipper and
his protege in a few minutes stood on
the deck of the Tweed.
For the next two years the runaway
accomjjanied the ski])j)er in various trips
t(jand from Lcjndon, and once as far as
the Baltic; first, ;is cabin-boy, and af-
terwards in various capacities as occa-
sion reipiired.
His scholarshij) and knowledge of
arithmetic occasionally stood the skipjjcr
in good stead ; in short, Andrew Elliott
had grown a jiersonage of no mean im-
portance oil board the sninck; and Jerry
\\ ard even I'oiitemjjhited promoting him
to the flignity of mate, when a eircum-
sUiiu-e occurred that materially changed
the colour of his destiny, and se|)aniled
100
THE PARTERRE.
him from his rough, though kind-hearted
master.
Shortly after the commencement of
the revolutionary war in North America,
the runaway encountered a press-gang
at Wapping, and was taken on board the
Tender moored opposite the Tower. Jerry
Ward conjectured, from the unusual
length of Andrew's absence, what had
occurred ; and though he could not claim
him as an apprentice, still, if money
could have redeemed him, it would not
have been wanting; but the spirit of
adventure being still strong in the mind
of the youth, he unhesitatingly accepted
the bounty, and was transferred to a
frigate lying in the Downs.
After a six months' cruise in the
Mediterranean, the vessel put into
Gibraltar, where lay several vessels,
one of which bore a commodore's flag.
Inquiring the name of this officer,
the runaway heard with a feeling of un-
bounded rapture, the name of the gallant
conqueror of Thurot. Obtaining leave
to go on board the flag-ship, he sought
and obtained an interview with Com-
modore Elliott, told his name, his line-
age, and the motives that led him to
leave his home and embrace the life of
a sailor.
The gallant seaman was not un-
acquainted with the fallen fortunes of his
former neighbour and namesake ; and
delighted with the bold, adventurous
spirit of the youth, obtained his discharge
from the frigate, and got him rated as a
midshipman on board his own vessel.
Andrew Elliott was now in that rank
of society he had for years panted to
attain ; and well worthy did he shew
himself of his advancement. By the
most rigid economy, he not only contrived
to maintain the appearance of a gentle-
man, but to transmit to his parents a
small token of his continued remem-
brance, whenever an opportunity ofljered.
Indefatigable in his endeavours to
attain a knowledge of his profession —
brave, even to rashness, in battle — he
passed the period of his noviciate with
much credit to himself, and greatly to the
satisfaction of his superiors in command.
For about ten months he had been
acting-lieutenant on board the B ,
when peace was concluded with the
United States of America, and he was
once more set adrift in the world, with-
out being entitled to even the small
pittance of lieutenant's half-pay.
But the spirit of adventure was not
extinguished in his breast : he did not
even gratify himself by a visit to his
home, but understanding that the Em-
press of Russia offered great encourage-
ment to British officers to enter hernavy,
he hurried to London, tendered his ser-
vices to the Russian ambassador, which
were accepted ; and carrying with him
letters of introduction to the late Admi-
ral Grieg, was appointed to the same
rank in the Russian navy which he had
held in that of Britain.
In the mean time a knowledge of the
virtues and prosperity of her boy consoled
his affectionate mother for his absence,
while his more selfish father dwelt with
delight on the hope that he would one
day return to re-purchase the lands of
his ancestors, and restore the fallen for-
tunes of his race. But this day the aged
laird was never fated to behold ; a few
months after the death of his faithful
partner, he also was consigned to the last
resting-place of his fathers, their latter
days having been spent in ease and com-
fort by the liberal bounty of their son.
Years sped on, and, at the death ot
the empress, the runaway was high in
command in the Russian navy He
had no ties in his native land, and had
besides married a lady of rank in his
adopted country. He never returned
to Scotland — never re-purchased his an-
cestral lands ; and the once ancient race
of the lairds of Swingdale is unknown,
except in the tradition of the Scottish
border. An Old True Blue.
Edinburgh,
THE SPIRIT OF NAPOLEON,
AT THE BIER OF HIS SON.
{For the Parterre. )
Hush'd were the watchers of the dead, and in
that silent room,
The funeral lights shone dim and faint on the
'scutcheons of the tomb.
A fair-hair'd boy lay calm in death with royal
blazons round,
Oh ! who could think that pallid brow was in
its cradle crown'd >
The cold, the still, the passionless, could never
sure have known
The martyr wreath of thorns that wait the
winner of a throne
Calm as a peasant child he lay in that unbroken
rest,
And the tri-color as peacefully was folded on
his breast.
Through the regal chamber of the dead a low
and moaning sigh,
And a wailing wind that shook the plumes
swept cold and rustling by.
The silent watchers' hearts grew faint with a
strange and fearful thrill,
As the floating plumes waved wildly up — then
sank — and all was still !
But another funn stood by that bier, dim,
shadovvy, and pale,
A shape half hid and half disclosed as through
a cloudy veil ;
THE PAUTERRE.
101
The folded arms— the eagle eye — all kiien- the
mighty one ;
The ,<.'iimVrcr iu the i.ilanj grace look'd on his
silent son '
The imperini conqueror, whose brows had borne
the iruit crvirn,
Thefdi'/f of a liundred fuchu, look'd there in
sadness down.
A shudow by the early dead ! both sire and son
a name.
Glory, is such thy heritage i — is such thy guer-
don. Fame '.
" Welcome, my son 1 our shadowy land has
room enouith for thee.
The sceptre and the laurel wreath are idle
pakreantrj- ;
Thy f.ithcr's course a whirlwind's sweep) has
past from earth away —
What has he now ? — a iiltle grave, where the
willow branches play ;
Karth, and an almost nameless stone ; and
tlowers, a woman's hand
Rear'd in her true and simple grief, are his in
that wild land !
Ixjng look'd he o'er his prison waves — the un-
crown'd and banish'd one —
With a heart whose blighted energies still
trustetl to his son.
Rumr'.i King, and France's hope thou wert —
Napoleon's only born !
The purple and the diadem from kneeling
monarchs torn, —
The (folden eagles, conquerors on many a glo-
rious plain, —
The war-sword of RIarengo's field, were left to
thee — in vain '
Ashes and dust thou art, my son ! — but welcome
to the grave.
Whose dark oblivion hides alike the conqueror
and slave !
Doth "ir,- and son are with the past ! — let future
ages tell
lyfiat th' Doling Areniter mif^ht liave been, who
h<u bid the world J'urewell .' "
E. S. Cravkv.
ON
THE .\RT OF DRESSING
THE HLM.VN BODY.
We are surpri.'sed that people do not
follow our example in other things, and
adapt their a|)pearaiice and costume of
body, at least, to the different sea.sons of
the year, if tliey cannot, like us, change
the shape and fashion of their thoughts.
\\ e beheld a man, the other day, flut-
tering ah)ng Priiice's-street, with light
jean trowsers, aiul a white straw liat.
Has the aiiifniil no |)ereej)tion of clianges
in the atnirispherc ; or, as we rather
sus|)ect, has he only one pair of nether
habiliments in the world ? However it
may be, he ought to be kept in solitary
continement ; for the man who would
outrage public decorum in this way,
would have little scruple in murdering
his nearest relation. We are olfendcd
every time we walk the streets, with a
thousand iristanr-e<i of similar insanity.
A person, in the heats of June or .luly,
comes sweltering u|) to us buckleil in a
prodigiouHgreal-coat, which he nrobably
•cnns a surtout ; and carries his head
tight on his slioulders by tlie aid of two
or three neckcloths, which would smo-
ther an ordinary mortal in December.
Another fellow hobbles ])astiisina jiair
of immense Wellington boots, or, at least,
with his ankles thickly eiiveloj)ed in i)ro-
digious gaiters — an article of wearing
ap|)arel which is at once the most snob-
bish and disagreeable. We oiu'selves
are of a peculiarly delicate constitution,
and above all, are liable to sore throats
from the easterly winds. But what is
the useofall the precautions we can use,
if fellows will wriggle past us dressed so
thinly that their own miserable bloodless
bodies chill the air more completely than
Eurus himself could, with Leslie's freez-
ing-machine in his liand, and an iceberg
in each pocket ? We are convinced that
our last cough, from which, indeed, we
are scarcely yet recovered, was inflicted
on us by a man in nankeen trowsers,
who stood beside us several minutes as
we waited for a friend by the Glasgow
mail. These things ought to be looked
to a little more closely; and if people
would only have the sense to dress by a
thermometer, it would shew more wis-
dom than we are at present disposed to
allow them. There might, by a very
slight change of the present style, be a
graduated scale of dress. In summer,
instead of having the thermometer at
eighty in the shade, the mercury might
be made to rise to the words silk stock-
ings and nankeens — as it gradually de-
scended, it might i)oint to cotton stock-
ings, boots, cloth trowsers, drawers, and
jackets, till at last it sunk fairly down to
great-coats, worsted gloves, and Helcher
fogies. As to the colour of the habili-
ments, that, of course, ought to be left
to the taste of the individual ; but all
men should not wrap themselves in
windings of exactly the same tints and
shades. No sooner does some colour
come down strongly recommended from
some i>ondon candidate for the I'leet,
than universal Edinburgh ajipears in the
same hue. Say the colour fixed upon is
green — forth stalks a writer's clerk, fresh
from the Orkneys, with a back as broad
as his desk, and whiskers as red as his
sealing-wax, and struts about for a few
days in the livery of Oberon and the
I'"airies. j'ciiplc with faces more lugu-
brious than if their aunts had reeoxcred
from a fever, make ii]>, by the gaiety of
their dress, for the funereal e\pressi(Ui
of their features. White hats are cock-
ed up with a ludiennis jauntiiu'ss over
grizzled locks, on which a nightcap would
be more becoming; and, in shorl, with-
102
THE PARTERRE.
out reference to age, size, character, or
profession, every man struts forth as
nearly in the fashion as he can. But
" what have we with men to do?" Let
us advert to the ladies. — Not unto thee,
O thin-lipped and narrow-shouldered
virgin, blooming on, like the other ever-
greens, in thy tifty-second winter, with
a nose thin and blue as a darning-needle,
and a countenance with the amiable ex-
pression of a bowl of skim milk, are
these observations directed; useless were
any care upon thy toilet, unnoticed the
elegance of thy head-dress, unremarked
the beauty of thy gown. For thee the
plainest and least distinguished garments
are the most appropriate, and those,
" Like thine own planet in the west,
When half conceai'd, are loveliest."
So, beware of low necks, short sleeves,
or petticoats one inch above thy shoe.
But to you, ye maids and matrons, from
sixteen up to sixty, would an old man
offer gentle and friendly advice ; and, we
beseech you, lay it seriously to your
hearts, whether they beat in the gaiety
and gladness of youth and beauty, be-
hind the folds of a snowy muslin ker-
chief, or rest quiet and contented in mar-
ried and matronly sedateness, beneath
the warm Chinchilla tippet, and com-
fortable and close-pinned India shawl.
In the first place, let no one look, un-
less with loathing and contempt, at the
fashions for the month. Let every one
be her own pattern, and di'ess according
to her figure, size, and complexion, and
not according to the caprice or whim
of another. If a great leviathan, who
happens to set the mode, chooses to en-
velope her acres of back and bosom in
drapery so wide as to make it impossi-
ble to discover where the apparel ends,
and where the natural contour begins ;
why, oh why, our own dear Jane, should
you hide the fall of your shoulders, or
the symmetry of your waist, in the same
overwhelming and fantastic habiliments ?
Why change the rounded elegance of
your own white and beautiful arm for
the puffed-out, pudding-shaped sleeves
which the sapient in millinery call gigot
de moutonl Consult your mirror only
for one single moment, and ask yourself,
if a stiff, frumpt-up Queen-Mary frill
suit with the laughing playfulness of
your eyes, or the gay and thoughtless
expression of your mouth. By no means.
Leave that and all other stiff articles of
apparel to the large hazel-eyed imperial
sort of beauties ; but let one simple
string of pearls hang on your blue-
veined neck, and a thin gauze handker-
chief rest carelessly on your shoniders.
Hast thou dark waving ringlets ? O
maid, whose eyes now cast a halo of their
own light over our pages, let red roses
and pale honeysuckle nestle amid their
tresses ! Do thy blue eyes shine, like
stars of joy, beneath the fleecy clouds of
thy light-falling hair? Twine a green
wreath to encircle thy brow, of the leaves
of the lemon-plant, holly, or even the
cypress-tree. But why should a gentle
young maiden wear any ornaments in
her hair at all? Far better, and far
lovelier, are her simple tresses. The
days of diamond combs and pearl circlets
have luckily gone by ; and pure is the
delight to behold a face, radiant with
smiles and beauty, half hid, in its play-
fulness and mirth, beneath a veil of fall-
ing curls, loose, wandering, and uncon-
fined. There are some figures which
dress cannot spoil, but there are none
which dress may not improve. We have
before us now at the table on which we
write, a girl, beautiful indeed in her-
self, but so plainly, and yet so tastefully
dressed, as to add to her natural loveli-
ness. She has light brown hair, cluster-
ing thickly down her cheek ; her blue
eyes are fixed intently on a book, while
her rosy lips seem to move unconscious-
ly, and her brow to assume an appear-
ance of intense excitement imder the
inspiration of what she is reading. She
wears a plain white gown ; a pink-
coloured kerchief in vain endeavours to
conceal the heavings of her breast ; no
necklace is round her throat — and, above
all, none of those revolting remnants
of barbarity — ear-rings — destroying the
chaste simplicity of her cheek and neck.
And what is there in all that ? A thou-
sand girls dress simply and elegantly in
white gowns, a thousand wear no orna-
ments in their hair, and thousands upon
thousands submit to no manacles in their
ears ; and yet, with many, this unadorn-
ed style would not be the most becom-
ing. Give bracelets on the wrist, and
aigrettes in her locks, to the flashing-
eyed flirt ; dress her in gay-coloured
silks, and let rings sparkle on every fin-
ger as she lifts it in playful and heart-
less gaiety to captivate some large-eyed,
wide-mouthed Spoon, who thinks she
cares only for him ; — but to the meek
and gentle daughters of our hearts, the
noiseless spirits of our homes, give
drapery pure and spotless as their
thoughts, and white as the snowy bo-
soms which it covers.
And yet, since truth must be spoken,
the style of dress in the present day is
THE PARTERRE.
103
certainly more becoming than the mon-
strosities we remember some years aijo.
The short waists were our utter abomi-
nation. Men's buttons took post exactly
on the tip of their shoulder-bones, wliile
their swallow-tails daiicfled their immen.
sity of length till they tapered off below
the knees like the tail of an ouraiij;-
outang. The ladies were equally ridi-
culous. The bend of their tit,'ures wius
entirely destroyed; and as to the waist
of a very sylph of twenty years of age,
it was in no respect, unless by its supe-
rior breadth, to be distinguished fronj
any other part of her form. At that
time the backs of all the ladies in his
.Majesty's dominions were so precisely
the same in appearance, that few men
could recognise even their wives and
daughters, unless they were gifted by
nature with lameness or a hump. All
distinctions of age were lost in the uni-
versal destitution of shape. Matrons of
forty-live were by no means to be de-
tected ; even the mature ages of sixty
and sixty-three, as long as the faces
were concealed, reaped all the admiration
due to twenty and twenty-live. Life
and admiration were a complete puzzle
to the most attentive observers. Im-
possible was it for (I'^dipus himself to
discover whether the object of his i)raise,
who so gracefully walked the whole
letigth of Prince's Street before him,
was old enough for his grandmother or
young enough for his child. We re-
member an odd adventure hap])ening to
ourself. We were at that time poor,
and then, as at all otlier times, hand-
some, good-natured, and obliging, and,
of course, very much admired. This
admiration, however, we are bound in
candour to allow, was much more warm
among the maids than the matrons of
our acquaintance, and between us and
one of them, who, besides a beautiful
face, had an otate in Ayrshire, ami
ex])ectations from her uncle, we confess
the admiration was nmtual. The mother,
who wa.s as watchful as mothers of rich
daughters always are, did not seem (juite
to a|)|)rove of (uir ap|)roaches ; of which
we had a gentle hint one day, when she
rcquetted <jur absence from her Ikjusc,
and begged to have the pleasure of a
discontimianceofouracrjuaintance. Wa-
ter thrown on flame makes it only burn
the Htronger, and a little oi>p(jsitiiin is
the soul of love. We corres[)<)iided —
blessings on the bluck-<'yed waiting-
maid < and agreerl one day to meet. We
went, and walking before ns, we saw a
ii^^re which set our bl(io<l dancing in
our veins. We followed — " Who," we
exclaimed, " can gaze on that dear green
silk gown, nor guess what a lovely form
is enshrouded below it ? Mho can see
that nodding umbrella-looking boimet,
nor guess what sparkling eyes and snowy
teeth and rosy cheeks it maliciously
conceals beneath it ?" We saw her step
into Montgomery's, she stood at the
counter — " Now, now we shall hear her
voice, and see her beloved countenance
again." In an instant we were beside
her, and, with beating heart and quiver-
ing lips, whispered in her ear — " Have
you come at last ? have you escai)ed the
old dragon, your mother ?" Our tongue
clove to our mouth, our eyes glared like
Roman candles, our li])s trembled, and
the last thing we remember, was the
voice of the servant-maid crying, " Jolm,
John, bring some water here, a gentle-
man's in a lit!" It was her mother!
When we recovered, the vision had
disapj)eared ; but woful were the conse-
quences to us. We had fallen half across
the counter; and after with om- dexter
arm demolishing two dozen tumblers,
six glasses of jelly, and a marriage cake,
we had subsided with our left arm among
seven-and-thirty cninberry tarts, and
finally got half choked as we sunk with
our head totally immersed in an enor-
mously wide-mouthed jar of pickled
cabbages. This, in more senses than
one, was the demolition of our suit ;
and fervently have wc bated short waists,
and watchful mothers, since that me-
morable day. More particularly, as be-
fore our cheek was healed, which we cut
among the tumblers, or our three teeth
became firm, which we loosened upon
the counter, our love was nuuried to an
English dragoon, who, we understand,
is going to stand for a rotten borough
on the strength of her .Ayrshire estate.
Hundreds of similar mistakes, we have
no hesitation in believing, rose from the
rlouhtfiil waists, the medium anceps, of
maid, w ife, and widow. Now, however,
these things are somewhat bt'tter ma-
naged. Now that nature is left com-
l)aratively to herself, it is im])ossible for
any one to walk Icinirds you, creating
wonder and fear from the ghastliness
and wrinkles of her faci', and, as you
turn round t(j wonder who has pass-
ed, to walk away from you, creating
love and admiration from the beauty
and gracefulness of her back. l''or
the sameness of the ccdours in general
use, we are still, no doubt, much to
bliune. Milt greatly as we appioM' of
an independent exertion of each inilivi-
104
THE PARTERRE.
dual's taste in the selection and combin-
ing of her hues and shades, horrible and
truly abominable is the search after sin-
gularity which actuates some of the ladies
whom we have lately seen. Low-bosom-
ed gowns are happily not in vogue ; but
wherefore, because every thing is not
revealed, should every thing be totally
covered up and hidden ? Have we not
seen ladies with their necks entirely and
closely buckled round in a thick stuff
stomacher, and looking as starched and
stiff as a half-pay lieutenant, whose mili-
tary surtout is always (except on Mon-
days, when his shirt is clean) buttoned
tightly over his black leather stock, for
the double purpose of shewing his chest,
and saving the necessity of a waistcoat ?
Haven't we known some of them, be-
cause ornaments which were useless
were voted ungenteel, get quit even of
their watches, sell them for the benefit
of Bible Societies, and enrol themselves
members of clubs for the making of shirts
and flannel- drawers for the poor and
destitute ? " Oh, save," as Mr. Bowles
says in his beautiful, and in many places
sublime poem of Banwell Hill —
" Oh, save us from the tract-mad Miss,
Who trots to every Bible club and prates
Of this awakening minister and that.
She 'sat under / ' "
A slavish adherence to custom is very
bad, but an absolute rimning counter to
it is equally so. A dress which is in
accordance with the age, complexion,
and situation of any one, can never be
wondered at as out of the way, nor
laughed at as not being in the fashion.
If people go to condole with an acquaint-
ance on the death of her husband, which
happened the last week, it would perhaps
not be quite correct to do so on their
way to a ball, with spangles glistening
over their gowns, and silver laurel leaves
shining on their foreheads. But per-
haps as bad as this would it be, to go
to an assembly dressed "in the sable
suits of woe," to waltz with a widow's
veil upon their heads, or jump through
a reel with weepers on their sleeves.
Dresses ought to be adapted also to the
occupation the wearer intends to pursue.
How ridiculous a gentleman would ap-
pear if he dug in his garden with white
kid gloves on his hands, and dancing
shoes on his feet ! How absurd a lady
would seem, mending her husband's
worsted stockings, dressed all the time
in her ball-room finery ! But enough
of this. Fathers have odd fancies, and
dress their family more in accordance
with their own taste than their daughters'
appearances. We called, when we wera
last in Suffolk, on an old friend of ours,
whom we had not seen for many years.
He was an humorist in his way, and
was blessed with the most complete cre-
dulity, mixed with the least quantity of
shrewdness, of any matter-of-fact in-
dividual we ever knew. Old Simon's
reception of us was kind, his invitation
to stay with him was pressing, and we
stayed. The room in which we saw him
was remarkably well furnished ; but the
sun was shining bright — it was the mid-
dle of summer— and the whole apartment
was one blaze of light. The curtains of
the windows were of the most dazzling
yellow — the carpet was yellow, with here
and there a blue spot on it — the walls
were yellow — the grate ^vas yellow — the
chairs and sofas all of the same hue —
and all the pictures round the room
were enshrined in bright yellow frames.
Our old friend himself, from the reflec-
tion of the colour, was as yellow in the
face as a jaundiced man, or a new brass
button ; and our eyes began to be affect-
ed by gazing on the same changeless,
unmitigated tint. We asked him for a
snuff, and a yellow box containing Lun-
dyfoot was immediately put into our
hands. We drew from our pocket a
handkerchief, which unfortunately was
of the fated hue.
" Beautiful handkerchief!" exclaimed
our friend ; " such a very lovely colour.
Pray, sir, let me see. Ay, real Bandana;
and such a bright glowing yellow !"
" Yes," we replied, resolving to play
a little on the simplicity of our friend;
"it is a good handkerchief; and it is
sometimes right to run a little risk,
though a silk of any other shade would
do just as well, and not be at all dan-
gerous."
"Dangerous! risk!" exclaimed our
yellow friend, with a slight tinge of blue
spreading over his features : " What can
you be talking of? Yellow is the very
best colour of them all. My gig is yel-
low — my carriage is yellow — I keep no
birds but canaries — and what do you
talk about risks and dangers for?"
" Then you haven't heard the dis-
covery made by the German metaphysi-
cians, that our thoughts take the colour
of what is presented to the senses?
Yellow is a most dangerous colour —
yellow thoughts make people misers,
pickpockets, and murderers."
" God have mercy upon us all ! if
that 's the case ; for I'm suremythouj^hts
must be yellow, beyond the power of
man to change them. My wife's thoughts
THE PARTERRE.
10.>
must be as yellow as this sofa. And,
Mary, poordear yellow-thouglited Mary!
■what shall I do to dye them ? "
" Give them a slight infusion," we
said, as solemnly as possible, " of blue
damask furniture ; and let Mary be
feasted on a gjeen silk pelisse."
" Ah now," said our friend, " I know
you're only joking. — Curse metaphysies !
I never eould understand a word of them
in my life. Feast on a green-silk ])elisse !
Ua, ha! I'll tell Mary what a sui)i)er
you propose."
" No, sir — serious as a judge — even
ill the time we have been here, wc feel
as if ill with the yellow fever."
" Fever !" eried Sinion, wofuUy alarm-
ed ; " is it infectious ? How pale you
look ! Shall I ring the bell, sir? .Mary,
Mary, do leave the room ; the yellow
fever is raging here already ; and all from
these confounded yellow curtains ! Tin-
gentleman has swallowed a sofa-cover*
— How do you feel now, sir ? "
" A few yards, properly applied, of a
dark green crumb-cloth would be very
advantageous. A black coal-scuttle
would also be a great relief."
We looked at .Mary as we said this,
and saw a verj- pretty little girl of seven-
teen or eighteen, dressed all in the ever-
lasting colour — yellow from top to toe,
her very hair being slightly golden, and
her sandals of yellow silk. Her mother
also came in, and was closely followed
by a servant in yellow livery. All seem-
ed fixed in the utmost astonishment. We
ourself sat quietly on the sofa, after
having bowed to the ladies ; while Simon
went on with a string of questions and
e.xclamations, which were totally unin-
telligible to them ; and ended at last with
a denunciation of his favourite furniture,
which seemed to give great satisfaction
to his wife and daughter.
" We were remarking to Mr. Yellow-
ly, when you came in, madam," we said
to the lady, in our usual bland and in-
ginuating maimer, " that we thought tliis
room wwuld be somewhat improNcd by
the addition of some furniture of a dif-
ferent colour, and he seems now to agree
with us in ojjinion." — " God bless me !"
cried Simon, stopping sliort in his walk,
— " 1 understood you to say you had
been infected by the furniture with the
yellow fever ; tliat the fever had made
yr)u mad, and you wished to swallow a
LTurnb-i'lotli, and sup o;i the coal-scuttle.
Mary was to eat a green pelisse, iind you,
my dc-ar, were to be treated with an in-
hision of a chcHt of drawers." We iin-
mcdiately explained ; and the hidii s.
who seemed accustomed to Simon's
absurdities, were easily satisfied of his
mistake; more especially as he ])romis('d
them dresses of the colours they tlicni-
selves sliould ])refer ; and we saw the
pretty Mary, before our departure, in a
gown of the purest white, a deej) blue
ribbon round the waist, with white silk
stockings and black shoes ; which, to tiie
young, the simple, and the unaffected, is
the handsomest and most interesting
dress they can possibly put on. Blackwotxt.
LOVE AND GOLD.
1!Y THE Al rHOll OF THE " EXPOSITION OF
THE FALSE MEDIUM," ETC.
However the moral passions are above
the animal, as those which exalt liunian
nature are above those which lower it
by meanness or depravity, botli, when
urged to their utmost, are nevertheless
equal in the uncompromising violence
of their results.
A young Flemish gentleman, having
lived in voluntary seclusion the greater
j)art of his life, in company with his fa-
ther, who had been banished for some
l)olitical quarrel in which he had engaged,
returned, on the death of this father, to
his native town, which was in .
Shortly after his arrival, he fell in love
with the daughter of a merchant in
very reduced circumstances. He, being
a youth of strong feeling and honourable
sentiments and coiuluct, soon won uj)on
the sensibility of the young girl, and
their affection became mutual and in-
tense. The father, however, refused his
consent to their marriage, because of
their mediocrity of means, since the
youth had but little property, and he
himself had not wherewith to give his
daughter the least fortune. " liut go,"
said he to the young gentleman, "em-
jiloy what money you have in business,
and, if you follow my directions and
ex])erience, you may, with assiduity,
])ossess, in a few years, suthcient for an
atlhieiit sii|>j)ort; and 1 shall then no
longer deny my daughter."
This advice was as good as it was un-
wise. It was the most ))roi)er thing ti>
recommend, and the least likely to be
done. 'l"he youth was of an urdent tem-
])eranu'iit, and had |)assed his life in so-
litude, with his sensibilities and |)assi()ns
yearning (or an object. This he had
now found, and, having nieaiis to live,
did not cure to wait tedious years for
the cliunre of doing so aflluently. He
hari found his long desired object of
entile sympathy, and this he was deter-
106
THE PARTERRE.
mined not to forego for a question of
worldly possessions, wherein no man
living is happy, or justified we had al-
most added ; for " there are secrets in all
trades," which is only a conventional
palliative for chicaneries.
Lest, however, he should lose the
young lady's society, the youth agreed
to her father's propositions. He consi-
dered the old gentleman's postponement
of the ceremony as involving a respon-
sibility for the consequences. Mean-
time, they were much together, and their
affection being excessive, the young man
frequently besought her, in the tenderest
manner and with the most earnest en-
treaties, to grant him a private meeting
in the garden after night-fall. But
she, fearing detection, could never be
prevailed upon ; till one day, walking
pensively through a remote bower, she
accidentally discovered the entrance to
a cave, the existence of which she had
never before suspected ; and, having
communicated the circumstance to her
lover, he so redoubled his entreaties
that she would meet him there alone
the next night, that, overcome by his
ardour and her own feelings, she at
length gave her consent.
It so happened, that a labourer, who
had been for some time at work in the
adjacent fields, came into the garden to
get some fruit, on the morning of the
day on which the lovers were to hold
their appointment. The trap-door of
the cave having been opened by the
young girl the preceding day, it had
disturbed the. earth surrounding it, so
that the man presently discovered the
entrance, and descended. In groping
about he stumbled over something,
and, upon examination, he found it to
be a large earthenware jar, full of gold,
which the father of the merchant had
placed there in his last illness, and, be-
ing a perfect specimen of the miser, he
had died without breathing a syllable of
the matter.
At this moment a sound of voices
alarmed the labourer, and quickly as-
cending and replacing the trap-door, he
escaped out of the garden.
Now this man, who had been bred in
obscurity, and surrounded with indi-
gence all his life, was by nature of an
ambitious disposition. He was sensual,
envious, and dissatisfied accordingly. He
longed for power, that he might abuse
it; and for money, as the means of de-
praved indulgence. He now saw a
prospect of quickly gaining all his de-
sires, and revelling in his low appetites ;
and after wandering about tuc fields a
whole day, in a state of feverish absorp-
tion, now mounting a hill, then climb-
ing a tree, so as continually to take a
view of the merchant's garden, he re-
paired at night-fall to the spot that
contained his heartfelt gold, determined
to possess himself of it at any risk.
The labourer had scarcely descended
into the cave, when the young man came
to keep his appointment. Finding the
trap-door open, he descended also. It
was quite dark, but hearing something
move, he demanded who was there?
Receiving no answer, he repeated the
question in an authoritative voice.
" One who will defend his cause,"
said the labourer, setting his teeth, " be
you man or devil : " for he thought that
either the one or the other had come to
seize the gold.
" For what purpose do you come
here ?" demanded the youth.
" The same that you come for," re-
plied the other with a sardonic laugh.
At this the youth's jealousy took
fire, and he asked fiercely, "By what
right?"
" By right of previous conquest," said
the labourer, " by my own will — by good
luck — or any other right you please."
At these insulting words the youth
closed with him, and endeavoured to
thrust him out of the cave ; but the la-
bourer was the stronger, and could not
be moved.
Panting for breath, the young man
went to the entrance of the cave, fol-
lowed by the labourer,' who watched
every movement. Seeing by the rising
stars that it was the exact time of ap-
pointment with his love, whom he mo-
mentarily expected, he addressed the
other in these words : " Infamous and
rude defamer, think not thy gross falsi-
ties obtain the least credence from me ;
but since you will not come out from
the cave, so neither will I go forth
without you, but will drag down the
trapdoor, and enclose both for ever !"
The labourer's will was too much in-
volved to give up the point ; but seeing
the youth in such a state of excitement,
he now began to think that this might
be the rightful owner of the gold, and
he brought himself to concede so far as
to say, " I will not give up the hope,
ay, and opportunity, of possessing what
my soul holds too dear to relinquish ex-
cept with life : na'theless, if you will
consent to share the treasure — "
At this monstrous insult, as he un-
derstood it, to the delicacy and sincerity
THE PARTERRE.
107
of his love, the youth seized the trap-
door, cTj-iiii:^ out furiously, " Wilt thou
come forth ? "
The labourer paused. " What ! " mut-
tered he to himself, " to be a beggar
again, or work in the field?" Then,
raising his voice, he answered sternly,
" No, I will not come forth — so let death
put us to what use he thinks tit, for I '11
sweat i' the sun no more ! "
He had not concluded, when the youth
dragged do\m the trap-door, and tearing
out the handle of the spring, they were
both buried alive.
The young lady was unable to keep
her appointment with her lover, being
intercepted on her way by her father,
who, in part, guessed her intention.
After secluding her for a few days, he
sent her to a convent in P'rance, to " get
over" her girlish attachment, where she
fell into a consumption, and died in
less than a twelvemonth.
It is always wrong to thwart a sincere
and intense affection from any worldly
or secondar)' causes whatever. The re-
sult is always tragic or miserable : and
what father or mother will admit that
this is their intention? But it ever
turns out so.
Many years aftenvards, the cave was
broken into by accident, when the moul-
dered remains of two men were found
lying at the remote extremity, with their
bones grappled together in decay.
It is thus shewn how a low passion
may equal a fine one in its last results,
provided it have equal concentration of
purpose, and strength of animal will
to support it. And thus do all men
of strong passions, however unworthy,
feel equal with the highest ; the object
in such case, being secondary to the sen-
sation of identity. It is this which pre-
vents those who are mean of soul from
railing at the meanness of their creation:
and herein is supreme wisdom she\\7i in
men's varied characters, that reijuire not
monotonous similarity, as necessary to
their ijidividual satisfaction.
R. H. H.
COLERIDGE.
[We snatch the following sketch from
the Athetutum, believing that, slight
an it is, it cannot iuil to interest our
readerM.]
Wk have this week to record the de-
parture of aiKithcr mighty sjiirit from
among ux — the (quenching in the dark-
nesH of the grave of another of the lew
bright stars which yet remained to us.
We have it not in our power to offer
any detailed biographical notice of Mr.
Coleridge. That he was born at Bristol,
educated at Christ's Hospital, studied at
Jesus College, Cambridge, and accom-
panied the late Sir Alexander Ball to
Malta as secretary, are facts which are
already public. His tour to Germany,
(accomplished through the liberality of
the Messrs. Wedge woods,) — his resi-
dence at Nether Stowey and at the
Lakes — his marriage, and the birth of
his children — his labours in the Friend,
the Watchman, and tlie Morning I'ost —
his residence, during the latter years of
his life at Highgate — are things so w ell
known to the greater number of our
readers, that they call for no particular
mention on this occasion. His life was
one of precarious fortunes — the conse-
quences of those singularities of charac-
ter, temperament, and habits, which
grew out of his original and peculiar
genius. Those who have read his ' Bio-
graphia Literaria,' will not forget his
account of bis journey to solicit sub-
scriptions for his Watchman — nor his
extraordinary harangue agaimt periodical
literature, in the house of one for whose
patronage he was then soliciting. It
was a type of the man — a sure token
that, in the hard business of life, its
strivings, and its amassings, he could not
be successful. Another anecdote of
him, no less characteristic, may not be
so generally known. We have reason
to believe, that during the earlier j)eriod
of his life he enlisted as a common sol-
dier in the dragoons ; of course he did
not remain long in the service ; perhaps
his then democratical priiicii)les made
his officers willing to get rid of him —
perhaps (\.hich is a fact) because he
could not be taught to ride.
The news of his death came upou us
at the very moment when a coni|)lete
edition of his poems (on which his fame
will rest) was calling for some few re-
miu-ks on our part, which we had ])ur-
posely delayed, in the earnestness of our
desire to dojustice totlie suhn'ct. These
last tidings haveinvestcd tlieni \\ itli a sa-
credness which would make any critical
anatomy of theirbeauties and defects un-
seemly and irreverent at the present mo-
ment. Yet it may not be amiss to point
out their three-fold nature — as works of
passionate and exalted meditation (wit-
ness his ' Sunrise in the \ alley of Cha-
mouni,' his 'Liiu-s on an Autumnal
livening,' his ' Religious Musings,' his
' Ode to the Departing Year,' and numy
other of his earlier jxienis) — as out-
lOS
THE PARTERRE,
pourings of the wild inspiration of old
romance (is it needful to refer to his
' Ancient Mariner,' and his ' Genevieve,'
and his ' Christabel?') — and his latest
verses, as treasuring in a few lines,
matured philosophy — mingling wisdom
with retrospect, and intimations of holy
truths with pleasant and simple images.
Nor must we forget to allude to his
version of 'Wallenstein,' a master-trans-
lation of a master- work — or his original
dramatic compositions, too full of deep
thought and delicate imagery for a stage,
on which, to ensure success, an author
(to borrow the words of the mostaccom-
plished actress of these later days)
should write " as they paint the scenes,
m great splashes of black and white."
To all these several merits the world
has done, and is doing, slow but sure
justice. We cannot but remember the
hooting of derision with which ' Chris-
tabel' was received, on its first appear-
ance ; nor how, a year or two afterwards,
when Lord Byron, in transplanting one
of its images into his more popular ' Pa-
risina,' took occasion to call it "that
singularly wild and beautiful poem,"
many, and those educated persons, re-
garded the praise as affectation, or, at
best, as a condescending kindness. Since
then, however, that fragment has crept
up in public opinion, and been more
quoted than perhaps any other poem of
its length. Such has been the progress of
the author's fame. It may not have spread
so widely as the reputation of other wri-
ters — one half of which is, after all, but
a refined species of mob-popularity ; but
it has risen to a dignity and an elevation,
surpassing that gained by most men, in
the estimation of those, in whose hearts
it is the poet's highest distinction and
glory to have his name embalmed.
Many have grieved over the smallness
of the immber of Coleridge's works —
they would have had much gold and
silver, instead of the few diamonds of
perfect water he has bequeathed to
them. Many have regretted that his
powers were expended on conversation
instead of being turned to less perish-
able uses. But such expenditure is not
waste — discourse must have listeners ;
and the eloquence of such a man fulfils
a jiurpose of no mean importance, if
it encourage the timid — if it reach
the apprehensions of the slow, and ex-
cite the indolent to think. The philo-
sophers of old thus conversed in their
porticoes and groves, and their works
were to be found in the minds of their
followers.
And now, while we record that this
tongue of wisdom is mute for ever —
this hand of the minstrel is cold and
dead, we feel it our duty to utter a
warning voice to our rising poets, and
earnestly to impress on them that they
are undertaking no holiday task — that
if they would take up the prostrate
sceptres of those who have been kings
and rulers among us, it is not by a
careless and affected dedication of their
powers that they may hope to wield
them. Like the champions of old, they
must purify themselves for such high
service by devotional vigils — they must
bind themselves by vows of good faith
as well as of daring and of diligence
— and each, as much as in him lies,
regard it as a sacred duty to keep the
true fire upon the temple of the altar
from expiring^even though the prouder
lot of rekindling it to its olden bright-
ness be reserved for others mightier
than himself.
We add the following extract from a
work recently published.*
"Saturday, April 27, 1832. Walked
to Highgate to call on Mr. Coleridge.
I was ushered into the parlour while
the girl carried up my letter to his room.
She presently returned and observed
that her master was very poorly, but
would be happy to see me, if I would
walk up to his room, which I gladly did.
He is short in stature and appeared to
be careless in his dress. I was impress-
ed with the strength of his expression,
his venerable locks of white, and his
trembling frame. He remarked that he
had for some time past suffered much
bodily anguish. For many months
(thirteen) seventeen hours each day had
he walked up and down his chamber.
I inquired whether his mental powers
were affected by such intense suffering ;
' Not at all,' said he, ' my body and head
appear to hold no connexion; the pain
of my body, blessed be God, never
reaches my mind.' After some further
conversation, and some inquiries respect-
ing Dr. Chalmers, he remarked, ' The
Doctor must have suffered exceedingly
at the strange conduct of our once dear
brother labourer in Christ, Rev. Mr.
Irving. Never can I describe how
much it has wrung my bosom. I had
watched with astonishment and admira-
tion the wonderful and rapid develope-
ment of his powers. Never was such
* .Journal of a Residence in Scotland,
&c. &c.
THE PARTERRE.
109
unexampled advance in intellect as be-
tween bis first and second volume of ser-
mons. Tbe first full of Gallicisms, and
Scoticisms, and all other cisms. Tbe
second discoveriiitr all the elefrance and
power of the best writers of the Eliza-
bethean ajje. And then so sudden a
fall, when his mighty enerpies made him
so terrible to sinners." Of the mind of
the celebrated Puffendorf he said, ' His
mind is like some mighty volcano, red
with dame, and dark with tossing clouds
of smoke through which tiie lightnings
]ilay and glare most awfully.' Speaking
of the state of the different classes of
England, he remarked, ' We are in a
dreadful state ; care like a foul hag sits
on us all ; one class presses with iron
foot upon the wounded heads beneath,
and all struggle for a worthless su])re-
macy, and all to rise to it move shackled
by their expenses ; happy, happy are
you, who hold your birth-right in a
country where things are dilferent ; you,
at least at present, are in a transition
-tate ; God grant it may ever be so I
Sir, things have come to a dreadful pass
with us, we need most deejjly a reform,
Ijut I fear not the horrid reform which
we shall have ; things must alter, the
u|)j)er classes of England have made the
lower persons things ; the people in
breaking from this unnatural state will
break from duties also.'
" He spoke of .Mr. Alston with great
affection and high encomium ; bethought
him in imagination and colour almost
unrivalled.
" Of all men whom I have ever met,
the most wonderful in conversational
])0\vers is .Mr. S. T. Coleridge, in whose
company I spend much time. I wish I
had room for some of his conversation.
When I bade him a last farewell, he was
in bed, in great bodily suffering, but
with great mental vigour, and feeling a
humble resignation to the will of his
heavenly father. As I sat by his side
I thought he looked very much like my
dear grandfather, and I almost felt as if
one spoke to me from the dead. Hefore
I left him he said, ' I wish before you
go, to give you some little memento to
call up the liours we have passed toge-
ther." He recjuested me t(j hand liiin a
book from hi.s book-i ase, with jicn and
ink ; then hitting up in bed he wrote u
few lines and his name, kindly and most
undeservedly expressing the pleasure he
had bad in my comjjany. He will iu)t
live long, I fear; but bis name an<l
memory will be dearer to the ugcH to
come than to the |)rebent.'"
UALECARLIAN xMARRIAGE.
It was Saturday at even (says Daumont
in his I'liyuo-c en Suede), and the follow-
ing day had been fixed for the nuptials.
The guvsts arrived in groupes, their
number exceeding two hundred jiersons.
They were received at the house of the
betrothed, where they deposited rein-
deer and bacon hams, butter, cheese,
game, beer, and brandy, which they had
brought in their cars to contribute to the
festivity. After having conversed a few
moments with the master of the house,
and taken refreshments, they were suc-
cessively conducted to the neiglibours,
amongst whom their lodging had been
prepared. In the evening, about seven
o'clock, the betrothed, accompanied by
her father and friends, set out for the
house of the vicar, where she was to
sleep, in order that she might be the
earlier ready next morning. Her in-
tended, surrounded by his family and a
grouj) of guests, repaired thither at an
early hour, and the order of j)rocession
was there formed. First marched the
beadle, with a whip in his hand, to clear
the way ; he was followed by three
musicians, who played the Dalecarlian
violin — a rude three-stringed instrument
of their own manufacture; next came
the bridegroom in his gayest attire, sup-
ported on either side by one of his near-
est relatives, and the rudiman or soldier
of the district ; and after these eight
or ten horsemen, followed by an equal
number of bridesmaids clad in green
petticoats, with a long jacket or vest ;
many rows of glass beads encircled their
necks, and their fingers were adorned
with a profusion of gilt rings, enriched
with stones; their long tresses were fast-
ened on the summit of their heads,
whence hung an innumerable (juantity
of ribands of all colours, tlie inferior
extremities of which were fringed with
gold or silver. Last came the bride,
conducted by her aunt, a young and
beautiful woman ; her robe was of black
silk; her head surmounted by a coronet
of gilt metal, adoniid with trinkets ; her
hair in ringlets iiitentiixed with ribands,
floated on a neck of faultless symmetry,
sin rouMcied, as in the rest, with strings
of glass beads, and other ornaments ;
gloves embroidered with extreme cure,
and a nerkerehief worked in the most
ianeitui manner, completed this singular
but graeefiil custmne. On arriving at
thecliurrh, the ])riest gave ttiem his be-
nediction ; and as soon as the ceremony
was over, the whole cortege set out for
110
THE PARTERRE.
the house of the bride's father, where the
wedding was to be kept. They were re-
ceived at the door by the mother and the
cook, — the first of whom introduced the
guests into the rooms prepared for their
reception ; while the second, laying hold
of the bride, led her to the kitchen,
where she made her taste all the dishes
she had prepared. The bride was then
placed at table between her husband
and the parson, the rndiman being at one
side opposite to the father. The table
was covered Avith linen of remarkable
fineness and whiteness; the knives and
forks were of polished steel. Bunches
of the most beautiful flowers covered the
table ; the floor was strewed with green
branches of pine, birch, and wild flowers.
The repast was abundant, though not
elegant ; and every one seemed happy
and hungry. Just as the cloth was about
being removed, the bride arose, and
with her the rudiman. The musicians,
who had played during the whole meal,
placed themselves before them ; and in
this order the little procession moved
round the table. The bride held a silver
cup, which a domestic filled with brandy ;
this she presented to each guest in suc-
cession, who emptied it ; whereupon the
rudiman presented a plate, on which
each person deposited his oflTering, or
mentioned what he would give to assist
the young people in commencing house-
keeping. All these presents, according
as they were made, were proclaimed by
the rudiman, and followed by a flourish
of music.
After this was all over, the tables were
removed, and dancing commenced, — the
bride leading oflf a sort of slow waltz
with the parson. The festivities gene-
rally lasted several days ; on the last of
which the kitchen-boy made his appear-
ance with a sad air, holding in one hand
an empty stew-pan, in the other the
spigot drawn from the cask. At this
very intelligible hint all the guests took
their departure, and the wedding was
at an end.
PIRATES OF THE MIDDLE
AGES.
About the end of the 9th century, one
of the sons of Rognwald, count of the
Orcades, named Horolf, or Rolhi, having
infested the coasts of Norway with pi-
ratical descents, was at length defeated
and banished by Harold, king of Den-
mark. He fled for safety to the Scandi-
navian island of Soderoe, where, finding
many outlaws and discontented fugitives,
he addressed their passions, and suc-
ceeded in placing himself at their head.
Instead of measuring his sword with his
sovereign again, he adopted the wiser
policy of imitating his countrymen, in
making his fortune by plundering the
more opulent places of southern Europe.
The first attempt of this powerful gang
was upon England, where, finding Alfred
too powerful to be coped with, he stood
over to the mouth of the Seine, and
availed himself of the state to which
France was reduced. Horolf, however,
did not limit his ambition to the acqui-
sition of booty ; he wished permanently
to enjoy some of the fine countries he
was ravaging, and after many treaties
made and broken, he received the duchy
of Normandy from the hands of Charles
the Simple, as a fief, together with Gisla,
the daughter of the French monarch, in
marriage. Thus did a mere pirate found
the family which in a few years gave
sovereigns to England, Naples, and Si-
cily, and spread the fame of their talents
and prowess throughout the world.
Nor was Europe open to the depreda-
tions of the northern pirates only. Some
Asiatic moslems, having seized on Syria,
immediately invaded Africa, and their
subsequent conquests in Spain facilitated
their irruption into France, where they
pillaged the devoted country, with but
few substantial checks. Masters of all
the islands in the Mediterranean, their
corsairs insulted the coasts of Italy, and
even threatened the destruction of the
Eastern empire. While Alexis was oc-
cupied in a war with Patzinaces, on the
banks of the Danube, Zachas, a Saracen
pirate, scoured the Archipelago, having,
with the assistance of an able Smyrniote,
constructed a flotilla of forty brigantines,
and some light fast-rowingboats, manned
by adventurers like himself. After taking
several of the surrounding islands, he
establishedhimselfsovereign of Smyrna,
that place being about the centre of his
newly-acquired dominions. Here his
fortunes prospered for a time, and Soli-
man, sultan of Nicea, son of the great
Soliman, sought his alliance, and married
his daughter, about A. D. 1093. But in
the following year, young Soliman being
persuaded that his father-in-law had an
eye to his possessions, with his own hand
stabbed Zachas to the heart. The suc-
cess of this freebooter shews that the
Eastern emperors could no longer pro-
tect, or even assist, their islands.
Maritime piu-suits had now revived,
the improvement of nautical science was
progressing rapidly, and the advantages
THE PARTERRE.
Ill
ofpredatory expeditions, especially when
assisted and masked by commerce, led
people of family and acquirements to
embrace the profession. The foremost
of these were the Venetians and Genoese,
among whom the private adventurers,
stimulated by an enterprising,' spirit,
iitted out armaments, and volunteered
themselves into the service of those na-
tions who tiioutjht proper to retain them ;
or they engiiged in such schemes of plun-
der as were likely to repay their pains
and expense. About the same time, tiie
Koxolani or Russians became known in
history, niakint,' their debut in the cha-
racter of pirates, ravenous for booty, and
hungr)- for the pillage of Constantinople
— a longing which 900 years have not
yet satisfied. Pouring hundreds of boats
down the Borysthenes, the Russian ma-
rauders made four desperate attempts to
plunder the city of the Cajsars in less
than two centuries, and appear only to
have been reiiulsed by the dreadful ef-
fects of the celebrated Greek fire.
England, in the mean time, had little
to do with piracy, nor had she any thing
worthy the name of a navy ; yet Ca?ur
de Eion had given maritime laws to
Europe; her seamen, in point of skill,
were esteemed superior to their con-
temporaries ; and King .John enacted,
that those foreign ships whicli refused to
lower their tiags to that of Britain
should, if taken, be deemed lawful prizes.
L'nder Henry HI., though Hugh de
Burgh, the governor of Dover Castle,
had defeated a Frencli fleet, by casting
lime into the eyes of his antagonists, the
naval force was impaired to such a de-
gree, that the Normans and Bretons were
too powerful for the Cinque Ports, and
compelled them to seek relief from the
other ports of the kingdom. The taste
for depredation had become so general
and contagious, that privateers were
now allowed to be fitted out, wliich
equipments quickly degenerated to tlie
nioNt cruel of jjirates. Nay more ; on
the disputes which took place between
Henry and his Barons, in 1'244, the
Cinque Ports, wlio liad shewn much in-
dilFerenceto the royal requisitions, o|)en-
ly espoused the cause of the revolted
nobli's ; and, under the orders of .Simon
di- MuMttort, burnt I'urlsmouth. From
thi«, forgetful of their motives for arm-
ing, they proceeded to commit various
a<.t» of jiiracy, and considering nothing
but their private interests, extended
their viob-nce not only against the shi|).
ping of all countricK unfortunate en(jugh
to fall in their way, but even to perin--
tnite the most unwarrantable ravages on
the property of their own countrymen.
Nor was this confined to the Cinque
Port vessels only; the examj)le and the
profits were too stimulating to tlie rest-
less ; and one daring association on tlie
coast of Lincolnshire seized the Isle of
Ely and made it their receptacle for the
])hinder of all the adjacent countries.
One William Marshall fortified the
little island of Lundy, in the mouth of
the Severn, and did so much mischief
by his piracies, that at length it became
necessary to fit out a squadron to reduce
him, which was accordingly done, and
he was executed in London ; yet the ex-
ample did not deter other persons from
similar practices. The sovereign, how-
ever, did not possess sufficient naval
means to suppress the enormities of the
great predatory squadrons, and their ra-
vages continued to disgrace the English
name for upwards of twenty years, when
the valour and conciliation of the gallant
Prince Edwardbroughtthem to that sub-
mission which his royal parent had fail-
ed in procuring United Service Journal.
MISCELLANIES.
MOSES OUTWITTED
Two or three years ago some young
men, in a public othce, were conversing
on the cunning of the tribe of Israel,
when one of them made a bet that he
Would succeed in cheating an old
clothesman. The possibility of this was
denied, and the bet was taken. A pair
of small-clothes, worn quite threadbare,
\vere exhibited to Moses, and tuo shil-
lings and sixpence were demanded for
them. The Israelite turned them over
and over, and, as is usual with his caste,
began to find fault with tlicir condition,
which was de|)lurable. But the seller
had inserted a child's li'adi'ii toy watch
into the fob, and the .lew, as he turned
over the iiiexi)ressibles, clutched this
lure two or three times, as if to make
sure of the jirize ; he had probably some-
times found articles of value in the
pockets of left-oir garments which had
come into his hands.
.After much haggling, sixjience was
abated from the sum at lir^t <leiiiiiii(led,
and Moses walked olf with his jirize,
rejoicing at his good luck. Scarcely
had lie turned the corner of the street,
when he determined to see if fortune
had favoured him with a gold or silver
watch, and lo ! he drew torlli the lea(h'ii
lure. 'I'he Israelite ran baek totlie clerks
to demand restitution of Ins nioiiev,
112
THE PARTERRE.
forgetting in his rage that he had been
the victim of his own duplicity, but was
saluted with roars of laughter. B. Q. T.
THE KENTUCKIAN IN COMPANY.
" Were you never in the company of
fine ladies ?" asked Chevillere.
" Yes ! and flummock me if ever I
want to be so fixed again ; for there I
sat with my feet drawn straight under
my knees, heads up, and hands laid close
along my legs, like a new recruit on
drill, or a horse in the stocks ; and, twist
me, if I didn't feel as if I was about to
be nicked. The whole company stared
at me, as if 1 had come without an invite ;
and I swear I thought my arms had
grown a foot longer, for I couldn't get
my hands in no sort of a comfortable fix.
First I tried them on my lap ; there
they looked like goin' to prayers, or as if
I was tied in that way ; then I slung 'em
down by my side, and they looked like
two weights to a clock ; and then I want-
ed to cross my legs, and I tried that,
but my leg stuck out like a pump handle ;
then my head stuck up through a glazed
shirt-collar, like a pig in a yoke ; then I
wanted to spit, but the floor looked so
fine, that I would as soon have thought
ofspittin' on the window; and then to
fix me out and out, they asked us all to
sit down to dinner ! Well, things went
on smooth enough for a while, till we
had got through one whet at it. Then
an imp of a nigger came to me first with
a waiter of little bowls full of something,
and a parcel of towels slung over his
arm ; so I clapped one of the bowls to
my head, and drank it down at a swal-
low. Now, stranger, what do you think
was in it ! "
" Punch, I suppose," said Lamar,
laughing; "or perhaps apple toddy."
" So I thought, and so would anybody,
as dry as I was, and that wanted some-
thing to wash down the fainty stuffs I
had been layin' in ! but no ! it was warm
water! Yes! you may laugh! but it
was clean warm water. The others dip-
ped their fingers into the bowls, and
wiped them on the tosvels as well as they
could for gigglin' ; but it was all the fault
of that pampered nigger, in bringin'it to
me first. As soon as I catched his eye,
I gin him a wink, as much as to let him
know that if ever I caught him on my
trail, I would wipe him down with a
hickoiy toweV'-Kentuckian in New York.
THEBAN MONUMENT.
There has been lately discovered, on the
ground where the battle of Cheronea
was fought, the colossal lion, which the
Thebans erected on the spot in memory
of their fellow-citizens who died in de-
fence of their country. This monument
will, it is said, be restored. Several
other relics of antiquity have been found
at Zea, Kydnos, and Denos, and depo-
sited in the museum in Greece. Among
the objects found at Zea, is a bust with
this inscription -. — " Epithalamium of
Sophocles the Heraclian."
ROME.
Modern Rome is itself almost as much
a ruin and a desert as the Old. Scarce
a palace remains inhabited, except by
some such miser as Barberini, who lives
on the fees which his servants extract
from foreigners, and who, to my own
knowledge, derives a pretty annuity from
the emissary of the Alban lake, which
the curiosity and liberality of visitors
enable him to let at a rent not inferior
to what he receives from some palaces
not rendered thus lucrative : — what
would Burke say to association consi-
dered as a source of gain, as well as of
the sublime? The Borghese villa so
lately fitted up, is already a ruin ; the
walls are bare, the pedestals whence the
Gladiator and the Hermaphrodite were
torn, are still there, but empty: the
pictures have vanished from the walls,
save those which our countryman Gawan
Hamilton executed in fresco ; and except
some sleek statues of Bernini, more re-
markable for the beauty of their polish
than of their sculpture, the arts have no
offerings left in so famed a temple. Buo-
naparte, unwilling to rob his brother-in-
law without at least some pretence of
purchase, made the offer to Borghese.
The prince ordered Canova to value the
collection. Canova, more artist than
broker, said the Gladiator was inestima-
ble, that he himself considered it the
first statue in the world ; but at a round
estimate he thought the statues worth
two millions of francs, Buonaparte,
with the politeness that sometimes cha-
racterized him, put his imperial tongue
in his imperial cheek, ordered the Gla-
diator and suite to the Mus£e Iloyale, and
gave an order on his archi-tresorier for
two thousand francs. The Bourbons,
however.have, since the restoration, kept
the collection, by satisfying the very mo-
derate demands of the needy Borghese.
At the same time the pictures paid a vi-
sit to Paris, and were hung up in the
Borghese Hotel, Rue Faub. St. Honore,
now the mansion of our ambassador;
but they have all long since returned to
their more classic home on the Ripetta.
THE PARTERRE.
l;Jl
p. 115.
THE REGICIDE.
(Far the Parterre.)
" Oh, my afflicted soul \ I cannot pray ;
And the leavt child thathas but goodness in him
May Bmlte my head off."
lieaumont and Fletcher.
Thk meridian sun poured down a flood
iif ii),'ht upon the blue waters of the
Kriuli>h Channel, across which the ^jen-
tle breeze urged a small vessel, which a
tew hours before had (juitted a French
port. Other cr-ift, of various forms and
sizes, from the deeply laden arpo.sie to
the lif,'ht skiff of the fisherman, dotted
the vast expanse of water, while ever
and anon the whistle, the rude sonj;, or
the halloo bespoke the lif,'ht heart that
floated on its bosom.
But no sound of mirth or cheerfu!-
nesH rose from the small vessel in ques-
tion, which moved sluf,'(?ishly through
ihi- waters. A short, stout, hard-featured
in in stood at the hehn, and three others
wiTe carelessly looking out forward.
Close by the mast, entjHged in earnest
conversation, stood two ligures, whose
cfwtume shewed at once that they were
not mariners. One of them wore the
habit of a priest ; while the rich vest ot
the other, his gold chain and gilt spurs,
declared him a kniglit. An expression
of cunning and dissimulation pervaded
the tine features of the ecclesiastic, but
those of the knight indicated repugnance
and disgust.
" J seek not the blood of this wretched
man," said the priest ; " but should he
land in England, the peace of our coun-
try will again be threateried. Alas ! Sir
Henry, your brother's broad acres — per-
haps his lite, may be at the disposal of
the outlaw Gournay."
" Peace, peace, father," replied the
knight ; " my brother warred not against
the captive; his sword was never drawn
but for his country's weal. When he
heard of the cruel butchery of l'",dward,
he wept like a weak woman."
" It may be so," rejoined the i)riest ;
" but idle tongues have been wagging —
even my lord bishoj) hath shared of the
scandal. Will the knightly crest escape
the keen eye of those who boldly check
at the uiitrc ? "
" Our blessed Ladv grant that the
guilty may be dragged info light," ex-
claimed the knight : "let the axe descend
on the necks of all who rejoiced at the
H
1J4
THE PARTERRE.
death of the unhappy prince : my soul
sickens at the thought that one of his
butchers sails with us. Holy Mother,
fill our sails, and cast the wretch again
upon the land he has polluted ! Gour-
nay, a thousand fiends wait to — "
" Who calls on the wretched Gour-
nay?" cried a voice from beneath the
deck, which made the monk and the
soldier start. " Is there no hope of
mercy? Where is my Lord of Here-
ford — where Lord Mortimer? 'Twas at
their bidding. Had I not their seats ? "
" Peace, peace ! " said the knight,
stamping impatiently, and the voice sub-
sided into a low murmur, broken by
deep sobs of anguish.
" His grief will make him desperate,
and he will impeach the innocent with
the guilty," remarked the priest.
" What have the innocent to fear
from the ravings of this wretched man,
father?"
" Alas, Sir Henry, there is much to
fear. Should this wretch be laid on the
rack, I tremble for those whom he may
denounce. The king hath sworn to do
justice on all who were privy to his
father's death. More than one tongue
hath mentioned the name of Penning-
ton."
"Ha! mass!" exclaimed the knight,
grinding his teeth with rage. "Where
is the villain ? Let me know his name,
and the lap of the Virgin shall be no
sanctuary to the foul slanderer !"
" Be calm," said the monk, " and
reject not my counsel. I say again the
lives of many are in danger while Gour-
nay lives."
The knight folded his arms, and strode
up and down the deck for some mi-
nutes. At length he stopped, and look-
ing his companion in the face, he
said —
" And what would you do with this
man ? "
He of the cowl read what was passing
in the mind of the querist. He per-
ceived that he had not preached to a deaf
ear. The knight had taken the alarm,
and he again inquired —
" What should be done?"
"Justice, speedy justice," replied the
priest; "justice, tempered with mercy —
'twill be merciful to dispatch him at
once — hideous tortures await him in
England."
" William Delaval ! " shouted the
knight, after a pause; and a man ap-
peared from the cabin.
" Bring up the prisoner."
Groans were heard below, and a tran?i-
pling of feet ; and presently a man as-
cended the ladder, and came upon the
deck, followed by the knight's attendant.
The follower appeared to have no relish
for his employment. He stood behind
the prisoner with a dogged, surly coun-
tenance, while he muttered to himself —
" My stomach loathes this gaolership,
and I care not how soon our man may
be delivered into other hands I Fah! he
is a whining rogue, and fears death like
a woman, though he is as cruel as the
Paynim ! "
It will be scarcely necessary to inform
the reader, that the man whom he thus
characterised was one of the three ruf-
fians who had destroyed their sovereign
in his prison, at Berkeley Castle, a few
years before.
Wretched indeed was the appearance
of the prisoner : pale and emaciated, he
could scarcely totter towards the monk.
His apparel was tattered, and his un-
trimmed beard and hair bespoke the in-
difference of one who had long been a
stranger to repose and comfort.
" Mercy, father ! mercy. Sir Henry ! "
groaned the miserable man, addressing
the priest and the soldier by turns.
" Give me not up to torture ! Why
should the great ones escape, and I their
poor slave be hunted do\vn ? My Lord
of Hereford can tell ye that I acted
in—"
" Silence, man !" cried the priest
sternly : then turning to the knight, he
whispered, " You see the danger ! Many
a noble head will be laid low, if the
ravings of this wretch find willing ears.
He must die !"
" Mercy, mercy ! " again cried the
prisoner, kneeling and clasping his hands
in agony, for he guessed that his death
hour was nigh. " Why should your
wrath descend on me alone ? — Even my
Lord Berkeley left the castle with his
company."
"Whist! whist!" said the knight
fiercely, " and prepare thyself for death
— thou hast but a few moments to
live !"
" Alas ! alas !" cried the wretch, as
he wrung his hands in despair, " why
am I to die thus ? Why am I not tried
by my countrymen ? I may deserve to
die, but I am the lesser villain !"
He was again interrupted, and the
monk bid him prepare to make his
shrift ; but so completely had the fear of
death bewildered the unhappy man that
he turned a deaf ear to the ecclesiastic,
and continued to supplicate for mercy.
But nought, save a miracle, could
THE PARTERKK.
ii:
have averted his fate. Several of those
who held high offices in the court of the
English king, h;id rejoiced at the un-
timely end of his predecessor, and some
of them had taken parts in tlie earlier
scenes ofthat hideous drama; they there-
fore dreaded the return of one of the
regicides. Gournay had been seized at
Marseilles, and was now on his wav to
meet the reward of his fiendish cruelty.
To aeconipiish the death of this
wretch, as he crossed the sea, was the
object of the guilty ones, and they had
chosen a proper aj^'ent in the monk, who
was now intreating Gournay to proceed
with his confession.
But he might as well have lectured the
winds. Fear and suspicion fettered the
tongue of the prisoner, who would nei-
ther pray nor confess, and remained
kneeling on the deck, wringing his
hands, grinding his teeth, and rocking
his body to and fro, while he uttered a
low moaning sound, like a wild beast
when held in the toils of tlie hunter.
William Delaval looked on, his rough
but honest features distorted into an odd
expression of disgust and contempt.
".Mass!" thougl)t he, "how the
blood-guilty villain writhes at the ap-
proach of death ; and yet the shrieks
of the poor king could bring no tear
in his fierce eye, or stay his murderous
hand."
The knight and the monk were also
regarding the prisoner, and conversing
with each other in whispers.
" Bring up my great cutting falchion,"
said Sir Henry ; and terror froze the
vitals of the kneeling wretch, who seem-
ed at these words to have been struck
motionless.
The follower descended into the cabin,
and presently returned with the weapon.
The arms of Gournay were now bound
tightly behind his back, and lie was
dragged to the ship's side, and fastened
to an iron ring in the bulwarks, without
hi>* making any attempt at resistance.
A((ain the monk approached the pri-
soner to receive his shrift, but G(jurnay
looked at him with a vacant stare, and
maintained a dogged silence — fear seem-
ed to have rendered tlie wretched man
incapable of utUTnuvi:.
The white clifFs of England now ap-
peared Ntretching right and left along
the coa.st until lost in the dihtance.
" 1 irne flicH," said the monk, address-
ing the knight ; " let your man hinite off
hih head at once — hih soul is lost — he
will not ronfe^'*."
" Gramercy, father I " cried William
Delaval, who overheard this advice, " 1
am no headsman !"
" But you shall perform his office."
said the knight sternly. " Why dost
tremble, man ? Thou hast showered hard
blows on helmed heads. 1 once saw thee
chine a Picard archer with a stroke
that would not have siiamed Guy of
Warwick."
" But that was in fair fight," remark-
ed William Delaval sulkily ; " my foe
v.'as before me, with his sallet on his
head, and his mell in his hand."
" Tut," said the knight, " the man
thou seest before thee is a murderer —
our lives are in his ])ower."
The follower grasped the weapon
which he still held in his hand, and re-
luctantly approached the prisoner.
"Strike!" cried the knight, "he is
my enemy I "
The bright sword w'as raised aloft,
flashed in the sunbeams, and then de-
scended upon the neck of the culprit.
But the blow was awkwardly struck,
though dealt by no feeble hand. A
convulsive tremor shook the frame of
Gournay, and William Delaval averted
his face and flung down his weapon
with horror.
" Holy Mother ! " cried he, " I cannot
strike an unarmed man ! "
" V'arlet ! " shouted the knight, lay-
ing his hand on his dagger, "proceed
with your work I"
The crew of the vessel were looking
on the scene with amazement and dread.
Again the sword was raised, again it
descended, and the head of the regicide
fell with a heavy splash into the sea,
while jets of blood spouted from the
severed arteries.
" Cast the body overboard," said the
knipht, descending with his companion
into the cabin ; and in a few minutes the
headless trunk was luirled into the sea,
while the crew were busied in washing
from the deck of their vessel the traces
of the execution. A. A. A.
JERICHO BELEAGUERED.
BV H. GUILFORD.
{For the Parterre.)
Now, 'mid the graceful palm and cy-
press bowers,
Th' escaped of Egypt view those mighty
towers ;
Tow'rs built to heaven, and ramparts
that (Iffy,
In impious strength, the wrath of Deity.
1 -2
116
THE PARTERRE.
See ! on each brow distrustful Wonder
sits ;
See ! o'er each cheek degenerate Terror
flits.
" How shall our arms against such walls
avail ?
What ropes, what engines shall those
turrets scale ? "
" Oh, faint and faithless," thus their
God replies,
" Though to my throne th' audacious
castles rise.
Ay, though their spires had baffled human
sight,
Foiled the bold eagle in his sunward
flight.
And cleaving fathoms deep as their ascent
To earth's mid womb, in vast tempta-
tions, went.
What should ye fear, when Israel's mate-
less lord.
In Israel's battle bares the burning
sword ?
Enough that / have destined to the fall,
Each towery portal and gigantic wall ;
Enough that Jericho, at my command,
Grove, street, and palace, waits your
conquering hand.
Whose was the earth when from its
wealthy tomb
Those ramparts sprang, those gardens
burst in bloom ?
Whose gracious rain, along the green
arcade.
Bade the proud palm aspire in stately
shade ?
Whence had they wealth to build; or
whence the time.
Or sfcj// to p/are those monuments sublime?
From me alone! and I, who gave them all.
Can, at my pleasure, all I gave, recall.
And had my heavenly ministers, in aid
Of Jericho, their bannered hosts dis-
played,
Then, on her towers, in vain had Joshua
warr'd.
Those towers that owned Jehovah's
sleepless guard:
Heedless were then the giant bulwark's
length.
When God's protection formed their
hope and strength.
The open portals then had mocked the
foe.
And baffled Israel sunk like Jericho !"
THE INNKEEPER OF TREVES
AND HIS WIFE.
BY H. D. INGLIS, ESQ.
O.VE day, at a little inn in the kingdom
of Bohemia, on the road betwixt Prague
and Doserdorf, after I had dined, I ex-
tinguished my light, and sat down before
a wooden Are, which blazed cheerily,
and listened to the strange sounds which
it emitted. Sometimes it began a low
song, upon one key, and then changed
to another; sometimes it gave out a
creaking sound, like the working of
machinery ; now it was like the sound
of jEolian harps, and now like distant
horns, and the cracking of whips. At
last, it seemed to take the inflections
of the human voice ; and I heard this
dialogue begin, which fancy in sleep
formed into a sort of tale. Said the
innkeeper's wife to her husband, " These
are not mortal men."
" I know not," replied the innkeeper,
" whether they be mortal men or not,
but I know that they ai'e eating a supper
like mortal men ; and since I cannot
charge them for eating and drinking,
they shall at least pay well for the room."
" Hush, husband," said the innkeeper's
wife — " speak less boldly ; you know
not what we may have in the house : for
my part I wish they were out of it, though
I should never see the glitter of their
coin. I would give a silver florin that
the good Cure were here." Just at that
moment the fire cracked, so as might
represent the rap of a Cure ; and at the
same time a new sing-song tone came
from it. " Welcome, Mr. Cure," said
the innkeeper's wife ; " the presence of
a holy man does good in an extremity.
A pretty business we have got here, such
as never before happened in the city ot
Treves, which is as holy a city as any in
the king's dominions. We have got
three strangers up stairs, who are not
mortal men."
" Jesus Maria," said the Cure, and
he naturally crossed himself, as any other
holy man would do upon a like occasion.
" Sit down, Mr. Cure," said the inn-
keeper's wife, " and you shall hear the
history of the business."
The Cure seated himself, and the inn-
keeper's wife went on,
"It might be about seven o'clock,
Mr. Cure, and we had just begun to
sup, when a man, upon a large black
horse, rode up to the door, dismounted
and walked in, and asked if he could
have a chamber. You know, Mr. Cure,
we are not in the habit of refusing lodg-
ing to any respectable-looking traveller;
(God forgive me for calling him so!)
and for aught that we could know, he
might call for his supper ; and indeed
the supper we were just beginning to eat
was savoury enough to give an appetite
to a man who felt none before. But the
THE PAFITERRI-;.
117
stranger asked for nothing, but desired
to be shewn to his room ; so the girl
lighted him up stairs, and my husband
went to look after his horse, which is
no more ii real horse, .Mr. Cure, than he
is a man; for it had found its way into
the stable although the door was shut.
But no sooner had we begun to supper
again, than suddenly we heard the sound
of laughing and t.dking in the stranger's
room, and the noise of people eating and
drinking ; and my husband, who is a
bold man. crept softly up stairs and
looked tlirough the key-hole, and sure
enough he saw the stranger, and two
others, seated at tlie table, which was
covered with dishes and bottles, and
they were eating and drinking heartily,
and laughing and talking betwixt every
mouthful : only hear ! " said the inn-
keeper's wife ; " and the smell of the
victuals fills the whole house, and never
did victuals smell so strangely to my
nose : it was no mortal cook that made
ready their sup])er."
So they all snuffed and listened. Tlie
noise of the feast, indeed, was loud ; but
as for the scent of the viands, the Cure
found nothing extraordinary in it, unless
that it was somewhat richer than he
was accustomed to.
" Truly (said the Cure) this is a won-
derful relation ; — these indeed cannot be
mortal men. But in the cliurch there
arc some relies which liave performed
many wonderful miracles, and I doubt
not at all that they may have the power
of dispersing this unholy meeting: I
shall go and fetch them."
" Do so," said the innkeeper's wife,
" and God speed vou !"
" I shall be back in a twinkling," said
the Cure.
While the Cure was absent, tlie inn-
keeper's wife read lier jirayers, and the
innkeeper contimicd his supper.
" Now," said the Cure, as here-entered
with the box in liis hand, " I am ready
to go and dissolve the assembly." So
the Cure walked up stairs witli the irni-
keeper behind him, and the innkee[ier's
wife remained at the loot, to await the
ibsue of the enter|)rir,e, of whose success
siic doubted nothing. As the Cure and
the innkeeiier ascended the stair, the
clatter of plates and the sound of merri-
ment were UN loud as ever ; and it is
natural to think, that before entering the
room they would apply their eyes to tlie
keyhole. The fea><t was going on merrily
— the three were «-ar<jusing joyously,
making vast havo<'k among the ragouts,
and tossing over huge bumpers of wine.
The Cure next applied his ear to the door,
to try if he could catch any of their con-
versation ; but they were talking in an
unknown tongue, of which he could com-
()rehend nothing. At last he jjushcd
open the door, and boldly entered, with
his relics in his hand, and the innkeeper
at his back. The moment the door was
opened, the steam of rich meats came
floating to the Cure's nose, and the first
stranger rose, and politely bowing, in-
vited him to "partake of their cheer."
The Cure wisely reasoned that the relics
would be as efficacious after as before
supjjcr ; and he placed himself at table.
Never had he tasted of better meats, or
drank more delicious wine ; but as his
ai)petite yielded, he bethought himself of
what the innkeeper's wife had said of
the cook that had dressed the supper ;
and he began to feel himself somewhat
tmcomfortable in such company. He
looked wistfully at his relics, and hardly
less so at the door, uncertain of which he
should avail himself; for he began to feel
some slight doubts of the efficacy of the
former, after having partaken of the un-
holy supper. Every time he looked up,
he saw all the six eyes fixed upon him,
and there was something in their expres-
sion not calculated to ])ut liiui much at
his ease ; and every moment he began to
wish more and more that his relics were
in the church, and he in his bed.
From the moment the Cure had taken
his ])lace at table, there had been total
silence ; but at last it was broken by one
of the strangers laying his hand upon
the box of relics, and asking what it
contained.
" This," said the Cure, opening it,
and not without hopes that the mere ex-
hibition of the relics would of itself
disperse the meeting, " this is a fragment
of the stone that killed Saint Stejdien ;
and this in the small box is a drop of
his blood."
The two others stretched their necks
acHiss the table to look at it, itnd the
Cure jiereeived, for the first time, that
all their faces were alike.
" I cannot see the droj) of blood," said
the first stranger.
" It is sonu'what difficult," replied
the Cure ; " but by long habit, I can
see it perfectly well myself." Only
figure a Catholic Curt shewing holy
relics to three devils ! !
" Your relic," rejoined the strangei.
"reminds me of a story which I will
tell you ; — A man stoocl ui)on a <'ertain
bridge, and exhibited a hair of the
Virgin Mary."
118
THE PARTERRE.
" A hair of the blessed Virgin ! " ex-
claimed the Cure.
" So said the man," continued the
stranger ; " but one of the crowd, more
curious than the rest, approached nearer,
and said to the exhibitor what I have
just now said to you, that he was not
able to see it. ' That is not surprising,'
replied the man, ' for it is now three
years since I have shewn it, and I have
never yet been able to see it myself.'
But," continued the stranger, " I have
in my possession a relic much more
remarkable than yours, and I will make
you a present of it ; it is the bill of the
cock which crew to Peter; and it yet
possesses the valuable property of ad-
monishing its possessor, by crowing
every time he tells a falsehood. I shall
go and fetch it."
Instantly there was darkness. The
Cure grasped his relics, and groped his
way down stairs, and the relics were de-
posited in their sacred niche, with new-
claims upon the devotion of the good
people of Treves.
THE SORROWS of SAUNDERS
SKELP.
Poor Dominie Skelp ! his sorrows were
amusing enough, here and there. His
father, arespectable tradesman in a small
country town, had cramped himself in
every way to give his son a good educa-
tion, and he had actually attained the
barren dignity of a licentiate in the
Scotch kirk. After this he became
schoolmaster in a landward parish of a
certain county, — I forget its name, — in
the south-east of Scotland, and was in
the habit of occasionally preaching for
Mr. Bland, the parish clergyman. There
were some scenes at the manse at which
the young probationer was present, be-
tween this gentleman and " auld Mr.
Clour, the minister of Thistledoup," and
the famous highflying Doctor Soorock,
a celebrated evangelical clergyman of his
day, that tickled me a good deal ; but
they are too long to extract. At length
he fell in love with a beautiful and
innocent girl ; after which it was all
the old story, —
"The course of true love never did run
smooth ; "
and the loves of Saunders Skelp and
Jessy Miller were no exception to the
rule : in fine, the young laird, Mr.
Adderfang, seduced the girl, and con-
trived, by a very mean and cruel rvse,
to cast the blame of the transaction for
a season on the poor Dominie, in the
following manner: — Saunders had been
for some time " sair fashed with an in-
come" in his knee (what this was I could
not divine, until he explained that it was
a tumour, of which, however, he soon
perfectly recovered), that rendered it
necessary to strap on a kind of wooden
leg or support, the sinews of the limb
having contracted. The young laird,
finding that his amour could not long be
concealed, had a similar instrument pri-
vily made, and used it in his night visits
to the girl, in order that if he were seen,
the foot-prints might be taken for the
Dominie's, thus actually forging the poor
fellow's wooden leg. To shorten a long
and very melancholy story, Jessy Miller,
the flower of the whole strath, sank under
the blight of the scoundrel, and died in
childbirth, and the poor Dominie's heart
was nearly broken ; indeed, the blow
was heavy enough to " drive his wits a
wee bit ajee," as he phrased it, ever after.
In this half crazy, half desperate con-
dition, he suddenly left friends, and
house, and home, and wandered about the
country, until, his means of subsistence
failing, he enlisted into the militia;
and afterwards, as related by Sergeant
Jjorimer, into the marines, on the reduc-
tion of the former. His subsequent
history we know.
It is a broiling day on deck, so you
had as well stay below, and I will give
you an extract or two of his Sorrows.
Take the following:
" About this time, old Durie Squake,
the precentor, met with an accident
which gave me temporary promotion in
the kirk; for, coming into it one dark
forenoon in the winter-time, after having
oiled his canter with a drap o' drink, he
did not notice that the door of his wee
poopit had been altered, so as to swing the
contrary way to what it did before; and
as it stood wide open, fronting him edge-
ways, it was as clean and invisible as if it
had been the blade of a knife, so that al-
though the blind body had as usual his
twa paws extended, and stuck out before
him, one holding his Bible and the other
his pitchpipe, he ran smack up against
the edge, clipping the leaf of the door
with an outspread arm on each side of it,
and thereby received such a devel, that his
nose was bashed, and the sneck sank into
his forehead, as ifhe had been struck with
a butcher's hatchet, and down he fell,
with a grunt and a squelch, on his back.
' Losh preserve me ! I aye kenned I had
a lang nose, but surely it's langer this
blessed Sabbath than common!'
" He was helped up and hame by two
THE PARTE KKE.
119
o' the elders, and being a thick-skulled
creature, he was soon repaired by the
farrier in the village, so as to be niaist
as gude as new, no being nuickle worth
at his best, and he was at his wark again
in no time ; but although his skull was
sound, his voice was a wee cracked for
ever after. And now the question came,
what was to be done for a precentor that
blessed day ? A neighbouring minister,
the excellent Mr. Clour, was to preach,
and by this time in the poopit, and he
could sing none, I kenned ; as for auld
Mr. Bland, our ain pastor, he was as
empty of music as a toom bagpipe ; so
baith the ministers and their hearers sat
glowering at eadi other for a guid space,
until the uproar was over and the hum
had subsided, and I was just wondering
what was to be done, when I found some-
thing kittle-kittling the crown of my
head. I sat, it must be known, in a
wee bit back jam of a pew, just before
the minister's seat, and my father aside
me. I looked round — it was the auld
minister. ' .Saunders,' says he, ' your
father tells me ye can sing fine ; gae awa
wi' ye, my bonny man, into the precen-
tor's seat.' I was in an awful taking;
the blood rushed to my face, and the
sweat dropped from the point of my nose;
nevertheless, I screwed up my courage,
and like a callant louping into the water
to bathe in a cauld day, 1 dashed into
tlie psalm with great bir and success :
but the speed I came puffed up my
vanity until it burst, and I had a sair
downcome that day. For finding that
the precentor line was no sae difficult as
I expected, I thought I would shine a
bit, and at a solemn pause in the music
atf I went, up and away, intil some fine
tirlie-wirlies, which I could not cainiily
get out of again. By and by, the con-
gregation dropped off one by one, as I
ascended, until I was left alone in my
glory. I startled 'even at the sound
myself had made,' and looked up to the
roof, at the auld carved wark, above
what had been the altar-piece when the
Catholics had the kirk, singing all the
while — but a nervous tiiought came over
me, and suddenly 1 felt as if I had got
■.(•rcwed in amongst the roses and orna-
frients of the auld cornii-e, without the
pfjwcr of extricating myself; and Ikjw
to get home again into the liujif^or, that
I had left so rerkleshly, I could not
divine. At length, as my variations
were nearly exhausted, W iihe Johnston's
auld colley, Snap, deliberately walked
up the uihle, and rocking himself on end,
ruined hih voice and joineil in rli(niis.
This speedily brought meto a stand-still,
for Baalam could not have been more
amazed when his ass spoke than I was ;
beside I saw the folk were all laughing,
until some of them took advantage of
the pause to skirl up the original tune
once more, and faith but I was glad to
join them.
" It was the fashion in our parish, at
this time of the year, to gi\e two ser-
mons at one sitting, but auld .Mr. Clour
had only brought one, and our ain minis-
ter being as hoarse as a raven, tlieie was
nothing for it but that .Mr. Clour should
split his in two. Indeed, I heard him
say to our minister, as they walked into
the kirk-yard together — ' Well, friend
Bland, if I maun preach twa sermons,
while I hae only yin in my pouch, and
nane in my head, they must just be of
the shortest, for I can manage no other
way than by halving it ; however, I'll
gie them a gude bit screed of a psalm to
sough awa at after the first half, and that
will help us "ayont the twall," as Burns
says, before we begin to the second.'
" The first sermon passed over, and
when he gave out the psalm tliat was to
be the resting-place, the half-way house
between the wings of his discourse, what
was my dismay to find that he, with all
the coolness in life, read out six long
verses ! .My mouth was dry enough,
and my throat husky enough with my
previous discomfiture, heaven knows:
but I whistled away, until I got to the
line, 'a dry ))arched land, wherein no
waters be,' when my voice fairly failed,
and I lost the fang a'thegithcr. I made
a desperate struggle, but there was nae
mair sound in me than in a bagpipe with
a hole in it, or a clarionet without the
reed, or a child's bawbee whistle blawn
dumb on the first day of the fair. So I
waited for awhile, and again set to, but
niy screech was this time a mixture of
the cry of the corncraik and the hissing
of a goose ; besides I had lost the tunc,
and nane of the congregation could find
it, so I s(|ui'cled and sweltered about,
until the liaill kirk and ])e\vs, and the
folk in them, danced before my eyes, and
I could not tell whether I was on my
head or my heels. At length I croaked
out ' Vox J'aucihus h<esit, domiiie — lot
J'anciltHS hdiit. As sure 's death, I can
sing nani! until somebody gives me a
drink of water.' At this monwnt I felt
a ship on the cluck, which made nie start
and turn round, anil there was the auld
minister leaning ower the front of liis
pul|)it, and girning at me liki" the de'il :
• I say, iieen, if ye weary skirling uji the
1'20
THE PARTERRE.
psalm for yae half hour, hoo will ye
carry on through a' eternity ? ' This
drave me demented altogether, and mak-
ing a rush from the precentor's desk, I
stumbled down into my father's seat,
who was lying with his liead on his blue
bonnet, peching and perspiring with utter
shame and vexation. / never tried the
precentor line again."
At another time, he was equally un-
fortunate in his preaching; — we shall
call this
" The Episode of the Stick Leg."
On the day in question, Lord M ,
the principal heritor or landowner in the
parish, was present ; and, in his desire to
shine before the grandee, he waxed warm
in his sermon, until he fairly broke away
from the thread of his written discourse,
which was holding down his imagina-
tion, he said, like "a string round the
leg of a tame pyet."
Listen :
" Seeing his lordship in his pew — for
he didna come to the kirk every Sabbath
— one fine summer day, when I was to
preach, I thought I would astonish him
a wee bit ; but as it turned out, I was
mysel the maist astonished of the twa.
For a quarter of an hour I was delight-
ed to spy his looks of approval with
the corner of my ee, the joy whereof
drave me off my guard ; for, at a well-
turned period, when I intended to bring
my right hand down thump on the open
Bible, I missed it, and smote the new
elastic pulpit cushion instead with such
vehemence, that the old brazen-clasped
Psalm-book spanged up, and out over
into the air. ' Kep,' cried I ; where-
upon auld Durie Squake, the precentor,
upturned his face, and tliereby caught
such a bash on the nose, that baith the
lozens were dang out of his barnacles.
' Oh Lord, my sair nose !' (it had not
recovered the blow against the door, as
already related), ' oh Lord ! my sair
nose is clean demolished now — I maun
get legs to my specks — for the brig's
brak, and flattened in on my face like a
pancake !' I tried to get back into my
discourse, but I was awfully flurried;
and as I let fly another whack on the
desk, the auld earl, who, I could observe,
even in the swelter of my confusion, was
laughing to himsel, turned up his gaisen-
ed pheesiognomy, ' By G — , lad, if ye
break it, ye '11 pay for 't.' This put me
daft — clean wud altogether — and I drave
along at a furious rate, and stamped with
my stick-leg on the stool that I stood
on, until, in my confusion, down I slipped
off it, and tlie bottom of the pulpit being
auld and frusb, the wooden tram flew
crash through, and I vanished, the iron
shod end striking Durie Squake, the
devoted precentor, such a crack on the
tap of the head, that I thought I had
felled him clean. ' Oh dear ! oh dear !'
roared Squake; 'the callant has first
bashed my neb as saft as pap ' (he was a
wabster to his trade), ' and broken my
spectacles, and noo he has fractured my
skull with his d — d stick-leg.' I strug-
gled to extricate the tram, but it stuck
fast until Tarn Clink the blacksmith
gave the end of it, as it protruded into
Durie Squake's desk, such a bang with
his great heavy hand, as if it had been
his forehammer, that he shot me up
with a jerk like a ' Jack in the box,' into
the sight of the astonished congrega-
tion again.
" I sat down utterly discomfited, and
covering my face with my hands, wept
bitterly.
" A murmur ran through the kirk,
and I could hear whispers of ' Puir cal-
lant, gie him time to collect his thochts
— gie him time — he 's a clever lad, Saun-
ders — he'll be a' richt presently." I
took heart of grace at this demonstration
of good and kindly feeling amongst my
fellow-parishioners, and making a strong
effort, yet with a face like crimson — my
lugs were burning like red-hot iron — I
finished my discourse, and dismissed the
congregation. As I passed out of the
churchyard gate, I found the old lord
there ; it was a warm day, and he was
sitting on a tombstone under the shade
of the auld elm-tree, with his hat off,
and wiping his forehead with his hand-
kerchief, apparently waiting for his car-
riage to drive up.
" ' Ca' canny, man,' said he as I ap-
proached — ' Ca' canny, Saunders, — din-
na rive folk alang the road to heaven
at that rate, man.'"
But the humour of the following ex-
tract, which explains itself, surpasses
either of the f6rmer,inmy estimation : —
" Next morning was the annual ex-
amination of my school, at which the
three ministers were to be present, and
the same passed over creditably to my-
self, and scholars ; and the doctor was
very kind and condescending to the whole
of us. In fact, we had seen the most
repulsive side of his character, and he
was the means of my being again invited
this day to dinner by Mr. liland. Af-
ter the examination, we had walked
a mile into the country together, enjoy-
ing the delight of the schoolboys, who
had gotten a half holiday after the ex-
THE PARTERRE.
i-21
anunatioii, and were now rampaging
about, like young colts broke loose, some
jumping, some playing at football, others
at shinty, while several were fishing in
the burn, that twinkled past as clear as
crjstal ; and we were returning home to
the manse, when Earl M "s e<|uipage
appeared, coming along the small bridge
that crossed a bend of the stream be-
yond the village. Presently it was hid
by the trees round the manse, and then
glanced on this side of them, until the
houses concealed it. In another mo-
ment it rattled sharply round the corner,
when the old earl desired his postilions
to walk until he met ns. The moment
Ur. Soorock saw the carriage go slow,
he accelerated his motion, and stepped
out and away before -Mr. Bland and
-Mr. Clour, salaaming with his hat in
one hand, and his gold-headed cane in
the other, in rather too abject a style for
one who had a kirk already. His lord-
ship Wiis still at i)istol-shot distance, but
nevertheless the doctor strode on unco-
vered, with his eyes rivetted on the car-
riage, until his foot caught on the pro-
jecting steps of the school-house door,
and away he went,his stick tlying through
the school-house window, smashing the
glass down in a tinkling shower — his
hat into the neighbouring pigsty, and
his wig into the burn that ran by the
road-side.
" ' Run, boys, run,' said I, as I helped
him up, ' run and catch the doctor's
wig," as it floated away down the stream,
like a hedgehog covered with meal.
" ' Geordie,' cried one little fellow,
' hook the wig with your fly, man — hook
the v.'ig with your fly.'
" ' .\llan is fishing with bait; his
hooks are bigger,' quoth Geordie.
" ' Fling, Allan, man, fling — one gude
cast, and you have it.'
" They both missed, and the wig con-
tiimed flcjating down until it swam
amongst a flock of village ducks, who
instantly sfpiattered away from it, as if
it had been an otter.
" ' Cast a stane intil't, or it will soom
to Berwick before nicht,' said wee Tarn.
" ' Cii-st a stane intil't, .Allan, man ;
you murk weel,' rcjared Geordie again.
" Flash one stone piti-jicd into the
water, close to it, and half filled the wig
with water. It was pretty well satu-
rated before, ho that when anr)ther flew
with better aim, right into it, it instantly
Hank, and disappeared in the Dominic's
Hole, aH the pool was called. What
Was to br done ? There was a spati-
bad suddenly come down the water, and
there was no seeing into the bottom of
the 1)01)1, and there was not a creepy in
the village, so the doctor gave bis wig
up for lost, as well he might, and he
had to cover the nakedness of the land
for that day with one of Mr. Bland's
Kihnainock nightcaps. He bore his
misfortune, I will say, with great ecjua-
nimity ; and in the evening we all once
more resorted to the school-house, to
hear the boys sing, led by auld Durie
Squake.
" We had taken our seats, a number
of the villagers in their best ; auld Durie
had sounded his pitch-pipe, and the bits
of callants were watcliing him w itli ()[)eii
moutli, all ready to oiicn in full cry, like
a pack of young hounds waiting fur old
.iowler's deep tongue, when the candle at
his desk was suddenly blown out, and I
called out in Latin, seeing that some of
the bigger boys were close to it, 'Quid
hoc reiV Wee Tam Stump at this louped
off his seat with great energy, fearing he
was about to be blamed. ' Ventus i)layed
plufl^. Dominie, ex that broken window,
et extin.vit the candle.' We had all a
good laugh at this, and nothing more
happened to disturb the harmony of the
evening, until Allan Harden came run-
ning uj) the stairs, with a salmon lister
in one hand, and a great dripping divot-
looking thing on the top of it.
" ' What kept ye so late ? ' said I ;
' you are seldom late, Allan.'
" ' I hae been dabbing with the lister
the haill evening for Doctor Soorock's
wig, sir, and I have speared it at last;
ecce si^iiuiu ! Dominie.'
" A tiny buzz ran amongst the boys,
auld Clour kei'kled audibly, and Mr.
Bland could scarcely keej) his gravity,
as Dr. Soorock stirred the soaked mass,
that Allan had cast on the floor, with
the end of his cane, e-\clainiing —
" ' My wig — my wig, did the callant
say? It canna be my wig.'
'"Indeed it is yours, sir,' said the
handsome boy, blushing dei'i)ly ; ' if you
but try it on, sir, ye'U find it sac.'
" The wig was finally turned over to
the auld barber at the village, who dried
it, but tilt; doctor had to go home in
the Kilmarnock on the following day,
as the scratch was ruined for c\cr."
Now, a small tourh at the Dominie
in the " melting mood," and we bear
up again on our cruise. He had re-
turned to the |)arish, after having com-
pleted his edui'ation. such as it was.
" And, oh ! there was one that wel-
comed me biiik, with a smile and a tear,
and H trembling of the tongue, and a
122
THE PARTERRE.
heaving of her beautiful bosom, that was
dearer, far dearer to my heart than father
or friends, although I had a warm heart
for them too. It was Jessy Miller, the
only daughter of Rob Miller the carrier's
widow, a tall fair-skinned lassie, with
raven locks, and dark hazel eyes, and
a face and figure with which none of the
village girls could compare.
" ' Ye are welcome home again, Saun-
ders — heartily welcome ; and you'll be
glad to hear that the young leddies at
the Hall — the laird's sisters, ye ken —
have been very kind to me and my mo-
ther baith, and that I go up there evei'y
day to work for them ; and they have
made me many a handsome present, as
you see, Saunders, and many a good
book have they sent me ; and the young
laird, Mr. Adderfang, has come hame, ye
will have heard,' — I started, for I had
not heard it, — ' and he is really very civil
to us also.' We were speaking in a little
bit green, at the westernmost end of
the village. There was a clump of horse-
chestnuts behind us, through which the
breeze was rushing with a rustling sough,
but it was neither strong enough nor
loud enough to drown the buzzing, or
rather moaning noise of the numberless
bees that were gathering honey from its
blossoms, for it was in June, or the rush-
ing murmur of the clear sparkling burnie,
that wimpled past at our feet, with a
bit crazy wooden brig across it, beyond
which a field of hay, ready for the scythe,
was waving in the breeze, with the sha-
dows of the shreds of summer clouds
sailing along its green undulations, as
they racked across the face of the sun.
" At the moment when the mention of
the young laird's name by Jessy Miller,
for he was known to be a wild graceless
slip, had sent the blood back to my heart
with a chill, a larger cloud than any that
had gone before threw its black shadow
over where we sat, while all around was
blithe breeze and merry sunshine. It
appeared to linger : I took Jessy's hand,
and pointed upwards, I thought she
shrank, and that her fingers were cold
and clammy. She tried to smile, but it
ended in a faint hysterical laugh, as she
said, — ' Saunders, man, ye're again at
your vagaries, and omens, and nonsense;
what for do ye look that gate at me,
man '■' '
" ' I canna help it, Jessy — no, for the
soul of me, I cannot. Why does the
heaven frown on you and me only, when
it smiles on all things beside?'
" ' Hoot, it's but a summer cloud,
and ye're a fule ; and there— there it's
gane, ye see — there, see if it hasna sailed
away over the breezy hay-field, beyond
the dyke there. Come and help me ower
it, man — come.' And once more Hooked
in her bright eyes undoubtingly, and as
I lifted heroverthe grey stones, I pressed
her to my heart, in the blessed belief
and consciousness that she was my ain
Jessy Miller still.
" But I had my ain misgivings that
Jessy would flee aff frae me, now that I
vvasa lameter.and I watched my opportu-
nity to ask her frankly and fairly, ' whe-
ther we were to hold to our plighted
troth, that we should be man and wife
whenever I had laid by a hundred pounds
from the school, (I had already fifty),
or that the calamity which had come
over me — ' I could scarcely speak here,
for something rose up in my full breast,
like a cork in a bottle that you are fill-
ing with water, and stuck in my thrap-
ple like to choke me — ' or that the
calamity that had come over me, was to
snap our vows in twain. And, Jessy
Miller, I here declare in the presence of
our Maker,if it has wrought such change
in you, I release you freely — freely —
although it should break my heart, I
release you.'
" The poor girl's hand, as I spoke,
grew colder and colder, and her cheek
paler and paler, until she fairly sank on
her knees on the auld grey moss-grown
stone that covered the muirland grave
of the Covenanters, situated about a
mile from Lincomdodie. It was the
gloamin', and the setting sun was flam-
ing up in the red west. His last ray
fell on the beautifully rounded form of
the fair lassie, and sparkled on the tear
that stole down her cheek, as she held
up one hand to heaven, and grasped
mine with the other.
" ' Saunders Skelp, wi' ae leg or twa,
or without a leg of ony kind, — if ever I
prove faithless to you — may — ■'
" ' Hillo, Dominie — Dominie Skelp !
— you're a nice young man I don't
know.'
" I started — Jessy shrieked, and rising,
threw herself into my arms— and as I
turned round, who should be ascending
the hill, and now within a few yards ot
us, but the young laird himself, as hand-
some and buirdly a chiel as you would
see in ten thousand ?
" ' Did that cloud come ower us at
the side of the hay-field that day for
naething, Jessy ?' She could not answer
me. The sun set, and one or two heavy
drops of rain fell, and the lift darkened
— ay, and something darker and drearier
THE PARTERRE.
123
stole across my lirain, than the shadows
which now began to settle down on the
fair face of external nature. -My heart
fluttered tor a moment, then made long
irregular tlirolts, and finally I became
dizzy and faint, and almost fell to the
ground with Jessy in my arms.
" ' Was 1 in the presence of aii evil
spirit? ' said I to myself.
" ' Why,' said the young gentleman,
'what has come over you, Saunders?
I won"t tell, man — so keep your own
secret, and nobody will be a whit the
wiser. '
" ' rJecret. sir ! ' said I, deeply stung ;
' secret I have nane, sir — nane. That I
love the lassie, the haill parish kens, and
I am not ashamed of it ; but if you — ay,
you, sir, or any man, dares' —
"'Heyday — dares! What do you
mean by that. Master Skelp? — Dares !'
" .My recollection and self-possession
returned at this moment.
'"I beg pardon, sir; I have been
taken by surprise, and in my anxiety to
vindicate Jessy from all susj)icion I have
been very uncivil to you ; I am sorry
for it.'
" The abjectness of this apology caus-
ed me to blush to the eyes ; but it was
made, as I thought, to serve my heart-
dear girl, and gulping down my chagrin
and wounded pride, I turned to go away.
" ' N\'ell. well. Dominie, I forgive you,
man, and I helieie there is nothing wrong
between you two after all. I only spoke
in jest, man, and am in turn sorry to
have given you pain ; so gie's your hand
— there — and I mu->t have a kiss from
Miss Miller, the darling, or I never shall
believe that you both really and truly
forgive me.'
" We returned together to the village ;
I would willingly have shaken off the
young-iter, but he insisted on seeing
Jessy home, and as I had no plea to
prevent him, I submitted in great bitter-
ness of spirit." — CruUe of the Midge.
THE NIGHT COACH.
He who ha.s travelled by night, need
not be told of the comlmls of the mail-
roach from the setting to the rising sun ;
and even somewhile after this grand
event, the jaded wayfarer does not
acknowledge much benefit from the re-
turn rif hit beams.
There is a wonderful display of cheer-
fulness among the paMKcngers <>« takiii/^
place; such a bustle with coinfurtert for
the neck ; such a (terking up of un-
•■tatiiary-looking lu-ads, while tln-y are
adjusted, and such sagacity of remark
when the affair is accomplished ; and the
jerking his noddle backwards and for-
wards to lind how it works within its
woollen trenches, seems at length to say,
" All's well." — " Devilish sharp even-
ing," is likely enough to be the first
observation, if it comes from one under
thirty years of age ; but the senators of
the coach, the plump round-bellied sexa-
geniirians, hint the chances of a severe
winter with laconic sagacity, which
would imply that they are in the secret,
but above all, because it is so much
cleverer to predict things to come, than
dilate on things present. Anybody
could do the latter; but, excepting
Joanna Southcote and Prince Hohen-
lohe, who, in these days, have we had
worth speaking of in the trade of ])ro-
phesying? To talk of cold in a coach,
operates as certainly on the inmates in
producing a general chilling, as if a che-
mist had begun to mingle the ingredients
of a freezing mixture. Such a stir in the
ant-hill, such puffing and blowing to col-
lect the caloric, a new arrangement of
the neckcloth, and an additional button
to the body-coat ; the upper benjamin,
which had perhaps strayed across the
limbs of a more tliinly clad neighbour,
is instantly recalled, and tightly fastened
above and under, to prevent any more
desertions ; the window glasses are
sharply examined, and some uiKpiestion-
ed truisms discharged against the negli-
gence of the proprietors. Each one
dovetails his knees between those of his
opposite fellow-traveller, and carefully
arranges his well-stuffed pockets on his
lap, to save his sandwiches from the per-
cussion of his neighbour, which lie dreads
as much as Captain Parry would an ice-
berg; and having thus arranged every-
thing, and pioiUieit against accidents, ten
to one but they throw themselves back,
and burying their head up to the nose in
their trot-cosey, like redbreasts under
their wing, put on a resigned look, and
wait for what may next betidi- them.
I have alluded to the general coniplai-
sance of fellow-travellers on first setting
out; — every man is brnnful of obser-
vation ; sucli a running over of acuteness
and facility of remark, that you suspect
that if you had not (u'olf'rey Crayon
himself at your side, you had certaiiiiv
the rare fortune, at least, of having some
portion ot his family. It is the kind of
exliilarati(jn which a mask produces,
where, the real chara(.'ter being unknown,
every one nuiy ashiimc' what he chooses
— when the little wit a man nuiv have.
124
THE PARTERRE.
he may safely bring forth, because he
calculates that the party will be broken
up before his stock is exhausted. Old
arguments, like stale dishes, are garnish-
ed and served up as new ones ; illustra-
tions worn thread-bare,till, from frequent
use, they darken, rather than illustrate,
the subject to which they are applied,
'low come forth like giants refreshed, or
like antique jewels in a new setting.
Your merry fellows, and your ready fel-
lows, are now in their right place — they
have no fear of meeting an officious
friend to hold up his finger at their best
story, as if he would say, " The joke is
familiar to me ;" a man cursed with such
a companion, reminds me of a chamber
candlestick with an extinguisher hanging
by its side. In compliance with the kind
oi incognito to which the coach is so favor-
able, most people wish to assume every
character but their own — no wonder;
ourselves are to ourselves like an every-
day suit, which, however good, becomes
confoundedly tiresome, and we put aside
both, and gladly at times take the use of
another, not that it can fit us better, but
because it shews us in a new light.
There is some shyness also about profes-
sion, in a coach, chietly because our exact
rank in it may not always be known,
and which may be necessary to secure
our respectability in it. By courtesy,
every one who buys and sells is called a
merchant, but the claim to it is felt to be
doubtful, so long as the claimant stands
behind a counter ; and till that is aban-
doned, therefore, little is said about the
matter. Military folks, under the rank
of captain, are shy enough about their
calling. Who would be thought an en-
sign, or a lieutenant? In so heroic a
profession, what is the use of these beg-
garly gradations, except to break the
spirit ? Cornet Battler's affair has given
a death-blow to standard-bearers. A
captain is well enough — the name may
at least be uttered with safety ; majors
are pot-bellied and brimful of pride ;
colonels, conceited and regimental ; ge-
nerals — but they are for the most part
old, and ought therefore to be treated
reverentially. These three last classes
are much too consequential for a coach,
and therefore not a word of the army-
list while they are between its doors.
Lawyers are afraid of being mistaken
fur attorneys, who, they know, are con-
stantly pecked at by a company, like a
hawk among singing-birds— and attor-
neys are so little sure of themselves, that
they are jealous lest they be supposed
•something even worse. The clergy
would all be bishops ; the bishops would
faint if they were suspected to be of the
saints ; both classes abhor the idea of a
curacy, and no one dislikes the reality of
it so much as he who possesses it ; for
all these reasons, and to avoid miscon-
struction, not a word of the pulpit, and
no pretence to a Divine Legation while
among the ribalds of a mail-coach. A
farmer is prudent on the subject of crops,
unless the receipt for his last rent is in
his pocket; and the grain pedlars at
Mark-lane might be guessed at, by their
shyness about the late averages.
Generally speaking, no one lets him-
self out so freely as the sailor. He looks
always as if he was brimful — every-
thing is a matter of novelty to him ; he
is as easily excited as a kitten with a
straw or a dangling thread. You may
discover him (if he does not make the
disclosure himself) by his ill-brushed
coat, and his hat turned up on all sides
like a polygon. He is restless and watch-
ful to learn the trim of the vessel, and if
he has reached the rank of master, be-
trays some anxiety to take the manage-
ment. I travelled once from Chatham
\vith one of this class; not a word broke
from him, though he was as eager and
busy, now looking to this side, and now
to that, as if it was a dark and gusty
night in the Chops of the Channel. We
were more than once interrupted by one
of those huge wagons which shew with
Majesty the privilege of eight horses.
He seemed to shrink under its huge
bulk, and, as it passed us and threw a
deep cloud around, to crouch into his
corner, to keep his frail bark from foun-
dering; but all his animation revived
with a long line of carts, which nearly
blocked up the road, and maintained a
running fire with the coachman. Here
he was again himself, amid this flotilla
of cock-boats ; Gulliver himself never
looked more manfully when dragging
the navy of Lilliput after him. Broad-
side after broadside did he pour among
them, in all the variety of objurgation
and execration familiar to the gun-room ;
and as we passed these land-pirates, as
he called them, threw himself back on
his seat, and wound up his notions of
discipline and legislation by growling
through his teeth, — " By the Lord, there
should be a law to shoot these fellows ! "
By and by conversation slackens in the
coach, — observations are seldom made,
and answers less frequently, and less
fully given; and if one, more adven-
turous than the rest, will, in spite of all
these indications, continue to prate, he
THE PARTERRE.
125
is at length rewarded with the chilling
monosyllables, Yes, and No, to all his
inquiries, uttered in a tone which needs
no commentary on its meaning. I could
never learn why people are so jealous of
their appearance when sleeping ; but you
may always notice that a drowsy man,
before he tinally drojis into the arms of
Morpheus, peeps every now and then
about him to watch the effect of it on
the company ; and if he discovers sly
winks, or the remains of a smile lurking
about the mouth of his fellow-travellers,
adieu to a nap for that evening. He
sits a.s much on the alert against such
frailty of his nature, as if a cask of gim-
powder was beneath him, and tasks his
ingenuity to ascertain, from the shreds
and patches of the remarks of those about
him, whether he had any share of the
subject. I never heard one acknowledge
that they snored in sleep ; it is as stoutly
denied as any of the deadly sins. A
man might own it to his confessor, or
admit it on the rack, but nothing short
of either predicament could force the
odious charge upon him ; and yet the
practice rests on good authority. I have
heard a grave judge charged with it, who
warmly rebutted the allegation, but
pleaded guilty to the minor offence of
sleeping; "but then," he added, " I al-
ways waken at the most interesting part
of the evidence." And, if to sleep be a
proof of a good conscience, how delight-
ful must it be to a pious divine to hear
low gruntings, like the jerkings of a bas-
soon, breaking from some corner of his
church, which must satisfy him that he
has at least one saint within its walls.
At length, as night advances, all is
hushed within the coach, and not a word
to interrupt that silence, but a propo-
sition " to shift legs" with your opposite
neighbour, made with as little waste of
speech as possible ; or, if it is your mis-
fortune to be so plighted, you may be
on one side importuned for more air
from the window, on the other for less,
without any regard to your own asthma
or lumbago, in this situation, I liaNc
Hat and watched the a])pearaiices of
things around me; the harsh accents of
the driver occa.sionally fall heavy on the
ear, when unbroken by other sounds.
You hear an outside passenger ask the
hour, which marks their slow j)rogress,
" to him that wati hcth," or im|)atiently
thumping with hi^ feet, which s])eaks as
plainly uh a tliermometcr of the coldiu'ss
uf the night wind. I have strained my
eyes through the dim glaHHCK, to eatc.-h
the mile- stones ua we paHHed, and have
tasked my imagination still harder, to
ascertain the realities of objects to which
darkness and drowsiness had lent unreal
forms and fantastic resemblances. I
have been delighted to yield myself u])
to these " thick coming fancies," which
transform the hedges into walls, flanked
with towers and bristling with artillery ;
while the same roniance of feeling con-
verts, with e(|ual facility, the ])ost-housc
into the castle, with its gates and port-
cullis. If, after the witching hour of
night, any reasonable person can doubt
that a bed is the tit and proper place to
wait the coming of daylight, he is cured
of such heresies by seeing the reluctance
of the jaded horses who " go the next
stage," to leave their resting-places,
their heads bent down, their eyes half-
closed, and tlu ir cais drooping — in slxjrt,
a quadni])ed image of desi)air. The
impatience and alacrity of the last driver
to ([uit his charge, is contrasted by the
tardiness with which the new one as-
sumes it ; his cautious examination of the
harnessing, and ])eevishness of maimer, I
have sometimes thouglit was but a imich
ofthesulh, on leaving his bed. .John
has nothing of the knight-errant about
him, and has no particular relish for
nocturnal adventures. In the meanwhile,
the officious hostler bustling about,
now fastens a buckle, or undoes a strap,
Hid pours his ready tale into the ear of
the dismounted coachman, who listens
to this oracle of the manger, while he
gives, like a Sunday paper, a summary
of the news since his last departure.
By this time all the outsiiles are snug
insides of the bar, where a light yet glim-
mers ; and their angry call may be heard,
while they fret their short minutes, till
supplied with cigars, or the less ambi-
guous refreshment of a glass of hot bran-
dy. I could paint the a|)|)eanince of the
night-waiter, even though I had a pen-
cil of less pretension than Hogarth's —
the strange expression of a countenance,
in which, strictly speaking, there is no
expression — his eyes half-closed, as if
the other ])ortion of his optics was enough
for the duty — and his breeches unbut-
toned at the knees, leaving it a matter of
doubt whether this economy of labour
had most to do with his quitting bed, or
dr()pi)ing back into it again. I always
wonder what can make |)C(i])le slcc]),
when I am not inclined to indulge that
weakness myself; in other words, when
it is not in my ])ow»'r, I sit with cat-
like patience watching the dormice who
slumber round me— -the morning ravs
seem more tlian usually slow, one might
1-20
TllK PARTKRRE.
think some accident had befallen them,
that they were so long of coining forward.
At first there is scarcely enough to
illuminate the whole of our neighbours'
visages ; perhaps a nose and an eye, pro-
bably neither very good of their kind,
come into view, and these are served up
in strong perspective. It must be a good
face, indeed, that can stand this piece-
meal display of its parts. Chins that
had been smoothed with more than wont-
ed rigour, to anticipate the toilette of a
second day, spite of all this care, are
now rough, and perhaps grisly; neck-
cloths deranged and rumpled ; and if a
female traveller has had the misfortune
to pass the night with you, the very sgim/or
carceris seems to sit on her haggard cheek.
The events of yesterday appear as if they
had been pushed back a week in your re-
collections. A land-journey to the Pole
could not have been more tedious than
your progress from first setting out ;
you are not very sure if you are really
in good earnest awake, or ingeniously
suspect that the birds, while they prune
their wings, and trill their feeble notes
on the first blush of morning, are but
chirping through their sleep. But if the
country seems dreary at these unwonted
hours, when night and morning strug-
gle for ascendency, it falls far short of
the feeling of desolation which a sleep-
ing town exhibits, when, in broad day-
light, not a soul is stirring, and every
sound is hushed, as if it was the " City
of the Plague " — when not an animal is
seen to move, the honest mastiff still
watching at his post, and pug and poodle
still slumbering on the hearth-rug,
dreamingof their loves and quarrels. The
cat alone is seen to rush across the street,
like a midnight brawler seeking to regain
his home before his absence be noticed.
But I have now reached the end of
my j ourney, as wearied of it as my readers
probably with its description. The coach-
door is opened, but for a moment not
one rises ; they are so closely fixed into
each other, that it looks as if they could
only be raised in a mass, like raisins out
of a jar. In short, as Dr. Johnson
would perhaps express himself, there is
more alacrity than facility of loco-mo-
tion. When fairly disentangled from
the coach, they creep about as tenderly
on their feet as if they were their neigh-
bours and that they had not found out
their right trim. They are tedious mo-
ments till the bed is ready —
" Long as to him who works for debt the day ;
Long as the night to her whose love 's away ;
Long as the year's dull circle seems to run,
When the bright minor pants for twenty-one."
As long, or longer than any of these
alternatives, does it seem till the cham-
ber-maid announces all is ready. — What
can the hussey have been about all this
while? she has had her own sleep, and
does not think of others who want it ;
but I shall speak to her pretty sharply
about this at breakfast. Good-night,
good reader ; my cap is already on my
head, and, though half asleep, I do not
forget that I ought not to remain in
good company when en dishabille. L.
Blackwood's Magazine.
A
DAY BY THE DANUBE.
BY DERWENT CONWAY.
And this is the Danube ! I know not
how it is, but almost every one has a de-
sire, from his early youth, to see some
objects in preference to others, without
being able to assign any reason why;
and of all rivers the Danube had long
been that which I had desired the most
to look upon. Perhaps it was the name
that impressed me, for there is certainly
something sonorous in it. Or it may be
that, when a child, I used to stop in the
evening, and listen to a blind woman
who sang, " Alone on the banks of the
dark rolling Danube." Her voice was
sweet, and there is something imposing
in the image, " dark rolling Danube."
The day I came in sight of it, however,
it was not applicable ; the sun was
bright, the water flowed pure and rapid,
and the gay fields of Hungary waved
yellow in the summer's breeze. I was
disappointed. It was not in accordance
with the ideas I had formed of it. I
would rather have seen a flood of dark
waters flowing through gloomy forests;
and I felt somewhat mortified that I
should so long have cherished a false
image. I shut my eyes, and thought of
the Danube; and it rolled before me
dark and mighty. I opened them, and
beheld it as it is. I had breakfasted at
Seid, about twelve miles distant ; and I
now sat down under a walnut-tree, close
by the river, to refresh myself with the
contents of my haversack. There is
something soothing in the flowing of a
river; and my disagreeable feelings soon
gave way to the beauty of the prospect
around me. I had not yet determined
the future course of my journey ; whe-
ther I should follow the river down to
the Black Sea, or up to its Alpine
source ; and I determined now to settle
the point. When one sits by a river's
side, and sees it flowing past, the mind
naturally flows with it : it requires some-
THE PARTERRE.
1-27
thing of an effort to mount with it ; so I
speedily found myself passing through
Belgrade, Turkey, and launched into the
Black Sea. For a moment, fancy was
arrested at Belgrade. Belgrade had
been besieged ; when, or by whom, I
knew not, but it was the same thing,
Belgrade had been besieged. But I left
Belgrade and entered Turkey, and then
imagination tilled up its picture : Con-
stantinople floated before my eyes, and
its seraglio of dark-liaired beauties ; and
the Hellespont, and its tale of love
and disaster ; and then I passed into
Asia, and wandered among the ruins of
mig-hty cities and ancient temples, where
.\rabs and their camels were reposing;
and I saw the city of the prophet, and
its hundred mosques ; and I heard the
voice of him who calls the Musselmans
to prayers ; and the scenery of the Ara-
bian Nights rose before me, and its won-
ders and enchantments ; and 1 beheld
Bagdat in its ancient magnificence, and
the Caliph and his Vizier walking through
it in disguise. I shall certainly follow
the river down to the Black Sea. There
is perhaps no one to whom that name
does not convey somewhat of a dismal
image; — not, perhaps, that any one im-
agines its colour to be black ; but tliere
is always an idea of darkness and gloomi-
ness connected with it. If there be any
one who is insensible to this association,
let the metaphysicians bottle him up as
an exception to their theories of sugges-
tion. Whether this idea be inviting or
no, depends upon the state of the mind ;
to me it was revolting, after the bright-
ness of my .Xsiatic visions. I then looked
up the river, and thought of ascending
to its source. I should pass through
Vienna, the proud residence of the court
of .\u>tria, that inconceivable mixture
of kindness and oppression, paternal with
regard to Austria, and despotic to all the
World besides. I should then traverse
Germany -. but here 1 was again oblif^ed
to leave the field to fancy. .My igno-
fiince, and not my will, consented ; but
tihe travelled not the less blitliely on her
way, that there was no finger-|)ost to
direct her wanderings : but a sad jour-
ney hhe led me, through gay fields and
gloomy forests, across jdains and round
i.'reen hills, up rugged steeps, 'mong top-
|iling rocks and foaming cataracts, and
at htst lifft me in a desolate place by the
lidf of a clear fountain, wh(;re an eagle
and a chamois goat were quenching their
thirst- And tliif* in the Hource of the
Oanutte ! I could g(?t no fnrthcr up, so
I was obliged to follow the stream down
again ; and I determined, the moment
light-feathered fancy borne on its bosom
should reach me, to arrest it. I was yet
ignorant where I should pass the night:
the sun was setting low : so I finished
my flask of Hungarian wine, and made
for a small eminence close at hand, to
see if I could discover in whicii direction
lay the nearest village. I perceived a
cimrch tower at about an hour's walk
down the river. " It is all one," said I to
myself, " where I rest to-night ; I can
change my direction in the morning;"
and I had just turned my back upon the
Holy Alliance, when I perceived a young
girl coming towards nie, along the path
I had struck into, carrying in her arms
one of the prettiest little dogs I had ever
seen. Whether it was that the dog was
alarmed at the approach of a stranger, or
that its mistress was for the moment
more occupied with that event than by
the care of her favourite, I cannot pre-
tend to determine ; but, when within a
few paces of me, the dog leapt from her
arms, and fell into the river. The dam-
sel screamed, and ran to the edge, but
the bank was too high for her to reach
the water. I immediately determined to
save the dog at all hazards. It may be
that I was less incited to the action by
the danger of the dog, than by the grief
of its mistress ; and when I call to re-
membrance her look of affection and
agony, I know not w hich of the two I
would prefer, to have it recorded as my
motive in my little catalogue of good
actions. The dog was carried out from
the bank a little way, and was rapidly
descending the stream. At a short dis-
tance lower down, and only a few yards
from the bank, were some rocks, and not
more than two or three feet of water be-
twixt them and the shore. 1 instantly
broke off a branch of a tree, and in a
moment gained the rocks. I lay down
u])on my face and extended the branch,
in hopes that the little animal would lay
hold of it. A moment later, and he was
lost, but my efforts were crowned with
success: he seemed to exhaust his little
remaining strengtii in fixing his teeth in
it ; I drew him to nie, and instantly
gained the shore. From the moment
that the maiden saw me interest myself
ill her favcnir she had remained silent and
motionless, the image ot fear and anx-
iety; but when I presented lier favourite
to her, joy and gratitude glistened in her
eyes ; she clasped it to her bosom, drip-
ping as it was, kissed it over and over
again, held out her hand to me, smiled,
caressed her dog again, and again gave
128
THE PARTERRE.
me her hand, as much as to say that
she could not thank me sufficiently in
words. I told her I was well repaid
by having saved her favourite ; and I
was sure that, if he could speak, he
would thank me for having restored him
to so kind a mistress. She told me
she lived with her mother, in a cottage
about half an hour's walk up the river ;
and that, having wet myself in her ser-
vice, if I would walk along with her, her
mother would be glad to receive me as
a stranger, and still more as the pre-
server of their favourite. It was not an
offer to refuse : she gave me the little
dog to carry, and we walked on together.
She told me that she had been to see her
sister, who was married, and who resided
in the village whose tower I had seen ;
that she had taken the dog with her as a
companion, and thinking it might be
tired, had carried it all the way from the
village. Innocent, tender-hearted crea-
ture ! What are ye, ye refinements of
civilization, in comparison with the con-
fiding innocence and simplicity of the
Hungarian girl, who extends her hand
to the stranger who has saved her dog,
and invites him to her maternal roof, to
refreshment and repose ! She said the
dog had belonged to her brother Theo-
dore, but that when he went to the wars
he had made her a present of it, to keep
for his sake, and that she and her mother
loved it much, both because Theodore
loved it, and because it had loved Theo-
dore. As we walked for a few moments
in silence, I had leisure to contemplate
the form which enshrined so pure a soul.
She was above the middle height, slen-
der, but possessed that beautiful round-
ness of form which is so captivating in
woman ; her eyes were blue and mild,
but expressive; her mouth was not per-
haps quite so small and symmetrical as
a limner would die of envy to paint, but
two rows of pearly teeth were seen be-
twixt two parted lips of roses. She held
her bonnet in her hand, and abundance
of beautiful tresses, gently agitated by
the air, shewed a forehead of purity, and
shaded a neck no less white ; her age
might be eighteen, but whatever it was,
she seemed yet to preserve the recent
impress of the hand of divhiity. I asked
her if she was not afraid to walk so far
alone.
" No," said she ; " all the country
people know me."
" And love you too," I added.
" At least," said she, " no one would
harm me."
Harm tliee I could have pressed her
to my heart, and sworn to protect her
for ever ; and I would have kept my
word. I asked her if she had never been
tempted to follow the example of her
sister ?
" No," said she, " my mother is old
and infirm ; I shall never leave her."
" Heaven will bless thy resolution,"
said I. But I could not help thinking,
as I beheld her charms, and reflected
upon her goodness, that destiny would
hardly be just, if it should refuse to re-
ward her filial piety by the holy joys of
wedded love.
" We live yonder," said she, as we came
in sight of a beautiful little cottage with
an orchard sloping down the river.****
I was received as strangers were received
of old, before the inhabitants of cities
had carried their corruptions into the
lands of simplicity and hospitality. Never
shall I forget our evening meal. We
talked of the danger of their favourite.
" Take care of him, Constance," said
the kind old woman, "it is all we have of
Theodore." As she named her son, a
tear trickled down her cheek; Constance
kissed it off, but her own trickled in its
place. I talked to them of distant climes
and foreign manners. They had heard
of England, but had never before seen
one of its natives ; they said that hence-
forth they would love it next to Hun-
gary. They keep early hours in Hun-
gary. After supper I strolled into the
orchard with Constance, and we silently
gazed upon the river. She gave me
some ripe pears.
" These will perhaps refresh you to-
morrow," said she.
" Ah, Constance," I replied, " they
maybe sweet to-day, but to-morrow they
will be bitter."
The bell tolled from the neighbouring
village where I was to sleep, and I knew
it was time to part. I trembled every
inch of me. " Absurd," said I to myself,
" I have known her but three hours :
true, but I could live with her for ever."
We returned to the cottage. The cus-
tom of the country permitted me to em-
brace at parting, — and never did I press
the cheek of youth and beauty with so
large an alloy of pain. P'air Constance,
where art thou now? still in thy little
cottage, on the banks of the Danube ! I
see thee strolling among the walnut trees
and I think that, when gazing on the
river, thou wilt perhaps remember that
a stranger once gazed upon it with thee.
Hungarian girl, farewell !
1*29
•frr.v
Mn "-^M
E V I L M A Y DAY
(^For the Parterre. )
Ch-mtek I.
A tlllEM) IN NEED.
On the cveiiiiip of the 29th of April, in
the year l.jl7, and consequently in the
ei^'litli year of the reign of Henry the
Ki^'hth, a tall, [lortly, broad-shoulilered,
and coniely-vi>aged man, in the garb of
a respectable citizen, emerged from one
of the dark lanes which led into Thames-
fitreet, near Dowgate, and proceeded at
a sturdy pace in a westerly direction. It
was growing dark, the sho])s and stalls
were closed, and the good citizens were
at their suppers. The lusty stranger
seemed to be conscious of this, and
strode along with a firm and erect gait,
more resembling that of a man-at-arms
than a simple burgess. He had scarcely
ttiilked lorty puces when two men,
sijiiaiid and ill-looking, darted (lom
under a gateway, and while they both
confronli'd him, one (jf them with a
grinly oath made a snatcii at the purse
which hung at his girdle.
"Ha! St. George!" cried tlie stout
man, eluding the fellow's grusp ; •• taki-
Ui«t, knave," und (louri.shing a stout
oaken stnfT. he stretched the fellow on
the ground with a well-directed blow,
which had it alighted on his Iick! in-
sti'ad of his shoulder, would iniallibly
have knocked out his brains.
Though somewhat daunted at this re-
sistance, the other thief drew forth a
long knife, while his companion scrum-
bled on his legs agaui, and blood wtnild
no doubt iiave llowed but for the sudden
arrival of a young man armed with n
broadsword and a bin-kler, who shout-
ing as he whirled his weapon round his
head, " Have at ye, ye cut-purse vil-
lains I" instantly placed himself by the
side of the citiz'-n.
.'Marmed at this unex|)ected succour,
the thieves lied precipitately down the
street, and were soon lost among the
inimerous dark alleys which led to the
water side.
•' Thanks, my yoimg master," snid the
portly figure who had been so promptly
assisted ; " a friend at such a time is
worth a thousand fair speeches."
" You are heartily wi'lc(»me, sir," re-
(ilied the y(nith, siieathing liis broad-
sword, " and if your road lies westward,
I will bear you company a part of the
way. The gentleoiin of the Wliilelriur*
9
130
THE PARTERRE.
are always stirring with the owl and the
bat, and you may meet others of the
same family before you reach home."
" A boat waits for me at Queenhithe,"
said the stranger, " but as the night is
coming on, I will accept your offer,
young man ; " and he proceeded on his
way with his sturdy step, humming one
of the songs of that period. At length
he spoke again :
" By what name shall I know my
champion?"
" Nicholas Fortescue, an't please you,
fair sir," replied the youth, in a respect-
ful tone, for he thought there was some-
thing in the air and manner of his
interrogator above the stamp of an ordi-
nary citizen.
" Of what craft or profession ? " was
the next inquiry.
" 'Prentice to Master George Elliott,
stationer, in St. Paul's Churchyard,"
replied the youth.
" Ha ! St. George ! a 'prentice, and a-
broad at this hour ! Does Master Elliott
give you such license, young man ? "
The 'prentice hung his head, and was
mute for some seconds. At length he
muttered in a tone which shewed that
he did not relish the remark :
" My back will doubtless taste of the
stirrup leather, sir ; but I shall not
grieve at that, since my playing truant
brought me to your rescue. There was
some good sword play at the bank-side
this evening, and Mahoud the great black
bear was baited. Ecod, sir ! he nipped
asunder Ralph, the butcher's dog, of the
High-street, and played the devil among
the other curs."
" And you could not flee from the
temptation ? " interrupted the stranger.
*' But come, you are a brave youth, and
though I cannot save your back from
Master Elliott's discipline, I can find an
unguent that hath cured many wounds.'
As he said this they arrived at Queen-
hithe-stairs, off which lay a boat with a
party-coloured tilt, and the stranger,
unfastening the pouch which hung at
his girdle, placed it in the hand of the
apprentice.
" Take this," he continued, " you will
find it stuffed with proper metal ; but
have a care of the purse ; it is a sove-
reign charm against sorcery and danger
of all kinds. — George Willoughbye is
your debtor, young man."
The apprentice doffed his leathern cap,
and bowed low as he received the pouch;
but as he did so, he took care to steal a
glance at the features of the donor.
The keel of the boat now grated on
the stairs, and the stranger having en-
tered and taken his seat, it darted out
into the stream, and was soon lost in
the gloom.
" George Willoughbye ! He must be
a noble !" ejaculated Fortescue, thrust-
ing the well-lilled purse into his bosom ;
" I have surely seen that broad fair
face and well-trimmed beard before to-
night. But now for my master's un-
comely visage," and saying this, he bent
his way homeward. He had just reached
Thames- street, when the trampling of
feet was heard on his right.
" Ha ! by the mass ! " muttered the
'prentice as he quickened his pace,
" here 's the city watch going their
rounds. I 'd rather face Master Elliott
than sleep in the compter to-night."
Disappearing stealthily from the spot,
Nicholas Fortescue was in a few minutes
afterwards knocking at his master's door,
on the north side of St. Paul's Church-
yard, now wrapped in total darkness.
Chap. II.
THE CITY WATCH.
Our 'prentice had knocked three or
four times, each knock being louder than
the preceding one, when a window was
opened above, and the gaunt visage of
Master Elliott, illumined by the light of
the lamp which he held in his hand,
looked out ominously upon him.
"Who knocks?" inquired the sta-
tioner, in a loud and angry voice.
- "'Tis I, master," replied the 'pren-
tice, in a soft, subdued, penitential tone.
" Rascal !" cried the man of business,
" get thee gone ! Go and sleep in St.
Nicholas' shambles — I will not let thee
into my house to-night I" and he shut
to the window in a furious passion.
" Hum !" said Fortescue, as he seat-
ed himself on the stone steps ; " then
I 'm likely to get a lodging at the ex-
pense o' the city ; for if I stay here, 1
shall soon be marched off to the comp-
ter. — I'll e'en try him again."
He accordingly renewed his knocking
with increased vehemence ; but Master
Elliott was inexorable ; the door re-
mained closed against him, and our
'prentice resumed his seat on the steps,
whistling a tune and beating time with
his heel.
The sound smote the ear of his mas-
ter, who was praying for the ari'ival of
the watch. He did not pray in vain ;
the watch soon arrived, and the whole
party halted, as soon as they espied the
'prentice, whose solo was hushed in a
moment.
THE PARTERRE.
181
"Ho! friend!" cried the sergeant,
- what art doing there ?"
The 'prentice made no reply, indeed
he knew not what reply to make.
" Kick him up, Will Lathbury," said
the sergeant ; and one of the men ad-
vanced to do liis bidding, but this was
not an easy performance. Fortescue
started up, and swearing a fierce oath,
placed himself in a threatening attitude,
his uniiheathed sword in his hand, and
his buckler covering his head. Dark as
it was, the man perceived his danger and
recoiled. "'Ods, daggers and devils!"
cried the sergeant, " may double-beer
be my poison, if thou 'rt not afraid ! "
" I am not afraid," said the man in a
surly tone ; " and now, my fine fellow,
put up your broadsword, or I'll cleave
your pate for you in a trice."
Daring and obstinate, Nicholas For-
tescue heeded not this menace, but re-
mained on the defensive, when the ser-
geant of the watch again addressed him.
" Harkee, young coistrel ! " cried he,
" this may be very pretty play in Moor
Fields on a summer's evening, but it
won't do here ; throw down your weapon
at once, or you 11 be cut to the chine in
a paternoster."
Tiie 'prentice did not stir.
" Nay then, down with him," conti-
nued the sergeant, perceiving that his
remonstrance produced no effect ; and
Fortescue was instantly stretched on the
ground with the stroke of a brown bill.
His buckler saved his head, but he sunk
under the furious blow, and was instant-
ly seized by two of the watch.
Suddenly there was a stir in the house
of the stationer, whose head a])i)eared at
the window, while the pretty round face
of his daugliter looked out with alarm
over his shi^ulder upon the scene below.
" My dearest father, forgive him,"
murmured the damsel, in a voice trem-
bling with emotion.
" Go to your chamber, girl," said her
father angrily ; " I'll teach the rascal to
be malapert."
" lie not wrath witli him, dear father,"
and the tearn stood in her blue eyes.
" .\ way with thee," cried the stationer,
in a tone which shewed that he would
not he triried with. Jane Elliott instant-
ly left the room in tears, and her father,
leaning f»ut of tin- wind<nv, desired the
watch to lodge bin undutiful apprentice
in the I'oultry compter.
" Nay, nay, muster stationer," said the
sergeant, " lis a pity to uke the boy
*way; your pretty daughter will grieve."
nastcr Elliott turned pale with rage
at this bantering, and he uttered an
execration, which for the ladies' sakes
must not be recorded.
" Go to the devil with you, sirrah !"
cried he, "and have a caie of your
prisoner !"
While this was passing. Nicliolas For-
tescue uttered not a word, much to the
surprise of his master, who naturally
expected to hear him supplicate for par-
don ; but the man of business was dis-
appointed, and shutting-to his window,
he left the watch to conduct their pri-
soner to the compter.
Master Elliott threw himself into his
arm chair, and took a long pull at his
horn of sack posset.
" A murrain take the girl I" cried he ;
" she will plague me more than half a
score of boys ! I'll take a course with
her, spite of her tears, which every
woman can shed at will. Who but a
beardless gallant would be moved by
such ? I should as soon grieve at seeing
a duck walk barefoot !"
The concluding part of Master Elliott's
soliloquy was strictly true ; but the fair
reader should be informed that our wi-
dower had counted sixty summers, and
that he had been plagued for many years
by his wife, who was a shrew.
Chap. III.
THE ALSATIAN BLACKS.MITH.
Shamwell. — " They are up in the Friars."
The Sijuire ofAlsatia,
The boat which conveyed Master Wil-
loughbye, glided rapidly up the stream
in almost total darkness. Here and
there a feeble light glimmered in some
dwelling which encroached upon and
overhung the city wall, and on the other
side of the river the faint light of a
taper might be seen at intervals in the
houses on the bankside. Lower down,
but dimly seen through the gloom, Lon-
don Bridge, with its towers and dwell-
ings, spanned the noble river, whose
dark stream poured tlirough its arches
with a sullen and unbroken roar. But
these were soon lost to the ear and tlie
eye as the boat ascended the river. It
soon approached the neighbourhood of
the Blackfriars, when the noise of smiths'
liainmers aroused .Master Willoughbye
from the reverie in which he had been
indulging.
"Ha!" cried he, "what can this
mean? no citizen can be working at this
late hour !"
The boat contimu'd to advance, and
the sound became more aiul more audi-
ble. They were now uiT the far famed
132
THE PARTERRE.
Whitelriars, and the cause of the noise
became obvious.
In one of the wretched hovels which
descended to the water's edge, was a
smith's forge, the fire from which threw
its red glare upon the river. Two men
were hard at work, and several others
were conversing in boisterous tones.
Mischief was brewing in Atsatia!
" Pull towards that smithy, and lie-to
under the shadow of yon great barge,"
said Master Willoughbye to the rowers.
This command was promptly obeyed,
and the boat was soon within half a
stone's throw of the Alsatians. The
smiths continued at their work for some
time, and the noise they made prevented
the conversation of the others who had
assembled in the slied, from being dis-
tinctly heard by him who was now
playing the eaves-dropper. Merrily rung
the hammers, as they dashed the bright
sparks among the company, whose fea-
tures were lit up by the vivid glow of
the fire — it was a scene worthy the
})en('il of Schalcken.
A lengthened description of the re-
gion of Whitefriars, which, under the
cant name of Alsatia, was for a long
period the hiding-place of the most des-
perate wretches that infested the metro-
polis, will not here be necessary. Shad-
well has left us a play, in which he has"
given a picture of the doings in this
classic land, and Sir Walter Scott, with
consummate skill, has, in " The For-
tunes of Nigel," wrought a beautiful and
stirring scene from the slender materials.
Whitefriars was, at the period of which
we are writing, and for a long while
after, a sanctuary for all whom debt or
crime had thrust from decent society:
the lurking-hole of thieves, beggars, and
bullies, where warrant and capias were
powerless, unless supported by a file of
musketeers ; the head quarters of
- angry spirits,
And turbulent mutterers of stifled treason,
Who hirk in narrow places, and walk out
Siutfled to whisper curses to the night ;
Uisbaiided soldiers, discontented ruffians,
And desperate libertines " — Marino Faliero.
Woe to the unlucky tipstaff who ven-
tured within the precincts of Alsatia ;
a fortunate man was he if he could com-
pound for his life by quietly allowing
himself to be tarred and feathered.
It is long since this human den existed,
but he who visits the spot at the present
day, will find that, although Whitefriars
is no longer a sanctuary for felons and
debtors, it has not been entirely purged
of Its abominations.
But to return to Master Willoughbye.
The hammering in the Alsatian smithy
at length ceased, and the fire sunk down,
so that the boat could approach nearer
without being observed.
"Thejail-birdsof the Friars are hatch-
ing treason," observed one of the boat-
men in a whisper to his fellow.
"Ay," replied the other, "and the
cockneys are going to bed, little dream-
ing, good souls ! that a thousand knives
are sharpening for their throats ! The
mayor is a fool, or he'd give these rascals
a camisado."
Master Willoughbye was listening to
the conversation in the smithy, which
now rung with other music than that of
the anvil.
" There's good stuff at the steel-yard,"
remarked a burly shaped and sinister
featured man, with a ragged jerkin and
a greasy thrum cap ; " ay, capital stuff!
That old Flemish rascal Philip Van
Rynk has many a bale of Brabant linen
in his bestowing rooms."
"Ay, ay!" cried another, "and not
a few ells of cloth of gold, and Inidfre,
and tapestry, and other fineries \\l]i(li
have been denied to the ])oor niaii."
•" And a pretty daughter, too," said a
tall slim young man with a gilt chain
round his neck, a sword and dagger,
and a neatly trimmed beard, all of which
tended to shew his threadbare ajjjiarel
to still greater disadvantage. He hud
been one of the most cuttinggallants that
strutted in St. Paul's for an a])petite.
" Thou mayest take the wench, Master
Lorymer, and leave me the cloth, for I
lack linen," stammered another in a voice
that shewed him to be about three parts
drunk.
" You shall have enough to make
you a comfortable winding-sheet, my
boy," replied the young man, who had
also been drinking. " Have you got your
brown-bill well ground ? These fo-
reigners can fight, and they '11 shew
their teeth, my valiant Hector !"
" Havock's the word," said a fellow
with a ferocious countenance and the
frame of a Hercules ; " I'm for having a
turn at the Frenchmen in St. Martins-
le-grand first, and then we can visit one
Monsieur Meutas in Leadenhall-street,
whose throat I'll cut if we should catch
him at home."
This ruffian had been a butcher, and
had been thrice exposed in the pillory.
" And there 's another frog-eater near
the Conduit in the West Cheap : his
name s Pierre Beauvarlet: he deals in
Naples-fustians, Normandy-canvass, and
TMl-; I'ARTEKRK.
133
Genoa vellet I" said a spiiuHe-shaiikt'il
fellow, who squinted horribly.
" I have shod and sharpened three
score of morrice pikt's, and a dozen
bills to-day, and rfceivt'd but a irroat,"
said one of the smiths; " I'eter Hi'ale,
you have not paid luc for taking the
iioti-bt's out of your broadsword."
" Go to, Sir Vulcan," muttered the
man whose memory had been thus re-
freshed, " I'll pay tliee ti>-moirow."
" 1 liave heard nothing else to-day,"
thouijlit the smith ; " to-iiwnvw will see
many of 'em food for the crows !"
" There 's no chance for the honest
English workman! these d — d foreign-
ers are devouring locusts !" said a little
round punchy man, the very personifi-
cation of idleness.
" Try the country, Measter Andrew,"
growled a tall gaunt figure with a West-
country drawl ; "they'll find 'ee work,
I warraiid ye."
The last speaker had fied from his
native village in Somersetshire, to avoid
the punishment which threatened him
fjr deer-stealing.
Not a word of this conversation was
lost to .M.ister \Villoughl)ye : he was
near enough to hear all that was said,
but entirely shrouded from observation
by the darkness without, while the fire
in the smithy enabled him to scrutinize
the features of the Alsatian assembly.
He determined to wait until this pre-
cious council had broken up.
•' We must force the Poultry comp-
ter, boys I" cried the butcher, " and then
we shall be strong enough to venture
upon Newgate."
" What the d — 1 have we to do with
the prisons, my valiant slaughterman ?"
said the tall young man with the gilt
chiiu; " I thought we were to visit the
foreigners only."
" Then you reckoned without your
counters, .Master Lorymer," remarked
the butcher ; " we have something to
do besides tliat."
Junt at that moment a human head
w.i-i thruit in at the window of the hovel,
and a voice cried out, - " Oh, ye jirccious
plottiTK of treason ! the hemp'.-' already
round your tliroats ! .M.ister Uennis, the
.Sergeant-at-arms, ha.s just entered the
I'riars with a file of hackbut men !"
" Ihe devil !" muttered .Master Lo-
rymer.
The butcher swore a horrible (jath,
which he had probably learned in .St.
.Nicliolai' tliainbles.
" Body o' St. Bennet, we are lo>t 1"
crivl the sqiiiiitiiig fellow.
A begging friar, who had seated him-
self on a bench, and been sleeping
soundly all the time, now started up,
and swore per sanguinem dei !
"Cross of St. Andrew!" cried the
little punchy man, " it 's uncivil to visit
us at this time o' night. Let 's cry
arrest ! and face the rascals."
He made towards the door for that
purjjose, and in another moment the
whole neighbourhood would have been
in an uproar, but the alarm was stopped
by the entrance of the person who had
put his head in at the window.
Tlie new comer was a youth of short
stature, and dull heavy features, with a
profusion of black hair that grew com-
pletely over his forehead, beneath which
his unintellectual grey eyes twinkled
with a sort of stupid satisfaction at the
fright he had occasioned. He advanced
into the midst of the company, and
greeted them with a wild idiot laugh, at
which they were any thing but pleased.
" Ha, ha, ha, ha ! how I scared ye, my
men of wax ! " cried he.
" Curse your frolicking," growled the
butcher ; " I'll slit your weasand, you
skritch owl !"
" Let him alone, my soldan of the
shambles," said Lorymer to the rulfian,
"you wouldn't harm a poor idiot, surely?
A blow on your sconce to-morrow may
make you as witless." Tlien addressing
the youth, — " Edwin, you deserve to be
scourged for this wanton frolic."
" Scourged !" echoed the idiot, grin-
ning a laugh. " Ay, yes, I remem-
ber, there was a king of Morocco once
scourged by the monks at Beckct's
shrine. They don't fiourish the wiiip
to-night, though : no, there's brandish-
ing of pike and halberd, and liaiidling
of caliver I Whew ! I heard the vane
creak on St. Bride's tower, and I said,
ha ! there 's a storm coming from the
west. The devil has set his foot in the
PYiars I"
Here he tweaked the friar's nose, and
made his eyes water ; but the ecclesias-
tic seemed too sleepy to resent it ; so
wiping his ruhieund jiroboscis with his
amjili' sleeve, he muttered, —
" Would tiiat I could drive thee and
thy familiar into the Thames, as our
Lord dealt with the herd of swine; " and
resigned himself again to slee]).
" (Jet home to bed, Kdwiii," said Lo-
rymer ; "gi;t hoiiii', or lit take thee in
hand."
Tlie idiot looked vaguely in the face
of the young man, then uhook his head,
an I siniL' : —
134
THE PARTERRE.
" And the blazoned shield will be broken,
And the tall crest cleft in twain :
Little reck they of knightly gear,
Gilt spurs and golden chain ! "
" Get away with this mummery !"
said Lorymer angrily ; " you will cause
a brawl anon. Go home, sirrah !"
The idiot hung down his head at this
reproof, and quitted the smithy without
saying another word. He had often been
protected from insult by Lorymer, and
the poor wretch feared the anger of one
of the few persons who had treated him
with kindness.
" That bull-calf," said the butcher,
" will work us mischief. Let us go
over to the Bankside, and see limping
Harry and the boys of the Clink."
" Come on, then," cried several voices
at once; and immediately the hovel was
almost empty. The Alsatians were pre-
paring to cross the water, and Master
Willoughbye having sufficiently gratified
his curiosity, and given a nod to his
men, the boat shot out noiselessly into
the stream, and proceeded up the river.
{Concluded at p. 145.)
STANZAS.
BY HORACE GUILFORD.
{For the Parterre.)
When widowed Salem's captive band,
Beneath Nebassar's conquering ban-
ner,
Were dragged to Shinar's sultry strand.
And changed to groans the high Ho-
sanna ;
Assyria, 'mid the banquet's pride,
Insulted Judah's fettered lion ;
" Sing, bards of Palestine !" she cried,
" Sing us the melodies of Sion ! "
But songless, hopeless, heartless — they
Sate weeping by Euphrates' billow ;
Their harps, through many a weary day,
Hung silent on Euphrates' willow.
Thus 1 ; — around me all is gay ;
Each eye in heedless pleasure gleam-
ing ;
Or gazing (how unfeelingly!)
On mine in untold sorrow streaming.
Yes ! we have breathed the dread fare.
well !
And thou art gone, perchance for ever;
Yet in Griefs pang, or Pleasure's swell,
Thiiik'st thou my heart forgets thee?
Never !
Whate'er of joy may o'er me steal,
I only think with thee 't were dearer ;
However deep the woe I feel,
1 deem the loss of thee severer !
THF
PAINTER'S REVELATION.
" I cannot paint it ! " exclaimed Duncan
Weir, as he threw down his pencil in
despair.
The portrait of a beautiful female rest-
ed on his easel. The head was turned
as if to look into the painter's face, and
an expression of delicious confidence and
love was playing about the half parted
mouth. A mass of luxuriant hair, stir-
red by the position, threw its shadow
upon a shoulder that but for its transpa-
rency you would have given to Itys, and
the light from which the face turned
away fell on the polished throat with
the richmellownessof a moonbeam. She
was a brunette — her hair of a glossy
black, and the blood melting through
the clear brown of her cheek, and sleep-
ing in her lip like colour in the edge of
a rose. The eye was unfinished. He
could not paint it. Her low, expressive
forehead, and the light pencil of her eye-
brows, and the long, melancholy lashes
were all perfect; but he had painted
the eye a hundred times, and a hundred
times he had destroyed it, till, at the
close of a long day, as his light failed
him, he threw down his pencil in de-
spair, and resting his head on his easel,
gave himself up to the contemplation
of the ideal picture of his fancy.
I wish ail my readers had painted a
portrait, the portrait of the face they
best love to look on — it would be such a
chance to thrill them with a description
of the painter's feelings. There is nothing
but the first timid kiss that has half its
delirium. Why — think of it a moment !
To sit for hours gazing into the eyes you
dream of! To be set to steal away the
tint of the lip and the glory of the brow
you worship ! To have beauty come
and sit down before you, till its spirit is
breathed into your fancy, and you can
turn away and paint it ! To call up, like
a rash enchanter, the smile that bewil-
ders you, and have power over the ex-
pression of a face, that, meet you where
it will, laps you in Elysium ! — Make me
a painter, Pythagoras !
A lover's picture of his mistress, paint-
ed as she exists in his fancy, would never
be recognised. He would make little of
features and complexion. No — no he
has not been an idolater for this. He
has seen her as no one else has seen her,
with the illumination of love, which once
in her life, makes every woman under
heaven an angel of light. He knows her
heart, too— its gentleness, its fervour;
THE PARTERRE.
135
luid when she comes up in his imagina-
tion, it is not her visible form jjassini; be-
fore his mind's eye, but the apparition
of her invisible virtues, elothed in the
tender recollections of their discovery
and developement. If he remembers her
features at all, it is the chaiifiing colour
of her cheek, or the droop of her curved
lashes, or the witchery of the smile
that welcomed him. And even then he
was intoxicated with her voice — iilways
a sweet instrument when the heart plays
upon it — and his eye was good for no-
thing. No — it is no matter what she
may be to others — she appears to him
like a bright and perfect being, and he
would as soon paint St. Cecilia with a
wart, as his mistress with an imperfect
feature.
Duncan could not satisfy himself. He
painted with his heart on fire, and he
threw by canvass after canvass till his
room was like a gallery of angels. In
perfect despair, at last, he sat down and
made a deliberate copy of her features —
the exquisite picture of which we have
spoken. Still, the eye haunted him.
He felt as if it would redeem all, if he
could give it the expression with which
it looked back some of his impassioned
declarations. His skill, however, was,
as yet, baffled, and it was at the close of
the third day of unsuccessful effort that
he relinquished it in despair, and, drop-
Eing his head upon his easel, abandoned
imself to his imagination.
• • • • •
Duncan entered the gallery with He-
len leaning on his arm. It was thronged
with visiters. Groupcs were collected
before the favourite ])ictures, and the low
hum of criticism rose confusedly, varied
now and then by the exclamation of
some enthusiastic spectator. In a con-
spicuous part of the room hung ' The
.Mute R<'|)ly, by Duncan Weir.' A
crowd had gathered before it, and were
gazing on it with evident pleasure. Ex-
Eressions of surprise and admiration
roke frequently from the group, ami
a-s they fell on the ear of Duncan, he felt
an irresistible impulse to ai)proaeh and
look at his own |)icture. \\ hat is like
the affection of a jiaiiiter for the olfsjiring
of his genius? It seemed to liim as if
he had never before seen it. Ther<? it
hung like a new |)icture, and he dwelt
upon it with all the interest of a stranger.
It Wiis indeed most beautiful. There
wan a bewitching hjveliness floating (jver
the features. The figure and air had a
peculiar ^rrace and freedom ; but the eye
shewed the genius of the nuuiter. It was
a large, lustrous eye, moistened without
wec])ing, and lifted up, as if to the face
of a lover, with a look of iiulescribalile
tenderness. The deception was wonder-
ful. It seemed every moment as if the
moisture would gather into a tear, and
roll down her iheek. There was a strange
freshness in its impression upon Duncan.
It seemed to have the very look that had
sometimes beamed upon him in the twi-
light. He turned from it aiul looked at
Helen. Her eyes met his with the same
— the self-same expression of the picture.
A murnuir of pleased recognition stole
from the crowd, whose attention was at-
tracted Duncan burst into tears
and awoke. He had been dreaming on
his easel !
« w • « *
"Do you believe m dreams, Helen?"
said Duncan, as he led her into the studio
the next day to look at the finished pic-
ture.
THE WITCH.
It is a very common observation, but
not the less true on that account, that no
' advantage is fully prized except by the
want of it. Our fair countrywonien,
who are now instructed in every branch
of education, can with ditliculty realize
the ignorance of tiieir feinali' ajicestors,
with whom to read and write was con-
sidered learning enough to have made a
modern blue-stocking. It must be con-
fessed that, even now, a woman gifted
with any uncommon literary acquire-
ments, falls under the displeasure of the
well-dressed illiterate dandies of the day;
but their jurisdiction is a harmless one,
and seldom extends beyond a shrug or
the opprobrious epithet of blue. But
this was not the case in 1669. Then,
female literature excited serious susjji-
cion, and was taken under the cognizance
of that memorable and never to be forgot-
ten synod of jiioiis, enlightened worthies,
who would fain liave ciuidemned all tlie
ugly old women, and all the intelligent
young ones, to be hanged or drowned as
witches.
It was the misfortune of Ann Jones
to be born at this period. She lived at
New Haven, and, when a child, dis-
covered a remarkable faculty of learning.
She could string rhymes together, as
children of quick and i)layful imagina-
tions are wont to do. Ann's father <licd
before her genius had develojied itself
beyond any other indication of gieat
l)owers than imitating tiie language of
every animal she heard. This early
136
THE PARTERRE.
habit gave her, no doubt, a flexibility of
organs. In the present day, a young
lady may have the gift of half a dozen
tongues, and a more accurate knowledge
of all than her own, without exciting
wonder; but it must be remembered
that Ann flourished nearly two centuries
ago. Her mother was a good hearted,
honest, respectable woman, and early
discovered that she had brought a pro-
digy into the world. This discovery
mothers are daily making now, and pro-
digies have so much multiplied, that
nobody is surprised to And the youngest
or the oldest child a complete wonder.
Tlie mother was constantly relating in-
stances of the extraordinary talents of her
child, and, among other things, aflirmed,
before a number of people who were af-
terwards summoned as witnesses against
the girl, that she could say her letters
before she could speak ; which, if the
woman had not explained her meaning
by stating that she could pick them out
of the alphabet before she could articu-
late, was certainly enough to have hung
her for a witch in any court of justice.
A Dutch family removed from New
Amsterdam to New Haven. Formerly
the people of New Amsterdam had de-
.signated the inhabitants of New Haven
as ' squatters,' and now the term was
thrown back on the respectable and an-
cient family of Von PofFenburghs, who,
though they purchased every inch of
land they occupied, were, most unjustly,
by way of contempt, called squatters.
Some say that nothing serious was meant
b}' this appellation, and that it was only
ill derision of the superabundance of pet-
ti(;oats that were worn by Vrowe Von
Polfenburgh, which, when she seated
herself, gave her an appearance to which
the above injurious term might be ap-
plied. They built a low house with
slanting roof and gable ends, and though
it might shew meanly by the side of our
city houses, was then considered one of
' exceeding costliness.'
It must be confessed that the goede
vrowe discovered a little more pride in
dress than was congenial to the simpli-
city of the times. It was said she never
walked out with less than ten petti-
coats, and as coniidently asserted she
could bring ten more to cover them.
And then her jewelry was of the most
extravagant kind. She wore her pin-
ball and scissors dangling at her side by
a massy silver chain, and her square buc
kles contained more silver than any other
lady's in the colony. The shortness of
her petticoats excited much iudignatioii
among the New England dames. Tht-y
said there would have been some excuse
had economy been the object, but it was
evident what was taken from the length
was put on to the breadth. They there-
fore very candidly concluded that their
brevity was contrived to shew off a pair
of red stockings with gold clocks, well
fitted to ankles that did not discredit
the epithet of Dutch built.
Unfortunately for poor Ann, the vrowe
took a great fancy to her, and said she
was the very image of her little Dirk
Von PofTenburgh, who died when he
was a baby. Nothing would do but
Ann must have a set of petticoats, and
she actually rigged out the poor girl
with buckles as big as her own. Some
said they were silver, and others that
they were only pewter, and scoured
every week with the plates and por-
ringers. At any rate she did enough to
draw the hatred and envy of the whole
village upon her.
It is no wonder that Ann, who could
imitate the language of dumb beasts,
should catch the vrowe's. It was surely
pleasanter to make human sounds than
to baa-u like sheep, or moo-o like cows.
In a very short time she could speak
Dutch as well as mynheer himself. All
this at first had no other consequence
than exciting envy and ill-will ; but, not
content with two tongues, Ann contrived
to exercise a third. She spoke strange,
unknown words, that even the Dutcii
people confessed they could not under-
stand themselves. About this time the
witches began their gambols in New
England, and one of the strongest evi-
dences against them was speaking in an
unknown tongue. Ann began to be
looked upon with an evil eye. It was
not, however, till a young man of the
name of Hall became strangely affected,
that the whole village grew alarmed. It
was said that she had so bewitched him
by her arts and infernal charms, that he
could do nothing but follow her about
like a Jack-o'-lantern. It was generally
agreed that he used to be a steady, busi-
ness-like young man ; hut since he iiad
known her he had neglected all work,
and would saunter whole nights under
her window. This was bad enough, but
when other young men began to shew
symptoms of the same kind, it was time
to look into the matter. There were
some strong arguments used by the more
intelligent and candid against her being
an actual witch. It was said by every
(lie who had deeply studied the subject,
til t the 'abominable and damnable sin
THE FAIiTERKE.
i;J7
ot witchcraft,' was wholly confined to
iifjly old women, whose faces were
wrinkled by time, whose joints were dis-
torted by rheumatism, and whose steps
were tottering from debility. Now it
could not be denied that Ann was fair to
look upon, her coni[)lexion as smooth as
marble, and her step as firm and ehustic
as thut of a mountain deer. Possibly
these favourable circumstances might
have acquitted her in the eyes of the
venerable magistrates and divines of
Salem ; but they did not at all meliorate
the feelings of the mothers and daugh-
ters at New Haven, who sat in judgment
upon poor Ann. They unanimously pro-
nounced that she was a sorceress, and
tiiat her beauty was nothing but a mask ;
and if it were strij)ped off, she would be
uirly aiul old enough to excite the indig-
nation of any magistrate in New Eng-
land, or even Cotton Mather himself.
At any rate the effect she produced began
to excite serious alarm.
At this time there lived at New Haven
a very excellent, good hearted woman,
by the name of Eyers. She had heard
all these stories of Ann, and not being
a full believer in witches, had a laudable
curiosity to behold one. Accordingly
she sent for her to come and see her;
when, strange to say, after a few hours'
conversation, she became ajjjiarently un-
der the inriuence of her spells, and used
to invite her to make long visits at her
house.
It could not be expected that things
would be suffered to go on in this way,
and, accordingly, a warrant was issued
f >r a|)prehending Ann Jones accused of
the ' abominable and damnable sin of
witchcraft. ' She was arrested and thrown
into prison. But as the judges were not
so expert and so much practised in find-
ing out witches as in Salem, and as
nrjbody api)eared against lier but a few
LTTJ- of her own age, and half a dozen
< hildren who said she had come to them
under the shape of a black cat, the ma-
•»'istrates were unwise enough to dimiss
lier This acfjuittal, however, did not
release Ann from suspicion. It grew
-tronger than ever. She had always
troin her childhood loved to wander over
hills ind valleys. She was healthy and
ro! list, and never hesitated to take her
walk- because the wiiiri blew, or the sky
lowered. With herlitthf red cloak wrap
pi-d round her, and her gay and hapjiy
fiu;e peeping from the hood, she bra\(d
every eletnent. As bhc grew oliler, she
still preserved her taste for rambling,
aii'i, ub bhc could now go nowhere with.
out observation, her favourite haunts
were soon discovered. It was said she
was often seen vibrating on a broomstick
in the air between East and West Rocks,
and alighting alternately on each; and
that, though the latter was a jierpendi-
cular cliff, rising three hundred feet,
she would run up that, or the side of a
house with the greatest ease. It was
also said that she was once seen standing
on the top of this tremendous rock, and
that somebody fired at her, and she sunk
down into the earth. It was supposed
she was laid for one while, when, to their
horror, they saw her a few hours after-
wards looking as bright and as liaj)])y as
ever. Wherever she walked she found
her path ini])('dcd by broomsticks and
horseshoes, and, though she skipped
over them good-humouredly, it was con-
fidently asserted that she was always
stopped by their infallible power.
About this time, new accounts arrived
of the 'wonder-working providence of
God in detecting the witches in various
parts of New England.' It was thought
by many people a disgrace to New Ha-
ven that it had not sigruxlized itself in
this business, and Ann was more closely
inspected than ever. At length it was
actually discovered, that she was often
met by a mysterious-looking jiersonage,
who sluiflied along as if he had a cloven
foot, and some averred that they had
positivel}' seen it. It was easy now
to account for her strange languages.
There could be no doubt but this mys
terious being was Beelzebub himself,
and there were various conjectures upon
the nature of their connexion. Some
supposed she had made a league with
him, and signed the bond with her blood;
that he hud supplied her with her buc-
kles, and was finally to be rewarded with
her immortal soul. Others supposed
she was his wife, and coadjutor with him.
It was not however till sonic months
after she had been seen with this mys-
terious personage tiiat the worst suspi-
cions were realized. Mrs. Eyers' kitchen
was situated on the street. The windows
were low, and it was an edifying sight to
look into them. The dressers and shelves
weregarnished with bright pewterplates,
standing on their edges, and peei)ing
through rows of tin sauci'jjans, dipi)ers,
and skimmers, tiiat hungsuspended from
the shelves, while a shining brass warm,
ing pan and chafing-dish garnished the
wainscot. A woman happening to puss
by, cast her eye with a little maidenly
curiosity into the kitchen, and helieid
Ann Jones bitting there and conversing
138
THE PARTERRE.
with her demon ! The alarm was im-
mediately given, and Mrs. Eyers, who
happened to be visiting in the neighbonr-
hood, was one of the first to hear the
horrible story. It may well be supposed
that she was in great agitation and im-
mediately hastened home, but, before
she arrived, people had collected and sur-
rounded the house. Mrs. Eyers immedi-
ately proposed that all the outside shut-
ters should be closed, the door fastened,
and the key holes stopped, lest Ann and
her familiar should escape. This was
done with the greatest expedition by
some, while others went for a warrant
to apprehend the girl. It was said that
some were absurd enough to suppose
that even Beelzebub might be laid fast
hold =of, and brought to trial. Strict
watch was kept upon the roof and the
chimneys, for it was thought an easy
thing for them to escape in this clan-
destine manner. At length the warrant
arrived. Expectation and curiosity were
wound up to their highest pitch, the door
was carefully opened, when to the horror
and astonishment of everybody present
not a living soul was to be seen ! The
strictest investigation was made ; they
searched in every corner and every
closet; up chimney and down cellar; no
traces could be found, and, it was clear,
Beelzebub had claimed his wife !
Months and years passed away, and
nothing was heard of Ann Jones. Her
mother could not endure the disgrace of
having such a son-in-law, and very soon
after this discovery disappeared from
New Haven. Mrs. Eyers never could
be prevailed on to mention her name ;
and young Hall, who had been Ann's
fast friend, removed to a distant part of
the country.
It was not till many years after, that
a worthy clergyman was travelling in
Vermont, and made inquiries for a Mrs.
Hall, for whom he had a letter. When
he was introduced to her, he was struck
by former recollections.
' You don't know me?' said she,
smiling.
' Not exactly,' he replied ; ' and yet 1
think I have seen you before.'
' You don't remember the little witch,
Ann Jones ? ' said she.
' Indeed I do,' he exclaimed, starting
up and taking her hand, 'and I have
now a letter for you from our worthy
friend Mrs. Eyers.'
' I had a hard time of it,' replied Ann,
' at New Haven. You know how long
I was accused as a sorceress, because my
husband there chose to fall in love with
me, and conduct himself as if he was
bewitched; and then, too, because an
excellent friend taught me Latin, and 1
had the wit to catch a little smattering
of Dutch, I was supposed to be possess-
ed of an evil spirit. But the good peo-
ple were not so much to blame as they
might appear,' continued she, ' and I
freely forgive them their persecution,
for it must be confessed there were
some suspicious appearances.'
' So I have understood,' said the cler-
gyman, gravely.
' You did not know, then,' said she,
' that I was employed as an agent by
Mrs. Eyers, and our good minister, Mr.
Davenport, to carry food to a poor man
who lived in a cave on West Rock ? '
' No,' replied the gentleman, ' nor how
you escaped from your persecutors.'
' It is a simple story,' said she, ' marvel-
lous as it seems. Mrs. Eyers had a closet
made behind one of the panels of her
kitchen, so exactly fitted and covered
with kitchen utensils that no one ever
suspected it was there. With this secure
retreat in case of danger, the poor gentle-
man could sometimes quit his cave and
live like a Christian, and, in return for
my services, he taught me many useful
branches of knowledge. When the alarm
was given and the shutters closed, we
retreated to the closet and escaped dis-
covery. But my friends began to think
it was best for me to quit New Haven
before I was hung or drowned, and so,'
added she, ' I came to this spot with my
husband. My mother joined me, and
here we have lived for fifteen years. I
have a healthy family of children, and
keep up a constant correspondence with
Mrs. Eyers, who has never ceased to
shew me kindness for the little service
1 did her friend.'
' May I ask,' said the clergyman, ' who
was the gentleman you so essentially
served?'
' You may,' said she, ' for he has now
gone to his account. He is beyond the
reach of friends or enemies. He sleeps
under the clod of the valley. It was
GoFFE, the regicide judge.'
The Legendary.
NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS. "
The Beauties of Beaumont and Fletcher.
By Horace Guilford. Birmingham :
Wrightson and Webb ; and Simpkin
and Marshall, London.
" Another batch of beauties !" exclaims
some sour-featured critic, " there is no
end to these mutilations of our best
THE PARTERRE.
139
authors !" True, there have been many
attempts to cull for the use of the indo-
ent, or those who cannot read much tor
want of leisure, the beauties which a-
bound in the works of our poets and
dramatists. But by whom has this been
performed ? Generally by those whose
reason and judgment are far below the
standardof those for whom they presume
to select. It is not so with the compiler
of this little tome : his writings shew
him to be a gentleman of much good
taste and sound judgment ; and in this
selection he has given additional evidence
of the possession of both these qualities ;
but hear what he says for himself, and
the motives which induced him to turn
compiler.
'• it was in tJie depth of the last winter
night, when November and December
were sailing by in all their paraphernalia
of gloom, and rain, and wind, — when the
fire-place surpasses the sun in warmth,
and the clean hearth the meadows in
beauty, — that I took up Beaumont and
Fletcher in the evenings, deeming their
vol'imes no incongruous accompani-
ments to the roaring of the storm, and
the chuckling tlame that went merrily
up the old chitnney.
" At first, I contented myself with
noting in pencil lines the parts that
struck me by their grandeur, their |ia-
tlio>, and their wit, or by the fidelity
and force with which they illustrated
the tone and colouring of that gorgeous
pageant of society, the Elizabethan and
btuar periods.
" These and similar passages, however,
grew so rapidly on my hands, that I had
recourse to a common-j)lace book, and
began right earru'stly to transcribe each
passage as it pleased me.
" Then it was, and while kindling
with the splendid and endless jjruccssioii
of fine thin(;s which ap|)eared atid passed
by, that I began to notice with disgust
the fuul unsightly creatures that mingled
with them, and, in many places, almost
ob-cured them.
" The most deliberate outrages upon
delicacy, the most wanton cxubenuice of
obscenity, unutterable abominations of
language and conception, and an absolute
Wallowing in the sly of impurity, are all
1.0 interwoven with the several I'lays, as
to defy even the >.kill of a Howdli-r him-
self, and muHt ever render the produc-
tions of Beaumont and I'Tetchcr a sealed
bortk, such a>* no father (jf a taiiiily could
ronHcientiouhly put into the hands of his
children.
•* Such it might have remained (or mc,
had I not been irresistibly impressed by
the conviction, that there was by far too
vast a preponderance of good to be oier-
eome of eiil.
" Tliat conviction was the sole origin
of this little jiublication ; .whether the
cause was adequate |p° not, those who
read must decide. There were rubies,
and emeralds, and diamonds thick sown
upon a cloth of frieze ; I have ventured
to pluck them away, with little care
for their uncomely ground-work, and to
wreath them into a Carcanct, which
may sparkle before the purest eyes that
ever shone in kindred rays."
Our readers will not hesitate to ac-
knowledge, that he who could write thus,
was well qualified for the task he has
so ably performed. " Horace Guilford"
has, indeed — to borrow the motto from
bis title-page — heaped together
" Infinite riches in a little room."*
THE NUPTIALS OF COUNT
RIZZARI OF SICILY.
A FACT.
At La Bruca, a romantic village situated
between the cities of Syracuse and Ca-
tania, stands the baronial residence of
the Uukes of La Bruca, a magnificent
old edifice, which about fifty years since
was the scene of the tragic event I am
about to relate. The duke, its proprietor
at the time, had an only daughter, of
about eighteen years of age, possessed of
unusual beauty and accomplishments ;
these, and the large property to which
she was heiress, made her hand eagerly
sought after by almost all the young men
of family whose birth and fortune could
entitle them to the honour of so high an
alliance. From amongst these her father
would gladly have |)crniittc(l her to select
a suitable conii)anion. But her afl^ec-
tions were inalienably engaged by the
second son of Count Rizzari, of Catania,
an intimate friend of the duke. The
favoured lover was about the same age
as the young lady, and had, ever since
her recollection, been tlie companion of
her childhood. A cadet with little or no
fortune, was a match to which, if there
bad been no other obstacle, the |)ride of
the duki! would never have consented ;
there was, moreover, the further iinpedi-
nu'Ut, that tlit; young man was intended
for th<' church, and coiise(jueiitly<lestined
to celibacy. Thi! cause of the lady'H
aversion to her other suitors was soon
evident to both families, who were
• Marlowe's Jew of Mult.i.
140
THE PARTERRE.
equally anxious to put a period to in-
clinations, likely, if unchecked, to ter-
minate in the misery of both parties.
The count resolved to remove his son
from a spot where, enchained by early
associations and excited by the contiiuial
presence of the beloved object, there
seemed but little probability of his
overcoming his misplaced passion.
Young Rizzari was accordingly sent
to Rome, in order at once to finish his
studies and obtain the advantage of an
introduction to individuals of rank and
inriuence in the church. An ecclesiasti-
cal life was not Rizzari's natural voca-
tion, and he resolved internally not to
embrace it, trusting to chance and time
for the birth of some event favourable to
his hopes and passion. Indeed, it soon
proved so, beyond what his most san-
guine expectations had led him to an-
ticipate. His elder brother, who had
married subsequently to his departure,
died, unexi)ectedly, without issue, a few
months after. Though really attached
to his brother, the vast change in his
circumstances and prospects prevented
his feeling the loss so acutely as would
otherwise have been natural. On re-
ceiving a summons to attend his afflicted
parents, he lost not a moment, as may
be imagined, in returning to Sicily.
The heirs of families of distinction are
never permitted to enter either the mili-
tary or ecclesiastical professions, and in
event of the younger brother's succeed-
ing to the prospect of the paternal inhe-
ritance, the vows, if taken, are usually
dispensed with by the court of Rome.
The young count thus saw in an instant
both impediments to his marriage un-
expectedly removed. His father, at his
solicitation, soon proposed to his friend
the duke, the union of the two families,
in the persons of their respective heirs ;
an oifer which was accepted: with plea-
sure by the duke, and with delight by
his daughter.
An early day was appointed for the
nuptial ceremony, which the duke deter-
mined should be celebrated at his feudal
residence at La Bruca. Invitations
were issued to all the nobility of the
neighbourhood for many miles round.
Of such extent were the preparations,
that a fete so magnificent as that intend-
ed had not been heard of for many years.
The whole country was in motion. Con-
gratulations poured in from every quar-
ter, and all seemed interested in the hap-
piness of the young couple. But there
was one person, the Cavaliere [at
the rei^uest of the fri'jud wliu favoured
me with the anecdote, I suppress his
name, that of a noble family at present
existing in splendour in Catania,] who
did not participate in the joy and satis-
faction manifested by others. This indi-
vidual, who was remarkable fur his
wealth, his accomplishments, and his
handsome person, though still in the
flower of life, was of an age which
doubled that of the intended bride of
the young count. One of her most im-
passioned admirers, he had, during the
residence of Rizzari at Rome, made pro-
posals to her father. His family and
wealth sufficiently recommended him to
the duke, but having prevented his
daughter from choosing the object of
her affections, he resolved at least not
to force on her a match disagreeable to
herself; and, therefore, whilst he testi-
fied his own readiness to accept the
offer, referred the cavaliere to his
daughter for a final answer. She at once
gave him a negative so decided, as to
have extinguished hope in any bosom
smitten by a passion less consuming and
uncontroulable than that of the cavaliere.
Undeterred by refusal, he continued to
press his suit with an importunity, and
even violence, whichinstead of removing
difficulties, soon heightened indifference
into aversion ; yet, calculating on the
apparent impossibility of her being uni-
ted to the object of her early flame, he
relied on time and absence for obliterat-
ing from her heart the impression made
on it by young Rizzari, and assiduously
persevered in his unwelcome attentions.
Great then was his rage and disappoint-
ment at the death of the elder Rizzari ;
and the arrival, proposal, and acceptance
of the younger as the husband of the
lady, whom self-love had persuaded him
was sooner or later destined to be his
own. Tortured at once by all the pangs
of an unrequited passion, and by a de-
vouring jealousy, proud and vindictive
by nature, even beyond the wont of Si-
cilians of rank, the favoured lover be-
came the object of a hatred too deadly
to be depicted by language, and the
cavaliere was heard to threaten a ven-
geance as terrible as were the bad pas-
sions which raged with such irresistible
sway ill his own guilty breast.
Soon after the acceptance of Rizzari,
the cavaliere disappeared from Catania;
some said he had retired to one of his
villas in the neighbourhood, others that
ne had gone abroad; in fact, no one
knew whither he had betaken himself.
The ha])piness of the lovers left them
little time to think of the cavaliere, and
THE PARTERRE.
141
ibeir fancied security did not permit
them for a moment to fear, or even
dream of. the effects of his disappoint-
ment or resentment.
The happy day at length came : the
marriage was celebrated in the village
chapel, which was thronged to excess
bv rich and poor, noble and peasant. At
the very moment when the enraptured
bridegroom placed the emblematic circle
on the slender linger of liis lovely bride,
a contemptuous and discordant laugh,
so loud, so long, and so strange in its
expression that it resembled rather that
of a tiend than that of a human being,
was heard far above the hum and mur-
mur of the assemblage in the cha])el.
Such extraordinary rudeness instantly
drew the attention of all present ; but to
their astonishment, although the omi-
nous peal still contiimed, it was impos-
sible to ascertiun the individual from
whom it proceeded. When it at length
ceased, the ceremony continued, and the
affront, if it was meant for one, was-
soon forgotten in the succession of cir-
cumstances of a more agreeable nature.
Every room in the superb old man-
.eion. the bridal chamber excepted, was
thrown open to the assembled hundreds:
neither ex])ense nor labour had been
spared, that could in any way add to the
luxury and magnificence of the occasion.
'I he tables groaned beneath the innu-
merable delicacies placed before the
noble company, who were entertained in
the vast hall of the chateau; and ample
supplies gladdened the peasants and
de|)endents of both houses, who were
feasted on the lawns and gardens before
the palace. The banqueting at length
cea-sed. The villa and the grounds were
alike splendidly illuminated, and soon
after niglitfall dancing commenced both
within and without the building.
The bride, whose jiresent felicity was
so greatly in contract with her late ex-
pectations, was observed to be in remark-
ably high spirits, making no affectation
of concealing the ha[)piness which ])er-
vaded her. After the ball had continued
for some time, and all breathed satisfac-
ti(ni and [)leasure, two |)ersons, masked
and rlrcssed in the costunn- of peasants
of the country, entered the princ-ipiil sa-
loon and nistantly began dancing, throw-
ing themselves, with garlands which
they held in their hands, into a variety
of uttitudcK : it wait observed that they
both acquitted themstdves surprisingly
WidI ; but oni', Irniii the ccjntour ot figure
and li;,'htriess ol movement, was hUH-
pccted, though botli were dressed in male
attire, to be a woman. It is requisite
to remark that the ball was not in mask,
and that it is customary in Italy and
Sicily for masks, when they join a com-
pany, to nnike themselves known to the
master of the house, as a security against
the introduction of improper or unwel-
comed persons. This etiquette was not
observed on the present occasion, but
the masks entering with gestures ex-
pressive of a request for admission, they
were received without ditliculty, it being
probably looked upon as some device
for adding to the amusement of the
party. Their performance exciting the
admiration of the company, the grace
and ease of their movements became
the subject of conversation. It then aj)-
pearing that they were unknown, some
of the guests, curious to discover them,
hinted that it was time that they sliould
unmask, in order to take some refresh-
ment : this they, with signs — for they
spoke not — at first declined, but being
pressed, signified in the same maimer
that they would only discover them-
selves to the master of the house. The
bridegroom was accordingly called from
the side of his bride for the purpose :
good- humouredly joining his friends in
soliciting the strangers to make them-
selves known, they gave him to under-
stand, always in pantomime, that since
such was his desire, they were willing to
gratify him, and that if he would retire
with them for a moment, they would
unmask to him, but to him alone, as
they wished to preserve their incognito
from the rest of the company.
The count and the masks withdrew
together. In the meantime, the music,
the dancing, and all the pleasures of the
joyous scene went on. The absence of
the bridegroom was scarcely noticed by
any one except the bride, who, with eyes
wandering in search of him, more than
once testified her surprise at his stay.
In about twenty miiuites, the same two
persons, as was evident from their figure,
lately masked as iieasants, re-entered the
ball-room, but their dress was changed ;
they were now in comi)lete mourning.
Hctween them, one su])porting the head,
the other the feet, they carried a tliird
so carefully and entirelyenveloped in a
large black vest, that neither his form
nor features were distinguishable. As
they moved slowly on with measured
pace, they pretended by signs to express
their grief for the death of the person
they carried. An ai)pcarance so ominous
on a nuptial night, excited sensations of
an unpleasuig nature ; but noone tluuighC
142
THE PARTERRE.
proper to interfereinapantomimewhicli,
strange and ill-chosen as it was, they
conceived permitted by the master of-
the house. The masks having reached
the middle of the room, deposited their
burthen there, and began to dance round
it in a variety of grotesque attitudes,
caricaturing sorrow. At this ill-boding
and unaccountable scene, the high spirits
of the bride instantaneously forsook her,
and were succeeded by an almost pre-
ternatural sensation of dejection and
horror. Looking anxiously round, she
again, in a faltering voice, inquired for
her husband. The sister of Rizzari, one
of the bridesmaids, struck by her sudden
paleness and ill-suppressed agitation,
asked if she was indisposed. She replied
that she felt oppressed by a sense of
anxiety and alarm, of which she could
not conceive the origin. Her sister-in-
law told her, that it was nothing but the
evaporation of her late unusual high
spirits, which, as is often the case, were
succeeded by a causeless depression.
Just then the masks, having finished
their feigned funeral dance, advanced to
the bride ; and one of them, the male,
drawing her by the sleeve, spoke for the
first time loud enough to be heard by
those aroinid, " Venite atpiangere le rwstre
e le vostre miserie." — (" Come and weep
for your own misery and ours.")
A chill went to the heart of the bride
at these ill-omened words. She drew
shudderingly back, and fell almost in-
sensible in the arms of her sister-in-law.
A murmur ran round ; it was manifest
the cause of the bride's alarm was owing
to the extraordinary proceeding of the
persons in mask, who perceiving the
impression they had excited, hastily
withdrew. In an instant they had dis-
appeared ; but whither they went, or
what became of them afterwards, was
known to no one.
in the meantime, the bystanders re-
marked in surprise how well the person
lying on the floor performed his part of
a dead man : not a limb stirred, not a
muscle moved, nor was he perceived to
breathe. Curiosity prompted them to
touch him, and lift his arms ; they fell
heavy and motionless by his side ; his
hand too was cold to the touch — cold as
that of a corpse. Surprise led them
farther — they uncovered his face — O
God ! it vias that of a corpse, and that
corpse was the bridegroom !
Who shall paint the dreadful scene
that ensued ? Exclamations of surprise,
shrieks of horror, cries for the masks —
here females swooning in terror — there
men running to and fro with drawii
.swords — this inquiring the cause of the
sudden disturbance — that denouncing
vengeance on the murderers ; — all was
distraction and confusion ! Her terrified
friends instantly hurried away the trem-
bling bride, anticipating some horrible
event, as yet unconscious of the whole
extent of her misfortune. As they bore
her ofl^, the name of her husband, dead,
murdered, strangled, fell on her ears ;
insensibility for a few moments re-
lieved her from the exquisite agony of
her situation. They carried her to the
bridal camber — in that chamber had the
accinsed deed been perpetrated ; the
disordered furniture shewed signs of a
struggle ; the instruments of death lay
on the floor, and on the nuptial couch
the infernal assassins had cast a branch
of funeral cypress, the token of their pre-
meditated and accomplished vengeance.
The duke, in whose bosom rage and
anguish predominated by turns, station-
ed himself with a party of friends, with
drawn swords, at the doors of the palace,
whilst a strict but ineffectual search was
carried on within. In a few minutes,
the party, late so joyous, broke up in
consternation ; hundreds instantly went
off by different roads in search of the
murderers, but all pursuit was unavail-
ing. The police subsequently lent its
aid : every angle of the country, for
leagues round, was explored in vain.
The perpetrators of the atrocious crime
had escaped ; nor, indeed, were they
ever satisfactorily discovered.
Suspicion fell on the cavaliere ; but
though the most rigid search was made,
he was not to be found. Some time
after, it was discovered that he had left
Sicily, to which he never returned, and
was residing at Vienna. It was ru-
moured, but the truth was never clearly
ascertained, that he subsequently con-
fessed himself the author and actor of
this horrid tragedy, and gloried in the da-
ring and fiend-like stratagem by which
he had so signally accomplished it.
The widowed bride never recovered
the shock. Her life was for a time des-
paired of. As soon as her strength per-
mitted, she retired into a convent, where
death, the best friend of the wretched,
ere long put an end to her sufferings *
* In the year 1832, Don Luigi Nani,
a Catanese priest, was imprisoned by the
orders of government on a complaint of
one of the families concerned, for having
related this event to the public from the
pulpit. — Metropolitan M a^ azine.
THE PARTERRE.
143
MEMORABILIA,
BY A DESCENDANT OF OLIVEa CROMAVELL.
I have seen and heard much through a
long life. 1 have written my autobio-
graphy, which I intended sliould be
published on the day a grave-stone was
erected over my tomb. Too impatient,
however, to await the period of my
ghost tiitting around my executors whilst
employed correcting the proof sheets of
my literary post obits, I have come to
the resolution of giving the world some
fragments of my memorabilia whilst I
am yet alive.
I was in company with the celebrated
Dr. Parr. He was then young and
engaged in courtship. He related face-
tiously a dispute he had had with his
lady-love. " If I marry," said Parr, " I
shall not approve of Jewish names for
my expected children. 1 will not have
a little tribe of Cliristians perfectly
Jewish in nomenclature. If I had ele-
ven daughters, I would name the first,
' .\mo ; ' the second, ' Amas ; ' the
third, ' Aniavi ; ' the fourth, ' Amari ; '
the hfth, ' Amandi ;' the sixth, ' Aman-
do; ' the seventh, ' Amandum ; ' the
eighth, ' Amatum ; ' the ninth, ' Amatu;'
the tenth, 'Anians;' the eleventh,
' .\maturus.' The translation of these
latter words," continued Parr, " would
probably denote my love towards my
wife, and my wife's love towards me,
during the ten years necessary to give
birth to the daughters to be named."
Another time, I was with Dr. Parr
at Wills' coffee-house, Serle-street, Lon-
don ; two Warwick attorneys were din-
ing in the coffee-room. They did not
like the port wine, and asked the waiter
to change it for a tawny wine. " The
wine you have got is what master calls
' attorney wine,' " said the waiter.
The poet Coleridge was particularly
fond of quaint poetry, similar to the
desiTJjition of a ball :
"Thio dandles In tight*, weighing each one an
ounce,
Young Imdie* befurbelowed, flounce upon
flimnce."
their helpless situation by a parody of
Byron, thus —
" They lazily mumbled their meals in bed,
Unable to crawl from the spot where they fed."
I ((lice wiiit with Coleridge to visit a
young lady, whose father and m(itli<-r
Were for vears martyrs to the gout ;
when he m hm ecc^-ntricity exprcbHed
Walking with Coleridge in the coun-
try, we saw washed linen hanging in a
village church-yard. He said, " The
inhabitants dry their clothes on the
graves of their ancestors." After a
pause, he added, " The scene appears as
if the ghosts had hung up their shrouds."
Talking of the lunacy of somebody,
Coleridge said, " I intend writing some
lines on one curious aberration of poor
's mind." He declared that
"kneeling was not the proper position
in which a Christian ought to pray.
He always prayed in an erect attitude,
with his outstretched arms in figure
of a cross."
I remember Coleridge laughing im-
moderately at a stage-coachman boasting
he had realized more than 501. by the
retail sale of one small barrel of ale.
The boaster drove a stage-coach on one
of the western roads, and kept, in his
wife's name, on the same road a jjublic-
house. He invariably stop])ed licre
under pretence of "washing his horses'
mouths." The passengers would call
for " glasses or pints of ale." It was
speedily brought, and paid for; but no
sooner did it touch the lips of a passen-
ger, than its acidity caused him to for-
bear drinking; no one ever drank more
than half his order. The coach again
rolled forward with its four prancing
steeds : the liquor which was left in the
pints and glasses was carefully poured
through the bung-hole of the barrel, to
be re-sold to other sets of passengers of
to-morrow and to-morrow.
Coleridge described singing without
music as " singing without accomi)ani-
ment of any sort, excejit the most won-
derful distortion of face."
The prime of murdering persons by
pressing on their bodies and suffocating
them is, from its first disc()\-ere(l otreiid-
er, Burke, called "Burking." Coleridge,
when any jiassage of his writings on re-
reading did not please him, would write
a new |)assage on a slij) ol ])H|)er, and
na.'ite it oxer the disliked passage. This
ue called " Burking it."
144
THE PARTERRE.
MISCELLANIES.
ASTLEY AND DUCROW.
Equestrians are of ancient date ; clas-
sic lore gives many instances of these
" CeTitaurs." The performances of Du-
crovv, however, certainly outstrip com-
petition, and exceed all I remember.
All these persons are exceedingly igno-
rant. Poor old Astley used to talk of a
" Krocker-dile wot stopp'd Halexander's
harmy, and, when cat hopen, had a man
in harmer in its hinteliects." He (Astley)
had two or three hard words that he
invariably misapplied: "pestiferous" he
always substituted for " pusillanimous ;"
and he was wont to observe that he
should be a ruined man, for his horses
ate most cocifenmdy. The present race
of gymnastic professors have not culti-
vated an acquaintance with the school-
master. Monsieur GoufTee, the man-
monkey (who was born in the Borough)
received a letter from a poor Frenchman
begging for relief. Whether in French
or English, Gouffee was equally inca-
pable of perusing it; the stage-manager,
however, explained to him the nature of
its contents, on which he advanced to
the Parisian and gave him half-a-crown.
« Monsieur, vous avez bien de la bonte,"
exclaimed the receiver. Gouffee, think-
ing that his supposed countryman was
asking for more, said, " It's no use,
dang it, for I an't no more silver about
me." — Of Ducrow it is told that, when
teaching a lady of rank and title, and
being intent on preserving or acquiring
a character for gentility, he at last said,
"Why, Marm, if you want him (the
horse) to jump, you must hold on be-
hind, and insinioate the persuaders into
his sides." Of this man's extraordinary
courage take one example: — Herr Cline,
at rehearsal, declined ascending on the
tight rope from the stage to the gallery
as a dangerous experiment. Ducrow
said, " What, sir, afraid of hurting your-
self, I suppose. I'm not pretty, and
have nothing to hurt : give me the pole."
And, iu his duffel dressing-gown and
slippers, he ascended and descended, —
an attempt almost amounting to mad-
ness, and at which even the practised
performers of that theatre shuddered,
Records of a Stage Veteran.
PROFESSON'AL ENVY.
Bartolomeo Bandinelli, an eminent
sculptor and painter, was born at Flo-
rence in the year 1487. He is distin-
guished for his implacable hatred ot
Michael Angelo, whom, however, he
considered his inferior. Upon one oc-
casion he entere;! the apartments of his
rival by means of a false key, and de-
stroyed the cartoons designed by that
great master, by order of Pietro Soder-
rine, for the grand council-room
LITERARY DISPATCH.
Dr. Johnson wrote the celebrated tale
of " Rasselas" in the evenings of one
week. Sir Walter Scott began and finish-
ed " Guy Mannering" in a month.
Dryden's immortal poem of " Alex-
ander's Feast" was the work of two
days ; and it is related of Shakspeare
that he completed the " Merry Wives
of Windsor " in a fortnight.
SINGLE COMBAT AT WATERLOO.
The third hussars next advanced, in or-
der to avenge the fate of their country-
men. The French soon formed up to
receive these new adversaries, and both
parties stood observing each other for a
moment as hardly liking to engage. At
last the hussars charged ; the P'rench,
with their brilliant idea of cavalry tac-
tics, awaiting the onset de piedjerme; a
short melee at sword's point followed,
without being attended with any mate-
rial result. One of the many hand-to-
hand combats that took place during the
day occurred here in full view of the
British line, immediately after the main
parties separated. A hussar on one side,
and a cuirassier on the other, had been
entangled among retiring enemies. On
attempting to regain their respective
corps, they met in the plain. The hussar
had lost his cap, and was bleeding froni
a wound in the head ; but he did not no
that account hesitate to attack his steel-
clad adversary; and it was soon proved,
if proof were necessary, that the strength
of cavalry consists in good horseman-
ship, and in the skilful use of the sword,
and not in heavy defensive armour.
The superiority of the hussar was visi-
ble the moment the swords crossed; after
a -few wheels, a tremendous facer made
the Frenchman reel in his saddle; all
attempts to escape from his more active
foe were impossible, and a second blow
stretched him on the ground, amid the
cheers of the Germans who, in anxious
suspense, had remained quiet spectators
of the fight. U. H. Journal.
GOOD advice.
Be reserved, says William Penn, but
not sour ; grave, but not formal ; bold,
but not rash ; humble, but not servile ;
patient, but not insensible ; constant,
but not obstinate ; cheerful, but not
light ; rather be sweet tempered than
familiar ; familiar rather than intimate ;
and intimate with very fovv and upon
good grounds.
THli PARTF.KKK
145
r. i,v>
EVIL M A Y 1) A Y.
[ConcludtMl frum p. \'A-i.]
( For the Parterre. )
CuArrKii IV.
THKroLLTRVCOMiaKll. — TllK AI.DLRMAN.
We must now return to Nicholas For-
tesciic, \vh(jin we left in the custody (jf
the city watch. Like all rash and ini-
jii'tuous spirits, he bepan to reflect when
it was too late ; and when he heard the
doorsof thecell into which he was thrust
close with a hollow f,;ratin^ sound, his
heart sunk within him, anil Hin^'in^ him-
self on a heap of straw in one corner, he
wept like an infant. The thunder had
passed away, and the li<'at-droj)S were
fallin^' fast. Nicliolas l-'ortescue sa\v
plainly that he harl ^'ot himself into a
•(cra|)e, and, not without cause, fremhled
for theconser|in'nces : the law was severe
aKauisi refractcjry apprentices, and Mas-
ter tUiott was not a man t() he trilled
with. Then, af;ain, he had resisted the
watch ; an oHence which would not In-
overlookfd by the alderman. Our "pn-ri-
tice had, indeed, much to tear; and iis
he lay in his cell in darkncns and soli-
tude, he bitterly repented him of his fully.
Not to weary the reader with all that
passed in the mind of the prisoner, wo
are obliged to confess that Nicholas
Fortcscue fairly crierl himself to slec]!.
Many an ugly dream haunted his slum-
bers, .lane KUiott discarded him, and
her father refused to take bai-k his
'])rentice after he had been set in the
stocks, and tloj^ged at a cart's tail up the
Chejie ! These and other visions tor-
mented him till day-break, when the
light which streamed through the bars
of a small window in thecell fell on his
face, and shewerl him that be was still
in custody. He now recollected that
he had not examined the ]>urse which
.Master NVilloughbye had i>resented to
him ; and drawing it frijm his lif)som,
he emptied the contents into his cap,
and then began to coimt h/s treasure.
"Ha!" cried he joyfully, forgetting
where he was ; " five-and-twenty Harry
shillings, three nobles, and a ryal ! beside
smaller coin — 't is the gift of a jirince ! —
how generous !"
Then he suddenly recollected that all
(his might be taken Irom him, and fell
to cudgelling his brains h<iw he should
prevent such a catastro|ilie. Alter due
deliberation, he determined to make tt
1.
146
THE PARTERRE.
confidant of the turnkey. As the morn-
ing wore away, this man entered the
cell, and Fortescue at once unfolded
his secret.
" Master jailor," said he, " if you will
do me a piece of service, I can put a ryal
in your pouch."
" And what is the service ?" inquired
the man, eyeing him significantly.
" Simply this," answered the prisoner.
" I am master of a sum of money, and
I may stand in need of it, if my sentence
should be a severe one — Master Elliott
may not receive me again. Swear to
me, that if I tell thee where it is hid-
den, thou wilt be keeper of it till I
am released, and then return it to me
untouched."
The turnkey took the oath, and For-
tescue drew forth the purse which he
had thrust under the straw.
" Here," said he, "go put it into thy
strong box."
The turnkey quitted the cell with his
charge, and an hour afterwards our
'prentice was in the justice-room at the
Guildhall, before Master Joel Bokerell,
alderman of the ward of Chepe.
The civic Rhadamanthus was a short,
corpulent man, with a large, sleek, red
face, a small bald forehead, snub nose,
and gray eyes, with more of sensuality
than severity in their expression. The
charge was made by the sergeant of the
watch.
" A-hem ! " said the alderman, ad-
dressing the shame-stricken appren-
tice ; " you are charged, on the oath of
one of the sergeants of the night-watch
of the king's good city of London, with
obstructing, threatening, and foining
at with deadly weapons, contrary to
the statute, divers persons of the said
watch, to the great scandal of the
city."
Having uttered this elegant sample of
magisterial eloquence. Master Bokeiell
paused for breath, and played with his
gold chain.
The 'prentice let his head fall on his
chest, and thought of Jane Elliott : he
feared he had lost her for ever ! Gi-ief
and shame prevented his uttering a
word in reply to the magistrate, who,
of course, attributed his silence to
obstinacy.
" What ! " cried Master Bokerell, his
face assuming a deeper shade of scarlet ;
" you have nothing to say, eh ? Ha !
you contumacious young rogue, you ! a
hundred such would set the city in an
uproar ; we must take care of you. We
have May-day to-morrow, and idle gos-
sips and controvors* have been busy
spreading evil reports of your brother,
hood." Here he whispered in the ear
of his clerk, " We must keep him safe —
he is a wild yoimg dog ; there will be a
stir to-morrow — there was a folk-mote
in the 'Friars last night ; — so say letters
from the court."
Nicholas Fortescue, on hearing this
tirade against himself, took courage and
raised his head, when his eye acciden-
tally i-ested on the stern visage of his
master below the bar.
" Oh, master," muttered he, " speak
but one word for me, or I 'm a lost lad ! "
" 'T is your own fault, Nick," said
the stationer, in a milder tone than
usual.
Master Elliott had been touched by
the grief of his daughter, whom he had
left at home in great distress, and more-
over had not forgotten the good qualities
of his 'prentice.
Fortescue again spoke :
" Master," said he, " I saved your
house when Stephen Batt, the pater-
noster-maker's work-yard took fire at
midnight, last Candlemas ; — plead for
me, dear master, or I am lost for aye !"
" Let him be taken back to the
compter, and suffer solitary confinement
for a week; he may then be whipped
three times between the Conduit in
Cornhill and the Cross in the West-
cheap !" said the alderman.
*' Oh, master ! " groaned the 'prentice,
" suffer me not to be scourged like a
dog ! "
Here Master Elliott spoke. His stern
nature was softened ; he loved his
daughter, and he had found out, when
too late to oppose it with effect, that his
daughter loved the apprentice. Now
he dreaded the thought of his future son-
in-law being whipped at the cart's tail ;
so he pleaded for a remission of the
sentence. But Alderman Bokerell loved
to have his own way ; he persisted in
his determination that Fortescue should
suffer the punishment to which he had
doomed him.
Again Master Elliott besought the
obdurate magistrate to modify the pu-
nishment.
Obstinate as was the alderman, he
loved ease too much to bear teazing, and
this he could not now avoid without
giving offence to the stationer.
" Citizen," said he, " I am not one of
* Controvor, — an old French law-
term, signifying one who circulated false
news.
THE PARTERRE.
1-17
those who delieiht in cruel piiiiishnieiits;
hut the liiws must ho respected. These
boys have often cansed grievous tutuults
in this our ancient city. The rod hath
told when good counsel met deal" ear-;.
and the rod must descend apiin right
sharply ere 'prentices will learn that
they mav not follow their own stubborn
will."
" Spare him this time, your worship,
and I '11 give bond for his orderly be-
haviour for the future," said the sta-
tioner.
The alderman threw himself back in
his chair, scratched his ear, and looked
thoughtful ; then he shook his head, and
conferred with his clerk in whispers :
— our metropolitan magistrates at the
present day well know the value of an
intelligent clerk.
After due deliberation, his worship in
his mercy consented to remit a poiiion
of the punishment, and Nicholas For-
tescue was adjudged to receive hut one
whipping between the Conduit and the
Cross in West-chepe.
The stationer ground his teeth with
rage and vexation at this pretended
lenity : had the term of his 'prentice's
imprisoiuuent been doubled, he would
not have cared — it was the uhipping
which annoyed him.
" Your worshi]) will remit the whip-
ping altogether ?" said he imploringly.
" Not a single strii)e, citizen ! " said
the alderman, rising from his seat in a
passion ; " no marvel that the 'prentices
run wild, when their masters are crazed :
— take him away, men."
Four men in the city livery, led the
'prentice out of tiie justice-room, and
Master Bokerell vanished through a low
door at the back of his chair, leaving the
sUitioner in a state of absolute bewilder-
ment,
Chap. V.
" 'PREN'TICKS AM) CLinS."
Fkw of our readers will require to be
informed, that from an early ])eriod,
almost U]) to the close of tin- seventeenth
century, the apprentices of I-ondon were
a very numerous and formidable body.
The during and martial spirit which the
fiportH and |ia.stiineii of our ancestors
tended so much to encourage, occasion-
ally found vent in desperate tumults,
and in thcHe the ']>renticeH ot London
were ever ready to take an active and
promiiU'Mt |)art. Ot all riots, those
which are created by boys and young
men are the nioHt Alarming. Youth is
alwayit iinpetuouH; and the Hmooth face
has often looked fearlessly upon dmiger,
when bearded men have sknlk''d in the
rear; the heroes of the "three days"
were young men and boys, and mere
strii)lings were the first that fell in that
memorable struggle.
Of the boldness and impudence of the
London apjirentices in the year loJta,
we will give one example, and then go
b.ick to the period in which the scenes
of our tale are laid. In this year, several
of that turbulent body having been im-
])risoncd by the court t)f star chanibcr,
their comjianions brokeoi)en the ))risons
and released them, for which several of
the ringleaders were, by order of the
lord mayor, publicly wliijjped. F'inaged
at this punislnnent, a large body of them
assembled in Tower-street, and marched
with the beat of drum to seize his lord-
ship, iihom thet) intended to uhip through
the streets hii uni/ of retaliation. During
the civil wars, the Londtni a])preiiticcs
were not inactive, and Charles the
Second, who had quarrelled with the
corporation, endeavoured to cultivate a
good understanding with these spirited
youths. Butourbnsinessisnowwith tin;
apprentices of London in the year l.'>17.
1 he various guilds viewed with jealousy
and alarm the endeavours of fdreigners
to establish a trade in England ; and in
this year, their hostility to the stranger
merchants and artisans had manifested
itself in various acts of violence. The
English complained, that so many fo-
reigners were employed as artificers,
that their countrymen found it extreme-
ly dillicult to procure w ork. They also
alleged that the English merchant could
not compete with the fori'igners, who
brought over doth of gold, silks, wines,
oil, iron, and other commodities, to their
very great emolument, and lived sunijitu-
ously among those whose interests they
had so deeply injured. If we may credit
the relations of tiieold chroniclers, there
is good reason for believing that an un-
due jiartiality was shi'wn to the foreign
traders by iMiglishmen in ])ower ; * foi',
upon several occasions, the strangers
are said to have c<jnducted themselve.s
with unbearable insolence towards the
Flnglish.
• The sceptical wiM bear in mind,
that, at a later period, one of the chargi s
I rouglit against the great Lord Macon
^^ as, his having received a thousand
I oiuuls as a bribe from the French
II erchants, to oblige the London viiit.
lerH to take l.>K) tuns of wine I — iidn
hii trial.
l2
148
THE PARTERRE.
At length, the long pent-up rage of
the Londoners burst forth ; the priests
from the pulpit denounced the strangers,
who could not venture into the streets
done; several foreigners were assaulted
;nd wounded by the populace, for which
offence some half-dozen Englishmen
were committed to prison. But this
was only adding fuel to tire : a report,
which reached the court itself, was cir-
culated, that on the May-day the Eng-
lish would rise, and destroy all the fo-
reigners within the city and its-liberties.
Measures were immediately taken to
avert the threatened rising. Cardinal
Wolsey in alarm sent to the lord mayor,
whom he urged to adopt prompt mea-
sures. The mayor held a council, at
which it was resolved that an order
should go forth, commanding every man
to keep his door closed, his servants and
apprentices within, and that no person
should be abroad after nine o'clock in
the evening. It is said that this order
was not properly published, for many
idlers were seen in the streets, and the
'prentices appeared ripe for mischief as
they collected in the public places.
A lovely evening had succeeded an
unusually fine day, and the streets of
London were gradually darkening, al-
though the setting sun still gilded the
steeples and weathercocks. The tall
towers of Saint Paul's shot up into the
clear, unclouded sky, and echoed with
the sharp and incessant cawing of the
jackdaws. Below were groupes of per-
sons, conversing on the subject of the
foreigners. At the west-end of Cheap -
side, a number of apprentices were
assembled ; two of them were playing
at sword and buckler, and the others
were vociferating their opinions of the
skill of the mock combatants.
" Hammer away, my boys ! " cried
one. " Jem Studely, you handle your
broadsword as though you had gut the
mercer's measuring-yard!"
" Mass ! what a clatter ye make,"
roared another. " Sam Hall, that was
not fair : you aimed below Jem's girdle ;
't was a foul blow !"
A dispute here arose, and some of the
elder boys were appealed to ; but ere it
could be settled, the clatter of hoofs was
heard, and six horsemen dashed into the
West-chepe from Saint Paul's Church-
yard. They were two of the aldermen,
Sir John Munday and Master Joel
Bokerell, with four attendants in the
city livery.
" Ha ! " cried Sir John Munday, sud-
denly pulling up, " is London run mad ?
Here 's a pretty pack of young knaves !
What the good day are we to be florted
thus? Go home, ye varlets, or we '11 fit
a score of ye with the stocks ! "
The knight expected to see the group
quail before him. But he was sadly
mistaken ; they answered him with a
burst of I'iotous laughter.
Here Master Bokerell, who was not
so choleric as his brother alderman,
attempted to remonstrate with the ap-
prentices ; but as he was beginning to
address them, one of the urchins dis-
charged a handful of black mud full in
his magisterial face.
" Take that, you old rascal ! " cried
the boy ; " 't was you who sent Nick For-
tescue to prison this morning ; " and
again a loud peal of laughter burst from
the prentices.
" Mother of God ! " cried Sir John
Munday, " this will never do ; " and he
spurred his horse among the gi'oup, and
seized the boy who had bespattered
Master Bokerell ; but the little fellow
was instantly torn from his grasp by the
elder boys, and the knight received some
hard blows in the scuffle.
Master Bokerell, having by this time
cleared his eyes, unsheathed his sword ;
and his example was followed by his
attendants, who advanced to support
the knight.
Then arose that tremendous cry,
which of old was wont to fill the more
quiet Londoners with alarm and dread.
" 'Prentices ! 'prentices ! Clubs ! cluhs ! "
shouted the boys, and a crowd was in-
stantly gathered round the spot.
" 'Prentices and clubs ! " yelled the
rabble, which had been drawn together
by the tumult ; and the danger of the
aldermen and their attendants became
imminent, as many an execration rose
against them.
" ' Prentices and clubs ! " again shout-
ed the boys ; and as the sound penetrated
the adjoining streets, the affrighted
citizens closed their doors, and listened
to the uproar in breathless suspense.
The cry was spreading : Blow-bladder-
lane poured out scores of stout youths,
with bat in hand.
" 'Prentices and clubs ! " rose the cry
in Paternoster-row, and knives and clea-
vers clashed in St. Nicholas' shambles.
That tremendous shout had gone forth,
and was extending like a train of ignited
gunpowder.
" 'Prentices and clubs !" shouted the
boys of Ludgate-hill and Fleet-street,
and the inhabitants of the Whitefriars
came forth from their holes, like owls
THE PARTERRi:.
no
and bats wlicn an eclipse has darkened
the sun. From Temple-bar to Ald^rate,
from Aldersgate to the River-side ;
in Leadenhall-street.Hishopsgate- street,
Cornhill, Colenian.>treet. and the innu-
merable streets and alleys which inter-
sected them, the well known cry of
"'Prentices and cluhs," froze the hearts
of the foreigners with terror, and filled
the peaceable citizens with consterna-
tion and dismay.
The aldermen jjlainly saw that it was
impossible to stent the torrent. They
certainly cut a contemptible figure:
their faces streamed with perspiration ;
their swords were dashed from their
hands, and their soiled and torn apparel
excited the laughter of the mob ; they
could no longer resist, and wisely de-
termining on a retreat, they galloped
down the Chepe, jmrsued by a shower
of sticks, stones, and mud, mingled with
the choicest maledictions.
Chap. VL
an inwei.come visit.
The discomfited aldermen and their
attendants with some difficulty made
their way through the crowd, which by
this time almost blocked up the Che))e,
and repaired to the Guildhall, where
Sir John Rest, the lord mayor, had
summoned a Common Council. But
we must leave these archons to their
sage deliberations, and once more lead
the reader to the cell of Nicholas For-
tescue, in the Poultry compter.
The 'prentice had received his mas.
ter's forgiveness, and delivered to him
the purse which the turnkey had faith-
fully kept and returned when demanded.
But the dread of public j)unishment in
the eyes of all the citizens almost drove
him mad; he thought himself the most
wretched youth in Christendom, and as
he lay on his straw bed, he prayed that
an earthfjuake ini^rht shake down the
jirix)!!, and bury him beneath its ruins.
All of a sudden a wild cry arose,
which made him start like the hunter
when reynard breaks cover, and the
view halloo is given. The shout of
" 'I'rentices ! 'prentices ! clubs ! clubs !"
had penetrated even to the cells of the
Poultry compter."
" Holy Mother ! " exclaimed Fortescuo,
" the 'prentices are up, and there'll be
i>har|i work anon."
•Soon the noise approached nearer,
and there waii a hound like the wrench-
ing of crow- bam and the blowH of axes ;
then a struggling snrceeiled, and the
claitbing of steel sounded within the
building. In another moment, the door
of Fortescue's cell was opened, and sc-
\eral youths entered, stumbling one
over the other.
" Up, Nic !" cried one of them, " up !
we are going to have a fling at the
foreigners. Newgate is forced by this
time — come on to the Steel-yard."
" What does all this mean?" inquired
I'ortescue, as he suffered himself to be
led into the Poultry. Here he beheld
a strange scene. A furious rabble rent
the air with wild shouts of vengeance,
while they brandished aloft almost every
description of weai)on then known.
Halberds, pikes, bills, scythes fixed on
I)oles, axes, spits, swords and knives,
dashed in the red light of cressets and
torches. The 'prentice, Avhose spirits
had been depressed, shuddered as he
looked on that fearful rabble ; but he
dared not withdraw from it.
" Saint George for England ! 'pren-
tices, 'prentices, clubs !" roared the
boys, striking their swords and bucklers
together.
" Slice ! slice ! kill the rogues ! kill
all ! down with the French, Flemings,
and Lombards !" veiled the rabble, bran-
dishing their various weapons.
"To the Steel-yard, boys !" cried a
stout fellow with a red woollen caj). It
was the Alsatian butcher ; he had girded
on an enormous broadsword, and car-
ried a buckler as large in circum-
ference as a good sized table. Master
Lorymer was there, and the other gen-
try of the Friars.
" Come on, my lads ! " cried the
butcher, " we are v\asting time. \'an
Rynk will be prepared for us ! — to the
Steel-yard ! ''
" To the Steel-yard ! to the Steel,
yard !" shouted a thousand voices, and
in a few minutes the Chei)e was com-
paratively still. The immense mob filed
off down Ikicklersbury into Walbrook,
headed by several drunken wretches, who
formed their hanil. An old woman was
grinding a hurdy-gurdy with furiousges-
tnres, and several butchers were blowing
discordant blasts on bullocks' horns,
while some of theircom]>anions clanked
their cleavers in concert. As they passed
down Walbrook, the lights from their
torches lit u|) tlie fronts of the houses,
and the terrified inmates ran t(j the win-
dows to take a cautious i)efi) at the jiro-
cession as it descended towards Tliames-
Hlreet. Two other bands were in dif-
ferent quarters of the city ; one had
procee<led to the jirison of Newgate,
and the other had advanced to l.eaden>
150
THE PARTERRE.
hall-street, where several foreign traders
resided. It was a fearful sight, and the
bells which now rung alarm increased
the hideous uproar.
Among those who had provoked the
vengeance of the Londoners was Philip
Van Rynk, a wealthy Flemish merchant,
dwelling near the Steel-yard in Thames-
street. He and his countrymen, as well
as the French and Lombards, had re-
ceived intimation of the intended rising
against them, and each adopted his own
measures of precaution. While, there-
fore, the tumultuous procession was on
its way to the Steel-yard, Van Rynk was
sitting in a room up stairs conversing
with his daughter — two serving-men and
an apprentice keeping good watch below.
An expression of deep sadness wrung the
line countenance of the venerable Flem-
ing ; and now and then a tear would
start, as he raised his head and gazed on
the beautiful features of his only child.
"Dearest father!" said the lovelyi
foreigner, "take heart — there can be
no danger. Englishmen are generous,
iiiul will not harm aged men and weak
women."
" Alas ! " sighed the old man, " many
Englishmen have done me good service
—but this rabble rout ! — Oh, Margaret,
there was a day when I could have died
with honour in defending thee ! In my
good Almain harness I could have re-
turned the thwacks of these clowns, but
we are their prey now."
The large lustrous eyes of his daughter
were dimmed with tears ; but checking
her emotion, she renewed her endeavours
to persuade her father that the danger
was not so great as he anticipated.
" My child ! my sweet Margaret ! "
murmured the old man, as he repeatedly
kissed her pallid cheek ; " 't is not for
my merchandize I fear ; for thy dear sake
I have braved the seas and perilled my
life in strange lands ; the thought of
harm to thee wrings my old bosom, and
makes me womanish."
The old man here rose from his seat
and dropped on his knees before acarved
wooden image of the Virgin, which oc-
cupied a niche in the wall of the apart-
ment. Thrice he crossed himself, and
then burst into extempore prayer.
" Holy Mother I ever blessed Virgin !
guardian of the weak and innocent,
vouchsafe to hear the prayer of a dis-
tra(;ted old man ! Oh, blessed Lady !
for thy dear Son's sake, turn the wrath
ofthese fierce men, and shield my child !"
He continued to pray, but his voice
lied away into a scarcely audible mur-
nmr, with which the whispered orisons of
his daughter mingled, as her long white
fingers separated the beads of her rosary.
There was a beautiful contrast in those
two figures. The painter of a later
period might have taken the old man as
a model for his favourite saint, while the
Madonna-like form that knelt near him,
would have inspired Murillo himself,
heightened as it was by the light of the
small silver lamp which stood on the oak
table. How different the scene without !
While the merchant and his lovely
daughter continued in prayer, the tu-
multuous procession was descending
Dowgate-hill. Had a well disciplined
band encountered that disorderly throng
as they entered Thames-street, their pro-
gress might have been arrested, and their
flight certain ; but the civic authorities
appeared to despise the old adage, " pre-
vention is better than cure," and suf-
fered the riot to proceed until their own
force was too weak to cope with it.
The rioters set up a frightful yell as
soon as they entered Thames-street, and
saw the houses of the foreigners and
the capacious warehouses of the Steel-
yard.
If the reader be a citizen, he will nol
require to be told that a stack of ware-
houses still bears the name of the Steel-
yard, and that they stand less than a
stone's throw from Dowgate-hill ; but
if he be a stranger, desirous of making
a personal survey of this once-celebrated
spot, let him repair to it early in the
morning ; at mid-day the attempt will
be dangerous, the pavement being (to
use Ml'. Snooks' phrase) " no broader
nor a twopenny ribbon." There is
nothing glorious in being squeezed to
death between the wall and the broad
wheel of a coal waggon. But to return
to the gentry whose array now filled the
street, their numerous torches rendering
every object visible.
Countless heads waved to and fro in
the torch-light, and a roar of voices, in
which fierce oaths and execrations were
mingled, smote the hearts of the fo-
reigners, who indeed had nuich to fear
from their infuriate visitants.
Their windows were now assailed
with a shower of large stones, some of
which fell down again on the heads of
the crowd, who in their blind fury suj)-
posed that their enemies had hurled
them back again upon the throwers. A
few dropping hackbut-shots were re-
turned by a Lombard merchant who
lived o])posite tlie Steel-yard, and some
of the crowd bit the dust, while the
THE PARTERRE.
151
wounded yelled with pain, and called
upon their comriides to revenge them.
A window was now opened, and the
aged Philip Van Kynk ajipeared for a
second, and cast a hasty glance at the
crowd below. Tlie sight made him
quail: he had supposed that the assem-
bly was such as the watch might dis.
perse, it' assisted by the more respectable
citizens. A momentary view, however,
of the scene beneath, shewed him that
he had miscalculated. He disappeared
in a twinkling, and it was well for him
that he did so, for three arrows whistled
over the heads of the crowd : two of
them entered the house, while a third
quivered in the frame of the window.
Then arose another wild cry, as the
old man withdrew from the view of the
assailants.
" \'an Rynk ! Van Rynk ! " shouted
a ruftian, who had armed himself with
a brown-bill. " Ha ! you whoreson
Flemish goat ! you took the wall of me
in the Chepe last Friday."
" And you beat my trusty dog with
your riding staff in the stocks' market,"
cried another.
" The Devil wears such a beard when
he meets the witches," said a woman,
shaking aloft a large torch, and looking
herself like a priestess of Hecate.
" I will have that beard in my hand
ere long ! " cried the Alsatian butcher.
" Hurst the doors and help yourselves,
my boys ; he has stuff in the house that
the Pope might covet."
Several men accordingly began to bat-
ter the door of the old merchant's house,
which shook with the blows. Shots
were again discharged from the opposite
side of the street, and several of the
besiegers were killed and wounded,
while large stones and scalding water
were thrown upon the heads of those
who were immediately uiuler the door.
But the second story of Van Rynk's
hou.ieprujected far over the foot-jiath, so
that the attacking jiarty could not he se-
ri(ju->ly molested. They soon ceased to
batter the door, and at the suggestion ot
a stone-mason, commenced making a
bri:ai:li in the wall, where it was impossi-
ble for the besieged to reach them.
While this was prcjiaring, Nicholas
Furteicue, who had fallen in with five (ir
(tixof his ai'ijuaintanccs, was deliberating
how he shijuld save the Fleming a!id his
daughter from their fienre enemies. The
butcher and hin friends had nearly elTect-
ed a breach in the house, while tlie
other part of the rabble prevented the
foreigners on the opposite side of the
street from appearing at the windows
with their cross-bows and hackbuts.
Fortescue did not love the foreigners
any more than the rest of his country-
men ; but Van Rynk had a grey head, and
liis daughter was jjassing beautiful, two
things that always operated strongly on
our 'prentice's feelings. He determined
to save them at the risk of his life ; and
his companions, to whom he communi-
cated his intentions, swore to assist him.
" .My lads," said he, addressing them,
" there is an alley below, which leads to
the water-side. If we could climb the
wall, we are at the back of the old Flem-
ing's house" —
" Be quick, then," cried the 'prentices,
" or that blood-thirsty dog, the butcher,
will have run down his game.'
The 'prentice and his friends cautious-
ly withdrew from the crowd, and diving
into the alley scaled the high wall, and
soon found themselves at the rear of
Van Rynk's house, which they entered
without opposition, the door being left
on the latch, — the inmates having pro-
bably calculated ujion the possibility of
their being obliged to retreat, in the
event of the assailants succeeding in
forcing an entrance.
They ascended the stairs which led to
the ])rincipal ai)artments, and heard
loud shouts, mingled with the clash of
weapons and the knell of fire-arms ; the
butcher and his desperate band had
broken through the wall, and after a
short but violent struggle, in which the
merchant took a part, the old man re-
treated, leaving his two serving men and
his ajjprentice mortally wounded.
Determined to sell his life dearly,
Van Rynk flew from the spot and gained
time to ascend the stairs by closing a
strong inner door upon the intruders.
But great was his alarm as he encoun-
tered the little band of apiirentices.
Nevertheless, he raised his sword, and
seemed inclined to di'-i)ute their i)os-
session ; and it was not until after they
had disarmed him, that he could be per-
suaded of their friendly intentions. As
his sword was wrenched from his grasp,
his daughter rushed from an adjoining
room, and fell at the feet of l'"ortcscue.
" Oh ! good ivnglihhmen," cried she,
in hroken I'jiglish, "save my father!"
" Save him !" said Fortescue, raising
her uj) ; " I '11 be cut to the chin, ere
they touch a hair of his head ; but you
nuiht fly —another monu-nt, and you are
lost. Have you the key ni the door
whicii opiMiK into the alley?"
" "T is here," said the old mereliunt,
152
THE PARTERRE.
taking the key from his bosom ; " hasten,
good youth, and I will reward thee
nobly."
" You must fly to the water-side
alone," said Fortescue ; " your daughter
shall be protected — but time presses.
Will Studely, Sam Hal), Jem Rendell!
see Master Van Rynk to the water-side ;
I '11 follow with the lady, and Hugh
Smithson, Walter Browne, and little
Jack Wayte, shall help me."
As he spoke, a thick vapour was
spreading itself through the house, and
H loud crack ling was heard below.
"By heaven!" exclaimed the 'pren-
tice, "they have fired the house !"
Van Rynk was about to depart, when
he suddenly recollected his money-
chest. This was soon dragged out by
two of the 'prentices, and the merchant
and his escort departed.
" Heaven bless thee, youth ! I feel
that thou wilt not betray me," ejacu
lated the merchant as he passed out.
" Now then," said Fortescue, " your
hand, fair lady — oh ! your jewel casket I
give it to me:" he thrust it under his
girdle. " So; now let us begone — ha!
they have entered the court-yard !"
He spoke truly: as they emerged from
under the porch, which shaded the door
by which he and his companions had
entered, several men rushed towards
them. The foremost was Lorymer, who
instantly made a lunge at the 'prentice,
shouting at the same time, " Unhand
the wench, knave, and defend thy.
self!"
" To the devil with thee, gallows
bird ! " replied Fortescue, and with a
back-handed blow of his broadsword he
struck off the right hand of his assailant :
another stroke followed, and alighted
on the head of the unfortunate man,
crashing through bone and brain, and
the body of Lorymer fell quivering to
the ground.
A man of giant frame and fierce aspect
next advanced with a dreadful oath, —
it was the Alsatian butcher.
The 'prentice looked at the athletic
ruffian with something like dread ; he
felt the weight on his left arm increasing
— his lovely charge had fainted ; but he
kept on his guard, and waited for the
blow of his antagonist.
Another execration burst from the lips
of the butcher as, with flashing eyes and
clenched teeth, he struck at the youth's
bare head. The stroke was parried, and
the ruflian overreaching himself, slijiped
and fell. Ere he could recover his legs,
the swords of Fortescue's companions
were sheathed in his body, and his fol-
lowers fled away in alarm.
All this was the work of a moment.
" Now then, my lads, let us run for
it!" cried the 'prentice, taking in his
arms the still insensible form of the
beautiful little Fleming.
They hurried to the water-side,
where the other 'prentices had already
unmoored a boat.
"Whither would you go, master?"
inquired Fortescue, placing his burthen
in the lap of the old man.
" To St. Saviour's church — we shall
obtain sanctuarythere — thepriestknows
me well," said Van Rynk, kissing his
child, who was slowly reviving.
" We must be your guard, then," ob-
served Fortescue, stiJpping into the boat ;
" there is a stir on the other side of the
river, and you may be stopped."
In the mean time, the fire was gaining
on the house of the venerable Fleming ;
and as the boat proceeded across the
river, the bright flames rose to a great
height, lighting up the whole neigh-
bourhood and the tall towers which
surmounted London Bridge, while the
Thames beneath glowed like molten
lead.
But not a sigh heaved the breast of
the old man, as he gazed on the bright
flames that consumed his most valuable
merchandise. His lips moved, but not
in murmurs; his overcharged heart
throbbed with gladness — he was breath-
ing a prayer to that Powei-, which had
preserved to him his only child.
Ere the boat had reached the other
side of the river, a strong body of
soldiers and armed citizens, headed by-
Sir John Rest, the lord mayor, entered
Thames-street, and the rioters fled in
confusion and dismay, leaving sad traces
of their violence. Other bands, which
had spread themselves through the city,
were also dispersed, and by day-break
tranquillity was restored.
Chap. VIL
Fortescue meets Master Willough-
EYE. — Conclusion.
The calm of the following morning was
more terrible than the storm of the night
before. It was May- Day, but no revel-
ling was contemplated by the citizens.
The huge May-pole, which was wont to
be set up in Leadenhall-street, hung un-
disturbed against the wall of the church
of St. Andrew Undershaft. Tears stood
in the eyes of bearded men as they passed
THE TARTERKE.
1.53
/ throu^rh the streets ; and wuilinji was
heard in many a hitherto ha]ii)yd\vflliiii,'.
AniU'd men occupied several of the
principiil thoroiiglifares, and the ?cr-
geants-at-arms were prowling about, and
dragging from their hiding ])laees the
participators in the outrages of the pre-
ceding evening. Ere mid-day arrived,
Nicholas Fortescue was again an occu-
pant of the Poultry compter; — but this
time he was not alone.
A commission of Oyer and Terminer
was iinnudiately made out, and the trials
of the prisoners took place at Guildhall.
Nicholas Fortescue took his stand at the
bar with his six comj)anions in misery,
and it was only when called upon to
plead, that he raised his head. But what
a sight met his view ! A crowd of gor-
geously dressed noblemen and gentlemen
occujiied the court, and in the midst of
them sat that jiortly figure whom he had
parted with at Queenhithe ! A mist ob-
scured his sight — a noise like the rushing
of waters filled his ears — his knees bent
under him, and he fell back in a swoon
— it was Master Willoughbye ! Il uas
the king !
NVhen our 'prentice recovered,he found
himself still in that comely jiresence, but
not in the court. " Pardon, pardon,
gracious lord," murmured the poor
youth.
Henry laughed aloud. — " Pardon
ihee !" cried he. " Ay, by St. George!
and reward thee too. Rise, man ; Master
ll'illonghbije is thj- friend. Old Philip
Van Hynk hath given us an account of
thee and thy brave companions.*'
Our tale is told. The rest is matter
of hi>tory, ami may be found in the
Chronicle of Hollingshed. (Jnly one
man, it is said, died by the hands of
the executioner, and this was John Lin-
coln, who had been the prime mover of
the sedition.
In the year of grace, 1537, Nicho-
las Fortescue was a rich stationer, al-
derman of the ward of Chei)e, and
father of eleven children. When he
died, full of years and honours, his
widow, the once jjretty Jane Elliott,
trertcd to his memory a handsome tomb
in How Church ; but that awful visita-
tion, which historians have termed par
excelliMice " the great (ire," proxcd
rrMjre destructive to the antiijiiities of
the metropolis than even the scvthe of
Time, and the pious (.'oi-kney who per-
forms a pilgrimage to How Church will
look, in vain for the tomb of NicholaN
Fortescue. The tumulls which we ha\ e
ujideavuurud tu describe, lor ever tended
to abridge the spoils of the London ap-
]iientiees; and Kiit !\lau-Lhiij, us it was
iiftei wards called, was long remembered
by the citizens. A. A. A.
THE MINIATURE.
UY tiKOKGE P. .MOURIS.
William was holding in his hand
The likeness of his wife —
Frisli, as if touched by fairy wand,
N\ith beauty, grace, and life.
He almost thought it spoke:
He gazed upon the treasure still.
Absorbed, delighted, and amazed,
To view the artist's skill.
" This ])icture is yourself, dear Jane,
'Tis drawn to nature tiuc;
1 '\ e kissed it o'er and o'er again,
It is so much like you."'
" And did it kiss you hack, my dear?"
>• \\ hy. — no — my love," said he.
" Then, \\illiam, it is very clear,
'Tis not at all like vie!"
THE PIRATE.
A SKETCH.
The gong had just sounded eight bells,
as Captain M. entered the cuddy, " care
on his brow, and pensive thought fulness."
So unusual was the aspect he wore, that
all remarked it: in general, his was the
face of cheerfulness ; not only seeming
hapi)y, but imparting happiness to all
around. " \\ hat has chased the smiles
from thy face?" said one of the young
writers— a youth much gi\en to Hyron,
and open neckcloths. " ' Why looks our
Ca'sar with an angry frown ? ' Hut,
])oetry apart, what is the matter ?" " Why J
the fact is, we are chased," replied the
ca])tain. Chased! chased!! chased!!!
was echoed from mouth to mouth, in
\ari(jus tones of doubt, alarm, and ad-
miration. "Yes; however extraordinaj-y
it may seem to this g(jod comiiany," con-
tinued (jur commander, " 1 lia\ c no doubt
tliat suchis the fact; for the vessel which
was seen this morning right astern, and
w hieh has maintained an e(|ual distance
(luiing the ilay, is coming up with us
hand <jver hand. I am (|uite .-nie, lliere-
fore, she is after no good; she's a wick-
ed-lookirg craft: — at one bell we shall
beat to (juarters."
We had left the Downs a lew dayn
nftj-r the arrival of the Morning Star,
and, with our heads and liearlb full of
that atrocious afliiir, i ushed on :he puup.
154
THE PARTERRE.
The melancholy catastrophe alluded to
had been a constant theme at the cuddy
table, and many a face shewed signs of
anxiety at the news just conveyed to us.
On ascending the poop.assurance became
doubly sure ; for, certain enough, there
was the beautiful little craft overhauling
us in most gallant style. She was a long,
dark-looking vessel, low in the water,
but having very tall masts, with sails
white as the driven snow.
The drum had now beat to quarters,
and all was for the time bustle and pre-
paration. Sailors clearing the guns,
handing up ammunition, and distributing
pistols and cutlasses ; soldiers mustering
on the quarter-deck, in full accoutre-
ments, prior -to taking their station on
the poop. We had 200 on board : wo-
men in the waist, with anxious faces, and
children staring with wondering eyes ;
writers, cadets, and assistant-surgeons,
in heterogeneous medley. The latter,
as soon as the news had been confirmed,
descended to the various cabins, and
re-appeared in martial attire. One young
gentleman had his "toasting-knife" stuck
through the pocket-hole of his inexpres-
sibles — a second Monkbarns ; another
came on exulting, his full-dress chako
placed jauntingly onhis head — as a Bond-
street beau wears his castor ; a third,
with pistols in his sash, his swallow-tail-
ed coat boasting of saw-dust, his sword
dangling between his legs in all the ex-
tricacies of novelty — he was truly a mar-
tial figure, ready to seek for reputation
even at " the cannon's mouth." Writers
had their Joe Manton, and assistant-sur-
geons their instruments. It was a stir-
ring sight, and yet, withal, ridiculous.
But now, the stranger quickly ap-
proached us, and quietness was ordered.
The moment was an interesting one.
A deep silence reigned throughout the
vessel, save now and then the dash of the
water against the ship's side, and here
and there the half-suppressed ejaculation
of some impatient son of Neptune. Our
enemy, for so we had learned to desig-
nate the stranger, came gradually up in
our wake : no light, no sound, issued
from her ; and when about a cable's
length from us, she luffed to the wind,
as if to pass us to windward ; but the
voice of the captain, who hailed her
with the usual salute, " Ship a hoy!"
made her apparently alter her purpose,
though she answered not, for, shifting
her helm, she darted to leeward of us.
Again the trumpet sent forth its sum-
mons ; but still there was no answer,
and the vessel was now about a pistol-
shot from our larboard quarter. " Once
more, ^vhat ship's that ? Answer or I'll
send a broadside into you," was uttered
in a voice of thunder from the trumpet,
by our captain. Still all was silent ;
and many a heart beat with quicker pul-
sation. On a sudden, we observed her
lower steering sails taken in by some
invisible agency ; for all this time we
had not seen a single human being, nor
did we hear the slightest noise, although
we had listened with painful attention.
Matters began to assume a very serious
aspect — delay was dangerous : it was a
critical moment, for we had an advantage
of position not to be thrown away. Two
main-deck guns were fired across her
bow. The next moment our enemy's
starboard ports were hauled up, and we
could plainly discern every gun, with a
lantern over it, as they were run out.
Still we hesitated with our broadside, and
about a minute afterwards our enemy's
guns disappeared as suddenly as they
had been run out. We heard the order
given to her helmsman. She altered
her course, and in a few seconds was
astern of us.
We gazed at each other in silent as-
tonishmen t.but presently all was explain-
ed. Our attention had been so much
taken up by the stranger, that we had
not thought of the weather, which had
been threatening some time, and for
which reason we were under snug sail.
But, during our short acquaintance, the
wind had been gradually increasing, and
two minutes after the pirate dropt astern
it blew a perfect hurricane, accompanied
by heavy rain. We had just time to
observe our friend scudding before it un-
' dcr bare poles, and we saw him no more,
Nautical Magazine.
AUTUMN FLOWERS,
Those few pale Autumn flowers !
How beautiful they are !
Than all that went before.
Than all the summer store.
How lovelier far !
And why ? — they are the last —
The last ! — the last !— the last ! —
O, by that little word,
How many thoughts are stirred !
The sister of the past !
Pale flowers ! — pale perishing flowers !
Ye 're types of precious things;
Types of those bitter moments.
That flit like life's enjoyments,
On rapid, rapid wings.
THE PARTERRE.
155
L;ist hours with parting dear ones,
(That time the tiistest spends) ;
Liist tears, in silence shed,
Last words, halt uttered.
Last looks of dying friends !
But who would fain compress
A life into a day —
The last day sjient with one.
Who, ere the morrow's sun.
Must leave us, and for aye ?
O, precious, precious moments !
Pale tlowers, ye 're types of those —
The saddest ! sweetest ! dearest !
Because, like those, the nearest
To an eternal close.
Pale llowers ! pale perishing flowers !
1 woo your gentle breath ;
I leave the suuimer rose
For younger, blither brows —
Tell nie of change and death!
BEAUTY AND ASSOCIATION,
BY ELI.AHEMONT.
Matkiuai. beauty owes half its attraction
to the charms of assbciution. NVIiik- we
gaze upon the productionsof the sculptor
or painter, there are many considerations
ndependent of the mere shape and figure,
jr of the exquisite finish of the produc-
tions, which enter into our rellectiqns
and enhance our pleasure. NVe are sur-
l)rised that such could be conceived and
executed by man — that they are the work
of hands like our own — and we admire
the almost incredible skill with which
the artist has wrought them from male-
rials apparently so inadequate to the i)ur-
pose — the ingenuity by which the mar-
ble is made to assume the easy attitude
and natural form of life, and the canvas
to ex|)res.« with such accuracy the object
of the artist's conception. In other
v.ords, we associate the author and his
instruments with the result which has
been jjrodueed, and thus our delight and
interest is doubly increased.
And why is it in life, that we often
behold others sigliing in admiration over
ft.'rms and features in which we can dis-
cover no jieculiar attracti<jn ? NS'iiy is
it that the face which we have passed
at first with a careless glance, has after-
wards been destined to haunt onr
dreams, and petchaiu.-e to steal the slcc])
from our pillows? It in becauHC then-
is a charm, not contained in the mere
•' curveil lincH" of ilo^'arlh, in oval U-n
(uresand rounded forms, though these
may be il- lepresentulives It is that
there is an intellectual and moral, as
well as material loveliness, and that
both nuist be associated in order to ])ro-
duce their fullest effect. A plain coun-
tenance becomes fascinating and beau-
tiful when it is combined with a heart
and mind which claim our homage, and
becomes the speaking vehicle of thoughts
and feelings congenial to our own.
In nature, too, the brightest and love-
liest scenes are those which wake the
sweetest thoughts, and are linked with
the fondest and noblest associations.
The same view which might chain us
for hours in speechless admiration in the
classic climes of Italy and Greece, might
be passed with comparative indifference
in the untrodden interior of New-Hol-
land or Madagascar. In the former,
not a mountain rears its head imsung,
and every hill, plain, and valley iue
teeming with recollections. Homer or
N'irgil nuiy have stood upon the very
spot where we are standing, and have
gazed upon the scene before us; or some
proud warrior may have written it with
his name, by a deed of heroism. But
the latter has no such associations. Thus,
too, we look with indescribable pleasure
on the i)lacid surface of Lemanaiul Loch
Lomond, or on the snow-clad tops of
Mont Blanc or Ben Nevis ; but were
not half that pleasure removed had they
never been sung by the muse of a Scott
or a Byron? or were they not hallowed
by genius, as the bright and fadeless
scenes and shrines of romance? And
why is it that we gaze with such rapture
upon spots which are consecrated by
great events — upon Marathon or Plata-a,
upon Blenheim or Waterloo? Why,
when we have passed a thousand similar
— a thousand lovelier scenes without a
commi'iit of admiration, do we linger
over these? It is friun llie s])irit which
is stirred up within us. U is that while
we gaze, fancy calls u\) again the events
whii-'h have occurred tlicie — the sjilcn-
doiu' and beauty of martial array — the
pride, pomp, and circumstance of war;
the deed of daring, and the triumph of
heroism.
We may have been a traveller — we
nuiy have waiulered in the (limes of sun
and song — amid scenes which genius has
consigiie<l to immortality — and wlu'ie
nature and art have lavished all their
^ifts of loveliness. We nuiy have roved
in the vales of Cashnu-re — the gardens of
Shiraz — in the wilds at .Switzerland, or
tin? walks of the Tuileries. Yet, what
III all the sc-enes which we have lnoked
upoji, are those which haxeklt the nutst
156
THE PARTERRE.
indelible impressions? What are the
scenes which are shrined in insurpassable
beauty in the sanctuary of our hearts,
and where fancy and memory oftenest
delight to linger and worship? Is it
these, when we shut our eyes, in our
reveries or dreams, that come up to glad-
den our musings ? Or is it not son-.e
bright spot where we dreamed and play-
ed and loved in the days of our childhood ;
the views which enclose the dwelling-
place of our infancy? And why is
this ? They may be tame in other eyes
— the stranger might pass them with in
difference and contempt — they may not
possess a moiety of the loveliness which
we have since gazed upon. And yet to
us they are more beautiful than aught
we have since seen, because earth has
naught that can match them in the live-
liness or loveliness of their associations.
They are beautiful to us, as the theatre
of a thousand childish incidents. The
sacred registry of unfading memories —
of the charms ofyoung love and affection,
of young dreams and aspirations. And
perchance, too, they are consecrated as
the last resting-place of those we have
loved, and of those who have loved us,
as we ne'er shall love, or be loved again.
What a world of exquisite sentiment is
there in the dying request of Joseph,
and the solemn earnestness with which
it was enforced, that his bones might
be conveyed to rest in the tomb of his
fathers ! Egypt would have lavished all
the pomp and splendour of the east on
the tomb of Pharaoh's favourite. But
in Canaan, perchance, he deemed that,
even after death, his spirit might still
wander amid the lovely scenes of his in-
fancy, and take delight in the thought
that the same breeze which fanned the
brow of his childhood was sweeping o'er
his grave. E.
THE RIVALS:
A TALE OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE.
BV WILLIAM COX.
It was on a Sunday afternoon, in the
middle of March, 18 — , when a young
man, of diminutive dimensions, planted
himself at the corner of one of the prin-
ci])al streets in the busy and populous
city of . Under all the circum-
stances of the case, this seemed a most
singular proceeding. A fine May morn-
ing, as is common in March, had given
place to a December afternoon ; and a
keen, raw, north-east wind, admirably
calculated to perform the part of a rough
razor, blustered and bellowed along the
melancholy street, sweeping it of every
vestige of humanity gifted with sense
enough to know that a warm fireside was
comfortable, and pence enough to pro-
cure one. An old apple-woman, seated
by the borders of the swollen kennel,
and a hungry dog, gnawing at a bone,
were the only substances endowed with
vitality perceptible, except the young
man who had located himself in such an
apparently unnatural situation. His ap-
pearance was pitiable in the extreme.
Seduced by the flattering appearance of
the morning, when the sun shone and
the southern breeze blew,he had thought-
lessly arrayed his limbs in the gay garni-
ture of spring; and the consequence was,
that there he stood, exposed to all the
assaults of a raw, chill, unfeeling north-
easter, in a new pea-green coat, nankeen
trowsers, and pale-complexioned waist-
coat with a delicate sprig, lemon-colour-
ed gloves, and white silk stockings. His
face, as a natural consequence of such a
costume in such weather, exhibited a
sample of the varied hues of the rainbow,
though it can scarcely be added " blent
into beauty." "Pale, pale was his
cheek," or rather pipeclay-coloured ;
blue were his lips ; while his nose, which
was of a fiery red at the base, deepened,
through all the intermediate shades, into
concentrated purple at the extremity.
His hair and whiskers, which were of a
bright scarlet, formed a striking fringe
or border to his unhappy-looking coun-
tenance. He wore his hat on one side
of his head, at about an angle of seventy-
five degrees, which, in warmer weather
and under more favourable auspices,
might impart a sprightly air to the
wearer ; just now, however, it was most
incongruous, when coupled with the
utter misery and desolation of the sum
total of his personal appearance. There
is little more to be added, except that
he was within a fraction of four feet
ten inches in height, that he kept a shop
for the retail of tobacco and fancy
snuffs, and that his name was Thomas
Maximilian Potts.
But wherefore stood he there ? — " that
is the question." The sympathetic hearts
of the ladies will readily anticipate the
answer : — he was in love. Yes, fondly,
passionately, and, we may say for a man
of his size, overwhelmingly in love.
That little body, slight and trivial as it
appeared, contained a heart — to corre-
spond ; and that heart had long been in
the possession (figuratively) of Miss
Julia Smith, only daughter and sole
heiress of Mr. Smith, the eminent bis-
THE PARTERRE.
i:
cuil-baker, who resided in tiie second
house round the ideiiticul eorner at
which Potts h;id stationed himself.
The case stood thus. — He kid been
invited by the fair Julia to tea, and, as
he fondly ho])ed, to a tete-a-tete, that
afternoon. He had hastened (in the
expressive phraseolo^ usual on such oc-
casions) on the wings of love to keep the
appointment ; when lo! just as he arrived
at the door, his eyes were blasted (figu-
ratively also) by the sight of his hated
rival, James Fish, chemist and druggist,
entering his bower of bliss. He shrunk
back as if a creditor had crossed his path ;
but trusting it might only be a casual
call, waited patiently in his deplorable
situation for the re-issuing and final exit
of the abhorred Fish. But the shades of
evening fell deeper and deeper, the driz-
zling rain came down thicker and thick-
er, the wind blew keener and keener —
'• Poor Tom was a-cold !" The compo-
nent parts of his body shook and trem-
bled like the autumnal leaves in the
November blast — his eyes distilled drops
of liquid crystal; and, in the co])ious
language of Wordsworth, his teeth, like
those of Master Harry Gill,
" Evermore went chatter, chatt«r,
Chatter, chatter, chatter still."
But there is a limit to human endurance.
He could not stand it any longer : so he
went and rapped at the door, and was
forthwith ushered into the parlour.
" Bless me ! how late you are, Mr.
Potts," exclaimed Julia ; " but do take a
seat near the tire," added she, in a sym-
pathizmg tone, as she took cognizance
of the frigid, rigid condition of her un-
liaj)py suitor.
The scene which presented itself to
the eyes of Potts was (with one ex-
ception) extremely revivifying. Every
thitigspokeof warmth and comfort. The
apartment was small, sinig, and donlile-
carpeted ; the curtiiins were drawn close,
the dull, dreary twilight excluded ; and
brightly and cheerfully burnt the lire in
the grate, before which, half-buried in the
wool of the hearth-rug, reclined the fat-
test of poodles. At one side of the (ire
hat the contented and oleaginous biscuit-
baker, .Mr. .Smith, in his accustomed
HUte of semi-somnolency, ut the other,
Frank Lumlcy, a good-looking, good-
tempered, rattle-pated coz of Julia's;
while in the centre was placed the vile
Fish. The fair Julia herself was busied
in preparing the uteaming beverage
which cheeri* "but not intoxicates;"
and while it in getting ready, we may as
well at once introduce the company.
And first, of Fish, who was in truth
a most extraordinary piece of rtesh. In
altitude he approximated to seven feet,
and the various ex<Teniities of his person
corresponded to his altitude. His mouth,
tectli, lips, nose, and eyes, were on the
most unlimited scale, and as for his chin,
there was no end to it. His hands, had
he ever had the bad fortune to have been
apprehended on a charge of pocket-
picking, if allowed to have been produc-
ed in evidence, would have ensured his
acquittal by any jury in Christendom ;
indeed, the idea of their going into an
ordinary pocket was absurd ; while his
two feet were fully equivalent to three,
thus giving the lie at once to that stand-
ard of measurement, which dogmatically
asserts that twelve inches make one foot.
Yet with all those weighty helps — those
extraordinary ajjpendages — the sum to-
tal of the man was nothing; in fact, he
never weighed more than one hundred
pounds in the heaviest day of his exist-
ence. To in part account for this, it
must be taken into consideration that
his columnar body was shrunk, sapless,
and of small and equal circumference
in all its parts ; his neck, scraggy and
crane-like, could scarcely be accounted
any thing as regarded weight; \tliilst his
legs, which were really veiij long, fell olf
about the calf, but gradually thickened
as they approached the knees and ankles,
so that the old woman who was in the
habit of knitting his hose, used to make
an extra charge in consequence of having
to narrow the loops at this portion of his
anatomy, instead of having, as is com-
mon, to widen or enlarge them. All
this rendered Fish peculiarly ill adapted
for tempestuous weather ; for carrying,
as he did, his head so high, the wind
naturally took a i)owerfiil hold of him,
and though his extensive feet prevented
his being blown over, yet his weak llex-
ible body swayed and bent and bowed to
every blast, like the boughs of a sai)ling
willow. A cast-off coat of his was pre-
served as a curiosity in the lodge of the
tailors' society of his native town ; aiul
it is a well-known fact, that during a
severe fit of influenza under which he
laboured, no less than seven eminent
surgeons were secretly negotiating with
the sexton of his parish church for the
reversion of his most extraordinarily
constructed corpus: but he lived, and
science wept as he recovered. In mind
and temper l'"ish was as milil as milk ;
one of the most simple, kind-hcarled,
inotlensive creatures that ever breathed.
He followed Mr, Coleridge's udvice, and
158
THK PARTERRE.
loved, with a temperate Ionc, "all things
both great and small," even that small-
est of things, his rival, Thomas Maxi-
milian Potts, tobacconist.
Smith (the eminent biscuit-baker)
was exactly the reverse of Fish in per-
sonal endowments. He was a short,
pursy man, " scant of breath," and as fat
as a dodo.* In venturing a wager on
which of the various disorders Hesh is
heir to was eventually the jnost likely to
terminate the career of Mr. Smith, you
might have backed apoplexy against the
field. He was a man of few words ;
indeed his conversational powers were
limited, in consequence of having devot-
ed his faculties early in life solely to the
absorbing study of biscuit-baking, by
which he had made a fortune. He had
no thirst for knowledge or information,
or indeed any thing, excepting punch ;
so that he did little else than saunter
about the doors in fine weather ; doze by
the tire in foul ; smoke, tipple, read the
newspapers, and give his assent to
whatever Julia proposed.
Julia herself was as merry, hearty,
pretty a little girl as a reasonable man
could desire, with cherry cheeks, fair
complexion, hazel eyes, auburn hair, ten
thousand pounds, ar.d the sweetest little
mouth in the town. She was of the
middle height, neatly moulded, of a com-
fortable plumjjiiess, yet without inherit-
ing from her father the slightest tendency
to imdue obesity. Pleasant in manner,
cheerful in temper, quick-witted, light-
hearted, and of the loving and loveable
age of nineteen, it was altogether a
shame that Miss Julia Smith continued
Miss Julia Smith. Whether she had
ultimately to become Potts or Fish —
but it is wrong to anticipate.
Her cousin, Frank Lumley, was, as
has already been observed, a good-look-
ing, good-hearted, frank, spirited young
fellow, whom every body liked, and
yet whom every body prophesied would
never do good, in consequence of a sin-
gular deficiency in his intellectual quali-
fications ; namely, an utter inability to
calculate the value of money, although
clerk to his uiicle the rich banker, who
prudently kept Master Frank's salary as
low as possible, on the ground that
there would be "the less thrown away."
Poor was Frank, and poor was he likely
to remain ; a circumstance, however,
which did not seem to give him the
slightest uneasiness.
In far less time than it has taken to
Vide Buffon's Nat. Hist.
introduce the company, they iiad brought
the tea-slopping to a termination ; and
the weak, washy, warm-water imple-
ments being removed, the conversation,
under the cheering influence of Julia's
eyes, became brisk and animated. True,
Master Francis said little, rose suddenly
from his chair, sat suddenly down again,
crossed, uncrossed, and recrossed his
legs, regulated the fire and candles, pat-
ted the poodle, and performed all those
evolutions proper to people not over
and above comfortable ; but P'ish, who
was deeply scientific, lectured away
most innocently to Julia about sulphur-
baths, medicinal springs, gases — oxygen,
hydrogen, and nitrogen — acids, alkalies,
and so on to the end of the chapter ;
while Potts, who was a kind of literary
creature, being a soiler of common -jjlace
books, a scribbler of patriotic para-
graphs, and president of a debating
nuisance, kept chattering away at an
amazing rate about Byron, Scott, Shaks-
peare, and the Ladies' Magazine. Julia
sat in the middle, listening complacently,
dividing her smiles equally, and occa-
sionally inquiring of Francis "if there
was any thing the matter with him ?"
But the conversation, from literary
and scientific, suddenly took a personal
turn. Fish had inadvertently made some
disparaging allusion to littleness as con-
nected with the human form ; whereupon
Maximilian became wroth and indignant
exceedingly. He proceeded to assert
that there had never been a lengthy poet,
painter, player, or even warrior, of any
eminence (he was a little ill-informed
wretch, that Potts,
"Brisk as a flea, and ignorant as dirt,")
— that extraordinary height, in fact, de-
based the intellectual faculties — that all
great men, from Alexander to himself,
had been little ones — winding up, in a
magnificent manner, with that quotation
which every man under five feet four
inches has at his tongue's end, —
"Were I as tall to reach the pole.
Or giasj) the ocean in a span ;
I 'd still be measured by my soul, —
The mind 'a the standard of the man ! "
This furious piece of declamation was
followed by an indescribable sound be-
tween a groan and a grumble from the
eminent and recumbent biscuit-baker,
who arose from his chair, shook himself,
inquired the clock, said he felt inclined
to sleep, (he had done nothing else for
the last three hours,) wished the com-
pany a good night, and waddled off to
bed.
THE PARTERRE.
159
Mr. Lumley also shewed nn inclina-
tion to depart, and Fish mid Potts re-
luctantly followed his example. Julia
condescendintrly volunteered to shew
them the door herself.
" Good night. Miss Smith," said Fish,
with a mournfully tender inflexion of
the voice, at the same time stretching
forth his i)onderous paw to perform the
operation of shaking.
" Good night, Mr. Fish," kindly re-
sponded Julia, placing her small, delicate
hand in some i)art of his.
But Potts parted not so prosaically.
" Farewell, Julia," he muttered, in an
impudent under-tone —
" Farewell ' a word that has been and must he,
A sound that makes us linger — yet farewell ! "
" Bless me," quoth Frank, " I have
forgotten my gloves — how unfortunate I"
" Very, ' said Julia, as she closed the
door after Fisli and Potts, and followed
Frank up-stairs to look for the gloves.
Brightly and beautifully shone the sun
on the ensuing morniHg. Mild and
balmy was the air, blue and serene the
sky, and a imiversal harmony and cheer-
fulness seemed to pervade all nature.
In a neat little church, a short distance
from the town before alluded to, the bells
were ringing merrily to and fro in conse-
quence of the great heiress, Miss Smith,
having that morning, as the old spinsters
of the district said, "thrown herself away
on hanilsome Frank Lumley. at the same
time jilting" (as tl'.ey alleged) " Mr.
Potts who had an excellent business, and
Mr. Fish who had a better." Be that as
it miglit, lovely looked the little rural
church-yard of which we are speaking
— lovely looked it, cheerful, almost gay.
The vocalists of the spring, unconscious
of the solemnity of the place, sent forth
a continuous stream of rich. and merr.
music from every bush and tree witli
which it was adorned ; there was a mur-
mur of music in the mild and myri.id-
jn'<)i)lcd air, and there was most exquisite
music in the gentle rustle of tiie bri<)e"s
white satin dress, as she tripixd timidly
down the narrow church-yard path to-
wards the carriage at the gates, wliicii
was waiting to bear her away to purling
•>tr<;ams and pastures green, for the allot-
ted month of honey.
How quick flies evil tidings to those
concerned ! As she walked along with
her eyes modestly bent ilownwards, tlicy
rested, quite unexpectedly, on the per-
turbed vittage of .Mr. Potts. .Manitbid
were the emotions depicti.-d therein —
wrath, disri()pointment, airected disdain,
wounded, self-conceited, and concentriv.
ted indignation were a few of them, i le
raised his arm slowly, and pointed im-
pressively to the skies, us much as to say,
" There are your deceits and perjuries
registered." Julia instinctively looked
up, when lo ! high above her, but (lis.
tinctly visible, she beheld the rueful,
lugubrious physiognomy of Fish, bent
rejjroachfully, though " more in sorrow
than in anger," upon her. It was too
much. She hastened forward, and, witli-
out venturing another glance, entered
the carriage. Frank, who appeared most
insultingly happy, bowed to each of the
gentlemen, and followed his fair bride.
The door closed, the driver mounted, tiie
little boys clustered round the gates
volunteered three cheers, and away
drove the new-married pair.
Fish stood as one entranced, until the
last rattle of the wheels died uixm his ear.
He then buttoned his coat, let his hands
fall to the bottom of his trowsers-pockets.
and stalked solemnly homewards. When
arrived there, he shut u\) his shop, retired
to his |)rivateapartments,closedthe win-
dow-blinds, sat down by the fire, and
soughtand found relief in a flood of tears.
Potts, who was of a more Hery tenii)e-
rament, scorned to wet an eyelid. He
strutted away, no one knew whither ;
but late in the evening of that eventful
day, he was discovered in a state of in-
sensibility at a small blind tavern in the
neighbourhood, with the trivial remains
of tile seventh tumbler of brand)- and
water before him. On the table lay a
loaded pistol, and from his waistcoat
protruded an unfinished " Ode to De-
spair," all about Tartarus, Tantalus,
Tisiphone, and other cramped classicali-
ties. They carried the little fellow iionu\
put him to bed, and left him to slee]i olf
his love and liquor at his leisure.
" Hut what of that little tlirt, Julia ?"
exclaims sfime maid of many years. —
Why, wiiat of her? Wliat iiave I to do
with iier misdemeanours? I am imt
boinul tofolhjw theprescribed fashion of
manufacturing immaculate heroines. 1
describe .Miss .Smith as I knew her. She
might have a slight shade of cocjuetrv in
her composition, but it was very siigiit ,
and then slu? wasan only child, a beauty,
and an heiress. Not that Potts is to be
adduced as any proof against her, for he
was one of tiiose presumptuous \arlets
tiiat can extract nu'aiiings flattering to
their vanity from the (•(jmmonest civili-
ties ; but Fish — the meek, the modest,
the unobtrusive. Yes, she must in sport
have an(,'icd for I-'ish. Some tcmpfiiig
160
THR PARTERRE.
bait or other must have been mirthfully
thrown out. Perchance she was tickled
with the idea of catching so very extra,
ordinary and altogether unmatchable a
lover. After she had caught him, there is
a good deal to be said in her favour for
not gratifying the expectations she had
raised. Think of such a man in any
household or domestic arrangement she
might picture to herself— it was ludi-
crous.
Or imagine Fish in his night-cap.
What a shock it must have given to all
poor Julia's notions of the sublime and
beautiful.
No, there is much to be pleaded in
extenuation.
« » « »
If the "whirligig of time brings round
its revenges," it also brings about its re-
conciliations. I know not precisely how
matters came about, but this I do know
— that Frank invariably purchased his
brown rappee at the shop of Mr. Potts;
and that early in the ensuing year Fish
stood as sponsor to a tine chubby boy,
the first-born of Mr. and Mrs. Lumley.
MISCELLANIES.
APOI.OGY FOR THE JIODERN GREEKS.
The modern Greek may have been
found corrupt, profligate, unsteady to
his obligations, and treacherous in the
council and the field. But when was
the slave high minded, heroic, or pure?
The weight of the fetter has withered
away the nerve. The very air of the
dungeon has stamped its tint upon the
features. The perpetu:d presence of
tyranny has taught him the perpetual
subterfuges of deceit. But a new gene-
ration is rapidly rising up. The old
will soon have gone down to the grave,
with their fears, their sufferings, and
their vices -. the new will be free ; and
there is in freedom a noble pledge for
the purification of a people. The eyes
of Europe will be on them ; every nation
feeling an almost personal interest in
the progress of a young power, placed
in the centre of Europe, as if for the
purpose of a common centre of the great
o])erations and renovating intlaenee of
all. It inhabits a glorious region ; of
whose renown, even the debasement of
a thousand years has not been able to
disinherit the Greek.. There is more of
the original blood, of the ancient lan-
guage, of the national manners, and of
the ancestral charactei', preserved in
(>reeee, than in any other nation upon
earth. The first efforts of such a pcoiile
may be perverse or feeble ; but they
have the material of greatness in their
frame, and we shall yet see Greece re-
ascending to her old pre-eminence, and
shining out among the intellectual splen-
dours of the world.
PERIODICAL LITERATURE.
There is no labour more destructive to
health than that of periodical literature;
and in no species of mental application,
or even of manual employment, is the
wear and tear ofa body so early, so severe-
ly felt. The readers of those light articles
which appear to cost so little labour in the
various publications of the day, are little
awarehow many constitutionsare broken
down in the service of their literary taste.
WOMAN.
There is something very delightful in
turning from the unquietness and agita-
tion, the fever, the ambition, the harsh
and worldly realities of man's character,
to the gentle and deep recesses of wo-
man's more secret heart. Within her
musings is a realm of haunted and fairy
thought, to which the things of this tur-
bid and troubled life have no entrance.
What to her are the changes of state,
the rivalries and contentions which form
the staple of our existence ? For her
there is an intense and fond philosophy,
before whose eye substances flit and fade
like shadows, and shadows grow glow-
ingly into truth. The soul's creations
are not as the moving and mortal images
seen in the common day; they are things,
like spirits steeped in the dim moonlight,
heard when all else are still, and busy
when earth's labourers are at rest ! They
are
" Such stuff
As dreams are made of, and their little
life
Is rounded by a sleep."
This is the real and uncentred poetry
of being, which pervades and surrounds
her as with an air — which peoples her
visions and animates her love — which
shrinks from earth into itself, and finds
marvel and meditation in all that it
beholds within — and which spreads even
over the heaven, in whose faith she so
ardently believes, the mystery and the
tenderness of romance.
marriage.
A man who passes through life without
marrying, is like a fair mansion left by
the builder unfinished. The half that
is completed runs to decay from neglect,
or becomes at best but a sorry tene-
ment, wanting the addition of tlmt which
makes the whole useful.
THE PARTERRK
161
Page ICS.
\VOL.MAR:
3 Oei'man iLcgcuti.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE " EXPOSITION
OF THE FALSE MEDIUM," &C.
( For the Parterre. )
There lived in Germany many years
ago, a nobleman of a proud and daring
spirit, to wliich, indeed, he chiedy owed
his titles and estates, neither having been
hereditary. The great supcess that had
hitherto attended all his efforts increased
the confidence, which was strong in him
by nature, till he thought that nothing
could withstand him. Be it what it
might, he believed that if he set his will
upon obtaining it he could not fail ; and
the accom|)lishment of his will seemed
to him its justification in all cases.
The warx being now over for a time,
Count \\'olmar went to dwell in the
retirement of a large chateau, and ere
long fell in love with tlie beautiful daugh-
ter of a neighbouring baron of ancient
ancestry. To his great mortification the
baron declined his pro|)OHals, and he was
not slow in discovering that the objec-
tion to an alliance wan founded on his
vol.. I.
want of hereditary honours. Indignant
at being rejected on such a (liiiisy preju-
dice, and feeling as high a blood in his
veins as any noble of Germany could
boast of — or their ancestors either, what-
ever their nisty shields might contain —
he rode off hastily one morning, and
insisted upon a fair hearing on the sub-
ject. In the cotirse of the interview he
talked to the baron in so spirited and
lofty a strain, not unmingled with cer-
tain very intelligible hints of feudal war-
fare, that the former was fain to declare
himself convinced of the right he laid
claim to of being himself the founder of
a name and honours, and forthwith re-
ferred him to his daughter.
He sought the fair Edith; but how
grievous was his fresh disappointment I
.She declined his hand in the most
decisive manner; and to add to his
mortification, informed him when he
subse(|uently ])res>>cd his suit, that
her affections were already engaged
to another.
(.'ouiit W'olmar knewnot how tobrook
this refiisiil, especially as Ik- could not
discover who was her favoured lover; the
old baron aflirniing that he had pledged
hilt word not U) name him lU present,
M
162
THE PARTERRE.
and the lady refusing to answer any
questions on the subject. The idea of
returning to the capital, and losing in
the dissipation and frivolities of the
court the galling sense of his rejection,
occurred to his mind ; but previous cir-
cumstances made him averse to shew
himself among a class of courtiers and
nominal warriors, the greater part of
whom he held in utter disdain. This
i'eeling may be accounted for without
difficulty. Independent, however, of the
imbecility and fawning meanness of
most of those who hover round princes,
Wolmar had a personal cause of griev-
ance, which we will briefly explain.
A young officer, named Von Deutz-
berg, had served in the wars under the
command of Wolmar. He was of very
high family, and a younger brother of
the Prince of G*** had recently mar-
ried his sister. Von Deutzberg was one
of those individuals who possess no par-
ticular character, and upon whom the
title of "insignificance" is often con-'
ferred by nature, in about the same
munificent degree that circumstance
confers estates to support it. A few
days before the last battle, which de-
cided the contest between the adverse
powers, an express arrived from the
prince, nominating Baron Von Deutz-
berg to the chief command of the army.
The indignation of Wolmar was exces-
sive ; but affairs were now at a crisis,
and he could not do otherwise than sub-
mit. By adopting all the plans which
had been previously arranged by Wol-
mar, and appointing him to execute
them in person, a signal victory was
gained, and the fame of Von Deutz-
berg echoed throughout Germany. The
proud spirit of Wolmar chafed at the
injustice; but disdaining to claim the
Honour of the success, which might sub-
ject him at best to share it only with
heraldic impotence, he speedily retired
from the court, and betook himself in
gloomy scorn to his chateau. It was
here that he thought to solace his galled
feelings in the constant society of a
beautiful woman, and we have seen how
he was disappointed.
One evening as he was roving in a
dissatisfied mood through a wood ad-
joining his chateau, a confidential vassal
came hastily to inform him that a
stranger, apparently of high station,
with a large train of followers, had just
arrived at the castle of the old baron,
and that it was every where said he was
the accepted lover of the Lady Edith.
Without a moment's hesitation. Count
Wolmar mounted his steed, and rode on
unattended to ascertain the exact truth
of this news from the parties themselves.
It was dark when he arrived in front of
the gates, and the porter refused to ad-
mit him. He demanded an audience
with the baron, stating who he was.
The porter remained obdurate. He
requested to see the Lady Edith, but
with no better success.
" Say then," said he fiercely, " that
Count Wolmar would speak a few words
with the noble who arrived here this
evening."
" Nay, my lord," answered the por-
ter, " it cannot be."
" Villain ! " exclaimed Wolmar, " by
whose orders am I treated with this
cowardly insolence ? "
" By the express orders of the noble
warrior who is to marry the Lady Edith."
" And his name?"
" The most noble Baron Von Deutz-
berg."
" Bear this message to him !" shouted
Wolmar; and he furiously dashed his
glove in the porter's face.
The two greatest mortifications of
Wolmar's life being thus suddenly
brought with united force upon him,
as centred in the same indiv-idual, bis
exasperation against Von Deutzberg
knew no bounds. He passed the whole
night in riding round the walls of the
chateau, or up to an eminence that
commanded an entire view of it below,
and seated thus on his steed he longed
for the power of some god or demon,
that swift lightning might follow the
direction of his threatening hand !
While the wish still yearned in his
heart, the sky gradually darkened, and
a sudden peal of thiuider, as of the blast-
ing of rocks, burst open the rugged
clouds, and for an instant he saw the
arrowy bolt rush down and play round
the turrets of the chateau, as though
wantoning in the power of revenge;
thus embodying his present thoughts.
The lightning did not however strike
the towers, but cut its way downward
into the earth, and all again was dark
and silent.
As the day dawned, Wolmar rode
several times in front of the gates of the
chateau, to see if any notice would be
taken by Von Deutzberg of the defiance
which he had given in so insulting a
manner. He tlien retired some dis-
tance, unwillingly and slow. Seated
immovable upon his steed, he remained
for a long time fixed on the hill opposite
the gates ; but as nobody approached
THE PARTERHK.
IG3
him, he at length bent his course home-
ward, brooding darkly over the wrongs
his haughty spirit had sustained.
He was not permitted to reniiiin long
in doubt as to the effect his conduct
had produced. On the evening of that
day a message was brought from the
Baron Von Ueutzberg, couched in the
most imperious language and command-
ing him not to contend in vain rivalry
with his superior officer, whose rant
and ancestry placed him ut so great a
distance above him !
The feelings of Count Wolmar, at re-
ceiving this response to his challenge,
may readily be conjectured. He mar-
shalled all his vassals as speedily as pos-
sible, and made various preparations, so
tiiat the very day on which it should be
announced that the imptials of \'on
Deutzberg with the Lady Edith were
to take place, might be the day on which
to commence a feudal war that should
only end with lus own life, or that of
his rival.
It need hardly be stated, that Von
Deutzberg was the favoured lover to
whom Edith had alluded, in declining
the overtures of Wolmar. She had seen
both of them for a short time when at the
court of the prince, and though there
was no comparison between tiie two
men, she had nevertheless preferred Von
Deutzberg. Of a tall and commanding
person, tine masculine beauty, and an air
that was naturally noble, Wolmar was
at the same time hot h generous and brave,
however lawless in the sense of moral
justice where his will was implicated.
Von Deutzberg was his inferior in every
respect. The world is very prompt to
accuse women of insincerity of feeling
when they make choice of a husband
mean and contemptible by nature, but
who possesses large estates and high-
sounding titles. llut it is tliis very
sound, empty as it may be, and the in-
fluence these vast possessions exercise
ui>on the imagination that produces, in
too many cases, a very sincere feeling ;
and when this becomes transferred to,
and centred in the object who represents
those vast jiossessions, however insigni-
ficant in himself, it is very liable to gene-
rate a passion as strong as the ordinary
classes of character are ca|)able of expe-
riencing. How far removed this passion
may be from real, devoted love, or how
long it may last, is nut the question.
The day of liie nii|itiuls of tiie iiaron
Von Deutzberg ami tin; L.idy Edith soon,
arrived, and Count Wolmar, ut the head
of all hilt vassals and retainers, attacked
the chateau in the midst of the festi-
vities.
We shall pass over the details of this
contest, merely observing that Wolmar
called in vain upon Von Deutzberg to
meet him in single combat, and thus ter-
minate the warfare ; and though sallies
were continually made by the besieged,
the favoured rival was never seen in the
melee. These sallies were nearly all of
them unsuccessful; and as the men were
beaten back with great loss, it seemed
evident that Count Wolmar would soon
possess himself of the chateau.
Matters were in this state, when on
the morning of the tenth day, at an earlier
hour than usual, all the battlements were
suddenly maimed — a shower of darts
was discharged, that made considerable
havoc — a clarion blewits shrill blast, and
just as the sun rose lustrous over the
turrets, the massy gates were cast open,
and Von Deutzberg issued forth at the
head of a chosen body, in full charge.
WolniiU' immediately singled out his ri-
val. They met, but had scarcely crossed
swords before Wolmar was struck from
his horse ! The astonishment of his sol-
diers at this event was quickly succeeded
by a panic, and though Wolmar quickly
rose and remounted to lead them on, it
was all in vain ; and after considerable
loss during theii- tlight, Von Deutzberg
returned to the chateau.
Exasperated at the circumstance, and
attributing it only to some fortuitous
disaster of war, — the fault, he knew not
how, of his steed, or the light of the sun
striking in his own face, Wolmar went
among his soldiers as soon as they could
be properly collected, bitterly rejjroach-
ing them for their flight, and exhorting
them to follow him to the lield at day
break, aiul redeem themselves ami iiini
from their recent disgrace, which tar-
nished all their previous successes.
The night was passed in fresh prepn-
rations, and they again marched forward
to the attack. No sooner had Count
Wolmar ajjpeared in front of the chateau,
than the clarion echoed from the battle-
ments — the gates tlew open — and again
Von Deutzberg issued forth at the head
of his horsemen. As a falcon jjounces
ujjon his jjrey, so swept the form of Wol-
mar across tliei)lain towards his intended
victim. They met ; but before they iiad
exchanged a single blow, the steed ut
NVolmar ijecame rivetted to tlie eiutli, iis
lii(Mi:<liliis hoofs were rooted; while Von
Deut/.berg, whi-eling round witli a ra-
pidity that confused tiie siglit, dealt
blowii upon his rivui's haughty crest, till
164
THE PARTERRE.
Wolmar again rolled senseless in the
dust ! His men were routed as before,
and with far greater destruction.
Wolmar, who on his fall was immedi-
ately conveyed away by several of the
most courageous of his vassals, was not
long in coming to himself. Nothing
could exceed his rage and confusion.
His mind seemed stunned more than his
bodily senses had been, and vented itself
in vague imprecations and frantic ex-
pressions. He knew not how this fresh
discomfiture had occurred, unless some
accursed witchcraft had been practised
against him. Maddened by this his
second overthrow by the sword of one
whom he had always held in sovereign
contempt, he once more rallied his men
by that energy of passion against which
there is no appeal; and a fewdays beheld
him again at the head of his troop,
brandishing his blade with clenched
teeth and steady ferocity of purpose,
in front of the walls that enclosed his
detested rival.
To be brief : the clarion on this occa-
sion sent a piercing note from the bat-
tlements, as though the breath of a fiend
had blown it, striking terror into the
hearts of the besiegers. Von Deutzberg
rnshed forth as before, and with a single
blow of his sword hurled Wolmar from
his saddle, and galloping over him,
spread death among his flying soldiers,
so that very few of them escaped the
carnage.
It was midnigbt when Wolmar came
to his senses. All was silent on the
field. The dead lay around him. How
it was that he should meet with these
renewed disgraces, yet escape deatb,
confounded his thought ! Near him
stood his horse, almost in the spot where
he had met Von Deutzberg. " Some
black spell is here," muttered he, as he
slowly rose, and advanced towards his
steed; "some power of darkness is
leagued against me. And thou, noble
charger, who hast not deserted thy mas-
ter even when stretched among the slain,
as mute and motionless as they ; thou
who hast faced with me so many dread-
ful fields, what terror now sits in thine
eye that it should glare thus wildly,
seeming to doubt thy lord ; or tremblest
thou with the memory of some presence
from other worlds?"
Wolmar mounted his steed, and rode
slowly to the distant eminence in front
of the gates of the chateau. And here,
in the darkness of night, he remained
fixed, like an equestrian statue, brooding
with a soul of gloomy agony on his
thwarted will, and the immeasurable
disgrace he had suffered at the hands of
the man whom he had held in immea-
surable scorn. But some dark aid now
rendered him an object of deadly hatred.
Thus did his mind prey upon itself, de-
spairing of revenge, till gradually his
eyelids closed, and a disturbed sleep
came upon him.
He dreamed that he heard the clouds
send forth a peal of thunder, and that
he saw the lightning descend over the
chateau, even as he had actually witness-
ed when wishing for some demoniac
power to smite them into ashes. Now
longed he doubly for the same ; but as
the wish crossed his mind, behold it was
accomplished ! The flash seemed to
strike the very centre of the fabric, and
instantly it lay in black ruins !
He awoke. " Oh dream of ven-
geance!" ejaculated he ; "no sacrifice
would be too great, so thou couldst be
realized, or I might have my will against
those within thy walls !"
As he uttered these words, he turned
his sickened eyes away from the chateau,
and as his gaze wandered over the plain,
he saw an indistinct figure advancing
across the distance with rapid move-
ment. It looked hazy in the dim grey
shades of day-break, and the body was
sometimes only half visible, the lower
part being hidden by the thick rising
mists of the moist fields.
He at length discerned the approach-
ing figure to be that of an old man,
who though meagre in limb, seemed to
scramble over the ground at a very quick
pace, and soon came up to the side of
his steed and stood stock still, looking
up in his face.
" Who art thou, old wizen cheek ? "
said Wolmar haughtily ; " and what
wouldst thou with me, that thou ap-
proachest so familiarly?"
" I am Karl Heidelschmeir," answer-
ed the old man. " I heard what you
said a little while ago, and so I 've come
to know your pleasure ?"
" Thou heard'st me; — why thou wert
far across the fields when I spoke?"
" Only a couple of leagues ! but you
see I have made haste. Surely Count
Wolmar has heard the name of Karl
Heidelschmeir, short as may be the
time that he has dwelt in these parts? "
Wolmar turned pale ; he had heard
the name of Heidelschmeir. The re-
collection of what had just passed in his
mind united with the associations of
that name, and he gazed' at the strange
being before him with a shudder. But
TH- PARTERRE.
h5
the sensation quitkly chanced, and a
dialogue ensued between NVolniar and
this old dealer with 6atan, which must
not be written here.
Wolmar returned to his deserted
chateau, which now contained so few
defenders as to render it an easy prey to
N'on Deutzberi:, whom he hourly ex-
pected to come and lay it waste. The
thought maddened his brain ; and at
nightfall he sallied out by the ])rivate
l)ostern to meet Karl Heidelschnieir,
according to their appointment.
.\s Wolmar ap|)roached, the old man,
who wiis dressed in a dingy red cloak
and dingy red pantaloons, descended
from the bole of a stunted oak, where
he was enjoying a nap.
" .\re you resolved?" demanded he,
shewing a huge set of irregular fang-like
teeth.
" I am," responded Wolmar, sternly;
" lead on !"
Heidelschnieir led the way through
wood and valley, till, descending a long
slope of thickly-set osiers, they arrived
at a vast swamp. After wading through
this about knee- deep for a considerable
distance, they came to an immense flat
stone of an oval shape, and standing
about two feet liigh from the level of
the dark marsh. They stepped upon it,
and Karl immediately commenced an
incantation of the most potent spells.
Three distinct shrieks issued from his
/laggard jaws, as he seemed to cast
something, though nothing was visible
in his hands, into the air, and strew it
before them. I'resently three minute
fire-flies, of a piercing green cohjur, ap-
peared over head ; but quickly vanished
with a report like the explosion of a
mine, yet without the least echo, so that
it came with an abrupt shock upon the
heart. The pause that ensuc^d was as
though all earth was dead, and tliey
stood in a vacuum beyond I
And now lleidelschrncir began to
utter words which may not be told, till
gradually the articulations merged into
siMiiids such as convey no meaning in
any language of earth, but which the
powers beneath the earth know too well
— and howlingly acknowledge! He
ceased ; and in the thick swamp began a
hlow eddy, till gradually through the
dark mire thus worked round, rose nj<
the figure (jf a deinotiiac goblin in an
attitude of subdued huffering, with ex-
tended arms bent submissively down-
wards, at ill obedience to the will of his
duininoner. It wa^^ doubtful whether the
poor (lend ntood mid-dceji in (he nwaiiip,
or knelt amidst it. Its tiody was not
discoloured by the mire, except on its
leathern pinions, with which it had
wrapped itself naiiid like a grim chry-
salis, in rising. Its large eyes were
humbly cast down, and all its lineaments
betokened u conquered spirit, even to a
degree of ahjectness ; being absolutely
wounded and blc eding with the jiowcr
of the incantation. But the old ma-
gician did not relax his efforts, as though
all his force of art was requisite to keep
dominion over one whom he had so
fiercely summoned. He moved rapidly
backwards and forwards upon the oval
stone, between Wolmar and the demon,
with terrific excitement and preter-
natural energy, his red cloak frequently
sending fortli a tongue of flame from its
folds. His frightful action and gesticu-
lation were forcibly contrasted with the
immoveable repose of the other two
figures : — the stern awe and expectation
of Wolmar, who stood behind — the ab-
ject quiescence of the spell-mangled
fiend, in front of him.
At length Karl jjaused, and stretched
forth his long, yellow, shrivelled neck,
like an old kite leaning over a rock to
look at an archer. He seemed doubtful
whether he had not gone too tar to be
safe. He had done more than was need-
ful from that very feeling, increasing
the danger by his fear of it. The de-
mon then s[)oke in a hoarse bl'.ibbering
voice: "Cease, Karl Heidelschmeir —
cease, or thou wilt make the elements
tear me to pieces, and ttien thine own
turn will come. \\'liat would Count
Wolmar with thy servant?"
" He would kill his rival, Von
Deutzberg," answered Karl, recovering
himself.
"Von Deutzberg belongs to me!"
remonstrated the other ; " he sold him-
self for the ])ower of striking (Jouiit
Widmar f'loin his horse whenever he
should meet him."
" I know it," said Karl, with a hideous
grin, " that is why I used so strong a
spell ; but as Von Deutzberg forgot to
stipulate that the blow should carry
death with it when he pleased, thou
h:idst tliy man very cheap!"
" I did my best," answered the goblin
liuinbly; "thy ser\iiiit is not an ass."
" I know what thou art," retorteil
Karl, " and thou canst not throw me off
my guard. Hut to business, thou cun-
ning lieiid ; Count Wolmarwould destroy
his rival ; iii'vertheless as lu; despises
him ocii more thiiii he hates, he will
not saerilice hi- soul, aciuidiiig to the
166
THE PARTERRE.
usual bargain, for any such satisfaction.
Withdraw then thy protection from Von
Deutzberg, and name some other terms."
" Whatever Karl Heidelschmeir wish-
es, shall be done at any sacrifice, on the
part of his friend and demon. Let the
Count Wolmar m.eet Von Deutzberg,
my subject, on foot, or dismount when
he next sees him, and my compact with
the baron will be superseded; nor will
I otherwise protect him from destruc-
tion — provided Count Wolmar will con-
sent to undergo some trifling penance
for the deed."
" Penance! "muttered Wolmar, doubt-
ingly.
" Name it at once !" thundered Hei-
delschmeir.
" Let Count Wolmar consent to be
placed upon a pedestal, in some castle
hall, there to repent within his own
private thoughts only, for the cause of
his standing there will not be known —
to repent I say, of such crimes as he
may like to commit, until somebody
shall make him descend. He may be
permitted to repent you know, Karl,
though you and I are beyond it. But
speak, he may not. Nevertheless, the
lord of the castle, or even the vassals,
will no doubt soon take him down, were
it only for his refusing to answer their
questions. He is then free, and I shall
be satisfied. Does he consent to this
trifle?"
" Dost thou consent Count Wolmar
to this trifle?" demanded Karl.
" 1 do ! " answered Wolmar.
A deep lethargy came over Wolmar
as he uttered the words, and he lost all
consciousness. When he came to his
senses, the scene was entirely changed.
He found himself seated on horseback,
exactly in the spot where be had first
wished for some preternatural power, to
annihilate the chateau that contained his
rival. It was the same misty hour of
day-break, as when he had been accosted
by Karl Heidelschmeir ; and turning
spontaneously with the thought, in the
direction where he had first discerned
his form coming towards him over the
distant fields, to his astonishment he
now saw Karl hastening away through
the mist as though he had just left him !
All that had passed with the demon
appeared as if it had only occurred in a
dream ; and instead of a day and night
having intervened since he first met
Karl, it was but the space of a few
minutes of eventful slumber.
F^rom the thoughts of wonder and
perplexity M'hich were fast crowding
upon Wolmar's brain, he quickly turned
to the idea of a speedy vengeance for all
the maddening indignities he had suffer-
ed, as the walls of the chateau met his
wandering gaze. Burning with im-
patience, he spurred homeward, assem-
bled his few remaining vassals, and
telling them the final hor.r of trial had
arrived, as he had resolved to die in
single combat with Von Deutzberg if
this time he should fail to overcome
him, the meagre array presented them-
selves for the last time before the walls
of the enemy.
Tlie clarion sounded as before — yet
there was a manifest difference in its
tone. It no longer resembled the shriek
of triumphant malice, but the last cry of
a strangled imp ! Von Deutzberg issued
forth ; but as he advanced with an up-
lifted sword, Wolmar threw himself
from his horse, and at one blow severed
his antagonist's arm from his body ! The
arm fell quivering upon the groimd,
while the sword, as by force of the coun-
teracted spell, emitted keen sparks, and
flew into glassy fragments ; at the same
moment the mutilated trunk of Von
Deutzberg tumbled its heavy clay beside
the blackening member !
By a previous arrangement of Wol-
mar, the chateau had been set on fire,
and so successful had been the plan, that
the flames burst out of the casements,'
and the cry of the inmates reached the
ear of their friends before they had reco-
vered tlieir consternation at the unex-
pected fall of their leader, which M'as
attended with such terrific circumstan-
ces. They fled, closely pursued by Wol-
mar, who availing himself of all his
advantages, made himself master of the
chateau ; drove nearly all its inhabitants
forth at the edge of the sword; and
having the person of the Lady Edith en-
tirely in his power, in the excitement of
the. moment, and urged by a sense of all
his previous mortification and wrongs, he
obtained that from her by force, which
ought only to be accorded to the utmost
affection by spontaneous feeling.
That same night, as soon as the flames
were extinguished, to allay the fever of
his soul from the recent events, and pour
forth the retiring storm of his emotions,
Count Wolmar wandered into an adja-
cent wood. He had not proceeded far,
when he discovered a figure extended
upon the ground. It was Karl Heidelsch-
meir, who was dying! He seemed to be
at his last g<Tsp, yet recognised Wolmar,
and made efforts to sjieak. All his at-
tempts were vain. He made strange
THE PARTERRE.
16/
signs ; but in the midst of a wild and
disttjftcd action, his limbs stitfened. and
he suddenly became like an old root of a
blasted tree — and equally lifeless. M'liat
had caused his death was never known ;
but it is most probable that in his recent
incantation he had gone too far, accord-
ing to his own apprehension, although
the effect was not immediately manifest-
ed ; or that he had died from a preter-
natural intiucnce, acting too potently
upon that jxjrtion of his exij^tence which
remained human, and by the unequal
repulsion and conflict thus induced
between a charm-sustained defiance of
time jarring upon one of the nearest
links of the elemental chain of eternity.
The earth was loosened all about him
where he lay, though there were no
marks or signs of his having struggled.
NVhile Wolmar was yet gazing upon the
black and tortuous trunk, a small crea-
ture crawled from beneath the earth,
and advancing with a cowering mien,
carefully seized the body with its nippers,
and bore it down through the crumbling
hole; just as an ant carries off a dead
beetle, with its broken legs sticking up
in the air. Wolmar shuddered and drew
back. " What may I not be subject
to, myself?" thought he.
" To nought very arduous to per-
form," responded a voice close to his
car. He turned abruptly, and beheld
a thin, half-starved boy, with large
round eyes, as colourless as water, and
a thick fleshy nose, of the pendant class.
His face was dejjlorably disfigured, as
though he had received a recent beating.
" I am come," said the ungainly urchin,
making a low uncouth bow, " to call you
from the obsequies of the great Heidel-
schmeir, to the consideration of your
own case."
" Who, and wliat art thou ? " demand-
ed Wolmar sternly, but with a fearful
misgiving at heart.
" A humble individual," answered the
boy; "and as my time is my only wealth,
I am sure you will pardon me if I de-
cline to waste it in explanations. You
will now, therefore, be pleased to return
to the chateau and fulfil your contract,
taking a penitential view, or any other
view more suited to your pleasure, of
your pa*t life. You have slain Von
Deutzberg in a very mastr-rly style ; but
you have pfjssc'.efl yourself by violence
of the person of his newly-married wife
— that, you will remember, was no ])urt
■)f the bargain. However, we "11 think
no mrjre rd' these trifles at present. This
way, if yi>u please."
Wolniar's hand gradually sunk down
upon the hilt of his sword, and as gradu-
ally grasped it. The instant he attempted
to lift it from its sheath, his fingers be-
came fixed ! The goblin boy made him
another low bow, and led the way
towards the chateau, Wolmar finding
himself compelled to follow him, by
some magnetic influence.
They reached the grand hall, and
here the boy arrayed Wolmar, who was
unable to make the least resistance, in a
suit of most superb bronze armour inlaid
with gold. He then placed a helmet of
the same upon his head, and looking him
steadily in the face with an indefinable
expression, suddenly clapped down the
vizor, which fell into a lock as if smitten
with a thunder-bolt. M'olmar essayed
to speak; but all powers of volition,
nay, all animal functions seemed to have
deserted him. And now the meagre
boy stooped down, and embraced his
knees fervently, and then lifted him
upon a grand pedestal. Having done
this, he retired a pace or two, to inspect
his work 1
" I shall now leave you to your me-
ditations," said he at length, " and
should none of the domestics take you
down speedily, I will return and do so
myself, j)rovided no accident occurs to
me in the meantime." As the uncouth
young gentleman uttered these words,
he again made a low bow, but somehow
his foot slipped, and with a loud howl,
between the horrible and ludicrous, he
fell right through the pavement, which
instantly closed over him !
Wolmar now discerned that an im-
mense shield of polished steel had been
hung upon the opposite wall, in which
his whole figure was reflected. Hut
what words shall describe his fury — ren-
dered doubly agonizing by flie conviction
of its being unn\ailing — when he per-
ceived that his outline jiresented the
exact resemblance of his rival: in fact,
that he had become a colossal bronze
statue of Von Ueutzberg ! A laudatory
inscription, describing all the young
baron's warlike deeds, and premature
end by foul and cowardly arts, was
written underneath !
The old baron and his daughter were
speedily reinstated in tlieir cliateaii. It
was belie\'cd by I'verybody tluit Woliiiar
had slain him by the aid of witchcraft,
or \'on Deutzberg would have utriiek
him from his horse with the same ease
that he had done before, and that the
spirits of justice and virtue liu<l t-et up
thii statue to commemorate his name.
168
THE PARTERRE.
Ah this was said by the baron, the Lady
Edith, and others, in the hearing of
Wolmar, while they shed tears at the
foot of Von Deutzberg's statue.
In due time the Lady Edith was de-
livered of a son, the only heir to the
honours of the houses of Von Deutzberg
and the old baron. As soon as the
child was capable of understanding, it
was taken to the statue and taught to
recognise and venerate the image of its
noble father, the Baron Von Deutzberg.
But no one knew that the spirit of the
real father inhabited the towering mail !
The youth grew up under Wolmar's
eye ; he was united to a noble lady, and
transmitted the name of a detested rival
to future times. For three generations
Wolmar remained a conscious statue of
the man be had most hated upon earth
— proudly pointed to as such by his son,
and a long line of descendants — till at
length the colossal figure was cast down
in a feudal warfare, amidst the ashes of
the chateau, and the long-suffering and
indignant soul of Wolmar was freed
from its place of torment.
R. H. H.
THE
GROUSE-SHOOTER'S CALL.
Come ! where the heather bell,
Child of the Highland dell.
Breathes its coy fragrance o'er Moorland
and lea ;
Gaily the fountain sheen
Leaps from the mountain green —
Come to our Highland home, blithesome
and free !
See ! through the gloaming
The young Morn is coming.
Like a bridal "veil round her the silver
mist curled ;
Deep as the ruby's rays,
Bright as the sapphire's blaze,
The banner of day in the east is unfurled.
The red grouse is scattering
Dews from his golden wing,
Gemm'd with the radiance that heralds
the day;
Peace in our Highland vales.
Health on our mountain gales —
Who would not hie to the Moorlands
away !
Far from the haunts of man
Mark the grey ptarmigan.
Seek the lone moorcock, the pride of
our dells;
Birds of the wildeniess i
Here is your resting place,
'Mid the brown heath where the mour
tain-roe dwells.
Come tl en ! the heather bloom
Woos with its wild perfume,
Fragrant and blithesome thy welcome
shall be ;
Gaily the fountain sheen
Leaps from the mountain-green —
Come to our home of the Moorland and
lea!
STEAM.
BY WILLIAM COX.
'* I had a dream, which was not all a dream."
Byron.
" Modern philosophy anon.
Will, at the rate she 's rushing on.
Yoke lightning to her railroad car,
And, posting like a shooting star,
Swift as a solar radiation
Ride the grand circuit of creation."
Anon,
I have a bilious friend, who is a great
admirer and imitator of Lord Byron ;
that is, he affects misanthropy,masticates
tobacco, has his shirts made without col-
lars, calls himself a miserable man, and
writes poetry with a glass of gin-and-
water before him. His gin, though far
from first-rate, is better than his poetry ;
the latter, indeed, being worse than that
of many authors of the present day, and
scarcely fit for an album ; however, he
does not think so, and makes a great
quantity. At his lodgings, a few even-
ings ago, among other morbid produc-
tions, he read me one entitled " Steam,"
written in very blank verse, and evidently
modelled after the noble poet's " Dark-
ness," in which he takes a bird's-eye view
of the world two or three centuries hence,
describes things in general, and comes to
a conclusion with, " Steam was the uni-
verse !" Whether it was the fumes aris-
ing from this piece of solemn bombast,
or whether I had unconsciously imbibed '
more hollands than my temperate habits
allow of, I cannot say, but I certainly
retired to bed, like Othello, " perplexed
in the extreme." There was no " dream-
less sleep" for me that night, and Queen
Mab drove full gallop through every
nook and cranny of my brain. Strange
and fantastical visions floated before me,
till at length came one with all the force
and clearness of reality.
1 thought I stood upon a gentle s\\eil
of ground, and looked down upon the
scene beneath me. It was a pleasant
THE PARTERRE.
HIO
eight, and yet a stranger might have
passed it by unheeded ; but to nie it was
as the green spot in the desert, for there
I recognised the haunt of my boyhood.
There was the wild common on which I
had so often scampered " frae mornin'
sun till dine," skirted by the old wood,
through which the burn stole tinkling to
the neighbouring river. There was the
little ivy-covered church with its modest
spire and immovable weathercock, and
clustering around lay the village that I
knew contained so many kind and loving
hearts. All looked just as it did on the
summer morning when Heft it, and went
a wandering over this weary world. To
me the very trees possessed an individu-
ality ; the branches of the old oak (there
was but one) seemed to nod familiarly
towards me, the music of the rippling
water fell pleasantly on my ear, and the
passing breeze murmured of "home,
sweet home." The balmy air was laden
with the hum of unseen insects, and filled
with the fragrance of a thousand common
herbs and flowers ; and to my eyes the
place looked prettier and pleasanter than
any they have since rested on. As I
gazed, the "womanish moisture" made
dim my sight, and I felt that yearning
of the heart which every man who has a
soul feels — let him go where he will, or
reason how he will — on once more be-
holding the spot where the only pure,
unsullied part of his existence passed
away. Suddenly the scene changed.
The quiet, smiling village vanished, and
a busy, crowded city occupied its place.
The wood was gone, the brook dried up,
and the common cut to pieces and co-
vered with a kind of iron gangways. I
looked upon the surrounding country, if
country it could be called, where vege-
table nature had ceased to exist. The
neat, trim gardens, the verdant lawns
and swelling uplands, the sweet-scented
meadows and waving corn-fields, were
all swejit away, and fruit, and flowers,
and herbage, appeared to be things un-
cared for and unknown. Houses and
fac;tories, and turnpikes and railroads,
were scattered all around ; and along the
latter, iis if jjropelled by some unseen
infernal power, monstrous machines
flew with inconceivable swiftness. Peo-
ple were crowding and jostlingeach other
on all sideK. I mingled with them, but
they were not like those I had formerly
known — they Wiilked, talked, and trans-
acted busincHH of all kinds with astonish-
ng I elerity. Every thing was dune in
a iiurry ; they ati-, (frank, and slfi)i in a
'vvy ; they danced, Mung, ami nuule
love in a liurry ; they married, died, and
were buried in a hurry, and resurrection-
men had them out of their graves before
they well knew they were in them.
Whatever was done, was done upon the
high-pressure principle. No person stop-
ped to speak to another in the street ;
but as they moved rapidly on their way,
the men talked faster than women do
now, and the women talked twice as
fast as ever. Many were bald ; and on
asking the reason, I was given to under-
stand that they had been great travellers,
and that the rapidity of modern convey-
ances literally scalped those who jour-
neyed much in them, sweeiiing whiskers,
eye-brows, eye-lashes, — in fact, every
thing in any way movable, from their
faces. Animal life appeared to be ex-
tinct ; carts and carriages came rattling
down the highways, horseless and driver-
less, and wheelbarrows trundled along
without any visible agency. Nature was
out of fashion, and the world seemed to
get along tolerably well without her.
At the foot of the street my attention
was attracted by a house they were build-
ing, of prodigious dimensions, being not
less than seventeen stories high. On
the top of it several men were at work,
when, dreadful to relate, the foot of one
of them slipped, and he was precipitated
to the earth with a fearful crash. Judge
of my horror and indignation on observ-
ing the crowd pass unheeding by,scarcely
deigning to cast a look on their fellow-
creature, who doubtless lay weltering in
his blood ; and the rest of the workmen
pursued their several avocations with-
out a moment's pause in consequence of
the accident. On approaching the spot,
I heard several in passing murmur the
most incomprehensible observations.
" Only a steam man," said one. " Won't
cost much," said another. " His boiler
overcharged, I suppose," cried a third;
" the way in which all these accidents
happen !" And true enough, there lay
a man of tin and sheet-iron, weltering
in hot water. The superinteruient of
the concern, who was not a steam num,
but made of the present materials, gave
it tis his opinion that the springs were
damaged, and the steam- vessels a little
rui)tured, but not much harm done ; and
straightway sent the corpse to the black-
smith's ( who was a flesh-and -blood nuin)
to be rej)aired. Hero was then at once
a new version of the old (Jreek fable,
and modern Pronictlieuses were actually
as "iilcnliful as blackberrieH." In (act,
1 found niMin iiKjiiiry, that society was
ru)W divided into two great classes, living
170
THE PARTERRE.
and " locomotive" men, the latter being
much the Letter and honester people ot
the two J dnd a fashionable political
economist of the name of Malthus, a
lineal descendant of an ancient, and it
appears, rather inconsistent system-
monger, had just published an elaborate
pamphlet, shewing the manifold advan-
tages of propagating those no-provender-
consuming individuals in preference to
any other. So that it appeared, that
any industrious mechanic might in three
months have a full-grown family about
him, with the full and comfortable assu-
rance that, as the man says in Chronon-
hotonthologos, " they were all his own
and none of his neighbour's."
These things astonished, but they also
perplexed and wearied me. My spirit
grew sick, and I longed for the world
again, and its quiet and peaceable modes
of enjoyment. I had no fellowship with
the two new races of beings around me,-
and nature and her charms were no more.
All things seemed forced, unnatural, un-
real — indeed, little better than barefaced
impositions. I sought the banks of my
native river ; it alone remained un-
changed. The noble stream iiovved
gently and tranquilly as of yore, but
even here impertinent man had been at
work, and pernicious railroads had been
formed to its very verge. I incautiously
crossed one of them, trusting to my pre-
conceived notions of time and space, the
abhorred engine being about three-quar-
ters of a mile from me ; but scarcely had
I stepped over, when it flew whizzing
past the spot I had just quitted, and
catching me in its eddy, spun me round
like a top under the lash. It was laden
with passengers, and went with headlong
fury straight toward the river. Its fate
seemed inevitable — another instant and
it would be immersed in the waves ;
when lo ! it suddenly sunk into the
bosom of the earth, and in three seconds
was ascending a perpendicular hill on
the opposite bank of the river. I was
petrified, and gazed around with an air
of helpless bewilderment, when a gen-
tleman, who was doubtless astonished
at my astonishment, shouted in passing,
" What 's the fellow staring at ? " and
another asked, " If I had never seen a
tunnel before ? "
Like Lear, " my ^its began to turn."
I wished for some place where I might
hide myself from all around, and turned
instinctively to the spot where the vil-
lage ale-house used to stand. But where,
alas I was the neat thatched cottage that
was wont so often to
"Impart
An hour's importance to the poor man's heart ("
Gone ! and in its place stood a huge
fabric, labelled " Grand Union Railroad
Hotel." But here also it was steam,
steam, nothing but steam ! The rooms
were heated by steam, the beds were
made and aired by steam, and instead of
a pretty, red-lipped, rosy-cheeked cham-
bermaid, there was an accursed machine-
man smoothing down the pillows and
bolsters with mathematical precision ;
the victuals were cooked by steam, yea,
even the meat roasted by steam. Instead
of the clean-swept hearth
" With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel
sweet,"
there was a patent steam-stove, and the
place was altogether hotter than any
decent man would ever expect to have
any thing to do with. Books and papers
lay scattered on a table. I took up one
of the former ; it was filled with strange
new phrases, all more or less relating to
steam, of which I knew nothing, but as
far as I could make out the English of the
several items, they ran somewhat thus :
" Another shocking catastrophe — As the
warranted-safe locomotive smoke-con-
suming, fuel-providing steam-carriage
Lightning, was this morning proceeding
at its usual three-quarter speed of one
hundred and twenty-seven miles an
hour, at the junction of the Hannington
and Slipsby railroads it unfortunately
came in contact with the steam-carriage
Snail, going about one hundred and five
miles per hour. Of course, both vehicles
with their passengers were instanta-
neously reduced to an impalpable pow-
der. The friends of the deceased have
the consolation of knowing that no
blame can possibly attach to the intelli-
gent proprietors of the Lightning, it hav-
ing been clearly ascertained that those
of the Snail started their carriage full
two seconds before the time agreed on,
in order to obviate, in some degree, the
delay to which passengers were unavoid-
ably subjected by the clumsy construc-
tion and tedious pace of their vehicle."
" Melancholy accident. — As a beautiful
and accomplished young lady of the
name of Jimps, passenger in the Swift-
as-thought-locomotive, was endeavour-
ing to catch a flying glimpse of the new
Steam University, her breathing appa-
ratus imfortunately slipped from her
mouth, and she was a corpse in three-
quarters of a second. A young gentle-
man who had been tenderly attached to
her for several days, in the agony of his
IIIK PARTERRE.
171
feelings withdi'ow his air-tube und called
for help ; he of course shared u siuiiiar
fate. Too much praise cannot be given
to the rest of the passengers, who, with
inimitable presence of mind, prudently
held their breathing-bladders to their
mouths during the whole of this trying
scene," Sec. &c.
\ Liverpool paper stated that " The
stock for the grand Liverpool and Dublin
tunnel under the Irish Channel, is nearly
tilled up." And a Glasgow one advo-
cated the necessity of a floating wooden
railroad between Scotland and the Isle
of Man, in order to do away with the
tiresome steamboat navigation. I took
up a volume of poems, but the similes
and metaphors were all steam ; all their
ideas of strength, and power, and swift-
ness, referred to steam only, and a slug-
gish man was compared to a greyhound.
I looked into a modern dictionary for
some light on these subjects, but got
none, except finding hundreds of curious
definitions, such as these :
" Horse, s. an animal of which but
little is now known. Old writers affirm
that there were at one time several thou-
sands in this country."
" Tree, s. vegetable production ; once
plentiful in these parts, and still to be
found in remoto districts."
" TrauquUlitu, s. obsolete ; an unnatu-
ral state of existence, to which the an-
tients were very partial. The word is to
be met with in several old authors," &c.
In despair I threw down the book,
and rushed out of the house. It was
mid-day, but a large theatre was open,
und the people were pouring in. I en-
tered witii the rest, and found that what-
ever changes had taken place, money
was still money. They were playing
Hamlet by steam, and this was better
than any other purpose to which I had
seen it applied. The automata really
got along wonderfully well, their speak-
ing faculties being arranged upon the
barrel-organ principle, greatly improved,
and they roared, and bellowed, und strut-
ted, and swung their arms to and fr(i :ib
sensibly as many admired actors. Un-
fortunately in the grave-scene, owing to
8ome mechanicul misconstruction, Ham-
let exploded, and in d(jing so, entirely
demolished one of the grave-diggers,
carried away a great part of Laertes,
and HO injured the rest of the dramatis
pers(jn» that they went off one after the
other like ho mii.iv cnukers, filling the
hou.se with hciitecl vapour. I made my
escape ; buton reaching the htreet, things
were ten times worse than ever. It was
the hour for stopping luid starting the
several carriages, and no language can
describe the state of the atmosphere.
Steam was generating and evaporating
on all sides — the bright sun was obscur-
ed — the people looked parboiled, and the
neighbouring fisherman's lobsters chang-
ed colour on the instant ; even the steam
inhabitants appeared uncomfortably \wl.
I could scarcely breathe — there was a
blowing, a roaring, a hissing, a fizzing,
a whizzing going on all around — fires
were blazing, water was bubbling, boilers
were bursting — when lo ! I suddenly
awoke, and found myself in a state of
profuse perspiration. I started uii, ran
to the window, and saw several milk-
men and bakers' carts, with horses in
them, trotting merrily along. I was
a thankful man. I put on my clothes,
and while doing so, made up my mind
to read no manuscript poems, and es-
chew gin and water for the time to come.
BENEFACTORS.
BY JOHN HOWARD PAYNE.
The home of Lopez was only a cottage ;
but it was situated beneath the beautiful
sky of .\ndalusia, in the little bishopric
of Jaen, at the flowery foot of .Sierra
Morena. His daughter, Inesilla, his
only child — his gentle, his lovely, his
darling Inesilla — dwelt with him there.
He regretted riches only on one account.
His loss of them must interrupt the
education of his daughter.
" Inesilla," said he to her, " I have of-
ten rendered services ; but no one comes
to render services to me. There is no
such thing in the world as generosity."
" The numbers of the ungrateful would
seem to prove the contrary," replied
Inesilla. " Ingratitude would be less
common, if we knew how to appropriate
our benefactions ; but the rich and pow-
erful, hemmed in as they are by mer-
cenaries, parasites, and adventurers, are
intercepted by this mob of slaves, from
conveying to virtuous indigence the
noble kindness which may relieve with-
out degrading. Il'e should know tht
characters of those wJiom ue oblige, before
ne do them services. We listen to our
hearts, and are deceived. You have
yourself done this, and more than once."
" I own it. I own it. I was in the
wrong."
The conversation was int(Tru|itcii l>y
a clap of thunder. A rapid storm dark-
ened the horizon. Lopez ibought no
172
THE PARTERRE.
more of the ungrateful. All resolutions
of future caution vanished. He flew to
fling open the large gate of his cottage
yard, that the wayfarer might be shel-
tered beneath his cart-shed from the
tempest, whose roar was now redoubled
by the mountain echoes.
A brilliant carriage, drawn by six
mules, at once drove in. Don Fernando
descended from it ; had his servants and
his mules placed under the shed, and
presented himself at the door of the cot-
tage of Lopez. Inesilla opened it, and
Don Fernando paused with wonder, to
meet beneath the lowly thatch a form so
sylph-like, and a face so refined. The
courtly bearing of Lopez seemed to
create no less surprise; his astonish-
ment, the earnestness of his questions,
the interest he seemed to take in every
thing relating to the old man, stimulated
Lopez to tell the story of his misfor-
tunes, ending with the moral which his
daughter had deduced from them.
Fernando heard him with intense at-
tention.
" By the sword of the Cid ! " cried he,
"that daughter of thine is a philoso-
pher ! ' We should know the character
of those whom we oblige, before we do
them services ;' and I bless the storm,"
added he, tears starting to his eyes,
" which has acquainted me with thee and
thine. But we should also bear in mind
another truth of which thy daughter's
philosophy seems not to be aware. We
should also know the characters of those
by whom we are obliged, before we let
them do us services."
The words of Don Fernando sank
deep into the heart of Lopez. He felt
he had at last found one with whom he
wished he could exchange situations,
merely that he could render so worthy a
man a service.
Don Fernando seemed to be animated
with a similar yearning towards poor
Lopez.
" But, Lopez," added he, " it is not
from words that characters are to be
learned. We must look to actions. From
these I would teach you mine. Lopez,
I am rich, and I am not heartless. You
have bestowed on me the only kindness
in your power. Do not be offended. I
must not be numbered among the un-
grateful. Your fortune must be restored.
Deign, till we can bring that about, to
let me be your banker."
" There is nothing 1 have to wish for,
on my own account," said Lopez ; " but
my dear girl, though still in the bloom
of early youth, has for a long while been
interrupted in her education. Poor dar-
ling, she has no associates of her own
age and sex about her — no one to sup-
ply the place of a mother. The warmest
affection of a father never can make up
for wants like these."
" I have an aunt," replied Fernando,
" who inhabits Cazorla with her two
daughters, both much about the age of
your Inesilla. In this family are blend-
ed inexhaustible amiableness, enlight-
ened religion, deep and varied acquire-
ments. Deprived of the gifts of fortune,
they have nothing to live on but a mo-
derate pension, of which their virtues,
the duties of humanity, and the claims of
relationship, concur in rendering it im-
perative on me to force their acceptance.
Cazorla is situated not far hence ; just
on the skirts of the Vega— a site of sur-
passing beauty. Go, yourself, in my
name. Find my noble relation. Con-
fide to her your Inesilla."
Lopez, scarcely hearing him out,
caught his hands, and bathed them with
tears of gratitude.
It was not long before Inesilla was
conducted by her father to the aunt of
Fernando, from whom, and from her
daughters, she received a most affection-
ate welcome; while Lopez, disabused of
his prejudices against the world, regain-
ed his cottage, satisfied with himself
and others, and silently and seriously
resolved never more to think slightingly
of human nature, and go often and see
his daughter.
One day he was pondering on his re-
collections of Fernando, on his delicate
liberality, and on his profound proverb,
when, casting his eyes unconsciously
around, they rested upon a lowly tree,
where a poor little orphan-dove, left
alone ere the down had enough thicken-
ed to shield it from the evening chill,
forsaken, as it was, by all nature, filled
its forlorn nest with feeble wailings. At
that moment, from the mighty summit
of the Sierra Morena, a bird of prey —
(it was a vulture !) — outspreading his
immense wings, pointed his flight down-
wards toward the lamenting dove, and
for some time hung hovering above the
tree which held her cradle. Lopez was
in.stantly on the alert for means to res-
cue the helpless little victim, when he
thought he could perceive that at the
sight of the vulture, the infant dove
ceased to moan, fluttered joyously, and
stretched towards him her open beak.
In truth, he really beheld, ere long, the
terrible bird gently descending, charged
with a precious booty, towards his baby
THE PARTERRE
17o
pioti?gee,a.nA lavishing on her the choicest
nutriment, with a devotedness unknown
to vulgar vultures.
"Most wonderful!" cried the good
Lopez. " How unjust I was ! How
blind ! Irefusedtobelicvein beneficence.
I find It even among vultures !"
Lopez eould not grow weary of this
touching sight. Day after day he re-
turned to watch it. It opened to hiin
sources of exquisite and inexhaustible
meditation. He was enraptured to see
innocence strengthened under the wing
of power — the weak succoured by the
strong ; and the transition from the nest
of the dove to his gentle Inesilla, in hap-
piness at Cazorla, protected by one of
the rich and ])owerful, was so natural,
that he returned home, blessing Don
Fernando and the vulture.
Already had the light down on the
little dove deepened into silvery fea-
thers ; already, from branch to branch,
had she essayed her timid flight upon
her native tree ; already could her beak,
hardened and sharpened, grasp its nou-
rishment with ease.
One day the vulture appeared with
the accustomed provender. He eyed
his adopted intently. The dove that day
looked peculiarly innocent and beauti-
ful. Her form was round and full. Her
air delightfully engaging. The vulture
paused. He seemed for a moment to
exult that be had reared a creature so
fair. On a sudden he pounced into the
nest. In an instant the dove was de-
voured !
Lopez witnessed this: he stood amaz-
ed and puzzled, like Gargantua, on the
death of his wife Badebec.
" Great powers !" exclaimed Lopez,
" what do I behold !"
The good man was surprised that a
vulture should have eaten a dove, when
only the reverse would have been the
wonder.
The former association m his mind
between his daughter and the dove rush-
ed bark upon him. He was almost mad.
" My Inesilla, my dove," shrieked he
to himself, "is also under the protection
of a vulture — a great lord — a man of
]irey — hence! hence!"
He ran . )h' flew. He repeated to
himself a hundred times upon the way —
" We ihiiuld kiiou: tlis character of Owse
by whom ue are obliged, before we lit them
do III trrxiret !"
And with this upon his lip he arrived,
breathless, at Cazorla. He dart' d »othe
retreat where he had left his daughter —
Merciful I'nnidence !
• • • • •
Reader I I see you are almost as much
[>leased as Inesilla was, that Lopez saved
lis daughter.
EXTRACT FROM THE JOURNAL
OF AN ODD FELLOW.
I do abominate laughing. There is
nothing that jars upon my feelings so
much as one of your genuine horse-
laughs. It is like the rasping of a saw,
or a sleigh running over bare ground.
Yet people have got a most villanous
habit of laughing when I speak ; why,
I know not, imlessit is that I never laugh
myself. I find I am getting the character
of a wit. If the name is fairly fixed upon
me, I should be most sadly temj)ted to
shoot myself. I fear I have said some
amazingly silly things. I will be more
circumspect for the future. My con-
versation is too light — I shall take care
to put more lead in it hereafter. Heigh
ho ! — heaven knows one's words may be
light when one's heart is heavy.
Made an experiment the other night
to ascertain whether people laughed at
me, or at what I might ha])pen to say.
Jack NVould-be-wit perpetrated a pun
some time since — not a smile — company
grim as death — Jack looked blank.
" I '11 wager a bottle of champagne,
Jack, that I 11 rehearse that still-born
eflfusion of yours to-morrow night at
Madam 's party with unbounded
applause?"
" Done!" said Jack.
And it was done — raised a tremendous
laugh — was stamped as a genuine coin ot
current wit — had the good fortune " vi-
rijm volitare per ora," got into the news-
papers, and the last I saw of it was tra.
veiling about the country, everybody,
by the way, claiming it for their own.
" NVhat say you to that, Jack ?"
" True, true, but then you've got sucli
a comical way with you."
Here then is the fault — it must bo
mended— I shall look to it.
TiiF.KF. is one thing which I hold in
s|)ecial abhorrence, arid that is being
dragged into an argunu-nt on any subject,
or on any occasion. I look ujion that
man who lays d<m'n sonu' litigated opi-
nion and calls ujion me either to confute
or assent to it, as I would upon a pl■r^on
who shoulil knock nu'down in the street,
to ascertain whether 1 had strength
enough to redress myself; and 1 have
thotiKlit that it was a great pitv the jiolice
could not be calle<l upon in tlie one case
as well as in the other. It may well be
conceived that my soreness upon thii
174
THE PARTERRE
point constitutes one of the chief mise-
ries of my life. The world is full of
these wordy martialists. One can scarce-
ly meet a man who does not carry a whole
park of logical artillery in his pocket, all
double-shotted with solid syllogisms, en-
thymemes, propositions, conditional and
disjunctive, and ready to let drive at any
one who "shows fight." There is your
lawyer, with his everlasting sequititr and
non sequitur ; the theologian, who raps
one's pate across with a knotty volume
of the fathers ; the politician, who will
do the same with his cane if you refuse
to agree with him ; the colonizationist
andanti-colonizationist; the temperance
man and anti-temperance man ; "hold
hold, for mercy sake, do have compassion
on my ears, and I will submit to any
thing — any thing except hearing you
called a wise man, or myself a wit."
There is another thing which I never
could brook, a needless interruption in
the solemn business of eating. I am a
reasonable man, and think that Archi-
medes was a fool to lose life, rather than
leave a geometrical problem unfinished.
But had he been discussing a dinner
breakfast, luncheon, or any such matter,
instead of a point in mathematics, there
I confess I could have sympathized with
him. And surely the Greek must have
been a most scandalous barbarian, who
had broken in as ruthlessly upon the
grave tenour and quiet philosophy of
such an operation.
" It is my candid belief," said Mr.
ShirtcoUar, s-tarting up from the table
where I had just sat down, " that there
is no material difference betwixt a mon-
key and a negro. Don't you think so,
Mr. Graves?"
Now this fashionable gentleman of
whiskers and mustaches was very fond
of paradoxes, which he supported as well
as a man might with an empty head
and a clattering tongue. It was not the
first offence which he had committed
against my peace, and I determined to
give him a lesson.
I dropped my knife and fork and an-
swered him very deliberately. " Negroes
are always black," — he nodded — " but
monkeys," and I eyed him very signifi-
cantly from head to foot, " I should be
inclined to tliink, arc not invariably so."
I resumed iiiy meal.
There was a titter among the ladies,
but jMr. S. did not " take," and my
shaft fell hurtless.
" Look'e, sir," said he in a louder tone,
" have the negroes ever done any thing
great — was there ever a great black man
—tell me that ? "
Interrupted again ! my blood boiled,
and I resolved that I would do my best
to "exflunctify" the animal at once.
" Mr. ShirtcoUar," said I with great
gravity, " you will certainly grant that
the Guinead is the noblest epic that was
ever produced, always excepting New-
ton's Principia, and Crabbe's Syno-
nymes."
This was somewhat out of the gen-
tleman's depth, and he looked rather
blank; but the company began to laugh,
and I looked very solemn, and hesitation
was death.
" Oh yes, I presume there is no ques-
tion about that," said he very unsus-
pectingly.
" And yet you must be aware that it
was written by a negro ? " This was a
poser.
" Well, well— yes— I '11 allow, but"—
and the whole table burst into a roar.
"Oh, demme, you're a quizzing!"
cried the discomfited controversialist,
and made off with himself, leaving me
to finish my meal without further mo-
lestation. But I found my dinner was
spoiled. Heard a conversation in the
adjoining room, which did not tend to
improve my appetite.
" He — he — he ! what a funny man ! "
said a female voice.
" Yes — yes — a great vnt — a great wit !
ha, ha ! " was the reply.
Left my dinner and slunk off to my
room, wishing that I had let ShirtcoUar
alone.
Went to a party with a solemn deter-
mination to establish a new character —
made out a long list of serious subjects —
death — the grave — parson 's last ser-
mon, &c. for conversation ; and resolved
that if people would exercise their risi-
bles, it should not be on my account.
Remarked to Miss very gravely,
and with a sigh, as was becoming, " Alas,
we must all die!" — thought sfte would
have died a laughing. Deuced strange
this ! had an idea of getting mad about
it ; but if people feel inclined they will
laugh, so I stared and said nothing, but
resolved to hold my tongue for the re-
mainder of the evening.
Looked at Harry Blunt ; the fellow
burst into a laugh.
" What the d — are you laughing at? "
said I, fiercely.
Worse yet ; feared he would" go into
hysterics.
" He — he — he ! " said he at length,
" you look just as if you were medita-
ting something funny."
Saw a tittering young lady pointing
THE PARTERRE.
175
me out to another, and heard her whis-
per, " a^ifdf uit." Couldn't ;-tand it any
longer. biieakedofT. Swore in my wrath
to cut all my acquaintance. Used no
reason in laughing, but made it a point
to laugh at every thing I said, whether
it had any point in it or not. " There
is no chance here," thought I, " to get
a new character. They are all predeter-
mined to consider me a wit." I made a
resolution to change my boarding-place,
and cut every soul of them.
Wt^.'it in search of a new boarding-
house. Found one that suited me ex-
actly. Fine rooms, pleasantly situated,
landlady looked as though she wouldn't
laugh at trities, and every thing had a
very solemn laughter-rebukingiiiir. De-
lighted with my good fortune, I was
about to accept her terms, when a little
urchin rushed into the house, crying and
bawling —
" -Ma! my nose, my nose, Johnny hit
it a blow ; boo-o-o ; Johnny's a bad boy."
" That's true, my little fellow," said I.
" Tell Johnny to blow his own nose, he
had no right to blow yours."
I had scarcely uttered these half un-
conscious words, when I heard a titter
from a young lady on the opposite side
of the room. Immediately 1 recollected
to my dismay, that I had said something
which might be twisted into a pun.
"Ha, ha, ha I" roared a gentleman
behind me, as if the joke had dawned
terii gradually upon his mind. " Pretty
good ! pretty good !"
" The gtiitleman « quite a wit," came
ringing upon my ear.
" D !" I muttered between my
teeth, and rushed into the streets like
a madman. "What a cursed slip!"
thought I, as I hurried along, dashing
against the passengers, until at length I
came in contact with an old woman with
a basket of chips upon her head, and
away she went into the gutter.
" Is she drunk, eh?" asked a gentle-
man who was passing.
" .Merely a little top-heavy," said 1.
" He, lie, he! wi'u ieem to be a wit!"
was the reply.
I am not an irascible man. Nay, I
flatter myself I have even an unusual
share of the milk of human kindness — of
that charity which teaches us toljear and
forbear — of mercy which " desi-ends like
the gentle dews of heaven," and " bless-
eth him tliat gives and him that takes."
Mut oh, Ikav I iliil want to knock that
man d(nvn ! Went home — packed up my
moveables, and started for the country.
L.
A KENTUCKIAN'S ACCOUNT
OF A PANTHER-FIGHT,
BY JAMES H. HACKETT.
I never was down-hearted but once in my
life, and that was on seeing the death of
a faithful friend, who lost his life in try-
ing to save mine. The fact is, I was one
day making tracks homeward, after a
long tramp through one of our forests —
my rifle carelessly resting on my shoulder
— when my favourite dog Sport, who
was trotting quietly a-head of me, sud-
denly stopped stock still, gsized into a
big oak tree, bristled up his back, and
fetched a loud growl. I looked up and
saw, upon a quivering limb, a half-grown
panther, crouching down close, and in
the very act of s|)ringing ui)on him.
With a motion quicker than chain-light-
ning I levelled my rifle, blazed away,
and shot him clean through and through
the heart. The varmint, with teeth all
set and claws spread, pitched sprawling
head foremost to the ground, as dead as
Jultjus Ccesar ! That was all fair enough ;
but mark ! afore I had hardly dropped
my rifle, I found myself thrown down
flat on my profile by the old she-panther,
who that minute sprung from an oppo-
site tree and lit upon my shoulders,
heavier than all creation ! I feel the
print of her devilish teeth and nails there
now ! My dog grew mighty loving —
he jumped a-toj) and seized her by the
neck ; so ive all rolled and clawed, and
a pretty considerable tight scratch we
had of it. I began to think my right
arm was about chawed up ; when the
varmint, finding the dog's teeth rauther
hurt her feelings, let me go altogetiier,
and clenched him. Seeing at once that
the dog was undermost, and there was
no two ways about a chance of a choke-
off or let-up about her, I just out jack-
knife, and with one slash, /irthaps 1
did n't cut the panther's throat deep
enough for her to breathe the rest of
her life without nostrils ! I did feel
mig/iti/ savaf^erous, and, big as she was,
I laid iiold of her hide by the back with
an alligator-grip, and slung her against
the nearest tree hard enough to make
every bone in her flash fire. " There,"
says I. "you infernal varmint, root and
branch, you are what I call used up!"
But I turned around to look for my
dog, and — and — teiirs gushed smack
into my eyes, as I see tlu' poor aifection-
ate cretnr — all of a g^ire of blood — half
raided on his fore legs, and trving to
drag his mangled body tuwarils me ,
176
THE PARTERRE.
down he dropped — I run up to him,
whistled loud, and gave him a friendly
shake of the paws — (for I loved my
dog!) But he was too far gone; he
had just strength enough to wag his tail
feebly — fixed his closing eyes upon me
wishfully — then gave a gasp or two,
and — all was over !
MISCELLANIES.
CAMPBELU
The poet Campbell having completed
his Life of Mrs. Siddons, left England
about six weeks ago, and proceeded to
Paris. By a letter received from him
dated the Istof September, addressed to
a gentleman in London, we learn that
he has set out for Algiers. " I am going,"
says he, "to Algiers. To-morrow I set
out for Lyons, and from thence shall
proceed to Toulon, and shall embark on
board the same packet-boat with Mons.
Lawrence, the distinguished Deputy of
the Lower Chamber, who is sent out a
second time by government as inspector
of the new colony."
FEMALE INGENUITY.
A widow woman, with seven children,
having applied for some time in vain for
hired lodgings, at last practised the fol-
lowing finesse to obtain a shelter for
herself and offspring. Observing a
notice of lodgings to let, in a house
situated next to a churchyard, she or-
dered her children to play in the church-
yard while she inquired respecting the
apartments. The first question on
entering the threshold was, " Madam,
have you any children?" to which she
replied, in a saint-like and pathetic tone,
" They are all in the churchyard." The
effect was instantaneous — writings were
drawn up — the rooms secured, and the
lady came to take possession of them.
The hostess was horror-struck on be-
holding her children, and refused them
admittance ; but nothing being said on
this point "in the bond," she was fain
obliged to make a virtue of necessity,
and make the best of a bad bargain,
IRISH INVITATION TO DINNER.
"Will ye dine with me to-morrow?"
said a Hibernian to his friend. " Faith
an' I will, with all my heart." — " Re-
mimber, 'tis only a family dinner I'm
asking ye to. " — " And what for not ? A
family dinner is a mighty plisant thing !
What have ye got?" — " Och ! nothing
by common ! Jist an iligant pace of
corned beef and potatoes !" — " By the
powers I that bates the world ! Jist my
own dinner to a hair — barring the beef!"
MUTTON AND NO MUTTON.
It is odd enough that a sheep when dead
should turn into mutton, all but its
head ; for, while we ask for a leg or a
shoulder of mutton, we never ask for a
mutton's head. But there is a fruit
which changes its name still oftener;
grapes are so called while fresh, raisins
when dried, and plums when in a
pudding.
INTERESTING QUESTION.
At a debating club, the question was
discussed, Whether there is more hap-
piness in the possession or pursuit of an
object ? " Mr. President," said an
orator, " suppose I was courtin' a gal
and she was to run away, and I was to
run after her ; would n't I be happier
when I cotch'd her, than when I was
running after her?"
ORTHOGRAPHY.
At a baker's, at the west end of the
town, any lady or gentleman so disposed
may step in and have, as we are informed
by a notice over the door, his or her
"vitals baked here."
AMERICAN 'CUTENESS.
We have heard a good story illustrative
of the trafficking character of the New-
Bedford people, and of the illustrative
nature of some of their profits. A good
old lady of that town had two sons, aged
ten and twelve years, who were, she
said, such real New-Bedforders, though
she said it who had n't ought to say it,
that when shut up in a close room an
hour together, " they would make five
dollars profits a-piece in swapping
jackets with each other !"
ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.
" Some years ago," says a foreign journal,
" the captain of a Corsair carried oflf the
wife of a poor wood-cutter, residing in
the neighbourhood of Messina. After
detaining her for several months on
board his vessel, he landed her on an
island in the South-seas, wholly regard-
less of what might befall her. It hap-
pened that the woman was presented to
the savage monarch of the island, who
became enamoured of her. He made
her his wife, placed her on the throne,
and at his death left her sole sovereign
of his dominions. By a European ves-
sel, which recently touched at the
island, the poor wood-cutter has received
intelligence of his wife. She sent him
presents of such vast value, that he will
probably be one of the wealthiest pri-
vate individuals in Sicily, until it shall
please her majesty, his august spouse,
to summon him to her court."
THE PAKTF.KKb:.
177
p. (ifi.
THE RUNAWAY NECRO.
A FACT.
(For the Parterre.')
Abolt eleven years ago, there lived on
Alleghany mountain, in Hampsliiro
county, a farmer named Lloyd Ward.
Though of large and powerful frame, he
was remarkably active, and a man of
great courage ; qualities which were oiu;!,'
put to a severe test in the following
manner : —
One morning a negro made his ap-
pearance at Ward's house, and requested
something to eat. His request was
complied with ; and while the sable
visitor was dispatching his meal, the
farmer interrogated hitn as to his name,
and the per-;(iii to whom he belonged.
To these iriijuirii-s, the negro replied
by producing a dirty piece of J>aper,
which Ward, upon unfolding, perceived
to be a ffjrged jiass.
" I)at will tell you who me b'long to,
ma.ssii," said the negro.
" This wont do, my fine fellow," re-
marked Ward, as his eye glanced over
the paper; "you'll get yourself into
trouble, I giicHH, if you shew this to any
one, and the writer may stand a chance
of being hung !"
Uj>on hearing these words, the negro
eagerly snatched the paper, and in spite
of Ward's endeavour to prevent him, he
tore it into a hundred jjieces.
" Hum," said Ward to himself, " a
runaway nigger !" and he at once made
u{) his mind to capture the fugitive.
" Me tell de trute, massa," said the
negro, perceiving that he wiis discover-
ed ; " me come from Big Capon. —
Massa will buy liini ?"
" No," rejjlied Ward, " 1 have no
money to spare."
" Massa will hire ?"
" I can do neither," rejoined the
farmer ; " but I have a friend who may
[)erhai)S want a heli>, and I will take
you to him."
To this i)roj)osition the black readily
assented, and he and Ward departed
together, the latter taking with him his
doubled-barrelled gun, and being fol-
loweil by a large dog.
As they proceedeil on their way, tin-
lU'gro conversed freely with the farmer,
who <lid not doubt but that he should
nuike an easy capture of him. (Jreiit,
tiierefore, wufl his ustonishmeiit, when,
12
178
THE PARTERRE.
having got some distance from home,
his black companion, who probably had
from the first suspected the farmer's
intentions, suddenly faced about, closed
Avith him, and wrenched the gun from
his grasp.
Ward uttered a cry of alarm as the
negro cocked the gun and raised it to
his shoulder, but fortunately the triggers
were not set, and the farmer rushed
behind a tree at a few yards distant.
Here he waited until the negro had
fired ; and as the contents of the second
barrel rattled against the tree, the far-
mer drew his hunting hatchet and
rushed upon his antagonist.
The black was not unprepared : he
had concealed about him a large
butcher's knife, which he quickly pro-
duced, and a fierce struggle imme-
diately ensued. Both were powerful
men, and the combat was for life or
death. As they closed on each other,
Ward's dog sprung upon the negro,
who had not perhaps calculated on this
addition to his antagonist's strength;
but he resolutely continued the combat,
and at length dispatched the faithful
animal by a skilful stroke on the neck.
The negro had freed himself from
one of his enemies ; but Ward, enraged
at the loss of his faithful dog, fought
with still greater desperation, and se-
veral blows and stabs were exchanged.
The farmer received a deep, though not
dangerous, gash on the breast, and the
blood of his adversary welled from
several wounds -. still each grasped his
weapon, and the result of the struggle
remained doubtful.
Much has been said and written upon
the valour of men, who, locked up in
armour, endeavoured to thrust each
other from their war steeds, or with
mace and battle-axe battered each others
heads for an hour together. No\v-a-
days, a man is considered brave if he
possess nerve enough to stand and re-
ceive his an tagonist's fire at twelve paces,
without flinching. It is difficult to
define true courage, but old Quarles
himself would not have hesitated to
acknowledge that it was conspicuous in
the combatants, whose desperate strug-
gle we are endeavouring to describe.
The horrible fray still continued.
With such weapons, scarcely a blow
could have been struck without infiict-
iiig a ghastly, if not a dangerous, wound.
At length, exhausted and faint with loss
of blood, the negro sunk upon the
greensward, covered with innumerable
wounds and drenched in gore.
To the eternal honour of the Yankee
farmer, he did not take advantage of his
mutilated adversary as he lay on the
ground bleeding and helpless. His foe
was at his feet, and a single blow of
his hatchet might have inflicted the
coup Je grace, and revenged the death
of his faithful dog ; but Ward was a
brave man ; he made the poor wretch,
whom he had overpowered, promise not
to quit the spot, and then hastened in
search of assistance. Wlien he re-
turned, the negro was gone ; but the
carcass of his trusty dog, the ground
torn up as though it had been the scene
of a bull-fight, and the bushes be-
sprinkled with blood, attested the
violence of the struggle.
" There was as much blood on the
ground," said those who visited the
spot, " as if some animal had been
butchered." B. Q. T.
ON A COLOURED TILE,
Which I plucked up from the Pavement of
FURNESS ABBEY.
(For the Parterre.)
1.
Rich impress of the clay, the fragile clay.
To which thy mitred fane is moulder-
ing fast ;
Bright, when the lively and meridian ray,
Through blazoned panes its rival bril-
liance cast ;
2.
Still bright, when shattered piers of glo-
rious wreath.
Gray, naked windows, filled with azure
sky.
Rise round thy scarlet patternwork, and
breathe.
To ringing winds their own saddirigy !
a
Why did I tear thee, with unhallowed
hand.
From the gay pavement where thy
'broidery shone,
Vermilion, green and blue, superbly
planned.
Till the stained lattice deemed its dyes
outdone ?
4.
What though the pictured Avindows
flame no more
In herald pomp, or painted lore, above
thee ?
Suns undisguised salute thy gorgeous
floor,
And dewy flowers and fragrant herb-
age love thee.
THE PARTERRE.
i7y
The variegated ceiling, red and gold,
Lifts to mid heaven no more its tlorid
pile;
But feathery elms, brown oaks, and
beeches bold.
Wave, in tine shade-work, o'er each
chequered tile.
6.
But now, the Carkanet hath lost a gem,
A blot upon the painted pavement
lies.
Where thy companions' beauty destines
them
To antiquarian zeal a future prize.
7.
For thee, — nor dew, nor leaf, nor sunny
sky.
Embalm in pity thy resplendent hues,
Doomed in the plunderer's cabinet to
lie.
And half thy treacherous loveliness to
lose !
a
Forgive the sacrilege — majestic shrine !
That tore a relic of thy wreck away ;
No spoiler lacerates these aisles of thine,
No bigot, heaping insult on decay :
9.
The fondest lover, from his lady dead.
Ne'er so devoutly stole a shining
tress.
As / this token of thy glories fled —
To guard as closely, and to lore ;io less,
Horace Giiuord.
APPRECIATION
SHAKSPEARE.
OF
" The English," says the Quarterly Re-
view, " flatter themselves by a pretence
that Shakspeare and .Milton are popular
in England, It is good taste, indeed,
to wish to have it believed that those
Coet.s are popular. Their names are so ;
ut if it be said that the works of
Shakspeare and -Milton are popular —
that is, liked and studied — among the
wide circle whom it is now the fashion
to talk of as enlightened, we are oblig-
ed to express our doubts whether a
gros«er delusion was ever promulgated.
Not a play of .Shakspeare's can be ven-
tured on the Ltjiidon stage without
mutilation — and without tlie most re-
volting balderdash fuistered into the
rents made by nianagcrs in his divine
dratnas ; nay, it is only some three or
four of his pieceH that can be borne at
all by our all-intelligent public, unlcus
the burthen be lightened by dancing,
singing, or processioning. This for the
stage. But is it otherwise with the
reading public ? We believe it is worse ;
we think, verily, that the apprentice or
his master who sits out Othello, or
Richard, at the theatre, gets a sort of
glimpse, a touch, an atniosjihere of in-
tellectual grandeur ; but he could not
keep himself awake during the perusal
of that which he admiri-s — or fancies he
admires — in scenic representation. As
to understanding Shakspeare — astocn-
teringintoall Shakspeare's thoughts and
feelings — as to seeing the idea of Ham-
let, or Lear, or Othello, as Shakspeare
saw it — this we believe falls, and can
only fall, to the lot of the really culti-
vated i'ew, and of those who nuiy have
so much of the temi)erament of genius
in themselves, as to con)preliend and
sympathize with the criticism of men of
genius. Shakspeare is now jjopular by
name, because, in the first jjlaee, great
men, more on a level with the rest of
mankind, have said that he is admirable ;
and also because, in the absolute uni-
versality of his genius, he has presented
points to all. Every man, woman, and
child, may pick at least one flower from
his garden, the name and scent of which
are familiar. To all which must of
course be added the efl^cct of theatrical
representation, be that representation
what it may. There are tens of thou-
sands of persons in this country, whose
only acquaintance, much as it is, is
through the stage."
[We have been much pleased with the
foregoing remarks, and yet, after all,
they are but a bundle of truisms. Every
body knows that a certain standard author
is the fashion for a time, just because
some Sir Oracle of the day has thought
fit to call him " divine," or "deliglittul."
Tiiere is no library, scarcely indeed a
two-shelved book-rack, without its Shak-
speare, the players now and then giving
us a travesty of one of his plays, and tlie
Germans having made the wonderful
discovery that he was a mighty genius !
That Shakspeare is not justly a(i])re-
ciated, even by many of those whom we
are taught to look upon as, in some de-
gree, enlightened, may be inferred from
the strange opinicnis of his commenta-
tors. We have, too, essays without
number on the chief characters of Shak-
speare ; i)ut wiio shall give us a disserta-
tion on the subordinate personages that
figure among his numerous and bcauti*
*ul creations ?]
180
THE PARTERRE.
LOVES OF AN ATTORNEY.
BY E. T. T. MARTIN.
" Amorem virumque cano."
I like a quotation ; especially if it be
from the classics, or poetical, and at the
commencement of an article. It gives
to one's production an easy, dashing
appearance, and tells much of one's
acquirements, of one's reading and me-
mory. A quotation, in short, is decid-
dedly a good thing.
It has been a matter of much regret
to me, that while poets have sung the
" Pleasures of Hope," the " Pleasures
of Memory," and the " Pleasures of the
Imagination," no patriot member of my
profession hasyet been found to trumpet
forth the Pleasures of an Attorney. The
loves, also, of all living things, from
" The loves of the angels" to " The loves
of the shell-fishes," have been celebrated
in sweet-sounding rhyme, while the
efl!ects of the grand passion on an attor-
nej', have not yet found an historian,
even in honest and unpretending prose.
Mine, then, shall be the task to portray
them, and mine own, the loves that form
the subject of this great effort.
I was a remarkably enterprising boy,
and made out to work myself, at the age
of twelve, into a huge passion for a very
demure little infant, who had numbered
about as many years. But, as my heart
was first caught by a chinchilla hat, and
my affections werewithdravni from their
object on account of a conceived slight
from her in playing " scorn," I will pass
from this, my "first love," with the
single remark, that at this early period
I formed an attachment for moonlight
nights, and learned several lines of
Moore's,
" When at the eve thou rovest,
By the star thou lovest," &c.
Several flames of a similar character, in
the course of the three or four following
years, blazed up in my susceptible bo-
som, burned brilliantly for a short period
— flickered — and went out. The next
great epoch in the history of my affec-
tions was my sixteenth year.
I have before me (only in imagination,
dear reader !) a face that utterly baffles
my skill in portraiture. I might say
that it is sweet — that it is beautiful
— angelic — intellectual; I might use
a thousand such generally descriptive
terms, but I should convey no idea of
the young girl my memory has conjured
up, and who sits smiling before me, as if
in mockery of my vain efibrts. What
shall I do ? Shall I commence an inven-
tory of her charms, classify and combine
them, add beauty to beauty, grace to
frace, perfection to perfection, until I
ave worked up the portrait into loveli-
ness equal to the original ? Or shall I
try comparisons and similes, and de-
scribe her in a rhetorical figure ? I like
the latter idea best. It is soonest accom-
plished, and will display the brilliancy
of my fancy. Flowers, it is said, are
the language of love — I will make them
the vehicle of my description of a lovely
woman. There is something in their
light, delicate, and transient beauty so
like her of whom I write, and withal
so like her love for me, that they are ad-
mirably to my present purpose. Once
more, then, let me address myself to
thee, dear reader, and ask thee if thou
hast ever seen a water-lily — a young, tall,
slender, graceful water-lily? If thou
hast, thou hast seen something as young,
perhaps half as tall, and probably even
more slender, but certainly not half as
graceful as Helen G., when in her fif-
teenth year. After all, J do not think
water-lilies are perfectly adapted to the
description of female beauty. They
answer well enough as long as we con-
fine our observations to the figure, face,
complexion, &c., and are even useful
when writing about eyes, as, for in-
stance : —
" Her floating eyes — oh ! they resemble
Blue water-lilies, when the breeze
Is making the stream around them tremble."
But when we come to the expression of
the countenance, water lilies, and all
other flowers are dead letter. There
are a thousand beauties which they have
no language to convey.
Since writing the above quotation, it
has occured to me that a poetical would
be better than even ajiowery description
of my Helen. There is something in
the very softness of poetry, its refine-
ment, its elevation, its enthusiasm, so
congenial with the female character, so
allied to feminine loveliness, that it is
singular the idea should not have enter-
ed my pericranium before. But, alas !
I am an attorney, and there is a manifest
incongruity between poetry and law.
But if I cannot write, I can quote it ;
and with a proper admixture of poetical
quotations and prose writing, I think I
shall be able to convey to the reader
some idea of one who exercised a con-
trolling influence over my early, very
early life.
When I first knew Helen G., she was
THE PARTERRE.
181
not fifteen ; half-woman, half-child —
unitiiif,' the light-hearted gaiety and
playfulness of the one, with the intelli-
gence and accomplishments of the other.
" Oh, she was beautiful ' her flouing hair
Hung in profusion round her neck of suow,
And oft, in maiden glee and sportiveness.
Her gentle hand would catch her clustering
curls,
And bind them in a braid around her brow.
Oh, she was beautiful ' her graceful form
Moved upon earth so lightly and so free ;
She seemed a seraph-wanderer of the sky,
Too bright, too pure, too glorious for earth."
Oh, she was beautiful ! and my eyes told
her so ; and a stilling, choking sensation
I experienced on taking her hand to bid
her farewell, some months after my first
acquaintance, told me — what a sudden
gush of tears a moment afterwards told
her, that I — sweet youth — was in love
with her ! Was it sympathy that for a
moment dimmed her laughing eye ?
Was it with feeling that her voice trem-
bled and her lip quivered, as she ex-
pressed the hope that she should see me
again ? Was it with anger that her
cheek crimsoned, as I, for the first time,
stole a kiss from her lips ? I know not,
for I hastened from her presence, be-
wildered, amazed, sobbing, happy, fool-
ish ! She went to school, and I was
desolate. I continued my accustomed
pursuits, but they no longer possessed
interest for me. I resorted to my old
amusements, but the lightness of spirit
that once gave zest to them was with me
no longer. My eyes would wander over
the pages of my books, but they might
as well have rested on vacancy, for my
heart was with its owner, and my fancy
was busy in scenes enlivened by her pre-
sence. For four months I thus re-
mained, partly happy and partly miser-
able, but always idle. This dreaming
life was interrujjted by the actual pre-
sence of her who was the spirit of it.
I did not let " concealment jirey on my
damask cheek," but told my love, and
was hajtpy — haijjjy for one short month,
which being the utmost limit of a
boarding school vacation, I was once
more separated from the object of my
idolatr)'.
Years passed before I saw her again,
and I had become an actor on tiie busy
stage of life; a whirlwind of human
paitsions and cares had swept over tlie
heart once occupied with her image :
but through all changes and through all
temptations I had gartu-red \i\> in it the
recollection of my early ufrcction, and
with an unwavering d(;v(itn»n liad guard-
ed it from the gros.ser and more selfish
feelings that began to find entrance there.
" We met — 'twas In a crowd,"
at a large party. She was a gay. dash-
ing, fashionable woman, surrounded by
admirers and tlatterers, to whom she was
dispensing, with wonderful ease and
grace, the words and nods and smiles,
without which they assured her they
could not exist. I think 1 observed a
slight rtiittering in her maimer as I ap-
proached I think the hue of her cheek
was a little less brilliant, and that her
voice was a little tremulous, as she
answered my congratulations on her ar-
rival at . But it must have been
fancy, for the last word of her reply had
hardly died upon her lips, before she
was engaged in a spirited conversation
with a gentleman standing near her.
One moment convinced me tliat the
school-girl's love was forgotten. The
demon of fashion had taken possession
of the heart I had for years foolishly
thought mine, and the love of admira-
tion had distorted a sweet, unaffected
girl into a coquette. Erom the time I
made this discovery, I gave up all hope
of further experience of the " grand
passion," and determined, inasmuch as a
wife appeared indispensable to my repu-
table standing in society, to make what
is called " a prudent marriage," — that
is, to many, what I had not, a jilenty of
this world's gear. " Hereafter," I ex-
claimed, "the shaft of Cupid must be
gilded to pierce me. It is impossible
for me to conceive a passion for merit
and beauty alone. I would as soon
tliiiik of coveting an empty coffer, as
falling in love with a girl without the
necessary attache of fortune. Yes — my
" Tender sigh and trickling tear,
Long for a thousand pounds a year,"
not the requisites for love in a cottage ;
for the money itself, not for assistance in
hastening the departure of my own few
straggling fartliings. I'nforfiniatcly for
my matrimonial pros])ects, the warmth
of my new determination carried me into
extremes, and instead of selecting for
my future partner in life a moderately
ugly woman with a moderately large
fortune, I ojjened my batteries u])on a
positive fright, with an estate larger tlian
theilomainsof a score of^Jennan princes.
Alas ! .-.lie was the cliild of misfortune,
and my lu'art was, from the first, drawn
towards her by the holy and blessed
sympathy we feel for those on whom the
liand of artlii'tion presses. .She had lieen
ber«'aved of a father, who 1 presunu' was
aircctionatc, and deserving of lier love,
and was the only eliild of her inotlii'r,and
Hhc ^to wit, her mother) was u widow —
182
THE PARTERRE.
a rich widow — very rich by her dower
out of the estate, of which her daughter
was the heiress. Poor girl ! was she not
to be pitied ?
It was an afternoon in June. I was
most romantically taking a sociable cup
of tea with my proposed spouse, under
an old oak, at her country-seat on the
river . I was drafting a declara-
tion of my feelings, and had, with great
care, framed one, to which I thought
she could not possibly demur ; Avhen, on
raising my eyes from the green turf to
open my suit, my attention was arrested
by the surpassing beauty of the view be-
fore me. I am not an enthusiastic ad-
mirer of scenery of any description, and,
with the exception of that dear little
animate production, the fairest of all,
the works of nature are unheeded by me,
or passed by with an acknowledgment
merely, not a. feeling that they are beau-
tiful and glorious. But when I looked
upon the noble river before me, winding
its way through a rich and blooming
country, decked with islands and border-
ed with green ; and, above all, when the
setting sun, collecting, as it were, all his
glory in a dying eflbrt, threw his golden
light over the scene, giving his own hue
to the sails, which here and there were
spread to receive the faint breath of ex-
piring day, and increasing the splendour
of the distant view, I felt for once that
the works of nature were beautiful ; and
that this world, notwithstanding the as-
sertions of interesting young admirers
of Byron, who with hanging heads, bare
throats, and black neckerchiefs, bewail
their blighted hopes, and rail against
their lot in having been created mortals,
was one in which I might content my-
self to live — to live, and live happy —
happy even mthout the assistance of my
co-teadrinker.
1 gave up the idea of a prudent mar.
riage, and my affections were once more
afloat. But love had become a disease
with me. Like the stimulant of the
opium-eater, or the potations of the con-
firmed drunkard, it became essential to
my existence. My next flame had but
one fault, which, unfortunately, I did
not discover until my affections were al-
most irrecoverably fixed upon her. She
was the most brilliantly beautiful girl I
ever beheld. In form, feature, and com-
plexion, she was unequalled; and the
dazzling brightness of her eyes, the fine
classic structure of her head, and the air
of easy grace which pervaded all her
movements, made her attractive in the
highest degree. I was a lover at sight.
My imagination, ardent as usual, made
her in mind all I could wish. I was
delighted on a first acquaintance, with
the piquancy of her remarks and her
powers of conversation. I adored her.
I opened to her the inmost recesses of
my heart ; I gave vent to the romance,
the enthusiasm, the poetry of my nature.
In a voice musical as the waterfall that
murmured near my feet, soft and sweet
as the summer night-wind that gently
lifted my hair, I spoke to her of love, of
the passion of love, of love in the abstract,
its hopes, its fears, its joys, its sorrows,
and, at last, I spoke to her of my love ! As
with a trembling hand I took hers, and
with a voice inarticulate with emotion, I
proceeded with my tale — she suddenly
turned around to me, and said, " Now,
you needn't think to cheat me. I know
what you, want. You want to fldrt with
me, and I won't ! "
She was a stick, a stone, a warmed
and walking piece of marble, without a
particle of feeling or sentiment ; beauti-
ful as the finest productions of the sta-
tuary — glowing, to appearance, as the
emanations of the painter, but, in fact,
as dead and insensible as either.
Interesting as these recollections are to
me, I fear to dwell longer on them, and
will therefore hasten to a close. Re-
peated disappointment did not discourage
me. Rejections were often a relief; for
like the " two third act" to a bankrupt,
they cleared off old scores, and enabled
me to commence anew. Long and per-
severingly did I struggle against my fate.
But I was obliged to yield at length,
and submit to my present life of single
blessedness. Other causes than those
to which I have here alluded, have con-
tributed to my present destiny, but they
have also tended to make me satisfied
with it. My life, since all hope of change
has departed, and the fire and impetuo-
sity of youth have given place to the
moderation and love of quietude, which
come with the increase of years, is not
unpleasing to me. It is agitated but by
gentle hopes and fears, by chastened
joys and meek sorrows. The ruder
storms rage not over it — sun and cloud
still, in their turn, light and darken its
horizon, and the coming breeze is not
ungrateful ; for while it changes its hue,
it gives variety and freshness to its form.
The pleasures of the domestic circle, and
the endearments of reciprocated love, it
is true, are denied me, but my heart has
found other objects to which it has at-
tached itself; and the tenderness that,
prodigal-like, I would have lavished
upon one, now finds an outpouring in
benevolence to my fellow-creat«ircs.
THE PARTEURE.
i8S
PHRENOLOGY.
At a grand fete once given at Potsdam,
all the court of Prussia aissenibled and
paraded before the king. Among all the
embroidered courtiers, one man |)articii-
larly attracted the attention of his ma-
jesty; he was atall, bonyold man, dressed
in black, with a remarkably shaj)ed head.
Frederick, who did not know him, in-
quired of the lord in waiting, " Who is
that man in black at the window with
our learned chancellor?" — "Sire, it is
Dr. Gall, tlie celebrated physician." —
'• (iall ! ah, I should like to satisfy my-
self whether what I have heard oi" that
man is e.xaggerated or not : go and in-
vite liim to our table on the morrow."
At the time appointed, a splendid ban-
quet brougiit together the king, the doc-
tor, and a dozen other personages be-
decked with crosses and orders, but of
uncourtly aspect and manners. " Doc-
tor," said Frederick, at the end of the
repast, " will you have the kindness to
inform these gentlemen what are the
propensities which their craniological
developement indicates?" Gall arose,
for the request of the king was of course
law, and began to e.vamine the head of
his neighbour, a tall dark man, who had
been addressed as general. The doctor
appeared embarrassed. "Speak frank-
ly," said the king. " His excellency seems
to be fond of Ininting and boisterous
plea-sures, and would certainly be most
at home in a Held ot battle. His incli-
nations are warlike, and temjieramcnt
sanguine." The king smiled. The doc-
tor passed on to the ne.xt. He was a
young man with a (juick eye and daring
look. " This gentleman," said Gall,
rather disconcerted, " e.xcels in gym-
nastic exercises, is a great runner, and
skilful in all bodily exercises." — " That
will do, my dear doctor," interrupted the
king, " I see that I have not been de-
ceived with regard to you, and will now
divulge, what you, through politeness,
palliated. The general next you is an
a-sassin, condemned to chains for life;
and your skilful friend is the cleverest
pickpocket ill Prussia." Having said
tliU'*, till? king struck the table thrice,
at which signal the guards entered from
•I., s.des of the room. " Rec<jii(luct these
u'entleinen to their dungeon," said the
king; and then turning towards the stu-
|)efied d<j<rtor, added, " you have been
dining with some of the greatest crimi-
nals of my kingdom. Search your
poi'ketH !" Ciall obeyed ; he had lost his
handkerchief, his purse, and snuir-box.
The next day these articles, were, how-
ever, returned to him, together with a
valuable snuff-box set with diamonds, as
a present from the king. — Le Camelton.
NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS.
TiiF. Angler in NV.m.ks ; on. Days and
NicHTS OF SroKTs.MEN. By Thomas
Medwin, Esq.
The perusal of these volumes has
afforded us much amusement, notwith-
standing the conceit which is manifest
in every page. The gallant captain
takes especial care tt) remind us that he
was once intimate with one " Byron,"
and gives us an account of his own
youthful days, in which self-love is
equally conspicuous -. still the book is
amusing, as the folloNving extract will
shew : —
NEAPOLITAN BRIGANDS.
" We were now in the last ten of the
thirty miles, and in sight of the frontier,
when we observed our courier galloping
back at full speed.
" Before reaching the cari-iage, he
beckoned with his whip to the boy to
sto]), and was so much out of breath
with hard riding and fright when he
came up, that he could not speak for
some seconds ; but at last related, that
about a mile a-head he had been tired at
by two out of a band of ruffians, who had
suddenly risen u]) a short distance from
the road from behind some logs of wood,
which had been omitted to be removed
when the trees were cut down that
they might not give shelter to the
bandits.
" The question was, how to act. To
go forward, in the ti'cth of the gang,
with so unequal a force, would have
been the extreme of madness, and to
pass the night at the wretciied post-
house in our rear, was a scarcely less
preferable alternative. My friend pro-
])osed returning to Mola di (Jaeta, but
thiscourse was speedily rejected. Whilst
still doubtful what steps to pursue, Pie-
tro suggested that we had better drive
to the nearest military station, about
two miles in the rear; and this counsel
was finally adoi)ted.
" i)n arriving at the guard-house,
we summoned the commandant, who
speedily mustered his iiu-ii, consisting
often or twelve poor emaciated, yellow,
half-starved, fever-stricken wretches,
who had not been relieved for se\eral
months, and ])roved what the ellect ol"
lireathing long the ])estileiitial air of
those marshes must be. By dint of
persuasion, in the shape of a few ducats,
\M" oM'ri'ame his scruples about quitting
184
THE PARTERRE.
the post; and putting ourselves at the
head of these FalstafF men, commenced
our march towards Cistema, the carriage
following.
"The sun was sinking fast, and, to
save the light, it was necessary to move
on at double quick-time. With a pair
of pistols, one in each hand, I gave the
step, and the courier brandished firmly
his stiletto, which was the only weapon
he possessed. A tremendous show of
war we made ! Show only it was ; for
I felt convinced that our allies would
have right-about-faced, to a man, at the
first click of a musket. Armed, how-
ever, they were to the teeth, that chat-
tered, one of them told me, from the
ague. In about half an hour we came
near the spot where the courier had
been attacked, and I counselled the
general-in-chief to throw out videttes on
the side of the forest; but being, of
course, more experienced in strategies,
he declined the proposition. Perhaps
his Jack -straw soldiers thought of the
fable of 'The Bundle of Sticks,' for they
stuck close together, and their visages
reminded me of the assassins in the
' Cenci,' one of whom reproached the
other with being pallid ; to which his
comrade replied — ' Then it is the re-
flection of your fear !'
"At this moment I clearly distin-
guished, \\'inding among the columns of
the trees, about four hundred yards to
our right, the party of brigands, easily
distinguished as such by their fantastic
costumes and their hats ornamented with
flowers and lofty plumes.
" Whether it was that they did not
like our martial appearance, or that they
thought the promise of plunder did not
warrant the risk of an engagement, they
gradually disappeared, when our troops
were loud in their 'per Baccos,' and
other equally energetic displays of cou-
rage ; and just as the night was closing
in, we found ourselves in the unlighted
square of Cistema. Pietro here or-
dered fresh horses; but neither bribes
nor entreaties could induce the post-
master to give them, and we were forced
to pass the night at the execrable albergo
in that most miserable of miserable
Italian ' paesi,' where no English tra-
veller had ever slept, except ourselves.
You may judge of our fare : it being
Friday, nothing could be got to eat but
'baccala;' and then the beds — 'Dio mi
guardi ! ' I almost wished we had fallen
into the hands of the brigands, which
but for the circumstance of our having a
courier, we most inevitably should.
" Lord Wellington is said to have
wished for night, and Ajax is made by
Homer to pray for day. Superstition
apart, indistinctness of objects, a sense
of danger, accompanied by an ignorance
of its extent or in what shape it may
come, has power to unnerve the bravest.
This may be, as Burke says, very sub-
lime, as doubtless poets are when they
envelope in obscurity their want ol
meaning, but is anything rather than
agreeable. I mean this by way of pre-
lude to a ' situation ' in which I was
once placed, and the recital of it shall
close our nodes,
" In that desert in dust and wilder-
ness in size, Cawnpore, I had been dining
one evening with the fourteenth —
King's, and did not leave the table till
a late, or rather an early hour. The
mess-room was four miles from our lines,
and for expedition's sake I made use of
my buggy. The horse I drove at that
time had been originally in the ranks ; a
powerful northern animal he was, with a
crest that would have almost covered his
rider, but full of such tricks as troopers
purposely teach their chargers. He had
been cast solely for a sand-crack, of
which I soon cured him. He was the
fastest trotter in the cantonment, but a
restive devil ; always started at a rear,
and once off, had a mouth so callous,
that a Chiffney bit might have broken
his jaw, but I defy it to have stopped
him. You will think all this prelimi-
nary history of my grey superfluous,
perhaps not. The night was tempestu-
ous, and the road only visible by light-
ning, that rendered the darkness more
black during the absence of its glare.
There were so many Avindings and
turnings that I was soon out of my
latitude, and thinking the horse knew
the way to the stables better than 1 did,
gave him his head. On he went for
some time at his own spanking pace, at
least twelve miles an hour, when I felt
from the roughness of the vehicle that
we were out of the track. Well was it
for me that he had been well manege'd,
for on a sudden he made a halt as though
he had heard the word of command, and
trembled so convulsively that I felt the
whole machine shake over hiin. I
imagine I shook too, and well I might,
instinctively, for a vivid flash revealed
my situation. He was standing sus-
pended over the edge of a ravine sixty or
eighty feet in depth ; one step more
would have plunged me into eternity !
— And why not into eternity? — what is
life that I should cling to it? — why have
I escaped all these snares of death, that
have been so often laid for mee ? — To die
THE PARTERRE.
185
iiigloriously — alone ; without a friend
to close my eyes, to shed a tear over my
remains !"
ANCESTRESS OF FRANKLIN.
.Mary Morricl, the grcat-grandmothor
of Dr. Benjamin Franklin, wjus maid-
servant in the family of the Rev. Hugh
Peters, one of the chaplains of Crom-
well, who tied from England in the year
H)6± Peter Folger, the first of the
name that came to Nantucket, was pas-
senger on board the same vessel, and
became enamoured of the maid, who was
a buxom, sensible lass, and won the heart
of Peter by laughing at his sea-sickness,
and betraying no fear of bilge-water.
Peter admired the cheerful endurance of
Mary Morriel so much upon the voyage,
that he proffered his hand to the maid,
and bargained for her ^\'ith the greedy
old hunks, her master, and counted out
to him the enormous sum of twenty
pounds sterling, all his worldly store, for
the remaining term of her servitude.
He forthwith married the lass, and ap-
parently had no cause of repentance,
for he always boasted afterwards of hav-
ing "made a good bargain." The value
and scarcity of money at Nantucket at
the time may be estimated from the
fact, that when King Philip, as he was
called, pursued an offending and fugi-
tive Indian to Nantucket, in 16(35, about
three years after Peter Folger and his
wife. Mar}' Morriel that was, had settled
on the island, the Indian king consented
to bury the hatchet and let the offender
go free, for the consideration of a pre-
sent of a wampum composed of a string
of coins, in value nineteen shillings ster-
lings, which was all that could be found
in possession of the twenty original ])ro-
prietors of the island, and Peter Folger
to boot. Mirinm Coffin.
ASTROLAB;
OR, THE SOOTHSAYER OK BAGDAD.
One evening, while Astrolab the Chal-
dean was sitting on the flat roof of his
obhcrvatory in Bagdad, walr-hing an oc-
niltation of Aldiboran with the moon,
(Jules, hi.i servant, obtruded herself be-
f(jre him, aiul said that an (dd woman
with u beautiful young maiden was
eagerly desirouh to speak with him. At
that moment Astrolab was studiously
engaged in examining the immersion of
the htar ; but, on hearing tlii><, he started
up and (jrdercd them to be instantly ad-
mitted to hih otudy below, and to tell
them that as soon as the phenomenon
was over, he would be with them.
Gules retired ; and the astrologer,
without resuming his contemplation of
the figure as it appeared on the plate of
quicksilver in which it was mirrored,
walked hastily about, agitated with emo-
tions greatly at variaiu-e with the solemn
and contem]dative mood from which the
message had roHsed him. After remain-
ing some time thus disturbed, he at last
composed himself, and went down to
the chamber where the strangers were
sitting.
On entering the room, he was sur-
prised by the remarkable contrast in the
appearance of his visitors. Humanity
could not be more uncouth than the aged
Barrali, She was more like an Egyp-
tian muiYiniy who had stei)ped out of a
catacomb, than a breathing old woman.
She had but one eye, and where the
other should have been, there was a blind
blue blob, like a turquoise. It could not
be said she had any complexion, for her
wrinkled skin was like shrivelled leather,
and she had but two teeth in her upper
gum, and they resembled si)linters of
yellow cane : long they were, and seem-
ingly of little use, but her voice was
soft and pleasing, and all she said was
so discreet and wise, that when she
began to si)eak, her forbidding counte-
nance and deformities were forgotten.
Gazelle, the girl whom she had
brought with her, was as beautiful as
she herself was the reverse. She was
not only fair and young, but adorned
with an innocency of look and manner
uncommon and fascinating. Astrolab
was at once surprised and interested at
the combined simi)licity and splendour
of her extraordinary charm.'^
After some interchange of civilities,
being seated on his sofa beside the two
ladies, he in(|uired to what circumstance
he owed the felicity and honour of their
visit at such a time ; " for," said he,
" no doubt you are aware that a great
configuration is at this time going on in
the heavens, aiul that all things done
and undertJiken under it have influences
that reach beyond their jiroper s])here,
and affect the destinies of others."
Barrah reiilied, that really they had
not heard any thing of it. " We are,"
said siu', "sini])le folk, and have only
come into Bagdad this evening to have
the fortune of (ia/elle cast. She is my
grand-daughter; her mother is dead,
and a great man lias been more than
oruc at my house, and lias offered a
handscjme price if I would sell her.
Now, as she ii> very beautiful, wiiich you
186
THE PARTERRE.
may well see, I would not wish to part
with her until I had some assurance
from your knowledge, as to what her fu-
ture fortunes will be . for her mother
had a dream in the night before she \vas
born, in which she was told by the vision
of an old man with a crown of gold on
his head, that the child she was to bring
forth would be a dragon, and rule the
fate of kings; therefore we have come
to you to have her horoscope drawn, and
I have brought with me five pieces of
gold to pay you for the trouble."
While Barrah was thus talking, the
rose faded from the complexion of the
gentle Gazelle, and her face grew pale
and so bright, that it almost seemed to
glow with the lustre of an alabaster
image in the moonshine, while her eyes
became more radiant than ever. Astro-
lab was awed as he looked on her, think-
ing that a form so strangely lovely could
hardly be of human parentage ; and
when he looked at Barrah, and observed
the shocking contrast which she pre-
sented, he could not but dread that
there was some undivulged mystery in
their visit at such a time ; and he had a
fearful reminiscence concerningthegood
and evil genii that govern the fortunes
of men. Moreover, he was grievously
perplexed at the value of the fee, it was
so much beyond the gift he commonly
received for calculating nativities.
However, notwithstanding his fears
and his dread, he accepted the money,
and taking his tablets began to question
the old woman respecting the astrologi-
cal particulars necessary to enable him
to construct the horoscope of Gazelle ;
and when he had noted the answers, he
requested them to give him time to
make his calculations, and to consult the
stars and their aspects. This was readily
acceded to, and the ladies departed, hav-
ing agreed to revisit him at the same
hoiu' of the same day of the same moon,
in the year following.
When they had left the sage, and he
was on the point of remounting to his
observatory, he happened to cast his eyes
a little curiously on the notes on his ta-
blets, and beheld with amazement that
they did indeed indicate no ordinary
destiny.
While he was thus looking at the por-
tents. Gules again came in and said,
" Hossain, whom I know by sight, an
old officer of the palace, is at the door
with a stripling, whom I am persuaded
is no other than Motasser, the son of
MoUawakkel, the caliph."
When Astrolab heard her say so, he
became as much agitated us when Bar-
rah and Gazelle were announced; never-
theless he ordered the new visitors to be
respectfully admitted, and that Gules
should take care not to let them perceive
that she knew who they were, or sus-
pected their rank.
Hossain and the yoimg prince Motas-
ser having come into the chamber, the
former presented the astrologer with five
pieces of gold, in all respects so similar
to those which he had received from the
old woman, and which he had just put
into his purse, that he was exceedingly
surprised.
Hossain then told him that he wished
the horoscope of the lad he had brought
with him raised, and related the natal
circumstances, while Astrolab took them
down in the same manner as he had
done those of the birth of Gazelle. He
then asked the self-same questions, and
received the self-same answers.
Concealing the astonishment which
the singularity of these coincidences
produced, he preserved a steady coun-
tenance, and requesting time for his
arithmetic, agreed with Hossain to deli-
ver the horoscope exactly at the same
crisis of time which he had fixed with
the old woman to come for that of her
beautiful grand- daughter.
When Hossain and the prince were
gone away from him, he resumed the
consideration of what he had inscribed
on his tablets, and saw, without casting
a single calculation, that the fate of
Gazelle was in every planetary aspect
exactly similar to that of the prince. In
musing on the singularity both of this
and their visit, his astronomy was for-
gotten, and the remainder of the night
was spent in the consultation of his
science.
Early in the morning he called up
Gules, and directed her to go in quest
of Barrah, and to bring her to him, as
there was an important question omit-
ted, without the answer to which he
coidd not develope his inferences. Gules
observed, that as she might be detained
in the search tlirough the bazars, it woidd
be as well for her to bring home some-
thing for dinner, and begged him to
give her some money. This recalled the
attention of Astrolab to the rich fees he
had received, and putting his hand into
his purse, to take out a piece of the gold,
bade Gules buy the nicest fish she could
find ; but instead of the ten pieces of gold,
he found only five, and five worms ! A
transformation so hideous, revived the
dread which he had felt during the visit
of Barrah and Gazelle ; and he was now
convinced that there was somcthinc
THE PARTEKRE.
187
about tteni unearthly, and wondered if
they could indeed be of the good and
evil demons that sway the mutations of
human fortune. Thus impressed with
mysterj-, and convinced that some ex-
traordinan- event was to come out of the
adventure, he threw the five worms from
nim with an exclamation of abhorrence,
and trod them to death, and five spots of
blood remained on the tloor-. at the same
time he expressed his wonder to Gules,
how the odious creatures could have
found their way into his purse. From
this incident it occurred to him, that
Gules was not likely to fall in with Bar-
rah, or her companion ; so instead of de-
siring Gules to go in quest of Barrah, he
directed her to proceed to the Almanzor,
or the palace of thirty thousand cham-
bers, and inquire there for Hossain, and
deliver to him the message he had in-
tended for the old sorceress, for such
he deemed Barrah now to be.
Gules being thus instructed, proceed-
ed on her errand ; and wlien she reached
the great gate of the jialace, she went
into the interior court, and was permit-
ted to enter at freedom into all the
public halls ; for it was one of the Caliph
MoUawakkel's grand days, when he re-
ceived, on the throne of the hundred
golden lions, the petitions of his sub-
jects.
On every side her eyes were enriched
with his grandeur. She gazed with un-
speakable delight on his innumerable
guards in radiant armour, — the gorge-
ous officers that surrounded his throne,
— the thousands of slaves and eumichs
covered with cloth of gold and purjile,
and studded with gems, — the li\ ing ta-
pestrj- which adorned the walls, — the
golden fountains, which spouted not
water, but quicksilver, perfumed with
the rarest odours, — and tlie silver floors,
enamelled witii dowers more precious
than gold, and which were justly es-
teemed scarcely splendid enough for the
g\ory of the walls and the ceiling. .Such
va«t magnificence seduced the innocent
Gules from all remembrance of her er-
rand, and of the nice fi.^li she was to buv
for dinner; and slu- roamed from iiall U>
galler}', and trij)|ied along tlic marble
terraces in an ecstasy of jileasure, until
the crowd and guards assembled in the
courts and gardens began to disperse.
Suddenly passing into a colonnade, she
beheld liarrah and (ia/.elle walking in a
flowery parterre of the garden bi low,
and iinmediately behind them ilo^sain
and Motasser. Thus reminrird of lu r
negligence, sIk; ran immediately tcjwanis
them to execute her errand ; but before
she reached the place where she had seen
them, Gazelle atid Barrah were gone,
and she found Hossain t.ilking to Mo-
tasser of Gazelle's extraordinary beauty;
for it was Hossain who had been bar-
gaining with the old woman for her
grand-daughter, to be the first ornament
for the harem of the young prince.
Gules lost no time, for she had already
lost too much, in delivering her mes-
sage ; on receiving which. Hossain left
Motasser amidst the fiowers, and went
straight to the house of Astrolab.
Motasser being thus left alone, stray-
ed along the jjlats and walks of the jnir-
terre till he came to a flight of yellow
marble ste))s, which ascended to a lofty
terrace that overlooked the crystalline
current of the Tigris. The platform of
this terrace was adorned with the rarest
shrubs and fiowers, the seeds of which
were collected from all parts of the world,
at a vast expense, by Almanzor, the
founder of the palace and city. The
terrace itself was called the garden of the
seven fountains, on account of seven
prodigious basins of rock crystal which
stood in a row under a wall, from the
top of which seven lions, of red Egyp-
tian granite, discharged into the basins
copious streams of limpid water per-
fumed with lemons, the fragrance of
which spread a delicious freshness in the
air. These limpid fountains afforded
a supply of sherbet, by merely dipping
certain curious shells, which stood around
the basins, incrustcd by the skill of the
adepts of the palace with a i)re]):inition
of candied honey, jnire as tlie sun-dried
salt of the ocean, and which was every
morning renewed.
Motasser beheld at the most remote
fountain from the top of the stairs the
light and elegant form of Gazelle, and
lia>tened towards her. He was greatly
delighted with lii'r giaeeful innocence,
and began in a eay an<l ]ilayful niainier
to converse with her on the beauties of
the gardens, and the pleasing sjiirit that
breathed in that calm and balmy after-
noon. He was charmed with the sim-
j)]icity of her answers, and led her
to another terrace which eoinmunieated
with the garden of the se\en fountains
by a gateway of such ])ro|)ortions, that
none ever |)assed through it without ex-
])ressing their udndration of the skill
and tastefulness of the architect. In the
middle of this garden stood a |)latlorni,
about the height of a table. It was lil'ty
cubits hfjuare, and covered with one en-
tire sheet of malachite, as perfect in tlie
surface and as green a.s an emerald. On
it lay n numlter of pearls, each larger
188
THE PARTERRE.
than an orange, for the purpose of play-
ing a game more elegant than mandeli.
Motasser invited Gazelle to play one
round with him, and she lifted one of
the pearls with her delicate hand and
began the amusement. Motasser pre-
sently found, that although ignorant of
the rules of the game, she yet directed
her pearl with more dexterity than he
could; and, dissatisfied with his ill luck,
he led her from the table to an alcove,
where, after being seated and conversing
for some time, he requested her to tell
him a story.
Gazelle was exceedingly simple in all
her ideas; but she spoke with such a
pretty innocence, that her conversation
was more engaging to the prince, than
if it had been wittier and wiser. She
told him a tale of a certain giant among
the ridges of Caucasus, whose eyes were
like the sun and the moon, and did not
see well with one of them ; and to con-
vince Motasser of this fact, she said he
was hundreds of feet high. Giants, you
know, are bigger than men, otherwise
they would not be giants. And then she
told him another tale of a still more
gigantic race, until Motasser began to
yawn, and said, he would rather she
told him of something else; but she re-
plied with a smile, that she had just one
more story about a giant, a very little
one, not more than fifty feet high : and
Motasser listened to it, and was much
pleased at the time with what she re-
lated ; but afterwards, when it was no
longer garnished with her smiles and
simplicity, he thought it a very silly
tale.
While the prince was thus drinking
the sherbet of love with the incompara-
ble maiden, the aged Barrah, by some
unknown entrance, made her appearance
beside them, and without saying a word,
wafted as it were away on the wind the
lovely Gazelle, and left the prince alone,
surprised at their sudden vanishing.
In the meantime Hossain, as sum-
moned by Gules, went to the house of
Astrolab, who received him with an air
of great solemnity.
" I have," said the astrologer, " sent
for you, to inquire into some circum-
stances connected with your own history;
for I find a strange infiuence operating
in the horoscope of your young friend,
and without knowing from what princi-
ple that influence descends, which in a
great measure crosses the lord of the
ascendant, there may be great fallacy in
my calculations as to coming events."
He then informed Hossain that he
considered his destiny crossed the for-
tunes of the native, and proceeded to
ask him several questions concerning
adventures in the previous part of his
life, all which were truly answered by
Hossain, and that respectable governor
of the prince then retired.
Scarcely had he quitted the house of
the astrologer when Barrah solicited ad-
mission, and was conducted by Gules
into the presence of Astrolab. The sage
put to her the same questions that Hos-
sain had answered, and to his amaze-
ment, her answers were precisely in the
same words; and he was a good deal
surprised, on looking at Barrah, to see
that she bore a very strong resemblance
to Hossain, a circumstance he had not
before noticed. He then dismissed her
courteously, and allowing a few minutes
for her to be clear of the portal, he put
on his richest pelisse and hurried to the
palace, where he came up at the great
gate with Hossain.
" I beseech you," said Astrolab, as he
approached him, " to protect your young
charge from the fascinations of a beau-
tiful village maiden called Gazelle."
" What do you mean ? " cried Hos-
sain, startled at the intimation, not
knowing that the astrologer had ever
seen or heard of the mysterious beauty,
for whom he himself had been so long
bargaining with her grandmother.
" Because," replied Astrolab, " great
things are in his destiny, and that maid-
en's horoscope contains so many simili-
tudes to his, that she may become the
daemon of his fate, mingling his fortunes
with hers."
Hossain, being a faithful subject of the
caliph and devoted to Prince Motasser,
was much moved at hearing this, and
instantly quitted Astrolab and went in
search of the prince in the gardens, that
he might admonish him to avoid that
same Gazelle, whom so short a time be-
fore he had so earnestly recommended to
his affections. Just as Barrah had with-
drawn Gazelle from the side of the
prince, Hossain joined them ; and after
some cursory conversation, consisting
more of words than of wisdom, he deli-
vered his admonishment, to which Mo-
tasser listened with the reverence due
the counselling of an elder.
From that time, the worthy Hossain
endeavoured to interest the attention of
Motasser in a succession of manly amuse-
ments and studies, in order to raise his
mind and to fit him for the regal trust,
to which, in time, by the death of his
father, he would naturally succeed. But
Motasser was of a soft and sensitive cha-
racter, and thougli he spoke not of Ga-
THE PARTKRRE.
189
zelle, yet he remembered her constantly
Mrith sentiments of the warmest tender-
ness: foriwelve months he expressed no
wish to see her, and Hossain deemed
that she was forgotten.
At last, the night arrived which As.
trolab had appointed for the delivery of
the horoscopes. Both Hossain and Alo-
tasser remembered it well ; but, as nei-
ther spoke of it.theyeaehconeluded that
the other had forgotten it, and severally
determined to visit the astrologer alone.
Hossain went first ; and on entering
the house, he was directed by Gules to
walk to the end of a long passage, which
she pointed out, then to open a door
and to draw aside a curtain, and he would
find the astrologer waiting to receive
him. He accordingly went forward as
directed, opened the door, drew aside
the curtain, and stepped in, but was sur-
prised to find himself in darkness, while
at the same moment he felt the floor
sinking down with great rapidity ; pre
sently he found himself in a vast cham-
ber, awfully illuminated with stars, and
five stupendous figures crowned with
stars on the one side of the room, and
on the other side five ghastly forms, with
gory hands and white garments stained
with blood. Between them sat the astro-
loger on a lofty seat, and before him on
a table lay the volumes and instruments
of his art. But before Hossain had
time to examine the awful ornaments of
that solemn chamber, Motasser was ad-
mitted by the same machine in which
he had been lowered down into the mys-
terious abyss. They looked with asto-
nishment at each other, and almost in
the same moment Gazelle and Barrah
came forward, as if they had been pre-
viously in the apartment concealed by
the gloom-
Astrulab bent fioni his elevated seat,
and lifting two rolls containing the horo-
scopes of the prince ami (ja/cllc, deliver-
ed tliem respectively into the hands of
Barrah and Hossain. In the same mo-
ment the room was instantly darkened, a
sound louder than thunder rolled round
them, the whole house was shaken as
with an earthquake. Astrolab, in great
alarm, r-ried aloud for lights, and (iiiles
itnmediately entered with a lamp in her
hand; but i^l^tead of the mystical cham-
ber, Hos'.iiin and Motasser found them-
selves with Ahtrcjlab in a jilain house-
hold room, every sign and trat^e of the
my'tery having disajipeared. The astro-
loger, however, was pale and agitated,
and the sweat of terr<ir stood in large
drops on lii-t brow.
Hossain, a wary and sagacious man,
discerned that there was craft in the
mystery which had been performed, and
stood comparatively calm. He then be-
gan to unfold the roll of horoscope, but
the astrologer stopped him.
" Read it first alone," said Astrolab,
"and when you have done so, then con-
sider if it be fit to be divulged."
Motasser in the meanwhile was a good
deal shaken; but as soon as the visionary
spectacle he had witnessed was fairly
gone, he thought only of the lovely Ga-
zelle, and the ripened charms of her
beauty.
Having bestowed a reward on Astro-
lab, Hossain and Motasser returned to
the palace, where they separated, and
went to their respective chambers for
the night. But Hossain could not retire
to his couch until he had examined the
horoscope. Better it would have been
for him had he never lookedat it ; the oc-
cult intelligence which it revealed, made
his cheek wan as ashes, and filled his
mind with indescribable ap])rehcnsions.
He took the roll, and held it over the
lamp until it was consumed.
Next morning, after a troubled and
sleepless night, Hossain arose to walk
in the gardens, in the hope that the cool
morning air would refresh him. On
descending into the hall, which opened
into the gardens and overlooked the Ti-
gris, he was saluted by three of the lords
who constantly night and day attended
in the antechamber of the caliph, bear-
ing the command of Mollawakkel to
himself, engraved on a tablet of ivory
and sealed with the imperial signet, ap-
pointing him, as the warrant expressed,
on account of his prudence, to be gover-
nor of Bagdad, and a member of the
caliph's council of ten — one of whom
had died in the course of the preceding
night, at the very crisis of the time, as
Hossain afterwards ascertained, when
Astrolab delivered into his hands the
fatal document.
Hossain had lU'ver taken any part
either with the factions of the palace, or
in the measures of the government. He
only knew that the cali|)h was not be-
loved by his jieople, tliat he ccninivedat
jiartialityin the administration ofjustice,
and coniiscated the treasures which he
permitted his magistrates and governorii
corruptly to exact — ])unishing no misrule
but that which interfered with the scope
of his own tyraimy. Hossain sighed a.s
he received the honours wiiieli he could
not refuse, and r<'tiring back toliis cham-
ber, wept in secret over his recollection
190
THE PARTERRE.
of the dreadful omens exhibited in the
horoscope of Motasser.
But no passion of the human mind is
long in its paroxysms. Hossain reliev-
ed by his tears, left his chamber again
to look after his daily business, and de-
scended down into the Court of the Ele-
phant, so called from a gigantic elephant
which adorned the centre. It was made
of jet, and stood upon an agate pedestal
more than fifty cubits high. As he was
passing round the corner of the pedestal,
he suddenly met Barrah, and was amazed
to see great improvement in her appear-
ance. Her two ugly teeth were gone —
her mouth was become like a motherly
old woman's — and the bloom of her ug-
liness was faded. He made her a cour-
teous salaam as he passed, and walking
along, he reflected on the intelligence
of her countenance, and thought that he
would like to have some conversation
with her on other topics than respecting
Gazelle ; so he turned back and asked
her, without alluding to her grand-
daughter, if she would take a walk with
him into the gardens. To this she rea-
dily consented, and they went to the
garden of the seven fountains together.
In the meantime. Prince Motasser,
full of his passion for the beautiful Ga.
zelle, had sent in quest of her, for the
admonishment of Hossain to renounce
her had only served to quicken his de-
sires. But, still anxious to preserve the
good opinion of Hossain, when she was
found, he directed a suite of chambers
in the palace to be prepared for her
reception, and kept her there in secret
for a long time ; none but her attend-
ants and his own, who were all faithful
to their trust, knew of this arrangement.
The topics which had constituted the
conversation of Hossain and Barrah
were known only to themselves, but it
was observed from that time, that Hos-
sain appeared an altered man. If the
countenance of Barrah was changed into
comeliness, the calm and mild expres-
sion of Hossain's grew severe and some-
what morose. The people ascribed this
alteration to pride, and the effect of his
new dignities ; but some who knew
better, said that he had turned a magos,
and was learning magic from the sor-
ceress Barrah, with whom it was knov/n
he had many hidden conferences.
At last it came to pass, that one day
as Hossain sat, in his capacity of gover-
nor of Bagdad on the steps of the great
mosque of Almanzor, hearing complaints
and administering justice, certain stran-
gers from different parts of the empire
came to Bagdad with petitions against
the extortions in the provinces, — the
effect of the connivance of the Caliph
MoUawakkel at the misrule of the ma-
gistrates and governors-
On hearing this, Hossain suspended
his business and went to certain mem-
bers of the council often, and represent,
ed to them the discontents that were
fermenting throughout the empire, and
said to them, that a stop must be put to
the complaints of the people. He then
went to Barrah, and consulted also with
her respecting the same ; and she told
him that unless MoUawakkel vv^ere put
to death and Motasser placed upon the
throne, there would be no end to the
public discontent.
Now Hossain owed many obligations
to the caliph, and reverenced him with
feelings of gratitude. He rejected at
that time the advice of the demon of his
fate, and returned to see what impression
the news had made on those members of
the council of ten with whom he had
previously communicated. It happened
that they were four in number, and he
found them alone, in their respective
houses, and, strange to say, every one
was of the same opinion as Barrah ;
namely, that MoUawakkel should be put
to death, and Motasser exalted to the
throne.
From these traitors he went to the
other five of the council, told them se-
verally the news, and asked their advice ;
but they were, no less than their com-
peers, unanimous, though of a different
opinion^ Hossain was, in consequence,
much disturbed, and returned to explain
his perplexities to the mysterious old wo-
man. When she heard what had passed,
she declared to him that the five coun-
cillors who adhered so faithfully to the
caliph, must also be put to death ; and
that Motasser must be made to head the
conspiracy against Mollawakkel,in order
that he might not, after the deed was
done, punish those whom public neces-
sity obliged to imbrue their hands in his
father's blood.
Hossain was greatly affected by this
advice. His heart revolted at the idea
of seducing the prince, whom he had
bred up in every virtue, to commit par-
ricide, even though he knew, that by
placing him on the throne, he would him-
self, by the softness of Motasser's cha-
racter, become in fact the sovereign.
But the incitements and the reasonings
of Barrah at last prevailed, and he left
her with the intention of proceeding to
break the business to the prince.
THE PARTKRRE.
191
As Hossain approached the prince's
chamber, he heard lijiht talkinj; and
lauijhter witliin, and on entering, was
nota little surprised at beholding Ga-
zelle with the ])rinee. He had, for some
time before, often wondered what had
become of Gazelle ; but the hand of fate
vids upon him, and restrained him from
inquiring. Discerning, however, what
was tlie state of matters between her aiul
the prince, he said nothing, but making
an apology for disturbing theirdalliance,
returned to Barrah and told her what
he had discovered ; upon which the re-
morseless crone advised him to work
through the medium of Gazelle, to bring
the prince to his purpose. With this
again the mercifulness of his nature was
dissatisfied, for he thought with pity of
tlie beauty and innocence of Gazelle, and
shuddereci at the idea of staining such
purity with guilt. Barrah, however,
convinced him. that without placing Mo-
tasser on tjie throne, the evils which af-
riicted the empire could not be removed,
and she undertook herself to speak with
Gazelle on the subject This lessened
the horror in the mind of Hossain, and
he at once consented. Accordingly, that
same night she had a secret conversation
with Gazelle, the nature of which was
known only by the result, which came
to pass in this manner:
When Motasser went to pass the night
in the chamber of Gazelle, he found her
pale and dejected; and begging to know
her grief, she related to him the prevalent
injustice which withered the strength of
the empire. She described the miseries
of the poor and the terrors of the rich,
and represented the danger in which he
himself stood, if the wrongs of the peo-
])\e were not redressed. This infected
liis mind, naturally compassionate ; he
deplored the sufferings of the people,
and. S(jft and aiiijrehensive, he dreaded
their exasperation, insomuch that in the
morning, when Hossain came to him
again to sneak of the dangers of the em-
pire, he found Motasser already more
than half converted to his purpose . and
that same evening the four councillors
who were of Hc)s>.;iin's party, met Motas-
ser and him, and it was determined that
in the course (jf the same night Mrjlla-
wakkfd should he strangled. The better
to complete this design, it was agreed
before they separated, that to prevent
Muta-'ser from yielding to <pialms of (ilial
nintrition, he should remain with f iazelle
and Barrah, denied to all visitors, until
the hour arrived that wan fixed for liis
father's doom.
When Motasser was thus consigned
to the custody of his own and Hossain's
evil genius, it was arranged among tiiem-
selves by the five conspirators, that tiiey
should each assassinate one of the other
five who were opposed to their machina-
tions. Accordingly, they severally sent
a s])ecialmessenger inviting them to come
to tlieir respective houses with all speed ;
and the summons beingpunctually obey-
ed, the unfortunate fa\^hful adherents of
the caliph were all dead before tiie hour
of his fate arrived.
At the time appointed, the conspi-
rators assembled in the palace, and with
Motasser, whom they had taken from
the chamber of Gazelle, at their head,
they proceeded to tlie hall of the guard,
through which it was necessaiy to j)ass
to the entrance of the chamber where
MoUawakkel slept.
The guards, seeing so many of the
wisest councillors with the prince, never
imagined that any harm was intended to
the cali))!!; and thus it took place, that,
upon the order of Motasser, they quietly
retired from the hall, and went into the
garden.
As soon as they quitted the hall, four
of the councillors entered the chamber
where MoUawakkel lay asleep. Hos-
sain stayed in the hall of the guards with
Motasser ; and when a sound was heard
of confusion in the caliph's chamber,
with stitied shrieks and groans, Hossain
threw a shawl over the head and face of
Motasser, and prevented him from alarm-
ing the guards who were without ; for
the dreadful sounds of tlie tragedy which
was acting at his father's couch, recall-
ed all his natural aflection, and roused
him with an energy he had never dis-
played before. But the deed was done
— the four traitors had strangled the
monarch ; and they now came forth, with
cries of horror, that they had found liim
dead of a lit, and they hailed .Motasser
as tlie caliph. The guards came rush-
ing in, and beholding the horror of the
prince and the councillors, ascribed it to
grief, so that the guilt of the parricide
was not suspected.
Ne.vt morning, the ceremony of in-
stalling the young caliph on the throne
was |)erformcd, with all the customary
magnificence, in the great golden hall of
the jialace. The nobles and great otlicers
of state stood on the right and the left
(jf the throne. The eunuchs, the slaves,
and the guards, in gorgeous array, occu-
pied the two sides of the hull ; and a
sjiace was left, like an aveiun-, in the
middle, to admit iljose who hud spcriul
19-2
THE PARTERRE.
homages to perform at the foot of the
throne.
The incense of the worship, of which
Motasser was the object, inflated his
heart. He looked around with com-
placency on the splendid and reverential
multitude, and the dreadful scene of the
preceding night was forgotten in the
pomp and pride of the moment. Hos-
sain at this time, who had to do special
reverence as the governor of Bagdad,
entered the hall. Being an old man,
his steps were infirm, and perhaps, too,
he was shaken by the remembrance of
what he had done ; for, in ascending to-
wards the throne, he walked totteringly
and slow. When he was about to kneel,
Motasser happened to cast his eyes on
the pictures which adorned the walls,
and beheld in one of them the murder
of a Persian king by one of his own sons.
It was a life-like limning, and the sight
of it smote the soal of Motasser with
instantaneous torment. He shrieked with
such horror, that Hossain fell dead at his
feet, and he rushed towards the picture,
confessing his crime, and acknowledging
himself worthy of perdition. The asto-
nished multitude, in the dread of some
horrible tumult, fled in confusion ; the
hall was left to the despairing caliph
and the dead body of Hossain. Three
days and three nights Motasser sat con-
templating the picture, and giving vent
to wild cries and the most woful lamen-
tations. On the fourth morning he was
found dead; and though search was made
for Gazelle and Barrah, they were never
discovered.
When Astrolab was consulted con-
cerning them and the prodigy which
had taken place, he could only say that
it had been ordained from the beginning
of things ; and the decree of fate, pro-
mulgating the time when it should come
to pass, was inscribed with stars on the
firmament.
Such is the story which is ascribed to
the Camed Astrolab, the famous sooth-
sayer of Bagdad, and which is written
in choice Arabic in the seventh volume
of the Thousand and One Tales of Con-
stantinople, collected agreeably to a fir-
man of the late Sultan Selim. — Blackwood.
MISCELLANIES.
VARIATION OF THE ROMAN LANGUAGE.
PoLYBius tells US, that the Roman lan-
guage has been so perpetually changing,
and so completely changed, that a treaty
made about the middle of the third cen-
tury of Rome, was unintelligible at the
beginning of the ninth : and the lan-
guage of the Twelve Tables, promul-
gated in the beginning of the fourth
century, had not only become obsolete
at the commencement of the eighth, but
Cicero at that time cites old commen-
tators as being able to offer conjectures
only on the meaning of a law.
RATHER hard!
In South Africa, a slave who makes a
complaint against his master, is himself
imprisoned till the owner finds it conve-
nient to answer the complaint.
A SPECIMEN OF THE SUBLIME.
Written on the mindow of an Inn at the
head of Windermere Lake.
I never eats no meat, nor drinks no beer,
But sits and ruminates on Windermere.
CONUNDRUM.
Why is Cumberland like ancient
Rome ? — Because it 's Rome-antique
(Romantic).
ANCESTRY.
The man, says Sir T. Overbury, who has
nothing to boast of but his illustrious an-
cestors, is like a potatoe ; the only good
belonging to him is under ground.
PAINTERS' MISERIES.
Requesting a lady, who is the bearer of
a squint, to oblige you for a moment by
looking at you, in order to catch a pecu-
liar expression, when she, half surprised
half angry, wondering at your stupidity,
exclaims, " Why indeed, sir, I have been
looking at you this half hour." Hearing
a person say, " Well, to be sure, if it
wasn't for the face, I should think that
was meant for Miss E." — it being in-
tended for that identical person. Paint-
ing an old gentleman, who for the first
hour grins and chuckles you out of all
patience, and then, by way of making
amends, falls asleep the second.
INGENIOUS device.
At a camp-meeting in America, a num-
ber of females continued standing on the
benches, notwithstanding frequent hints
from the ministers to sit down. A
reverend old gentleman, noted for his
good humour, arose and said — " I think
if those ladies standing on the benches
knew that they had holes in their stock-
ings, they would sit down." This ad-
dress had the desired efl^ect — there was
an immediate sinking into seats. A
young minister standing behind him,
and blushing to the temples, said, " O,
brother, how could you say that ?"
" Say that?" replied the old gentleman;
" it is a fact : if they hadn't holes in
their stockings, I'd like to know how
they could get them on."
THJC 1' A IITKURC.
1!).{
'''■,<\- ; jin
Vise 221.
Tin: AN'GI,0-.SI>ANISH 15UI1)K;
AN IIISTOKIC TAI.F.
(Prom ilie iintiaiixlalKl woiks i>t Cii vhhIis.]
^ For the Parterre. J
[This story, which, as Cervantes as-
sures us, is founde<i u|)on fact, is highly
characteristic of tlie slate of religious
and political feeling in Kuro)>e at that
period ; since tliere enters into the
coinjilicalion f)f its interest, not only,
as in " 'I'lie fJenerons Lover," the
grand contest hetwcen the crescent and
the cross, hut also the great strife
which divided ami weakened ("hristcn-
doni itself, helween Itoinan Catholicism
and I'rolestjintisin.
Ir posvssi-s, tiH), a ))eculiar interest for
tlie I'.nglish reader ; the scene of it heing
laid for the most part in Kngland, in the
reign of Klizaheth, and most of the
chief actors in it heing Knglish — the
fjneen herself amr»ng the luimher.
The tone of the narration exhihits in u
ni(Mit striking manner the nohle supc-
Voi.. I.
riority, in the mind of the writer, to the
violent religious antl national prejudices
and animosities of his coimtry and his
age. Cei-^nntcs, it should he remeni-
hered, wrote this tale after the signal suc-
cesses of the protestant arms of Kngland;
more especially in the defeat of I he
grand armada, and the sacking, yet more
disgraceful to the Spanish crown, of the
greatest of its commercial cities, Cadiz,
liad inflamed the hostile feelings of the
Spanish nation against Kngland and its
(pieen to the highest possihie |iileli.
Lope de Vega, the gri-at literary eon-
temporary, an<l in some sort rival of Cer-
vantes, having been an eye-witness to
the disasters of the armada, seems to
have imhihed his full share of the rauk-
ling malice of disappointed enmilv, long
harhoured against I'^ngland !)y her
humhied foe. lie designati-d «pieeii
Kli/.aheth, in his writings, as a hloody
.lezehel, a second Atlialia, an oliduiale
spliynx,the incestuous progeny ofa harpy.
( ervantes wils superior to all this. He
ever spoke of (lie Knglish with respect —
(I
194
THE PARTERRE.
for lie felt that the vigour of their cha-
racter and genius deserved it. And it is
remarkable that nowhere has Queen
Elizabeth been portrayed in more
amiable colours, than in the tale before
us ; yet without at all losing sight of the
jealous haughtiness which so strongly
characterized her general demeanour.
I have rendered this story with close
fidelity to the text of the author, who
will be found constantly speaking in his
own person ; so that I have not even
ventured to substitute English names
for those of Spanish form, which he has
given to his English personages. The
reader, I conceive, is more interested in
being shewn precisely how Cervantes
himself wrote about England, than in the
rectification of slight local incongruities,
into which, with his keen and retentive
observation, he never fell when treating
of any one among the various localities
which he had actually visited.
Translator.]
Chap. I.
Among the spoils which the English
carried off from the city of Cadiz, an
English gentleman named Clotaldo,
commanding a naval squadron, took
with him to London a little girl about
seven years old. This he did without
the knowledge and against the desire of
the Earl of Essex, who had the child
diligently sought for in order to restore
her to her parents ; they having come
to complain to him of the loss of their
daughter, entreating him that, since he
contented himself with taking the pro-
perty of the inhabitants, leaving tlieir
persons free ; they, his petitioners, might
not have the peculiar hardship, now that
they were left in poverty, to be left also
without their daughter, who was the
light of their eyes, and the most beau-
tiful creature of the whole city. The
Earl had orders published through all
the fleet, that, on pain of death, whoso-
ever had the girl in his possession should
restore her. But neither penalty nor
apprehension had power to make Clo-
taldo give her up, who kept her con-
cealed in his own vessel, having con-
ceived a sort of parental fondness for
the beauty of Isabel — for that was the
child's name — so that her parents at
last remained without her, sad and dis-
consolate ; and Clotaldo, rejoicing in
his capture, arrived at London, and pre-
sented the lovely child to his lady as his
richest prize.
It fortunately happened, that all CIo-
taldo's family were secretly catholics,
though in public tliey conformed to the
religion of their queen. Clotaldo had
a son named Ricaredo, twelve years of
age, whom his parents had brought up
in the love and fear of God, and a strict
adherence to the truths of the catholic
faith.
Catalina, tlie wife of Clotaldo, a noble,
religious, and prudent lady, grew so
fond of Isabel, that she educated her
with as much tenderness and diligence
as if she had been her own daughter ;
and the child was of so good a dispo-
sition, that she learned with facility
whatever they taught her. Time, and
the kindness which she thus experienced,
gradually banished from her memorythat
which her real parents had shewn her
— not so entirely, however, but that she
would oftentimes remember and sigh for
them. Nor, although she was learning the
English language, did she lose her know-
ledge of the Spanish ; for Clotaldo took
care to bring Spaniards privately to his
house, in order that they might converse
with her; so that, as we have said, without
forgetting her mother tongue, she spoke
English as if she had been born in Lon-
don. After teaching her all those kinds
of needle-work which a girl of good
family ought to be mistress of, tl>ey
taught her to read and write extremely
well. But what she most of all excelled
in was, the touching of all musical in-
struments proper for a woman's hand —
accompanying her perfect and tasteful
execution with an exquisite and enchant-
ing voice.
All these acquired graces, superadded
to her natural charms, were gradually
inflaming the bosom of Ricaredo, whom
she affectionately attended as the son of
her lord and master. Love first ap-
proached him in the guise of a certain
pleasure which he felt in gazing upon
Isabel's matchless beauty, and contem-
plating her numberless virtues and
graces — loving her as if she had been his
sister, with pure affection, unmingled
with desire. But as Isabel grew up,
who had already completed her twelfth
year, this first kind feeling towards her,
and gratification in beholding her, were
converted into most ardent wishes of
possessing her. Not that he aimed at
this through any other means than
becoming her husband ; since from the
incomparable modesty of Isabella (for so
her adoptive parents called her), nothing
else was to be hoped for ; nor, indeed,
would he have desired to entertain any
THE PARTERRE.
I'Jj
I'lher Jiope, had it been possible — seeing
that his own good l)irth. and the esti-
mation in which he held Isabella, forbade
any evil intention to implant itself in
his breast.
Many a time did he resolve to declare
his wishes to his iiareiits, and as often
did he shrink from his resolution ; for
he knew that they intended him for a
very wealthy young Scotch lady of high
rank, secretly a catholic like themselves;
and it was clear, said he to himself, that
they would not give that to a slave (if
Isabella could be so called), which they
had already agreed to give to a lady ;
and so, perplexed and thoughtful, not
knowing what course to take in order
to attain the fulfilment of his honest
wishes, his life became so wretched, that
he was in danger of losing it altogether.
But as it seemed to him to be great
cowardice, to let himself die thus, with-
out making any attempt to procure
relief for his malady, he at length took
courage, and determined to bring him-
self to make his wishes known to
Isabella.
The whole household were in sorrow
and agitation on account of Ricaredo's
illness ; for he was beloved by all, and
by his parents with the greatest tender-
ness — not only because he was their only
son, but because Ijis great virtue, bravery,
and intelligence, well deserved it. The
physicians could not find out the cause
of his malady ; nor did he himself either
dare or choose to disclose it. At last,
however, bent upon breaking through
the difficulties wliich he had fancied, —
one day, wlien Isabella entered his
apartment to wait upon him, finding
that she was alone, he, with fainting
voice and faltering tongue, addressed
her thus : —
" Fair Isabella, it is owing to your
own great worth, virtue, and beauty,
that I am in the state in which you
now see me. If you wish me not to
quit this life in the greatest agony ima-
ginable, let your own will correspond to
my honourable wish — which is no other
than to make you my wife, unknown to
my parents ; from whom I fear that, for
want of knowing, aii I know, how much
you deserve, they would <leny me that
fiiuxl which I ho much need to possess.
If you will give me your wijrd to be mine,
I forlliwitii pledge you my own word,
us a true catholic christian, to l>e yours.
I''or though I should not j)ossess you, —
as indeed I shall not, until the church
and my parents shall have given us their
benediction, — yet the mere imagining
myself assured that you will be mine,
will be enough to restore me to health,
and to keep me cheerful and haijpy,-
until the blissful moment which I long
for shall arrive."
While Ricaredo was thus speaking,
Isabella was listening to him with down-
cast eyes; clearly shewing, at that mo-
ment, that she had no less modesty than
beauty, no less reserve than intelligence.
And so, finding that Uicaredo was now
silent, she, modest, beautiful, and sensi-
ble, answered him in these terms: —
" Since the time when it pleased
the rigour or the clemency of heaven
(for I know not well to which of the
two I ought to attibute it), to take me
from my own parents, Senor Ricaredo,
and give me to yours ; gratefid for the
numberless kindnesses they have done
me, I have been resolved that my will
should never oppose itself to theirs ; so
that, were it against their will, I should
regard not as fortunate, but as unfor-
tunate for myself, the inestimable favour
which you seek to do me. If, with their
knowledge, 1 should be so happy as to
deserve you, I here freely tender you the
liberty they may so give me; and should
that be delayed or prevented, let it in the
mean time soothe your wishes to know,
that mine will ever sincerely desire for
you all the happiness that heaven can
give you."
So ended Isabella's modest and sensible
reply ; and so began Ricaredo's recovery,
and the revival of his parents' hopes,
which in his illness had died away.
The pair took courteous leave of each
other; he with tears in his eyes; she
with wonder in her heart, to find that of
Ricaredo so devoted to her in love. The
latter, having risen from his bed — as his
])arents thought, by miracle — resolved to
keep his thoughts no longer secret from
them ; and so he one day communicated
them to his mother, telling her at the end
of his explanation, which was a long one,
that if they did not marry him to Isidjclla,
their denying her to him would be liis
sentence of death. With such arguments
and such encomiums did Ricaredo extol
the virtues of Isabella to the skies, as
made her think that after all, the advan-
tage of the match would be chiefiy to her
son. She gave him good hopes that she
should succeed in inducing his falhur to
enter willingly into the view whiih she
herself had already endiraced; .ind ac-
cordingly, by idleging to her hnshand
the same reasons which her son luid
urged upon herself, she easily persuaded
him to favour that which his son so
'Jo
]<)G
THE PARTERRE.
miicli desired, and to devise cxcxises for
breaking oH" the match which lie had
nearly concluded with the Scottish ladj'.
At that period, Isabella was fourteen
years old, and Ricaredo twenty ; but in
that green and flowery age, their great
good sense and well-known prudence
gave them the steadiness of maturer
years. Four days only had now to elapse
before the arrival of that on which it was
the pleasure of Ricaredo's parents, that
their son should submit his neck to the
sacred yoke of matrimony ; and they
esteemed tliemselves prudent and most
happy in having chosen their prisoner to
be their daughter-in-law, setting more
value on the dowry which she brought
in her virtues than on the great wealth
that had been offered them with the
Scottish heiress. The bridal decorations
were already prepared ; the relatives and
friends invited; and nothing now remain-
ed to be done but to give the queen in-
formation of the intended alliance, as no
marriage between persons of rank can
take place without her express permis-
sion. But as they had no doubt what-
ever of obtaining her license, they were
in no haste to solicit it.
Such was the state of matters, and in
four days the nuptials were to be cele-
brated, when, one evening, all their joy-
fulness was disturbed by an officer of
the queen's household, 'who delivered a
message to Clotaldo, commanding him
to carry before her, the next morning,
his prisoner the Spanish girl from Cadiz.
Clotaldo answered, that he would most
willingly obey Her Majesty's command.
The officer went his way, leaving
every l)reast full of agitation and alarm.
" Ah me ! " said the lady Catalina,
" then the queen knows that I have
brought up this girl a catholic ; and so
she infers that all this family are catholics
too. Now, should the queen ask her
what she has been learning for the eight
years that she has been a prisoner, what
is the poor girl to answer that will not
condemn us, in spite of all her discre-
tion ?"
Isabella, hearing this, replied, "My
dear lady, do not afflict yourself with
that apprehension ; for I trust in heaven
that, tlirough its divine mercy, it will
give me words, on that occasion, which
not only will not condemn you, but will
redound to your advantage."
Ricaredo trembled, as if foreboding
some untoward event.
Clotaldo was seeking in his own mind
for resources wherewith to combat the
great fear which had seized him ; but
found none except in the firm trust
which he placed in God, and in the
prudence of Isabella, whom he earnestly
enjoined to use every possible caution in
order that they might not be condemned
as catholics ; since, although in spirit
they were ready to receive martyrdom,
yet the frail flesh shrunk from that bitter
trial.
Again and again, Isabella assured
them they might rest secure that nothing
of what they suspected and feared should
happen to them on her account ; for that
although she did not at that time know
what answer she was to make to the
questions that in such a case would be
put to her, she felt the strongest and
surest hope that, as she had already told
them, she should answer in such a man-
ner that in her replies they would find
their safety.
That night they talked over various
matters ; and amongst others they can-
vassed this point in particular — that if the
queen had known them to be catholics,
she would not have sent them so gentle
a message; whence it was to be inferred
that she merely desired to see Isabella,
whose extraordinary beauty and talents
must have reached her ears, as they had
those of the whole city. But then, again,
they felt they were in fault for not having
presented her to the queen ; from which
charge they decided that it would be well
to exculpate themselves by saying, that
from the first moment she came into
their power, they had fixed upon her to
become the wife of their son Ricaredo.
Yet here, again, they had done wrong,
in making the match without the queen's
permission ; although, thought they, this
was an offence wliich could incur no
very severe punishment. They consoled
themselves with this reflection ; and
agreed that Isabella should go dressed,
not in humf)le attire like a prisoner, but
as became the betrothed wife of a person
of their son's consideration.
This being determined on, they dressed
Isabella the next morning in a Spanish
costume — a dress and train of green
satin, slashed, and lined with rich gold
stuff — the slashes taken up with SS or
scrolls of pearls, and the whole embroi-
dered with pearls of the richest quality ;
the necklace and belt of diamonds; with
a fan, after the fashion of the Spanish
ladies. Her own hair, which was plen-
tiful, fair, and long, interwoven and
interspersed with pearls and diamonds,
formed her head-dress. In this splendid
attire, with her wonderful beauty and
graceful bearing, she appeared in the
THE PARTERRE.
11)7
streets of London that morning in an
elegant open carriage, leailiiig captive the
eyes and hearts of" all who beheld her.
In the s.inie carriage with her went
Clotiildo, his lady, anil Ricaredo ; and
many distinguislied relatives attended
them on horseb.aek. All this honour
C'lotaldo thought tit to render to his pri-
soner, in order that the (jueen might he
induced to treat iier as his son s con-
sort.
Having, then, arrived at tlie palace,
and at a grand apartment in wiiich the
queen was, Isabella entered it with the
most beauteous aspect that can well be
conceived. Tiie room w;ls lofty and
spacious: they who accompanied Isabella
advanced with her only two paces : slie
then stepped forward alone — looking even
as some brilliant meteor that tracks the
upper air on a calm, silent niglit, — or as
a sunbeam between two mountain sum-
mits bursting in the dawn. /Ml this she
seemed, and more — a comet, portending
the conflagration of many a heart there
present, kindled by the soft radiance
of Isabella's eyes; while slie, with :dl
humility and courtesy, went and knelt
before the queen, to whom she said in
English : —
" May it please your majesty to stretch
forth your hand to this your servant —
who vv-ill henceforth deem herself a
mistress rather, since she has been so
fortunate as to come and look upon your
glorious presence."
The queen gazed at her for some time
without saying a word; thinking, as she
afterwards told her principal attendant,
that it was a starry heaven she s;iw before
her — thestarsof which shone in the many
pearls and diamonds which Isabella wore,
and the two greater luminaries in her
lovely face and eyes, while all together
shewed a perfect mir.icle of beauty. The
ladies that were with the queen seemed
to bo all eyes to examine Isabelhu One
praised the brilliancy of her eyes ; an-
other, the freshness of her com]>lexion ; a
third, the elegance of her shape ; a fourth,
the sweetness of her voice ; and one there
was that, in sheer envy, s.-iid : " The
.S|)anisli girl Ls not amiss, but I don't like
Ijer dress."
\\'hen the queen's wonder had a little
subsided, making Isabella rise up, she
ii.iid to her, " Talk to me in Sp.inisli,
damsel ; fur I understand it well, .and it
will give me pleasure." Turning to
Clotaldo, she H-iid, " Clotiildo, you have
done me wr<»iig in keeping this treasure
so many years hidden from me ; though
its price might well tempt you to covet
it : you are bound to restore it to me ;
for by right it is mine."
" Vour majesty says very true,"
answered Clotaldo: " 1 confess my fault,
if such it be, in having kept this treasure
by me until it should have come to the
perfection reipiisite for its appearing
before your m;ijesty : and now that it
has so, 1 was intending to present it with
addition, by :Lsking your majesty's leave
for Isabella to espouse my son Ricaredo,
and so ottering you, dread sovereign, in
this i)air, all that I have to oiler."
"I like the name, too," said the «]ueen.
" It only remained for her to be called
Isabel, that I might find her all perfec-
tion. Rut observe, Clotaldo, I am well
aware that you had promised her to your
son without waiting for my leave.'"
" Vour majesty says true,'' answered
Clotaldo, " but it was done in the confi-
dence that the many important services
which I and my ancestors have rendered
to this crown, would be sutlieient to ot>-
tain from your m;ijesty even weightier
favours than the leave in ijuestion. —
Resides that, my son is not yet actually
married.'
" Nor shall he be married to Isabella,''
interrupted the queen, " until he shall
have merited her in his own jjcrson. —
I mean to say, that I do not choose that
either your services or those of his ances-
tors should avail him in this matter.
He himself must jn-cpare to distinguish
himself in my service, and so deserve this
prize, which I value as if she were my
daughter."
No sooner had this last word fallen on
Isabella's ear, than she once more fell on
her knees before the ipieen, and said to
her in Jier native Castilian, — " Misfor-
tunes that bring with iheni such a coun-
terpoise of good, most gracious sovereign,
should rather be looked upon as blessings
than as mischiefs. Already has yoiu'
majesty called me daughter. With such
a ))ledge its this, what evils can I fear,
what giMjd may I not hope?'"
With such grace and elegance did
Isabella constantly express lierself, that
the ([ueeti took an exceeilingly great liking
to her ; conunanded that she should re-
main in her service; and delivered her
in charge to her lirst lady of the bed-
chamber, a woman of high rank, that she
might instruct her in tlie routine of her
new situation.
Ric:n'ed(>, who fi'll that he was palling
with his lifo ill parting ficiin Isabella, was
almost distracted. .And so, agitated aiiti
trembling, he went and threw liinivill' on
his knees before the <jueen, to whom he
s.iid : —
198
THE PARTERRE.
" In order to serve your majesty, I
need not be allured by any other rewards
than those which my parents and my
forefathers have obtained for serving their
sovereigns. But since it is your majes-
ty's pleasure that I should serve you with
desires and pretensions of another kind,
I would fain know in what way, in what
description of service, I may prove my
desire to fulfil the obligation which your
majesty lays upon me."
" Two of my ships," answered the
queen, are going on a cruise, under the
command of my lord of Lancaster. Of
one of these I make you captain ; for
the blood of which you come, assures me
that it will make amends for your want
of years. And mark well what a favour
I am doing you ; since I am hereby giving
you an opportunity of proving yourself
worthy of the name you bear, by shewing
your talent and courage in the service of
your queen ; and of so obtaining the best
reward, in my opinion, that you yourself
can desire. I myself will be Isabella's
guardian ; although she plainly shews
that she needs no better guardian than her
own modesty. Go, with God's blessing ;
for, since I fancy you go in love, I pro-
mise myself mnch from your achieve-
ments. Happy were the warrior king
who should have in his army ten thou-
sand soldiers in love, expecting as the
reward of their victories, the possession
of their mistresses. Rise, Ricaredo ;
and consider whether there be anything
you would like to say to Isabella; for
to-morrow you depart."
Ricaredo kissed the queen's hands,
highly valuing the favour she was doing
him ; tlien went and fell on his knees
before Isabella : but on striving to speak
to her, he found himself unable, for his
emotion choked his utterance, and the
tears started to his eyes : he strove to
repress them as much as possible : never-
theless they did not escape the queen's
observation ; for she said to him : —
"Take no shame to yourself for weep-
ing, Ricaredo, nor think the worse of
yourself for having given, on this occa-
sion, such tender indications of your
feelings ; for it is one thing to fight with
the enemy, and another to part with one's
true love. — Isabella, embrace Ricaredo,
and give him your blessing, for his affec-
tion well deserves it."
Isabella, confused and astonished at
beholding the humility and the grief
of Ricaredo, whom she already loved
as her husband, heard not the queen's
command. On the contrary, she began
to shed tears so unconsciously, stand-
ing so voiceless and motionless, that
she seemed a weeping alabaster statue'
These fond and tender evidences of affec-
tion on the part of the two lovers,
moistened the eyes of many of the by
standers; and without either Ricaredo's
uttering another word, or Isabella's speak •
ing one to him, Clotaldo and those who
accompanied him, made their obeisance
to the queen, and withdrew from the
apartment, full of compassion, sorrow,
and tears.
Isabella was left like an orphan who
has just buried her parents, and in fear
lest her new mistress should seek to
alter the habits in which the former one
had brought her up. And in two days
from that time, Ricaredo set sail.
(Continued at page 219).
STANZAS
BY HORACE GUILFORD.
{For the Farleire.}
I.
The gloomy green church-yard,
Where swarthy yew trees guard
The sculptured urn, or grassy sepulchre;
Where winds, with mournful cry,
Whirl autumn's pageantry
Of painted deaths around the wailing fir:
11.
Booming and wild the bell
From the bleak Campanile;
Or sad clock , vainly preaching Time's decay ;
Or the swollen rivulet,
Where the tomb-weeda hang wet.
Complaining as it seeks the shoreless sea :
III.
'Mid sights and sounds like these,
E'en the dread grave itiight please
The soul.o'erwearied with the world's turmoil;
And make us love the bed.
With thy deep curtains spread.
Oh Death 1 best chamberlain to mortal toil.
NOTES OF A READER.
EXTRAORDINARY ABSTINENCE FROM
FOOD.
The more that animals enjoy the quali-
ties of youth, strength, and activity, the
greater is the increase and development
of their parts, and the greater the ne-
cessity for an abundant supply of food.
Of many individuals exposed to an abso-
lute abstinence of many days, the young
are always the first to perish. Of this
the history of war and .shipwreck offers
in all ages too many frightful examples.
There are several instances on record of
an almost total abstinence from food for
an extraordinary length of time. Captain
Bligh, of the Bounty, sailed nearly four
thousand miles in an open boat, with oc-
casionally a single small bird, not many
ounces in weight, for the daily sustenance
of seventeen people ; and it is even al-
leged, that fourteen men and women of
the Juno, having suffered shipwreck on
THE PAKTERRE.
IIM)
the coast of Arracan, lived twenty-three
days without any food. Two pfOi)lo
first died of want on the tiftli d.iy. In the
opinion of Rhedi, animals support want
much longer tlian is generally believed.
A civet cat lived ten days without food,
an antelope twenty, and a very large
wild cat also twenty ; an eagle survived
twenty-eight days, a badger one month,
and several dogs thirty-six days. In the
memoirs of the .\cademy of Sciences,
there is an account of a bitch, which
liaving been accidentally shut up alone
in a country-house, existed for forty
days without any other nourishment than
the stuft" on the wool of the mattrass
which she had torn to pieces. A croco-
dile will live two months without food, a
scorpion three, a bear six, a cameleon
eight, and a viper ten. Vaillant had a
spider that lived nearly a year without
food, and was so far from being weak-
ened by abstinence, that it immediately
killed another large spider, equally vigor-
ous, but not so hungry, which was put in
along with it. John Hunter inclosed
a toad between two stone flower-pots,
and found it as lively as ever after four-
teen months. Land-tortoises have lived
without food for eighteen months; and
Baker is known to have kept a beetle in
a state of total abstinence for three
years. It afterwards made its escape.
Dr. Shaw gives an account of two ser-
pents wliich lived in a bottle without any
food for five years.
GHOSTS.
There is a curious case related, of a
man who was a well-known character,
and a man of sense — where it was said
he used to see a number of people in the
room witii him. Now, he himself has
described the whole of the phenomenon,
and all the adjuncts to it. He has said,
after taking a cup of coffee, or tea, or
so on, they came into his room in great
numbers ; and as he got better, and less
nervous, he has only seen the arms or legs
of the persons, without seeing any other
part of them. Now, this is all an irregu-
lar action of the retina of the eyes. A
gentleman sitting in his library one day,
reading or writing, on turning round bis
head, saw, hitting in a chair, a woman
in a red cloak. And he said, how came
you in here, goixl woman ? The woman
Rjiid nothing. What is the meaning of
your l>eing here, woman? No answer
was made. Vou have no right to be
here ; go out of the room. Siie took
no notice of him. He got up and rang
the Ik-II for the siTvanl. The scrvunl
came in. Turn this womar. out. M'liat
woman, sir? Wliy, the woman in a red
cloak. There's no woman, nor any red
cloak, sir. Well, go and fetch the doctor
for me; tell him I am ill, and wish to
speak to him. The man, however, was
not to be frightened by this, because he
knew it was a delusion of his sight. Now,
1 have had it so ot'ten, th<it it h.as been
a matter rather of amusement to me,
than anything else. I have stood before
a glas-s, and seen the U|)per part of my
head and eyes, and nose very distinctly ;
but I never saw that I had any mouth or
jaw ; and I have seen my shoulders very
well, but all was blank between my nose
and shoulders. Why, now I say, what
can you make of this but that it is errors
of action, or inaclivity in parts of the
retina ?
KRIXI GHERRI KATTl GHERRI.
Have any of our readers, in turning
over the pages of the Edinburgh Alma-
nac, ever been surjirised in noticing as
an office-bearer in one of our pious l)e-
neficiary institutions, a person with the
singular title of A'ri/n G/icrri A'alli Gkerrif
If they have, they will most i)robabiy be
glad to learn who this strange gentleman
is. Mr. Krim Glicrri Katti Gherri
happens to be sultan of the kingdom of
Caucasus in Tartary ; and, what is still
more curious, his wife, the sultana, is
an Edinburgh lady, the daughter of
Colonel . The history of yoimg
Krim may be soon told. While about
fifteen years of age, he became acqu.unt-
ed with some missionaries who had taken
up their station near the Caucasus ; on
which occasion he embraced the Chris-
tian religion, left his native coiinlry, and
proceeded, under tlieir jjrotection, to St.
I'etersburgh, which he shortly after
quitted for Scotland ; and here he soon
acquired the English language, habits
and manners. While resident in Edin-
burgh, he became acquainted with the
above lady, to whom he was married,
and carried her with him, though against
the consent of her relations. As Krim
is lineally descended from the ancient
Khans of the Crimea, the throne of the
present sultan, Alahmoud, will l>e his on
the extinction of the reigning famil).
He has sons; and shoidd any of them
hereafler ascend to the Ottoman lliToiie,
the singular fact will be presented of ii
prince of a descent fiom an I'Mlnburgh
family, hcilding his court at Constanti-
nople, and reigning over the Turkish
enq)ire.
200
THE PAUTERllE.
SPANISH POLITENESS.
Near Naval-Moral, we met a Spanish
family of rank travelling, a sight very
uncommon. The ladies and female at-
tendants were seated in a large, heavy,
old-fashioned carriage, covered with
carved work and tarnished gilding. This
vehicle was drawn by eight mules, which
two fine-looking men on foot guided
solely by the voice, calling out their
names, to which they appeared by their
movements to answer with great doci-
lity. The gentlemen of the party rode
with the male servants, all conversing
familiarly together ; and the last often
put their heads into the carriage-window,
and spoke to the ladies. The Spaniards,
I have often observed, however exalted
their rank, are exceedingly kind and af-
fable to their servants and inferiors. And
indeed the lower classes have much na-
tural politeness; nor is there anything
in their language or manner which dis-
gusts or offends. They have no vul-
garity in their freedom, nor servility in
^their respect. I have often sat romid
the fire of a Posada, amid Spaniards of
all classes, whom chance had assembled
together, and been quite charmed to
mark the general good-humour, and the
easy, unembarrassed propriety of beha-
viour of the common peasants.
FILIAL AFFECTION OF THE MOORS.
A Portuguese surgeon was accosted
one day by a young Moor from the coun-
try, who, addressing him by tlve usual
appellation of foreign doctors in tliat
place, requested him to give him some
drogues to kill his father, and, as an in-
ducement, promised to pay him well.
The surgeon was a little surprised at
first, as might be expected, and was un-
able to answer immediately; but quickly
recovering himself (for he knew the
habits of the people well), replied with
sang froid equal to the Moor's, " Tlien
you don't live comfortable with your
father, I suppose?" " O, nothing can
be better," returned the Moor; "he has
made much money, has luarried vac well,
and endowed me with all his possessions;
but he cannot wo'k any longer, Iwj is so
old, and he seems unwilling to die."
Tlie doctor, of course, appreciated tlic
amiable philosojjhy of the Moor's reason-
ing, and promised to give him what he
desired. He accordingly prepared a
cordial potion, more calculated to restore
energy to the old man than to take it
away. The Moor paid liiui well, and
departed. About eight days after lie
came again, to say that his father was
not dead. "Not dead!" exclaimed the
apothecary, in well-feigned surprise :
" he will die." He composed accord-
ingly another draught, for wliich he
received an equal remuneration, and
assured the Moor that it would not fail
in its effects. In fifteen days, however,
the Moor came again, complaining that
his father thrived better than ever.
" Don't be discouraged," said the doctor,
who doubtless found these periodical
visits by no means unprofitable, " give
him another potion, and I will exert all
my skill in its preparation." The Moor
took it, but returned no more. One
day the surgeon met his young acquaint-
ance in the street, and inquired the suc-
cess of the remedy. "It was of no
avail,'' he replied mournfully ; " my fa-
ther is in excellent health. God has
preserved him from all our efforts; there
is no doubt that he is a marabout' —
(a saint).
THE NATURALIST.
WHITE-HEADED SEA-EAGLE.
Elevated on the high dead limb of some
gigantic tree, that commands a wide
view of the neighbouring shore and
ocean, he seems calmly to contemplate
the motions of the various feathered
tribes that pursue their busy avocations
below ; the snow-white gulls slowly win-
nowing the air ; the busy tringas, cours-
ing along the sand ; trains of ducks
streaming over the surface ; silent and
watchful cranes, intent and wading ;
clamorous crows, and all the winged nud-
titudes that subsist by the bounty of this
vast liquid magazine of nature. High
over all these, hovers one whose action
instantly arrests his attention. By his
wide curvature of wing, and sudden
suspension in the air, he knows him to
be the fish-hawk, settling over some de-
voted victim of the deep. His eye kin-
dles at the sight ; and, balancing himself
with half-opened wings on the branch,
he watches the result. Down, rapid as
an arrow from heaven, descends the dis-
tant object of his attention, the roar of
its wings reaching the ear as it disap-
pears in the deep, making the surges
foam around ! At this moment the
eager looks of the eagle are all ardour ;
and, kvelling his neck for flight, he sees
the fish-hawk once more emerge, strug-
gling with Ills prcj', and moiniting in
the air with screams of exultation. Tliese
are the signals for our hero, who, launch-
THE P.ARTEURK.
•201
intl into the iiir, instantly gives chase,
and soon gains on the Hsh-liawk ; each
exerts his utmost to mount above the
«>iher, displaying, in tliese rencontres,
the most elegant and sublime aerial evo-
lutions. The unencumbered eagle ra-
pidly advances, and is just on the point
of reaciiing his opponent, wlien, witii a
sudden scream, probably of despair and
honest execration, the latter drops his
fish ; the eagle, poising hiinself for a
moment, as if to take a more certain
aim, descends like a whirlwind, snatches
it in his grasp ere it reaches the water,
and bears his ill-gotten booty silently
away to the woods.
A SESSIBLK HOUSE.
AVe do not think the records of instinct
ever contained a more extraordinary in-
stance than that we are now about to
relate, and for the truth whereof many
respectable witnesses pledge themselves.
Some time since, Mr. J. Lane, of Fas-
comb, Gloucestershire, on his return
home, turned his horse into a field in
wliieli it had been accustomed to graze.
A fvw days before this, it had been shod
all fours, but unluckily had been pinch-
ed in the shoeing of one foot. In the
morning ]Mr. Lane missed the horse,
and caused an active search to be made
in the vicinity, when the following sin-
gular circumstance transjiired. The
animal, as may be supposed, feeling
lame, made his w.iy out of the field, by
unhanging the gate with his mouth, and
went straight to the same farrier's shop,
a distance of a mile and a half. The
farrier had no sooner opened his shed
than ihe horse, which had evidently been
standing there some timf, advanced to
the forge, and held u)) the ailing foot.
The farrier instantly began to examine
the h<«jf, discovered tlie injury, took off
the shoe, and re]>laced it more carefully,
»)n wliicli the horse immediately turned
al>oul, and set off at a merry jiace for
his well-known pasture. While IMr.
Lane's servants were on the search, they
chanced to p;tss by the forge, and on
mentioning their supposed loss, the far-
rier rejilied, " <), he has l)een here and
shod, and gone home again ;" which, on
their returning, they found to be the
case.
can exist a long time out of water,
which its nocturnal migrations prove,
though probably a certain degree of
moi>ture on the grass is necessary to
enable it to do this. That they do wan-
der from one place to another is evident.
I have been informed, upon the author-
ity of a nobleman well known for his
attachment to field sports, that, if an
eel is found on land, its head is inva-
riably turned towards the sea, for which
it is always observed to make in the most
direct line possible. If this information
is correct (and there seems no reason to
doubt it), it shews that the eel, like the
swallow, is possessed of strong miyra-
tory instinct. An annual migration of
young eels takes place in the river
Thames in the month of ^lay ; and they
have generally made their appearance at
Kingston, in their way upwards, about
the second week in that month. These
young eels are about two inches in
length, and they make their approach in
one regular and undeviating column of
about five inches in bre.idth, and as thick
together as it is possible for them to l)e.
As this overland i)rocession of eels gene-
rally lasts two or three days, and as they
appear to move at the rate of nearly two
miles and a half an hour, some idea may
be formed of their enormous immber.
WOMAN.
BY ROBEKT POLLOK.
Ati ! who ran sec fair Woman lend to man.
In soil submission ami full lioiiia);e trie,
1 lie sum (if all her powers uMa-ked, nor f<el
The neert ol such s«iel comforter, the }»y
Of beiiiK her piotcclor, the hi):h mark
Of all her earllil^ hopes, her wurM entile,
Cenire and continent ol all slit i>wns (
This creature beaulifiil, this liner part
Of our coarse nalnre, claims not half our sinili r,
^ et wipes ott all our tears; she is llie rose.
The Kcni, ihe essence of leireslrial life.
Tin' lii'pe, llie prid<-, Ihe honour: lo our side-
She throws, its oinameni siipicnie, and holds
Among all iiRlions, as her lust loved due,
J he vei) diarisl liilc tongue call name —
" Mother !" — Oh ! sacn d sound ! whose < ndlc>i»
charm
Is felt wherever ihrol's a hearl hiiniaue ;
J h) echo lives among ihe very slars.
Anil tongues of he.tven repeal lliee, woiiilei iMi;
Thai aliji'cl eailli lialli aiighl of such a piue.
And coiilil lean I'.iivv holil a scat above,
'i'hou werl her on I) inaik h> low.
F.EIJl TKAVFI.I.ISC OVKK I.ANI).
'I'lic eel (nays .'Mr. Jesse, in his
" (ileaiiingH in Naliir.il History") is
i\idriitly a link between the lisli anil
lliv Mipeiit; but, unlike the funiier, it
Two travellers having been robbed in
a wood, and tied to trees at some ilis-
tancc from eacfi other, one of them in
despair exclaimed, "Oh! Lm undone !"
"Are you';'" said the other, "Then I
wish \ou'd collie .mil undo me. "
202
THE rAUTEIlIlE.
SKETCHES OF TURKEY.
No. II.
BY N. P. WILLIS,
Scutari— Tomb of the Sultana Valide— Mosque
of the Howling Dervishes — A Clerical Shoe
maker — Visit to a Turkish Cemetery — Biid's-
eye view of Stamboul and itb environs —
Seraglio-point — The Seven Towers.
Pulled over to Scutari in a caique, for
a day's ramble. The Chrysopolis, the
*' golden city'' of the ancients, forms the
Asian side of the bay, and, though
reckoned generally as a part of Con-
stantinople, is in itself a large and
populous capital. It is built on a hill,
very bold upon the side washed by the
sea of Marmora, but leaning toward the
seraglio, on the opposite shore, with the
grace of a lady (Asia) bowing to her
partner, (Europe). You will find the
simile very beautifully elaborated in the
first chapter of " The Armenians."
We strolled through the bazaar awhile,
meeting, occasionally, a caravan of tired
and dusty merchants, coming in from
Asia, some with Syrian horses, and some
with dusky, Nubian slaves, following
barefoot, in their blankets ; and, emerg-
ing from the crowded street upon a
square, we stopped a moment to look at
the cemetery and gilded fountains of a
noble mosque. Close to the street,
defended by a railing of gilt iron, and
planted about closely with cypresses,
stands a small temple of airy architecture,
supported on four slender columns, and
enclosed by a net of gilt wire, forming a
spacious aviary. Within sleeps the
Sultana Valide. Her costly monument,
elaborately inscribed in red and gold,
occupies the area of this poetical sepul-
chre; small, sweet-scented shrubs half
bury it in their rich flowers, and birds of
the gayest plumage flutter and sing above
her in their beautiful prison. If the
soul of the departed sultana is still sus-
ceptible of sentiment, she must look down
with some complacency upon the dispo-
sition of her " mortal coil." I have not
seen so fanciful a grave in my travels.
We ascended the hill to the mosque of
the Howling Dervishes. It standsat the
edge of the great cemetery of Scutari,
the favourite burial-place of the Turks.
The self-torturing worship of this sin-
gular class of devotees takes place only
on a certain day of the week, and we
found the gates closed. A small cafi
stood opposite, sheltered by large plane-
trees, and on a bench, at the door, sat a
dervish, employed in the unclerical voca-
tion of mending slippers. Calling for a
cup of the fragrant Turkish coffee, we
seated ourselves on the matted bench
beside him, and, entering into conver-
sation, my friend and he were soon upon
the most courteous terms. He laid down
his last and accepted a proffered nargliili,
and, between the heavily-drawn puffs of
the bubbling vase, gave us some informa-
tion respecting his order, of which the
peculiarity that most struck me was alaw
compelling them to follow some secular
profession. In this point, at least, they
are more apostolic than the clergy of
Christendom. Whatever may be the
dervish's excellence as a " mender of
souls," thought I as I took up the last,
and looked at the stitching of the bright
new patch, (may I get well out of tliis
sentence without a pun ! ) I doubt whether
there is a divine within the christian
pale who could turn out so pretty a
piece of work in any corresponding call-
ing. Our coffee drunk and our chi-
bouques smoked to ashes, we took leave
of our jciapoo«/«-mending friend, who laid
his hand on his breast, and said, with
the expressive phraseology of the east,
" You shall be welcomed again."
We entered the gloomy shadow of the
vast cemetery, and found its cool and
damp air a grateful exchange for the
sunshine. The author of Anastasius
gives a very graphic description of this
place, throwing in some horrors, however,
for which he is indebted to his admirable
imagination. I never was in a more
agreeable place for a summer-morning's
lounge, and, as I sat down on a turbaned
head-stone, near the tomb of Mahomet
the second's horse, and indulged in a
train of reflections arising from the
superior distinction of the brute's ashes
over those of his master, I could remem-
ber no place, except Plato's Academy
at Athens, where I had mused so abso-
lutely at my ease.
We strolled on. A slender and elegant-
ly-carved slab, capped with a small tur-
ban, fretted and gilt, arrested my atten-
tion. " It is the tomb, ' said my
companion, " of one of the ic/ioglans or
sultan's pages. The peculiar turban is
distinctive of his rank, and the inscrip-
tion says, he died at eighteen, after having
seen enough of the world ! Similar senti-
ments are to be found on almost every
stone." Close by stood the ambitious
cenotaph of a former pasha of Widin,
with a swollen turban, crossed with folds
of gold, and a footstone painted and
carved, only less gorgeously than the
other ; and under his name and titles
was written, " I enjoyed not the world."
THE PARTERRE.
2o;i
Farther on, we stopped at the black-
banded turban of a cadi, and read again,
underneatli, " I took no i)li>;usure in this
evil world." You would tliink the Turks
a piiilosophizing people, judging by these
posthumous declarations ; but one need
not travel to learn that tombstones are
sad liars.
Tlie cemetery of Scutari covers as
much ground as a city. Its black cy-
press pall spreads away over hill and
dale, and terminates, at last, on a long
point projecting into ^larmora, as if it
would pour into the sea the dead it could
no longer cover. From the Armenian
village, immediately above, it forms a
dark, and not unpicturesque foreground
to a brilliant picture of the gulf of Ni-
comedia and the clustering Princes'
Islands. With the economy of room
which the Turks practise in their bury-
ing-grounds, laying the dead, literally
side by side, and the immense extent of
this forest of cypresses it is probable that
on no one spot on the earth are so many
of the human race gathered together.
Wf wandered about among the tombs
till we began to desire to see the cheerful
light of day, and, crossing toward the
height of Bulgurlu, commenced its
ascent, with the design of descending by
the other side of the Bosphorus, and
returning, by caique, to the city. Walk-
ing leisurely on between fields of the
brightest cultivation, we passed, halfway
up, a small and rural serai, the summer
residence of Esmeh Sultana, the younger
sister of the sultan, and soon after stood,
well breathed, on the lofty summit of
Bulgurlu. The constantly-occurring sair-
gahs, or smai\ grass platforms for spreading
the carpet and "taking kaif,'' shew how
well the Turks appreciate the advantages
of a position, commanding, ))erhups,
views unparalleled in the world for their
extraordinary beauty. But let us take
breath and look around us.
\\'e stood some three miles back from
the Bosphorus, perlia])s a thousand feet
alxjvc its level. There lay Constanti-
nople ! The " temptation of Satan " could
not have been more sublime. It seemed
as if all the "kingdoms of the earth"
were swei)t confusedly to the borders of
the two continents. From Seraglio
i*i»int, seven miles down the coast of
Uounielia, the eye followed a c<iiitiiiue<l
wall ; and from the same Point, twenty
mik-s up the BosphoruH, on either shore,
stretched one crowded and unbroken
city ! The Klar-shaped bay in the midst,
cr<iw(lcd with Hying boats ; the (iolden
Horn sweeping from behind the hills.
and pouring through the city like abroad
river, studded with ships; and, in the
palace-lined and hill-sheltered Bospho-
rus, the sultan s Hcet at anchor, the
lofty men-of-war flaunting their blood-
red flags, and thrusting their tapering
spars almost into the balconies of the
fairy dwellings, and among the bright
foliage of the terraced gardens above
them. Could a scene be more strangely
and beautifully mingled !
But sit down upon this silky grass,
and let us listen to my polyglot friend,
while he explains the details of the pa-
norama.
First, clear over the sea of Marmora,
you observe a snow-white cloud resting
on the edge of the horizon. That is
Olympus. Within sight of his snowy
summit, and along toward the extremity
of this long line of eastern hills, lie By-
thinia, Phrygia, Cajipadocia, Pajjhla-
gonia, and the whole scene of the apos-
tles' travels in Asia Minor; and just at
his feet, if you will condescend to be
modern, lies Brusa, famous for its silks,
and one of the most populous and thriv-
ing of the sultan's cities. Returning
over Marmora by the I'rinces' Islands,
at the western extremity of Constan-
tinople, stands the fortress of the Seven
Towers, where fell the Emperor Con-
stantine Palajologos, where Othman the
second was strangled, where refractory
ambassadors are left to come to their
senses and the sultan's terms, and where,
in short, that "zealous public butcher,"
the seraskier, cuts any Gordian knot
that may tangle his political meshes;
and here was the famous ■' Golden Gate,"
attended no more by its "fifty i)orters
with white wands," and its crowds of
*' ic/wglans and mutes, turban-keejiers,
nail-cutters and slipper-bearers," as in
the days of the Selinis.
Between the Seven Towers and the
Golden Horn you may count the "seven
hills ' of ancient Slamboul, the towering
arches of the aciueduct of N'alens, crossing
from one to tlie other, and the swelling
dome and gold-tip))ed nunarets of n
hundred im))eiial mosques crowning and
surrounding their summits. What an
orient look do those gallery-bound and
sky-piercing shafts give to the varied
picture
There is but one " Seraglio Point" in
the world. Look at that tapering cajie.
khaped like a lady's foot, projecting from
Stamboul toward the shore of Asia, and
ilividing the bay fioni the sea of Mai •
mora. It is cut ofl' I'mui the rfst of llie
cily, you observe, by a liigii wall, llanktil
204
THE PAKTERRE.
with towers, and the circumference of
the whole seraglio may be three miles.
But what a gem of beauty it is ! In
what varied foliage its unapproachable
palaces are buried ; and how exquisitely
gleam from the midst of the bright leaves
its gilded cupolas, its gay balconies, its
airy belvideres, and its glittering domes !
And mark the height of those dark and
arrowy cypresses, shooting from every
corner of its imperial gardens, and throw-
ing their deep shadows on every bright
cluster of foliage, and every gilded lattice
of the sacred enclosure. They seem to
remind one, that amid all its splendour
and with all its secluded retirement, this
gorgeous sanctuary of royalty has been
stained, from its first appropriation by
the monarchs of the east till now, with
the blood of victims to the ambition of
its changing masters. The cypresses
are still young over the graves of an
imcle and brother, whose cold murder
within those lovely precincts, prepared
the throne for the present sultan. The
seraglio, no longer the residence of
Mahmoud himself, is at present occupied
by his children, two noble boys, of whom
one, by the usual system, must fall a
sacrifice to the security of the other.
Keeping on toward the Black Sea, we
cross the Golden Horn to Pera, the
European and diplomatic quarter of the
city. The high hill on which it stands
overlooks all Constantinople ; and along
its ridge toward the beautiful cemetery
on the brow, runs the principal street of
the Franks, the promenade of dragoman
exquisites, and the Bond-street of shops
and belles. Here meet, on the narrow
pavi, the veiled Armenian, who would
die with shame to sliew her chin to a
stranger, and the wife of the European
merchant, in a Paris hat and short pet-
ticoats, mutually each other's sincere
horror. Here the street is somewhat
cleaner, the dogs somewhat less anti-
Christian, and hat and trowsers some-
what less objects of contempt. It is a
poor abortion of a place, withal, neither
Turkish nor Christian ; and nobody who
could claim a shelter for his head else-
where, would take the whole of its slate-
coloured and shingled palaces as a gift.
Just beyond is the mercantile suburb
of Galata, which your dainty diplomatist
would not write on his card for an em-
bassy, but for which, as being honestly
wliat it calls itself, I entertain a certain
respect, wanting in my opinion of its
mongrel neighbour. Heavy gates divide
tl)cse difterent quarters of the city, and
if you would pass after sunset, you must
anoint the hinges with a piastre.
MR. H :
OR BEWARE OF A BAD NAME.
Never had the tranquillity of the
beautiful little village of M — , in Somer-
setshire, been so put to the rout as it
was a little before noon on the thir-
tieth day of May, anno domini 1810.
The weather was warm for the season,
but delightfully pleasant ; thanks to a
cloudless sky, a bright sun, and just
breeze enough to keep the air fresh, and
the foliage in motion, and the ^olian
harp in Isabel Hartley's boudoir in the
full tide of its wild and mysterious har-
mony. The girls and boys of the village
were all at the school ; the men out at
work in the fields; the housewives busy
over their cooking; and, in short, the
most profound quiet reigned through the
place, unbroken, save by the barber s
ambitious fiddle, the drone of old Goody
Smith's spinning-wheel, and the royster-
ing uproar kept up by a party of hard-
drinking ducks that used to meet every
day to talk over the news, in the shade
of the willows that drooped with their
long pendulous branches over the pond
in front of the Arundel Arms, the head
inn of the village. On a sudden the ge-
neral calm was disturbed by the rattling
of wheels over the smooth macadamized
road, and the clatter of horses' feet — the
unexpected noises increased, and in an-
other minute, up to the door of the Arun-
del Arms whirled a neat, new, dashing
curricle with two horses, followed by two
mounted grooms in a rich, though not
conspicuous, livery.
There is something wonderful — almost
supernatural — in the celerity with which
the tidings of an arrival are spread
through the population of your small
quiet villages, where such an event is of
unfrequent occurrence; the knowledge
becomes universal in spaces of time so
exceedingly brief, tliat it seems to be the
result rather of intuition than of any as-
certained mode of communication. Such
was the case in the present instance.
From the gate at the Londonward end of
the main street to the door of the Arun-
del Arms, was a ride of only a few mi-
nutes, and yet its passage was witnessed
by more than two- thirds of the popula-
tion. The women abandoned their ket-
tles and spits to their own devices, and
ran to the door to see who was coming ;
Goody Smith's wheel was hushed; the
barber ran, fiddle in hand, to the corner,
for his shop was a short distance down a
cross street; the windows of the school-
house were thronged witli clustering
heads piled tier above tier ; the village
THE rAIlTERRE.
205
uiilliiicr aiul licr four apprentices tlroppinl
their iintiiiisliecl Iwiiiicts and caps; the
blacksinitli suflered his iron to cix)l ; the
apothecary broke ofV short in the very
act of niakinj; up a prescription ; and
even the half-pay lieutenant, the fat
curate, the retiretl cheesemonfjer, and
the parish clerk, wlio had assenihled ;ls
usual in the tap-room of the Arundel
Arms to discuss the County Gazette,
over a pipe and a cool tankard, brought
their debate to an abrupt close and sal-
lied out into the porch — where the land-
lonl was already standing in feai ful hope
of a guest, and prompt to receive the
occupant of the approaching vehicle with
a degree of attention adeijuate to his
distinguished appearance. It was not
every day tiiat a curricle with oul-riders
was to be seen in the village of M — .
A week had now passed away, and
still the curricle and the four hoises re-
mained at tiie Arundel Arms; but the
proprietor had installed himself and his
servants in lodgings. He had taken the
four best rooms in the house of the widow
Johnson ; furnished them anew, and in
a style that amazed the whole vilhige ;
and was understood to intend making a
long stay in M — . He was rich ; and
paid, not like a prince, for those gentle-
men often pay only in promises, but
with an un<juestioning and most agree-
able lil>erality ; young, handsome, and ac-
complished, gay and polite to the highest
pitch of refinement. In short, the man
was a paragon, and never were the peo-
l)le in and about M — . so delighted
with either woman or man, as with the
lord of tiie new curricle. He had a
particular faculty of making himself
ac<|iiaiiited with everyl>ody ; and by the
end uf the first week of his stay, w;ls on
visiting terms, not only with every
family of the least note in the village,
liut with all the neighlwuring gentry
within a circuit of twenty miles. There
was but one thing tiiat diminished in the
slightest degree the general satisfaction
and even delight Jelt and expressed at
the presence, manners and conduct of liie
new-comer; and this was the mystery
in which, for some reason or other, he
thought proper to envelope his birth,
parentage and connexions. It was very
remarkaljle, but nevertheless a fact, that
he cIhkjsc- to Ik- known sim|)ly as .Mr. H ;
and all eHorts were vain to discover the
remaining vowels and consonants that
made up hit legitimate appellation. His
servants weie skilfully pumped, but to no
purp<iM.- ; they protested that they were
no wiser than those by whom they were
(juestioned, anil on Uing still farther
pressed, observed that Ihci) considered
their master's name to be none of tlieir
business, with a manner so marked, that
the questioners coidd not but take the
hint, anil abandon their elForts in that
quarter. Speculatit)n was on the alert in
every direction, and all sorts of conjec-
tures were thrt)\vn out as modes of
accounting for the remarkable circum-
stance. Some would have it that there
was a bet in the case; others that it was
merely a whim ; other again invented a
long and plausible story about a strange
will, under which IMr. H had come to
his fortune upon condition of taking that
letter or aspirate for his only ajipellative;
and a few old ilealers in scandal shook
their heads with an ominous look, and
muttered dark hints to the effect that
there must be something wrong in the
business. As for the party himself, he
had taken the first occasion to let all the
world know that the subject was one on
which he did not choose to be questioned.
One of liis first visits was at the Hall,
about a mile from the village, where lived
Squire Hartley ; tlie father of that same
Isabel whose /Eolian harp has already
been mentioned. He had presented
himself at the Hall with an introduction
from the squire's very particular friend.
Sir Egerton Martyn, of Egertt>n House,
in the county of York ; and the high
terms in which he was spoken of in the
letter, had secured for him a degree of
consideration which was confirmed by his
own striking appearance, elegant man-
ners and sensible conversation. He was,
of course, invited to dinner ; and on
arriving at the Hall on the appointed
day, found a large party assembled to
meet him.
Among the guests there w;ts a fox-
hunting gentleman of the tuighlKiurhood,
who liad already taken infinite pains to
solve the mystery of the stranger's name,
and now, having well fortified himself
w'ith the courage of port and champagne,
very soon after the cloth was removed
connncnced a series of jesting interroga-
tions, in which there was more of point
than politeness, ending at last in a direct,
and as some tliought, ini|)ertinent (piery
:ls to the real cognomen, of which H was
supposed to be nothing more than the
initial. The attack was parried with
great address and g<K)d-liumour, so long
as it was kept within admissible bounds ;
hut when the last point-blank inlerniga-
lion was put, there was a decided change
Ijotli of tone and mantier, and the reply
was such asto put a stop to all questioning
on the subject.
"My name, sir," he sjiid, " aa you
206
THE PARTERRE.
have already been told, is H ; by that
name I have enjoyed the honour of an
introduction to our respected host, and
the ladies and gentlemen whose acquaint-
ance I have this day had the pleasure
of making ; it may be a singular name
to bear, but it is mine nevertheless, and
until it can be made to appear that its
owner has done something to forfeit the
respect due to a gentleman, I shall be
under the necessity of considering any
farther remarks as an overture to a
serious disagreement."
The report of this conversation was
soon spread abroad, and had the effect
to prevent any future allusion to the
forbidden subject, in the presence of
the party concerned ; and in process of
time, the wonder began to diminish, and
Mr. H to be left in the undisputed en-
joyment of his supposed incognito. In
the course of a few more weeks, people
even began to believe, or at least to
admit, that his name might really be
H, by itself H ; letters came to him so
directed, from various parts of the king-
dom ; books and parcels were brought
down every week from London, for
Mr. H ; and all doubt was at length
removed, when it was found that his
drafts on a great banking-house in the
metropolis, signed merely with a pecu-
liar and difficult flourish, in the centre
of which was a handsome and very dis-
tinct H, were honoured with all pos-
sible promptitude.
Spring passed away, summer came
and departed, and autumn still found
Mr. H the observed of all observers at
M — . The village and the country
around it had never been so gay as
they had become under the inspiring
influence of his presence. The men all
swore he was the best rider, and one of
the best shots they had ever seen, and
gave capital dinners and wine into the
bargain. The old ladies eulogized his
profound skill and attention at whist ;
and the young ones were all in raptures
with his fine voice, his exquisite taste in
dress, and his delightful gallantry. Even
the boys were his devoted adherents, for
he allowed them to ride his horses, and
shoot with his guns, and both were first-
rate. He was always proposing and
carrying into effect, some particularly
agreeble scheme of amusement ; to-day
a pic-nic, on the top of one of the Mal-
vern Hills ; to-morrow a ride to the old
ruined castle that frowned over the
Severn ; now an extemporaneous ball,
and anon a fishing excursion. He intro-
duced archery, and invented the sweetest
uniform for the ladies ; had down all the
new music as fast as it was published in
London, and the new novels a week in
advance of the circulating library. More-
over, he played the church-organ on
Sundays, with almost the touch and taste
of a Neukomm ; and there was not a
gentleman in the neighbourhood that
possessed such a talent at making conun-
drums, acting charades, and putting all
sorts of people in perfect humour with
themselves and everybody around them.
It was very soon ascertained too, that he
was not only an unmarried, but a
marrying man ; rich, young, handsome,
accomplished, and uncommonly pleasant
— there was not a young lady in M — ,
or its vicinity, from the retired cheese-
monger's plump daughter up to the
aristocratic sister of the poor, but proud
baronet who represented the county
in parliament, that would not have
been willing, and, if the truth must
be told, delighted to change her whole
name for a share of his single letter;
and, for a time, so general were his
attentions, that an equal hope was che-
rished by all of a result so congenial to
their wishes. It appeared, however, in
time, that Mr. H had a preference ; and
he approved himself a man of excellent
taste and judgment in making it. Isabel
Hartley was a delightful creature ; there
can be no doubt of it, for even when I
knew her four years ago, she was still
almost as beautiful as either of her three
charming daughters, and although not
quite so sylph-like in form, looked but a
very few years older. When Mr. H
became the slave of her bright hazel eyes,
she was but just nineteen ; a lovely, in-
nocent, guileless being, whose motions
were all grace, looks gladness, and
thoughts purity. I have not time to
describe her at length, and the reader
must be contented with learning from
me that she was not tall, nor yet very
short, slender in the waist, but of the
most beautiful rounded proportions, with
a small classical head, a sweet little
mouth, exquisite hands, and a foot of
surpassing loveliness. Her temper was
not very gay, but always serene and
cheerful ; and her mind both good and
well cultivated. In short, she was a girl
to be loved more as a wife than a bride ;
and so she has been for the last twenty
years of her happy innocent life. Mr. H
fell in love with this good and bewitching
girl, courted her like a man of sense and
a gentleman, and gained her affections.
Her })arents were satisfied, she was grate-
ful and happy, and he at the summit of
THE PARTERRE.
207
rational human felicity. They were
engaged, and the wedding day was
appointed to be in the first week of
December.
The annual county ball given at Bridge-
water, on the second of Noveniber,1810,
was more than commonly brilliant, and
was graced by the presence of all the
wealth, beauty, and fashion of Somerset-
shire. There had been a great political
struggle, or in other words, a hotly con-
tested election ; and it is always observed
that in exact proportion to the heat and
violence of the strife upon these occa-
sions, are the splendour and luxury of
the dejeuners, dinners and balls by which
they are followed ; the victors, of course,
anxioustomakethemost of their triumph,
and the vanquished to hide or forget the
mortification of their defeat. The
Bridgewater ball, therefore, of the par-
ticular year in question, was much
talked-of beforehand, expected with vast
impatience, and attended by every
creature within thirty miles, who could
manage the three requisites of a convey-
ance, a dress, and an invitation. The
officers of the regiment stationed at Bris-
tol were there to a man, from the colonel
down to the cornet ; both the candidates
for tiie lionour of representing the county
made it a point to be present, with their
wives, sons, daughters, brothers, and
sisters, and as many friends as they could
drum up for the occasion ; Taunton sent
forth its belles ; Bath and Cheltenham
furnished their quota of yellow nabobs,
dyspeptic dowagers, fortune-hunters, and
young men of no particular occupation ;
and even the catholic peer, the right
honourable baron Dc Clifford, emerged
from his seclusion at Weston Park, and
forgot for a single night his political
wrongs, and the duns of his troublesome
creditors. The scene was one of enchant-
ment ; look where you would, your
glance was rewarded with visions of
l)eauty : diamonds and ladies' eyes
seemed to vie with each other in bril-
liancy ; the pearly lustre of satin was
eclipsed by teeth of more exquisite purity;
and round, graceful arms, surpassed botii
in softness and hue tlie unsullied kid by
wliich they were partly enveloped.
Honeyed words were murmured by irre-
kistihle voices in cliarined ears ; many a
pure and innocent iieart fluttered willi
mingled deliglit and alarm, as tlie fair
hand r)f its gentle mistress wiis clasped
for a iiiomi-iil in that of Mjine handsome
captain or major, whose eyeti spoke a lan-
guage UHi flattering to l>e disbelieved ;
aiid many n vigilant motlier hovered
around, to ward ott'the unwelcome atten-
tions of poor younger brothers, or to
encourage those of the bashful young
squires whose estates were known to
amount to the desirable number of thou-
sands per anmmi. Tlic band was one
of the best that could be procured from
London, and poured out a continual
flood of the richest and most inspiriting
harmony ; jierfumes of the most delicious
fragrance floated upon the air, but so
skilfully regulated as not to oppress while
they delighted the sense; and in the
intervals of the dance, numbers of richly-
dressed liveried servants wandered about
the rooms, laden with welcome refresh-
ments, in every variety that taste and
luxury could devise.
Conspicuous among the throng of the
refined, the elegant and the lovely who
graced this splendid array, was the party
from M — ; and chief among these were
the betrothed lovers. Mr. H and Isabel
Hartley were botii exquisite dancers,
and the grace of their movements not
less than her exquisite loveliness and his
manly beauty, attracted general admira-
tion. It was very soon known by all in
the room that they were engaged, and
therefore it excited no surprise, although
a great deal of envy to both ladies and
gentlemen, that he solicited no other
hand than hers for waltz or quadrille,
and that her answer to every re(juest for
the honour of being her partner, was met
with a gracious and graceful denial.
Isabel was delighted with all around her ;
with the splendour of the scene, the ad-
miration excited by her lover, his assi-
duous and elegant attention, the exquisite
music, the champagne, and last but not
least of all, with the secret consciousness
of her own irresistible and acknowledged
beauty. Women always know when they
are loveliest, and see tlie evidence of their
power with a pleasant feeling, even
though they care not to exert it. It is
an innocent and harmless joy, and
shame to him who would condemn its
presence.
But never before had the M — friends
of her betrothed seen him to such advan-
tage, or shining witii a brilliancy of per-
son and mind so fascinating and sustained.
His spirits, always elitstic and cheerful,
were now excited to the highest jiitcli,
yet beautifully tempered with the most
perfect good breeding. His discourse
was a perpetual series of neat ri.'|)artee,
elegant compliment, bright thought and
happy expression ; he liad a beaming
smile and a pleasant word for every one
that came near him ; he jested with the
208
THE rAKTERRE.'
men, was respectfully attentive to the
dowagers, flattered the belles, amused
the mothers, and even found time, now
and then, for some little act of courtesy
and kindness to the forsaken wall -flowers
and humble companions ; and yet was
scarcely a moment away from the side
of his mistress. He anticipated her
thoughts, knew the meaning of every
glance, and ministered tb her every wish
almost before it was formed. As the
night wore on, Isabel wearied with danc-
ing, and she and her immediate friends
gathered together at one side of the room,
where the sofa on which she was seated
quckly became the central point of a
numerous circle comprising the 6\he of
the assembly, among whom Mr. H was
the reigning star of the hour. His fund
of anecdote was amazing, and of the
richest quality ; and he poured it forth
with a profusion that made all around
him delighted listeners. He was actually
inspired with happiness, admiration, and
just sufficient champagne to give full
play to his conversational powers. Still
tlie party increased, as one after another
came up eager to know and to share the
enjoyment that caused such repeated
bursts of merriment and good-humour ;
and every one thought to himself that
decidedly the most agreeable part of the
night was commencing just when the
dancing was over,
" H," said Isabel's father, "you are
leaving the band nothing to do ; they
will not have a quadrille to play to, if
you go on at this rate."
" The united attraction is too great to
resist," said the pompous Lord Hun-
gerford ; "the amusing talents of Mr.
H, and beauty like that of Miss Isabel
Hartley might wile away the most de-
voted servitor of Terpsichore."
" JUii revanche," squeaked a diminutive
colonel, " Miss Hartley ought to divide
the attraction, and get up another set.
May I solicit the honour of leading her
to the floor?"
Isabel pleaded fatigue ; and her
mother suggested that it was time to
withdraw ; but a dozen voices at once
■were lifted up in remonstrance, and
two rattling young men linked their
arms in those of the irresistible H, de-
claring that they should keep him a fast
prisoner for three hours at least.
" You remind me, gentlemen," said
Mr. H, with a smile, " of an adventure
I liad some six years ago, in Spain. I
was out one day, on a stroll, with my
friend, the Marquis of Larrington, among
the passes of the Sierra Morcnn We
had been told that banditti were lurking
among the rocks, but gave no faitli to
the story, and went unprovided with
arms of any description. We had
rambled some miles, without thinking
where we were going ; pursuing a moun-
tain-path, worn, probably, by the sheep,
of which large flocks are pastured among
the rich valleys that lie hidden away, as
it were, in those wild recesses. At
length, we found ourselves in a narrow
glen, completely surrounded by steep,
craggy rocks, and accessible only by the
narrow and difficult path by which we
had reached it. I confess that the look
of the place gave me some not very
agreeable thoughts, and I was on the
point of suggesting to Larrington the
propriety of returning, when our ears
were assailed by a loud, shrill whistle,
apparently just over our heads. ' Lar-
rington,' said I, 'did you hear that?'
Before he could answer, the whistle was
answered again and again, and I began
to suspect that mischief was coming.
Larrington's thoughts were much of the
same tenor ; ' Hogsflesh, my boy,' said
he to me "
There was a general start — a shriek —
a shrill cry of wretchedness and despair.
Isabel Hartley fell swooning into the
arms of her mother. " Hogsflesh !
merciful heavens ! " exclaimed her father
— the gentlemen stared at each other,
and muttered " Hogsflesh ! O, horrid !"
The brilliant room was in a moment a
scene of wild and disastrous confusion,
and when this had in some measure sub-
sided, tiie unfortunate cause was no
where to be seen. He had rushed from
the room like a madman, and " Lodgings
to let " appeared the next day in tlie
lower-floor windows of the house occu-
pied by the widow Johnson. J. I.
A SPECIMEN OF THE ABSURD.
At a late catechetical examination in
Trinity College, Dublin, an examiner,
well known for his deliglit in badgering
blocklieads, enjoyed the following treat:
— Q. It is recorded in scrijjture that a
beast spoke — what was the beast? — A.
A whale. Q. To whom did the whale
speak? — A. To Moses in the bnlruslies.
Q, What did the whale say? — A. Almost
thou persuadest me to be a Christian.
Q. And what did Moses reply? — A.
Thou art the man !
IHR HAUTr.RKK.
*W
\ ' . 'ill: 'l\i^ ? '!
P.igi- 217.
DEATH IN THE TOWER
BV HORACE GUILFORD.
^For the PurlerreJ.
The damsel led him through the spacious hall.
Where ivy hung ihe half demnliilied wall ;
She fre<|uent louked behind and changed her
While fancy tipt llie camllt's flame with blue"
And now Ihry gained the windiiiK stairs' asctnl.
And to " The Lonesome Room of Terrors "
went.
Wbrn all was ready, swift retired Ihe maid —
The walrhliKhisbnrii ; tucked warm in bid was
laid
The hardy stranger, and attends the •priic,
lill his accustomed walk at Dead (if Ni|;lil I
(lay'M I alei.
What a fine lhin>j, eTt-n to im.ipination,
is a fine old mansion, lonely, remote, and
melancholy— so smothered in a In-eehen
rookerv, that its clustered chimneys can
ncartely shew their diiipy white cornices
over tiie tree-toj)<i, or the tawdry vanes
j^limmer murkily afjainst tlie cloltered
hlacknc^s of the gigantic firs ! .See that
dull tnoat, unwillinjfly reflecting the bcnti-
tifully shy moon, and with reluctance Btill
nioresavapc, j ieldiiiglo the soft caresses of
vnr. I.
the musical iiifrlit-wind, that sows his
liollow' inunnuring flood witii diamond
sparks ! Lo ! the inafinilicent and crested
porch, -^tlie resoundinj^ hall ; the tap.'s-
tried saloon, whose pompotis rainicnt r>f
palaces and castles, and proves and vil-
lages, and tilting kniphts ami )>an(|iiet-
ting Indies, is cnwoveii with the parti-
coloured gorgeousness of that bright
ai t -
' W hich xeatnns Earope learnt of Pagan bands,
Wh*'" «lie a-nayed, with rai'e of h<«ly war.
Til desolate their fields: but old llir ulill :
Lonti were the I'hiyuians' pictuiiiig looms re-
n'lwned ;
Tyre al«ii, wedlhy seal ot aits, excelled,
And eliler Sidoii, in th' historic web."*
-how majestically gloomy the volu-
minous jiiftiires of romance and terror
and gallantry glare at you from tlie vast
walls, tiieir ciiiiihrniis woof oversjjreads !
— with what appalling solemnity <i<> they
sweep and swell, when, throtigh the clat-
tering windows, or the groaning doors,
tlie audacious gUKts as&'iil their inviohihle
pomp; some such a bridling, pcacock-
• D>rr.
210
THE PARTERRE.
movement asahigli, stiff dowager would
make, on the advance of some gay un-
chartered libertine — not a jluiler, but a
surge! On with you to the gleaming
armoury, with its pavisses and spears and
banners and burgonets, " e'en to horror
bright;" — up the wide staircase, with its
gothic window of " saint - encyphered
glass," and its grim portraits and brazen
effigies, and traverse the hearth-light
haunted gallery, in which the puny light
of your lamp is lost in gulphs of shadow
and umbered flame from dying brands,
as you creep shivering to the oaken cham-
ber.
Oh friend — whoever thou art, thus
situated ! — would I were with thee, were
it only for the sake of the apparition
which will undoubtedly come to thee !
Yes ! you will have stirred the logs
on the hearth into a bright blaze, given
one admiring look at the sublime tester
and Indian draperies of the pavilion-
like couch, remembering that
" Our ancestors
Selected such for hospitable beds,
To rest the stranger or the gory chief,
From battle or the chiise of wolves returned."*
— and noted, with lachimo (though with
less felonious intent, it is to be hoped)
the antique phantasms of forgotten ages —
" First, the bedchamber was hanged
With tapestry of ? illc and silver ; the story
Proud Cleopatra, when she met her Roman,
And Cydnus swelt'd above the banks, or for
The press of boats, or pride : a piece of work
So bravely done, so rich, that it did strive
In workmanship and value. The chimney
Is south the chamber ; and the chimncy-piecc.
Chaste Dian bathiiig: never saw I figures
So likely to report themselves ; the cutler
Was as another nature, dumb ; outwent htr,
Motion and breath left out. The roof o' the
chamber
With golden cherubins is fretted : the andirons
(I had fortot them), were two winking Cupids
Of silver, each on one foot s'tanding, nicely
Depending on their brands."*
Thus sauntering on the luxurious
margent of repose, you at length plunge
a plombe into the billows of eider-down,
and sink — no, sxidm to that far distant
shore of gay and gloomy mysteries, the
Land of Dreams.
Three yells, more deep than loud,
with a profound, measured (need I say,
horrible ?) pause between each, startle you
from your first sleep, which, as every one
knows, is as hard to replace as first love.
A figure in the habiliments of the
grave, but whose features and attire are
alike incarnadined with revolting gouts
of clotted gory red, discloses itself in the
• Dyer.
• Cymbeline. Act 2.
Scene 4.
firelight, and vanishes through the win-
dow. From that window yotx had not
long before undrawn the massive cur-
tains of yellow Damascus brocade, fitAv-
ered with scarlet poppies and white lilies,
in order to admit the moonlight, whose
imprint of the panes, mullions, and tran-
somes, in black and white, on the polished
wainscot and floor, you had so sleepingly
admired. Well !- — after a pause, during
which you had hardly drawn breath from
the recent horror, the same three yells
are heard in the garden below, to which,
balustraded steps, and terraces lined with
orange trees in sculptured vases, inter-
mingled with old white fauns and nymphs
of marble, lead down from your window.
You neither see nor hear more of this
phantom — but I wish you joy of the rest
of your night. More than all, do I feli-
citate you on your feelings, — when, upon
your descending to breakfast the next
morning late, jaded and perplexed, you
discover, beyond all possibility of doubt,
in a silent, pale, nervous looking person-
age, attired in sable, and sitting by your
noble host, who pays her the most affec-
tionate though quiet attention — the Spec-
tre of the Oak Chamber !
Of course you take the first oppor-
tunity of delicately cleansing your bosom
of its perilous stuff, in the confidential
ear of his lordship, who, in his turn ad-
ministers to your mind diseased, by
starting, biting his lip, changing colour,
and finally apologizing for the unpleasant
mistake to which the neglect of servants
and the very late hour of your arrival on
the preceding night had evidently led.
His sister, the Lady Arabella IB — was
incurably but harinlessly insane. She
had been a prisoner in the Conciergerie
during the reign of terror ; from a win-
dow she had been compelled to witness
the murder of her husband in the street
below, together with the unutterable
mutilations of his blood- streaming corpse
by the pikes and sabres of the demon
rabble. She herself had only escaped
the guillotine by the death of Robespierre
and his atrocious clique.
Her madness seldom manifested itself,
except in a propensity to strange noises
and horrible mummeries during the
night. At most other times she was
tranquil, and even occasionally mingled
with the family, as you had yourself seen
that morning. A remote and solitary
suite of apartments had however been
assigned to her exclusive occupation — and
yoii (once more I congratulate you. Oh
dear, though imaginary friend ! ) and you
had the luck to stumble upon them !
THE PARTERRE.
>il
If, liowevcr, ia spite of all my depic-
turing, you hnve not found yourself in
tliis grand predicament, e'en try a raml)le
after adventures with one who would full
fain make your acquaintance. Of course
you will excuse a little bald, disjointed
chat, a tale of shreds and patches — other-
wise I warn you, if you had rather avoid
liiscursireiiess, avoid my discourse !
Hailes Castle is a large gray pile, over-
looked by dark Dunpender Law ; a
grass-garlanded battlehouse, rising on
the basaltic rocks that wall in the lazy
Tyne. It consists of the remains of
buildings quite superior to the generality
of Scottish castles.
A broad extensive fabric it is, studded
with proud square towers, whose ruins
shew what they have been : — the river
flows at their very base, and a turret
with arched portal and stone steps still
descends to the blue stream, and forms a
fair water tower. There is not much of
architectural beauty remaining about it;
but it is striking, at first view, from the
venerable group of various buildings
which it displays, — the picturesque
thickets of asii, plane, and alder, inter-
spersed among tlie silvery foliage of the
willow shrubs that rustle on its banks, —
the wild desolation of tlie dull green hills
around ; and chiefly from the awful and
sequestered air of utter solitude which
characterizes its site.
At this moment I behold the most
magnificent sunblaze, overflooding the
shrubby ramparts and naked hills with
gold, while the heaven above mantles
with autumn's purest and most placid
l)lue. Faith ! but in I'higland men
would marvel how any one discovered
such a wilderness to build in ; still more
how its lords reached it when it was
built ; and most of all how, having once
reached it, they ever found their way
back again to the busy haunts of men.
Zahara's sandy deserts would not be
more desolate and lonesome !
Yet the jackdaw hath found it out, as
his i)ert sbarp clicking cry proclaims;
and see ! the roundel of yonder turret
top is ringed with them like so many
huge black be;uls. Well, I do honour
the jack-daw for liis taste. You never
ol>«ierve a tall and anti(jue building, wlie-
ther ]:i>iitific or l>ar<>nial, that this black-
lettered atitiipiary doth not select it for
his domicile. Heliuiidelh it) the steejiles,
in the battlements, in the pinnacles, in
the chirnneyH. Not moro
" Tli»l giic»l »t luminrr,
The tf^niple-lMrintins rii.iillrt,fl«itli approve
By lilt luvrd inaii'lnniry , tliat licavcii > limlli
SinclU wooiii^ly here."
— his voice alone ringeth through the
hollow grassy court, or moss-green clois-
ter ; the loftiest parapet is but a throne
of pritle to him ; and his glos.sy myrmi-
dons turn into a tilt-yard the largest
chamber. By the way, if you have never
read A'incent Bourne's Cornicula, pray
get at it directly; and having luxuriated
in its felicitous elegance, — dash into Cow-
pcr's spirited but somewhat rough trans-
lation — especially my two pet stanzas :
Above the steeple shines a pl^ile,
That turns and turns, to indicate
From what point blows ihc weather:
Look up ! yoor brains bejjin to swim, —
'T is in the clonds — that pleases hiin.
He chooses it the rather.
He sees that this great roundabout —
The world with all iis motley rout —
Church, army, physic, law :
Its cu?tums anil its businesses.
Are no concerns at all of his, —
And says — what says he i — Caw I
But hereby hangs my tale, which has as
much to do with jackdaws as jackdaws
with Hailes Castle, or indeed (as you, my
much enduring friend, will see) rather
more.
It was about the close of the sixteenth
century, that a great hunting match, or
meeting, as it was termed, was held in
the neighbourhood of the romantic town
of Hexham in Northumberland.
It w;is to last for a week ; and, as the
concourse was prodigious, not a few
among the company were fain to take
advantage of every lone grange and
sequestered cottage whefe the barest
possibility of shelter might chance to offer
itself; since the neighbouring residences
of the noblemen, knights, and squires
hadexhausted their chivalrous hospitality,
even to that sacred appanage of the
mediaeval castle and manor hall, the
Haunted Room.
The evening was gradually deepening
those gray lines in which September
monotonously but sweetly arrays the
dusky town, green mead, and tinted wood.
Hasty but fitful gusts shook down a few
yellow leaves from the great cluster of
ancient sycamores and elms that encircled
the stately tower of D — , and swung
their branches over its deep and heavy
parapets, till they intertwined in a dark
canopy of umbrage ; and l)eneath this
rich screen, only resonant with the soft
coo of the wood|)igeon, the tlippant cry
of the jack-daw, or the slow sonorous
caw of the wearied rook returning from
his foray — lurked the Tower's pale form,
like some awful Druid shunning eyes
profane.
" II wa> an ancient, loiirly liouiu', Ib.il iluod
UlKju the holders of the spaciiuii wood,
•2 I-
•J 12
THE J'AliTEIlRE.
Here towers and antique battlements arise,
And there in heaps the monld'ring ruin lies.
Some lord this mansion held in days of yore.
To chase the wolf, and pierce the foaming
boar." •
As the day declined, the sun broke, in
partial streaks of long slanting radiance,
behind the clouds that rolled along the
distant Cheviots ; and glanced in such
sudden and blinding glory on the portly
walls of D — Tower, that every window
answered him at once with flames of
harmless lustre. His calmer but not less
splendid light swept over the pale green-
sward of the meadows, and lovingly
lingered on the swelling outline of aged
woods, boldly relieved from whose dark
green back ground, stood a large rick
recently piled, whose mellow hay poured
incense to the evening air. But the
magical radiance faded as suddenly as it
kindled ; and from the insurgent clouds,
rolling round the chariot wheels of the
departing luminary, large and heavy
drops heralded the tempest that soon
came roaring and tumbling overhead.
" And now," as Gay says in his tale,
"And now the skies with gatliering darkness
lour.
The branches rustle with the threatened shower.
With sudden blasts the forest murmurs loud.
Indented lightnings cleave the sable cloud;
Thunder on tliunder breaks; the tempest roars.
And heaven discharges all its watery stores."
This storm with its battalions of clouds
had precipitated the transition from
evening to night, when two horsemen,
mounted on powerful steeds, and whose
accoutrements bespoke them appertaining
to the more opulent class of yeomen,
«ame clattering up the somewhat steep
ascent that leads from the shores of the
romantic water in that vicinity, to the
noble tower of D — .
This beautiful but simple structure
presented, at the date of our story (that
is, about two hundred and fifty years ago)
much the same appearance that it now
wears. It was also as deserted then as
now; its lord being in exile, for some un-
lucky part he had taken in the Romish
rebellions of the Elizabethan reign.
Square and bulky, the variously pro-
portioned turrets at each angle, breaking
its embattled brow with their pierced
parapets of unequal heights, scarcely
redeemed the pile they decorated from a
character of unwieldy heaviness; but
the soft high bank of greensward from
which its walls arose, and the dignified
old grove in which it stood embosomed,
jnade one forget everything but its en-
tire grandeur.
• Gay's Tales.
A low browed portal in the south tur-
ret appeared to be the only entrance —
but ere our two hunters of the north
(for such they were) had reached it, he
who seemed the senior of the two shouted
rather than said —
" Well sped, my nimble Dorian !
blessings on thy fingers thou lither page !
Look yonder, Matt. !" to his fellow.
" That red banner, flaring away, speaks
as plain as ever a sign above a hostel
porch, that there be drink for our
drowth, as well as warmth for our wet-
ting, up i'th' old baron's hall!"
The Tower hall occupied the first
story of the building; and at this hour
its mighty window was all coloured over
with tranquil crimson firelight, gorge-
ously contrasting the darkened mould-
ings and buttresses, from among which
it set forth its courteous invitation to a
refuge from the inhospitable night.
" Hostel, quotha !" replied the other ;
" I would fain see the hostel that could
shew us such a solar on the finest day at
noon (be the gallery never so cheerful
and the lattice never so gaily painted),
as we shall find up yonder on this stormy
night! Why, Master Gilbert! what
philtre hast given the lad, that he quits
the cloth of gold mantles and silver tis-
sue fardingales at Naworth, to cater for
two weatherbeaten yeomen?"
" Philtre? none from me, Matt I save
some sneaking kindness it may be he
holds towards me, since the night when 1
took in the young cub and his dam, when
they were perishing of thirst and hun-
ger, like those the parson tells us of in
the wilderness of Beersheba."
" Even so ! I have scarce seen him
since then ; and now 't is a gay slip of a
youth, with a kinder heart too than
beats under every page's doublet."
" That hath he I Why this very morn-
ing my young Princox would not leave
praying the Lady Howard (who so
dotes she will scarce endure him from
her presence), till he had won permission
to go with me during the hunting; and,
that gained, — lo ye ! nothing would
serve his turn but he must go forward
and make ready our rere supper. Well,
't is a good youth."
" Ay, and his goodness brings its own
reward ; at any rate he hath well scaped
the drenching we have met. St. George !
but 't is a gallant blaze : oh happy men
be our dole, if the fare be equal to the
fire!"
A menial, warned by the clatter of the
steeds in the flagged court-yard, stood
ready to receive the bridle reins of each
THE PAllTEURE.
•21.1
at the low Tower gate ; and lightly and
jocundly the horsemen leapt from their
saddles, and vanished under the arch-
way. As they tramped with iron heels
up the stone staircase, the voice of the
page was heard huishing and hallooing,
as if to scare away some obnoxious ani-
mal. As soon as tliey reached the land-
ing, on wliicti the open door of tlie hall
flung forth a mass of ligiit, the liunters
paused to ascertain the cause of the page's
excitement. The interior of the spacious
apartment beamed witli all that gladden-
ing cheerfulness which, clothing every
object in one resplendent raiment of
light, makes the bare wall and the
smoky rafter as bright as the silken
tapestry and the painted ceiling; and,
investins desolation with those grand
attributes of comfort — light and warml/i —
seems to mock the elaborate luxuries that
convert the.n into pomp and glare.
Dorian, the page, a fine tall stripling
of some sixteen years, his graceful limbs
admirably set off" by his close dress of
bl.ick and scarlet, his eyes large and
bright, his glossy hair flaking over the
warm tinge of his swarthy cheeks, and
his laughing lips uttering shouts, like a
trumpet with a silver sound, stood in the
centre of the floor. Following tlie direc-
tion of his eye, and indeed the action of
his hand (for Dorian having in vain ex-
ercised his lungs, was proceeding par voie
de fait), the two hunters discovered the
object of all this hostility.
i'erched on the massive transverse
beam, which more profuse of carving and
blazoned arms than its brethren, crossed
the centre of the vaulted roof, sate a
great old jackdaw, looking unutterable
wisdom, but as immoveable, amidst all
the attacks of the page, as if he had been
a family crest carved in wood, and set
up there for an ornament, save that ever
and anon the fire-light caught his black
bright eye as he put his head on one
side with the greatest nonchalance, to
see what was coming next.
Wearied with inetrectiial attempts to
molest the philosophical bird, page Do-
rian stinted in his operations, and then,
for the first time, aware of the presence
of -Master Gilbert Koyson and his com-
panion, away went the red cloth barrette
which he was alxiut to shy at the black
intruder; the gridiron, spread with deli-
cate scollops of venison duly seasoned,
and whieh in his momentary excitement
he had deposited on tlie tiled pavement
of the hall, was snatched to the fin- ; and
while bubbling and Nputlering and hiss-
ing MOunds, and nteamo of dainty savour,
denoted the important change, Dorian
hastened up to his sometime patron, em-
braced him witli almost feminine fond-
ness, and relieved him in a trice of his
drenched flat cap and dripping outer gar-
ment, %vhieh with the other hunter's wet
jerkin, &c. were carried oft' by a varlet
in the Howard livery, to be dried below.
M.ister Gilbert received the attentions
of the page with a sedate ple.xsure, that
sate well on the broad but handsome
features of middle age; and as the three
stood before the animating hearth, whose
vaulted arch yawned in prodigality of
blaze, small thought had they on the
broken wainscot of the walls, or the
blackened beams of the roof, or the ab-
sence of blazoned shield and inlaid helm,
and gorgeous banneral, which wont to
glitter to that flame in the 'l't)wer's more
prosperous days. On far other cares in-
tent, one duly turned the delicious col-
lops, till their shrieks and sobs subsided
into a resigned simmer ; another watched
the lovely white and yellow of the new
laid eggs as they consolidated in the pan,
which boasted too the streaked and
frothy slices of the flitch; while a third
heaped a great clumsy table with a brown
loaf, and Cheshire cheese, which might
have feasted the Anakim, and to which
flagons of ale, and flasks of wine and
brandy, stood in the capacity of senti-
nels.
The feast was high and full, with the
two huntsmen at least; the young Do-
rian partook much more moderately, but
even he was somewhat carried away by
the tide and time of hilarity.
" How the rain swoofs against that
window !" said Master Gilbert, with a
deep respiration from the ale-draught
with which he had been lubricating his
weary jaws.
" And hark !'' rejoined INIatt. Farreiit,
"how the wind liallous down the chini-
ney, as if he had a mind to leap in and
make a fourth among us!"
" In sooth," chimed in the page, " I
do think he be wrath that we have
brought in his brother element to roar
and bicker and blaze awav, in chambers
where he himself hath so long lorded it
alone."
"Ay, likely, likely! The old bully
hath had the run of the old Tower so
long, that he forgets Am place is on
the turret roofs, and atnong the elm tree
tops, not in the kindly hall, or by the
basking health."
" Well ! let him fret and fume as ho
miiy ; he must blow the olil Tower
alM>iit uur earK, ere he drive ns fitini the
214
THE PARTERRE.
glow of these logs, and the light of this
liquor ! "
"Fair and softly, father Gilbert!"
said young Dorian laughingly, as he
marked the hearty hug the yeoman
lavished on the wine flagon. " Have a
thought that we are to spend to-morrow
night in the Tower, and beware lest the
wind come then and surprise you in your
fortress. How would you like to be
beleaguered with neither victuals nor
ammunition l''
"Nay!" said Master Farrent, "it
would then be blockade and storm at
once," — and he simpered at his own
wit.
" There's more grows where this was
gathered!" shouted Gilbert Royson ;
" but nevertheless, grammercy for thy
caution, my lad of the coal-black ey«,
and that we may thrive upon it, let my
crony, Matt. Farrent, hear the voice
that hath so often cheered our old Grange
in days agone; I warrant me age hath
given it strength, like this mellow barley
juice!"
" And marred its sweetness, too, if it
ever had any," was Dorian's reply ;
"besides, 1 am so hoarse with storming
to scare that foul carrion crow, that
seemed to mock our good meeting from
the top beam of the hall yonder!"
" Nay ! an' thou xuilt chafe thyself for
a silly daw, Sir Dorian, — but look, lad!
he 's flown, he hath abandoned the cita-
del ; and thou can'st do no less than carol
for thy victory !"
Dorian gazed up to the far away beam,
over which the decaying fire had now
cast a partial shade, and saw that the
obnoxious bird had sailed away, in so-
lemn silence, at some period of their
mirthful repast.
Half ashamed of his boyish petulance,
he stroved to laugh it off by saying,
with a sarcastic glance at Royson —
'' My lord's jester at Haworth hath a
lay of the jackdaw, so please you; and
as my kind father inclines to honour
that sage bird, I will task my brain to
remember it."
The platters were pushed aside, the
wine cup put in abeyance ; and the page
carolled blithely thus : —
The ea^le glares imperious pride
From his dread aiery ilirone;
O'er wilds untamed, nntcnanted.
He kings it all alone :
His haiiglity eye commands the sky.
And in tlie very sun,
Aflronts a Hame that cannot tame
The glance it glows upon.
But of every bud on tower or tree.
The daw, the jolly jackdaw for me.
The raven loves the dreary moor,
And the white blasted trie,
Whereduil clouds sweep, and low winds weep.
And the fern sighs dolefully :
He loves alone the gray old stone,
With moss embroidered o'er;
Beneath, the grass grows rank, and above
the irons clank
A skeleton once wore !
But, of every bird on moor or lea.
The merry, the merry jackdaw for ine.
The burgher rook, sedate and sage.
By town and village dwells.
And there erects — no hermitage —
But streets and citadels.
O'er barn and grange his squadrons range.
Old stately Homes he loves ;
Where'er builds he, prosperity
Basks by protecting groves.
But, of all the birds by land or sea.
The daw, the sable daw for me.
The raven hates, the eagle scorns
The social mart of men ;
And, if the grove or grange decays.
The rook deserts them then.
But the biisk daw, wiih kindly caw.
Still constant you behold ;
He cares not he, how grim it be.
If the bouse be high and old !
And of all the birds 1 ever see,
The faithful, friendly daw for me.
His banner where the baron raised.
Or priest the censer swung ;
Where minstrel harps the champion praised,
Or funeral bells were rung;
'T is a regular law with the jocular daw
To put up his hostel there,
And he builds and dwells above bowers and
cells,
Next to the sweet blue air.
And, of all the birds that builders be,
The buoyant heartsome daw for nie.
For when the last sad day arrives
Of desolation's doom,
Though all be gone, the daw survives
To animate the gloom.
No drear decay scaies him away.
Though knights and monks be sped,
Flits his black wing, his brisk notes ring
By the downfall'n and the dead !
O then, of every bird, for glee
The philosophic daw for me I
Many a lusty laugh, ringing again and
again, through the high and echoing
hall, hailed the conclusion of Dorian's
lay ; and the night now waxing late, our
little merry company began to boune
them for their repose.
In spite of all the page's expostula-
tions, and even complaints, Master Gil-
bert insisted that Dorian should occupy
the only room in which there was a bed,
the adjuncts to which had been furnished
for the nonce, from a neighbouring
grange : and he was warmly joined by
his friend Matt, in declaring their reso-
lution of passing the night by the fire-
side.
Finding resistance vain, Dorian heap-
ed fresh logs upon the hearth, placed
with a sly smile the flagons within their
reach duly replenished, and then with-
THE PARTERRE.
drew to the dignified but unwelcome
solitude of the state chamber. It was a
noble apartment, lined with boldly pan-
nelled wainscoting ot" black Irish oak,
with three oriel windows, in whose
lozenged panes the gorgeous colours of
the armorial blazonry were already dim
with dust and cobwebs. The arms of
England and France surmounted the
solemn and ponderous manteltree, and,
where the wainscot met the ceiling, a
broad oaken cornice of fruit b;uskels and
flower garlands, whose festoons were
linked by beautifully carved goatheads,
stretched round the room.
The bed was lofty, and displayed with
reluctant ostentation curtains which had
once been crimson velvet, embroidered
with what had once been gold ; but tioic,
whether the crimson was blacker than the
gold, or the embroidery dingier than the
velvet, was difficult to deciile.
The tester and pillais were of ebony, or
some such dark-grained wood, luxuriantly
ornamented with carve work, on every
j)oint and boss of which the ghastful dust
told its own melancholy story.
A large mattrass, and heaps of warm
coverlid, blankets, &c., spread over this
ample couch, were the only tilings to ar-
rest for a moment the sinking cheerful-
ness of its destined occupant.
Two large dusky pictures (the one
representing a knight in full armour,
scowling right truculently through his
raised vizor ; and the other some scene
in the Marian persecution), drooped
disconsolately along the disii:antled walls
— to which the red smouldering fires
curling round the bare limbs of the
martyr, and the triumphant air of vin-
dictive malice marking the very prominent
figure of a Dominican in the foreground
of the latter picture, added an unnecessary
horror.
Otlier furniture there was none ; — nor
even an attempt at it, if we except the
fresh-cut grass and fragrant herbs which
Dorian had gatliere<l and strewn <m
the brick floor for the refreshment and
delectation of his kind patron, for whom
his vain cares had prepared this sleeping
room. As for the fireplace, it might have
roasted the dun cow, and stewed the
dragon of Waiilley at the same time with
ease ; but, at il irns, a mouse would walk
through il imsiiiged ; and the crickets!
they woulil have turned up their noses at
such an ungcniai vault. —
" Blurk it •IchkI a<nii:)><l"
What ailed the hearth? Dorian had hiui-
wlf piled the wimhI and kindleil tlie fire,
and there was the wih«1 still, but not the
fire! — In short, both Lares and Penates
had abandoned their temple, and the place
was not only ugly but dangerous !
It must be owned, that when all this
pomp of mclancholi/ met Dorian's eye, the
preparations he had made with such aflec-
tionate assiduity for Master Gilbert lost
their value considerably in his opinion.
Nor was it till lie had dotVed his weed and
buried himself to the eyes under the warm
bed-clothes, that he could persuade him-
self of the folly of those who prefer a
chimney nook to a comfortable bed.
When the eastern glow burst through
the dusty colourings of the oriels, —
Dorian bounded up suddenly from heavy
but disturbed slumbers, and the first ob-
ject that saluted his dizzy eyes, \»'as the
burly figure and rudtly countenance of
MasterGilbert, bending over him with an
expression of goodnatured concern which
pluinlv s|ioke how he re|)ented hii having
forced a distinction so unenviable on his
foster son.
"Ha! my flower of pages ! if this was
the eliamher of Dais thou toldest me of,
thou owest nie small thanks for resigning
it to tliee. And hast had no fire too?"
looking at the sullen wedges of half-
charred wood that lumbered lazily on
the health, presenting a most elocjucnt
emblem of inhosijitality.
"See if we have not played the tyrant
with this poor lad ! '' continued the kindly
yeoman to I^Iatl. Farrent, who now en-
tered the room, " why be looks as if he
liad seen a spirit !"
Dorian leapt out of bed, and signing
to them, with a glance of consternation,
to be silent, besought them to tarry for
him till he had dressed himself.
" 'I'hat will we! " said Uoyson, " and
saddle thy black Arabian for thee to
boot, ere thou canst patter an .Ave ' "
" We have broken fast already," said
Farrent, "but thou wilt find enough on
yonder board to chase these megrims from
thv brain."
'■' Or if that fail." added M.xster Gil-
bert, " a mouthful of the fresh morning
air, a gallop over the heathery hill sitle,
and a glance at the gallant stag, among
ringing bridles, waving feathers, and
scarlet cUiaks, will soon lireathe thy lungs,
r|uickeii thy pulse, and make thy heart
as high as an emjieror's I"
With these words tlie two hunters
turned from the chamber, their heavy
steps were heard descending the lower
stair, and ere long the trembling joyous
whinny of their steeds testified to Dorian 'i
ear their arrival at the stables.
The i>.ige hurriedly commenced dress-
216
THE rAHTEllRE.
ing— but paused abruptly in the midst,
and with a deep sigh, and an expression
as much of dejection as weariness, he sank
down on the foot of the bed.
There needed not indeed a restless
night, or dismal dreams, to enhance tlie
disconsolate and depressing aspect of the
apartment.
The orient sunflame flooding in at
every point, through the wide projecting
baywindows tliat boldly courted his ap-
proach, resembled a guest, who, invited
to some high solemnity, comes in mag-
nificent apparel, and finds liimself at a
funeral. Nothing did he smile upon
that did not scowl in return ; — nothing
be caressed that did not loathe his lustrous
touch.
Tlie gallant oriels, which had been
built in his honour, triumphal arches as
it were for his morning march, now
seemed ashamed of his approach. The
heraldic panes that once flashed exulting
in his rays, looked obstinately dull : and
in short, as penetrating through their
various colours, he advanced on the
floor and walls, — the tattered arras, the
swarthy pictures, the tarnished wainscot,
the layers of dust and masses of cobwebs
that hung on every ornament, as if spite-
fully to blacken what they could not
efface ; the disheartening apparatus of the
Jire-place, the very rushes on the floor
withered and shrivelled, and the faint
mist of motes that streamed athwart
the room, impregnated with the vari-
coloured but ghastly radiance of the em-
blazoned windows, — altogether exhibited
a combination of the gaudy and the dis-
gusting, that must be seen to be con-
ceived.
For some minutes — after one long
doleful look around, the page yielded
jjassively to the depressing influence of
his own thoughts, thus painfully em-
bittered by the malicious art, that cir-
cumstance can always impart.
I5ut only for a short space did this des-
pondence endure. Youth, elastic light-
some courageous youth, was on his side.
" Foy ! foy !" was his exclamation, as
he resumed with activity the remainder
of his clothes. " Shame on thee, Do-
rian ! shall a few ht-.ivy dreams, well
earned by a foolisli revel, or a dismal-
looking dormitory, soon to be exchanged
for sweet turf and blue sky— unman thee
thus? and yet, Sancta Maria ora pro
me ! they were sore visions those of last
night ; and touching Gilbert Iloyson too,
of all others — my beloved friend, my
more than father ! Ugh ! how hideously
he was changed ! slil) t w.is but a dream.
Ay, but I have heard Father Hubert
say, that dreams are sometimes warnings.
At all events the warning shall be given ;
and it shall go hard with me. Messieurs
Grim ;" here the page bowed with ironi-
cal reverence to the two pictures, " it
shall go hard but if you are to have visit-
ing acquaintance, you shall have it to
yourselves for this night at least !"
Thus saying, the page hastened out
of doors, and, liaving made his morning
ablutions in the cold sparkling brook,
that curled below the Tower bank, —
" Making sweet music with the ena-
melled stones, he oflTered his brief orisons
on its flowery margent, while the melo-
dious lowing of the full uddered cows,
and the cheerful clarion of the sultan
clianticleer mingled their strains with his
devotions."
Soon then, were the glossy black curls
shaken into "most admired disorder,"
soon was the scarlet barrette tossed upon
them with artful carelessness ; a sinsiJe
moment he stopped at the gateway to
caress his Belphoebe, as he called the
little Arabian, whose bridle Master Gil-
bert (already mounted) held ready, and
who betrayed all the pretty pride and
impatience of her sex.
Then promising instantaneous return,
he sprang up the staircase, into the hall,
and soon achieved very satisfactory
advantages over sundry maple bowls
remaining with rich milk and curds,
loaves of hot bread, eggs flaky with
freshness, and brown gravied beefsteaks.
The sun had not shifted over three
quarries of the hall floor, ere Dorian had
dispatched his breakfast, mounted his
courser, and trotted merrily with his
companions out of the Tower court.
And now Master Gilbert somewhat
scoffingly requested to know the cause
of Doiian's annoyance ; " for well IVot,"
he added, " thou bearest a heart too
gallant to grow cold with one night's
indifl!erent lodging !"
" Nay father dear, it was but a dream,
yet it was of i/ou, and a frightful dream
it was — ay, and thrice repeated."
" Alack, and was it so my boy ?" said
Royson smiling; "then no marvel thou
art jaded, for what saitli the old saw, ' no-
tliing so weary as a twice told tale,' and
so thou hast had it thrice !"
" And what might this grim vision be,
my fair sir V asked Master Farrent,
with an assumed raillery of tone, that
suited ill with the anxiety of his face.
" O, methought you were both sleep-
"Tiig in yonder weary bed ; and I was
watciiing you by that great manteltrec
THE PARTERRE.
217
where the queen's arms are painted. You
were already fast asleep, and I too began
to nod ; for the fire bhized comfortably
warm, and the wind and rain made
drowsy serenades on the lattice ; when
all on a sudden the fire went out, and in
its place two candles of strange unearthly
light appeared flaring lividly through the
room, from those pictures of the Warrior
and the Burning Heretic.
" While I giized bewiUlored, a volume
of black, smoke rolled heavily down the
chimney, and shapeil itself into the very
counterfeit of the armed knight. Ere I
could draw another breath, fresh billows
of vapour emerged from the vaulted
chinmey as if from the gulf of Erebus
itself, and behold, the awful form and
sable garments of the monk, stood in the
centre of the floor. Oh Master Royson,"
continued the page, with a look of
dreariment that belied his assertion —
" I can smile now at any terror ; but
it is one thing to recount a story when
you are l)orne along like a gale of sum-
mer on your favourite steed, over breezy
hills, under a sunny sky — and another
to encounter it in the fetters of sleep, on
a gloomy bed, and in a dismantled and
perhajjs haunted room!"
Master Gilbert, as the page paused,
turned his round blue eyes on him, and
pushed back his flat cap from the thick
lijht curls that clustered over the bullet
intended for his head ; more, it is to l)e
confessed with the air of one whose wits
have been wool-gathering, than with
that becoming expression of dismay
which wa.s so reasonably to be antici-
p.ited, — and, with a hasty, " Likely,
likely, my lad! I marvel if we be lag-
gards at the tryste?" seemed either for-
getful of the beginning, or careless of
the conclusion of Dorian's tale of terror.
Not so .Master Farrent ; he had in-
clined more seriously to the story, and
now with nervous eagerness he pressed
Dorian to finish it. '
" Nay," said the page, slightly colour-
ing at Royson 's inattention, " I speak
l)ut what I saw ; — and if the knight atul
the priest did nut glide uj) to each side
of the bed, if they (lid not seize you both
by the throat — and never relax their
gMpe till your eyes started forth of their
M>cket<i, and your limbs beat the bed till
they were stilT — it was bad enough, in
conscience, to dream it, and especially to
dream the sjime thing thrice!"
Even bind' Gilbert's ruddy face of glee
grew shadowy at tliis hetpiel to the tale,
— while Earrent'ti features b«-lraye<l un-
e<|iiiv(>cal symptom* of the impression
it had made on him.
But wlion the page, observing the
eflfect he wished, in so lair a train for ac-
complishment, began somewhat prema-
turely to entreat tliat they would relin-
quish all idea of p;issing the next night
at the Tower ; or, at any rate, would
sutter him to join their couchee by the
hall fire; Gilbert Royson broke in with
an abrupt execration upon his own folly
in exposing his favoin ite to the anti-
(juated dismalities of the state chamber;
and ended by proclaiming his resolution
of jKUssing tlie night there himself. It
would be but a light penance for his
fault, he said, to sleep in a brocaded bed
with soft mattress and coverlid, — and as
for the apparitions — the fire he would
kindle, should exorcise them from the
chimney vault at least.
All who knew Master Gilbert were
fully aware that his impracticable obsti-
nacy i)recluded the least chance of suc-
cessfully combating a resolution he had
once taken. Not the ambrosial curls of
Jove himself formed a more ii revocable
fiat, than the emphatic nod of a head not
half so well furnished as his heart, which
generally ratified the worthy yeoman's
determinations.
Honest Matt. Farrent saw this at
once, and being (despite of a proneness
to superstition) of a kindly, iis well as
courageous heart, he checked the vain
exjjostulations of the less exj)erienced
page, and asseverated, with something
very like an oatli, that if Master Gilbert
had set his bold heart on this freak.
Matt. Farrent would never be the lail to
desert his friend, — in short, that he
would take liis share in the perils (if
perils there were) of the Chamber of
Dais.
To this Master Gilbert heartily assent-
ed ; and by the time they reached the
trysting pl.ice of the hunt, Dorian's spi-
rits were so thoroughly renovated by the
fresh air and l)risk riile, that without
much reluctance he gave in his adhesion
to their pl;ins. He consented that, after
the day's hunting, he should pass the
night, as usual, at the neighbouring
castle of his lord, from whence he was to
dispatch such .idditional supplies tt) D —
'l'<iwer, as should etl'cctually fortify the
northern brains of our two gallant hun-
ters for the adventures of the slate cham-
ber.
He promised to be nt their door, by
sunrise on the nuirrow, and summon
them thence,
" lo fresh fn liU, iiitl pn^tiitfi lu-w."
218
THE PARTERRE.
" A wannion on the churlish logs !"
was Master Gilbert's drowsy exclama-
tion that night, as he, and his friend
Matthew entered, yawning, the Chamber
of Dais. Their eyes were dull ; their
steps unsteady, — they were weary with
the fatigues of the day, and heavy with
their antidotes against the terrors of the
night; for their libations had been su-
perabundant, and threatened, like other
treacherous allies, to betray them at the
crisis, when their assistance was most
needful.
" A wannion, I say, on them ! saw
ever man a better flame than we kindled
some three hours agone ? and lo ye here
it hath died of spite !"
" Well !" growled honest Matt, with a
lazy chuckle, " I'll forgive the death of
the fire, so I but 'scape its ghost, the
smoke. Faith, but mine eyes smart
shrewdly !"
Thus dreamily grumbling, Master Far-
rent undressed himself, and quickly de-
posited his stork head witliin the curtains ;
his eyes closing in deep, hard-breathed
slumber, almost before he touched the
bolster. And Master Royson only delayed
following his example till he had brought
in a huge flaming heap of fuel, from the
hall, and mixed it with the wood upon the
capacious hearth. He then proceeded,
carefully, to stop every cranny against
the night wind ; closed the massy door,
cloaked up the wide windows with gaudy
remains of tarnished arras, and at last,
with many a murmur at the smouldering
hearth, whose dense volumes of smoke
threatened once more to overpower the
flame, he made the pondrous bedstead
groan and tremble under the bulk he
flung upon it, and was instantly asleep.
No eye saw the black and demon clouds
that murkily surged, and crept, and
volumed, and soared through the Cham-
ber of Dais that night : no ear heard the
•hoaked groan, the night-mare struggle :
no hand aided the heaving, gasping im-
potence of the unconscious victims : no
warning voice aroused them to escape
from the Formless Destroyer !
The next morning, an unnatural and
alarming silence astonished the young
Dorian when he came to call up his
friends. His single strength proving
ineffectual to obtain an entrance, he
hastened for assistance. The heavy bar-
ricaded door was with diflSculty forced
open.
A murderous pitch-black vapour liter-
ally swallowed up every feature of the
apartment. Dorian however, rushed in,
tore down the arras from the windows,
and, in his frantic effort to obtain air.
dashed out some score of the little dia-
mond panes, to strew the Tower court be-
low with their shattered blazonries. Forth
from the very first outlet that presented
itself, — forth like some noxious and enor-
mous reptile escaping from its pursuers,
— forth rushed the darkly wreathing
vapour, and vanished guiltily in the pure
morning sky.
The bed was now seen, with its fune-
real curtains closely drawn. —
Dorian's first impulse was to spring
towards it ; his hand had already grasped
the stiff unwieldly drapery — but his heart
failed him, he staggered back and leaned
faint and averted against a pilaster of the
wainscot.
Other hands effected what his could
not; — the dark-red curtains were un-
drawn, their horrid secret unveiled !
The bold and brawny Gilbert was
found a stark corpse : — his companion
though not dead, was but a gasping libel
upon life. Aid was summoned to him
in vain. In two hours he died, speech-
less and convulsed. Gilbert's chest and
throat were black, swelled, and writhen ;
and the appearance of both the bodies in
short, was horribly revolting.
The immediate cause of their shocking
deaths was soon ascertained ; and though
it painfully reminds me of a certain
'ridimlus Mus,' yet the fact cannot be
concealed.
A colony of jackdaws had for years
blocked up the great chimney with their
nests. The fire which, after so many
failures, poor Royson had at length so
fatally succeeded in kindling, unable to
find an exit by the usual vent, disem-
bogued its direftil smoke into the room.
Wine and wassail had prepared the
way for its effects on the two devoted
hunters, and while
" in swinish sleep
Their drenched natures lay as in a death," —
the insidious foe flung around them closei
and closer toils, heavier and heavier
fetters, till it advanced and stormed the
citadel of life itself.
This melancholy story is true as to its
main features ; and, if I might presume
to hold my taper to the sun, I would in
profound reverence, conclude it with
those fine words of Isaiah the son of
Amos, which strike me as remarkably
applicable to the catastrophe.
" Behold ! all ye that kindle a fire, that
compass yourselves about with sparks :
walk in the light of your fire, and in the
sparks that ye have kindled. This shall
ye have of mine hand. Ye shall lie
down in sorrow ! " H. G.
THE PARTERRE.
219
THE PYPE-HALL YEW TREES.
BT tlOKACE GlIILFORl).
(For the Parterre J.
Thk son, slow sinking, i)'er his C(ilonie<1 creM
\\ rapl the ilun storm-clouds that boM-eai liiiu
b.st;
Down thy dl•e^) hollows glared his angiy hue,
Thou sipulcbre of light! — thou stern gianda-v.il
jew !
But glared in vain :— the eternal golf of shade
Closed, on his march, his awlul barric.ide ;
O'er the rid pavtineut dinibod the lab'ring
trunk,
Down on each side the cartained foliage sunk.
Now, surging to the pl.iintive evening gale.
Black glooms inve>t the vegetable veil,
Ma.<^ poised on mass, each anarch branch
ui'hiavrs,
\\ ith pencilled fringe, its Erebus of leaves.
Yet (pale explorers of that dapmon's halU.
A few faint, tluttering, umbered sparkWs fall ;
So sirange, — the raven wakens on his nest ;
So soft, he soon returns him to his rest.
The air is still and warm ; you may descry
The merry gnats' nioresco revelry.
No other sound from Cannock on the west.
Fondling her hamlets in her heathery nest ;
T" eisti-rn Lichfield, «hose tiaia looms.
Distinct, but di-mal, through the twilight
gU'oms.
Oh, strength of limb ! oh, energy of mind I
How , at sach moments, are your aids resigned I
Not Awake. — Two collegians slept in
the same room. Says one to tlio otlier,
early in the morning, " Jack, are you
awake?" "Why?* asked the other.
" Because, if you are, I will borrow
half-a crown of you." " Is that all?"
replied Jack, " Then I am not awake.'*
THE ANGLO-SPANISH BRIDE.
AN HISTORIC TALE.
[From the untranslated works of Cervantes.]
fFor the Parterre).
CiiAr. II.
Whit.e upon his voyage, Ilicaredo was
agitated by two conHicting and distract-
ing considerations. One of them was,
that it belioved him to perform deeds
which should make him worthy of Isa-
bella; the other, that he could perform
none whatever if he was to be true to hin
catholic conscience, which forbade him
to draw his sword against catholics;
and if he did not draw it, then he imist
be set down either a.s a catholic at heart
or as a coward — all which tendeil to en-
danger his life and obstruct his love-
huit.
At length, liowever, he resolved to
make his duty as a catholic yield to his
inclinntidii ns a lover; und in his heart
h«- prayed heaven to grant hiiii opportii-
nitieit in whicli, while shewing his \.ilotir,
he nnght fultil his christian obligations,
at the same time giving satisfaction to
his queen, and meriting the hand of
Isitbella.
For six days, the two ships proceeded
with a favourable wind, sleeriiig for the
Azores — a station where there are always
to be found eitlier Portuguese vessels
from the Eiist Indies, or some from the
West Indies, driven thither by stress of
weather. At the six days' etid there
sprung up a violent side wind, which in
the ocean goes by a different name from
that of tnediodia, or noonday wind, whicli
it bears in the IMediterranean. This
gale blew with such fury and obstinacy,
that, preventing them entirely from
making the islands, it compelled them
to run for Spain.
Close to the Spanish coast, and at the
mouth of the Straits of Gibraltar, they
descried three siiips; one of great size,
and the other two tjuite small. l{icare-
do's vessel hove to, in order to learn
from his commander whether he in-
tended to bear down upon the three ships
just discovered ; but before he could
come uj), he saw a black flag hoisted on
the topinast ; and ,i.s he came nearer he
heard the note of trumpets hoarsely
sounded, clearly announcing the death
eitlier of the commander, or of some
other person of consequence oti board.
In this alarm they came near enough
to speak the other vessel, which they had
never before done since they came out of
port. They of the flag-ship called out
for Captain Ricaredo to come aboard of
her, for that the coinmander had tlied
of apoplexy the night before. All felt
sorrow at this news, excepting Ricaredo,
who was gladdened, not at the fate of his
commander, but at finding himself lefk
in full command of both ships; for such
were the queen's orders — that should any
thing befal the commander, the com-
mand should devolve upon Ricaredo.
Accordingly, he went ])ronii)lly aboard
the flag-ship ; where he found some
lamenting for the dead commander, and
others rejoicing with the living one.
However, all immediately tendered him
their obedience, and jiroclaimetl him
their coinmander, with brief ceremonies
only, for they were obliged to dispatch,
observing that two of the three vessels
they had discovered, having parted from
the larger one, were now approaching
them.
'I'hey immediately recognized the iid-
vancing vessels ils galleys, and ns Turk-
ish, by the crescents on their flags ; at
which Iticaredo was greatly pleased, ai
220
THE PARTERRE.
he deemed that this prize, should heaven
vouchsafe it to him, would be one of im-
portance, obtained without injury to a
single catholic.
The two Turkish galleys came up and
reconnoitred the English ships, which
bore the colours, not of England, but
of Spain, in order to deceive such as
should approach to reconnoitre them,
and should not take them to be Corsairs,
The Turks thought they were weather-
beaten ships from the Indies, and that
they should capture them with ease.
They kept gradually nearing them ; and
Ricaredo purposely let them approach
until they were within the range of his
guns, which he ordered to be discharged
so precisely at the right moment, that
he struck one of the galleys so furi-
ously between wind and water, that he
shot it through and through ; it heeled
immediately, and as nothing could stop
the breach, it began to fill with water.
The other galley, seeing this disaster,
took its companion in tow, and moved
off to place it under the side of the large
vessel. But Ricaredo, keeping his own
ships on the alert, and working them so
well that they turned and wheeled as
easily as if they had been moved by oars,
had his guns reloaded, and followed
them up until they reached their large
vessel, showering balls upon them all
the way. The men of the sinking gal-
ley had no sooner arrived at the great
ship's side, than they proceeded in all
haste to quit their galley, and take re-
fuge in the ship. Ricaredo, observing
this, and that the second galley was oc-
cupied with attending to the damaged
one, bore down upon it so quick and
close with both his ships, giving it no
time either to go round or even to work
the oars, that the Turks on board were
compelled likewise to seek refuge in the
great ship, not so much to make a de-
fence there, as to save their lives for the
moment.
The christian captives at the oar in the
galleys, forcing out the rings to which
their chains were fastened, and breaking
the chains themselves, mingling with
the Turks, also sought shelter in the
ship ; and as, while tliey were ascending
its side, the musketry from the two hos-
tile vessels kept playing upon them point-
blank — upon Christians as well as Turks
— Ricaredo gave orders that no one
should fire upon tlie Christians. Thus
nearly all the remaining Turks were
killed ; and those who had entered the
ship were, by the christian captives,
mingling among tiiem and using their
own weapons, cut to pieces ; — for the
dejected brave are stronger than the
faint-hearted proud. Their courage
being moreover inflamed by thinking
that the English ships were Spanish,
the captives achieved wonders for their
liberty.
When, at length, they had slain nearly
all the Turks, some of the Spaniards on
deck presented themselves at the ship's
side, and in a loud voice called out to
those whom they took for Spaniards, to
come on board and enjoy the reward of
their victory.
Ricaredo asked them in Spanish, what
ship that was.
They answered him, that it was one from
the Portuguese Indies, laden with spices,
and with so many pearls and diamonds,
that it was worth above a million in gold;
that a storm had driven it in that direc-
tion, quite disabled and without artillery,
as they had been obliged to throw it
overboard, — the crew almost dying of
hunger and thirst; — that those two gal-
leys, which belonged to the famous cor-
sair, Arnaute Mami, had captured her
the day before without any resistance ; —
and that, as they had heard said, it was
because their two small vessels could not
take in so rich a cargo, that they had
taken the ship in tow, to carry her into
the river of Larache, on the African
coast, which lay not far off.
Ricaredo replied, that if they thought
those two ships were Spanish, they were
mistaken ; for that they belonged to no
other than the queen of England ; —
which intelligence gave occasion, not
only of reflection, but of apprehension to
those who heard it ; fearing, as well they
might, that they had escaped one snare
only to fall into another. But Ricaredo
told them not to apprehend any mis-
chief; for they might rest assured of
their liberation, provided they did not
attempt any resistance.
" There is no possibility of our at-
tempting it,'' returned they ; " for, as
we have already said, this ship has no
guns, nor we any arms ; so that we must
needs yield ourselves to the graciousness
and generosity of your commander. And
it will be but fair that he who has de-
livered us from the intolerable bondage
of the Turks, should make so signal a
favour and benefit complete, as it will
suflSce to make him renowned in all
places, and they will be manifold, that
shall hear of this memorable victory, and
of his generosity, on which we rely with
hope rather than apprehension."
Ricaredo thought the Spaniards' ap-
THE PARTERRE.
.'1
peal was not unreasonaljli.' ; anil so. c.illiii^
together his officers in council, he asked
them what he should do, in order tc send
all the christians to Spain wiiliout in-
currinj; the risk ot' any sinister event, in
case their numbers should give them
courage to rise against their ca]>'ors.
Some were of opinion that he should
make them pass one by one into his ship,
and that as each one went below deck,
they should dispatch him, and tiius put
them all to deatii ; and so the great shij)
might be carried safe to London without
any tear or anxiety.
To this Hicaredo made answer: —
" Since God has vouchsafed us so great
a mercy in giving us so rich a prize,
I will not requite it with a cruel and
ungrateful spirit ; nor is it good that what
I can manage by prudence, I should
execute l)y the sword. And so, 1 am
of opinion, tiiat none of these catiiolic
christians should die; — not that I like
them at all ; but that I like myself very
well, and would fain that this day's
achievement should not, either to myself,
or to you my companions in it, give,
mingled with the renown of valour, the
reputation of cruelty ; for never did
cruelty add grace to valour. What must
be done is this: — .AH the guns of one of
our vessels must be removed into the
great Portuguese ship, leaving in that
vessel, neither arms, nor anything else
but the provisions; then, manning the
great shij) with our own people, we will
carry her to England, and the Spaniards
shall go to Spain."
No one dared to contradict Ricaredo's
proposal ; and some thought that it
shewed his bravery, magnanimity, and
good sense ; while others set him down
in their hearts for being no better a
protestant than he should be.
Ricaredo, then, having taken this re-
s4)lution, went on board the Portuguese
shi|) with fifty musketeers, all with their
matches lighted, and their pieces ready
to fire. lie found in the ship three
hundred individuals surviving, of those
who had escaped from the galleys. He
first of all asked for the ship's papers;
when the same man who had before
spoken to him over the ship's side, an-
swered him, that the commander of the
("orsair vessels hud taken them, and so
ihey had gone to the bottom alcjng with
them. He instantly put the helm in
order; and bringing his second vessel
alongside the great ship, with wonder-
ful celerity, and by the force of capstans
of very great strength, thev removed the
gun* out of the hmihII English vessel into
the laiKc Portuguese one.
Then making a brief address r.o the
christians, he ordered them to remove
into the lightened vessel, where they
found provisions enough to hust them
abundantly for a nHnith and more ; and
while they were changing vessels, he
gave each of them four Spanish gold
escudos, which money he had ordered to
be brought from his own vessel, in order
in some ilegree to relieve their necessities
when they should reach land — which
w;ls so near, that the lofty summits of
("alpeand Abyla were ])laiidy discernible.
They all returned him infinite thanks
for the kindness he was doing them.
The last of all that was going to pass
from the one ship to the other, was the
man who had spoken for the rest ; and
he now said to Ricaredo : —
" 1 should deem it more fortunate for
me, brave sir, that you should carry me
with you to England, than that you
should send me to Spain ; for, although
Spain is my native land, and it is but six
days since I quitted it ; there is nothing
for me to find in it that will not remind
me of my sadness and my solitude. You
must know, sir, that in the loss of
Cadiz, which happened some eight years
ago, I lost a daughter, whom the English
must have carried to England; and in
her I lost the comfort of my age, and
the delight of my eyes, which, since they
ceased to behold her, have looked with
pleasure upon nothing else. The great
unhappiness in which I was left by her
loss and that of my property, which was
also taken, reduced me to such a state
that I had neither wish nor means to
embark again in commerce, my practise
of which had gained me the repute of
being the wealthiest merchant in the
whole city. And so I was; for, besides
my ciedits, which amounted to many
hundreds of thousands of escudos, the
property actually in my house was worth
above fifty thousand ducats. I lost it
all — and yet the loss would have been
nothing, had 1 not lost my daughter.
After that public, and my individual
misfortune, necessity beset me to such a
degree that, unable any longer to resist
it, myself and my wife, who is that sor-
rowful creature whom you see there
silting, resolved to go to the Indies, the
conunon refuge of the independent-
spirited poor. Having embarked six days
ago in a ])ackel-sliip, in coming out of
Cadiz we fell in with those two Corsair
vessels, which eaptuied us; and so our
misery wits renewed, and our iil-l'orlune
made complete- wliiih yet wouUI have
been still greatc)- had not the Corsairt
222
THE PAKTERRE.
taken that Portuguese ship, which found
them occupation until what you know
has just now befallen them."
Ricaredo asked him what was his
daughter's name ; and he answered, that
it was Isabel.
This convinced Ricaredo of that
which he had already suspected — that
the man who had been relating his
fortunes, was the father of his beloved
Isabella. So, without giving him any
news of her, he told him that he would
very willingly take himself and his wife
along with him to London ; where,
perhaps, they might get some intel-
ligence of her whom they desired to find.
Then he made them go on board his
flag-ship, and furnished the Portuguese
prize with seamen, and a sufficient
guard.
That night they hoisted sail, and
made all haste to steer away from the
Spanish coast, on account of the vessel con-
taining the liberated captives ; amongst
whom also were twenty Turks, to whom
Ricaredo had likewise given their liberty,
in order to shew that it was rather ow-
ing to his kind temper and liberal spirit
than from partiality to catholics, that he
acted with that generosity : he had re-
quested the Spaniards to set the Turks
at full liberty, the first opportunity that
should offer ; for which request the
Turks, in their turn, testified their gra-
titude.
The wind, which had promised to be
favourable and sufficiently strong, began
for a little while to subside ; which ap-
proaching calm raised a storm of appre-
hension in the breasts of the English,
who now blamed Ricaredo and his gene-
rosity, telling him that the liberated cap-
tives might give information in Spain of
this event, and that if there happened to
be galleons of war in port, they might
come out and give them chase, and
might even press them so hard as to put
them in imminent danger of being lost or
taken.
Ricaredo was well aware that they
said right ; however, overcoming their
fears with prudent arguments, he suc-
ceeded in hushing their murmurs. But
they were more effectually tranquillised
by the wind, which sprung up again so
fair and briskly that, hoisting all their
sails, and without finding occasion to
reef or slacken them, they arrived within
nine days in sight of London ; and when
they reached it again victorious, it was
only about thirty days after their de-
parture.
(Concluded at paye 233).
A WORD IN FAVOUR OF
NOVELS.
Much has been said and written, pro
and con, about the good or evil tendency
of novels: and the most they appear to
have gained by these discussions of their
merits, is the being tolerated as neces-
sary evils, or the faint praise of being
possibly productive of good. But as
novels will be read as long as they con-
tinue to be amusing, we have endea-
voured to find some arguments in their
favour, and as their friend, will take the
liberty of throwing out a few hints for
the consideration, not only of those who
read and those who write them, but also
of those who deprecate their influence,
and can see no merit in anything not
invested with the solemnity of plain
matter of fact, or the pomp of dry
disquisition.
The truth of the proposition, " His-
tory is philosophy teaching by example,"
has been denied; but, we think, with
little appearance of reason. What is
philosophy, and what is history? The
first is the science which teaches us how
to regulate our conduct, and how to dis-
cipline our minds, in order to enjoy the
greatest possible degree of temporal
happiness. The second portrays the
lives of other men, exhibits their temp-
tations, their yielding weakness or their
bold resistance, and teaches us to avoid
their errors, or to imitate their virtues;
and thus, by means of the reflections it
suggests, fixes indelibly upon the mind
those principles of philosophy, of the
truth and advantages of which mere
written reasoning would never perhaps
have convinced us. For what is all our
reasoning worth, unless there are exam-
ples to which we can appeal to test its
correctness ! And where can we find
examples, of the consequences of which
we can accurately judge, at the same
time that we are inspecting them, if not
in history? Not in the world around
us; for the judgments of very few on
what is passing, then will be found to be
impartial or correct. Not in reviewing
the characters and actions of distin-
guished individuals of our own, or even
of the preceding age; for exaggeration
and detraction will not suffer us to see
them as they are. It is to history, then,
that we must apply — to those relations
of actions and events, and their conse-
quences, which time and frequent dis-
cussion have stamped with the impress of
truth.
Although we have here contended for,
THE PARTEKUF..
•J-2;?
and firmly believe, the correctivess of the
proposition above ijuoted, yet we are far
from believing that history supplies all
the examples that are wanting. To the
embryo statesman and warrior, it per-
haps atlords all that are necessary ; but
those who iue, and intend to remain,
contented with a humbler station, need
subjects for their reflection of a less pre-
tending, but, to them, e(iually important
nature. The historian has selected the
strongest lights and shades of human
character for the admiration or detes-
tation of his readers. The conductors of
enterprises, whose success or failure in-
volved the interests of a world — the
tyrants, who, lost to all feelings of hu-
manity, have triumphed and rioted in
the blood of thousands for a while, in
order that there downfalls might present
a more remarkable contrast — the philan-
thropists, who, incited by the desire of
efli-'cting some great universal good,
have had no leisure to aid in the cultiva-
tion and dissemination of the more pri-
vate and less ostentatious virtues — arc
those on whose biographies he delights
to expatiate as pregnant witli instruction
for ail who desire to be like them. The
adventures and conduct of the legitimate
monarch or the ambitious usurper — of
the warrior, nobly sacrificing his life for
the benefit or glory of his country, or
seeking his own aggrandizement under
the mask of patriotism — of the minister
of state, exhausting the energies of a
gigantic and upright mind in devising
plans for the lasting benefit of his fellow
citizens, or basely waiting for an oppor-
tunity to win the price of treachery —
have filled his pages; while he has left
unrecorded the simple, but interesting
and instructive incidents, which are
hourly occurring in the walks of private
life.
From whom, then, are we " every-
day people" to learn ? Are we to draw
a moral from the lives of those whom
the historian has been contented with
describing, and apply it to our own si-
tuations and circumstances? Are we
not to seek for the hiinourable oHice of
mayor of this goodly city, because Dio-
iiysiufi, Nero, and otherH, beca:ne in-
toxicated with power, and abused the
privilege of being great? Arc we not
to become generals, colonels, or even
captains iK-cause Alexander and Napo-
leon subdued, one the whole, and the
other the half of the world? ()i, to be
incjre sedate, if not more scri<ius, are not
the narratives of those who have moved
in a humbler sphere capable of ailbrding
us the examples which are neceKxnry to
excite and ilirect our emulation, or to
teach us how we may avoid the rocks on
whicli belter ships have split? Are
there not those to be found in many do-
mestic circles, who have resisted tempta-
tion, and held on to their integrity
better than he who " thrice refused a
kingly crown?" Are there not those to
be found there, who have been the foun-
tains from which have flowed never-
failing streams of benevolence and social
love ? And are there not, alas ! those
to be found there who have broken every
law, human and divine, whose consequent
anguish and remorse are more powerful
to deter from the perjietration of like
enormities than all the reverses and
bloody ileaths of ambitious tyrants? But
wlio shall dare to lift the veil, and reveal
to the world the virtues of the privatfe
benefactor — or wound the feelings of the
innocent, by exposing the crimes of a
reckless and dissolute relative? He
who would do either, would deserve and
receive the execrations of all capable of
ai)preciating the excellence of goodness,
or the holiness of family affection.
How then are we to be benefited by
the examples of uprightness or depravity
to be found in private life ? Are they
to be lost to us for want of a chronicler,
or because we fear to violate the sanctity
of the domestic circle ? Xo ! the novelist
must be their chronicler, and he can
perform the duty without betraying con-
fidence or making the good ashamed. It
is his province, aided by his free ima-
gination and ])rolific pen, to portray
scenes and char.icters that may have ex-
isted, and to form, fiom the remarkable
incidents in various lives, an individual
character which cannot be ascribed to
any, because it resembles no single one ;
but, like the Venus of the sculptor,
unites tlie graces of many : or to select
from the mass of human depravity such
details as may suit his purpose, and de-
scribe them as the acts of a personage of
his own creation. It is also his proviiice
to exhibit the simple elegancies of retired
life — to shew how, when removed from
the toil and turmoil of the wt)rl(l, and
placed beyond the real wants and restless
desires which er.Lse one half of it, the
heart has leisure to expand, and finds its
highest enjoyments in the exercise of its
best afTections ; or, on the other hand,
to delineate the scheming man <if the
world, crushing those feelings in himself
and in all around him, and sealing the
unhappiness <if his daughters iind de-
grading his sons, for the lucre of place
or power. It is als<i his province to
display the virtues and the vices of iIiom
2-24
THE PARTKRHE.
V'hose portion is poverty — to depict the
steadfast, uprightness and uncompromis-
ing integrity of the poor, uneducated,
but conscientious family — their trials,
afflictions, and triumphs ; and to con-
trast them with those in their own sta-
tion, who, acknowledging no law but
their own unrestrained passions, have
committed crime upon crime, until they
met a fearful end.
In short, it is his to shew, that vice,
in its absolute and inevitable deprivation
of those enjoyments which virtue alone
can confer, is its own punishment : thus
teaching us to be contented with compe-
tence, and those domestic sources of
happiness the Creator has bestowed upon
all, and not to barter for wealth-bought
lionours — or for the world's applause,
wliich gladdens but for a moment and
remains not with us, that which is our
own, and which none but He who gave
can take away.
Such is the novelist's privilege as well
as province, and so long as he exceeds
not the bounds of possibility, it is no
matter whether the characteristics he
ascribes to his imaginary creations, have
been copied from one or a thousand indi-
viduals, the picture presented to our view
is equally instructive. If he has repre-
sented a degree of perfection, which our
inspection of human nature has never
revealed to us, we certainly should not,
therefore, relax in our endeavours to ap-
proach it. If he has exhibited an aggre-
gate of depravity, that exceeds anything
it has ever been our lot to meet, vice is
not thereby made more inviting. And
if he has occasionally omitted to deal
out "poetical justice" to all; but has
chosen rather to picture the loveliness of
repentance, and to consider its tears and
groans of anguish worthy of a temporal
reward, let us not blame him ; but re-
member that repentance, when sincere,
is the worst of punishments.
Shall we add that in describing his
province, we have also described his
duty? We fear that by so doing, we
might be accused of an .assumption of
the autlrority of the established critic.
But this we may safely add, that the
novelist, who disregarding the opportu-
nity afforded him to convey instruction
to his readers, has contented himself
with catering for their amusement, and
merely described extraordinary charac-
ters and events for the qualifications of a
vitiated taste, should be classed with the
historian, who, biassed by a political
prejudice, or from a base subservience
to those in power, has compiled a tissue
«f misrepresentations. The productions
of both are not more calculated to bene-
fit mankind, than a half-penny pamphlet
detailing the last horrid murder and awful
execution. G.
AIISCELLANIES.
SUNDAY POLISH.
Among the advertisements in an Ame-
rican periodical, is one of a hatter in
New York, who concludes his an-
nouncement with the following capti-
vating temptation ; — " Hats Ironed on
Saturdat/ evenings, free of expense." Ima-
gine Sambo, or CufFee, or Scipio, or any
other " Nigger,'' strutting about Broad-
way on Sunday morning, their well
smoothed "castors " rivalling in colour
and polish their sooty phizzes, after un-
dergoing the renovating process of the
Benevolent Hatter ! ! ! E. F.
ASKING FAVOURS.
Many persons boast an independence in
which I cannot sympathise. They pique
themselves upon never asking a favour
of any one. If it be the token of no
worse characteristic, this habit is the
sign of an unreflecting mind. Why,
they are perpetually receiving favours,
not only from Providence but from their
fellow-creatures, without whose kindness
they could scarcely exist.
A CHANCE FOR LIFE.
A fagot- man carrying a load, by ac-
cident brushed against a doctor. The
doctor was very angry, and was going
to beat him with his fist. " Pray don't
use your precious hand, good sir; kick
me and welcome." The bystanders
asked him what he meant. " O, says
the woodman, if he kicks me with his
foot, I shall recover ; but if I once
come under his hands, it will be all over
with me."
COLERIDGE.
In a lecture delivered upwards of twenty
years ago, at some hall in Fetter-lane,
he divided readers into four classes. The
first he compared to an hour-glass, their
reading being as the sand — it runs in
and out, and leaves not a vestige behind.
A second class, he said, resembled a
sponge — which imbibes every thing, and
returns it in nearly the same state, only
a little dirtier. A third class he likened
to a jelly-bag — which allows all that is
pure to pass away, and retains only the
refuse and the dregs. The fourth class,
of which he trusted there were many
among his auditors, he compared to the
slaves in the diamond-mines of Golconda,
who, casting aside all that is worthless,
preserve only the pure gem.
J" Hi: 1' \i; ri- KKi:.
22:1
rage 227.
A DILIGENCE ADVENTURE.
A TRUE NAKRATIVC.
( h'or l/ie Parterre.)
OvE raw cold morning in tlio winter
of I8"29, 1 mounted tlio cahriolct <>!'
one of the diligonct-s thiil journi-ys
Ix-tween Calais and Paris ; 1 found an
Plnglislnnan seated there, with a copy of
the " I'raveller's CJuide" open in his
hand, ready to commence a comparison
of the roads as we jogged along, with the
<lescription in iiis voltiiiie: heing rather
of a free disposition, I soon drew the
P.nglishman out, and we quickly became
good friends. During the day nothing
passed that could he called extraordinary
— hut many notes were taken by my
travelling companion every time that the
changing of horses gave cnir fwnes a
little repose. At six o'clock in the even-
ing we ilined at .Moiitreuil, where wi>
made the acfpiaintance of an Irishman
who was an inside p.assenger. Afti?r we
lia<l finished our coffee and tossed off a
kinull glass of brandy furnished to each
gue^t, the Irisliiaan called me aside and
vot.. I.
said. " thai being an outside passenger 1
should have an opportunity of observing
if any harm happened to us during the
night, and if so, call out for I'.-itrick
O'Hara, who was provided for all
coiners. ' Never having dreamed of acci-
dents of the nature alluded to, in this
well frequented road, I was astonished
at the remark, but of course thanked
him for his attention, and cLimbered up
to the cabriolet burdened with cloaks and
great coats.
'I"he horses were soon hnrn«*ieil ;
thwack, thwack, went the whip ; jingle,
jingle, went the bells; the p(i».tilii>n
vaulted into his seat, and oli' we jolted.
'I'he night was cold and dismal ; not a
star was to be seen, the lamps of the dili-
gence gave little or no light, and the fog
was so dense that we could not see how
many horses were in the vehicle ; but
notwithstanding the uncomfortal>le ap-
pearance of the evening we were far from
being uneasy ; a good dinner had put us
into admir.'ible humour, iind a Im)I|Ic
fouiul its way, notwithstanding the fog,
to our chilly lips, from which wa lasted
226
THE PARTERRE.
of the real cognac ; our conducteur was
a good sort of a fellow, and knowing that
the evening would be rather cold, had
provided himself with this comforter ;
the flint and the steel were soon brought
into contact, and never did thret better
humoured fellows sit smoking together ;
there was a sort of real luxury in the
enjoyment when we popped our heads
out of the cabriolet for a moment, and
then drew them into our nice, snug,
warm, smoky apartment. Since that
evening I can never bear to hear any
one complain of a smoky house but im-
mediately set it down to the account of
affectation — with our large meerschaums
between our feet we puffed away most
scientifically, but how long I can hardly
tell : by degrees I was not aware wliether I
was smoking or not, the crack of the whip
sounded less harsh in my ears, and the
jingling of the horse bells resembled
some distant music — the swearing of the
postilion and shaking of the diligence,
had something of the effect of "hush a
baby " and the cradle, and by degrees all
thoughts of this sublunary world had
vanished, and I felt myself tasting the
sweets of a world of fancy. The dreams
of that evening are even at this distance
of time, on account of the after circum-
stances, still vividly impressed on my
memory. The immense plains of France
sunk rapidly from recollection, and I
soon found myself among the rocky
mountains of Scotland. The scenes of
Loch Katrine and its immediate neigh-
bourhood passed forward in quick suc-
cession, the fertile districts of Ireland
were also vividly painted in my imagi-
nation, and I fancied myself the only
companion of a suspicious-looking car-
man traversing among the hills and lakes
of Killarney ; we had entered one of the
most bleak and deserted looking districts
that ever the disordered imagination of a
banditti-struck traveller could dread, the
frequent starts of the carman, and his
angry glances to the rear, had already
convinced me that all was not correct,
when all of a sudden we were called upon
to stop, the carman threw off his disguise
and stood before me in all the ragged
terror of Captain Rock — three or four
companions issued from a miserable
looking cabin, and commenced a strict
examination of my portmanteau ; one
part of my dress was portioned after
another, I was hurried into the cabin, and
saw my books and papers rapidly con-
sumed before a peat fiie ; during all
this I manifested the appearance of
total indifference, but the moment they
attempted to lay violent hands on my
person, I shook myself with one effort
from their grasp. The hands already
stained with many bloody deeds, had
grasped the knife which was to be my
introduction to another world ; already
was I bound, and forcibly held down
upon the floor, the knife gleaming in the
well-lighted hovel was descending upon
my person, when I was awakened by a
shrill cry of horror, — I started to reality,
but not all at once to recollection — the
place where I was seemed strange ; 1 was
conscious of sitting, but where I knew
not. Raising myself upon my feet, I
pushed aside the leathern curtains of the
cabriolet — the cold air rushed past my
face, and another moment seemed to tell
me where I was. I groped for my com-
panion and found him in the arms of
the sleepy god — I stretched out my
• hands to the place where I thought our
conducteur once was, well wrapped up
in his fleecy sheep-skin, but there I
found no conducteur ; drawing aside the
leather curtains and popping my head
out, I perceived that the diligence moved
not, but it was too dark either to distin-
guish the horses or where we were ; even
the lamp which burned in front when I
fell asleep, was gone. After several times
calling on the guard and postilion but
without receiving any answer, I was on
the point of awakening my friend, when
the shrill cry of female distress reached
my ear: it awakened my companion, who
starting up laid hold of me by the throat,
and before I had time to explain,
had almost finished my journey on the
spot ; however, when he became fully
awake, and perceived the cries came
from a little distance, he unloosed his
iron grasp, and heard with astonishment
my information — the vehicle stopped —
the guard, the postilion, the light, and
for aught we knew — the passengers and
horses gone; down we descended with
all the agility the case admitted of, after
disburdening ourselves of our loose gar-
ments ; and discovered that the horses
were still attached to our vehicle, but fast
asleep. We soon awakened the pas-
sengers ; and magnifying the circum-
stances, as may be expected in such cases,
put them all with the exception of the
Irishman into the greatest consternation.
We had no long tales of ghosts and
witches, but short pithy sentences regard-
ing banditti and robbers ; some proposed
to draw up the windows and fasten the
doors, while others deemed it better that
we should quietly submit to be rifled,
and only care for our lives. The luost
Tin; I'.AUTKItUE.
227
clamorous ami noisy of the passengers
was a portly looking Frenchman, who at
dinner had acted the bear, and made his
fellow passengers aware that they were
travelling with a man who thought him-
self of vast consequence : raising his voice
to the highest pitch, he insisted that the
passengers sliould allow themselves to be
searched as quietly as possible, and on no
account otter any resistance to the ban-
ditti in whose neighbourhood he iissured
us we were : he descanted witii consi-
derable vehemence on the sacred nature
of his office, and informed us he was a
messenger travelling to Paris on the
national aHairs, and attempted with
some shew of argument to prove that the
state would suHer greatly by his safety
being compromised. We had another
important personage, a widow lady, who
was going to meet a colonel in some
regiment of the line, in order that the
nuptial knot might be again tied j her
exclamations and arguments all ended
with the wish that her " dear colonel was
here," or that " the brave fellow knew
her situation:" there were also an old
lady and her daughter, who said they
quietly resigned themselves to their fate,
at the same time imploring two young
soldiers, who had been entertaining them
all the evening with their feats and
prowess in arms, to arrange some plan
of escape, which they soon accomplished,
but forgot to include their fair auditors.
The most firm and determined of the
whole parly, however, were a young
French girl and her husband ; in this
vehicle they had their all, and whatever
the other passengers might do, they were
determined to compromise nothing, nay,
they would even risk the whole diligence
in their violence to the robbers, the mo-
ment tljey appeared; the council of war
soonbecame theseat of war ilself,and high
words were on the point of ^ving way to
blows when O'Hara, who had patiently
listened to the clamour, told them all in
liis \>cstJranco to cease their botheration
and noise. That his companions under-
stood his words I doubt much, but they
understood what they meant, and order
haing been restored, he proposed toa.v.-er-
tain whence the shrieks which were now
redoubled proceeded from, and volunteer-
nl to lead the expedition, if he could find
two companions ; we gladly assented, and
promising to return immediately and
report the cause of our detention, the
Irishman putting a pistol into each of
our hands, we pushed forward in the
direction of the noise; what the feeling*
of our leader were we knew not, but the
feeling of the army under him was that
of mischief. As wequickly marchcdalong,
the sound of voices and the rattling of
chains became distinct, and we soon
arrived at the scene of action. The
cursing and swearing of the men, and
the screams of the women, joined to the
pattering of about a dozen horses' feet,
matle in the stillness of the nigiit a harsh
and disorderly sound, and it was not
until we recognized our conducteur, that
we could get any explanation of the dis-
turbance. He informed us, that we were
entering the outworks of Abbeville, and
that owing to the darkness of the night,
the postilion had brought the wheels of
the diligence which preceded us, in
contact with the wooden ramparts of the
drawbridge; we found on examination,
that the vehicle was firmly fixed and
partly turned over; the screams of the
women in the coupe were occasioned
by their discovering, by means of the
lantern, that they overhung a deep moat,
and but a few inches, seemingly, inter-
vened between them and destruction ;
they screamed at the danger, and vehe-
mently insisted on being let out ; but
their conducteur would not permit it,
as he expected to be off immediately.
We were soon convinced that it was
impossible for the heavy, lumbrous rqa-
chineto fall over, yet admit, that had we
been inside, we should have been more
incredulous ; we advocated the cause of
the ladies, and insisted on their being
released, — still the conducteur was in-
exorable. The Irishman called us
aside, " Come," said he, " it is no use
talking to these fellows, we must take
the girls out," and addressing himself to
me, said, "do you engage the attention
of these boys, wliilc your friend and
myself liberate tlie females, and we will
give you the hint when we have done it ;
we can easily find a stone to break the
lock with, and the moment they arc out
we will give you the signal." I imme-
diately told the conductenrs that lliey
would wait there till doomsday before
they unloosed the machine, by attempt
ing to drag it forward, but unloosing the
horses and fixing them behind, they
would succeed in dragging it again into
the road. IVIy plan was adopted ; and
while they were busily engaged in tiiis
rather tedious task, 1 received the hint
that the cage was open : to the coupe 1
ran, and received a slender figure into my
arms. We soon rejoined tlie other four,
and marched forward ; we now fouiiil
oursulves within a fortified town, the
ladies seemed to be acquainted with the
•228
THE PARTERRE.
localities, and were certain that the dili-
gence, when loosed, would follow in the
same route. They were loud and varied
in their expressions of gratitude to their
unknown liberators, and none save those
who have met the modest yet free and
unassuming French ladies in such cir-
cumstances, can furnish any idea of the
compliments they showered upon us ;
it would be a fruitless task to attempt
the description, but those who have met
such pleasant companions under like
circumstances, will easily conceive the
scene. We walked slowly forward for at
least half an hour, when we were over-
taken by the diligence ; on our calling
out, it was stopped, and having suffered
a volley of curses from the postilion for
our conduct, replaced our fair charges in
their former seat. We now pursued the
road through the fortification, expecting
that we should be overtaken by our own
vehicle; but judge of our astonishment
on being told by a sentinel that both had
passed, and that we had strayed from the
road. Our only chance was now to run.
If it had been daylight, we knew the
overtaking of them would have been an
easy task, but in the middle of a fortified
town in a dark night it was no easy feat :
the urgency of the case admitted of no
debate ; the Irishman soon outstripped
us in the race, and the Englishman was
left in the rear. The raceof that evening
I shall never forget : often did I un-
willingly embrace the miry road ; but
forward was the order of the evening,
and although I knew I was not in the
proper path, yet to turn back I knew
equally well would not find my coach.
There was no alternative, but as often as
I fell to get up again : half an hour's race
at last brought me to a house, before
which stood two diligences. The sight
was pleasing : I soon found my way into
the hotel, where the appearance of our
Irish friend covered with mud, con-
vinced me that I had at last overtaken
the convoy. The scene was one of the
most striking kind, — an immense wood
fire, which filled one side of the house,
was surrounded by our fellow passengers,
each congratulating himself; before its
wiirming influence was a woman with a
squalling child, which she in vain was try-
ing to hush ; near the door stood our three
fair charges, eloquently pleading with our
conducteur to send out and search for
the absent passengers -. the heartfelt satis-
faction evinced by them as we succes-
sively made our appearance, was a reward
for all our troubles; and the fair hands
outstretched to welcome us, raised a hope
that we had yet more accidents to share
in company with them. Our clothes
were soon dried, our faces had partaken
largely of the mud, but we were now
inclined rather to laugh than to mope,
and were soon seated around a large table,
on which was a tureen of coffee, and
another of boiled milk ; with a ladle I
soon assisted the ladies to have their
basins half filled with coffee, while the
gallant Irishman at the foot of the table
filled up the basins with boiled milk ; the
joke and repartee passed quickly round,
the bugle horn blew a charge, and we
were soon again in our old quarters ;
the diligence moved slowly forward ;
another day, without any further adven-
tures, brought us to Paris, when ex-
changing cards with the ladies, each bent
their steps homeward. Such, gentle
reader, was my introduction to that
ornament of her sex, who is destined to
voyage with me through life, sharing the
pleasure and the pain for better and
for worse. J. R.
THE OMNIBUS:
AN AMERICAN TALE.
Omnibus incntieiis blandiiin per pectora
anioreni. — Luc. i. 20.
An omnibus inspiring sweet love into his bosom.
It was about four o'clock in the after-
noon of a wet, warm, and blue-devilish
day, in the summer of 1832, that a
young gentleman, indebted to nature for
a person by no means frightful to look
upon — to fortune, for a large sufficiency
of the goods of this world — and to his
father, for the romantic appellative of
.Tohn Atherton Hastings, mounted the
unstable steps of an omnibus, at the cor-
ner of Pine-street and Broadway. The
vehicle was without a tenant; all such of
my readers, therefore, as are conversant
with the ways of those modern helps to
pedestrians, will at once conceive that its
progress was none of the most speedy ;
and that time is allowed, to say a few
words of the individual who has just
taken possession
He was by birth a Virginian ; rich, as
has been hinted; just emancipated from
college and his minority; modest to an
excess — indeed, the development of this
quality in his organization, might be
called bashfulness; strangely addicted to
blushing ; not loquacious at any time,
but in the presence of females, especially
young ones, not much more talkative
than an oyster; and, to conclude, very
ar<t to hp flurried bv sudden and unex-
THE PAIITERKE.
peeled oecurreiices. He had arrived in
New York but two or three ilavs previ-
ous, with an intent to enhirge liis mind
by an assiduous observation of matters
and things in general, as they appear in
that great metropolis; and espeeialiy of
the theatres, opera, t':u>hions, Bmudway,
and the city-liotel, where he luul estab-
lished liis (juarters.
Taking the stops and slow pace into
consideration, the omnibus may be fairly
supposed by this time to have reached
I\Iaiden-lane; and John Atlierton Hast-
ings was fast sinking into a reverie of no
particular character, when his thoughts
were suddenly turned in a new direction,
by an abrupt halt and the opening of the
door: humiliating retlection, that such
a common place incident should have
power over the workings of man's lofty
intellect ! but we won't enlarge upon
that just now. The door ojjened, as lias
been mentioned; and the young Virgi-
nian's incipient speculations as to the
idiosyncrasies of the new-comer, were
cut short by the apparition of a bundle
of female habiliments, at the top of
which was a close c<ilash, of green silk,
with a thick veil hanging from it in
front, and, at the other extremity, at
least one very neat little foot; a fact of
which the disclosure was unavoidably
made in the process of stepping into the
vehicle. John Atlierton Hastings was
on the point of undergoing a tele-a-tete
with a woman, shut up in a moving
apartment of live feet by eleven.
The door was shut with a bang ; the
figure advanced and seated itself opposite
the young southron; the horses mo\ed
on ; and his face assumed the colour of
England's meteor banner. The veil
worn by the stranger was thick enough
to defy his gaze, if he had ventured to
look, which he did not; but he felt in
his inmost soul that eyes of some sort or
other were fixed on his blushing coun-
tenance.
'I'he embarrassment was, perhaps, mu-
tual for a time; but that of the lady soon
passed away, if such was the case ; his
alarm probdbly gave her an ecjiial degree
of courage ; there was a slight moti(jn
under the huge cloak that enveloped her
form; then an exceedingly while, small
hanil, i)Ceped from beneath its folds ;
and, in another moment, the band was
raised, the veil twitched oiiide, and a
young, lovely, and laughing face whone
out like the silver iiiimmi from under a
cloud, of which the most remarkable
features uere two large, black, iriis-
cliievous eves, and a small red mnulli,
which livalled them in the playful ma-
lice of its expression. John .Alheilon
Hastings looked up; blushed deeper than
ever; and, for a moment, wished him-
self safe in his college once more, jioring
over a volume of Euclid, or (which is
much less readable ) one of Uon Teles-
foio Trueba y cosio y Metricias y fal
de ral's novels.
Silence remained unbroken for several
minutes; his alarm began to subsitle, at
finding himself not only unhurt, but not
likely to come to any very desperate
harm : and, after two or three ellorts,
he succeeded in raising his eyes once
more. Those of his pretty comjianion
were now cast down, but he felt certain
that such was not the case a moment
before; the sweet little mouth seemed
ready to melt into a smile, and the
aspect of things in general so encourag-
ing, that he ventured to utter, " Allow
me," and to take from the other white
hand, (which, by this time, had also
emerged from its hiding-jilace), a small,
silk umbrella, dripping with moisture.
The courtesy was repaid with a slight
bow, a glance from the bright black
eyes, which now seemed much less for-
midable in their expression, and a barely
perceptible severing of the pretty red
lips, which he was content to receive as
equivalent to a " Thank you." John
.Atlierton Hastings began to suspect that
an omnibus might be as pleasant a place
as a small, uncarpeted, fourth- story
room in a college.
His second attempt was, of course, an
observation u])on the weather; and this
called u)) a decided smile, and an audi-
ble '' Very unpleasant, indeed, sir."
The collegian thought conversation a
dreadfully awkward thing to manage,
and silence resumed its sway ; the lady
j)erceive(l the necessity of making a de-
monstration, knowing that where people
liave nothing to say, every moment in-
creases the dilhcully, and a small, i)ret-
tily-bound volume made its a])pearance ;
it was one of the Annuals, and luckily,
one too that Hastings had not seen; his
courage revived, and a remark was
ha/.arded, which happily met with favour
and a responsive answer ; a delicate finger
was gently insinuated among the leaves,
and the youtlij taking this for an over-
ture, put away the umbrella, reached
forth his hand, and possessed himself of
the volume.
Matters are now in excellent train,
and tht» reader will have the goodness to
iiianagi' the rest of ihe interview to his
own liking It is enough to sjty, tli.il,
230
THE PARTERRE.
all things considered, the parties made
themselves very agreeable ; that any
third person coming in at this juncture,
would have taken them for acquaint-
ances of several weeks' standing ; that
smiles had grown into fair samples of
laughter ; and that when the vehicle
stopped far up in Broadway, the door
opened, and a gentleman made his ap-
pearance, in whom the lady appeared to
recognise a father, an uncle, or some sort
of protector, resumed her umbrella and
got out. John Atherton Hastings did not
know which to confound most heartily —
the omnibus fur stopping at all, or his
own stupidity in not ascertaining the
name and residence of his charming
companion.
He was once more alone, and his
thoughts were exceedingly pleasant j he
had, indeed, taken no steps to secure
a renewal of the acquaintance; but he
hoped to accomplish that very desirable
end, somehow or other, and he felt
proud and happy in going over again
the incidents of the ride, in which he
had acquitted himself with so much he-
roism and gallantry. John Atherton
Hastings firmly resolved never again to
be in the least afraid of a woman.
A few moments more brought him to
his own place of destination ; the machine
stopped, and he rose to get out ; as he
did so, his eye was caught by a glitter-
ing object, lying amidst the straw that
in rainy weather serves as a carpet in
those travelling houses ; he picked it up,
and found that it was a very small, hand-
some pocket-book, with a polished steel
clasp; of course it belonged to the lovely
and lively stranger, and would, no doubt,
prove the means of discovering who she
v/as. With a thrill of delight, he placed
it beside his own, in the pocket of his
surtout, and went on his way rejoicing,
and full of gratitude to the omnibus.
It is painful to have to say, that his
expectations were not fully realized ; he
found, indeed, a name — and a very
pretty one, too — written within the trea-
sure, and also a lock of beautiful dark
liair, enclosed in a small gold frame, with
a glass, attached to the inside of one of
its covers; he learned, indeed, that the
book was the property of a certain Ca-
therine Somerville, but all his researches
were fruitless in ascertaining the resid-
ence, or even the very existence of any
such personage. For weeks, and indeed
months, he employed himself in the
search, but to no purpose; Longworth's
Directory gave him no clue to the incog-
nita; and of the four or five hundred
persons whom he teazed with inquiries,
not one could give him any intelligence
of a Mr. Somerville, likely to have a
daughter, and such a daughter as his own
lost and lamented Catherine.
He might, indeed, have advertised the
pocket-book in the papers; but this mea-
sure either did not occur to him, or, if
it did, he cared not to resort to it ; per-
haps he had no inclination to give up his
treasure without securing an interview
with the fair proprietress, and feared that
an advertisement would only bring for-
ward some brother, or father, whose
thanks he should consider by no means a
fair equivalent. Be that as it may, ad-
vertise he ,did not ; and his hopes grew
every day fainter and fainter.
It was about three months after the
date of that memorable encounter, that
circumstances, or, to speak more cor-
rectly, another heavy shower of rain in-
duced hiin to enter an omnibus once
again. This time the huge conveyance
was full at his entrance; that is, full in
the opinion of all the passengers ; the
driver practically announced that it would
hold five or six more, by taking in all
that offered. Our friend soon found
himself very unpleasantly situated, be-
tween a stout gentleman, whose .tho-
roughly soaked great-coat imparted to the
collegian's garments and person more
wet than warmth, and another gentle-
man, not at all stout, whose sharp elbow
made an extremely unpleasant impression
upon his ribs. In fact, before he had
ridden a hundred yards, John Atherton
Hastings had heaped on the omnibus
nearly as many curses, and was now on
the point of concluding to give up his
place, and " bide the pityless pelting"
without, when his ear was suddenly
struck by the sound of the name with
which his feelings and hopes were so
closely mingled. Catherine Somerville
was decidedly mentioned by one of two
dashing- looking young men who had
come in within a few minutes. Our
young friend concluded to stay where he
was, for the present.
At length there was a ring of the bell,
and the omnibus stopped ; several got
out, and .among them he who had spoken
that word of power. Our Virginian did
the same, accidentally revenging liimsclf,
in his haste, on his sharp-elbowed neigh-
bour, by planting the heel of his boot
precisely upon the most sensitive corn in
that person's possession ; without stop-
ping, however, to offer any apology, he
descended the steps and pursued the
young stranger, on whom liis hopes were
THE PARTERRE.
'231
just at this time suspended. Baslitul-
ness was forgotten in his anxiety, and he
boldly addressed, without blushing, a
person he had never seen before.
" I must bog your forgiveness, sir, for
the liberty I ain taking, but you men-
tioned the name of— of — a person — a
lady — whom it is important for me to
see. 1 have been seeking her for several
months, but in vain. You would impose
upon me the most lasting obligation, by
favouring me with the address of that
lady — of Miss Sojnerville.'' Tlie stranger
appeared a good deal surprised, a little
suspicious, and somewhat atlroiited, and
it was evident that his first impidsewas to
give a cool and ratlier inicivil rejily; but
he was a good-natured fellow, and when
he took time to reflect on the agitation,
the earnestness, and, above all, the ex-
tremely genteel look of the person who
thus addressed him, his heart relented ;
and after a little parly, he consented to
tell our \'irginian all lie knew, which, in
truth, was but very little. His acquaint-
ance withMissSomcrville was exceedingly
slight, he said; she was from IJoston, and
now on a visit to one of her friends in
New York ; the address of that friend he
gave, and then John .Vtherton Hastings,
with many thanks, made his bow, and
wended his way, with his faith in tlie
virtue and excellence of the omnibus
more firmly established than ever.
In the evening he knocked at the door
of the house wliich contained his now
discovered incognita; his agitation was
absolutely oppressive, and the rat-tat-too
of the knocker was scarcely louder than
that kept up by his heart. A servant ap-
peared — " IMiss Somerville !'' "Not at
home." Here was a disappointment.
" When would he be certain to find her
within?" " She was to leave town the
next day at four o'clock ; would probably
be at home all the morning.' IVIr.
Hastings left Tiis card, and would call at
eleven; and then he went to the theatre,
not t<j enjoy the play, but simply because
he knew not what else to do with him-
self.
The City-hall clock struck eleven the
next morning, as our \'irginian once
more lifted the knocker at number — ,
in liroadway ; Miss Somerville was at
home, in the drawing-home, and alone.
The servant ushered him to the door ot
the apartment, threw it open, and an-
ncjunced " Mr. Hastings." The hidy was
htanding at the windiiw, performing
Home iiameleHs and delicate duly to seve-
ral rare exotic*, whose fragrance per-
fumed the air ; the young man rushed
forward — his movement w;is too quick
and abrupt to say he advanced — exclaim-
ing, *' How delighted I am to find you
at last," when siie turned and presented
to his bewildered gaze a very beautiful
set of features indeed, but not at all those
of his lovely unknown ! He stood iis if
rooted to the floor ; blundered out some
vague attempt at an ajiology ; and wish-
ed himself and the omnibus somewhere
into the interior of Caflraria. " I beg
ten thousand pardons. Miss — INIadam — I
am sure — 1 — that is — 1 thought — 1
wished to see Miss Catherine Somer-
ville." "You do see Miss Catherine
Somerville," answered the lady. John
Atherton Hastings began to blush, and
look like a fool; and then, not knowing
what better to do, made several bows,
and retreated with all possible haste, re-
peating his efforts to utter something at
least in the shape of an explanation. By
the time he had reached the door, he was
not very distiiictly advised whether his
hand or his fool was the proper Instrument
wherewith to open it; he succeeded,
however, in turning the handle, and
rushed out like a madman, overturning
in his precipitate flight the footman, who
just then was coming in with a .siilver
loaded with costly glxsses, decanters, and
goblets, of which, in another moment, not
one but was smashed into less than seven
distinct fragments. How he got out of
the house, our \'irginian never precisely
knew; but out he did get, somehow or
other, and hurrying to his hotel, .shut
himself up in his own room, and enacted
the part of a lunatic for the rest of the
day.
Time will wear out the deepest griefs ;
at any rate it wore out the mortification
and rage of the collegian. In the sjii ing
of the next year he was again in New
'i'ork, and again (so the fates willed)
took a seat one day in an omnibus. There
were three or four passengers; and his
ride altogether was Jileasanl enough. He
got out at the corner of Hroonie-street,
and lire first man he met, full in the face,
as he stei)ped from the vehicles, was one
of his clas.s-mates at college. " Hast-
ings!" exclaimed one, and "Wallers!"
the other. " Why, Jack, where have
you come from?" said Walters; and
" Walter*--, my dear fellow, what brings
you to New York?" aiul then by way of
obtaining satisfactory answers to these
atid several othei mutual cpieries, the
yoimg men linked arms, and betook
themselves to a stroll. The conversalion
(hat then ensued is no way likely (u
prove iiistruclive or enterlaining lo read-
•J:?J
TFiE pautehim;.
CIS ill general, save and except one small
piece oi' infoiinaUon elicited by our hero;
to wit, that Richard Walters was now
on his way to Boston, with his sister,
and a young lady who had been staying
for more than three montlis at his father's
house in Virginia, on a visit to the sister
aforesaid ; the object of the present jour-
ney being a return of that visit I)y one
of equal duration, on the part of Miss
Walters, to her friend and late guest
Miss Catherine Somerville. The reader
may fancy the sudden effect of this bit
of intelligence, on the susceptible heart
of John Atherton. The result was, that
in less than ten minutes he had told all
his perplexities to his friend, and both
were striding as fast as their legs could
transport them, in the way that led to
the house where the glasses had suffered
from Hastings' impetuosity, and at which
Miss Somerville and her friend Miss
Walters were staying during their brief
residence in New York.
Walters had heard, from Miss Somer-
ville, of the strange caper played off" by
his present companion ; but that young
lady, with very commendable delicacy,
had always refused to mention the name
of her eccentric visitor, and he therefore
knew nothing of Atherton's agency in
the matter; touching the pocket-book,
he could give no explanation.
But if he could not, Miss Somerville
could; and she did, too. It was, un-
doubtedly her chattel ; the gift of a very
dear brother, an officer in the navy, and
just at this time on service in the Medi-
terranean. It was his hair that the
locket contained ; and the young lady
with large black eyes and the mischievous
mouth, was her, Catherine Somerville's,
cousin. At the time of the adventure
which formed the opening-scene of this
drama of misadventures, the said cousin,
Harriet Evertson, was about departing
for Charleston, where slie resided ; the
eventful ride in the omnibus was one of
her wild frolics ; the abstraction of the
pocket-book was partly another, and
partly the result of a certain supposed
secret aff'ection, cherished, in spite of
her teeth, by IMiss Harriet Evertson, for
the young sailor whose hair it contained;
her design was to take out the glossy
ringlet, have another inserted, and then
restore the book to its rightful owner ;
but tliis design was frustrated, as has
been seen, by its loss in the omnibus;
and the time of her departure was too
near at hand to admit of any steps for its
recovery.
Such was the account given by ]\Iiss
Catherine Somerville, partly from facts
that had recently come to her knowledge,
and partly conjectural. There is nothing
more to be told, save that our Virginian,
having nothing especial to keep himself
and his horses in New York, accompa-
nied his friend and the two ladies to
Boston; that in process of time there
was a wedding, and that both John
Atherton Hastings and his pretty wife
Catherine, very often exclaim, with a
smile that does not betoken much of
unhappiness, "one may do a worse thing
sometimes, than take a ride in an om-
nibus."' —
MISCELLANIES.
ANECDOTE OF DK. JOHNSON.
Dr. Johnson, being introduced to a
reverend prelate who had long been
desirous of knowing him, the latter
took the opportunity of walking with the
doctor through St. James's Park, for the
puipose of improving his acquaintance.
The doctor, however, did not happen to
be in a very communicative humour, and
the bishop was at a loss what kind of a
remark to venture upon by way of open-
ing a conversation ; at length, after a
pause, turning to his comjianion, he ob-
seived that the trees around them grew
very large and strong. " Sir," said the
cynic, " they have nothing else to do."
OLD QUOTATIONS.
There are a thousand quotations — scraps
of metre or morality — floating about the
world, andfamiliarin everybody's mouth
" as household words," which it would
grievously puzzle the utterers to assign
to their legitimate places. The bit of
information given in the extract with
which this paragraph concludes, will be
totally new, we suspect, to the majority
of our readers : — " Sir John Mennis is
the author of ' Musarum Delicia;, or the
Muses' Recreation.' " London, 1656.
In this volume are the lines,
" He that fights and runs away,
May live to figlit another day,''
which have been generally, but errone-
ously supposed to form a part of
Iludibras.
EXTRAVAGANT EXPENDITURE.
A gentleman, well known for his parsi-
monious habits, having billeted himself
on his acquaintances in Edinburgh dur-
ing the royal visit, was talking to a friend,
on his return, of tlie great expense of
living — " How mucli now do you sup-
pose I si)eut in Edinburgh? ' " I do not
know," replied his friend," I should sup-
pose about a J'oitni^/il."
THE partkurf:.
lyi
nil: ANGLO-SPANISII BRIDE;
AN HJSTOKIC TALf.
(Fruiu Ihe untr.iDsUlnl wi.iks of Ci-i vaiitc».)
(For the Parterre.)
Chap. Ill,
Ricaredo would not enter the pDrt
with demonstrations of joy, on account
of his commander's death ; and there-
fore, interniinyling the marks of cheer-
fuhiess witli tliose of sadne•^s, lunv was
heanl the slirill clarion, and now the
hoarse-voiced trumpet, — tiieu ajiain, the
spirit-stirring drum, and the brisk sound
of clashing arms, — to which tiie fife
responded willi its most plaintive and
melancholy notes. From one top-
mast hung, reversed, a banner of the
crescent ; fi om another, a long flag of
black tatllty, the points of whicli touclied
the water. Rearing these conflicting
signals, he entered the river of London
with his own vessel ; for, as there was not
depth of water enougfi to bring uj) the
great Portuguese siiip, it was left in the
open sea.
These contradictory sounds and en-
signs held in suspense the vast crowds
of spectators assembled on the shore.
Tliey saw plainly, by some of the colouis,
that this smaller vessel was Lord Lan-
caster's flag-shij) ; but they coidd not
luiderstand iiow the other vessel that had
gone out with it sliould iiave been
clianged into tiiat huge ship which was
let"t down at the sea. However, they
were relieved fro;n this inicertainty wlien
they saw the brave Ricaredo liimself
leap into the siiip's boat, in full, rich,
and resplendent armour. He, without
any attendance but that of the innume-
rable multitude that followed him, went
straight to the palace, where the queen,
(ilaced at a corridor, was already awaiting
the news from the two ships.
.\mong the other l.'idies in attendance
on theijuecn, w;ls Is;ibella, dressed in the
English costume, in which she looked as
well a-s she did in the Ca.stilian. Refore
Ricaredo arrived, there came another per-
son to the (jiieen, and announced his aj)-
proach. Tlie sound of Ricaredo's name
tlirew Isabella into agitation; and at that
moment she at once feared and lioped the
event of his coming. Ricaredo was tall,
liandHoine, and well-pro|>ortiuned; and as
he came clad in back and breast plates,
gorget, arm and thigh pieces, with pistols
in his girdle, lichly chased and gilt, he
lixiked extremely haiidviinu in the eyes
uf all who beheld him. He had no
helmet of any kinil on his lieail, Imt a
broad-hi innned hat of tawny hue, with
a great variety of feathers laid across it
in front ; he wore a broadsword with the
richest trappings, and trunk hose a la
Esgiiizara. In this array, with his ehis-
tie step, he was comjiaretl by some to
Mars himself; while others, remarking
the beauty of his face, are said to have
likened him to \'enus, assuming that
disguise to play some jest upon the god
of battle.
Having arrived before the (pieen, he
knelt and said : —
*' Dread sovereign, by dint of your
good fortune, and in furtherance of my
desire — iny commander, my lord of Lan-
caster, having dieil of ai)oplevy, and I,
thanks to your majesty's generosity,
having succeeded him— fortune threw in
my way two Turkish galleys, having in
tow that great ship which lies out yonder.
I engaged them — your soldiers fought as
ever — and the corsair vessels were sunk.
In one of our own, in your royal name,
I gave liberty to the Christians, who
thus escaped out of the hamls of the
'i'lnks. I have brought with me only
one Spainsh man and woman, who de-
sired, for their own pleasure, to come
and look upon your glorious |)iesen«.'C.
That great shij) is one from the Portu-
guese Indies, which, having sulT'ered by
a storm, was captured by the Turks u ith
little or no trouble. According to the
account of some of the I'ortiiguese that
were on board of her, the spices and
other merchandize, in i)earls and dia-
monds, which she contains, are worth
above a million. Nothing has been
touched, nor had the Turks laid their
hands upon anything; for heaven had
intended the whole, and ordained that it
should be kept for your majesty — to
whom, for the gift of one only jewel, I
siiail fully owe ten more such cargoes ;
which jewel your majesty has already
prondsed me — my gootl Isabella — with
whom I shall be richly rewarded, not
only for this service, such as it is, v liich
I have done your majesty, but for many
more which 1 purpose to do in order to
rep.iy some |)arl of the iidinile sum for
which, in bestowing on me this jewel,
your majesty makes me your debtor."
" Rise, Ricaredo," answered the
queen ; and believe me, that if for a
price I were to give you Isabella, so
highly do I value her that you could pay
me for her neither with all that ship
contains, nor with all that remains in the
Indies. I give yon her because I pio-
2dl
THE PARTERRE.
mised her to you, and because she is wor-
thy of you, and you of her. It is your
worth alone that merits her. If you
have kept the jewels in that ship for me,
I have kept your jewel for you ; and
although you may think I do not much,
in restoring to you what is yours, yet 1
know that therein I do you a great
favour ; for the treasures that are pur-
chased with desire have their value in
the heart of the purchaser — they are
worth the value of a heart — to which no
price in the world is adequate. Isabella
is yours. There she is. Whenever you
please, you can take entire possession of
her ; and I believe it will be with her
good-will — for she has good sense, and
will know how to estimate the kind-
ness you do her — for favour I will not
call it — as I choose to do myself the
honour to consider that only I can do
her a favour. Go and repose yourself;
and come to me to-morrow, for I want
to hear a more particular account of
your achievements; and bring uie those
two persons you mentioned, who desired
to come and see me, that I may return
them my thanks."
Ricaredo kissed her majesty's hands
in acknowledgment of the many favours
she was doing him.
The queen then retired ; and the
ladies came round Ricaredo. One of
them, named the lady Tansi, who had
become a great favourite of Isabella's,
and was regarded as the most clever,
free, and witty of them all, said to him : —
"How is this, Senor Ricaredo? —
Why these arms ! — Did you think, per-
adventure, that you were coming to fight
with your enemies ? Truly, all of us
here are your friends — excepting indeed,
the lady Isabella, who, as being a Spaniard,
is obliged to bear you no good will."
" Let her but remember to bear me
any, lady Tansi," answered Ricaredo,
" for so that I but dwell in her remem-
brance, I well know that her will towards
me will be good ; since her great virtue,
excellent understanding, and incompa-
rable beauty, are quite inconsistent with
the deformity of ingratitude."
To this Isabella replied; "Senor Rica-
redo, since I am to be yours, it is for you
to take in me all the satisfaction you
desire, in recompense for the praises you
have bestowed upon me, and the favours
you intend to do me."
Ricaredo had other pleasant conver-
sation with Isabella, and with the other
ladies, amongst whom was a little girl
who kept her eyes all the time fixed
upon Ricaredo's garb— lifting up the
thigh-pieces to see what was underneath
them ; feeling his sword — and, with
childish simplicity, going close up to
look at her own face reflected in the
polished armour ; and when she had
done, she turned to the ladies and said : —
" Oh, ladies, I fancy that war must be a
most beautiful thing, now I see that men
in armour look so handsome, even
among women."
" And so they do," answered the lady
Tansi. " For look at Ricaredo — does
he not seem like the sun himself come
down upon earth and going through the
streets in that attire ?"
All the ladies laughed at the child's
remark, and at the lady Tansi's incon-
gruous simile. Nor were there wanting
evil-speakers who called it an imperti-
nence in Ricaredo that he had come
armed to the palace ; although he was
exculpated by others, who said that,
being an oflScer, he was at liberty to do
so, in order to shew his gallant bearing.
Ricaredo was received by his parents,
friends, kindred, and acquaintances, with
every mark of cordial affection. A
general rejoicing was made that night in
London, for his good success. Isabella's
parents were already lodged in Clotaldo's
house : Ricaredo having told him who they
were, requesting him at the same time to
give them no tidings of Isabella until he
himself should make the communication :
the same intimation was given to the
lady Catalina his mother, and to all the
men and women servants of their
household.
That same night, with many boats and
barges, and in the view of numerous
spectators, was commenced the unloading
of the great ship, which it took more than
a week to empty of the great quantity of
pepper and other precious merchandise
that were stowed in her hold.
The next day, Ricaredo repaired again
to court, taking with him Isabella's
father and mother, in new apparel, made
after the English fashion, telling them
that the queen desired to see them. They
all three arrived where the queen was,
with her ladies about her, expecting
Ricaredo, whom she was pleasetl to
favour and flatter by having Isabella
close at her side, wearing the very same
dress in which she had first beheld her,
and looking no less beautiful now than
she had done on the former occasion.
Isabella's parents were full of astonish-
ment and admiration, to see so much
grandeur and elegance combined. They
fixed their eyes upon Isabella, but did
not recognize her ; although their hearts,
THE PARTERRE.
giving presage of the happiness they
approached so nearly, leaped within their
bosoms, not with anxious alarm, but with
a certain feeling of pleasure which they
themselves knew not how to account for.
The queen would not let Ricaredo
remain on his knees before her. She
made him rise and seat himself upon a
stool which she had placed for the pur-
pose — an unwonted favoirr from the
haughty temper of the queen — which
made some one say, " Ricaredo sits to-
day, not on the stool they have set for
him, but on the pepper he has brought."
Another, following up this remark, ob-
served ; '' This rerifies the common
saying, that gifts can break through
rocks ; since those which Ricaredo has
brought have softened the stony bosom
of our queen." And a third added, —
" Now that he is so well in his seat,
many a one will venture to tilt with
him."
In fact, this novel honour which the
queen vouchsafed to Ricaredo gave occa-
sion of envy to many of those who wit-
nessed it ; for every grace that a sovereign
bestows upon his favourite, is a shaft
that pierces through the heart of the
envious.
The queen desired to know from
Ricaredo the particulars of the battle
with the corsair vessels. He accordingly
related it afresh, attributing the victory
to God and the valorous right arms of
his soldiers giving praise to tliem all,
but specifying more particularly the
deeds of some who had distinguished
themselves above the rest — thereby
moving the queen to shew favour to them
all, but more especially to the more dis-
tinguished. And when he came to relate
liis having given liberty, in her majesty's
name, to tlie Turks and Christians, he
added : —
" This woman and tiiis man here
present (and he pointed to Isabella's
j)arents) are those of whom I told your
m.ijesty yesterday that, desiring to be-
hold your greatness, they had earnestly
M>licite(i me to bring tliein with me.
They are of Cadiz ; and from what they
have related to me, and what I have
observed in themselves, I know them to
l)c persons of gocxl quality and virtuous
character."
'I'he queen cmnmandud them to ap-
proach.
IivalK'Ua raised her eyes to look at those
who were luiid to be Spaniards, and
moreover from Cadiz— tlesiroiis of learn-
ing if perchance they were acfjuaiiited
with her parents. .Ju»t an Isabella lifted
lier eyes, her mother fixed hers ujion
her countenance, and stopped short to
examine her more attentively. And now
in Isiibella's memory some confused
notion began to be awakened that some-
where or other, in former time, she must
have seen the woman now before her.
Her father was in the sjime uncer-
tainty, not daring to give full credit to
the fact which his eyes declared to him.
Ricaredo was earnestly attentive to
mark the sensations and emotions of the
three doubtful and agitated breasts which
hung in such suspense and perplexity as
to their mutuid recognition.
Tlie queen observed the uncertainty
on both sides, and moreover the un-
easiness of Isabella, noticing the imusual
tremor in which she seemed, and that she
lifted her hand repeatedly to her head, as
if to adjust her hair.
Isabella meanwhile was wishing that
she whom she thought to be her mother
would speak to her, as perhaps her hear-
ing would then relieve her from the sus-
pense into which her eyes had thrown her.
The queen told Isal>ella to desire that
woman and that man, in Spanish, to tell
her what had induced them to decline
enjoying the liberty which Ricaredo had
given them — seeing that liberty was the
thing dearest not only to beings possessed
of reason, but even to the animals, which
possessed it not.
Isabella put this question in full to
her mother ; who, without answering her
a word, regardless of evetything, half
stumbling, and forgetful at once of all
reverence, all fear, and all courtly pro-
priety, hurried up to Isabella, lifted
her hand to her right ear, and there
discovered a black mole, which mark
confirmed her suspicion. Thoroughly
convinced that Isabella wiis her daughter,
she threw her arms round her, and ex-
claimed aloud, " Oh, daughter of my
heart ! oh, dearest treasure of my soul !"
and, unable to say more, the sunk faint-
ing into Isabella's arms. — (^Illiislralioit,
see p. 1<)3).
Her father, no loss tender than discreet,
spoke his feelings only by the tears that
stole silently down his venerable face and
beard.
Isiibeila laid her cheek fondly to her
mother's ; then turning her eyes towards
her father, she gave him such a look as
told him at once the ])leasure and the
uneasines-s which she felt at beholding
them there.
The <|ueen, in wonder ut such lui
occurrence, said to Ricaredo, " II striken
me, Ricaredo, that you liiise been the
2;3G
THE PARTERRE.
contriver of this meeting: but let it not
be said that you have done wisely ; for
well we know that sudden joy is wont to
be fatal as well as sudden grief."
So saying, she turned to Isabella and
parted her from her mother, who, when
tliey had sprinkled water in her face, soon
revived, and being somewhat more col-
lected, knelt before the queen and said ;
" May it please your majesty to pardon
my presumption — but it is no wonder
that I should lose my senses with the joy
of finding that beloved treasure."
The queen told her (Isabella acting as
interpreter) that she said very right.
In tliis manner were her parents made
known to Isabella, and she to her parents;
whom the queen commanded to remain
at the palace, that they might enjoy at
leisure the presence and conversation of
their daughter.
Ricaredo was greatly rejoiced at this ;
and again he solicited the queen to fulfil
the promise she had made him of giving
him his betrothed — in case he had merited
her; — and if he had not merited her, then
he entreated her majesty to command him
forthwith upon other services which might
entitle him to that which he so much de-
sired.
The queen was well aware that
Ricaredo was quite satisfied of his own
desert, and of his great valour, which
needed not fresh trials to prove it ; and
so she told him that in four days she
would deliver Isabella to him, at the
same time doing them both every honour
in her power.
With this assurance Ricaredo took
leave, most happy in the confident hope
of so speedily possessing Isabella without
one alarming chance of losing her — which
is every lover's fondest aspiration. The
time passed on — but not so swiftly as he
could have wished ; for they who live in
hope of a coming boon, ever fancy, not
that Time flies, but that he travels with
the pace of indolence itself. At length,
however, the day arrived, on which
Ricaredo expected, not to extinguish his
desires, but to find in Isabella new charms,
impelling him to love her yet more dearly,
if that were possible.
But in that short space of time wherein
he thought that the bark of his good for-
tune was gliding with propitious gale
towards the wished for haven, opposing
fate raised such a tempest on its track as
oftentimes had well nigh overwhelmed it.
Chai- IV.
It happened, then, that llie queen's first
lady of the bcdcliambcr, who liad charge
of Isabella, had a son about onc-and-
twentj' years of age, named Eriil Ar-
nesto, whose elevated rank, high blood,
and the great favour which his motlier
enjoyed with the queen, all together made
him excessively arrogant, haughty, and
presumptuous. This same Arnesto fell
in love with Isabella so ardently that his
soul caught fire at her eyes; but al-
though, during Ricaredo's absence, he
had shewn her some marks of his pas-
sion, never liad Isabella given him any
encouragement. Notwithstanding that
rejection and disdain in the commence-
ment of a love-suit will usually make a
lover desist from his enterprise, quite
the contrary ett'ect was worked upon Ar-
nesto by the many open rejuilses which
he received from Isabella ; for her con-
stancy did but incite him, and her mo-
desty inflame him.
So, as he found that Ricaredo, in the
queen s opinion, had merited Isabella,
and that she was so shortly to be given
to him in marriage, he was ready to fall
into despair. But before he should do
a thing so mean-spirited and cowardly,
he resolved to speak to his mother, whom
he asked to solicit the queen to make
Isabella his bi-ide ; for that otherwise
she miglu rest assured that death was
awaiting him.
The lady of the bedchamber was ia
astonishment at the words of her son ;
but knowing the fierceness of his violent
temper, and the tenacity with which any
desire fixed itself in his breast, she was
apprehensive that his passion would have
some unhappy issue. Nevertheless, as a
mother, in whom it is natural to desire
and promote her children's happiness,
she promised her son that she would
speak to the queen, not with any hope
of obtaining from her a thing so unrea-
sonable as the forfeiture of her word,
but that, at all events, she might not leave
the last desperate remedy untried.
Accordingly, Isabella being that morn-
ing dressed, by the queen's command, in
a manner splendid beyond description ;
and the queen having witii her own
hand thrown about her neck a string of
pearls, from among the best that had
been brought in the prize-ship, valued
at twenty thousand ducats, and put a
diamond ring upon her finger worth six
thousand escudos ; all the ladies being in
a bustle of preparation for the approach-
ing espousals; the first lady of the bed-
chamber came into the queen's presence,
knelt down before her, and petitioned
her to postpone Isabella's nuptials for
two days longer, saying, tliat if lier ma-
jesty would do her but that favour, she
should consider it as an ample payment
Tin: PAIMKUKE.
•237
of all favouis ulsu lliat >iic might liavu
merited or hoped for.
The queen desired to know first of all,
why she so earnestly solicited that post-
ponement, which would be directly con-
trary to the word she had piven to
Ricaredo; but the laily would not tell
her until she had first obtained a promise
that her request should be acceded to —
so strong was the queen's desire to have
the occasion of this demand.
.■\nd so, when the lady of the bed-
chamber had obt.xined wliat she desired
for the time, she informed the queen
of her son's passion, and of her own
apprehensions that, unless Isabella were
given him to wife, he would either go
into despair, or commit some scandalous
act ; and that she had asked for the two
days' delay, solely to give her majesty
time to consider what might be the tittest
means of relieving her son's unhappi-
ness.
The queen replied, that had not her
royal word interposed, she might have
found means to obviate so urgent a dilK-
culty; but that she wotdd not break that
word, nor deceive the hopes of Ilicare-
do, for ail the interest upon earth.
This answer the lady communicaled
to her son ; and he, without a moment's
delay, burning with desire and jealousy,
went and put on full armour ; then,
mounting a fine and powerful horse, he
went and presented himself before the
house of L'lotaldo, calling out aloud for
Ricaredo to come to the window. The
latter had already put on his decorated
brifiegroom's habit, and was just on the
point of setting out for the palace with
the requisite attendance. Hut when he
heard this call, and was told from whom
it came, he, with some agitation, went
up to one of the windows and as soon
as Arnesto perceived him, he said: —
" Ricaredo, mark what I have to say
to you. 'J'he queen, my mistress, com-
manded you to go ujion her service, and
[)erform deeds that should make you de-
serving of the peerless Isabella. ^'ou
went, and brought back your ships laden
with gold, wherewith you think you have
purchased and merited Isabella. Now,
alttiough the cpieen, my mistress, has
promised her to you, it was because she
thought there was no other al>out her
court that could serve her better than
you, or do more to deserve Isal>ella.
But therein, fonioolh. she may have been
mistaken; and ho hlie ih, in my opinion,
whiih I hold to l)e very ti utii ; and thete-
fore I tell you, that neither have you
done anything to make you worthy of
Itabellu, nor can you ever do anything
to raise you to such foitune; and in
maintenance of this my declaration that
thou dost not deserve her, if tht)u think
tit to contradict me, I here defy thee to
mortal combat."
The earl was now silent, and Ricaredo
answered him thus : —
" I am nt)wise concerneil to answer
your challenge, my lord ; for I freely
declare, not onlj that I do not deserve
Isiibelhi, but that there is no man breath-
ing who does; so that, ackiu)wledging
as I do the triuh of what you say, I
once more tell you that I am not called
u])on to meet your challenge; but yet I
accept it, on account of the presumption
you have shewn in challenging me at
all."
So saying, he retired from the win-
dow, and called hastily for his arms. His
relatives and all who had come to attend
him to court, were thrown intt) pertur-
bation. Among the many wlu) had seen
Arnesto armed, anil heard him vociferat-
ing his challenge, there were those who
did not fail to go and relate the whole
to the (lueen, who ordered the captain of
her guard to go and seize the earl. The
captain made such sjieed that he arrived
just at the moment when Ricaredo was
coming away from his father's house,
clad in the very same armour in which
he had landed from his ex|)edition, and
mounted upon a beautiful horse.
When the earl saw the officer, he
immediately guessed for what purpose he
came, and resolved not to let himself be
taken. So he called out aloud to Ri-
caredo — " Vou see, KicarcHlo, what im-
pediment comes between us; but if you
have a mind to chastise me, you will seek
me out; and with the n)ind which I
have to chastise you, I shall seek out
you ; and as two men that seek each
other do not long si-ek in vain, let us
leave till then the perfoimance of our
wishes."
" .Agreed,' answered Uicaredo.
The capt.iin now came up, with all his
guard, and told the earl that he must
m.ike him prisoner in her majesty s
name.
The earl replied, that he submitletl,
but not to be taken anywhere else than
into the (pieen's presence.
To this the ca|)tain assented; and
taking him in the midst of his guard, he
carried him to the palace and liefore the
(|ueen, whom her lady of the bedclminbcr
had already apprised of her son's violent
piLssion for Isal>ellii, entreating her ma-
jesty to pardon the earl, who, as a youth
and in love, was liable to e\cn greater
errors. .Arnesloarrive«l before the ipieen.
238
THE PARTERRE.
wl)o, without waiting to hear anything
he had to say, ordered him to he depriv-
ed of his sword, and carried prisoner to
a certain tower.
All these things were torturing the
hearts of Isabella and her parents, who
beheld the tranquillity of their fortune
thus suddenly disturbed.
The lady of the bedchamber advised
the queen that, in order to obviate the
mischief that might arise between her
kindred and Ricaredo's, she should re-
move the cause out of the way, by send-
ing off Isabella to Spain, and so the
effects that were to be feared would be
avoided ; enforcing her arguments by
adding, that Isabella was a catholic, and
so firm a one that none of her persua-
sions, and she had used many, had been
able to make her swerve in the least
from her attachment to her religion.
To this the queen answered, that she
esteemed her the more on that account,
for adhering to the faith which her pa-
rents had taught her; and that as for
sending her to Spain, she would not hear
of it, for that she took great pleasure in
contemplating her lovely aspect, her
many graces and virtues ; and that as-
suredly, if not on that day, on some
other she should give her in marriage to
Ricaredo, as she had promised him.
This determination of the queen's left
her lady of the bedchamber so disconso-
late, that she was unable to answer a
word; and thinking, as she had already
thought, that if Isabella could not be
removed out of the way, there was no
other means whatever, either of soothing
her son's violent temper, or inducing
him to keep peace with Ricaredo, she
resolved to commit one of the greatest
cruelties that ever entered the imagina-
tion of a woman of rank, especially so
elevated as hers; she resolved to take ofT
Isabella by poison; and as the temper of
women is, for the most part, hasty and
eager, she administered the poison tlsat
very evening, in a conserve, which she
forced her to take as being good for a
sinking of the heart, by which she was
then affected.
Not long after she had taken it, Isa-
bella's tongue and throat began to swell,
her lips to turn black, her voice to grow
hoarse, her eyes to look wild, and her
bosom to feel oppressed — all evident signs
that poison had been given her. The
ladies hurried to the queen, and told her
what had happened, assuring her at the
same time that her first lady of the bed-
chamber was the author of the mischief.
The queen found no great difficulty in
crediting this statement ; and so she
went to see Isabella, who already was
almost expiring.
The queen ordered her physicians to
be summoned with all speed ; and while
awaiting their arrival she made her at-
tendants give the patient a quantity of
certain powders, with many other an-
tidotes, such as great sovereigns keep
always in readiness for the like emergen-
cies. The physicians came, administered
their remedies with all diligence, and
solicited the queen that the lady of the
bedchamber might be made to declare
what kind of poison she had given, as
there was no cause to suspect that it had
been adrninistered by any one but her-
self. She made the required disclosure ;
and upon this information the physicians
applied their remedies so abundantly and
efficaciously, that by their means, and by
God's blessing, Isabella's life was spared,
or at least there appeared good hopes of
saving it.
The queen ordered her lady of the
bedchamber to be taken and kept in close
custody in a small room in the palace,
intending to punish her as her crime de-
served ; although the latter defended
herself by saying, that in killing Isabella
she was only offering up a sacrifice to
heaven, by ridding the earth of a catho-
lic, at the same time that she was re-
moving the occasion of strife to her
son.
When these melancholy news reached
the ears of Ricaredo, they drove him
almost to distraction, so wild were his
movements, and so heart-rending his
complaints. Isabella, however, was not
doomed to die ; nature having, as it
were, commuted that sentence into the
leaving her without eye-lashes, eye-
brows, or hair, — with her face swollen,
her colour gone, her skin blistered, and
her eyes watery ; in short, so unsightly
did she remain that, as hitherto she had
appeared a miracle of beauty, so now she
seemed a monster of ugliness. They
who had known her before thought it
more unfortunate for her to be left in
that condition, than it would have been
had the poison killed her. Nevertheless
Ricaredo solicited her hand of the queen ;
and entreated her majesty that she would
permit him to take her to his own resi-
dence, for that the love which he bore
her possessed the soul as well as the body,
and that if Isabella had lost her beauty,
she could not have lost her inestimable
virtues.
" True," said the queen ; " take her,
Ricaredo ; and mark well that you bear
with you a most precious jewel enclosed
in a homely casket. God is my witness,
THE PARTERRE.
239
how fain would I have given it to you
such as you delivered it to ine ; and
perhaps, by the punishment whicli I will
inflict on the perpetrator of so heinous a
crime, vengeance at least will be satis-
fied."
Uicaredo used many arguments with
the queen in extenuation of her lady's
guilt; entreating tliat she would forgive
her, as, he said, the excuses she alleged
were sufficient to make even greater of-
fences pardonable.
In fine, Isabella and her parchts were
presented to him, and he carried them
home to his parents' liouse; the queen
having added to the ricli pearls and the
diamond ring other jewels and ajjparel,
which testified her great aflection for
Isabella. The latter remained in her
deformity for two months, witliout giving
any signs of ever recovering lier pristine
beauty ; but at the end of that period
her skin began to clear, and her lovely
complexion to return.
Meanwhile, Uicaredos parents, seeing
no possibility of Isabella's perfect reco-
very, determined to send for tiie young
Scottish lady, to wliom they had origi-
nally proposed to marry their son, and to
send without his knowledge, not doubt-
ing that the present beauty of the new
bride would soon make liim forget the
departed charms of Isabella, wliom they
designed to send to Spain with her pa-
rents, bestowing upon them at tlic same
time property sufficient to compensate
their past losses.
Scarcely six weeks had elapsed when,
unexpected by Ricaredo, the intended
bride entered the gates with an attend-
ance suited to her rank, and looking so
beautiful that, after the Isabella that
used to be, tliere was not another so
handsome in all London. Ricaredo was
startled at the unlooked-for |)resence of
this young lady; and was fearful lest the
alarm of her arrival sliould prove fatal
to Isabella; and so, to allay it, he went
straight to lier bedside, and found her
parents with her, in wliosc presence he
said : —
" Dearest Isabella, — my parents, in
the great aflection tliey Itear me, not
yet aware how great a one I bear to you,
have brouglit to our house a young
Scotchwoman, to whom they intended to
marry me l>efore I had come to tlie
knowledge of your own perfections;
and this 1 believe, they have done to
tlie intent that this d.imsel's great beauty
mav lianish the imjiression of yours,
wliicli i> fixed in my heart Rut, Isa-
•lella, from the firil moment of my pav-
t'.'t), my love for you was far different
from that which tends only to sensual
gratification ; for, allliough your personal
charms enchained my senses, your ines-
timable virtues captivated my soul ; — so
that if in your beauty I loved you, in
your deformity I still .tdore you ; in
confirmation whereof let me take this
hand;" and grasping her right hand,
which she held out to him, he continued:
" By that catl)olic faith wlilcii my reli-
gious parents tiiught me — whicii if it l)o
not in all due integrity, tlien bv that I
swear which the Roman pontitf sanc-
tions, that wliicii in my lieart I confess,
believe, and hold, — and by tiic true God
who now hears us, I promise thee, Isa-
bella, my dearer iialf, to be thy hus-
band — and sucii henceforth I am, if thou
wilt so elevate me its to make me
thine."
Isabella was surprised at Ricaredo's
words, and her parents were in utter
astonishment. She knew not what to
say, nor how to do otherwise than to
kiss Ricaredo's hand repeatedly, and tell
him, witli tears in her eyes, that she ac-
cepted him for hers, and yielded iierself
to be his slave. Ricareilo then pressed
his lips to tiie unsightly cheek wiiicli in
its beauty he had never ventured to ap-
proach ; and Isabella's parents solem-
nized the espousals with tender and
plenteous tears.
Ricaredo told them that he would
contrive, in the manner they should
afterwards see, to get the marriage with
the Scottish lady postponed ; and that
when his fatiier should desire to send
them all three to Spain, they must not
refuse, but go and wait for him at Cadiz
or at Seville for two years, witiiin wliich
time he pledged himself to join them,
siiould heaven grant iiim so long to live;
and should that term expire without
their seeing him, then they were to set
it down for certain that some serious im-
pediment — most likely, deatli — had in-
terposed.
Isabella replied, that she would wait
for him not only two years, but all the
years of her life, until she siiuuld be
convinced tiiat his own wits at an end.
for tliat siie could never survive llie in-
telligence of his death.
Tliese lender assurances drew fresh
tears from them all, and Ricaredo with-
drew, to go and tell his parents that he
would by no means be married, nor give
Jiis h.ind to the .Scottish lady, without
first going to Rome to satisfy his con-
Ncience. .Sucii arguments on this point
did he use to tliem, and to llie M-I.ilives
who were come with ( "lislei mji — so tlie
.Scottish lady was niinu-d — that, being ull
240
THE PAKTKRRE.
catholics, they admitted them without
difficulty ; and Clisterna consented to
remain at her father-in-law's house until
Ricaredo's return, who had requested the
postponement for a twelvemonth.
This being agreed and decided, Cio-
taldo informed Ricaredo of his determi-
nation to send Isabella and her paients
to Spain ; that the queen had given him
permission ; and that perhaps Isabella's
native air would hasten and facilitate that
recovery of which she had begun to shew
some symptoms. Ricaredo, that he
might give no indication of his intentions,
answered his father coolly, that he must
do what he thought best; only he en-
treated liim not to take from Isabella any
of the valuables which the queen had
given her.
Clotaldo promised him that lie would
not ; and the same day he went to ask
the queen's leave, both to marry his son
to Clisterna, and to send Isabella and
her parents to Spain. The queen gave
her consent in both instances, and
tliought Clotaldo had taken a prudent
resolution. The very same day, without
either holding legal consultation, or sub-
jecting her lady of the bedchamber to
judicial examination, she condemned her
to perpetual exclusion from her office
about her person, and to a fine of ten
thousand escudos in gold for Isabella's
use. And Earl Arnesto, for giving the
challenge, she banislied from England
for six years.
Within four days Arnesto was prepar-
ed to depart in pursuance of his sen
tence, and the money was in readiness.
The queen sent for a rich merchant re-
siding in London, who, being himself
a Frenchman, had correspondents in
France, Italy, and Spain. To him she
delivered the ten thousand escudos, and
requested bills for the payment of the
money to Isabella's father at Seville or
some other Spanish port. The merchant,
reckoning up his discounts and allow-
ances, told the queen that be would give
bills, perfectly safe, upon another French
merchant, his correspondent, at Seville
— after tliis manner. ^ — That he would
write to Paris to get the bills drawn
there by another correspondent of his,
so that tliey might bear a French date
instead of an English one, communica-
tion being prohibited between England
and Spain ; and that then it would only
be necessary to carry a letter of advice
from liim without any date, but with
his signature, in order to have the money
jKiid over by tlie mercliant at Seville, as
he would already have received advice to
tliat effect from the one at Paris. Fi-
nally, the queen took so many securities
of the merchant as satisfied her that the
transaction was perfectly safe.
She moreover sent for the m.aster of a
Flemish vessel which was to sail the next
day for France, merely to take a certifi-
cate from some French port, which
should enable it to enter a Spanish one,
as coming from F'rance instead of Eng-
land ; and him she earnestly requested to
take Isabella and her parents on board,
and with every care for tlieir safety and
good treatment, to land them at the first
Spanish port he should touch at. The
sea captain, desirous of gratifying the
queen, told her that he would do so, and
would land them either at Lisbon, at
Cadiz, or at Seville.
Having taken llie merchant's securi-
ties, the queen sent word to Clotaldo
that he must not take from Isabella any
article of what she had given her in
jewels or apparel. Tlie next day, Isabella
and her parents went to take leave of the
queen, who received them with great
kindness. Slie gave then the merchant's
letter; and made them many additional
presents in money and in articles of plea-
sure for tlieir voyage. In such terms did
Isabella express her gratitude, that the
queen felt more than ever bound to do
her kindness. She then took leave of
the ladies of the court, who, now that
she was no longer handsome, desired
not her departure, finding themselves
relieved from the envy which they had
borne her beauty, and well pleased to
have the enjoyment of her graceful con-
versation. The queen embraced all
three; and commending them to their
good stars, and to the captain's care, and
requesting Isabella to send her informa-
tion of her safe arrival in Spain, and
ever after of her health, through the
hands of the French merchant, she
took final leave of herself and her pa-
rents.
They embarked the same evening, not
without tears from Clotaldo and his lady,
and from all their household, by whom
Isabella was exceedingly beloved. Ri-
caredo was not present at tliis parting;
for, in order to avoid betraying the
real state of his feelings, he had got
some of his friends to take him out that
day on a hunting party. 'I'he presents
wiiich the Lady Catalina made to Isabella
for her voyage were many ; her embraces,
endless; her tears, abundant; her injunc-
tions that she would write, without
number ; and Isabella and lier parents
answered them with such ample acknow-
ledgments, that those whom they felt
weeping, they still left satisfied.
THE PARTERRE.
211
1'. iU
'IHE ANGLO-SPANISH BRIDE.
(Concluded.)
Chapter V.
That night, then, the vessel set sail ;
and the wind being fair, after touching
on the French coast, and taking in tlie
papers necessary for its admission into a
S|)anish port, in tliirty days it entered
within the har of Cadiz, wliere Isabella's
parents and lierself disembarked ; and
the former, being speedily recognized
by the whole city, were welcomed with
every mark of satisfaction. They re-
ceived a thousand congratulations on
tlieir recovery of Isabella, a.s also on
their own deliverance out of the hands
of the Moors who had ca|)tured them
(for that circumstance had bven learned
from the captives whom Uicaredo s gene-
rosity had liberated), and on the liiierty
which the English had granted tliem.
Already did Isabella begin to shew
•trung sigiiH of one day recovering her
former beauty. For a little more than
a month they remained at Cadiz, rest-
ing from the fatigues of their voyage ;
and then they went to .Seville, to see if
the ten thou.iand ducats would be duly
Vf<l.. I.
paid, for wliicli they had a draft upon
the French merchant. Two days after
their arrival, they looked out for him,
found him, and delivered to him the
letter they had brought from the French
merchant of London. He recognized it
as genuine ; and told them, tliat he
could not pay the money \mtil the letters
and the advice should duly re.ich him
fronj Paris ; but that he was in daily
exjieetation of their arrival.
I.sikbella's parents hired a good house,
fronting the convent of Santa Paula ;
for one of the nuns in that religion.*
house was their niece, remarkable for
the ex(piisite sweetness of her voice ;
and so they chose that situation, lioth in
order to have her near them, and liecause
Isabella had told Uicaredo, that if he
came to look for her, he would find her
at Seville, where her cousin, the nun of
Santa Paula's, would tell him the place
of her abode ; and that in order to lind
her cousin, he would only need to
inijuire for the nun with tlie t'luvkt
voice in the whole convent — which token
he would be sure not to forget.
It wun forty days longer before the
R
242
THE PARTERRE.
advices from Paris arrived; and two
days after their arrival, the French mer-
chant delivered the ten thousand ducats
to Isabella, and she to her parents ; with
■which sum, together with something
more, which they realized by disposing
of some of Isabella's numerous jewels,
her father resumed his mercantile pro-
fession, to the wonder of those who were
acquainted with his heavy losses. In a
few months, his ruined credit began to
be re-established, and Isabella's charms
regained their former perfection so
thoroughly, that when female beauty
was the theme, all awarded the palm to
La Espanolu Inglesa, by which name, as
well as by her beauty, she was known to
the whole city.
Through the hands of the French
merchant at Seville, Isabella and her
parents wrote to the Queen of Eng-
land an account of their arrival, with all
the expressions of gratitude and sub-
mission called for by the many favours
they had received from her. They like-
wise wrote to Clotaldo and the lady
Catalina ; Isabella calling them her father
and mother, and her parents, their master
and mistress. From the queen they
had no reply ; but from Clotaldo and his
lady they received one, congratulating
them on their safe arrival, and inform-
ing them that their son Ricaredo, the
next day after they set sail, had departed
for France, and thence to other parts,
•whither it behoved him to go for the
security of his conscience ; adding other
matters in their letter, in terms of great
aifection, with many kind assurances.
To tliis letter they wrote an answer, no
less courteous and affectionate than it
was grateful.
Isabella at once imagined, that Ri-
caredo had quitted England on purpose
to come and look for her in Spain.
Encouraged by this hope, she lived per-
fectly happy ; and strove to spend her
time in such a manner that when Ri-
caredo should arrive at Seville, the fame
of her virtues should reach his ears even
before the place of her abode. She
seldom or never went out of her own
house, except to the convent ; nor ap-
peared in any holiday processions, but
such as took place there. It was only
in her thoughts that she went from her
oratory at home, on the Fridays in Lent,
the most holy station of the cross, and
the seven veiiideros of the Holy Spirit.
She never visited the river ; nor went to
Triana ; nor attended the general re-
joicing at the field of Tablada and the
Xercs gate, on the great holiday of St.
Sebastian, which multitudes almost
countless assemble to celebrate. In
short, she never went to any public or
other festivity in Seville; she passed
the whole time in her seclusion, her
prayers, and her virtuous desires, ex-
pecting Ricaredo.
This close retirement of hers, in-
flamed the desires not only of the
gallants of that quarter of the town,
but of all who had once beheld her ;
whence her street was haunted by music
in the night, and by cantering horsemen
in the day. This studious keeping her-
self from view, and the desire of so
many to see her, occasioned, too, the
enriching of the toilettes of divers kind
ladies who undertook to be the first in
soliciting Isabella ; and some there were
who thought fit to try the effect of ma-
gical spells, although they are nothing
but absurdity and delusion. But
against all, Isabella was proof, as the
rock in the midst of the ocean is, against
the winds and waves which beat against
it, but move it not.
A year and a half had already elapsed,
when the approaching expiration of the
two years' term assigned by Ricaredo,
began more than ever to swell the heart
of Isabella with anxious expectancy.
Already did she fancy her husband arriv-
ing — that she had him.before her eyes —
was asking him what obstacles had de-
tained him so long ; — already was she
listening to his excuses ; — already was she
forgiving him, embracing him, and re-
ceiving him to her inmost heart ; — when
there came to her hands a letter from
the lady Catalina, dated at London fifty
days before, and written in English, as
follows : —
" My dearest daughter, — you well
know Ricaredo's servant, Guillarte.
This man went with him on the journey
which, in a former letter, I informed
you that Ricaredo had taken to France
and elsewhere, the day after your de-
parture.
" This same Guillarte, then, at the end
of six months, during which we had no
tidings of my son, entered our gates yes-
terday with the news that Earl Arncsto
had treacherously slain Ricaredo in
France. Only think, my daugliter, what
his father and I, and his wife, must have
felt at this intelligence, wliich was such
as left us no room to doubt of our mis-
fortune.
" What Clotaldo and myself have once
more to beg of you, my dearest daugh-
ter, is, that you will earnestly commend
the soul of Ricaredo to God's mercy — a
THE PARTERRE.
'24',i
benefit well merited by one who, as you
know, loved you so well. You will also
pray our Lord to grtiin us patience and
a happy end — as we will supplicate him
to grant them to thee, and to thy
parents many years to live."
From the hand-writing, and the sig-
nature, Isabella could not doubt that the
accoimt of her husband's death was true.
She knew his man Guillarte very well ;
she knew that he was accustomed to
speak the truth, and could neitiier have
had will nor occasion to fabricate that
story of his master's death ; still less
could his mother the lady Catalina have
invented it — sinceshe had now no interest
in sending her such melancholy news. In
short, she could neither find nor imagine
anything to banish from her the convic-
tion that the tidings of her calamity
were true.
When she had finished reading the
letter — without shedding a tear, or show-
ing any sign of grief — with a calm coun-
tenance, and seemingly tranquil bosom
— she rose from a couch on which she
was seated, walked into an oratory, ajid
kneeling down before the sacred image of
her crucified Redeemer, she vowed to take
the monastic veil — which she might do,
now that she considered herself a widow.
Her parents prudently dissembled the
pain which the mournful news had given
them, that they might be able to console
Isabella in the bitterness of hers. But
she, as if her own grief were over,
assuaged as it was by the holy and re-
ligious resolution she had taken, admi-
nistered consolation to her parents.
She informed them of her intention ;
and they advised her not to execute it
until the two years which Ricaredo had
himself assigned as the term of his ar-
rival shoidd have ox|)ired ; as the fact of
liis death would then be confirmed be-
yond a doubt, and she might change her
condition with the greater security. To
this Isabella consented; and the six
months and a half which had to elapse
iK'fore the two years should be com-
pleted, she employed in religious exer-
cises, and in making the arrangements
for her admission into the convent,
having maile choice of that of Santa
I'aul.i, in wiiich her cousin w:ts.
'I'he two years' term at length expired,
and the day for taking the veil arrived ;
the news of which spread tliroiigh the
city ; and of those who knew Isabella by
sight, those who, attracted by her fame
only, crowded the convent and the short
upacc between it and her parents' hous«.-,
the friends whom her father invited, and
others whom they brought with them,
was composed for Isabella one of the
most distinguished attendances that had
ever been seen in Seville on the like
occasion.
There were present the assislrnlc, or
chief magistrate of the city, the provisor
of the catliedral, and the archbishop's
vicar, with all the noblesse of title that
were then in the town; so great a desire
had they all to look upon the splendour of
Isabella's beauty, which for so many
months had been eclipsed from their
view.
As it is the custom for young women
when about to take the veil, to go as
elegantly dressed as possible — as pre-
paring to cast otf all remains of worldly
vanity — Isabella resolved to apparel
herself as brilliantly as she could ; and
so she put on the very same dress that
she had worn when she went for the first
time before the queen of England, the
richness and splendour of which have
already been described. The pearls and
the magnificent diamond ring were
brought forth, together with the valua-
ble necklace and girdle. In this array,
and with her graceful stej), giving occa-
sion for all who beheld her to bless (iod
in her glorious countenance, Isabella
set out from her home on foot, as its
close vicinity to the convent rendered
the use of carriages unnecessary.
They found the concourse of people,
however, so great as to make them re-
gret that they had not ordered the car-
riages ; for it was with didiculty that
they could make their way to the con-
vent. Some blessed her parents ; others
blessed heaven that had gifted her with
so much beauty ; some stood on tiptoe
to look at her ; others, having seen her
once, ran forward to look at her again ;
— and the person who seemed to do so
the most eagerly — so nnich so, indeed,
that it was remarked by many — was a
man in the dress worn by captives lately
redeemed, with a badge of the order of
the Trinity o!i his breast, in token of his
having been ransomed by the alms of his
deliverers.
This captive, then, at the very mo-
ment when Isabella w.xs just ste|)ping
under the ))orch of the convent, into
which, according to custom, the prioress
and nuns, with the cross, were come out
to receive her, crietl out aloud, " Slay,
Isabella, stay — for while I am iilive, ihou
canst not take the veil."
At this exclamation, Isabella and her
linrenis looked round, and saw the re-
deemed captive in question, niak'jig his
244
THE PARTERRE.
way towards them through tlie crowd ;
and a round light-blue hat which he
wore, falling from his head, discovered a
profusion of tangled locks, hanging in
golden ringlets, and a complexion of
mingled white and carnation, which at
once told all who beheld him, that he
was a foreigner. At length, stumbling
along as well as he was able, he arrived
where Isabella was ; and laying hold of
her hand, he said, hurriedly—" Do you
know me, Isabella? In me you see
your husband Ricaredo."
" Yes," said Isabella, " I do know
you — if, indeed, you be not a phantom,
come only to disturb me."
Her parents took hold of him, looked
earnestly in his face ; and soon recog-
nized Ricaredo himself in the person of
the captive ; while he, falling on his
knees before Isabella, entreated her that
the strangeness of the garb in which she
beheld him might not hinder her full
recognition, nor his fallen fortune pre-
vent her from keeping the word which
they had pledged to each other.
Isabella, notwithstanding the impres-
sion made upon her mind by the letter
from Ricaredo's mother, containing the
news of his death, was inclined to give
more credit to the evidence of her eyes,
as to the fact before her ; and so, em-
bracing the captive, she said, " You, my
dearest sir, are undoubtedly he who alone
can hinder my religious determination —
you are undoubtedly the partner of my
soul — for you are indeed my husband —
your image is engraven on my memory,
and treasured in my heart. The tidings
which my lady, your mother, wrote me
of your death, although, indeed, they did
not take my life, made me devote it to
the cloister, which at this very moment
I was going to enter. But since God,
by interposing so just an impediment,
shews his will to be otherwise, it is not
in our power, nor does it become me, to
oppose it. Come, sir, to my parents'
house, which is your own; and there I
will become yours, according to the
forms which our holy catholic faith re-
quires."
All this discourse being heard by the
bystanders, and among the rest by the
assistente, and the archbishop's vicar and
provisor, filled them with wonder and
amazement ; and they desired to be im-
mediately informed what all that story
was about, who that stranger was, and
what marriage they were talking of.
To this, Isabella's father made answer,
that the story required a different place,
and some little time, wherein to tell it ;
and so he begged of all those who de-
sired to know it, that they would go
back to his house, since it was so short
a distance ; and that there it should be
related to them in such wise, that they
should rest satisfied of its truth, and in
admiration at so great and extraordinary
an event.
Here one of the spectators called out
aloud : — " Sirs, that youth is a great
English corsair — I know him well — it
was he that, a little more than two years
ago, took from the Algerine pirates the
Portuguese ship coming from the
Indies. Without doubt he is the same —
for I know him, because he gave me my
liberty, and money wherewith to go to
Spain — and not to me only, but to three
hundred captives besides."
These words caused a fresh sensation
among the multitude, and made them
all additionally eager to hear the expla-
nation of so intricate a matter. In fine,
the principal among the persons present,
including the assistente and the two
ecclesiastical dignitaries, attended Isa-
bella back to her own house, leaving the
nuns in sorrow, disappointment, and
tears, at the loss which they sustained in
failing to add the beauteous Isabella to
their sisterhood.
Chap. VI.
Having entered a large saloon in her
parents' house, Isabella made those
who accompanied her be seated. And
although Ricaredo was ready to enter
upon the relation of his story, yet
he thought he had better entrust it to
the judicious lips of Isabella than tc his
own, which were not very fluent in the
Castilian language.
The whole company were silent, list-
ening with breathless attention to the
words of Isabella, who now commenced
her narrative — which I must sum up by
saying, that she told them all that had
happened to her from the day when
Clotaldo stole her from Cadiz, until her
return to that place — relating also Rica-
redo's battle with the Turks, his gene-
rosity to the Christian captives — the
troth which they had mutually plighted
— his promise to join her within two
years — and the news she had received of
his death, the apparent certainty of
which had led her to the resolution
which they had witnessed, of entering
the cloister. She extolled the generosity
of the queen, the religious constancy of
Ricaredo and his parents, and ended
with saying, that Ricaredo would inform
them what had happened to him since
THE PARTERRE.
245
his departure from London, until the
present moment that tliey saw him in
the garb of a captive, with a badge do-
noting tliat he had been ransomed by
alms.
"1 have so," said Ricaredo ; "and
now in few words let me sum up the
long story of my vicissitudes.
" After my departure from London,
to avoid the marriage which I could not
contract with Clisterna, the young Scot-
tish catholic whom, as Isabella has told
you, my parents wished me to marry, —
taking with me Guillarte, the man who,
as my mother writes, carried to London
the news of my death, — passing through
France, I arrived at Rome, where my
soul was comforted, and my faith
strengthened : 1 kissed the feet of the
supreme pontiff; and confessed my sins
to the grand-penitentiary, from whom I
received absolution, and the necessary
certifications of my confession and re-
pentance, and the entire submission
which I had made to our universal mother
the Church. I then visited the number-
less holy places in that holy city; and of
two thousand escudos which I had in
gold, I delivered sixteen hundred to an
exchange-broker, who gave me an order
for that amount upon one Ro<jui, a Flo-
rentine, residing in this city. With the
remaining four hundred, intending to
come to .Spain, I set out for Genoa,
where I had learned that there were two
galleys belonging to that state, about to
depart for .Spain.
" I arrived, with my servant Guillarte,
at a place called Aquapendente, which,
on the way from Rome to Florence, is
the last in the papal states ; and at an
inn there, at which I alighted, I found
Earl Arnesto, my mortal enemy, who,
with four ser\'ants in disguise, and more
for the sake of curiosity than religion,
was going, I understood, to Rome.
P'eeling certain that they had not recog-
nized me, I shut myself up in a room
with my servant, anxiously awaiting tiie
nightfall, at which hour I had resolved
to remove to another inn. This, how-
ever, I did not do, for I satisfied myself,
from the careless air of the Earl and his
attendants, that I had not been dis-
covered. I supped in my chamber —
fastened the door — laid my sword ready —
commended myself to (»od — but tlioiight
it lH;tler not to go to l>ed. My servant
was sleeping soundly, and I myself wils
slumbering in a chair, when, a little
after midnight, I wax awakened by thow
who sought to make me sleep the sleep
cvcrlaHting. I'our pistols were dis-
charged at me, as I afterwards learned,
by the Earl and his servants; and,
leaving me for dead, having got their
horses ready to start, they rode otl",
telling the innkeeper to bury me, for tliat
I w.-is a man of rank. My servant, as
the innkeeper at'terwards told me, awoke
at the noise; and, in his fright, jumped
out at a window looking into a small
court, and crying out, " Woe is me ! —
they've killed my master!" ran out of
the inn with such terror, as it slioidd
seem, that he never stop])ed until lie got
to London — since it was he that carried
thither the news of my death.
" The people of the inn came up, and
found me pierced with four bullets and
a number of small shot, but in such parts
that not one of the wounds was mortal.
I asked to be confessed, and to receive
the other sacraments, like a true catholic.
They were administered accordingly ;
I received surgical aid ; and in two
months' time, but not before, I was able
to continue my journey, and proceed to
Genoa, where I found that no passage
was to be obtained, except in two feluc-
cas, which were hired by two S]>anish
gentlemen and myself; the one to go
before on the look out, the other to carry
ourselves.
" With this precaution, we embarked,
and navigated coastwise, not intending
to cross the Gulf; but on re.iching a
point oft' the French coast called JLes
Truis Maries, with our first felucca keep-
ing the look-out, there came suddenly
out of a creek, two Turkish galiots,
which, the one taking us on the side
towards the sea, and the other on that
next the land when we were preparing
to make for it, shut us in between them,
and captured us. They no sooner had
us on board, than they stripped us even
to the skin. They took out of the
feluccas everything they contjiined, and
tiien, instead of sinkin;; them, let tiiem
drift ashore, sjiying that they would serve
them some (tther time to convey another
galiina, ;ls they call the phuuier which
they take from the Christians.
" You may well believe me when I
say, that I felt my captivity to the bottom
of my heart, and more especially the
loss of the papers I had brought from
Rome, which I carried in a tin case,
together with the bill for the sixteen
hundred diieals. Hut my better fortune
so ordained it that they fell into the hands
of a Christian captive, a Spaniard, who
took care of them; for hail lliey come
into the povses'ioii of the Till ks, I •.jioidd
have liad to pay for my ransom the
'246
THE PARTERRE.
amount of the bill at least, as they would
have ascertahied to whom it belonged.
" They carried us to Algiers, where
I found that the brethren of the most
holy Trinity were at that time transact-
ing the redemption of captives. I spoke
to tliem ; told them who I was ; and
they, moved by charity, although I was
a foreigner, ransomed me after this
manner. — They were to give for me
three hundred ducats ; one twKidred to
be paid down, and the other two hun-
dred when the vessel bearing the alms
should come again, to ransom the father
of the order of the Redemption, who was
left in Algiers, in pledge for four thou-
sand ducats which he had expended over
and above the sum he had with him ; —
for to that length of pity and generosity
does the charity of those good brethren
extend, that they give their own liberty
in exchange for that of others, and remain
in captivity to ransom the captive. In
addition to the blessing of my liberty, I
recovered the lost case containing the
papers from Rome, and the draft upon
Seville : I shewed the latter to the
blessed father of the Redemption who
had ransomed me, and offered him five
hundred ducats over the amount of my
ransom, in aid of his charitable offices.
" It was almost a twelvemonth before
tidings arrived of the return of the alms-
ship ; and all that I experienced in that
twelvemonth, could I here relate it,
would form a history by itself. I shall
therefore only tell you, that I was recog-
nized by one of the twenty Turks to
whom I had given their liberty along
with the Christians already mentioned ;
and the man was so grateful and so
honourable that he would not disclose
who I was ; for had the Turks discovered
me to be the same who had sunk their
two vessels and taken from them the
great Indian ship, they would either
have put me to death, or have sent me as
a present to the grand signior, which
would have made me a captive for life.
" In fine, the father of the Redemption
accompanied myself and fifty other ran-
somed Christians to Spain. At Valencia,
we performed the general procession and
thanksgiving ; and from thence each one
set out whithersoever he pleased, bearing
with him the ensign of his liberation in
this habit which I wear. I arrived to-
day at this city, with so ardent a desire
to behold my bride Isabella, that the
very first thing I did was to inquire for
the convent where they were to give mc
news of her. What has happened to me
there you have already seen : what you
have yet to see is, these papers, in order
that they may verify my story, which is
no less wonderful than true."
So saying, he took out of a tin case
the papers he had mentioned, and put
them into the hands of the provisor, who,
together with the assistente, examined
them, and found nothing in them that
could lead him to doubt the facts
which Ricaredo had related. For the
greater confirmation of their truth, hea-
ven had so ordained it that the Floren-
tine merchant himself, upon whom the
bill for sixteen hundred ducats was
drawn, was present all the while : he
now requested that the bill might be
shewn to him ; and upon looking at it
he acknowledged it to be genuine, and
offered immediate payment, as he had
received advice of the transaction many
months before. And all these circum-
stances increased the general astonish-
ment and admiration.
Ricaredo repeated his offer of the five
hundred ducats. The assistente em-
braced Ricaredo, then Isabella's parents,
and then herself, offering his services to
them all in the most courteous terms.
The two ecclesiastical dignitaries did the
same ; and requested Isabella to write
out all that story, in order that their lord
the archbishop might read it; which
accordingly she promised to do.
The deep silence which the bystanders
had kept while listening to the extra-
ordinary narration, was now broken by
the praises which they offered up to God
for his wonderful works ; they then took
their leave, after tendering all of them,
from the greatest to the least, their con-
gratulations to Isabella, Ricaredo, and
their parents, who entreated the assistente
that their nuptials, which they intended
to celebrate in a week, might be honoured
with his presence.
The assistente, with the greatest
pleasure, acceded to their request ; and
accordingly, in a week from that time,
he attended them, accompanied by all
the persons of most consequence in the
city.
Through these vicissitudes, and with
these circumstances, did Isabella's parents
recover their daughter and repair their
fortune ; and slie, by the favour of
heaven, and the aid of her many virtues,
in spite of so many obstacles, obtained
so distinguished a husband as Ricaredo;
in whose society she is thought to be still
living, in the houses which they rented
opposite the convent of Santa Paula,
and which they afterwards purchased
from the heirs of a gentleman of Burgos,
named Hernando de Cifuenles.
This tale may teach us the force of
THE PAIITERIIE.
'247
virtue and the power of beauty; since
they arc able, not only both together,
but each of them singly, to captivate the
hearts of enemies themselves ; — and that
heaven, when it pleases, can make our
greatest calamities conduce to our
greatest prosperity.
THE POLICE OF VIENNA.
'From the French.)
Travellers complain of the custom-
house difficulties and vexatiops of the
Austrian empire ; the army of douaniers
so inquisitive, dictatorial, and suspicious,
so formal, grave, and implacable in the
fulfilment of their troublesome duties.
But after all, there is nothing so dread-
ful in their ministration — provided
always that one takes the proper method
in dealing with them. Keproaches,
threats, arguments, and entreaties are all
thrown away ; but the application of a
few florins makes them as tractable as a
trained spaniel. And the beauty of it is,
that no tact or managi'ment is rcrfuisite in
the administration of the panacea ; you
may make your bargain in broad day-
light, and before the eyes of all the world.
In fact, there is a regular tariff of bribes
— or to speak more gingerly, douceurs —
which ought to be printed in the guide-
book. To exempt a carpet-bag from
inspection, the fee is twelve kreutzers;
a portmanteau twenty ; and a full-sized
trunk will be let alone for forty !
Hut the police is quite another affair.
Here there is no bargain to be made,- no
subordinate to be mollified. Whether
you like it or not, the customary for-
malities must l)e undergone, the strictest
and most comprehensive examination
must be submitted to. You are reijuircd
to declare your name, your means of
living, your profession, whence you
come, whither you intend to go, the
objects of your journey ; and to exhibit
your letters of credit and of introduction.
If you come direct from England or from
Paris, the inquiry assumes a still more
serious character ; and if perchance your
pursuits are either literary or legal, your
position begins to be troublesome;
authors and lawyers are regarded with
peculiar suspicion by the agents of the
Austrian police. Huge l>ooks are exa-
mined, files of papers are ransacked, to
see if your name is not already entered
in red letters — if it lixs not been ap-
pended to some pernicious article in a
ptiliticnl journal, or enrolled among the
ranks of the carbonari, Ihe "friends of
the people," or the burschenschaf. I f at
last it is found unconnected with either of
these dreaded and noxious objects, your
" permit of residence " is delivered to you,
but with hesitation and many suspicious
looks ; but do not be in haste to congra-
tulate yourself. The alarm has been
given ; the secret agents know you,
watch you, surround you at every step
and in every situation — in the streets, at
your meals, in your occupations and
amusements, even in your very bed. 'I'he
humble menial, in jacket and green
apron, who brushes your coat in the
morning before you rise, is a spy of the
police ; so is the porter who takes your
letters to the post-office — the shopman
who sells you a watch-ril)bon or a sheet
of paper — the wretched girl who accosts
you at the corner of the street, as you
return late at night from the opera — the
sexton who conducts you through a
church or a cathedral — the polite stranger
who helps you at table, or hands you the
newspaper in a coffee-house. At \'ienna
nothing is too unimportant for investi-
gation ; conversations are listened to —
letters 0])ened — movements, however
trifling, carefully noted — every thing
falls into that vast, all-grasping, inevi-
table reservoir which is called the police;
and one might almost supjiose that
Melternich kept spies upon himself, so
integral a part of his system is universal
espionage — like the miser, who used to
rob himself at night for fear that others
should do it for him.
To live perfectly imsuspectcd at
Vienna, it would not be sufficient to
possess a proud and ancient title, and to
be well known as a thorough- going
aristocrat ; for man is an inconstant
animal, and dukes and mariiuises have
been known to turn out very radicals,
'i'he greatest certainty would lie in
being deaf, dumb, and blind ; or at least
in a condition similar to that of a certain
Prussian philosopher, who had laboured
so hard in study, thought and written so
much, devoted himself with such ardour
to science, that his physical strength
gave way under the constant attrition of
his indefatigable menial energy, aiul he
became so ill and feeble, that his lite was
at one time thought in danger. At
length, after a whole course of medicine,
and an inconceivable multitude of reme-
dies, which iiis watehings and intellectual
labours rendered peil'eclly useless, his
physicians told him liiat they could do
nothing for him — die he nuist- unless
he gave up study, and abstained I'luni
thinking.
248
THE PARTERRE.
" And where shall I go, then — what
shall I do, if I must not think?" said
the patient.
" Go ! '' answered the medical gentle-
men ; " go to Austria."
Thereupon a passport for Vienna was
procured, on which was written in a bold,
plain hand, " H. A., private gentleman,
commanded by his physicians not to think ;"
and when he arrived at Vienna, and the
police-officers read the inscription, the
gates were opened wide, and a guard of
honour turned out for his reception.
The man who stands at the head of
this vast system — who knows all its
agents, means and actions — in whose
hand are united its innumerable wires —
is Pi'ince Metternich ; it is he who is
really sovereign judge and absolute mas-
ter of Austria. From him all instruc-
tions emanate; to him, in the last resort,
all controversies and questions are re-
ferred. A word from his mouth would
bear us in triumphal procession from the
frontiers to the capital; another would
consign us to the dungeons of Olmutz.
I have seen him once — this man without
parallel in the world, unless it be the
Prince de Talleyrand — this man, whose
head has whitened amid the windings
and intrigues of diplomacy — who decreed
the ruin of the first Napoleon, and the
death of the second — who wrote and read
despatches while the thunders of the
Corsican were pealing at Austeriitz, at
Jena, at Moscow and Madrid — and who,
after the victories of the French had
shaken the world, stepped from his cabi-
net to send their emperor to St Helena,
and place himself at the head of the Ger-
man confederation, in his stead. I have
seen him once — the potent minister before
whom every head was bent, the smiling
courtier, whose very look was flattery.
I gazed long and earnestly upon that
calm and unwrinkled brovi' ; that counte-
nance which always bears a thoughtful
expression, but never reveals more of
what is passing within than its master
pleases — those lips which smile upon you
while the eyes are reading your very heart.
His coming was watched with anxiety —
all eyes followed his movements, all ears
were attentive to catch his slightest word.
He moved around the courtly circle, like
a political machine ; but no sooner was
the prescribed circuit finished, than he
turned, as if glad to escape from a long
and wearisome constraint, and seated
himself by the side of his lately-married
wife. And she, young, lovely, gracious,
animated and glittering with jewels, con-
trasted with that impersonation of diplo-
macy like the new-born liberty of nations
with the superannuated principle of ab-
solute hereditary sway. J. G. W.
TRADESMEN'S TOKENS.
We here present our readers with a
representation of the halfpenny token of
Master Backster, the host of the Mother
Red Cap, in Holloway, in the reign of
the most religious and gracious king
Charles the Second. It is a fair speci-
men of the substitute for small change
at that period, both in its execution and
the orthography of its inscription. Evelyn
in his folio of strange jumble, entitled
" Numism,ata, or a Uiscottrse of Medals,
ancient and modern,'" incidentally men-
tions these 'pledges for a halfpenny.'
" The tokens," says he, " which every
tavern and tijipling house (in the days of
late anarchy and confusion among us) pre-
sumed to stamp and utter for immediate
exchange, as they were passable through
the neighbourhood, which, though seldom
reaching further than the next street or
two, may happily in after times come to
exercise and busy the learned critic what
they should signifie, and fill whole volumes
with their conjectures." —
Few of our readers can be altogether
unacquainted with thetradesmen's tokens
so common in the seventeenth century;
but they are probably ignorant of the
cause of the evil. The silver penny, in
the earliest Saxon times, weighed twenty-
four grains ; hence our term penny-
weight ; but in the time of Edward the
Confessor it had declined considerably,
and continued to decline until the reign
of James I, when it contained only 7J
grains. The coinage of its half was then
THE PARTERRE.
249
out of the question, and many schemes
were proposed upon the coming of that
prince to the throne, for coining farthing
toivens. Three years before tlie death of
Elizabeth, she was again pressed to accede
to a proposition which liad been previous-
ly made to lier ; but witii her cliarac-
teristic obstinacy she declared her resolu-
tion never to consent to a copper money.
The reasons stated to James, were the
same as those which had been urged
with his predecessor ; namely, the in-
fringement of the prerogative by private
individuals, who issued tokens and
pledges for a halfpenny, in great num-
bers •, the loss to the jjoor by their not
being universally current, and the want
of them to bestow in charity. What
king could resist such a plea as the last?
so farthing tokens appeared, the charita-
ble feelings of the leiges found vent, and
copper coin rattled in the pouches of the
halt, the lame, and the blind. In those
days, a pious wish that the donor might
enter by the straiglit gate, was exchanged
for one of these little pieces against
which Elizabeth felt such peculiar hor-
ror.
In July, 1626, a patent for coining
farthing tokens was granted for seven-
teen years, to Frances Duchess Dowager
of Richmond, and others. Forgeries
were however very numerous, and some
of them were jirobably executed so in-
geniously, as to puzzle those who were
authorized to coin farthings. Great
confusion consetjuently took place. The
patentees refused to acknowledge those
which they pretended were not of their
issue, and vast numbers being thrown on
the hands of the people, caused nmch
distress. At this time, it is said, there
was at least a hundred thousand poimds'
worth dispersed.
The great quantity of royal tokens
uttered by the patentees, the number of
counterfeits which were mingled with
them, and the refusal of the patentees to
change them, at length put an entire
stop to the currency, and in I7()'2 they
were abolished by proclamation. In the
tenth year of Chai lesthe First — I lawkes
and others, were lined and set in the
pillory, for forging the authorized farth-
ing tokens.
The Mother Red-cap was situated at
upper Holloway, between the three and
four mile ntones, and we believe a public
lioii^.- with the •vinie sign, still st.uids on
its site. Holloway appears to have been
a favourite resort of the I,<>ndoner<i, on
holidays, in the K-venteenth century.
I nan old comedy, entitled "Jack Drum's
Entertainment," printed in 1601, the
following delectable verses occur ; —
Skip il ami nip it, nimbly, nimbly,
Tickk' it, tickle il lu.-lily ;
Siiikc up llie t.ibor lor the wcnchtj' favour.
Ticklr it, tickle il lustily.
Ltt «s be scene on Hiiihgate greene,
'Jo tUiite fur the honour of Hollowly ;
Since we are conic hither, let's >|..iie for no
le.ither,
To (lance for the honour of lloUotray.
The holiday folks, no doubt, sought the
fresco of the IMolher Red-cap, after dan-
cing themselves out of breath. Drunken
Rarnaby, in his " Itinerarie," visited
the Mother Red-cap, and did not meet
the best of company, as may be inferred
from the following lines, which our
reader will forgive us for not translating.
" Vcni HoUowell, Pileuin Kubrum,
In cohorlem iiiullebrem;
Me Adoniiieiii vocaiit omnes
Meretiici.i Babylouis ;
Tangiuit, tin>;uiit, nioUiiint, raulccnt.
At egenlem foris pulsant."
Civis.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF
EUROPE.
BT AN AMEKICAN.
No. I.
Trjojie, its extensive Coninnrcc — Hospitality of
Mr. Moore — Ruins of I'ola — Immense Am-
phithealre— Village of Pola — Coast of Dalnialia,
of Apulia and Calabria— Otranto — Sails for
the Isles of Greece.
Trieste is certainly a most agree.ible
place. Its streets arc beautifully jiavetl
and clean, its houses new and well built,
and its shops as handsome and as well
stocked with every variety of things as
those of Paris. Its immense commerce
brings all nations to its port, and it is
(juite the commercial centre of the con-
tinent. The Turk smokes cross-legged
in the tafr, the English merchant has his
box in the coimtry and his snug esta-
blishment in town; the Italian hius his
opera, and his wife her cavalier, the Yan-
kee captain his respectable boarding-
house, and the German his four meals a
day at a hotel dyed brown with tobacco.
Every nation is at home in Trieste.
I'lie society is beyond wh.it is common
in a European mercantile city, 'i'he
English are numerous enough to support
a church ; and the circle, of which our
hospitable consul is the centre, is one of
the must refined and agreeable it h.is
been my li!i|)pinev> to meet. I'lie friends
of .Mr. Moore have pressed every possible
civility and kindness iqion the conitnodore
and his ollieers, and his own hoiis«' hns
been literally mir home on slioie. It is
the curitv of ihiB volant life, olherwi«c m>
•250
THE PARTERRE.
attractive, that its frequent partings are
bitter in proportion to its good fortune.
We make friends but to lose them.
We got under weigh with a light
breeze this morning, and stole gently out
of the bay. The remembrance of a thou-
sand kindnesses made our anchors lift
heavily. We waved our handkerchiefs
to the consul, whose balconies were filled
with his charming family watching our
departure, and, with a freshening wind,
disappeared around the point,, and put up
our helm for Pola.
The ruins of Pola, though among the
first in the world, are seldom visited.
They lie on the eastern shore of the
Adriatic, at the head of a superb natural
bay, far from any populous town, and
are seen only by the chance trader who
hugs the sliore for the land-breeze, or the
Albanian robber who looks down upon
them with wonder from the mountains.
What their age is I cannot say nearly.
The country was conquered by the
Romans about one hundred years before
the time of our Saviour, and the amphi-
theatreand temples were probably erected
soon after.
We ran into the bay with the other
frigate close astern, and anchored off a
small green island which shuts in the
inner harbour. There is deep water up
to the ancient town on either side, and it
seems as if nature had amused herself
with constructing a harbour inoapable of
improvement. Pola lay about two miles
from the sea.
It was just evening, and we deferred
our visit to the ruins till morning. The
majestic ampitheatre stood on a gentle
ascent, a mile from the ship, goldenly
bright in the flush of sunset ; the plea-
sant smell of the sliore stole over the
decks, and the bands of the two frigates
played alternately the evening through.
The receding mountains of Istria
changed their light blue veils gradually
to gray and sable, and with the pure
stars of these enchanted seas, and the
shell of a new moon bending over Italy
in the west, it was such a night as one
remembers like a friend. The Constel-
lation was to part from us here, leaving
us to pursue our voyage to Greece.
There were those on board who had
brightened many of our " hours ashore,"
in these pleasant wanderings. We pulled
back to our own ship, after a farewell
visit, with regrets deepened by crowds
of pleasant remembrances.
The next morning we pulled ashore
to the ruins. The ampliitheatre was
close upon the sea, and, to my surprise
and pleasure, there was no cicerone. A
contemplative donkey was grazing inider
the walls, but there was no other living
creature near. We looked at its vast
circular wall with astonishment. The
coliseum at Rome, a larger building
of the same description, is, from the
outside, much less imposing. The whole
exterior wall, a circular pile one hundred
feet high in front, and of immense
blocks of marble and granite, is as per-
fect as when the Roman workman hewed
the last stone. The interior has been
nearly all removed. The well-hewn
blocks of the many rows of seats were
too tempting, like those of Rome, to the
barbarians who were building near. The
circle of the arena, in which the gladia-
tors and wild beasts of these then new-
conquered provinces fought, is still
marked by the foundations of its barrier.
It measures two hundred and twenty-
three feet. Beneath it is a broad and
deep canal, running toward the sea,
filled with marble columns, still erect
upon their pedestals, used probably for
the introduction of water for the naiima-
chia. The whole circumference of the
amphitheatre is twelve hundred and
fifty-six feet, and the thickness of the
exterior wall seven feet six inches. Its
shape is oblong, the length being four
hundred and thirty-six feet, and the
breadth three hundred and fifty. The
measurements were taken by the cap-
tain's orders, and are doubtless critically
correct.
We loitered about the ruins several
hours, finding in every direction the
remains of the dilapidated interior. The
sculpture upon the fallen capitals and
fragments of frieze was in the highest
style of ornament. The arena is over-
grown with rank grass, and the crevices
in the walls are filled with flowers. A
vineyard, with its large blue grape just
within a week of ripeness, encircles
the rear of the amphitheatre. The
boat's crew were soon among them, much
better amused than they could have
been by all the antiquities in Istria.
We walked from the amphitheatre to
the town ; a miserable village, built
around two antique temples, one of
which still stands alone, with its fine
Corinthian columns, looking just ready
to crumble. The other is incorporated
barbarously with the guard-house of the
place, and is a curious mixture of beau-
tiful sculpture and dirty walls. The
pediment, which is still perfect, in the
rear of the building, is apiece of carving
worthy of the choicest cabinet of Europe.
THE PARTERRE.
231
The thieveries from the amphitheatre are
easily detected. Tliere is scarcely a boj;-
gar's liouse in the village, that does not
shew a bit or two of sculptured marble
upon its front.
At the end of the village stands a
triumphal arch, recording the conqiiests
of a Roman consul. Its front, towards
the town, is of Parian marble, beautifully
chiselled. One recognizes the solid
magnificence of that glorious nation,
when he looks on these relics of their
distant con»]uests, almost perfect after
eighteen hundred years. It seems as if
the foot-print of a Roman were eternal.
We stood out of the little bay, and
with a fresh wind, ran down the coast
of Dalmati:i, and then crossing to the
Italian side, kept down the ancient shore
of .Apulia and Calabria, to the mouth of
the .Adriatic. I have been looking at
the land with the gla^, as we ran smooth-
ly along, counting castle after castle
built boldly on the sea, and behind them,
on the green hills, the thickly-built
villages, with their smoking cliinineys
and tall spires, pictures of fertility and
peace. It was upon these shores that
the IJarbary corsairs descended so often
during the last century, carrying oil' for
eastern harems, the lovely women of
Italy. We are just off Otranto, and a
noble old castle stands frowning from
the extremity of the Cape, ^^'e could
throw a shot into its embrasures as
we jiass. It might be the " Castle of
Otranto," for the romantic look it has
from the sea.
We have out-sailed the Constellation,
or we should part from her here. Her
destination is France ; and we shall be
to-morrow amid the Isles of Greece.*
The pleasure of realizing the classic
dreams of one's boyhood, is not to be ex-
pressed in a line. I look forward to the
succeeding month or two ;ls to the " red-
letter " cliapter of my life, ^\'hatever
I may find the reality, my heart has
glowed warmly and delightfully with
the anticipation. Commodore Patterson
is, fortunately for me, a scholar and a
judicious lover of the arts, and loses no
op])ortuuity, consistently with his duty,
to give his oflicers the means of examin-
ing the curious and the beautiful in these
interesting sea.H. 'i'lie cruise, thus far,
has been one of eontiimally mingled
pleasure and instruction, and the best of
it, by every a.sHuciation of our early ilays,
is to come. N. 1*. Wii.i.is.
* II Mu lu lliii (Miinl (ilif aiiciriil il)ilr»ii-
tninl thai I'yrilmi |iio|><»<rt |i> tiiilil « lirlil ;<-
Uxm Vttrrcv — unty itxiy mWvt'. Mi- <U>iiviil
lo iiUt on an cicpliinl.
NOTES OF A READER.
WEDDINGS IN CiriTO.
The manner of celebrating a wedding
among the lower chisses, says Terry in
his travels, will jierhaps give as good an
idea of the character of the populace, as
anything I can oiler. For two days and
two nights in succession, we had heard
sounds of drumming, playing on diller-
ent instruments, and singing, mingled
with bacchanalian shouts and laughter,
proceeding from a house opposite to u.s,
the door of which was kept constantly
closed. We inquired the cause of this
protracted festivity, and were informed
that they were celebrating the nuptials
of a pulpcro, or keeper of a grog-sliop.
We asked if we could be permitted to
witness it for a short time, antl were an-
swered, that they would be very glad to
have us come in ; but that if we entered,
we should be obliged to comply with the
custom, and remain until the whole was
over, for no one was allowed to jiass out
of the gate until the end of the festivity,
which never continued less than four
days, and often six or eight. .As we had
no inclination to undergo such a pe-
nance, we were obliged to content our-
selves with a description. After the
knot is tied, which is done in the morn-
ing, all the guests proceed to the house
of the bridegroom, and the day is past
in dancing, and drinking chica and
spirits. At night Vhe bride and groom
arc allowed to absent themselves, and
then the uproar begins, which soon
grows " fiist and furious ;" the one who
can drink most and dance longest, is
most applauded; nobody thinks of going
to bed (if indeed there be any beds),
but when overcome by li(|uor and fa-
tigue, men and women jiromiscuously
lie on the lloors or benches, wherever
they may happen to fall. The musicians
are relieved from time to time, and take
their places among the dancers. Tliis
scene proceeds day after day, the actors
alternately wallowing in bexstly drunk-
enness, and dancing and yelling in mad
frenzy, until iliey or the licpiors are en-
tirely exhausted. On the morning of
the fifth day, the guests in the house
opposite us, began to issue forth tine by
one, and a more degraded- looking,
beastly, and s()ualid set of beings, I
never sjiw ; reeling, dull-eyed and bloat-
ed, with their clothes filthy and in rugs,
they staggered away from the scene of
deliaiich. Fatal accidents not uiifre-
qiieiilly occur at these orgies, in the
i|iiairelN which are the necessiiry coiisc-
25-2
THE PARTERRE.
quence of their unnaturally excited
passions. The consequence of such as-
semblies as I have described, upon the
morals of the community in more re-
spects than one, is sufficiently obvious to
need no comment.
FIGHT OF HELL-KETTLE.
BY TYRONE POWER,
Author of the " Lost Heir,' the " King's
Secret," &c.
Never let it be said the days of chivalry
are fled : heralds may have ceased to
record good blows stricken, to the tune
of " a largesse worthie knights" — pen-
non and banner, square and swallow-
tail'd, sleeve and scarf, with all the
trumpery of chivalry, are long since
dead, 't is true ; but the lofty generous
feeling with which that term has become
synonymous, is yet burning clear and
briglit within ten thousand bosoms, not
one of which ever throbbed at the recol-
lections the word itself inspires in "gentil
heurtes," or could tell the difference be-
tween Or and Gules, or Vert and Sable,
as the following narration of a combat
between two "churles," or "villains,"
as the herald would term my worthies,
will, I trust, go nigh to prove.
It was the fair night at Donard, a small
village in the very heart of the mountains
of Wicklow, when, at the turn of a corner
leading out of the Dunlavin road, towards
the middle of the fair, two ancient foemen
abruptly encountered. They eyed one
another for a moment, without moving a
step, when the youngest, a huge six-foot
mountaineer, in a long top-coat, having
his shirt opened from breast to ear,
displaying, on the least movement, a
brawny chest that was hairy enough for
a trunk, growing rather impatient, said
in a quick imder-tone, that a listener
would have set down for the extreme of
politeness,
" You'll lave the wall, Johnny Evans ? "
To which civil request came reply, in
a tone equally bland,
" Not at your biddin', if you stand
where you are till next fair day. Mat.
Dolan "
" You know well I could fling you,
neck and heels, into that gutter, in one
minute, Johnny, ma bouchil."
" You might, indeed, if you called up
twenty of the Dunlavin faction at your
back," coolly replied Evans.
" I mane, here's the two empty hands
could do all that, and never ax help,
'ather," retorted Dolan, thrusting forth
two huge paws from under his coat.
" In the name o' heaven, thin, thry
it," said Evans, flinging the alpeen* he
had up to this time been balancing
curiously, over the roof of the cottage
by which they stood ; adding, " here's a
pair of fists, with as little in thim as your
own ! "
" It's aisy to brag by your own barn,
Johnny Evans," said Dolan, pointing
with a sneer to the police guard-house,
on the opposite side of the way, a hun-
dred yards lower down ; " the peelers
would be likely to look on, and see a
black Orangeman, like yourself, quilted,
in his own town, under their noses, by
one Mat. Dolan, from Dunlavin, all the
way!"
"There's raison in that, any way,
Matty," replied John, glancing in the
direction indicated. " It's not likely
thim that's paid by government to keep
the peace, would stand by and see it
broke, by papist or protestant : but I'll
make a bargain wid you ! if your blood's
over hot for your skin, which I think, to
say truth, it has long been — come off at
oust to Hell-kettle wid me, and in the
light of this blessed moon, I'll fight it
out wid you, toe to toe ; and we'll both
be the aisier after, whichever's bate,"
" There's my hand to that, at a word,
Johnny," cried Dolan, suiting the action
to the word — and the hands of the foes
clasped freely and frankly together.
" But are we to be only ourselves, do
ye mane ?" inquired Matthew.
"And enuff, too," answered Evans;
" we could'nt pick a friend out of any
tint above, without raisin a hullabaloo
the divil wouldn't quiet without blows.
Here, now, I'll give you the wall, only
you jump the hedge into Charles
Faucett's meadow, and cut across the
hill, by Holy-well, into the road, where
you'll meet me ; divil a soul else will you
meet that way to night ; and I want to
call at home for the tools."
" Keep the wall," cried Dolan, as
Evans stepped aside, springing himself at
the same time into the road, ancle deep
in mud ; "I'll wait for you at the bridge,
on the Holy-wood glin road. Good
bye."
A moment after, Dolan had cleared
the hedge leading out of the lane into
Mr. Faucett's paddock, and Evans was
quietly plodding his way homeward.
To reach his cottage, he had to run the
gauntlet through the very throng of the
fair, amidst crowded tents, whence re-
• Liule stick.
THE PARTERRE.
'2J3
sounded the ill-according sounds of tlio
bagpipe and fiddle, and the loud wlioo !
of the jig-dancers, as ;liey l)eat with
active feet tiie temporary floor, that
rattled with their tread. Johnny made
short greeting witii those of his friends
he encountered, and on entering his
house, plucked a couple of black, busi-
ness-like kwking sticks from the chim-
ney, iiefted them carefully, and measured
them together with an eye xs strict as
ever gallant paired rapier with, till,
satisfied of their equality, lie put his toj)-
coat over his slioulders, and departing
by the back door, rapidly cleared two or
three small gardens, and made at once
for the fields. As Dolan dropped from
the high bank into the lane near tlie
bridge on one side, Evans leaped the
gate opposite.
" You've lost no time, fegs," observed
Matthew, as they drew together, shoulder
to shoulder, stalking rapidly on.
" I'd bin vexed to keep you waitin'
this time, any how," replied Johnny —
and few other words passed.
Just beyond the bridge, they left the
Toad together, and mounting tiie course
of the little stream, in a few minutes
were shut out from the possibility of ob-
sci vance in a wild narrow glen, at whose
head was a water-fail of some eighteen
feet. The pool which received this
little cascade, was exceedingly deep, and
having but one narrow outlet, between
two huge stones, tlie pent waters were
forced round and round, boiling and
chafing for release ; and hence the not
unpoetic name of Hell-kettle, given to
this spot. The ground immediately
about it was wild, bare and stony, and
in no way derogated from this fearful
title.
Near the fall is a little plafond or
level of some twenty yards square, the
place designed by Evans for the battle-
ground. Arrived here, the parties
halted ; and as Dolan stooped to raise a
little of the pure stream in his hand to
his lips, F^vans cast his coats and vest on
the gray stone, close by, and pulling his
shirt over his head, stood armed for the
fight, not so heavy or so tall a man as
his antagonist Dolan, hut wiry as a ter-
rier, and having, in agility and training,
advantages that more than lialaticed the
ditlerence of weight and age.
" I've been thinkin' Johnny Evans,"
cried Uolan, as he leisurely stripped in
turn, " wc must have two thryii after
nil, to iihow who's the lx"it man ; you've
got your alpeentt, wi<l you, I see, and
I'm not the boy to say no to tiiiin, but I
expect you'll ha' the best ind o' tiiu
slick, for it's well known, there's not
your match in Wicklow, if tiicre is in
Wexford itself."
" Thai days past, Matty Dolan,"
replied Evans. " It 's five years since
you and me first had words, at the Pat-
tern of the Seven-churches, and that
was the last stroke I struck with a stick.
Tliere's eigiit years betune our ages, and
you're the heavier man by two stone or
near it ; what more 'ud yez have, man
alive!"
" Oh, never fear me, Johnny, we'll
never sjdit about trifles," quietly replicil
Dolan ; " but, see here, let's dress one
another, as they do poUitoes, both ways.
Stand fairly up to me, for half a dozen
rounds, fist to fist, and I'll hould the
alpeen till you're tired, after id."'
" Why, look ye here, Matty, you
worked over long on (ieorge's cjuay.and
were over friendly with the great boxer.
Mister Donalan, for me to be able for
yez wid the fists," cried Evans. " But
we'll split the difi'erence ; III give you a
quarter of an hour out o' me wid the fists,
and you'll give me the same time, if I'm
able, with the alpeen after ; and we'll
toss head or harj), wiiich comes first."
Evans turned a copj)er flat on the back
of his hand, as he ended his jiroposal,
and in the same moment Dolan cried,
" Harp for ever."
" Harp it is," echoed Evans, holding
the coin up in the moon's ray, which
shone out but fitfully, as dark clouds
kept slowly passing over her cold face.
In the next moment they were toe to
toe, in the centre of the little plain,
both looking determined and confident ;
though an amateur would have at once
decided in favour of Dolan's pose.
To describe the fight scientifically
would be too long an affair, suflice it,
that although Johnny's .agility gave liim
the best of a couple of severe falls, yet
his antagonist's straight hitting and
superior weight left him tiie thing
hollow; till five quick rounds left Evans
deaf to time and tune, and as sick as
though he had swallowed a glass of anti-
nionial wine instead of poteen,
Dolan carried his senseless foe to the
pool and daslied water over him by the
hat full.
" Look at my watch," w.is Johnny's
first word, on gaining breath.
" I can't tell the time by watch," cried
Dolan, a little sheepish.
"Give it here, man," cried Johnny;
adding, as he ruhlied hi» left eye, thu
other being fast closed, " by the Uoyne,
254
THE PARTERRE.
this is the longest quarter of an hour I
ever knew — it wants three minutes yet,"
and as he spoke, again he rose up before
his man.
"Sit still, Johnny," exclaimed Mat-
thew; "I'll forgive you the three
minutes, any how."
" Well, thank ye for that," says
Johnny ; " I wish I may be able to
return the compliment presently ; but,
by St. Donagh, I've mighty little con-
cait left in myself, just now."
Within five minutes, armed with the
well-seasoned twigs Johnny had brought
with him, those honest fellows again
stood front, and although Evans had lost
much of the elasticity of carriage, which
had ever been his characteristic when the
alpeen was in his hand and the shamrock
under his foot, in times past ; although
his left eye was closed, and the whole of
that side of his physiognomy was swollen
and disfigured through the mauling he
had received at the liands of Dolan, who
opposed him, to all appearance fresh as
at first, yet was his confidence in himself
unshaken, and in the twinkle of his
right eye, a close observer might have
read a sure anticipation of the victory a
contest of five minutes gave to him, for
it was full that time before Johnny
struck a good-will blow, and when it took
effect, a second was uncalled for. The
point of the stick had caught Dolan
fairly on the right temple, and laying
open the whole of the face down to the
chin, as if done by a sabre stroke, felled
him senseless.
After some attempts at recalling his
antagonist to perception by the brook-
side without success, Evans b&gan to
feel a little alarmed for his life, and
hoisting him on his back, retraced his
steps to the village, without ever halting
by the way, and bore his insensible
burthen into the first house he came to,
where, as the devil would have it, a
sister of Dolan's was sitting, having a
goster with the owner, one widow Do-
novan, over a " rakin-pot o' tay."
" God save all here," said Johnny,
crossing the floor without ceremony, and
depositing Mat. on the widow's bed.
" Wid'y, by your lave, let Mat. Dolan
lie quiet here a bit, till I run down town
for the doctor."
" Dolan ! " screamed the sister and
the widow, in a breath," Mat! is it Mat.
Dolan that's lying a corpse here, and
I his own sister, not to know he was in
trouble?"
Loud and long were the lamentations
that followed this unlucky discovery.
The sister rushed franticly out to the
middle of the road, screaming and call-
ing on the friends of Dolan, to revenge
his murder on Evans, and the orange-
men that had decoyed and slain him.
The words passed from lip to lip, soon
reaching down the heart of the fair, where
most of the parties were about this time
corn'd for anything.
" Johnny Evans," cried the widow
Donovan, as he made in few words the
story known to her, " true or not, this
is no place for you now ; the whole of
his faction will be up here in a minute,
and you'll be killed like a dog on the
flure ; out wid you, and down to the
guard-house while the coast's clear."
"I'd best, maybe," cried Evans;
" and I'll send the doctor up the quicker
— but mind, widow, if that boy ever
spakes, he'll say a fairer fight was never
fought — get that out of him, for the love
o' heaven, Mrs. Donovan."
"He hasn't a word in him, I fear,"
cried the widow, as Johnny left the
door, and with the readiness of her sex,
assisted by one or two elderly gossips,
who were by this time called in, she
bathed the wound with spirits, and used
every device which much experience in
cracked crowns, acquired during the
lifetime of Willy Donovan, her departed
lord, suggested to her. Meantime,
Evans, whilst making his way down
through the village, had been met, and
recognized by the half frantic sister of
Dolan and her infuriated friends, wlio
had been all for some time puzzled at the
absence of him who was proverbial as
" Best loot on the flnic,
First stick in the fight."
" There's the murderer of Mat. Do-
lan, boys," cried the woman, as some ten
or twelve yards off she recognized
Johnny, who was conspicuous enough,
wearing his shirt like a herald's tabard,
as in his haste he had di-awn it on at
Hell-kettle, With a yell that might
have scared the devil, thirty athletic
fellows sprang forward at full speed
after Evans, who wisely never stayed to
remonstrate, but made one pair of heels
serve, where the hands of Briareus, had
he possessed as many, would not have
availed him. He arrived at Mrs. Do-
novan's door before his pursuers ; lie
raised the latch, but it gave not way ;
the bar was drawn within ; and had his
strength been equal to it, further flight
was become impracticable — turning with
his back to the door, there stood Johnny
like a lion at bay, uttering no word,
since he well knew words would not
THE PARTEllUE.
prevail against tlio I'm y of liis foes. For-
ward witli will! cries nnil louii impre-
cations, rushed the foremost of tlic
pursuers, and Evans' life was not worth
one moment's purchase ; a dozen sticks
already clattered like hail upon his
guard, and on the wall over his head,
when the door suddenly opening in-
wards, back tumbled Joluiny, anil into
the space thus left vacant stepped a
gaunt figure, naked to the waist, pale,
and marked with a stream of blood yet
flowing from the temple. — With wild
cries the mob pressed back.
"It's a ghost! it's Dolan's ghost!"
shouted twenty voices, above all of which
was heard that of the presumed spirit,
crying in good Irish, "That's a lie, boys,
it's Mat. Dolan himself! able and will-
ing to make a ghost of the first man that
lifts a hand agin Johnny Evans ; who
bate me at Hell-kettle like a man, and
brought me here after, on his back, like
a brother."
" Was it a true fight, Mat. ?" de-
manded one or two of the foremost,
recovering confidence enough to ajiproach
Dolan, who, faint from the exertion he
had made, was now resting his head
against the door-post,
A pause, and the silence of death fol-
lowed. The brows of the men began to
darken, as they drew close to Dolan.
Evans saw his life depended on the rejily
of his antagonist, who already seemed
lapsed into insensibility.
" Answer, Mat. Dolan?" he cried,
impressively, " for the love of heaven,
answer me — was it a true fight?"
The voice appeared to rouse the faint-
ing man. He raised himself in tlie
doorway, and stretched his right hand
toward Evans, exclaiming,
" True as the cross, by the ble.sscd
Virgin !" and as he spoke, fell back into
the arms of his friends.
Evans wa.s now safe. Haifa dozen of
the soberest of the party escorted him
down to the police station, where they
knew he would be secure ; and Dolan's
friends, bearing him with them on a car,
dejjarted, without an attempt at riot or
retaliation.
Thi.s chance took place sixteen years
ago ; but since that day, there never was
a fair nt IJunlavin that tlie orangeman
Evans wa.s not the guest of Dolan ; nor
is there a fair-niglit at Donard that Mat.
Dulan does not pass under the liuml)le
roof of Joiinny P^aiis. I give tin- tale
as it occurred, having always lnoked upon
it a% an event credital)le to the parties,
l>olli of whom are alive and well, or were
a year ago; I'or it is little more since
Evans now nigh sixty years old, walked
me olF my legs on a day's grousing over
Church-mountain, and through Oram's-
hole, carrying my kit into tiie bargain.
Adieu. It will be a long day ere I for-
get the pool of " Ilell-ketlle," or the
angels in whose company 1 first stood by
its bubbling brim.
COUXTEUrAUT OF
NAPOLEON.
Any traveller who may have been in
Italy in the spring of 181'J, must have
heard of the celebrated major of the
Royal Sardinian Life (niarils, who bore
so strong a resemblance to the great
Napoleon as to excite the wonder of all
those who had seen the emperor. At that
time I was on a visit to tiie city of Genoa.
I recollect that one evening 1 w.xs at the
Cafe du Grand Cairo with a iiarty of
friends, when we observed an officer in
the costume of the guards reading at a
table. We were struck with the
resemblance which he bore to all the
busts and portraits of the emperor
which we had seen. In the midst of
our conjectures on the subject, an old
French officer, decorated with the order
of the Legion of Honour, observing the
suriirisc depicted in our countenances,
very politely joined our party, and saiil,
" I can easily imagine, gentlemen, the
subject of your present astonishment.
That officer is one of the greatest wonders
in Europe, and as much like Napoleon
as if he were his twin brotlier. Indeed,
.some persons here go so far as to as.sert
that both tiie em|)eior and his prototype
are from the same parent stock, wiiich
may be the case, as the major is a native
of Corsica, and about Napoleon's age.
I assure you,'' continued the French
ofllcer, " that I was near the emperor
on the night previous to the bloody and
disastrous battle of Leipsic. I observed
him perusing the bulletins of the army ;
his attitude, thougiitfnl mood, and his
general demeanour were a perfect e»)ini-
terpart to the person before us, See !
he is about taking a j)inel) of sinin"! —
Napoleon's manner to jierfection." In
u word, the enthusiasm of the French
officer rose to such a i)ilcl), that all the
visitors of the e.-ife were staring at us.
'i'lie next evening I went tii the opera to
iiear the celebrated Madame Catidani,
and to have a jieep at the ex-einpri'Si
Maria Louisii and her f.ither, whose visit
Imd been announced. We had not long
236
THE PARTE 11 RE.
been seated before we discovered the
major in the adjoinhig box. He was
standing up, his arms folded in the man-
ner of Napoleon, and like him he wore
a green coat buttoned up close to the
neck, and decorated with two or three
orders, which he had won in the Italian
wars, and above all, the never-to-be-for-
gotten little cocked hat. Soon after the
empress entered her box, accompanied
by a brilliant suite ; but presently the
audience were thrown into amazement
by some confusion in the royal box.
Maria Louisa had caught a glimpse of
the counterfeit presentment of her
deceased husband, and her confusion and
astonishment were exhibited in the most
palpable manner. The king of Sardinia
was forced to order him on duty, ten
leagues from Genoa, as his person kept
the soldiers in constant excitement, who
never failed to present arms in passing
him. I understood previous to my
leaving Genoa, that Maria Louisa had
sent for the officer and presented him
with a gold snufF-box, with the emperor's
likeness set in brilliants.
An English East- India captain was
also remarkable for his resemblance to
Napoleon.
MISCELLANIES.
CURIOUS MODE OF CATCHING CROWS IN
ITALT.
A recent traveller give the following re-
markable account of crow-shooting in
Italy. Being called up (says the au-
thor) early in the morning, a few days
after Christmas, we proceeded with two
servants about a mile from the city of
Milan, and entered a large meadow co-
vered with hoar froast, when my friends
conducted me to a cottage, a little on one
side of the meadow, where we found five
or six peasants, with a good fire, se-
veral fowling-pieces, and abundance of
ammunition in readiness. Being told that
every thing was prepared, we drank cof-
fee till the peasants, who had left us
about an hour, returned and informed us
that we might proceed as soon as we
pleased. We, however, advanced no fur-
ther than the porch of the house, where,
as we waited some time without the ap-
pearance of any crows, I was eager to fire
at them, but my friend checked my ar-
dour. ' Stay,' said he, ' they will descend
presently, and approach so near to us,
that we may shoot them without trouble.*
And soon after, to my utter astonishment,
I observed them stop their course all at
once, take several circuits round the
meadow, and afterwards descend, a few
at a time, upon the ground upon which
we were waiting for their appearance.
Not knowing the secret, my curiosity
still increased, especially as I observed
that the whole of them not only descend-
ed, but that they seemed to have stationed
themselves, as it were, in various parts of
the field. But this was not all ; for upon
a closer inspection, I found their heads
were absolutely fixed in the ground, from
whence, after a struggle of some dura-
tion, I saw them successively rising, and
apparently with a white cap on their
heads, which I soon perceived to be made
of strong cartridge paper. It was now
that this comedy commenced, and began
to take a tragical turn ; for the crows, to
liberate themselves, putting themselves in
a number of laughable attitudes, brought
forward the peasants, who, clapping their
hands and setting up a loud cry, the mo-
tion of the crows became the most con-
fused imaginable. Flight, if such an
awkward movement deserve the nanie,
was in all direcions ; striking against
each other with such force, as fre-
quently to bring them to the ground.
It should be observed, that the noise
of their talons scratching upon the thick
paper caps that inclosed their heads, had
no small effect; till in the end, taking to
our fire-arms, we were employed near an
hour in shooting them : at the termina-
tion of which, I was informed by my
friends, that holes being purposely dug
in the ground, and filled with paper of a
conical form, the narrow extremities of
the latter containing each a piece of raw
meat, it was the smell of the meat that
brought the crows to the spot. It is fur-
ther to be observed, that the inside of
this paper cap was copiously larded with
bird-lime, attached so much the closer
by the pressure of the crows' heads after
the meat, that it was impossible for them
to disengage themselves. J. H.
CHANGES OF THE MIND.
The mind is always undergoing fine
changes. Impressions fade, and their
distinct new edge is worn oflT. As an
example : observe a portrait of some
friend during his presence, and again
during his absence. In the first case,
the likeness will lose much of its resem-
blance and power to strike. You com-
pare it with the original, and a thousand
points of difference appear. But when
the original is away, the picture grows
upon you, and attains at last almost the
force of reality. M. N.
Till-: PARTI' K'KI-:.
25/
Page 20 1 .
MANORIAL ARCHIVES;
OR,
THE ROMANCE OF OLD MANSIONS.
A kEalES OF STORIES BV HOKACK
OUILFORD.
(For the Parterre. J
" Tlmiieh what aik-d me, I iiii|:lit iml, well as
l<Mkc ii|) <oo)r r»r«worii tales that sinoilicml l;iy
III chiiiiiiF)' curn'is, ninukt'il with wintfi fnc-n,
T'l iirid ami rock .iMi»-p mir rtrow-y 'irmf
No man hi> ihrirhoM hetti-r knows than I;
Hrul<- tir-l arrival diiil liii>t vi' t'ry,
S^iini (•*or;i<'*i» StiricU, or his ('ruKs ol* IIKmhI,
Aniiiii's Uiiiiiiil Hiiaiil, or ('.ilerloni.in W oik] ;
Or holy bjtilp' of bohl (.'h.itli'iinciie,
\\ hai kiiifibts of hii diil Sxlein's si<'i;c nialnlHin ;
HoM 'hr iiMil rivil ol fill Aiici-lice
\V.i« |>byi<kirl frotri Ihu new-fuuiiil PararlUc.
Hi|;h stones thry ! "
Hishnp Hall I .SalirtM.
TiiK fire-place in llie olil I'arHotiage
parlour at IlUton is worthy of voIiiiiiuk.
It in a liiijjf nrrlifd ri-ct-^H or alcove,
iibout five ft'ct deep, ten wide, niid %\x
Ingh ; vj tli.'it to sit around tlii<i parlour
vol.. I.
fire is literally a<isembling on the heartti.
You are coinpletcly screened off from
tlie rest of tlio apartineiil, and sccin to
be in a regular cahiiiet.
Unfortunately, I saw it in the dog-
days, and the intense lual of the weather
left me no alternative hut to admire (he
groups of gay flowers and eool green
boughs that adorned, but certainly
usurped, the hospitable grate. Mean
while imagination was not idle; — how
could she with such a provocative before
her ?
And oh ! thought I, what a grand
asylum for Cains .Alarciiis to have dig-
nilled with his mutlled majesty ! \\ liat
a heartii fur .Milton's Gnhlin to have
basked his hairy length! Wliat a sluiue
for the little Olympus of domestic deiiie>
to stand r.mged around its sacreii pene-
tralia !
Hut, better than all, wh.it a glorious
retreat, what a nook, what a nest of
comfort, when the night falls, and the
curtains are drawn, and the snow hi'scH
against the casement, and the wind
swoofs rotmd the chinmeys, and llio
258
THE PARTERRE.
court-gates slam, and the weathercocks
whine, and the mighty Fire, that master
magician of the hour, shakes with a
roaring laugh his lambent crest, and
scatters liveliness and lustre through the
room ! — Oh at that time, within the
verge of this fire-side, to listen and re-
late, among old and dear associates, the
legend and the lay, — enchanted glasses
ringing their crystal chimes between
every pause of conversation's pleasurable
din, — with no light but the fire that now
kindles the animated eye of a narrator,
now plays on the anxious cheek of a
listener, and ever and anon emblazes the
crimson grape-juice, as it flows in mo-
derate, yet exhilarating course —
" Giving a gentle kiss to every ' lip'
He overtaketh in bis pilgrimage."
this would be indeed enjoyment, oftener
talked of, alas! than experienced.
Or, if alone, how delightfully could I
ensconce myself in the remotest corner
of this fire-side, poring over some excit-
ing or absorbing volume. Then, while
without the indignant night groaned, as
the tempest violated her solemn and
melancholy reign, I would look around
on the cheerfulness and tranquillity
within, uninvaded by the storm, and
unmolested by the gloom, exclaiming
with Mulla's Bard : —
" Let no lamenting cries, nor doleful tears,
Be heard all night within, nor yet without;
Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden fears.
Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt;
Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful sights.
Make sudden, sad affrights;
Ne let house-fires, uor lightnings; helpless
harms,
Ne let the Ponk , nor other evil sprights ;
No let mischievous witches, with their charms,
Ne let hobgoblins, names whose sense we see
not,
Fray us with things that be not.
liet not the skriecli-owl nor the stork be heard.
Nor the night-raven, that still deadly yells,
Nor damned ghosts, called up with mighty
spells.
Nor griesly vultures, make us once affeard :
Let none of these their dreary accents ring,
Ne let the woods them answer 1"*
Undoubtedly the fire-side is the Mag-
nus Apollo of romance, the cradle at
once, and the nurse of legendary lore.
Look at the superiority of our northern
tales over the voluptuous lucubrations of
softer and sunnier realms, and you may
trace it to the influence of the long
winter nights, the heartsome homes, and
the hearth-flame ; — the talkative, the
amusing, the ethereal hearth - flame, —
which at once inspires our fancies, and
.suggests our recreation.
Spenser's Gpithalaminm.
The soft purple sky, jewelled with
stars, the paradisal perfumes from groves
of orange and palm, the silver sparkles
of the marble fountain soothing the still
and tepid air, the gushing cadences of
the nightingale, the tall, pillared pa-
vilion, wooing the spirit-like breezes to
wander and whisper round its painted
galleries, or flit through the gilt lattice
of its balconies ; — all these appliances
had much in themselves to divide and
distract attention from the story-teller of
Italian gardens.
But when the dark night, early
swooping down on the woods and towers
of English homes, drove within their
gates, and gathered round their fire-
sides, both young and old, high and low,
from the stirring excitement of out-door
toil or sport ; when rain, and sleet, and
wind, stalked by door and window, grim
warders as they were, and forbade all
egress; when the well-spread board had
exhausted its gratifications, and the very
wine-cup had ceased to charm, then did
that domestic fane, the chimney vault,
manifest .its glories unveiled ; then did
the feudal focus vindicate philosophy for
appropriating its Roman title to express
the centre of attraction !
Alone and paramount, the monarch
of flame convened his court around him,
and in his honour did men weave that
enchanting tissue of record, fable, story,
ballad, jest, — that, crusted with tradi-
tion's tarnished gold, hangs, from age to
age, like some antique regal canopy, over
his dusky and time-honoured throne.
The intense interest these tales in-
spired transported the auditory into the
very scenes and actions they heard re-
lated ; and the tapestried walls of the
baron's hall, as well as the smoky rafters
of the vassal's cottage, fleeted away, to
disclose the pomp of palaces, the gather-
ing of warriors, the knightly tournament,
the bowers of ladies, the miracles of
saints, the bloody combat, the radiant
bridal, with all the feats of Crusaders
and Saracens, sorcerers and assassins,
flaming dragons, red-plumed paladins,
and distressed damsels.
In days of yore, — those stormy days
that we call dark (and a magnificent
darkness it was !) the amusement of
story-telling was at its height of popu-
larity. Speaking of fire-side romances,
an old writer says, " They have been the
revivers of drowsy age at midnight.
Old and young have, with such tales,
chimed matins till the cock crew in the
morning. Bachelors and maidens have
compassed the Christmas fire-block till
THE PARTERRE.
259
tlic curfew Ih>11 rang candle out. The
old shepherd and the voinig ploii£;h l)oy,
after tlieir day's lahour, have carolled
out the same to make them merry
withal ; and who but they have made
long nights seem short, and heavy toils
easy ? "
This good old fashion is now rapidly
disappearing ; or rather, h.is completely
sunk helow the horizon. Ihit I am not
going to snivel and howl over motlern
degeneracy ; neither will I spit upon
those insipidities it has substituted for
the ancient, the red-lettered, tlic illumi-
nated chronicles of the fire-side. I
would only hazard one little assertion : —
There are no gramimot/iers now a-
days, neither are there any children ! —
we are all full-grown, well-informed
young gentlemen, and young ladies ;
sunning ourselves in the very meridian
of intellect, wearing round our brows the
aureola of perfection ! But
" My fn-nsivc pnblio, w htrefore look you sad?
1 lidil a grauilmotbcr ; "
and some of the fruits resulting from
that inestimable advant.agc you may
gather, if you like ; — the alternative is
obvious.
THE
LADY OF WOLFHAMSCOTE.
ROMANCE THE FIRST.
" Now, when as all the world in silence dccpc
Y^liniw<lnl was, and every morlal %vij;ht
\\ a« ilrowned in the depths of deadly sleepe
l-'air Maleca>ta, whose engrieved bpright
Could tinil no rest in siirh perplexed plight,
Lightly aro.»e out of her weary bed,
Aid under ilie black vele of !;;nilty night.
Her with a ^carlott mantle covered.
That wajwitli i;i>ld and erniintsfaire enveloped."
Fabky Qckene. U.iil. C. 1.
Woi-niAMsroTE Hall was one of those
fantastic variegated old houses, \\'hich
are now so fast vanishing from earth,
cither demolished by the oiislauglit of
pitiless improvement, or abandoned to
the more respectful, if not less fatal ad-
vances of decay. In the first instance, n
smart modern tenement generally starts
up in all the comfortable impertinences
of bright redbrick, smug-faced stucco,
white vi-sli, 'green door, and brass
knocker.' Hut in the l.itler case, time
giK-s lazily, as if reluetaiilly, to work;
here tumbling down a liattlement, there
mumbling up a pillar, — undermining ii
turret or two, by way of change, and,
fur a freak, tlitiging three tiers of cbam-
\nT% into one, by eating nw.iy the iiiain-
beams of floors niwl ceilings. And
«uiii«tilueH he (louts the iiiijuisilive wan-
derer by knot-king down a staircase, so
that all access to the upper rooms is de-
nied. l?iit nature follows in his Iraek,
and heals or hides the wounds whieh he
inflicts. Where the rent nia.sonry gapes
in jagged fissures, she spreads a scarf of
silken moss, and covers up the scar ;
where moidded arch, and flowery eapi-
lal lie at loggerhe.-uls, tumbling, and
choakiui; up the court, she bids the fra-
grant gill spread a carpet, and the eglan-
tine hang its rose-broitlered bannerols ; —
and, in short, with such a jiatient alVec-
tion doth she brood over the relics of her
rivid sister, that ere long, she builds for
the potir downfallen i)ile, a beautiful
mausoleum of branching shrubs, glossy
turf, and sweet and colomed flowers.
You forget the gorgeous majesty of the
foliric, in contemplating the veiled loveli-
ness of the ruin.
Hut the old mansion of Wolfliamscote,
though of some pretension in its d,ay,
was always a gloomy, mcKancholy-look-
ing pile. It was large enough in con-
science, and no luiilder's brain, in tliat
most romantic epoch of English architec-
ture, — the reigns of the Tudors, — could
have rioted in a more lavish exuberance
of style than Wolfliamscote displ.iyed.
Decoration actually seemed to have wan-
toned, ay run wild, in the carvework,
and stripework, and pendants, and linials,
and little pillared balconies, of the capri-
cious old building.
In the first place, you were especially
struck with the irregular size and mould
of the different portions of the house.
Now a tall slender tower, challenging
the very skies; — then a beetle-browed
crouching wing, whose single row of
windows seemed stooping to kiss the
moat. The tiers of gables were all at
odds — some smiled complacently side
by side ; — some slioiddereil each other
gruffly, — and even turned their backs; —
some had broad jolly faces ; others looke<l
narrow, and stiff, and sour ; here a lH)Ui
well-i>roporli(Uied square atlvanced from
the building, iinbl.i/.ed with a simbroail
oriel ; and, close by, — the house shrimk,
as if it h.'id got the stitch, into a con-
Ir.'icted recess, disclosing its one grim
ill-conditioned wiiulow.
Tiie winilows themselves liK)ked as if
they had been .slapped at random into
the edifice, countless in midtitiide, iiical-
cidable in situation, and in general ap-
pearance so little germane to e.-icb other,
that they seemed to be specimens of every
window lli.it had ever Ih'I'U inviiited,
from the 'l'eui|)le of .Solomon, to tln' but
of a Lapland witch. i lie ehilimejs' it
260
THE PARTERRE.
wilderness of columns — a very Palmyra
of the housetop, — high and low, thick
and thin, twisted and fluted, connected
in arches, or corniced i mposts — they spoke
to you, as plainly as brick and mortar
could articulate, " I am the great hall
chimney ; and I warm the lady's bowers,
and I climb up from the kitchen, &c.
&c."
But oh ! the clatter and glitter, and
fuss and flutter, and parade and pompo-
sity of the weathercocks ; generally at
mortal feud with each other, and dis-
playing their banners in the most antago-
nistic quarters ; unanimous only, when
a general fit of the suUens seized them,
and then they all pointed wrong.
Within the mansion there were such
multitudes of chambers, and galleries,
and stairs fronting all the cardinal points,
that you might have adopted the Roman
luxury of a summer and winter house
under one roof. Nay, the very master
of the mansion himself might chance to
stumble on some apartment, the stories
of whose tapestry were unknown to him,
and the prospect from its windows en-
tirely new.
Yet was Wolfhamscote Manor-house
of a dreary dismal complexion, which not
all its freakish magnificence could dissi-
pate ; and though far from lonely — for
the highway to L traversed the great
gateway at the end of the avenue, — yet it
had that forbidding, I had almost said
that menacing air — that ' touch me not '
solemnity about it, whicli strangely belied
its charity to the poor, its hospitality to
the stranger, and its magnificence to the
guest. Even the broad blue Trent, that
rolled his gallant tide below the garden
walls, failed to impart a charm on the
anprehensive dismality of Wolfhamscote
Hall.
This quaint piece of antiquity is but
faintly impictured on my youthful tablets
of memory : yet what I retain of it is
most deliciously dreamy and bright.
My uncle had the curacy of the parish ;
and, on occasions, my little sister and
myself used to be jingled over in a post-
chaise (a high luxury in my younger
days) to the church.
Well do I remember that pleasant
smell of honeysuckles, and the heavy
moist flagrance of the freshly- stacked
hay ; and the clang and jangle of the old
lovery, that served as a campanile to the
lowly Saxon church ; and that granda;val
mulberry tree, in the manor-hall garden,
that Mammoth of fruit trees, over-
shadowing many a rood with its matted
piles of broad leaves ; its venerable trunk
bowing and splitting beneath the bulk of
its branches, and the branches themselves
demanding supporters ; — while, like the
fabulous carbuncle of eastern lore, the
bursting fruit shone in dark red colours
through the massy foliage.
Nothing now remains of Wolfhamscote
Hall but the tall desolate banquet-house,
forming an angle in the garden wall by
the river bank, its stone coigns furred
with moss, its scaly bricks sheathed with
the silvery gi'ay and mouldering gold of
lichens — the old and idle turf mantling
at its foundations, and filling up its
unlatticed window-frames with sable cur-
tain, — one melancholy solitary yew.
I still haunt the spot and feel
" In the gray eve, bj moss-growi boughs con-
fined.
How grand the wordless language of the wind,
When twilight deepens, and the king of day
Without one painted banner steals away:
'Niath the decayed leaves of the spicy wood.
Near ihe while welteiing of the antuninal flood ;
By the peaked summer-house, the gabltd grange,
The creaking gates, the barn's enormous range.
Oft have 1 (li-t' ning to his doleful voice)
Felt my blood tingle, and my soul rejoice,
Interpreting the tones, that wailing through.
Thrilled the black hollows of the shuddering
yew."
Very different was this scene in the
close of autumn 16 — , during the early
part of the great rebellion, when a young
ofl^cer of the royal army rode at full speed
up the avenue that led from the highway
to the principal porch of Wolfhamscote
Hall.
It was Allhallow's-eve, and the Novem-
ber moon sailed above the gardens and
orchards of the venerable mansion, which
seemed to stand forth bold and bare,
exulting in the ghastly glimmer of the
night.
White gleaming through the trunks of
the elm avenue, the river ran swirling
and gurgling by ; and when the horseman,
having reached the centre of the avenue,
reined in his steed, and slackened his
pace, the deep low moaning of the
night-wind could only be heard at inter-
vals, as it lulled through the black boughs
and rustled among the bulrushes, while
the owl hissed and hooted from the se-
questered granaries behind the shelter of
their clustering pines.
The horseman drew a deep breath as
he halted in front of the great porch, and,
looking uj) at the house, whose wildly
garnished frontispiece seemed to dilate
in shadowy grandeur, as he approached,
thus soliloquised : —
" So ! I am safe at last ! whew ! I
had well nigh fallen into the hands of the
Philistines ! A plague on my hot tem-
THE PAltTKFtRE.
2(5 1
per; would my finger had been cramped
when it pulled that trigger! Why could
I not have answered his ' H'ko goes thfre!'
and trusted at once to thee, my good St.
George!" (patting the smoking neck of
his champing cliarger ). " I fear I brouglit
him down ! I saw him reel on his saddle !
Well, what's past cure, is past care!
The question is what to do next? the
whole country side will be beset, and
here am I with an over-ridden horse and
an empty stomach — with a house before
me, it is true ; but what an unpromising
old owl's nest ! and whom doth it call
lord ? Haply some cankered old Puritan
who, grown over rusty for the wars, e'en
lurks in liis horrid den like Master 15un-
yan's Giant Despair, ready to eat up
alive any ill-starred Royalist that falls into
his clutches. 'Tis no matter! — as well
go in and be hanged, as stay out and be
shot ! "
A long parley ensued between the
Cavalier and the ancient domestic who
held the honoured olhce of portfr of
Wolfhamscote, and whom no very gentle
knocking had summoned to the wicket of
the porch doors.
The usual plea of lost way and life
beset, was urged on the one hand, and
parried on the other by ecpially trite
excuses, — the unsettled times, the vicinity
of the hostile armies, the necessity of
caution, and chiefly the absence of the
master of the mansion.
Suddenly the earnest and half-sup-
plicating tones of the stranger, and the
unfavourable replies, half growl and half
whine of the churlish janitor, were broken
upon and silenced by a voice so excessively
musical, that the very echoes of the old
pile might have been enamoured of its
tones, and withal so commanding, that
it might have halted the two armies when
si>urring to the combat: —
" Swi-el wi>rf1< like- (1riip|)inE lioncy ^he Hid ^llc■(l,
An'l 'iwixl ihe perU» amt tiibics ^orlly brake
A BilviT Kniud llia( heavenly inii»ic seemed lo
make."
" What parley are you prolonging this
inhospitable evening, .Mxster JJarnaby f
What scorn are you putting upon W.ilf-
hamscote, that the wandering stranger
and the tired horse should discover that
there is neither bower nor stable, chamber
nor stall, meat nor room, iu Sir Mar-
maduke Tracy's homefstall ?"
Hastily and obse<|uiously the porter
turned rouiul tow.irds the speaker, and
the door, instantly revolving on its hinges,
discloscjl the <l.irk attire anil whiU' hair of
the old man streaming in the wind, and
gleaming in the wild flare of llie eiesset
he carried, and which, aided by a bright
lamp borne by a female attendant, re-
vealed also the origin of that musical
voice, the mistress of the mansion, Tlw
Ladi/ of U'ol/'/iamscote.
If the stature of Minerva, the majesty
of Juno, the voluptuousness of \'enus,
ever combined in one of their enchanting
sex — llvacinth Tracv was that one.
The proud imperial brow, — the large
swimming eye, the red and richly
moulded lips, the neck and bosom that
laughed to scorn the whiteness of the lace
and the softness of the velvet robe from
which they towered, altogether presented
a tablet indeed —
"For Love his lofty triumphs to engrave."
At this moment bravery and bounty
formed the reigning expression of that
enchanting countenance, and it is scarcely
a poetical liberty to say, that it shone like
a sun upon the chilling gloom.
The sununoned menials emulated one
another in leading the stranger's charger
to stall and manger.
And now with a stately courtesy did
the Lady Tracy welcome the wanderer
lo Wolfhamscote, and with a profound
obeisance of the most courtly elegance,
the stranger ventured to take the lady's
hand, — then led her within one of the
deeply embayed windows that was ranged
along the h;dl, and, in low tones, with
some little graceful hesitation, and a slight
blush, aimounced himself ;ls Orlando Lord
Lovel, a cornet in his majesty's service,
who having had the misK)rtune, while
reconnoitring, to stumble on a vidette of
the rebel army, had unailvisedly fired
upon the officer, who challengeil him,
had, he feared, shot him, and was now a
fugitive, till he could rejoin the king's
head ijuarters at N — .
A lad for a lady's eye, it must be
confessed, was this wandering lord :
s(jmetliing between a IKiiules and an
Antinous.
" A oHeit ri'Karil ntxi anii.ible Kiace,
Mixiil wilh :i niiinly ►!■ iimkmi iIkI .ipprair,
Yil RiccpinKon iun will lii<i|inrli<'neil face,
And on hi" leniU-r lip* the downy hi are
1)1(1 now bill rtl'^hly •prini; anil ailken bru»>oDi<
beare. "
It is no marvel then if somewhat more
than the mcie glee of recognition illumed
with complacency the lady's bland and
beautiful features as she saiil —
*' The Loid Orlando Lovel? not less
illiisfiiiius was his rank, and such me-
thiiiks his name, whom at the fight of
Kdghill, Sir Mainiaduke saved from the
weapons of some hall-do/i-ii o( his own
\ass,ils, uhoiii Mil- voiilh Kinnly held ut
262
THE PARTERRE
bay. Relieved of them, straightway the
falcon flew at nobler quarry, and attacked
the Tracy himself; marry ! Sir Marma-
duke was put to his stoccata ere he could
disarm him."
" An officer of rank," replied Lord
Orlando, " did certainly on the field of
Edghill, first save me from being buf-
feted to death ;— and then, condescend-
ingly enhanced the obligation, by teaching
me, with his own good sword, to be
somewhat more cunning of fence ; when
I yielded me his prisoner, he conducted
me to his quarters ; treated me cour-
teously, and dismissed me the next day
without ransom : but to his name and
person I was a stranger. Stand I then
in the honoured presence of his dame ?"
" Even so, my lord : in these dis-
jointed times old Wolfhamscote boasts
no higher inmate than its poor lonely
mistress; and as for its honours — woe
the while, they wax but dim in Sir Mar-
maduke's absence ! "
Orlando thought he perceived a slight
tinge of sarcasm in the tone, and a lurk-
ing smile of scorn in the beautiful
Hyacinth's face, as she concluded the
sentence. Indeed, rumour said that the
Lady Tracy had no objection to wield as
much of Sir Marmaduke's awful supre-
macy as his easy and affectionate though
high and honourable heart disposed him
to concede.
Perhaps the lady read this in Lord
Orlando's }ook, for she added, in an
altered tone and with a smile of irresisti-
ble fascination, —
" But though Sir Marmaduke will de-
plore his absence, and I his poor shadow
can but little supply it, still that little
shall be assayed. Leave we then these
grim arches and echoing windows for a
more cheery chamber. Our supper hour
draws nigh — and if the Lord Orlando
can patiently endure a lonely woman's
company — "
Young Lovel hastened to express his
acknowledgments, but with some embar-
rassment, suggested the necessity of his
remaining in seclusion till the result of
his dt^mt-16 should be ascertained.
" The avenger of blood is behind me,"
ne said, "and, though I have hitherto
escaped, doubtless the pursuers are now
hot upon my traces. I am certain it was
an officer of rank whom I shot, — certain
too that he fell. Since then, beautifid
and gracious lady, you deign to shelter a
Royalist in the mansion of a Parlia-
mentarian, he will be contented with the
/tiding hole and solitude till better fortune
advances him to the boivcr and the society
of the Lady Tracy."
" Nay, my lord ! shame not the hospi-
tality of Wolfhamscote: — the hiding
hole you ask, shall be yours, and such as
Argus himself could not discover ; — but,
though Sir Marmaduke himself thun-
dered at the porch gates, you should first
eat and drink !"
" Let me be la'en, let me be put to death,
I am content, so thou wilt have it so!"
was Orlando's laughing reply ; and, im-
printing a kiss of solemn gallantry on
Lady Tracy's hand, he led her from
the deep recess into the open chamber;
where, after leaving him to give some
directions to the house steward, who stood
in respectful silence at the farther end,
and listened to her mandates with, the
most profound deference, the lady called
for lights, and Lord Lovel ushered her
from the hall.
They went up the great staircase, a
broad ascent, with many landings, and
black carved banisters, the walls being
painted with various family chronicles in
high colours.
This led them to the gallery, through
whose windows of enormous arch the
moon flooded in ; they looked just such
as Keats describes, —
"A casement high and triple-arched there was,
All garlandtd with carven imageries
Of fruils, and flowers, and bunches of knot grass ;
And diamonded with panes of quaint device
Innumerable of stains and splendid dies.
As are the tiger-moth's deep damasked wings:
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries.
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,
A shielded scutcheon blushed with blood of
queens and kings."
In the farthest nook of this gallery, a
door concealed behind the tapestry hang-
ings admitted them into the enchanted
bower of this Armida of Wolfhamscote.
Its sudden brilliance almost blinded Or-
lando as he entered from the glimmering
gallery. Walls, floor, and ceiling, were
mantled with gorgeous colouring. Arras,
massy with silver and purple tinctured
embroidery, arrayed the walls ; the roof
was enriched with heraldic medallions,
and on the floor the many-coloured fleece
of Turkish looms spread its downy sub-
stance. A settee, with coverlid and canopy
of red brocade, a huge Venetian mirror with
flowered frame, a mighty manteltrce of
glossy oak, lavish in sculptures, in whose
centre was emblazoned the great shield of
Tracy ; a broad table covered with the
finest white damask and spread witli ves-
sels whose precious material was excelled
by their exquisite workmanship, contain-
ing the most luxurious viands,— were
displayed to the fidlest advantage by tall
golden candlesticks of antique mould,
THE PARTERRE.
'263
bronze lamps gleaming with perfumed oil,
and a fire of fragrant woods, which irra-
diated the room.
Never did damsel of Arabian lore press
the fortunate merchant who had attracted
her regard in tlie Bezcstein witli such
courteous hos|>itulity as did tlio Lady of
Wolf hamscote lier somewliat bewildered
guest. She carved to him the daintiest
viands, she poured for hini the most
luscious wines, and the two handmaidens
who stood behind her purple chair
smiled on each other as they watched tl)C
looks that accompanied these hospiuible
courtesies.
The Lord Orlando was dazzled, was
confounded, and the lady laughed at his
embarrassment. His dishevelled attire,
whose pointed Vandyke lace, and broi-
dered buff doublet, and burnished cuirass
and scarlet sword-belt, seemetl little
adapted to a lady's banquet, added a
charm to the uncommon beauty of his
face and figure, and the ludicrous mix-
ture of boyish bashfulness and natural
gallantry with which he accepted the Lady
Ilyacintir!. attentions, betrayed itself in a
thous^ind ways.
" Nowwould one think," said the lady,
"that you were Sir Cuyonard, I the
Lady Phccdria, whom Mitster Edmund
Spenser so ungallantly paints. But fear
not, my Lord, I shall not piuss the bonds
of modest merrimakc.'
" And if you did, lady fair,"' answered
Lovel, taking heart of grace, " I should
not have the power
* Such dalliance to despise and Tolly (o furs.-ikc ;'
but, in sooth, I cannot answer your afFa-
bility as I ought; censure me not, I
Ix-seech you, if my heart is gloomy when
my hand is red !"
"Nay, my Lord, I blame you not I ! fain
would I charm away those melancholy
thoughts from your bosom, and that cloud
from your brow ! Ah, you smile ! Joy's
ensign iKcomes that teni|)le so well, — oh,
never let despondence iidvance his black
flag there again ! A song, ls;mra! asong!"
pursued the lovely danif ; and the maiden,
at her word, produced from a red Japan
cabinet, a lute of satin wo(m1 ; and accom-
panied its chords with her voice; while,
leaning one round white arm of er.cpdsile
mould on her Hushing cheek, and resting
the other hand on the table, the Lady of
\Vi,lf hrunscole beat lime with those
taper fingers all ablaze with coloured
Jewell.
" Nu bcAin vt l>il,;li( nn lli.il wliicli bii'«ki
Uii»<<ii i»u ("I III) I l>iu<li ;
So (iti««-iit |i|r;<«iiii- rliariiir ill in<>«l
WlK'iiduubl Ihc lulurc tlimuil.i.
When cladocss comes my licsrt to checi,
Tliuugli brill' nnd tlcftiii); last,
I v^uiilil not weep, if every fiar
Cuulil wasli uw.iy tlie p.iMt I
Oh, senseless mort.ils ! why embrace
The woe* you caiinol cure.
And spurn llie joy wliose transient smile
Mil) ruTve yon to ctidure .'"
A heavy trampling of horse in the
avenue, tlumdering knocks at the great
jiorch doors, succeeded by clamorous
voices, and a loud harsh jangling of the
manor bell, or storm-clock as it was called,
caused the damsel to stint in her song,
and the lady to blench in her cheer.
Lord Lovel started to his feet ; he
spoke not, but I>ady Tracy instantly
dispatched her maidens to imjuire the
cause of the tumult, and, tlie moment the
door closed upon them, she caught up a
lamp — " Yes, yes!'' she ejaculatetl hur-
riedly, " they are at hand ! — you were
wise in your precaution; and 1 was a fool
to deem it a boyish ])anic ! we have not a
moment to lose,— follow me !''
" But your servants, lady ! the old
garrulous porter too" —
"Fear not them! they who eat the
bread of Wolfliamscote will never betray
him who shelters in the shadow of his old
walls ; — or at the worst, 1 shall say you
are tied by a private door, and have long
ago left the mansion. Follow me! follow
me qttickli/ — and they must be wizards
indcetl that find you out!"
Thus speaking, she jiressed a carved
acanthus in the mai\telpiece, and a slight
click, as of a spring, was heard ; — she
then pushed aside the adjoining tajiestry,
and Orlando was aware of a narrow aper-
ture through which he could barely in-
troduce his comely |)erson. Ily.icintli
replaced the tajjestry nnd closed the orifice
in the wall, tlien led the way along a
narrow passage to some distance. At
last she turned towards Lovel, and held
the lamp over a steep winding stair.
Orlando thought they woidil never have
reached the bottom, and when they did,
the tumult, and the trampling, and the
voices, and the l>ell-ringing, seemeil so
close at hand, that a momentary pang of
suspicion thrilled his nerves and sickened
his heart. Apparently his in^;enuous
countenance betrayed him, for the Lady
Ilyaciiilh answered his look with a
glance and accent of consummate scorn.
" Fame speaks the Lord Orlando Lovel
courteous as well as gallant, and brave
Oh he is open ; — but this night wouUl go
far to contradict her ! — a rash dee<l, «
headlong (light, a hasty confiileiice, un
unjust suspicion, — But oh!" she con-
tinned, coi retting hei speech .nni .olim-
264
THE PARTERRE.
ing her tone, " I am harsh and wrong !—
Misfortune mars manhood ; and the lion
in the field would be tlie deer in stojie
walls. Once more, doubt not, my lord !
your pursuers are now cooling their heels
over head ; we are passing below the
castle yard; and I'll warrant old Barnaby
not to admit a mother's son of" them till I
come to the wicket ; though why the
blockheads should be swinging yonder
hideous bell, as if they would break the
clapper or ding down the belfry tower, I
cannot guess. On, on !"
The passage proceeded, with many
turns and windings, for some space, till
they reached a narrow door, ribbed with
oak and banded with iron ; formidable as
appeared this barricade, it opened noise-
lessly at the slightest touch of Hyacinth's
initiated finger, — and a toilsome staircase
conducted them to a considerable height
above their previous course, and termi-
nated in a broad flagged landing, which
I.ady Tracy allowed the fugitive no time
to examine, ere, placing her light on the
pavement, she pushed open a large door,
and, beckoning Orlando, she said —
" Here mu.st l>e your abode. Lord
Lovel, for to-night at least ! and longer
if your safety is concerned. It has often
been used for a similar necessity afore-
time ; — I see Bright has done my bidding
- — he is the only one at Wolf hamscote,
beside Sir Marmaduke and myself, who
knows this lair, for traditional custom if
not obligation limits that knowledge to
three of the family. Forgive loneliness
and gloom, and you will find nought else
to censure. Adieu ! I must win my way
back, with what speed I may, or the old
chimneys of Wolf hamscote will certainly
fall down upon yonder clamouring knaves.
Farewell ! — keep the lamplight as much
as possible from the window : you shall
soon hear your fate : — and, hark ye ! tell
me when I return, how ye like the seclu-
sion you so much coveted in the Lady's
Bower !"
And with a silver laugh the Lady of
Wolf hamscote vanished, leaving Orlando
to make what he could of a high vaulted
room, witli one tall window of Gothic
mould, through whose shrub - muffled
panes the moonlight shimmered in broken
strains, imperfectly shewing the walls
painted with some old legends, more
remarkable for the grim looks of tiieir
heroes, and the gaudy quaintness of their
raiment, than for any interest they
might be likely to produce in the luckless
visitor.
He brought the lam]) into the room,
but in such a way as to screen it from the
window, and perceived a huge bed in a-
recess, thickly curtained and warmly
clothed : and there was a table well gar-
nished with viands ; and there was also a
long luxurious robe of Setbles thrown over
the antiquely-carved chair ; and on a
stool by the bed there was a suit of which
he could perceive that the lace was of the
costliest, the linen the finest, and the cloth
and silk of the softest and richest. When
he had ascertained as much as he could
respecting the interior of his asylum,
Orlando softly pushed open a casement
in the arched and dingy latticed window.
Leaning out, he perceived through the
branches of a colossal yew tree the river
rolling below its wide and sounding
waters. The yew tree itself nearly
blocked up the window, and buflPeted the
panes with its slowly tossing foliage.
On looking farther, he discovered that
he was more than a furlong from the
house of Wolfhamscote, whose moon-
silvered vanes and glistening chimneys
rose beyond a grove of linden trees, while
the garden with its terraces and fountains
and parterres lay between.
Ivy and a thousand lovely parasites
luxuriantly overlaid the buttresses and
walls of the building, which was now
become Lord Lovel's temporary abode.
It was in fact an old banquet-house,
which had been cautiously shunned ever
since a former knight of Wolfhamscote
in a paroxysm of jealousy, had flung his
wife over the window-sill into the river
below. The place was cursed !
The Tracys of subsequent times had
encouraged the superstitious reports so
likely to ensure the privacy of the tower,
which some of them had used for astro-
logical pursuits ; some as the secret ren-
dezvous for the conspiracies so frequently
agitated in the last Tudor's reign ; and
others, as a place of refuge so necessary
in consequence of those conspiracies.
It was indeed admirably adapted to
the purpose,,; the door, which led by
broad steps from the garden, was bricked
up on a pretence of the dangerous dilapi-
dation of the banquet-house, and the
cscalier derobi was made with the privity
of only two workmen, beside the then
Lord of Wolfhamscote, and they were
sworn most solemnly to secresy.
Not the keenest emissary, therefore, of
the army or of the bench, would have
dreamed of searching The Haunted Ban-
quet-house, a place so long supposed
abandoned to the owl and the jackdaw,
that it had acquired the title of Ghost
Castle ; and the great window which had
illuminated so many a summer festival
THE PAKTEllllE.
'265
tliui e, was now so curtained l>y its btirubby
treillage, and canopied by llie yew tree,
that tlie Lady Hyacinth liad apparently
little need for her caution respectinji the
lamplight.
Meanwhile the most sedulous attention
had been (imperceptibly to the world)
devoted to the internal arran<j;ement of
Ghost Castle ; and Lord Lovel perceived,
on awakins the next morninSi bv as much
sunshine as could creep in through the
disguised window, a migluy fair and
pleasant aiiartmeiil, which wanted nothing
but a good bla/ing lire to render it a most
unobjectionable — pristjn.
No article requisite to the most fas-
tidious toilet of the peiiod was wanting;
and when Lord Orlando, in c()m|)liment
to his hostess' kind cares, had indued the
sumptuous change of raiment assigned to
his wear, the broad surface of an ebony-
framed mirror convinced him how well a
rai nation-coloured scarf swept' athwart a
doublet of ])lum-colourcd velvet, and with
venial vanity he smiled as his large white
hand pushed aside tlic glossy curls from a
forehead broad and l)right iis Apollo's.
But the smile soon vanished, and a sigh
succeeded. His seemed a singularly way-
ward fate. He had joined the royal
standard — a lively, sanguine, enterprising
youth of some twenty years — had rank
and wealth in possession, and fame and
honour in j)rospect ; with his laily-love
yet to choose, and with a right to be fas-
tidious in his choice, — and all this to be
overclouded (perhaps for ever) by this
unhajipy adventure !
" .Ml Orlando, Orlando ! what an evil
hap hast thou chanced upon ! Here art
thou fairly caught ; and never poor mouse
looked so silly in its trap ! What is worst
of all, thou mayest not get out, even if
thou couUlcsl. Such a tumult as that at
yonder gates ! I think 1 feel the cold iron
at my throat even now ! The lady too, —
methought she was wondrous fair, — hea-
ven grant she be honest too I She seemed
to affect me marvellously" (another look
of y(julhful complacence at the miiror).
" Well, I have none else to trust to in
this den ; and she seems to have forgotten
me !"
Some small diversion from his ennui
the young Lord Orlando derived from
the substantial viands on which he broke
his fast ; and, as youthful digestion is
generally a faithful handmaid to appe-
tite, we may conclude he passed some
hours in tolerable tranrpiillily, liuimning,
at intervals, nnotcheft of lhc»c kLunza.s : —
Oil ! )miI I Init a l.i<l)r-tuvr,
Wliow iiii»K" ilntie"l iii> (iiiHiii lii»<r,
i iliiiik I -c.irci" Jhoiilil iliiui'provc
Till' iliillnt'9« »!' tlii.i loiiily lixur.
Km I i-an onI> fit' I »n<l nio»n
That 1 am wiary and — aloiu-.
Il»he were brislit, I M say ihal lisht
Enibl.<7.in!; yomler wiiiilow lair
G.ive not to me one glame of glee,
Willi her ,'oit sun.ilii'ie to compare.
Bill 1 can mily ful ami iiiiian
That I am gloomy anil alone.
If ilm k , an Ck'opalraN ilie ;
The Laily Nialit heradf, 1 M snear,
llail no Muh plaiiel, ah Ihe tye
That flajheil beneath her jelly hair.
Bill 1 can only feel and moau
That 1 am joyless anil alone.
If blithe her cheer — I 'd copy now
Kach lively look, each lau^hin^ tone.
How welcome to a breast and brow
That feel no gladness of tlit ir own !
Alas ! how biller to bemoan
That I am darksome and alone.
If pravity her features rnled,
I loowoiilil patieiill) be i;rave.
And by her calm reii'embraiicc schooled,
Eiiiiure the urief I iann"t brave.
Alas! 1 only feel and moan
That I am drooping and alone.
Noon arrived, and jiassed by ; Lord
Lovel chafed his cramped limbs. Even-
ing's shadows lengthened ; Lord Lovel
paced to and fro for warmth, and even
leaped over the table, loaded with good
cheer, like the worshippers of Baal on
their idol's altar.
Night came down, and gloom and dis-
<|iiiet in her train. The wind arose, the
rain fell, the angry river roared ; and the
yew tree, like some monitory spectre,
shook his monstrous head at the window.
The noble fugitive mullled his limbs in
the robe of sables, and, for very weariness,
seated himself in the arched recess that
formed a kind of window-seat.
Thus situated, Lovel might have said
with (iawaiii Douglas, " I saw the moon
shed through the window her twinkling
glances and wintry liyht. I heard the
horned bird, the night owl, shrieking
horribly, with crooked bill, from her
Ciivern. I heird the wild geese, with
screaming cries, lly over the city, through
the silent night. I heard the jackdaws
cackle on the roof of the house ; the
cranes piognosticating tempest, in a iirm
phalanx, pierced the air with voice sound-
ing like a truiiipet ; the kite, jierched on
HI) old tree fast by iny chamlK'r, ci ied
lamentably."
But far more appalling to Orlando
than the cries of owls, geese, kites, cranes
and jackdaws (^which, like Saint Antho-
ny's (lemons, seem to have haunted the
night-hours of the cliLssic I'relate of
Dunkeld) was the protracted absence of
the Lady of Wolf hamscote.
The niglit wore late; the very liLSl
266
THE PARTERRE.
drop of tlie Canary had been drained,
the very last crumb of the manchet de-
voured ; the darkness was most irksome,
the cold intolerable; but all that was
nothing compared to the agonizing sus-
picions that suggested themselves.
" Whose horrid image did unfix his hair.
And make his scathed heart knock at his ribs."
Was it to be conceived, that, flndnig
him to be a Royalist, the entertained the
design of giving him up, unarmed and
captive, to those who thirsted for his
blood? had she lured him to this murky
oubliette only to leave him a prey to
death as horrible as it was tardy? or had
some unforeseen accident befallen her?
these and a thousand other imaginations,
like the formless visions flitting athwart
the dark surface of a magician's mirror,
chased each other through his brain, till
the big beaded drops stood cold upon his
glowing brow.
Darkness deep and black was around ;
the voices of earth, air, and water con-
flicting in tempest were in his ears ; and
the moonlight came and went at intervals,
in all the ghastful attributes of a spirit
fleeting and vanishing through the room.
Orlando saw and heard them not; his
young buoyant heart sunk under the op-
pression of the hour and place; and he
had flung himself in passive abandonment
on the bed.
How long he had remained so he
knew not; but suddenly lie perceived a
light different from the moon, flash on
his closed eyelids.
He started up: — a lighted lamp was
on the table, and on the hearth a heap
of fagots. A tall figure in black, with
the back towards him, was drawing across
the gothic window a massy curtain of
ancient brocade. As he gazed, the dark
form slowly turned round; — it was the
Lady of Wolf hamscote ; — and the ex-
clamation expired ou his lips as he ob-
served the awful change in those beauti-
ful features.
Fixed as marble; and as coldly lovely
as if she had come fresh from the sculp-
tor's hands, her features no more resem-
bled the radiant roseate Divinity of tiie
bower, than a sepulchre represents a
summer-hall. Her eyes were almost
wild in the intensity of their glare, and
her voice, when she spoke, which she did
immediately, seemed to have borrowed
tiic deep hoarse echoes of the stormy
building in which they stood.
(Concluded at page 273. J
NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS.
Ayesha, the Maid of Kars.
[The following whimsical scene is ex-
tracted from " Ayesha, the Maid of
Kars," the oriental novel, by Morier, the
author of Hajji Baba. The chattels that
have so excited the fear and wonder of
the Turks are the property of an English
traveller, who has been obliged to fly in
haste, having incurred the wrath of the
Mussulmans, by gaining an interview
with a young and lovely Turkish female.]
EXAMINATION OF
AN ENGLISH traveller's GOODS.
First, the contents of the portmanteau
were exhibited. It principally contained
Osmond's clothes. In succession were
displayed waistcoats, neckcloths, shirts,
drawers, and stockings, which drew forth
the astonishment of all present, for they
wondered what one man could possibly
want with so many things, the uses of most
of which were to them incomprehensible.
They admired the glittering beauty
of a splendid uniform-jacket, which its
owner carried about to wear on appearing
at courts and in the presence of exalted
personages ; but when they came to in-
spect a pair of leather pantaloons, the
ingenuity of the most learned among
them could not devise for what purpose
they could possibly be used. For, let it
be known, that a Turk's trousers, when
extended, look like the largest of sacks
used by millers, with a hole at each cor-
ner for the insertion of the legs, and,
when drawn together and tied in front,
generally extend to the ancles. Will it
then be thought extraordinary that the
comprehension of the present company
was at fault as to the pantaloons? They
were turned about In all directions, Inside
and out, before and behind. The mufti
submitted that they might perhaps be an
article of dress, and he called upon a
bearded chokadar, who stood by wrapt io
doubt and astonishment, to try them on.
The view which the mufti took of them
was, that tliey were to be worn as a head-
dress, and accordingly that part which
tailors call the seat, was fitted over the
turban of the chokadar, while the legs
fell in serpent-like folds down the grave
man's back and shoulders, making him
look like Hercules with the lion's skin
thrown over his head.
" Barakallali ! — praise be to Allah!"
said the mufti, " I have found it ; per-
haps this is the dress of an English pasha
of two tails!"
*' Aferin ! — well done'"' cried all the
THE PARTERRE.
21)7
ailliercnls of the law. But the pasha was
vf another opinion ; ho viewcii the pan-
taloons in a totally ilillLrcnt light, inNpeet-
ing them with the eve of one who thou{jlit
upon the good things of which he w;ls
fontl. " For what else can this Ik- used,"
exclaimed the chief, his dull eye brighten-
ing up as he spoke — " what else, but for
wine? This is |)erhaps the skin of some
European animal. Franks drink wine,
anil they carry it about in skins, as our
inlidels do. Is it not so?" said he, ad-
dressing himself to liogos the Armenian.
" So it is,'' answered the dyer, " it is
even as your highness h;is commanded."
" Well, then, this skin has contained
wine,'' continued the jiasha, j)lea-sed with
the discovery, "and, by the blessing of
Allah ! it shall serve us again.'' " Here,"
said he, to one of his servants, " here, take
this, let the saka sew up the holes, and let
it be well tilled; instead of wine it shall
hold water."
In a few days after, the pantaloons
were seen pariuiing the town on a water-
carrier's back, doing the duty of mesheks.
Llut it w;ls secretly reported that, not long
after, they were converted to the use for
which the p;usha intended them, and
actually were appointed for the convey-
ance of his highness' favourite wine. In
the lid of the i>ortmanteau w.-is discovered
a boot-jack, with a pair of steel lx)ot-
books. These articles put the ingenuity
of the Turks to a still greater test. How
tould they possibly devise that so com-
plicated a piece of machinery could, by
any stretch of imagination, have any
thing in common with a pair of boots, u
part of dress which they pull oiF and on
with as much ease as one inserts and re-
inserts a mop into a bucket ? They
thought it might have something to do
with necromancy, then with astrology,
but at lengtfi it struck them that the
whole machine must be one for the pur-
pose of torture ; what more convenient
than the hinges for squeezing the thumb,
or cracking the fmger-joints — what better
adapted than the Ixxitluxiks for scooping
out eyes? Such they decided it to be,
and, in order to confirm the conclusion
iH-yond a doubt, the pasha ordered his
favourite scribe to insert his fmger be-
Iween the liinges of the boot-jack, which
having done with ri'|)tignance, he w.ls
rewarded for his complaisance by as efli-
cacioux a pinch as lie could wish, while
]icals of laughter went round at his
expefise. The instrument wits then given
in the chief executioner, with orders to
keep it in re.idine.vs for the lii'.l occasion.
The various cuiilcnLs of the drc!>.sinjj-
case were next brought under exaniina-
tion. Every one was on the look-out for
something agreeable to the j)alate, the
moment they saw the numerous bottles
with which it was studded. One t:istcd
eau-de-cologne, another laTcnder-water,
both which they thought might or might
not be Frank luxuries in the way of
cordials. Itiit who can describe the face
which was made by the pasha himself
when, attracted by the brilliancy of the
colour, he tossed oil' to his own drinkiuj;
tlie greater part of a bottle of tincture of
myrrh ! The mufti was a man who
never laughed, but even he, on seeing the
contortions of his colle.igue, could not
supi)ress his merriment ; while the menials
around were obliged to look down, their
feet reminding them of the countenance
they ought to keep if they hoped to keep
themselves free from the stick. While
this was taking jilace, the imam of the
mosque, whose mortified looks Ix'lied his
love of good things, c|uietly abstracted
from the case a silver-mounted box,
which having opened, he there discovered
a [laste-like substance, the smell of which
he thought was tot) inviting to resist; he
therefore inserted therein the end of his
fore-finger, and scooping out as much as
he could carry, straightway opened wide
his mouth, and received it with a smack.
Soon was he visited by repentance : he
would have ro.ired with nausea had he
not been afraid of exposing himself —
he sputtered — he spat. " \\'hat has hap-
pened ?" said one with a grin. " IJak !
see ! " roared the pasha, who was de-
lighted to liave found a fellow-suU'erer —
" I3ak ! see! the imam is sick." The
nature of the substance which he had
guljjcd soon discovered itself by the white
foam which was seen to issue from his
mouth ; then other feelings pervadetl the
assembly ; they ajiprehended a fit, they
feared madness — in short, such w;is the
state to Mliich the unfoi Innate priest Wiis
leduced, that he Wiis ol)liged to make a
rapid escape from the assembly, every one
making way for him, as one who was not
to be touched. The reader need not Ihj
informed that he had swallowed a large
dose of Naples soap.
Many were the mistakes which occurred
besiijes those abovementioneil, and which
it would jierhaps be tedious or trilling to
enumerate. They ponilereil deeply over
every article; they turned the biM)ks
U|)side down, they spilt the mercury frt)m
the artificial horizon, broke the ther-
inometers, displacetl the liaromefcr, sc«t-
ti'ied the nialhematical inslrunienis alH)ut,
so th.it tliey never coid<l In leniseilcd in
268
THE PiiRTERRE.
the same case. A small ivory box at-
tracted their attention : it was so prettily
turned, so neat, and so ornamental, that,
like children quarrelling for a toy, each
of them longed to possess it. At length
it was ceded to the mufti. This sapient
personage had enjoyed the pleasure of
laughing at others, but as yet had not
been laughed at himself. Twisting the
box in all directions, at length he un-
screwed it, much to his satisfaction, and
seeing a small tube within, surrounded
by a bundle of diminutive sticks, he con-
cluded this must be the Frank's inkstand
— the liquid in the tube being the ink,
the sticks the pens. He was not long in
inserting one of the sticks into the tube ;
he drew it out, and, on a sudden, instan-
taneous light burst forth. Who can
describe the terror of the Turk ? He
threw the whole from him, as if he had
discovered that he had been dandling the
shaitan in person. " Ai Allah!" he ex-
claimed, with eyes starting from his head,
his mouth open, his hands clinging to the
cushions, his whole body thrown back ;
" Allah protect me ! Allah, Allah, there
is but one Allah !" he exclaimed in terror,
looking at the little box and the little
sticks strewn on the ground before him,
with an expressionof fear that sufficiently
spoke his apprehension that it contained
some devilry which might burst out and
overwhelm him with destruction. Nor
were the surrounding Turks slow in
catching his feelings ; they had seen the
ignition, and had partaken of the shock.
Every one drew back from the box and
its contents, and made a circle round it ;
looking at it in silence, and waiting the
result with terror; low " Allah Allahs !"
broke from the audience, and few were
inclined to laugh. At length, seeing
that it remained stationary, the ludicrous
situation of the mufti began to draw
attention, and as he was an object of
general dislike, every one who could do
so with safety, indulged in laughing at
him. The grave Suleiman, who had
seen more of Franks than the others, at
length ventured to take up the box,
though with great wariness : he was
entreated, in the name of the prophet !
to put it down again by the pasha, who
then ordered Bogos the Armenian to take
up the whole machine, sticks and all, and
at his peril instantly to go and throw it
into the river ; swearing by the Koran,
and by all the imams, that if the d
ever appeared among them again, he
would put not only him, but every Arme-
nian and Christian in Kars to death.
Memoirs of John Makston Hall.
The following admirable and highly
wrought description of a mortal contest
is taken from the last novel of Mr.
James, the author of Richelieu, Philip
Augustus, &c. &c. ; upon whom the
mantle of Scott is admitted, by all judi-
cious critics, to have fallen. The novel
in question is entitled " The Memoirs of
John Marston Hall ; " the hero is that
same adventurous youth so forcibly
sketched in Mr. James's last preceding
work, Henry Masterton, under the
quaint but expressive nick-name of
" Ball-of-Fire."
To a sufficient understanding of the
extract, it is only necessary to state that
the combatants, the Duke de Villardin
and the Count de Mesnil, had been
friends for years, and that a mortal
affront had been put upon the former by
his antagonist.
THE DUEL.
I immediately obeyed, and choosing one
of the grooms who was my more especial
favourite in the family, I gave him the
papers, with injunctions to use all speed
and diligence. I then returned to the
library, and found that the duke had
just concluded a billet, on which he
wrote the address of the Count de Mes-
nil, and after drawing a small cord of
floss silk across the folds, he sealed the
ligature at both ends, and put the note
into my hands: — "You will take that,"
he said with a calm smile, " to our good
friend the Count de Mesnil ; but do not
go till after breakfast, nor let it seem,
by your manner, that there is anything
extraordinary in your mission : for, to
my taste, things of this kind had better
always be conducted as quietly as possi-
ble. Deliver it into the count's own
hand, when you have reached his dwell-
ing, and bring me back his reply."
Of course I very well understood that
I was charged with one of those cartels
of mortal defiance which were then so
common in every country in Europe.
The matter certainly was nothing new to
me, for many a trifling dispute had I
seen brought to the arbitrement of the
sword, when I followed the camp of the
cavaliers ; but it did seem strange to me
that the duke so far departed from the
general customs of the day, as to send
his defiance by a page, instead of some
man equal in rank and station to the
person for whom it was intended. I
found afterwards, however, that his irri-
table fear of ridicule, which was the next
prominent characteristic of his mind to
THE PARTERRE.
269
its susceptibility of the slightest suspi-
cion, was tlie cause of anything tliat
appeared irregular in his method of pro-
ceeding. However that might be, of
course I did not object to the task,
though it seemed to me doubtful how,
Wonsiour de Mesnil would receive such
a cartel from a page, and what might be
his treatment of the bearer. I*erst)nal
risL seldom entered into my calculation
in these matters, and I ordered my liorse
to be ready afler breakfiist, and a groom
to be prepared to accompany me, as
gaily as if 1 had been going upon an
errand of pleasure. Before setting out,
howevi-r, I had an opportunity of seeing
the behaviour of the duke towards his
wife, and it, I confess, was the first thing
that gave me any pain in the business.
It was so gentle, so artectionate, so
ditFerent from what it had been on former
occasions, that, as the thought flashed
across my mind, that the first day of
such tenderness might be the last of his
life, I would have given more than all I
had in the world to pre^'ent the proposed
encounter taking place. To do so was,
of course, impossible ; and accordingly,
after breakfiist I mounted my horse, and
rode away for IMesnil Moray, the dwell-
ing of ^lonsieur de Villardin's adver-
sary.
Though 1 was a little gloomy when I
set out, old habits soon got the better of
new feelings, and I readily brought my-
self to look upon the afl'air altogether as
one of those matters which every man
must undertake, at least, a bimdred times
in the course of his life. " Monsieur de
Villardin," 1 thought, " will fight fifty
more, I hope, before he hits done with
the sword," and with this consolatory
reflection I cantered on as fast as I
could. Somewhat less than an hour
brought me to the gates of the chateau ;
and, on demaiuiing to sec Monsieur de
Mesnil, I was instantly admitted to his
presence. I tiiought he turned rather
pale when he siiw me, but it might be
merely imaginary ; and certiiinly,
throughout the wiiole, he behaved like
a man of honour and courage. He took
the billet, and, cutting the silk, read it
attentively, with a slight frown knitting
his brows. He then asked me in a calm
toiU', " Do you know the conteius of
this note, young man ? '
'I'lie question pu/./led me a little ; for
though 1 strotigly suHj)ecled the general
nature of what the billet contained, yet
I knew none of the particulars, and could
not even Inr sure of that which I ima-
gined. I answered, therefore, that " I did
not ;" and the count rejoineil, throwing
the note into the fire, " Wtll, then, as
Monsieur de \'illardin hiis been kind
enough to send me an unceremonious re-
quest, I will send him an unceremonious
reply. Tell him I will .accept his invi-
tation, with all its particulius, and that I
iuu his very obedient servant. You may
add, I would have written, but that 1
hiive a great dciU to do between this and
night."
Charged with this ambiguous message,
I returned to the I'res ValUe, and found
Monsieur de Villardin playing with his
little girl, while Madame dt- Villardin
was in her own chamber, preparing to go
out with him for a walk.
*' Have you brought any note?" he
asked me immediately, taking advantage
of his wife's absence, to inquire the re-
sult of my embassy in private. I replied,
that I had only recei\ed a veri)al answer :
upon which he formed a pretext to send
away the little girl, and luade me give
hiiu a detailed account of all that had oc-
curred.
" Wtll, well," he said, as I coiuluded,
"it is all well. Be prepared to go witli
me at six o'clock to-night, and get a spade
and pick-axe privately from the garden."
I did not well know what to anticipate
from these directions, for it was then in
the early part of spring, and at six o'clock
the evening was too fiir advaiu'cd to iif-
ford atiy thing like suflicient light for a
fair single coiubat. Nevertheless, I had,
of course, nothing to do but to obey ;
and, slipping out about half-past five, I
got the tools from the garden ; and after
jilacing them in a spot where they were
not likely to be observed, I returned to
tlie library, where 1 wius soon joined by
Monsieur de Villardin. His hat and
cloak were already there, and I was just
aiding him to put them on, when the
groom, who had been despatched to
Uennes, returned with a iu)tary and the
pa))ers prei)ared for signature. By tlie
calm way with which Monsieur de \'il-
lardin took this interruption, called for
lights, heard the papers read, and went
through iill the necessary formalities for
investing me with the ))roperty which he
had bestowed upon me, I easily divineil
that he hiid no fixed appointment for that
hour, iuid began to suspect the real ob-
ject of his expedition. When idl wus
concluded, and the notary sent back un-
der a safe escort, he bade me folloiv him.
We thus issued forth in the dusk ; and
having furnislie<l ourselves with tliespndc
and pick-axe, priK-eeded a sliorl distance
on the road towards Rennet.
270
THE PARTERRE,
" Now, my young friend," he said at
length, " I must trust to your guidance.
I have heard that you never forget spot,
person, or thing, that you have once seen.
Do you think you can now lead me to
the tree under which Monsieur de Mes-
nil's horse was tied, when you passed
yesterday morning?"
" I think I can," I replied, " and cer-
tainly, if not to the precise tree, I can
lead you to the one next to it ; for there
were but two or three together, and I
know the clump well."
When we reached the neighbourhood
of the spot, the various objects around at
once recalled to my remembrance which
was the tree I sought ; and, having ap-
proached it, Monsieur de Villardin mea-
sured out a space of ground beneath its
branches about six feet by three, and
causing me to remove the turf in one
piece, we both set vigorously to work,
and with pick-axe and spade, soon hol-
lowed out a sufficient trench to contain
the body of a man. " If I fall," he said,
when we had concluded our work, " let
it be remembered, that I wish this to be
my grave. If I survive I will direct you
what to do."
Before leaving the spot, he caused me
to carry about a dozen shovelsful of the
earth away, and cast them into the river,
which flowed at the distance of three or
four hundred yards. We then placed
the tools in the grave, and returned to
the chateau, Monsieur de Villardin di-
recting me previously to be up by five
the next morning, to saddle his horse
with my own hands, and, leaving it pre-
pared in the stable, to go on to the spot
wliere we had been working, and wait
there for his coming.
The coolness with which he set about
all his proceedings, and my knowledge of
his skill as a swordsman, made me feel
very confident that the issue of the com-
bat would be in his favour, although his
adversary was his junior by neapi twenty
years. I had seen so much of such affairs
too, that I could generally form a very
good guess in regard to the result ; and,
from all I had observed of Monsieur de
Villardin's conduct during the day, I
went to bed with very little fear for his
safety the next morning. I was up at the
time prescribed, saddled the horse as well
as I could in utter darkness, and then
walked away to the tree, which I reached
just as the first faint gray of the morning
began to mingle with the blackness of
night.
When I had waited there about a quar-
ter of an hour, I heard the sound of a
horse's feet, and, a moment after, per-
ceived Monsieur de Villardin, who sprang
to the ground, and giving me his rein
to hold, only remarked that it was dark-
er than he had expected, although by
»this time the dawn had made consider-
able progress. In about five minutes
after, which he spent in selecting a piece
of firm, dry turf, unencumbered by trees,
and fitted, as far as possible, for the sort
of morning's amusement in which he was
going to exercise himself, the sound of
another horse's feet was heard, and we
were soon joined by the Count de Mesnil.
He was quite alone ; and, dismounting
at a little distance, he bowed coldly to
Monsieur de Villardin, saying, " As you
requested, sir, I have come alone. You,
I see, have brought your page."
" I did so, sir," replied the duke, " in
the first place, that he might hold our
horses ; in the next, that he might aid
the survivor in filling up yon trench,"
and he pointed to the grave. " He is a
boy of honour and of birth," he added,
" and you may trust him fully ; but if you
desire it, I will order him to withdraw."
" Not on my account," replied Mon-
sieur de Mesnil; "I am just as well
pleased that he should be present ; though
I must say, that I think the Duke de
Villardin might have found some fitter
person than a page to carry his cartel to
the Count de Mesnil."
" I have chosen the method of proceed-
ing I have followed. Monsieur de Mesnil,
not only because I think these things be-
tween brave men had better always be done
as quietly as possible, but also, because I
judged it unnecessary that many witnesses
should hear me tell you, as I now do,
that I look upon you as a villain, a hypo-
crite, and a traitor, devoid of every good
feeling but the brute quality of courage !"
" Enough, enough, sir," cried the
Count de Mesnil : " the fewer of such
words as well as the fewer witnesses the
better. Where do you take your ground ?"
He then gave me his horse's rein, and
Monsieur de Villardin led him to the spot
which he had chosen, made him examine
it accurately to see that there was no in-
equality or artifice, and then, drawing
his sword, caused his adversary to mea-
sure it with the blade of his own, which
proved to be nearly an inch longer. On
perceiving this difference, the count de-
clared that he was perfectly willing to
wait, if Monsieur de Villardin thought
fit to send to the castle for a more equal
weapon ; but the duke replied, that he
was quite contented with the sword he
had ; and throwing away his cloak, hat
THE TARTERRE.
•271
and coat, took his ground, and put liim-
sc'lf in a posture ot" ilctcnce.
Tlie Count de Mesnil prepared for the
combat more slowly. He certainly evinc-
ed no fear ; but there were two or three
slight traits that I remarked in his con-
duct, which induced me to behove that,
either from the consciousness of having
wronged his friend, or from feeling him-
self inferior in skill and dexterity, he
advanced not to the encounter with the
same confidence as that wliich appeared
in the whole demeanour of Monsieur de
Villardin. When the duke had first re-
ferred to the grave whicii we had dug the
night before, and pointed it out with his
hand, the eye of the young count strained
eageriv upon it for a moment, and it was
evident that the anticipations the sight
naturally called up were felt bitterly.
He was pale, too, and though he spoke
firmly and calmly, I perceived that there
was a difficulty in unfastening his cloak,
and all the other little preparations,
which spoke a mind intensely occupied
with other thoughts. I observed, also,
and it seemed somewhat strange, that
he in no degree referred to the cause of
his present hostile opposition to a man
who had been so lately his friend ; and
indeed it seemed that the few short lines
which Monsieur de Villardin had written
had been quite sufficient to exjjlain all,
and to make him feel that amity was
changed for ever into unquenchable hate
between them.
At length all was prepared, and the
swords of the two combatants crossed.
After a few parades on either part, which
served no purpose i)Ut to let each know
the skill and peculiar mode of fencing of
his adversary, the assault assumed a more
seriuu.s character ; but still it appeared
that both wished to maintain the defen-
sive, and I plainly saw that, more than
once, the duke could have wounded or
disarmed his opponent, had he thought
fit. In a short time, however, the Count
de .Mesnil, who was of a hasty and pas-
sionate disposition, and not so old a sol-
dier as Monsieur de Villardin, became
heated in the encounter, and pressed his
ant.-igonist hard, still keejiing a wary
hand and eye, but evidently becoming
more and more vehement at each pass.
At length, in a furious lunge, by not
keeping his right foot (piile straight, and
jirobahly more accustomed to the s;dli'
d'armes than the greensward, he slipped,
and came upon his knee, perfectly at llic
niercy of his adversary. .Monsieur de
Villardin immediately dropped the point
of his sword, and bade him rise.
" 1 do not take advantage of an acci-
dent, sir," he s;iid.
The count rose, with downcast eyes
and a burning cheek, and replied, after
a moment's pause, " I cannot, of course,
afler this act of generosity, think — ''
" If, sir,'' said Monsieur de \'illardin,
cutting him short, "you are contented to
go forth into the world again, as one who
bears the name of villain, and hypocrite,
anil scoundrel — and, I shall then add,
coward — mount your horse and begone :
if not, resume your place."
The count's eyes Hashed, and the com-
bat was instantly renewed, but this time
with a different result. At the end of
four or five passes, with a movement so
rapid that I could scarcely see how it was
eH'ected, though it may be believed I was
an eager spectator, IVIonsieur de X'illardin
parried a lunge of his adversary in such
a manner as to leave the whole of the
count's person open. He then lunged in
return, and the next moment the Count
dc Mesnil was lying prostrate on the turf.
At a sign from the duke, I threw the
bridles of the horses over a low hough,
and ran up to the spot. The fallen man
by that time had raised himself upon one
arm, and with the other hand seemed
grasping at the blades of grass; but he
spoke not, and his head drooping forward,
concealed his countenance. "Shall I
bring water ?" I said ; but, ere time w.as
given for an answer, the strength whicli
iiad enabled him to raise himself so far,
passed away, and with a single groan he
fell back upon the ground and expired.
We stood and gazed upon his still, pale
countenance for several minutes; but it
was very evident, from the first look,
that Ills career w.-ls at an end ; and, afier
a pause, the duke Ix-'Ut over him and
oi)eiied his vest. Scarcely a drop of
blood had flowed from the wound which
caused his death, although from the di-
rection it had taken, it seemed to me
that it must have pierced his heart.
" It is over!" said Monsieur de \'il-
lardin-"it is over! Yet, put your
hand upon his heart, my boy ; see if it
)eats.
As I opened his shirt to do so, there
dropi)ed out a locket, whicli was sus-
pended from his neck by a blue riblxjn,
and which contained a single lock of
dark hair. As soon as he sjiw it, the
duke caught it up, and unf.istening the
rUAnm, gazed upon the hair for a mi»-
nient or two, with an eager look. It
was eertalidy tlie colour, to a very shade,
of that of Madame de Villardin ; and I
instantly saw tliat the demon had token
272
THE PARTERRE.
possession of licv husband once more.
After gazing at the locket for several
minutes, he put it by, and then asked
me, sternly, if the man were dead.
I replied, that he certainly was, as far
as I could discover.
" Then now to our next task," said the
duke : " bring me yon mantle and coat."
I immediately obeyed, and bringing
forward the clothes of the unhappy
count, I aided in wrapping the body
therein ; and then taking the feet, while
the duke raised the head, we bore the
corpse to the grave that we had dug, and
laid it there, without prayer or benedic-
tion. We next placed the hat and sword
of the deceased in the earth along with
him ; and then, as fast as possible, filled
up the pit with mould. Notwithstanding
the quantity of earth I had removed the
night before, there was still more than
enough to fill up the grave to the level
of the other ground, and 1 had four or
five shovelsful more to carry down and
cast into the river. When that was
done, however, and the last spadeful had
been disposed of, we laid the turf down
again over the spot ; and so carefully had
it been removed, that, though the ground
was a little raised, it required some ex-
amination to discover where the aperture
had been made.
" A few showers of rain," said the
duke, as he gazed upon the grave, " will
remove every trace."
I replied nothing, but I thought that
the rain of many years would never re-
move the traces of that morning's work
from his heart or from my memory. In
regard to the ground, however, I enter-
tained no apprehension of its ever being
discovered. The young count himself,
in tying his horse to that tree, when he
came on his furtive and evil visit to the
dwelling of his friend, had of course se-
lected one of the most retired spots that
he could find ; and it was only the acci-
dental circumstance of my cutting across
from the particular point of the high
road where I had left Monsieur de Vil-
lardin on the way to Rennes, that had
caused me to discover the charger in that
situation. In that spot, too, the turf
was short, and the grass anything but
luxuriant ; so that the shepherds were
not likely to lead their flocks thither, at
least till the year was more advanced, by
which time all traces of the grave would
be effaced. The only thing now to dis-
pose of was the horse ; and after examin-
ing the ground carefully, in order to
ascertain that nothing of any kind had
been dropped or forgotten, the duke
directed me to lead the animal some dis-
tance in the way to the count's own
dwelling, and then turn him loose.
I did as he bade me, leaving Monsieur
de Villardin to return to the castle alone ;
and taking the horse by the bridle, I
brought it to the vicinity of the road
whicli led to Mesnil Moray, at a spot
about half a mile from the bridge which
crosses the Vilaine. There I gave it the
rein ; and, though It had followed as
quietly as possible up to that moment,
no sooner did it find itself free, than it
darted away as if it had suddenly become
mad. It sprang at once over a fence,
and crossed the high road, taking the di-
rection of its lord's dwelling, without
any regard to ' path . I climbed up a
neighbouring bank to watch its course
for an instant ; and, to my surprise, saw
it plunge into the river, and, after sink-
ing down from the force with which it
darted in, rise up again, swim the stream,
spring up the bank, and gallop away
across the fields.
There was something awful in the
sight ; and I could not help thinking, as
the noble horse bounded away, that there
was a living witness of the bloody scene
in which I had just taken part, that,
could he find voice, would soon call the
friends of his fallen lord to avenge his
death.
NEW INVENTION— THE CART
BEFORE THE HORSE.
In the month of May 1834, there was
seen in the streets of Manheim a horse
pushing before him a carriage, guided
with much address by Baron Drais, the
author of this new invention, which is
attended with great advantages: 1. the
horse cannot run away ; 2. the carriage
is not exposed to the dust and dirt gene-
rally thrown up by the horse; 3. the
prospect is not interrupted by the coach-
man and the horse; 4. the conversation
of the travellers cannot be heard by the
coachman ; 5. the travellers are not in-
commoded by the fumes of the tobacco,
etc. Tlie coach -box will be placed on
the roof of the carriage, behind, and by
means of a looking-glass the driver is
able to guide the vehicle. This inven-
tion is applicable to carriages drawn by
four horses. Baron Drais also exhibited
his machine called Draisianne Velocipede,
greatly improved, which gave entire satis-
faction.
Tin: I'AKTRKKi:.
•'7<
rage 27.S.
The lady of WOLFHAMSCOTE.
I3r Horace Guilford.
(Concluded J.
" I am late," said the voice, " and
duul)t, keoncr th;m hunger, must have
fixed his fiing on your young heart ;
but I might not come earlier."
Ere Orlando could resjiire frcMU his
bewilderment. Lady Tracy had placed
provisions on the table ; and kIic had
even stooped to kindle the fagots, ere
starting from his trance, Lord Lovel
sprang furward, and prevented her in that
degrading office.
Ah the curling flame gleamed an<l
brandihlied up the arched cliiiuney, and
the stnoky wood hissed and crackled,
Orlojxlu arose ftom his stooping attitude,
and l>eheld the mournful llyacintli re-
garding fiim willi an undetinexl expres-
sion, in whicfi liorror, grief, pity — ho
durst not tJiink — Uti-e strangely strove
together.
" Y<iu bring tne evil tidings, lady ?"
" No tidings are evil to the innocent,
or the de.nperate ! Vou are tu-Ulwr, and
I am hoth ; and yot you may endure to
hear what I have not fortitude to speak !'*
" I am not then, I fear, the only mi-
serable ?"
" Be satisfied, you arc not ! I am the
most devotedly wretched ; but stay,
you will need it :" and she poured out a
goblet of wine whL»h the young man,
aghast, and hardly conscious of the act,
swallowed hastily ; then l.'iking a sparing
draught herself, she s;ite tlown, and mo-
tioned tile Lord Lovel to a heavy peaked
arm-chair opposite her.
" Vou are a homicide, my Lord!"
Orlando groaned.
" J'he man is dead whom your pcfro-
nel struck."
" Alas !"
" I'eace, pence ' ti>r yonder hurricane
sliould be hushed as a summer noon
to hear my words ! Tliat man was .Sir
Marmaduki- Trary — was my husband!"
'I'lie Lord ol" Lovel, if that moment an
arrow had ipiivcn-d in his bosom, could
nf)t iiave leapt from his seat «illi more
convulsive agony than the last woidn
of Lady Tracy inflicted.
274
THE PARTERRE.
" Your Imsband ? Merciful powers !
Sir Marmaduke Tracy slain ? and by
me — me, who but for him ."
Thus far in low, half suffocated ac-
cents, the miserable Orlando gasped
forth his horror ; but here his voice
swelled out in that tremendous ecstasy
of grief, which scripture so pathetically
calls 'an exceeding bitter cry,' "Oh! I
have slain mine own soul !" and he dashed
himself on the floor in a paroxysm of
anguish, which he neither attempted to
govern or conceal.
Lady Hyacinth sate silent, and appa-
rently unmoved ; for the light was behind
her, and, while it flashed full on the
writhing features and heaving limbs of
Lovel, completely concealed any emotion
her countenance might have betrayed ;
but the quivering vibration of the outline
of her dress, thrown forward in strong
relief from the lamp, declared sufficiently
that her agitation was only less powerful
than the effort which controlled it. She
spoke in low broken tones, as if, uncon-
scious of speech, she thought aloud.
" Poor youth ! how strong is that
sorrow ! What, Hyacinth should be
thine ? His wild deed was innocence,
compared to thy wilder will ! And yet
I do not grieve, I cannot grieve. What
hinders my tears from flowing like his ?
My groans from drowning his in their
wilder agony ? Is it horror ? — is it ?
Down, down, insulting fiend ! — cease at
least those hellish whispers ; and if thou
darest arise, accuse me to my face, and I
will confront thee, and dash back the
lie, black as superstition ever painted
thee!"
Lady Tracy rose from her chair, and
turning full upon the light of the red
and umbered fire, stood like some Amazon
of old, challenging the adversary she
dreaded, yet defied. Her brow was ele-
vated, her cheek burnt, her lips trembled
with energy — and the preternatural lustre
of her eye — it was a fever to look on it !
Even Orlando paused in his passion,
and for the moment, forgot his own
remorse in the extraordinary expression
and appalling excitement of the meta-
morphosed Hyacinth.
Rising from the disordered rushes, as
if ashamed of his boyish exposure, he
approached the poor distempered lady,
and addressed her in accents of the most
respectful commiseration ; — tears in des-
pite of all his resolution rolling down
his youthful cheeks, at every syllable he
spoke.
" Oh lady !" he said, taking her passive
hand in his, " What words are these ? —
let me not, overwhelmed with guilt as I
feel myself, oh ! let me not suffer the
additional misery of having, by one rash
act, destroyed life and unthroned reason !
Hear me !" continued Lord Lovel, fall-
on his knees, "The crime is committed
for which life, be it brief or long, will to
my last hour be a burden ! Take pity
then, both on me and on yourself. Sur-
render me to my pursuers, they will
relieve me of my abhorred existence; and
you will have the satisfaction of having
punished (the word will out!), the as-
sassin of your husband !"
Motionless, breathless, stood the Lady
of Wolfhamscote ; all her passion was
gone; — all its fierceness at least had
vanished ; and, as she looked down on
the kneeling youth, the noble ingenuous-
ness of whose grief needed not his sup-
pliant posture, his generous sentiments,
and his uncommon beauty, as auxiliaries
— language must fail of depicting the
angelic, no ! the womanly charm of her
enchanting aspect. She gazed, she hung
upon Orlando's upturned features with
fond admiration ; but so chastised with
grief, so softened by compassion, that a
saint might have worn her look without
a blush. At length, large heavy drops
rained slowly from those intense eyes of
light ; and as she turned away her head,
without releasing her hand, she spoke in
broken hurried tones, panting and palpi-
tating, as if every sentence was to be
her last.
" Spare me, my Lord ! spare me !
while I hear you I tremble ; while I
look on you I am mad ; but not with
hatred, but not from revenge ! The past
is past — duty would forbid my adding to
bloodshed, — duty I say, — but no matter!
your life will not recall his. Speak not I
Have I not said I dare not hear you !"
The wretched Hyacinth spoke the last
words almost in a scream ; and extricating
her hand, walked to the farther end of
the room.
Lord Orlando arose, and stood respect-
fully apart, with the air of one resolved
to take the slightest manifestation of her
will for his law ; and with the quick eye
of female penetration, the Lady of Wolf-
hamscote observed this.
At length young Lovel again broke
the silence.
" Since the Lady Tracy shuns to
inflict the punishment my ingratitude
has provoked, it rests with myself to
relieve her of so hateful a presence. I
will myself court the award of justice."
" You speak well, young Lord ! your
presence should be more hateful than
THE PAUTERUE.
out alas ! You know not — and
wlierefore should you know? ay, where-
fore should I own it to myself? — un-
happy marksman, — that your aim was not
so fatal to Sir Marmaduke's life, as your
presence to his widow's honour !"
Lord Lo\el looked absolutely .ighasi
for some moments ; but soon recollecting
himself, answered with somewhat of
melancholy pride, in his deep faltering
voice —
" A lady's honour was never perilled
yet by Orlando Lovel !"
" 1 told you before, and I say it again,"'
exclaimed Hyacinth, almost fiercely,
" that if you stand and look and speak
thus, 1 shall be jnad ! and oh ! when 1
am mad, pity me Orlando ; if I rave,
pity me, Lord Lovel, for it is thy deed !"
She sunk on a chair, and veiling her
eyes with her white hand, concealed the
flood of tears she shed, till her low soft
sobbing betrayed them.
Orlando v/as now harrowed with the
conviction that the lamentable lady's
reason was shaken from its poise : once
more he aiiproaclied her, and placing his
hand on the peaked back of the chair she
occupied, once more he bent over her, and
breathed softly the kindest and gentlest
expressions of compunction and sympa-
thy, in tones that trembled with honest
emotion.
The Lady of Wolfhamscote listened
with a shudder and a moan, but still she
listened ; wliile her bosom heaved, and
her frame trembled, till her drapery
shook as in a breeze. It was like evil
spirits revelling in a temple.
At length she raised her stately head,
and with assumed severity, she began : —
" When Lord Lovel deems he has seen
sufficient of Hyacinth Tracy's weakness
and folly, he will perhaps comply with
her request, so natural in such circum-
stances, and forbear tc make her sorrows
more poignant by his vain words !"
With a piteous sigh, and an air of sub-
dued dejection, poor Orlando withdrew
his hand from tlie chair-back, and was
(juietly turning away ; but Hyacinth's
light grasp already trembled on his mus-
cular arm, and with a sudden revulsion of
feeling, she said,
" Nay, nay ! let me not be unjust ;
and thou, unha]>py youth ! com|)a.s-
iiionate one more wretched than thyself;
I know I ought to say, ' Go ! and give
life for life' — Ihitie for my hiisbaml'i — but
I can only feel, why should thy young
blood be jioured glowing from thy veins,
upon that which is already cold as the
earth it hath discoloured ?"
The lady paused, conquered by won-
derful effort her struggling emotion, and
then resumed —
" You must perforce abide patiently
/lerr, till such time as 1 can fmd tlie means
of conveying you safely to the king's
encampment at ; meanwhile, it is
not for me to extenuate the deed which
hath bereaved me ; but I cannot see your
heart breaking witli remorse, nor remind
you that this wretched rashness was
in some sort self defence ; and that it
was Ignorance which aimed at my poor
husband. Farewell ; — 1 will myself see
that you want nothing while you re-
main here ; but, as the onli/ satisfaction
you can make, grant me this earnest
request, that, whenever I visit this lair,
you will neither let me see your face nor
hear your voice ! "
Thus the Lady of Wolfhamscote
passed from the banquet-house, leaving
Orlando to calm his excited feelings, and
collect his scattered thoughts, as he best
might, by the red and sullen embers of
the decaying fire.
Several days passed away ; and each
found and left the luckless young noble-
man in all that prostration of spirit so
finely described in that chapter of terrors
the twenty-eighth of Deuteronomy.
" The Lord shall give thee a trembling
heart, and failing of eyes, and sorrow of
mind ; and thy life shall hang in doubt
before thee ; and thou shalt fear day and
night, and shalt have none assurance of
thy life : in the morning thou shalt say,
' Would God it were even ;' and at even,
thou shalt say, ' Would God it were
morning !' "
This was no transient ebullition of
remorse, but a deep al)iding and corroding
anguish, which acquired intensity from
time.
'J'hc unaccountable demeanour of the
Lady of Wolfhamscote. bitterly enhanced
his self-reproach ; since he, reasonably
enough, attributed her extravagancies to
a brain unsettled by the ungrateful blow
he had himself inllicted.
She visited him regularly every niglit,
with provisions an<l luel, invariable de-
posited her lamp on the landing, and
departed as she came, in darkness and in
silence.
What might this be but the fre.ik of a
disordered intellect? since, if the sight
and speech of Orlando was so distressing
to the lady herself, why did she not de-
pute Hright, the house steward, who by
lier owi\ account was in the si-cret ol the
purpose to which the banquet.,liouse wui
applied ?
•27G
THE rARTERUE.
And thus a weary week passed heavily
and mysteriously away.
One afternoon, as Lord Orlando was
sitting in even deeper despondence than
usual, watching the western rays of the
calm autumnal sun as they printed off
the lozenged panes of the great window,
with their treillage of creepers and the
fringy foliage of the yew upon the oppo-
site wall ; on a sudden, without a breath
of wind, the branches of the old tree
became violently agitated. At first,
Orlando, whose back was towards the
window, was too much absorbed in his
painful reverie to notice this phenome-
non : but even if the shadow that now
darkened the window, and the opening
of the creaking and ill fastened casement
had not attracted his attention — the
noise of a body, heavily alighting on the
floor behind him, could hardly fail of
arousing the moody dreamer.
He rose hastily, and turning round to
confront the intruder, beheld one whose
right to enter there either by door or
window was most assuredly indefeasible
— being no other than Sir Marmaduke
Tracy himself; a handsome athletic man,
somewhat beyond the middle age, and
wearing that costume in which Williams
so well knows how to depict the Par-
liamentary officer of rank.
A slight paleness sate on his features,
but by no means of that appalling nature
which would entitle him to drag a chain,
shake a torch, or undraw the bedcurtains
at midnight in the galleries and cham-
bers of Wolf hamscote Hall.
"So far well sped!" was his first
exclamation when he had taken breath,
" and now, my Lord ! permit me to
welcome you at Ghost Castle ! If I am
a laggard, you must at any rate admit it
was your own fault that I was not here
earlier."
The young noble turned as white as a
woman would have done in similar cir-
cumstances, — then as red as the rampant
lion over the porch of the village hostel,
and, soon passing from one extreme to
another, he clapped his hands with boyish
glee and almost shouting —
" Now all the saints be praised ! his
blood is not on my hands!" he flung
himself on Sir Marmaduke's neck, and
sobbed like a child.
" Softly, my good youth I" said the
knight, gently disengaging himself — " or
it will be right soon : I have your token
of remembrance here" — pointing to his
left shoulder, "and shall carry it to my
ancestor's burying vault yonder : only
do me the fevour, I beseech you, to
remember, the next time you fall in with
our outposts, that we do not always carry
two lives under our belts I"
Sir Marmaduke then proceeded to
inform the relieved and delighted Lovel,
that his party on seeing him fall, had to
a man galloped off in various directions
in pursuit of the unknown assailant.
It was near a cottage on the border of
a wood ; and while he lay insensible,
from pain and loss of blood, he was found
by a peasant and carried into the hut,
where his wound was dressed and found
to be trifling, the bullet having perforated
the fleshy part of the shoulder without
injuring the bone.
The soldiers, however, carried tidings
of his death to Wolf hamscote Hall that
night.
" I had my reasons — fantastic ones
perhaps," continued Sir Marmaduke, for
encouraging a short time the report of
my death. Accordingly, when my men
returned from Wolf hamscote, where they
had sown the intelligence that I was
slain, and reaped the information of my
slayer having taken refuge in my own
mansion, I contented myself with dis-
patching them to head-quarters, notifying
that I was prevented by a slight wound
from joining for some days. I believe it
was nothing more than the whim partly
of beholding how my belle dame endured
the death of her mate, and partly of dis-
covering how the fiery young lord sus-
tained his forced sojourn in Ghost Castle,
that led me to attempt a burglarious
entry into my own lair !"
" Generous Tracy!" said the young
nobleman, ardently grasping his hand,
" your goodness crushes me ! Is it
possible you can forgive the ingrate
who — "
"Possible! forgive! in sooth, my
lord, I believe it is not in heart of marble
to contemplate these dismal old walls, —
and then (pardon me) to glance at your
more dismal countenance, and still har-
bour resentment. Why, after such a.
penance, I think my very ghost must have
forgiven you !"
" Light has been my penance, and
ligliter now would be my heart," replied
Lord Lovel, " did I not too justly appre-^
hend that the mischievous consequences
of my rashness have not terminated with
your recovery : — the Lady Hyacinth — "
" What of Hyacinth ? what of Wolf-
hamscote's lady ?" impetuously and even
sternly interrupted the knight.
" The Lady Tracy — alafe I how will you
brook the aflSiction ?"
" Welcome affliction — but perish dis-
THE PARTERRE.
•Ill
honour. Speak forth, my Lord Level :
what has Lady Tracy done ? I looked
not for tliis stajxe-play at your lips I"
This was uttered witii a velienicnce
and fierceness that astonislied and per-
plexed the young lord almost as much as
the words themselves ; — ' dislwiiour 9 ' —
and 'what has Lady Tracy done?' — the
poor man was undoubteilly as mad as
his wife !
Such were the thoughts that flashed
upon Orlando, as he hastened with as
much delicacy as the fiery anxiety of the
husband would admit, to state his ajjiire-
hensions that this calamity had seriously
impaired Lady Hyacinth's understanding.
»- Oh — h !" prolonged with a peculiar
intonation, was the only reply ; — and Sir
Marmaduke, biting his lip, strode off to
the window with an air that spoke as
l)lainly as so many words, " U'that be all,
we'll soon cure that !"
Lord Orlando was utterly confounded,
and again thought he, — this may be a
brave man ; generous I hioiv him ; but
't is a brute of a husband sans doutc !
Poor Lady ! I see notv, why slic is so
hospitable to strangers ; well may she
covet their courtesies ; from him I per-
ceive she docs not get common civility."
Lovel was here interrui)ted in his
ruminations by Sir Marmaduke once
more aj)proaching him —
" My Lord Lovel !" said he, taking
the young man's hand with grave but
friendly politeness, " the time I trust is
not far distant when, these unha])py poli-
tical distractions having been appeased,
Wolf hamscote Hall shall aHord the young
JJaron Orlando the entertainment its
master deems so due to his desert. But
as at present that is out of the question,
let us not waste the time in sujierfluous
com|)liment. I need not say that your
path is l)eset : and that without this" —
(taking a sealed paper from his l>osom)
" any attempt to (juit Wolf hamscote
might cause you vexatious inconvenience,
if not serious peril. Can you climb?—
Vou will then scarcely object to try your
exit by m^/ entrance ; " and lie pointed to
the old yew tree that stood scowling and
nodding at the window, a most portentous
wilnt-ss of tiieir conference.
Lovel took the paper (which was in
fact a safe-coniluct under .Sir .Maimaduke
Tracy's own hand and si-al) with grate-
ful but manly at knowledgmenls, and
declared himoelf ()uite ready for bis de-
parture, however unceremonious miglit
i>e the meanii.
'I'hen doffing the gay 'caif and douiilet,
he re'.uiMKi his own traxel-staincd attire,
took a kind and courteous leave of Sir
Marmaduke, and approached the window
— but still with the air of one who w.is
leaving something either unsaid or im-
donc.
" I had forgotten to mention," said
tlie Knight of Wolf hamscote, seeing
Oilando lingering, " 1 hail forgotten to
mention that my horse is tied to the yew
tree trunk ; that he is tolerably fresh, and
most entirely at your lordship's service,
until a fitting opportunity sliall occur of
restoring to you your own.'"
Tlie young baron l)owed, and made
another step to the window, when he
again paused irresolutely.
" In aught else that I can benefit or
pleasure you, my lord, you may com-
mand me !"
" Forgive me !" at length faltered
Lovel, " forgive me if I seem impertinent
— but, — the Lady Tracy, — her melan-
choly state brings an accusation .against
me that weighs heavily at my heart. Oh!
be cautious, be tender of her distress."
" You leave her with a husband, my
Lord Baron, who has never been deemed
capal)le of harshness by those who know
him."
Sir IMarmadukc spoke this with a
haughty and ungracious emi)hasis on the
last words, but, immediately recollecting
himself, he once more stretched out his
hand to Lt^jel ; — "Pardon me: — I am
woundetl and weary ; and, if I seem
distempered, I have more causes for my
unquiet than you wot of! God bless
you, young man ; you are single-hearted
and noble-minded : may the world never
teach you dujjlicity and baseness!"
The Baron gnisped his liand warmly,
reached the win(U)w, and, swiiifjing him-
self from brancii to branch of the yew
tree, was soon mounted on a noble black
horse, and galloiiing away by tl.e river
bank.
Sir Marmaduke watched him descend,
leap to tlie saddle, and ride off. He
then drew a huge arm-chair to the table,
finislicd the wine .-md meat, on which
Orlando had alre.idv made considerable
incursions ; and tlie siiadows of night
having now coin|)lelely overgloomed the
ban(|uet-houM.', he muffled himself in
the large fur roljc, — and, dr.iwing the
curtains, flung himself in moody silence
on the bed.
Midnight had pealed her twelve warn-
ings tVoin tlie (lislant, but Kononius
clock-tower of Wolfliamscote, when the
lauip was seen to gliniiiier frtnii the
escijier derobe nf the private iiassiige.
U\jt it WU.1 not this lime ns at othefK.
278
THE PARTERRE.
deposited on the landing, for the Lady of
Wolfhainscote entered the apartment
bearing the light, and the light alone —
for neither basket nor store had she
with her.
She placed it on the dark hearth, and
advancing with uncertain steps to the
farther end of the chamber, seated herself
not far from the bed on which, disclosed
through the partially drawn curtains, a
recumbent figure enveloped in a cloak of
sables, lay in the same situation which
the Baron of Lovel had, till then, occu-
pied ; — the attitude of dejection too was
his ; and, like his, the face was con-
cealed from view.
Lady Tracy had sate a brief space,
absorbed in earnest and agitated contem-
plation of the imaginary homicide, when
suddenly she broke silence.
" It is vain — all vain !'' she said, partly
addressing her companion, and partly
speaking to herself. " I have fasted, I
have prayed, I have exhausted the night-
watches in my vigils. I have even in-
voked death — death to arrest the re-
bellious torrent in my veins, and prevent
the impiety I meditated, but abhorred !
Alas ! that very impiety breathed in my
prayer, and mingled with my vigils.
Throughout them all, I had but one
thought ; and that, like a flaming phan-
tom, fired and glared and flitted before
me, wherever I turned. JJ/'orse than
this I cannot feel ! Hear me then, thou
fatal young man ! and, before you con-
demn me, think what a masterful agony
must she have to wrestle with, who,
unable to govern her own weakness, thus
blazons her own shame I"
The listener to this strange shrift,
groaned and writhed himself on the bed.
■'■'My Lord Lovel!" she pursued,
" reserve your groans, till they are de-
manded ; and even then, if possible,
spare me your abhorrence. You have
worse to answer for, than the slaying of
your benefactor !"
A convulsive motion on the bed,
shewed the intense interest of her au-
ditor.
" The wound that took his life, was
innocence to that which slew my honour ! "
The recumbent figure started as if
some sharp weapon had transfixed him
to the couch.
" You fancy I accuse you unjustly. —
'Tis true your lip, your hand, your very
will were all guiltless. — What of that ?
it was your deadly beauty — that face,
that form, those accents, and those
smiles, were my bane, my very fate ! —
and I loved you ' "
" Here a strange sound, like a smo-
thered cry from one who was choaking,
issued from the curtains ; but the lady's
excitement towered to such a pitch, she
scarcely noticed it.
" I loved you, Lord Orlando ! — 1
loved you, — when, as a wedded matron,
I received you to refuge in my husband's
hall, — nay, hear me on ! — I loved you,
ere I knew he was dead ; — they told me
of his slaughter ; — told too, that, you had
slain him; — and 'twas exultation, — ay,
shrink from me as you will ! — but 'twas
exultation thrilled me at the tidings.
But oh ! in that same moment did self-
abhorrence start up like a vindictive
fury, and drives me now to this hu-
miliating self-revenge !"
She paused. He was still as death.
At length,
" Lovel !' resumed the wretched Hya-
cinth, " Bear witness, (for you can)
that I have struggled, — though in vain,
yet I have struggled — against tliis hateful
passion ! Once, I implored you never
to let me see your face nor hear your
voice. Well, unhappy boy ! have you
obeyed me, — well, but to no purpose :
and now, emboldened by despair, I cry.
Speak, though it be to execrate and spurn
me ! Look on me, though in that glance
I read contempt, abhorrence !"
She arose, seized the lamp, and, totter-
ing up to the settee, tore apart the
curtains, bent over him, drew the cover-
ing from his face ; but it was disfigured
with blood ! She listened wildly for a
sound ; — but that voice was for ever
silenced !
Agony had burst open the red foun-
tains of life, and she looked upon the
still warm corpse of her husband.
Horace Guilford.
March mth, 1835.
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT.
" A trial of solitary confinement day
and night, without labour, was made,"
says Mr. Crawford, in his report on the
Penitentiaries of the United States, "at
Auburn, in the year 1822, for ten months,
upon eighty of the most hardened con-
victs. They were each confined in a cell
only seven feet long, three feet and a
half wide, and seven feet high. They
were on no account permitted to leave
the cell, during that long period, on any
occasion, not even for the pin-poses of
nature. They had no means of obtaining
any change of air, nor opportunities of
taking exercise. The most disastrous
consequences were naturally the result.
THE PARTERRE.
179
Several persons became insane : health
was impaired, ami life endangered. The
discipline of the prison at that period was
one of unmixed severity. There was no
moral nor religious instruction of any
kind communicated within its walls, nor
consolation administered by which the
convict was enabled to bear up against
the cruelty of this treatment. Nor was
a trial of the same description, which
took place in the State of Elaine, con-
ducted under more advantageous circum-
stances. The night-rooms or cells at
this prison are literally pits entered from
the top by a ladder, through an aperture
about two feet square. The opening is
secured by an iron grate, used as a trap-
door ; the only other orifice is one at the
bottom, about an inch and a half in dia-
mlter, for the admission of warm air
from underneath. The cells arc eight
feet nine inches long, four feet six inches
wide, and nine feet eight inches high.
Their gloom is indescribable. The diet,
during confinement, was bread and water
only. Thus immured, and without any
occupation, it will excite no surprise to
learn that a man who had been sentenced
to pass seventy days in one of these mi-
serable j)its hung himself after four days'
imprisoimient. .\nother condemned to
sixty days, also committed suicide on the
twenty-fourth day. It became necessary
to remove four others, who were unable
to endure this cruelty, from the cell to
the hospital repeatedly before the expira-
tion of their sentence. It is said that
similar experiments have been made in
Virginia, and that various diseases, ter-
minating in death, were the result. The
cells in which the prisoners were confined
have been since disused : they are, in
fact, dungeons, being on the basement
story, and so dark as to require a lamp
in visiting them. In damp weather the
water stands in drojjs on the walls. The
cells were not warmed at any season of
the year. .\ prisoner's feet were actually
frozen during his confinement. No fair
trial of the effecU of solitude could have
taken place, as has been alleged, in the
penitentiary of New Jersey, the cells
being so arranged that the convicts can
converse with perfect freedom. From
experiments of this character no just con-
clu-iioMS can therefore be derived un-
friendly to solitary imprisonment of any
kind, especially when aceompanieil l»y
employment, in hirge and well-veritilateii
celU, the arraiigementii of which have
reference to the prest-rvation of the
fiealth, regular employment, and im-
provement of the mind of the oireiider."
HISTORIC GLE.ANINGS.
EDWAHO VI. .MART. ELIZ\B»rrH.
History is pliilo>opby, leactiinc by ex(«m|>lr. —
jA)rd linlinbroke.
Raumer, in his admirable collections
relating to the history of the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, gives from co-
temporary writers the following curious
account of the hust three Tudors.
" Edward VI. loves to dress himself
in red, white, and violet. Tlie lait-
nametl colour is so far appropriate<l by
him that no one but himself dares to
wear a hat of that hue. His livery, on
the other hand, is green and white. As
the English commonly attire themselves
well, and spend much on their clothes,
Edward, in the same manner (although
he falls far short of his father in this
respect), constantly wears on all his
garments embroideries of gold, silver,
and pearls! He has a good demeanour,
a royal appearance, much gr.ice and dig-
nity in every transaction, and is atiabic
and liberal to the people. • • •
" To these accounts I append a de-
scri]>tion which an eye-witness, John
Michele, gives of the (iueen ."\Iaty and
tl'.e Princess Elizabeth in the year l.'jJ7.
Mary Tudor is rather of little tlian mid-
dle stature, thin and delicately formed,
lively eyes, short sighted, a strong, deep
voice, like that of a man, so that she is
heard from * distance, extremely diligent
in sewing, embroidery, and other female
labours, so finished and able a performer
on the spinet that professors are asto-
nished. Her passions, pul)lic and do-
mestic, often throw her into deep melan-
choly. She is vexed about her luisband,
her own barrenness, the state of religion,
&c. ; but, above all, about her sister
Elizabeth, upon whom, as her succes.sor,
the eyes and minds of all are directed.
And truly it nmst vex not only Mary,
!)ut every one else, that the bastard blood
of one sentenced and i)unished as a iiuhlic
strumpet, should l)e destined one day,
with greater fortune, to rule tliis realm
instead of its true and legitimate line of
princes,
" Elizabeth, now twenty-three years
old, is a young woman who is considereti
as not less remarkable for the graces of
the mind than for those of the IkhIv, al-
though it may be s.iid thai her couiKe-
nanee is rather pleasing than lieaiitiliii.
In figure, she is tall, wellsliaped; lier
flesh well to liMik on, though lending to
olive in complexion ; fine eyes, uiul, iiIm)v»;
all, n beautifid hand, which she seek<Ho
display. Her spiiit .umI inlellecl ure
280
THE PARTERRE.
admirable, so that she has known how to
conduct herself, displaying both in times
of suspicion and peril. She surpasses
the Queen in knowledge of languages,
for, besides knowing Latin, and Greek
to a moderate extent, she understands
Italian better than the Queen, and takes
so much pleasure in the latter language,
that she will converse in no other tongue
with natives of Italy. She is proud, and
considers herself (although aware what
sort of mother bore her) as no less or less
worthy than the Queen. Henry VIII.
had set apart for her an annual income
of 10,000 ducats. She would consume
much more, and incur great debts, if she
did not purposely, to avoid increasing the
suspicions of the Queen, limit her house-
hold and attendance; for there is not a
lord or gentleman in the realm who has
not sought to place himself, or a brother
or son in her service. So great is thus
the affection and good will which is
shown her, by which, in one way or
another, her expenses are increased,
although she opposes her poverty to the
proposed enlargements of her establish-
ment, which crafty excuse, however,
merely increases her party of hangers on ;
it being considered not only unusual, but
in the highest degree unbecoming, that
a king's daughter should be so hardly dealt
with, and so ill maintained."
ARAB TOURNAMENTS.
Sir G. T. Temple thus describes one of
these curious spectacles: —
" The tournament field is oblong, and
bordered by rows of spectators, who form
its boundaries by sitting cross-legged
round the open space. The best riders
of the tribe, mounted on the most active
horses, are then introduced into the arena,
the men being clothed with as much
splendour as their means will permit
them, while the chargers are covered with
large silk housings of different colours,
reaching to the ground, and resembling
those of ancient knights, as represented
in Froissart. Some of the Arabs then
commence making their horses dance to
the sound of drums and trumpets, whilst
men on foot occasionally rush forward
and discharge their muskets close to the
horses' ears. Others dash forward at full
speed along the line of seated spectators,
as close to their feet as they possibly can,
without actually trampling upon them :
and every now and then suddenly throw-
ing their horses on their haunches, spin
them round on their hind legs, and re-
sume in the opposite direction their wild
career. It is a nervous sight to behold ;
for you momentarily expect to see some
person or child crushed beneath the
horses' hoofs; but no accident ever hap-
pens, and men, women, and children,
maintain their seats with the greatest
calmness and feeling of security, saluting
any well-executed point of horsemanship
with loud and exulting shouts of appro-
bation, whilst the women accompany
them with the usual but indescribable
cries of the quick-repeated lu-lu-lu-lu;
in return for which they are covered with
clouds of sand and dust, which the im-
petuous coursers throw up behind them.
Three or four others, dashing their sharp
stirrups into the flanks of their impatient
steeds, rush madly along the length of
the arena, shouting forth their tekbir, or
war-cries, and whirling round their heads
the long and silver adorned Arab guns,
which they discharge at the spectators
when they have reached the farthest ex-
tremity of the lists. Others engage with
swords soldiers on foot, galloping round
their adversaries in incredibly small
circles, twisting their horses suddenly
round, and then circling to the other
hand; and I know not which most to
admire, the activity and suppleness of
the rider or of his horse. Others, whilst
at full speed, will lean over, and without
in the least reducing their pace, pick up
from the ground a piastre or any other
equally small object, thrown down for
the purpose. These sports form on the
whole one of the gayest and most ani-
mated scenes I ever beheld, increased as
it is by the waving of many silken sanjaks
of the brightest colours, by the music,
the report of fire arms, the war-cries of
the performers, and the shouts of the
spectators."
AN ADVENTURE IN ITALY.
I will tell you a narrow escape I had
some years ago in Tuscany. R and
myself having heard of a flight of cocks,
had gone down into the Maremma to
shoot. You have heard of the Marem-
ma. It possesses an almost intermin-
able extent of morasses, " overgrown
with long, rank grasses," and hillocks,
as Shelley beautifully describes, " heaped
with moss-enwoven turf,'' a wilderness
of putridity and desolation. It was the
month of November ; before which time
it is dangerous to set foot there, for until
the first frost even many of the fever-
stricken serfs forsake it. In the eager-
ness of sport we had been led farther
than we calculated from our albergo, a
THE PARTERRE.
■2P1
solitary, wretched hovel, bordering on
the marsh, the ahode of tlie most phostly,
yellow, emaciated objects in human form
I ever beheld, except some of the ca-
yenned, curry-dried, liver-worn Anglo-
East Indians wc lefl at Cheltenliam.
The sun was fast setting, and we had
still two miles to make, and were co.xst-
ing along the edge of a knoll, thickly
set with huge and s^)eckled aloes, inter-
mingled here anil there with stunted
ilexes, and willi tlie strawberry-tree,
then briglit with its glolK-s of deep red
gold, wiieii methought 1 lieard a rustling
among the branches, and u sound like
that of the grinding of teeth. I noticed
it to my comj)anion. He suddeidy
turned asliy pale, and whis)>ered hysteri-
cally, " We are near a herd of swine !"
Vast numbers, I should have told
you, are turned out in the fall of the
leaf, to fatten here, and become so
savage and wild, that none but their
keepers dare approach them ; and cased
as they are in an almost impenetrable
mail of leather, even they sometimes fall
victims to the ferocity of these brutes.
" It is well for us,'' continued my
friend, " that there is a hut within a few
hundred yards. Let us lose no time in
making for it." As he spake, the sounds
became louder, and I saw some hun-
dred hogs emerging on all sides from the
brushwood, grunting fiercely, and gnash-
ing their teetli in unisoui They were
huge, gaunt, long-legged, long-headed
and long-backed creatures, giantsof their
species — spectral monsters, more like
starved bloodhounds than swine.
They now mustered their forces in
battle array, outside the thicket, and
commenced the attack in a systematic
and regularly concerted manner ; the vu-
terans of the herd directing the move-
ments of tlie hostile band, and one, by
a deeper grunt, not ill resend)ling the
word of command of a certain general,
ilf lircnc fjorcus, of our ac(juaintance,
gi\ing dreadful notes of jireparation, as
if to spirit on the line to a charge.
We made our way with dilliculty
through the rotten and yielding in<jr!Lss,
le.ipiiig from tuft to tuft, and risking, by
a false slip, to plunge into a bottmnless
abvss, while our bloiidtiiirsty ])iirsuers,
with their long legs and laijky sides, and
tueked-up t>ellies, advanced — a fearful
phalanx, in semilunar curve, momently
gaining ground ! My friend, hIio wits
luiire accustomed to the Ixigs than my-
self, soon outstripped me, not daring to
liHik iK'hind. Once, and once oidy, did
I, and beheld thcni codling on like u
pack of hounds in full cry, and with the
scent breast high, and, to my horror,
perceived the two iiorns or wings of the
troop, making an cchdlon movement in
an ever-narrowing circle, like a regiment
of cavalry bringing their right and left
shoidders forward, to outtlank, and then
enclose us. I dared not risk a second
glance at my foes, but the hoarse voices of
tlie ringleaders ran through tlie ranks,
and I lie.ird and saw the plasii of their
many feet as they turneil up the mud
but a few yards in my rear.
How I reached the hut I know not,
but reach it I did, where I found my
friend leaning against the wall, breath-
less with terror. The shed was ruilely
constructed of peat, and ajipeared to
have been long deserted, consisting only
of bare walls and a few ra(\ers ; but,
providentially, there was a door hanging
by one hinge ; this I contrived to shut
just as the centre of the herd reached
the threshold. They made a halt, re-
tired a few paces, and collected together,
;us if to hold a council of war. ^\ hile
they were undecided how to act, we dis-
charged our four barrels loaded with
siTiall shot, froin the window, at tiie
nearest, which slowly limping, with a
sullen grunt of disjippoiiitment, the
whole of their comrades at their heels,
retreated into the covert.
" Thank God I'' said R , when he
saw the last disap]>ear among the aloes.
" It is but a year since a traveller, cross-
ing the iVIaremma, paid for the journey
with his life. There was not a tree to
shelter him ; and though he was a deter-
mined man, and well armed, and no
doubt made a gallant resistance, they
hemmed him in, and devoured him. 1
could shew you the spot where the
swineherds drove them from his man-
gled remains ; it was pointed out to ine
the last time I came here."
SPECIMEN OF A NEW NOVEL.
AN OKIOINAL KKKTCII.
BY A gUlKT OLD CE.N'TLEll A S .
Yes, my dear boy, I will comjily with
your re<|uest, and the trantpiillity of
wiiich I am so fond will become more
agreeable to me, occupied in recalling,
for your amusement, tlie iiiciiluiits of my
past life. lOxpect from nie, lioweNer,
nothing like a mysterious and roiiiimtic
story. I have been the victim of no
ilark plot — no devastating pu-skion ; not
has my destiny been interwoven with
revolutions, battles, or other great public
events. I'orluiiately for myself, but
282
THE PARTERRE.
unluckily for my narrative, I knew who
were my parents, was never stolen dur-
ing my infancy, have never been exposed
in a box, and, in short, have experienced
little which has not been the fate of hun-
dreds who never dreamed of printing
their hopes, fears, and feelings. But
from your earliest boyhood I have so
often enjoyed your youthful and ardent
curiosity ; so many a time, by the plea-
sant winter fire, 1 have held you on my
knee and in my arms, while your in-
quiring spirit drank in all the casual
reminiscences which accident or your
own solicitations drew from my lips, that
I feel a true gratification in being able
to oblige your wish, and in giving you,
on paper, all that I can gather from the
forgetfulness of an old man's mind. Per-
haps, too, the garrulity of age, as well as
the warmth of affection, prompts me to
comply. I will adventure upon the
perilous ground of authorship, and en-
deavour to fling upon paper the frag-
ments which you have already heard,
with such additional particulars as I can
remember.
It was a lovely summer night. The
full moon had mounted in the east. The
silver clouds lay stretched along the
heavens in silent and radiant sleep, and,
behind their soft shapes, the lustrous
stars twinkled, and the near planets burn-
ed steadily. The gentlest of breezes just
stirred the leaves, without breaking the
langour which hung over the beautiful
city, after a long August day of intense
heat. Every thing in the streets was
still, except the footsteps of the pedes-
trians, who came out in parties to enjoy
the breath of evening, or, peradventure,
the sound of a guitar, or the notes of a
piano melting in with the voice of some
music-loving girl, heard through the
wide-opened window. Over the whole
scene appeared that brilliant enchant-
ment and tranquil lustre which the poetry
of England has ascribed too exclusively
to eastern climes. The heavens and the
air had all the deep and transparent
beauty of Italy or Asia. The inhabitants
of New York, wlio move over tlie broad
pavements at this calm delicious hour, or
sit inhaling the odours of their gardens
from windows and terraces, do not know
how unsurpassably enchanting are tliose
long, sweet, American summer nights.
Many of the streets of this great me-
tropolis, too, were even at that period
remarkable for their beauty. They ex-
hibit nothing of the gloom of European
towns. The buildings arc high and
elegant, the streets wide, the whole ex-
terior scene clear and bright, and the
people are abroad, contented and happy
— free from beggars, bayonets, and spies,
and upon a soil entirely their own.
On the night to which I have alluded,
all the town appeared in motion, and
in pursuit of pleasure. It was an hour
when the spirits rise, the heart expands,
when soft hopes and pensive recollections
steal across the mind, and we think the
earth a heaven, and wish to live in it for
ever.
A lordly building, that rose in the
white moonlight, and cast a strong, un-
even shadow into the street, shewed a
dim light from two of its windows. The
rest of the building was dark, and care-
fully closed, the bell was tied to the
brazen guard, the old-fashioned knocker
was mufl!led, and the stones before the
side-walk in front of the door were thickly
covered with the soft bark used by
tanners, over which the wheels of each
passing carriage cease their thunders and
roll lightly, as on felt. These arrange-
ments plainly enough denoted some one
sick within — too much prostrated to bear
the clash and tumult of the ever-busy,
external world. Group after group went
lightly by the sad dwelling. The aged
tottered on, and breathed the fresh night-
air with unalloyed satisfaction. The
young and the gay went talking and
laughing by. The maiden stole bliss-
fully beneath the window of death, and
listened to the whispers of love ; and the
careless shouted as he passed, in the un-
thinking buoyancy of strength, health,
and enjoyment. Thus goes ever on the
selfish world.
The gloomy chamber, tenanted by the
sick, perhaps by the dying, was elegantly
furnished as a sleeping apartment ; an
accumulation of vials, cups, bowls, and
all the paraphernalia of sickness lay
around. At the farther end of the room,
upon a bed hung with silken curtains,
lay an attenuated female form, apparent-
ly in a deep slumber. By her side sat a
lovely girl, pale with anxiety, and an old
nurse moved about with a feline noise-
Icssness, and the indifference of one
skilled in such scenes, and callous to them
from habitude. Before the sufferer
awakens from her slumber, let me intro-
duce her to you.
Maria Morgan had been born of
affluent parents, who satisfied themselves
with bestowing upon her a fashionable
education, and regulating her morals
according to fixed standards, without
cultivating her affections and refining her
THE PARTERRE.
283
mind. She had grown up correct and
unfeeling, acconiplislied and admired,
but not beloved. Her wealth procured
her a husband, who died atler the birth
of one daughter, and the haughty and
wealthy widow, subsequently, lived on
in single independence, having found the
state of matrimony either too hajjpy or
too miserable to induce a second experi-
ment. The siinie efVect springs often
equally from opposite causes.
The daughter had been, like herself,
sent early to a boarding-school, where
almost total separation from her mother
had offered no opportunity for the growth
of filial attachment, excejit the theoreti-
cal sentiment caught from |)oetry and
romances, which, like phosphoric fire,
inflames, without warming the heart.
Even had the mother been capable of
inspiring affection. Flora could have
scarcely loved her as a child should love
a parent.
The girl spent her vacations at home,
in a circle small, but fashionable and re-
fined, though tedious, for here eti<(ucttc
took the place of morals, and formality
of love ; and she returned, with cordial
delight, to her school amusements and
school friendships. Here she lived the
life, almost, of a flower in a garden,
blossoming amid clusters of other flowers.
For, if her life was not one of idleness,
it was one of sunshine, and the rout hie
of her daily avocations scarcely troubled
her opening mind more than the rose
is disturbed by the dew and the breeze,
when its leaves burst their bud with a
gentle violence ; even so easy and pleasant
a thing was learning to Flora Morgan.
Music, French, dancing and drawing,
map-painting, worked fire-screens and
gilt pajier-boxes filled up the leisure of
her lighter hours till she reached the
dignified age of seventeen, and bordered
upon the entire completion of her educa-
tion.
As the mamma grew old, she grew, if
possible, more ivjiated and repelling.
Neither lovmg nor loved, she was be-
lieved to be utterly heartless, as she was
assuredly, utterly disiigreeable. She
quarrelled with her servants, slandered
lier enemies, and insulted her friends,
and, at length, when neither man, nor
woman, nor cat would endure her com-
panionship, on account of her caprices,
and tlie ex;iclions of her eccentric, domi-
neering.', and ungener<jiis disposition, she
recalled poor Flora, now a tall, careless,
beautiful girl, to be her companion or
rather her victim.
Pool Flora! a ^ad day won it for (he
affectionate girl when slie received official
orders to repair to head-quarters. How-
ever she came by it, she was of a sweet and
gay disposition, and a mind lotty and
noble, when awakened to exertion. Her
school life had been all peace and sun-
shine. Equally beloved by her com-
panions anil instructors, (piick at her
tasks, accomplislied, and full of talent —
susceptible in feeling — adorning nature
and iVeedom — proud, but gentle — modest
and timid, yet constant and firm — capable
of heroic actions, yet indolent and plea-
sure-loving, and destitute of resululion
in the i)etly details of life, .she was a
character from which, at once, every
thing was to be hoped and every thing
to be feared.
The whole fabric of her education was
built on the soundest moral ])rinciples,
and she, therefore, regarded her mother
with a profound respect, which almost
any other woinan could have awakened
into affection, but she was too well aware
of those peculiarities wliich always ren-
dered her society jiaintul, and her eyes
(iiied with tears when she tot)k leave of
her giilisli haunts, and the companions
of her happiest hours. She bade a heavy
adieu to a score of school-girl Hebes,
to whom she had vowed inviolable fide-
lity ; she kissed her dear and reverend
instructress with unfeigned atlection.
Even her favourite bird was fondled,
for the last time, in her bosom and
consigned to another ; for, of all things,
her mother was unable to er'dure the
" screaming of a l)ird." Her much-
used books were gathered together, and
packed up ; rings, seals, and locks of
hair were interchanged; vows, adieus,
and kisses were repeated again and again,
with all the unbounded fervour of youth-
ful love. There are i\:\v things more
tentler than the heart of a y>>ung board-
ing-school girl. It has all the fond en-
thusiasm of a woman's, without its expe-
rience. I'oor Flora ])res.sed her hand
upon hers, to keep it from breaking, as
she looked back from the carriage-win-
dow, and saw the home of her pleasiuitesl
associations dis;qipear amid the trees.
I do not think nature has created
woman a nobler being than man, because
I think their capacities for virtue are
originally the siime. Hut the world has
rnaile him inferior in many ]iointH. i
have no time to discuss opinions, I mean
only to express them; but it is certain
that kIic is ki-pt more aloof from those
influences of policy luiil artifici.d piissions,
wliich distort the characters of the <i(her
sex. She is \k** cuirupted by avarice.
28J
THE PARTERRE.
ambition, a thirst for science, a worldly
pride, and plans of life too broad to be
executed purely and peacefully. The
elements of her thought and feeling are
less alloyed by common-place considera-
tions. Napoleon was tormented with an
unquenchable mania for empire. His
mother and his wife always looked farther
and higher, and sighed not over his ob-
stacles, but his successes. The emperor,
from his situation, felt himself compelled
to repudiate the faithful Josephine. Her
heart — her fame — her love — her happi-
ness, were thistle-down in his path, while
she would have preferred one smile of
his to all personal distinctions. When
the consul had usurped the crown, he
met his mother one morning walking in
a garden and gave her his hand to kiss,
but the stern matron, with a thousand
times more than the majesty of Juno,
rebuked the conqueror of the world, and
bade him remember, it was his duty to
kneel to the being who gave him existence.
The symbols of a queen or an empress
were in her eyes, what Philosophy herself
would pronounce them, idle baubles,
which accident gives without merit, and
takes away without justice; but the title
of a mother, was the rank of nature con-
ferred by the voice of God. This is ge-
nerally the difference lietween the cha-
racter of man and woman. But where
is Flora?
The dutiful daughter sighed at the
unkindness of her fate, and resolved to
love her mother, if she could. At all
events, she resolved to act as if she Joved
her. It was a heavy task, but there is a
wonderful support in the consciousness
that we are doing our duty. She had
not been home six months when two
events occurred which opened a world
of thought to her youthful contemplation.
In the first place she fell in love with a
poor student at law, worth every thing
but money. In the next, Mrs. Morgan
was seized with a sudden, rapid and dan-
gerous illness, which alarmed every one
but the victim herself. For three months
she languished, and as she grew more
sick, she also grew more peevish. No
task is more grateful than to watch by
the couch of one dear to us. It brings
the very finest and tenderest sentiments
of the mind to the surface. U'he heart
is perpetually full of a melting comi)assion
— the eyes ever ready to be moistened
with tears. I have hung over the pillow
of such a one sleeping, with a feeling so
purified that I could have clasped the
iMiconscious hand, which was no more
to act among the living, and met death
without a lingering wish for earth. But
Flora's labours were of a diflTerent kind.
The lips of the sufferer had never uttered
a kind word to her, though she had
served her like an angel. Sickness and
death are frightful enough everywhere,
and to everybody; but to the young,
they are terrible and ghastly. They are
a tremendous lesson to the tender eyes
which have hitherto roved only over
sunshine and flowers.
Flora watched her mother's fading face
and wasting form with intense interest
and sympathy. Never was a kinder
nurse. Her delicate attention was visi-
ble everywhere. The bad temper of
Mrs. Morgan broke out in new forms of
caprice under the pressure of pain and
ennui, andthose nearest her received their
share indiscriminately. But Flora never
failed her — never replied — never mur-
mured. It was her hand that shook the
heated pillow — it was she who was ever
near to aid the wearied and dying patient
to a new position, and her overseeing care
which hushed every voice and step, conci-
liated every attendant, and invented every
sweet artifice to soften the rugged horrors
of death. In this period of trying self-
sacrifice, her character deepened, opening
to her new sources of strength, hitherto
hidden from herself, and her loving r\fiture
found even in thepeevish and still haughty
sufferer, much to excuse and to redeem,
if not to admire.
On the night in question, I called to
inquire what hope remained of Mrs.
Morgan's recovery. I remember how
heavily my heart weighed in my bosom
on leaving the moonlight — the music —
the gay voices — the light shuffling of
young steps — the grateful evening breeze,
and all the tokens of cheerful pleasure
without, to enter the gloomy chamber of
death — to behold a human life quenched,
for I had a presentiment that the scene
was near its close. It had always been
imderstood between Mrs. Morgan and
myself, that I was to be the guardian of
Flora, and of the ample property which
was to come into her possession. I had
made several attempts to converse with
the former upon the subject, but always
found myself baffled by her adroitness in
eluding the subject. Nothing could
persuade her that she was seriously ill.
She persisted in every artifice to convince
herself of returning health; had for a
long time rejected the aid of physicians,
and was perpetually forming gay plans
for tlie future. Flora watched and wept.
The peevish mother rebuked and ridi-
culed her.
THE PAKTEKRE,
*JS6
This evening I found Flora calm and
cheerful.
" She has been much better, sir," she
whispered; " and j.t> kind."
I would have made one or twoinquirics,
hut she pressed her finger on her lip. 1
n'alked softly to the bedside and gazed
upon the pallid features of the mother.
They were so appallingly altered as to
be scarcely recognizable. Vet ujjon her
sunken temples, fearfully emaciated
cheeks, and all the thin sliarp features,
still even in sleep, even in death, appear-
ed the haughty coldness, which spoke a
heart whose affections had been embit-
tered.
Flora gazed down upon that passion-
less unloving face, till the big tears leaped
from her eyes and fell upon the floor.
It was the first time she had beheld a
fellow-creature blighted by disease, and
sinking into that dark fate wliicii swal-
lows up before our eyes our dearest and
best, and which surely awaits our own
steps, however young, light, ardent, and
happy.
" How still I how pale ! how death-
like!" 1 murmured. The nurse was
mixing a medicine to be taken during
the night. A man went by in the street
singing aloud. ^Irs. Morgan opened
her eyes languidly. Tears were on her
cheeks. She put forth her long bony
fingers with a look of deep terror and
affection to the beautiful girl — the only
one who had faithfully loved her in spite
of all her faults.
" Flora, dear Flora — save me ! save
me!"
INIy dearest motlier-
The sufferer lay a moment recovering,
whether from the effects of a dream, or
from sudden apprehensions of the reality
of her danger, no one can now say. In
a few moments she grew more calm.
"Flora, my sweet girl, ynu have been
a ministering angel to me. Forgive me.
I wish — I have — you ought to possess
all now — but — oh, save me — save me!"
.Another boisterous passenger l>eneath
the window uttered an idle oath. It
was answered by a hoarse laugh. Then
tlie clock struck, quivering in the silence
upon tlie last peal of twelve. The faint
voice of the mother ceased ; her extended
tiii\tl fell heavily to tiie bed; her eyes
riosed, opened again, and fixed tiieir
ilartiiig and ghizcd orlis steadily upon
the ceiling. The experienced nurse mo-
tioned me U3 lead Mora away. The
voice of the street pa.s»enger still went
on Hinging.
" Let me speak to my jioor mother,"
taid Flora.
"She cannot hear you now, my dear
child," I exclaimed.
•'Why cannot she hear me?" asked
the imeonseious girl.
" She will never hear you again. We
are all in the hands of God, my child,
we must submit to his will."
"Mother — dear, dear mother!'" ex-
claimed the affrighted and bewildered girl.
She spoke to a cold clod. A long
convidsive sob heaved her bosom. She
fell into the nurse's arms, and hid her
face in her bosom, and then not a breath
W.-IS heard in the chamber of death, while
the blue, tranijuil moonlight streamed
down through the windows upon the
floor. Some days passed away ; at the
proper period the will was read. Ima-
gine my surprise on finding that Mrs.
iVIorgan had becjueathcd all her property
to Sir William Filzroy — a gentleman to
whom she was said to have been remotely
related, but whom she had never seen
to whom she owed nothing, and who
was already worth twenty thousand
pounds a year)
THE INDIANS.
BY II. 11. HILEr.
When the prow of Columbus first struck
the point of San .Salvador, and he cast
his eyes upon the new world, he was so
completely fascinated by the sublimity
of the surrounding landscape, that
he terms it a second paradise. As
regards climate, productions of soil, and
grandeur of scenery, he acknowledges
himself utterly unable to give even a
eketch, and far surpassing the im.igina-
tion of the wildest and most entluisia.stic
admirer of nature. Ik>autiful birds, of
rainbow colours, fluttered .ind sported in
the groves, making their cool shady aisles
sound to a thousand mingling notes ;
bright insects, with liglit, transpurent
wings, were roving from flower to flower,
giving a drowsy hum to the already
blan<l and languid air, and the mingling
colours that they exhihiled playing con-
fusedly together, appeared elegant and
grand ; the atmosphere was j)ure and
elastic, and bore all the wild sweetness of
the surrounding verdure and flowers;
the inagnitici'iil forests swept away ;is tar
as the eye could reach, with their smn-
mits wre.'itlied in a fresh and hiilli.iiit
verdure; the luiys lay sleeping wilhin
their hanks, with a bright and glossy
/.tillncss ; the music of the far-off lixiis
wa.H heard in the silence of llie atmos-
phere, and the waters of those that were
near flowed forth sparkling and fresli i»s
the mountain spring. As regn/d;! ihu
286
THE PARTERRE.
luxuries of life, a large proportion sprang
forth spontaneous. The plum glistened
in the foliage of the wood — the vines of
the grape mounted the most lofty trees,
and hung their swinging branches from
the dizzy tops, and the earth below was
choked and tangled by the creeping
herbage that ran in wild luxuriance over
it. It might almost have warranted the
belief that it was none other than Eden
itself, unmarred by the hand of civiliza-
tion, but lying in all its glory and per-
fection, as when the unhappy couple fled
before the wrath of the Almighty.
When the caravals of Columbus were
first seen hovering on the shores of the
Indians, their superstitionhccsLme awaken-
ed, and they were deeply impressed with
an awful reverence. They supposed they
came from out the eastern horizon, where
tlie sky bent down to the waters. Instead
of resorting to reason to solve the phe-
nomenon, their ignorance called in their
superstition, and Columbus with his fleet
was supposed to be supernatural, under
the care of Him who made the thunder
and kept the hosts of heaven in their
courses. And through this very same
ignorance, the Indians have held their
superstition even unto the present day.
On the first landing of Columbus, he
met with another trait of Indian charac-
ter, hospitality and kindness. Nor could
this be ascribed to fear alone ; for sub-
sequently, when their superstition had
become in a manner allayed, and by be-
holding the dead bodies of the Spaniards,
they assured themselves that they were
indeed mortal, we find the same love and
kindness actuating their conduct toward
the whites. It is related by Irving, I
think, in his History of Columbus, of a
cacique, named Suacanagari, that he be-
friended, and fought for the Spaniards
unto the last — even when every tribe
beside was arrayed in hostility against
them, because he had pledged himself
to do it ; and many instances are on
record, where a chief has submitted to
the fate of having his village pillaged
rather than restore a friend whom he
had taken under his protection. And at
the present time, no kindness goes far-
ther than the Indian's, and no gratitude
is quicker retaliated.
As regards the courage of the Indians,
it is established beyond a doubt — nothing
dimming it — not even death. It lives
amid the flames of the fagot — it never
stoops — but is in all cases the same. The
war-song is sounded to them by their
mothers while yet in their " tree-rocked
cradles " — deeds of chivalry are re-
counted and played before them in their
juvenile years, and courage becomes the
most noble prize which an Indian can
bestow upon his aspiring offspring. If an '
Indian want fame, let him excel in the
arts of war — all others are of secondary
consideration. Stratagems — skill — im-
passiveness under all circumstances — -
render a warrior among his tribe noble,
and his deeds shall be sung long after he
shall have laid himself down in the shade
of the forest.
I must bring up a character who bore
a conspicuous part in the island of Hayti,
when the Indians began to feel the
Spanish yoke, and made a struggle for
their independence. He was a cacique,
named Caonabo. In a deep-laid plot, he
was taken by a young cavalier, and
brought in prisoner before Columbus,
Previous to his capture, he had fought
long and well for freedom, and kept up
the torch of war even when the neigh-
bouring tribes were silent and peaceful.
Columbus deemed him the most for-
midable foe around him, and therefore
adopted measures for ensnaring him.
But when Caonabo came before the
admiral, his high and lofty soul remained
unbent — the haughty spirit which he
exhibited in the wilderness had not
stooped ; but even amid the camp of his
enemies he bore about him an air of
superiority. He plainly told Columbus
he had intended to burn his fortress and
murder his people — that he had shed the
blood of some of them, and that it had
been his intention to slay more. He even
went so far as to lay before him a plan
whereby he was to surprise the fortress,
and then, in the undaunted and firm de-
meanour which characterized him at the
head of his tribe, turned upon the admiral
with a scornful eye, bidding defiance to
his most exquisite tortures. After this
he was conducted on board of one of the
caravals, and bound down with chains.
When Columbus visited him, he re-
mained seated, rapt in a sullen, melan-
choly mood, taking no notice of him
whatever ; but when the young cavalier
who entrapped him, came where he was,
Caonabo shewed every form of respect
by rising and saluting him. When
asked the reason of not paying due de-
ference to the admiral, and lavishing his
respect upon a subject, he said he loved
the young man for his art in ensnaring
him, and his courage in bearing him away
from his country and friends. Poor
Caonabo died on his voyage to Spain. He
pined and drooped gradually, even as the
lion of the forest in his iron-bound den.
THE PARTERRE.
287
NOTES OF A READER.
THE EFFECTS OF HEAT.
A native of Europe, remarks Dr. Arnot,
views witli surprise the eflects of heat in
equatorial regions. Sealing-wax, he finds,
will not retain the impression of a seal,
butter becomes oil, a tallow-candle must
bt! poured into a lamp : if he attempt
to pour ether from a bottle, the ether
disappears in vapour. The whole of
living nature is changed. Our oaks and
fir trees transplanted to the torrid zone,
become stunted and shrubby. Animals
clothed with wool or thick hair, such as
the sheep and the dog, lose their cover-
ing, or exhibit only thin silky hair. The
EnglisI) bull-dog, taken to India, in a
few months becomes almost naked, and
is deprived of spirit and courage. But
though nature has not the as])ect of colder
climes, it assumes other forms of greater
magnificence, and luxuriates in a more
profuse development of life. The atmos-
phere is more clear and pure, and tinged
with a deeper azure, the arch of heaven
is higher, the splendour of the orb of
light more intense, and the colours de-
rived from the decomposition of his beams
richer and more varied. ^'egetation,
stimulated by heat and moisture, appears
in its utmost vigour and beauty, from
the fig-tree that shades an Indian army
to the waving plumes of tlie graceful
palmetto. The trunk of the adansonia
measures thirty-four feet in diaineter,
the New Holland pine rises to a height
of three hundred feet. Nor is the animal
kingdom deficient in magnitude and
variety. Within the tropics are found
the largest quadrupeds, and birds of
brightest plumage. The ground teems
with reptiles, and the air is filled with
myriads of insects.
The following description by Humboldt
gives some idea of the exuberance of ani-
mation, even in its lowest forms, under
the equator :
At noon, in these burning climates,
the beasts of the forest retire to the
thickets, the birdshide themselves beneath
the foliage of the trees, or in the crevices
of the rocks. Vet amidst this apparent
silence we hear a dull vibration, a con-
tinual murmur of insects, that fill, if we
may use the expression, all the lower
strata of the air. Nothing is belter fitted
to make man feel the extent and power of
organic life. .Myriads of ins*-cls creep
Iipoii the soil and flutter round the plants,
parched by the ardour of the sun. A
coiifuM-d noise iviues from every bnsh,
from the decoye<l trunks of trei-s, from
the clefts of the rocks, and from the
ground undermined by the lizards, mille-
pedes, and ceeili;is. These are so many
voices, proclaiming that all nature
breathes, and that under a thousand
diflerent forms life is ditVused throughout
the cracked and dusty soil, as well as in
the bosom of the waters, and in the air
that circulatt^ around us.
A SPANISH EXECDTION.
I had an opportunity, while at Barce-
lona, of being present at an execution,
the first I had seen in Spain. The man
had been condemned to the galleys for
some previous oHence, and had murdered
one of his fellow convicts ; antl, although
this is not an agreeable sjjectacle, yet, as
in every country, public spectacles, whe-
ther agreeable or the reverse, exhil)il
some peculiarities either of character or
of manners, I resolved to be present.
Three o'clock was the hour appointed ;
and all that morning, as well as the great
part of the (lay before, there was an
unceasing noise of little bells, carried
through the streets by boys in scarlet
cloaks, with the bell in one liand, and
ft box in the other, collecting alms to
purchase masses in the diflerent convents
and churches, for the soul of the felon.
There is another thing worth relating,
connected with the last days of a felon in
Spain. A society, called the Benevolent
Society, undertakes to soften the last
three days of his existence, and to di-
minish the terrors of death, by the sin-
gular device of increasing the jileasures
of lite. During these three days, he
may have every luxury he desires ; he
may feast upon the daintiest viands drink
the choicest wines ; and thus learn, in
quitting the world, new reiisons for de-
siring to remain in it.
I obtained a good situation, close to
the military who guarded the ground.
Besides the platform, there was erected,
at a little distance, an altar, upon which
was j)laced an image of the N'irgin and
Child ; and opposite to this a cross, with
an image of Christ extended upon it. I
was much struck with the pri>cession ;
the unfortunate felon was accompanied
by \ipwards of two thousand masked
penitents, who looked more like a train
of devils than human beings ; a black
cloak entirely enveloi)i'd the Ixxly and
the head, holes only liiing lilt f"r the
eyes and mouth ; a black pyramidal cap,
at least eighteen inches high, crowiud
the head; and each carrie<l in liis hand a
long white wand. This straii;'e eucort
288
THE PARTERRE.
was the result of an indulgence pub-
lished, and addressed to all persons con-
scious o^" secret crimes, and penitent ;
granting its benefits to such of them as
submitted to the humiliation of accom-
panying the felon to the scaflfbld. Two
accomjilicesof the felon also accompanied
him, that they might benefit by seeing
liim hanged ; and a friar of the Francis-
can order, was his spiritual guide.
After having been led to the altar, and
then below the cross, where he repeated
a number of prayers, he ascended the
platform attended by the friar, who
carried a large cross in his hand. When
the offices of religion were concluded,
the man wished to address the people,
and twice began, " Mis hermanos,'' but
his voice was instantly drowned by shouts
from a crowd at some distance behind
the platform, no doubt so instructed ;
and when he found that he could not be
heard, he gave the signal, and the execu-
tioner immediately leaped upon his
shoulders, and swung oft' the platform;
while the friar continued to speak, and
■extend the cross towards him, long after
he was insensible to its consolations.
The spectacle concluded by the friar
ascending to the summit of the ladder,
and delivering a sermon, in which he
did not omit the exhortation of contri-
buting largely towards masses for the
soul of the deceased. The exhortation
was not without its effect ; the little
bells immediately began to ring, and
hundreds obeyed the invitation to piety.
ENERGETIC MODE OF REASONING.
In the latter part of 1827, when the Ca-
talunian insurrection in favour of the
Carlists took place, and when fifty thou-
sand men in arms threatened the pro-
vince with anarchy, and Barcelona with
capture, the conde de Espana represented
to the king the necessity of his appearing
in Catalunia ; and after his majesty had
arrived, he, by the advice of the conde,
called a convocation of bishops, ostensibly
to consult respecting the state of the
» province. The conde well knew the
connexion of the bishops with the plot ;
and was in possession of documents that
proved their guilt. The conde, as repre-
senting his majesty in that province, or
by express delegation, presided ; and all
the bishops being assembled, he addressed
them to this effect, if not almost in these
words : " My lord bishop," said he,
taking a paper from his pocket, and un-
folding it, "you know this;" and l^irning
to another, and shewing another paper,
" and you, my lord, know this;" and so
on, producing documents that connected
every one present with the conspiracy ;
" and now, gentlemen," said he, address-
ing the assembly, "you perceive that
I tiold in my hands proofs of treason ;
you who have fomented this rebellion
can put it down ; and I have instructions
from his majesty, if the rebellion be not
put down within forty-eight hours — I
am sorry for the alternative, gentlemen —
but my instructions are peremptory, to
hang every one of you ; and it will be a
consolation for you to know, that the
interest of the church shall not suffer,
for the king has already named successors
to the vacant sees." This reasoning was
effectual ; the bishops knew the man
they had to deal with ; and within a few
hours the insurrection was at an end. A
man who threatens to hang a bench of
bishops, cannot be called apostolical.
At the same period, but before the
council had been called, when Gerona
was closely pressed by the insurgents,
the bishop despatched a letter to the
conde de Espana, saying, that it would be
necessary to give up the city to the
besiegers. The conde, who very well
knew how the inclinations of the bishop
lay, and what were the defences of the
city, but who also knew the influence
possessed by him over the inhabitants,
who might force the troops to give it up,
wrote, in reply to the bishop, that his
lordship being upon the spot, was no
doubt best able to judge of the state of
the city ; and adding, that along with the
■letter which he had sent to the bishop,
he had also sent instructions to Gerona,
that when the enemy entered the gate,
the first thing they should see, might be
the gibbet of a traitor bishop.
DIFFICULTY OF COMPRESSION.
No one who has not attempted the task
can fully appreciate the difficulty of com-
pressing within prescribed limits the
remarks suggested by a subject affording
superabundant materials of interest and
excitement. When some one asked Sir
Walter Scott why he did not write his
Life of Napoleon in three volumes, instead
of nine, his answer was, " I had not time"
A reply which will appear by no means
paradoxical to any who have had the
least literary experience ; as it is a truism
among all such, that it is much easier to
amplify than to condense ; to be verbose
on the most barren, than concise on the
most fertile theme.
Tin: PARTF.KRR.
•Jul)
Pase L'l'j.
MANORIAL ARCHIVES.
BV HORACE CUII.rORD.
( For the Parterre.)
THE SCOURGED PAGE.
ROMANCE THE SECOND.
BcllaBio. — Thew two fair cedar brancliea,
'I hr nobU-»t of the mountain whtrc llity giow,
.S|iaii;liie>i ami t.illcsl ; nudrr ulii>-c »(ill >li;i(1<'»
Tlie uorlliicr bea;t) liavv made tbtir W\if, and
»lepl
Free rrum the Sirian >tar, and the fell Ihiinder-
slruke,
Viet friiin the clouds, when they were big with
liiiinoiir.
And di-iivtnd, in thoutand ipoiita, their iituci
lu Uie earth.
Oh ! thrre wai n'inc but lib nt Quic-l there !
Till ncMrpbaicd Foitune >hut up tliuibt,
IlaMr under bramble*, In divDrie tlie^e hranchea.
And n<iw a Kentic gale lialh blown again.
That made thetc branches meet and twine to-
gether. J'hiloMler.
■^'orkshire! gigantic, princely Yorkshire!
wli.it treacherous Kcrihe was it, wlui, smiie
brief years hack, adverliscri " 'I'rnditionH
or Chronicles" of thy jjraiul .iiiri romantic
Castles? To an entlmsiasiic |>il(^riiii like
nivkelf, who have, for many a siiiiimer
VOL. I.
explored, with patient feet, the dales, the
woods, and the river hanks, which tliv
monkish or knightly edifices adorn, how
great must he the disaiipointmcnt !
I had mused a whole aiitunnial d.iy in
that enormous Abbey of Eoiinlains,
watching (he sunshine and the' sli.idow.
as they mantled its majestic steeple, .md
listcninfT to the wind tli.it made uiu'arlhly
liarinonies anion;; the herhaj^e iuid slinihs
that fringed its hollow riLstcrn window.
I had descended into the hori ihle soiilei-
rains of I'ontefract, shiiddeiing at the
gaunt aiul guilty aspect of its fatal Towi-r.
And often and again had 1 nkorali/.cd
on that verse in the Hook of Chronicles
always a favourite of mine, which says
of King J<illi!Uii : —
" lie hiiilt the high gate of the House
of the Lord; and on the wall of Ophcl
he huill much. Moreover he huill cities
in the moimtaius of Judnh, and in the
forests he built Castles and Towers."
Think how I imist have prei)ared the
best room in all my imagination to
re<'eive the precious stores of tradilioii
W'hii'h siH-h high-haunted places promised
me' Al;is 'twas all in \.iiii' Not one
caxtlr or convent in all the three Ridings,
U
290
THE PARTERRE.
hath been as yet the better known for
this wide-mouthed "Promissor!"
And yet, genius of romance! what a
glorious field is there for research and
for embellishment.
Look for instance at the antique town
of Richmond: —
Cross the Swale by yonder bridge, and
ascend Bank-top, that steep and leaf clad
hill on the opposite side: from under-
neath its grove of beech, and plane, and
fir, how very story-speaking is the aspect
of the castle. The Swale rushes loudly
over its stony bed below ; on one side
of you is a pine, shooting straight and
pillarwise into the blue heaven, and with
the beauteous branches feathering from
a beech ; on the other, it forms a frame,
through which the great castle, and the
castle alone, dilates upon the eye.
The steep burgh, variegated with hoar
and rocky vegetation, rising from the
river brink, its gleaning coronal of walls,
the extensive fafade of the south front,
the ivied windows of its sunny hall, the
chapel -and the bell-tower, but chiefly the
imperious Norman donjon, enthroned in
the centre, and haughtily apart; the
despot of the pile, — all sheathed in a
golden panoply of meridian sunlight,
stand up in the most picturesque inequa-
lity of outline against a blue surflmer sky.
Can you look without falling into a
trance? Can you not hear the bell chime
to chapel or to hall? Do you not see
the banner as
Fanned by conquest's crimson wing.
It mocks the air witli idle state t
— the beam glinted from the morion and
partizan of the sentinel? the iris- woven
scarf streaining from the damsel in the
courtyard? — the blue-gowned beadsman?
— the corded Gray Friar? — the baron
himself, with his hand of fate and eye of
gloom ! and what more fruitful vineyard
do you in conscience demand, for a com-
bat, a murder, an amour, a siege, or an
execution?
The vicinity of this nobly seated town
is prolific in ancient structures, and to a
walk over the vast moorland, half sunset
and half moonrise, between Richinond
and the wood-embosomed village of Red-
mire, the public is indebted for the ines-
timable boon of the ensuing story.
The summer's noon was laughing on
the purple Ure, and the lazy breeze scarce-
ly breathed through the glancing loop-
holes of Middleham Castle, when, gaily
carolling, the Damoiseau of the Baron
de Neville came bounding down the
principal staircase of the keep leading
from the lady's bower to the hall.
The stripling was of gallant aspect,
and both in thewes and inches, as well as
in the general character of his face, might
have challenged several years above his
actual age, which scarcely exceeded four-
teen summers.
His chest was deep, his shoulders
broad, and something more than down
began to darken his rich cheek and proud
upper lip; while in his hawk's eye, aqui-
line nose, and clear polished forehead,
you might peruse daring, perhaps pre-
sumption, and firmness, if not obstinacy;
and imagine withal certain shades and
outlines of other qualities, which you
would scarcely wish to see fully deve-
loped.
His attire was redolent of that picto-
rial splendour which distinguished the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries; and,
by its gay colours and sumptuous mate-
rials, proclaimed him the favoured and
even spoiled protege of the family at
Middleham.
His surcoat, fitted to his form so as
to shew its graceful proportions to advan-
tage, reached from his throat to the mid-
dle of his thighs; it was of bright green
velvet, powdered with golden grape clus-
ters ; his mantle was short, and of the
finest black cloth lined with rose-coloured
satin, and its wide sleeves were scalloped
in front, so as to shew a profusion of gilt
buttons, studding the vest from the cuff
to the elbow; chausses of dark crimson
silk, lent their aid to the rest of his cos-
tume in setting forth a figure which
seemed to have anticipated the vigour of
manhood, while it wore the bloom of
springing youth. The Phrygian-shaped
cap, so much in vogue at this period,
contrasted well with its deep scarlet die,
those luxuriant locks of raven blackness
filling the summer air with needless
odours fi-om the costly unguents in which
they glittered. This cap, having the
black bull of the Nevilles in front, and
their motto ne vile velis in gold letters
embroidered below, added not a little to
the striking and peculiar expression of
his handsome but audacious features.
His mien was confident and even haughty ;
and his eye had not yet lost the triumphant
flash which some recent instance of favour,
flattery, or success, appeared to have
enkindled there. On his wrist sate a
tercel gentle, liooded and belled; and,
trotting at his heels, came a beautiful
spaniel, with brown spots, curly hair,
ears that brushed the ground, and of
merits not to be euumerated !
THE PAHrEUKE.
•Jill
As the youth readied tlie liall he
turned, and then, the source of all these
symptoms of transport was revealed.
Bending over the Minstrel Gallery,
which traversed at mid-height the upper
end of the baron's hall, a beautiful girl
bright in all the budding fascination of
that stage when the child l>egins to peer
into maidhood, smiled, and waved what
might seem a reiterated adieu to the de-
parting page.
Her fair redundant tresses were grace-
fully pursed up in that charming head-
tire of the period called a crestine, being
a golden net caul, whicli, imprisoning
the whole hair, allowed it to cluster in
its glittering cage, with most elegant
undulations, round the brow and cheek.
Her kirtle or cyclade was of the rich
celestial blue; and its material, termed
saracennet, from its Saracenic, or Ori-
ental origin ; her inner robe was of the
tyretaine, a glowing scarlet, confined by
a girdle of goldsmith's work ; and that
very slender waist, shewed that tight-
lacing at least did not follow in the wake
of intellect's dread march !
There was all of girlish love that could
beam from two sunny eyes, and wreathe
a roseate cheek and ruby lip, but there
was evident constraint mingled with this
parting token ; for, when those white
fingers touched those lips, and tossed a
sugared kiss along the air, as you would
swing a censer; no sound added music
to sweetness; and, in the hurried glance
and gesture, if there was affection, that
braves all, there was also caution that
apprehends all.
The boy stopped, and stood breathless
with adoration ; all the bold, the haughty,
and the fierce in his eye-glance, bkntUng
in one intense gaze of love ; as various
ingredients in the alchemist's crucible
mingle in one rose-coloured flame.
Again the bright girl waved her hand,
but now it was not so much a farewell
as a warning gesture. A hurried, averted
glance, and a straining of the swan-like
neck towards tlie arched door at the
back of the gallery, indicated an un-
welcome appr<):u.h ; and, starting at this
admonition, the young D.-imoiseau hasti-
ly waved his embroidered hawk'r,-gl<>ve,
and vanished through the hall doorway
just in lime to avoid seeing another of
our dramatis persona: enter the niin-
Mrel's gallery.
It was a grave and majestie-lookitig
pers<jnage, wluwe broml fr<»lit and blue
eye wore at this moment an exprcntiion
of severity, the more terrible from In-ing
so dignified and (juiel. The featurefi
were large, but admirably chiselled, niul
the hair, an auburn with not one streak
of gray, was suffered to mingle its shining
waves with the beard, which curled down
from a pair of thick moustachios, crisped
with great precision, and gave a stately,
as well as a manly grace, to a face which
had surely not seen fiOy winters.
A cap (not unlike the broad bonnet
of Aberdeen), composed of purple cloth
of turse, without band or tassel, a dal-
matiea of yeJlow silk, damasked, and
overlaid with the family blazo<i, gules
on a saltire argent, a rose of the field, a
long full-folded mantle of crimson satin,
embroidered witli bhick bulls and golden
oak-branches, and the then rare luxury,
gloves of fragrant leather, fretted with
gold and various coloured silkwork, an-
nounced the Lord Hubert de Neville,
baron of Middleham and Uaby.
The expression on his commanding
brow darkened from displeasure to fierce-
ness, as Lord Hubert perceived the con-
fused air and hesitating step of his daugh-
ter, who was retiring from the front of
the gallery as he entered.
Lady Aveline then, for the first time,
read that tragic page in a volume which
had hitherto always been delightful to
her, and a scream of childish terror
evinced its efiect. Then too, for the first
time, did his only child, the heiress of
his castles and domains, meet the baron's
eye without awakening the most plea-
surable sen.sations.
She made an irresolute movement, ns
if to fly from his presence, without exactly
knowing why; but her father detained
her, and with no soft grasp.
Neither the limits of our story nor
our own inclination, admit of our ac-
counting for the piece of stage efl'cct
with which we have ushered in our prin-
ci|)al i)ersonations, any farther than thus:
— Polydore the page had I)c'en ([\\ h
deviation from the practice of chivaliy,
which destined the sons of esijuiies,
knights, and even nobles fur that o(lice)
taken to the nurture and favinir of l)e
Neville, from the hut of a vassjd of .Mid-
dleham, at the early age of seven, merely
because he was a child of rare beauty,
and bec.iuse the little motherless Liuly of
Middleh.im to<jk great contentment in
the childish plays he shewed her, — such
as making helmets of rushes, weaving
chains of tin- dandelion, aixl stringing
carkanils of daisii-s and king-cups. Of
course the widowed baron soon grew
ft)nd of his Aveline'* favourite, and iibout
eight years of luxurious luirlure, — 4ib*e-
quioux obedience, and servile flattery
292
THE PARTERRE.
from the domebtics, condescension that
forgot its dignity from the baron, and
somewhat more than the kindness of a
sister on the part of young Aveline,
served to foster, if not unfold, those
charming qualities in which human na-
ture, so circumstanced, never fails to be
prolific — viz ; selfishness, insolence, and
presumption.
A downright love affair (ridiculous
enough between a boy not fifteen, and
a girl a year younger) had been long
watched by the envy he had awakened,
and was at last betrayed by the animosity
he had provoked.
This morning had proved fatal to poor
Polydore, A declaration of everlasting
love had been interchanged ; and a
mutual embrace and kiss were the seal ;
but, alas ! both bond and seal were at-
tested by unwished-for witnesses, and
formally laid before the indignant, the
thunder-struck Lord Hubert.
The Lady Aveline had scarcely time
to turn a look of breathless supplication
upon her offended sire, when, in a mo-
ment, Polydore's voice was heard from
the castle court below.
" Unhand me, villains ! Slaves, un-
hand me, or right dearly shall ye abye
it ! My Lord Hubert, help ! haste.
Lady Aveline, they are about to slay
me!"
Gasping, and speechless with horror,
her slight figure trembling from head to
foot, Aveline did not dare so much as to
raise up her eyes to her father's face.
The Baron himself deigned not a
look at his daughter, whose arm he
grasped, while his head was bent, in the
direction of Polydore's outcries.
Resentment kindled his brow, and
pride curled his lip, and both broke
forth in a cruel laugh.
•' Unhand thee?" he said, " By Saint
Edward if they do, their own backs shall
bear the characters in rubric that I have
destined for tliiiie. My Lord Hubert,
forsooth ! he is no saint to help thee, if
he coutd ; and my Lady Aveline, cannot,
if she would ! And you, minion !" turning
a glance of lightning on Aveline, "you
to dare decline from your high birth and
state, to a base serf. See now, since
Aveline Neville hath joined lips to those
which, by her very bower-woman, would
have been deemed too mean, — see what
it hath cost the audacious coxcomb !"
The cries of the Damoiseau had now
ceased.
The ireful Baron led Aveline down
into the hall, and there compelled her to
look forth from one of the arched gothic
windows, whose recess retired to the
depth of twelve feet in the solid wall.
Now this magnificent Castle of Mid-
dleham consists of a parallelogram,
which contains eight noble towers, with
numerous stories and suites of chambers;
and encloses a court, from the centre of
which, isolated, gloomy, and of im-
mense size, soars the donjon keep,
flanked with turrets ; — the brackets and
architraves of its state apartments are
still to be seen. You may also trace the
windows and a cornice of heavy flute-
work in the chapel ; and, in the hall, a
flat, arched window, eighteen feet wide,
and proportionately high, lets in a flood
of light upon the battered ruins.
In this window stood Lord Neville
with his shrinking child, and compelled
her attention to a particular spot, where
a broad low arch led from a flight
of steps in the yard below to the buttery.
And there the poor girl beheld, with
agonies of childish grief and fear, the
page Polydore, in the hands of the
vassals, half divested of his gay apparel,
stretched across the buttery hatch, writh-
ing andbleeding, but without a complaint
or moan, under a discipline by no means
uncommon in the household government
maintained in their baronial mansions by
the great of old.
It is very probable that the punish-
ment of young Polydore's presumptuous
affaire de cccur would have ended here.
Provoked as the Baron was, and re-
solved to put a full stop to such folly ;
still he could consider it only in the
light of a boyish freak ; and as such, the
punishment he awarded, while calculated
to tame down the page's aspiring blood,
did not, in the opinion of that day, by
any means exceed the transgression.
Polydore therefore, on his submission
and acknowledgment, would, very likely,
have been reinstated, ere nightfall, in all
his privileges at Middleham, save the
imaginary one of a share in the heart of
its beautiful heiress.
As for Lady Aveline, his chance was
lost eternally there; for terror, not slightly
tinged with shame and contempt, took so
large a share in the feelings with which
she had witnessed the unlucky Damoi-
seau's punishment, that love and Poly-
dore were dissevered in her Imagination
for ever.
Not so the culprit !
Few who saw him, when his correc-
tion had been inflicted, deliberately
arrange his dishevelled raiment, replace
his cap upon his disordered locks, and
walk coolly out of the castle gateway in
nil: PAUTEKHK.
293
the north-east toner, would have ima-
gined how deeply thu stripes of ignominy
had eaten into his pmud soul ! They
could see his hrow was red, but that
might be witii pain ; they could note the
white teeth glaring through his writhen
lips; — his lurid eye too, they ail re-
marked, whose hectic fire seemed to
loathe the light. Still, — less than this
none in the castle, who knew liis tierce
and niisproud temper, would have ex-
pected from Polydore. One and all
regarded it merely as the plunging and
rearing of the colt who feels curb and
lash for the first time.
Ah! could they have seen his heart !
As it was, the Scourged Page gave
them good cause to conceive that he hati
felt his cliastisement more acutely than
was customary on such occasions, since
he absented himself altogether from the
C'a-stle of .Middleham.
Great was the marvelling among the
domestics.
" Did ever lad so play the haggard
with his own good fortune? and then to
take wing for a few stripes ! Why,"
thus moralized Roger the falconer,
'■ liere have I the marks of many a good
skin-cutting from old Grimsliaw the
cook, when I was an overthwart lad, and
what of that? Where would have been
the head falconer's place, and twenty
inerk a year, if Roger Teesdale had
shewn them a clean pair of heels the
first time they bade him untruss? Give
me the doublet, well-faced and lined,
that liides all lashes. Let me only have
a good store of my lord's beef and ale,
and I'd J^omach fifty floggings. But
this young Eyas of a page, forsooth ! —
touch his silky skin, and he's oil' like a
ruffled bird ! "
" Ry'r lady ! " said .Ste])hen the pant-
ler, "the vounker sliewed fight however!
I'd have been sworn to hold such a strip-
ling ;ls that with my teeth, untruss him
with one hand, and fly-flap him with the
other, and, to ye I he tasked some half
dozen of us !"
" Ay, and fought like a heron on his
back, when we had hatn])ered him ! "
" Well I 't was a niisproud .lackanapes
— not that I Ixjre him malice — but h as
had his well-earned wages this blessed
day ! ''
*' The lad lias surely never been such
fool as to pitch hiiriHcIf into the L'rc. —
I ftliould be loath to hear that."
"Not he — 'tih fur more likely he's
ranging Mowbray plain, or finaring rub-
liitH in (jaunless tliicketx."
" P'nliaw ! inv masters,'' M»id Grim-
sliaw ihj eoi k, "you'll have liiiii back,
and on his niarrowlxines. wlien he re-
members that the fat haunch in the
kitchen Itwks fairer than the pnlmy ant-
lers in the forest."
"Ay ! ay !" said the huntsman, ''many
a lashed hound that hatli fled from the
thong, is coaxed back by the platter."
.And thus the tloiiieslics jirattled upon
I'olyilorc's disappearance from 31idiile-
ham castle.
With the baron Hubert, and liis
daughter .Aveline, I'olydore's flight was
a subject of higher interest, and a source
of more delicate feelings.
Lady .Aveline, striking as the revolu-
tion had been in her young and ductile
mind, from the hitherto inexperienced
severity of her father, still could not but
jjarticipate forcibly in the sensation pro-
duced by Polydores absence. She felt
sorrow for his suiferings, and shame for
having herself iieen the cause of them,
but in the apprehension she entertained
for his safety, love had not the slightest
share.
Lord Neville, for his part, lieing a
kiiul-hearted and placable man, although
punctilious in exacting the tleference due
to rank, began to regret he had been so
severe with the lad ; his newly-awakened
anxiety and pride, however, found such
sedulous em|)loyment in weeding from
Aveline's mind every trace of her child-
ish regard for the ofVending Polydore,
that it diverted n\uch of his nielaiiclioly
musing on the probable fate of his Da-
mo i sea u.
In short, the page seemed resolved to
appear no more at Middleham ; and
perha]>s it was as well he should not ; for
had he returned within three months'
space, he would have had the mortifica-
tion of liiuling himself as totally forg<it-
ten a.s if he had never ilared to clasp the
waist, and kiss the lips of lady .Aveline;
and never Ik'cii stripl and flogged for his
impudence, at the buttery-hatch.
At the expiry of that period how-
ever, he was reinstated with horrible cir-
cumstance in their remembrunce.
One dteury nightfall, towards the
close of autumn, just about the hour
when a great supper was nearly ready to
be dished up for a company of distin-
guished guests at .Aliclillelium caslli', who
sliuuld present himself to the porter,
while preparing to close the great gulc*
of the castle, acctirding to the univeiMd
manoriul custom during meal-times—
drenched anil shivei ing, and, as he -luid,
pinched with hunger, bul the long
missing l'ol\ dore !
294
THE PARTERRF.
He had always been a favourite with
Lambert Norris, the porter ; and, in
fact, had paid him more court than he
usually deigned to the other domestics,
as being a convenient friend in case of
his requiring greater liberty of egress and
ingress than the strict regulations of the
eastle permitted.
Former kindly feelings thus re-awak-
ened, enhanced by the piteous appear-
ance of the youth, and backed by the
conviction that his return would be
gladly hailed by all at Middleham, en-
sured from Lambert the porter, not only
a hearty welcome to the returning prodi-
gal, but also a prompt acquiescence in
his request of secresy, until Polydore
should be enabled, by the aid of bis old
friend the chaplain, to make his peace
with his offended lord.
The Damoiseau, however, casting a
shivering look on the bare walls and
scanty fire of the gloomy porter's lodge,
declared his intention of seeking warmth
at the kitchen fire-place, which as he well
knew flamed the brightest at that hour, as
well as of obtaining refreshment from
the viands it was preparing for the ba-
ron's hall.
So saying, Polydore quitted the hea-
vily machicolated gateway, and travers-
ing the court, soon reached the bulky
pile in its centre, generally termed Fitz-
ranulf's Tower.
In its lowest range stood the castle
kitchen. Ah ! who that sees now the
witchelm in the open arch of that im-
mense chimney, hanging in the evening
sky, all coloured over with a warm sun-
set of gorgeous golden haze, airless, and
sweet, and still, could imagine the scene
that presented itself to the eyes of the wet,
and shivering, and famished Polydore ?
A vaulted apartment, nearly fifty feet
high, was illuminated by the Phlegethou-
tic blazes of two stupendous fireplaces,
each more than twenty feet wide, and at
right angles with each other, whose vol-
canoes of flame were eclipsed by huge
cauldrons, black pots and pans of every
size and shape, each seething, simmering,
and sputtering, with their savoury ingre-
dients of boil, fry, and stew ; while their
red grates were blockaded by unweildy
joints of meat, and spits of trussed wild
fowl.
Ever and anon would the flaring stove
of some oven expand its fiery jaws, while
from the tormented flood, bubbling and
billowing in the crater of that great fur-
nace, a vapour as of hecatombs arose.
Fumes of precious odour, gleams of Pan-
demonial light, and voices in various keys
struck various senses at once in this vast
room.
Viands either ready for the fire, or
freshly removed from it, argued the im-
mediate approach of the banquet.
Dimly distinguishable, amidst this
culinary chaos, the master cook, the
demogorgon of the scene, commanded
and countermanded, — tasted, stirred,
examined, and where all were busy,
seemed himself the busiest.
During all this turmoil, it is not to be
supposed that Polydore's sudden and un-
expected apparition would excite the
attention it might otherwise have done.
Some effect it certainly did produce,
to wit, that Master Grimshaw suffered a
stew, on which he peculiarly prided him-
self, to burn to the silver pan ; and that
sundry of the deputy coquinarii did pitch
into each other's aprons the sauces des-
tined for the palates of the baron's
guests ; kettles boiled over ; spits forgot
to turn ; and, in short, the magnum
opus of cookery was in imminent peril of
perishing in its very projection.
Polydore, notwithstanding, glided
quietly to the vast glowing vaults of the
fireplaces, and bidding the fellows post-
pone their wonder till the supper was
served, promised that he would then con-
tent them to the full.
And the mighty operation soon pro-
ceeded as if nothing strange had hap-
pened.
Polydore took his station under the
red and sooty pavilion of the fireplace,
apparently not only indifferent but totally
unobservant of all that was going on ;
his only occupation being the very
natural action, in his condition, of
stretching and turning his chilled limbs
before the blaze.
To the short interrogatories occasion-
ally addressed to him by the master
cook or his assistants, as their business
drew them to the fireplaces, the page
listened with apathy, or replied with
brevity.
At length all things were prepared.
Grimshaw gave the signal by rapping
with his cleaver on the dresser ; the castle
bell tolled quick and loud ; and the lid of
the great cauldron was lifted off".
As the rich ambergris steam of phea-
sants, partridges, and hares, blended into
a stew, with other delicate meats and
herbs, arose in clouds from the mighty
vessel, the hungry page seemed suddenly
awakened to a joyful anticipation of his
share in the good things it contained. A
strange gleam of delight shot forth from
his hollow eye, as he turned to the huge
THE PARTERRE.
i95
kettle, and passed his hands rapidly over
it three or four times, till two of the
under cooks returned to carry it from
the fire.
Polydore's departure, which took place
immediately upon this, was totally un-
noticed : and indeed, on the occurrence
that followed, all averred tliat it was a
spirit.
At that supper all who partook of the
stew were most miserably afl'ected.
The Lord Hubert himself, with whom
it was a favourite dish, toj;etlier with two
of his guests, died suddenly ; and the rest
who chanced to eat of it never recovered
the effects to the day of their death.
In vain was the marvellous story of
Polydore's apparition related, — it was
universally repudiated as absurd ; and
Lambert Norris the porter, who alone
could have thrown light upon this hor-
ribly mysterious transaction, was so
panic-stricken at the wholesale ven-
geance which justice (miscalled) was
driving forward at the castle, that he
had not courage to reveal what he knew
of the matter; and by this cul|)able
silence saved his place, if not his life.
Well indeed mi.-ht Justice be painted
blind, fur, on this dreadful occasion,
Grimshaw, the master cook, and his two
assistants, were sacrificed to the manes
of Lord de Neville and his murdered
friends. Indeed they only escaped the
appalling punishment of boiling alive,
decreed by law* to their imaginary crime,
at the weeping intercession of the
Baroness Aveline ; and they were exe-
cuted on the gallows at Middleham, pro-
testing their innocence to the hist.
A quarter of a century had elapsed
since these events, and it was about the
hour of the Com]>lin, one radiant day in
August, 1;1 — , that a horseman of a lofty
presence reined in his while l)attle horse
just on the summit of the hill by which
you enter the town of Kichmond from
the Catterick road.
A delicious breeze, most grateful
during the opjjressivc sultriness of that
season, gushed soft and low at intervals
around, transjjorting luxurious odours
from the new hayricks in the savaimalis
below, by the river side, and from the
flower beds whose colours lay lini among
the trelliced alleys and hornbeam hidges,
on the town bunks.
Great was the refreshment it seemed
to afford the traveller, who wiped his
moist and swarthy brow, with n fine
broidered kerchief, and inlialiil eagerly
the faint reluctant summer winds: —
• riii> Uw wii- III li.tcr nil 1317.
while the expanded nostrils and dewy
Hanks of his charger seemed fully to
sympathise in his gratification.
But, even if fatigue had not induced
him to lialt, that traveller might have
been well contented to stay his route,
were it only to gaze on the magnificent
landscape that saluted his eves.
A luxuriant extent of lawny meadows,
studdeil with large trees, and braided
with woodland, lay below, and stretched
away in parks and groves to the misty
horizon. Far in the vale Saint Martin's
Chapel arose darkly graceful from its
sunny turf. On every side were to be
discovered castles and towers, hooded
with branching trees. Lurking behind
its dark rookery. Saint Agatha's ,\bhey
at Eastby was betrayed by a white pin-
nacle, a transparent window, or a gay
weathercock glittering here and there ;
while its many-gabled mill stood basking
in the sun, boldly relieved against the
shadowy foliage that over-arched its
chimneys. Swift through the fertile
valley, blue as the sky he reflected, and
lively as the siui that danced on his cur.
rent, rolled the rejoicing Swale. Soft
j)ale slopes, fresh jilundered of theirjuicy
grass, swept upwards from his margin.
Then gleamed the gardens, steaming
with summer heat, where the wimpled
fair
" ett-al into tlie pleachp<l bower,
W'liiTe hoiieysiukUs ripened by the giiii
FiiibrI llic snii tot-iittr; like f.ivomitcs
Made prond by priiicis, that advaiic.' llieir pride
Ajiaiiifl the posM r iliat bic<l it."
Still higher uj), the orchards whose
verdure was already diversified with red
and yellow fruitage, stretched, like bro-
caded scarfs, around the hill, crested and
crowned by tall extensive mansions,
stately in aspect and redundant in de-
vice. And further back, the sun-clad
steeples of tlie Hi^iy 'l"r,inily, the (irey
Eriais, and .Saint Mary's stood challeng-
ing each other with tlieir jangling
chimes; while, paramount over all, the
Castle Keep marshalled his phalanx of
turret, battlement and portal, along the
ridge, beneath a l)laze of light that parch-
ed U|) the iiilly streets, sheeted tlie steep
roofs in yellow, or leajit from vane to
vane in living gold, as the lazy noontide
winds sleepliilly shifti'd them to and iVo.
Whatever might be the feelings of the
horseman while his eye waiulered over
this delightful prospect, he did not ex-
presN them alouil ; and indeed, supposing
he //«(/, we have very giMxl reasons for
not communicating them loour reader*.
It is a well-established Mile in the
jiiiisprudeiice <d' romunce, tlial no heii)
•296
THE PARTEKRE.
is to be supposed dead, unless (iu the
good old Irish acceptation of the word),
his head has been bona tide and beyond
all controversy, cut off.
For instance you shall see him drop
down, and turn all the colours of the
rainbow ; — 'poisoned beyond all doubt I'
say you. No such thing ! — it is either
a sleeping potion, intended to last for a
certain convenient time, or else some
wandering conjuror administers a re-
storative that brings him back from the
very tomb. Drown him 'full fathom
five,' and he shall be met with in some
enchanted island or palace in the wood,
■with as many restoratives as would set
up a dozen Humane Societies, and sur-
rounded by luxuries enough to make one
drown oneself for a chance of them.
When you read — "and with these words
he passed the rapier twice through Don
Jasper's body, exclaiming, ' die dog.' " —
or some such humane and affable ac-
companiment to the thrust, — it is by
common courtesy allowed that the said
Don Jasper is only to welter in his gore
for a certain space ; long enough to
satisfy you that he is disposed of for
^ this dat/ six months ;' — and then up he
starts safe and sound, perhaps relieved
of an imposthume in his lungs, which
medicine had long pronounced incurable.
As for hanging, — pooh ! it is quite a
disappointment to the reader if that does
not prove a bungling job ! — And so on
with all deaths ad infinitum, save and
except the incontrovertible one above
mentioned.
Vain therefore is it, when an author
merely states that his hero is never seen
more, or never heard of more, vain,
worse than vain if he should flatter him-
self that the wily, experienced, veteran
romance reader will take his word for
it : — a very tyro would feel incredulous.
From the first moment that such an
assertion is hazarded, young and old are
on thorns for his reappearance.
Not a solitary stranger is permitted to
put up at an hostel ; — not an unexpect-
ed guest makes his appearance at a
castle banquet ; not a knight with closed
aventail and deviceless shield, presents
himself at a tournament ; not an outlaw
lurking in his forest cave ; nay not a
serving man of handsome exterior, and
who chances to ' have done the state
some service,' but forthwith the vora-
cious reader pounces upon him for The
Lost One !
So catlike is their vigilance, so sleep-
less their suspicion, so redolent of Bow
Street their acuteness and activity, —
you would tliink that not to discover the
poor author's little '■ bit of nonsense,' as.
Win Jenkins says, involved a deep per-
sonal disgrace.
Away then with mystery !
■' Via the cloud that shadows Borgia I "
Not one instant will I stoop to conceal-
ment — for well I know concealment
would be vain : — not a single word will
I waste to mystify the public, — for they
refuse to be mystified.
I will first take breath, and then the
liberty of informing all, who have ac-
companied me thus far, that the horse-
man who halted at the entrance of fair
Richmond tovi'n — halted only to breathe
his steed, whom he had ridden somewhat
hard, and cool his own brow, that glowed
as much from the fire within as the heat
without.
And they will fully acquiesce in the
propriety of my withholding from their
confidence any soliloquy of his, whether
vocal or mental, when they are told
what their own sagacity has doubtless
long ago discovered, that it was their old
acquaintance Polydore, the page who
had been whipt on the buttery hatch at
Middleham Castle, who had been so busy
about the kitchen fire, and so fond of the
sweet-smelling savour of its viands, the
night that the poisoned banquet was
served up.
Having made this frank avowal, I
would merely hint that at present he
goes by the title of Sir Angelo Lascelles,
whose prowess against the Soldan and
his Paynim host, won him knighthood
from the sword of King Edward himself.
That he had the fortune to save the life
of Adrian Lord Scroop, the consequence
of which had Wen so strict a friendship
with that nobleman, that he became his
brother in arms ; and now, on his return
from the Holy Land, was the bearer of
missives to the Baron's lady, Aveline
Neville, who having added the castles of
Middleham and Raby, to Lord Adrian's
large hereditary lordship of Bolton
Castle, acted as chatelaine in the absence
of her consort, residing the principal part
of the year in that princely fortress with
her two blooming children. Cicely and
Maximilian.
I think it is Dangle in the Critic,
who says that " when they do agree on
the stage, their unanimity is wonderful ! '
and thus it will be confessed that when
I do explain, it is not by halves.
Sir Angelo Lascelles then, as it is ex-
pedient to term him, after casting a care-
less glance over the magnificent land-
scape before him, proceeded at a moderate
THE rAUTKIlIlE.
•7
pace down the sleep and circling street
conducting to the principal hostel in tlie
town.
This place of hospitable resort was
situated in the spacious irrepiiiar area
forming the market-])lace at liichnioiui.
A wide, but disj)roportionatcls'' low
gateway, surmounted with a startling
effigy of the great black bull of the Ne-
villes, ushered Sir Angclo into a pleasant
court, along one wing of which extended
at inidheight the well known solar, or
open latticed gallery, gaily painted, and
so built, as to otTer, at once to the guests,
the liberty of basking lazily iu the sun,
or of walking up and down its airy
arcade, safely sheltered from the rain.
A low balustrade of carved and colour-
ed open-work, wrought in circles and
saltires, and quatrefoils, formed its only
protection from the yard below, from
whence Sir Angelo could see the fustian
blouze of the citizen, and the long-tailed
cowl of the merchant, enlivened by the
gaudy raiment of some young Franklin,
or the blazoned livery of the important
pursuivant, among the chequered groups
that sauntered in the solar, or quaHl'd the
cooling tankard of cyder with sprigs of
balm, in some shady corner of its light
colonnade. Sunny, yet shaded, secluded,
yet gay, the solar, at the Black Hull,
was enlivened with that mingled hum
which ever marks an assembly of detach-
ed groups conversing in public, but on
separate subjects ; the busy and ubicjuitous
figure of the drawer flitting from knot to
knot, answering a'.l questions and sujjply-
ing all wants, formed the link that con-
nected the whole.
Sir Angelo haughtily avoided this
popular haunt of the lounger in the
thirteenth century; and, delivering his
steed to the care of the ready ostler, he
made a signal for the chamberlain to
conduct him into a private a|)artment.
Before he disappeared, however, in
the interior of the hostel. Sir .Angelo's
|iresence and attire had attracted the eye
of several who were enjoying their meri-
dian in the plea-sant MjJar.
He wore the ba-scinet, or lighter kind
of helmet, of a picturesj^pie globular
shape, without a crest, and open in front,
and the glancing steel mail of his light
baul>ert wa-s brightly revealed l>eneath a
Mircoat of purple silk, in the centre of
which, a lari^e sunfl<iwer enwreathed with
(iri-, surmounted thiH motto.
" I nir. IN AIKJHING."
The broad lielt of knighthood cinctured
rarele&kiy his loins, and th«- sriniilar, a
weapOB recently borrowi-d from »he
'I'litks, sustained itself jm hii thigh Mi^.
lance bore the broad red poimon, on
which was emblazoned the same de\iee
of the sun-flower, with that audacious
motto, which appeared to proclaim tiiat
ignominy, time, and distance, had not
quenched his old flame.
That he had a lively recollection at
least of the dis^racf it tirew duwn upon
him, wo shall see as we proceed.
I'he cuj) of racy canary had been
quailed, and the silver tankard, its sides
misty with the coolness of the fresh drawn
liquor, had been restored to mine host,
who, according to custom, made a leg,
and with the old fashioned ' hael' —
finished its contents ; when Sir Angelo
abruptiv broke silence.
" How far, sir host of the Black Bull !
may it he from hence to Bolton castle?"
"What, Bolton in Wensley ? why you
may rest anil feed your charger, sir
knight of the sun-flower, and feast your-
self to boot in my poor hostel, and yet
reach the towers of Bolton before sun-
set."
" Tarries the lady baroness at Bolton
now ?"
" Marry ! doth she : I .saw her lady-
ship's gentle face myself this Lammas-
tide, what time I went with Bed Hal
the furrier, and long Dickon the smith,
to the castle ; in our jiageant, when I
enacted St. Dunstan. l-'egs I had you
seen how my lady laughed when 1 took
th' oud un by th' nose ! Oh 'tis a piei-
less dame ! "
" The lady Scroop is liberal then in her
maintenance during the baron's absence?"
" Liberal ? ay, as the blessed sun and
rain of heaven, to be sure, that gladden
everything they touch ! "
"Holds siie high state? "
" Ay, by the Holyrood ! royal state,
sir knight : gallantly doth the baroness
Aveline (|ueen it in her castle : yet is she
merry and gracious willial. She holds
festivals, whereat barons nnd dames flock
like barn-door fowls to the table ol dais:
yet can she speak a free and kindly word
to a |)oor hosteler like myself. "T wa.s
but at last Lammas jjageant, that spying
me out, for all my tin mitre and gilt
vest (for I had been panller at ^lidilh--
ham ill tli' oud b.iron's time, him as tiiey
siiid Wits poisoned by the cook, not us 1
believed it — ) but as I was a saying, soys
my lady "
" It lKx>t8 not, mine host — bring nic
wherewith to mend my draught ;— but
slay- tell me, for 1 am bound to Bolton
castle, and a stranger, — tell me, doth the
lady .Scroop love— I would say doth she
cherish much I lie lemeiiibriince ol liii
.ibsi'Ml loid '
298
THE PARTERRE.
Mine host stared.
" I mean, among all the gay revellings
and tournaments at which thou sayest
she vouchsafes her presence, — is there no
gallant, no knight, who boasts of her
bel accoyle, — I say enjoys the favourable
regard of so absolute a lady ? "
" Now foy ! Sir Knight of the Sun-
flower ! foy ! that speech smells foul to
come from so fair a face ! "
" Nay, I meant no disparagement to
the noble dame. But I have warred in
Palestine, and am lord Adrian's brother
in arms, and having seen him in peril,
and sweat and bloodshed, I only doubted
lest the baroness dealt lightly in these
sports and festivals."
" Not a whit ! not a whit ! she deems
(and all who know the lady Aveline,
approve her judgment), that her warlike
lord's honour is better consulted in
having hospitality and good fellowship
maintained in his absence, than if she
were to sit mewed up in a corner of the
deep quadrangle, at Bolton, or pining in
her closet in Middleham donjon. She
has been heard to say (and I, for one,
hold it a gallant saying and a good), —
that her beads in her oratory, and her
prayers in the chapel, — shall never mar
the feast in the hall, or the chase in the
forest. There be tears, mayhap shaine
for the exile ; but glory and the red cup
to the absent crusader ! "
" True, true ! " said Sir Angelo, while
a transient spasm twitched his features,
" and I may well joy at thy speech : for
thou wottest, mine host, that this bounti-
ful open cheer of the Lady Scroop bodes
well for a wandering red-cross warrior
like myself."
" It bodes well to every one who loves
honour, and whom honour loves," replied
mine host of the Black Bull, somewhat
snappishly, for he felt piqued at the
liberty the strange knight had taken
with one to him so enskyed, and sainted
as the lady of Bolton.
The noonday meal was now set before
Sir Angelo ; and, on its conclusion, he
sauntered forth into the stables ; where,
having seen that his steed had been well
provendered, — he loitered listlessly up
and down the court of the liostel, occa-
sionally pausing, as his notice was at-
tracted by the various coteries in the
solar above.
At length, a stout-made yeoman,
somewhat past the meridian of life — his
attire bespeaking from its gorgeous bla-
zon, that he appertained to the illustrious
house of Scroop and Raby, was observed
by Sir Angelo, as he descended the open
staircase, that led from the solar to the
inn yard.
The knight hesitated a moment, and
then seemed to take some sudden resolu-
tion ; for, approaching the man, who,
struck by the bearing and attire of Sir
Angelo, renewed his advances with a
mixture of surprise and respect, he drew
him away from the courtyard, and soon
engaged him in a deep conference, upon
which we have, at present, neither occa-
sion nor privilege to intrude.
(Concluded at p. 305 J.
IMPUDENCE!
" While the peasant of the south seeks
only to know where the best ale is brewed,
and the newspaper most to his mind
taken in ; the peasant of the north is
looking forward and upward, and ac-
quainting himself with poetry and his-
tory, till he rivals those " far seen in
Greek, (!!!) deep men of letters," in
taste and knowledge ; — nay, have we not
seen one of them, at least, successfully
assert his right to the very summit of
the Scottish Parnassus? ! I 1 1 "
This is the language of a reviewer,
the existence of whose journal depends
upon the patronage of Englishmen. By
the "peasant of the north" is meant of
course the peasant of Scotland. Where
did the scribe obtain his means of com-
parison? and what does he mean by this
insult to his readers? We venture to
assert that more ardent spirits are drank
in one parish in his country than in some
whole counties in England. When will
Englishmen resent the insolent attacks
of these men, who, while they are deriving
subsistence from the patronage of the
English public, serpent-like sting the
hand that fosters them. K.
HINDU^LEGEND.
The following Hindu legend is given
by Mr. Roberts.
" A woman who was going to bathe,
left her child to play on the banks of the
tank, when a female demon who was
passing that way carried it off. They
both appeared before the deity, and each
declared the child was her own : the com-
mand was therefore given, that each
claimant was to seize tlie infant by a leg
and an arm, and pull with all their might
in opposite directions. No sooner had
they commenced than the child began to
scream, when the real mother, from pity
left off pulling, and resigned her claim
to the other. The judge therefore de-
cided, that as she only had shewn affec-
tion, the child must be hers."
THE PAUTKRIIE.
2f»9
INDIAN CHIEF AND HIS DOG.
" Their fount lins jl.ike oiir thir^l Hi noon,
I'pcn their hills our harve-i wave?.
Our loTeis vow beiie.ith ih<ir muon,
AntI Ut lis spare at leajl thtir yratvt."
Bryant.
No people venerate the graves of tlioir
ancestors with such an enthusiiustio devo-
tion as the Indians. War is the master-
passion of their bosoms, and their next
most sanguine feeling is to lay them-
selves, after death, beneath tlie green
turf of their fathers. There are no ordi-
nary changes of nature that can so dis-
figure the tombs of those they love, as to
cause them to forget where they were
laid. Although civilization has hurried
the most of them from the Atlantic
shores, and the husbandman's grain has
long waved over the gentle slopes of their
burial places, there may occasionally be
seen one of this banished race, clad in
the wild romance of the wilderness,
threading our hills and valleys, to view
once more the simple scpulclires of his
fathers ; and he scarcely ever fails in
finding the precious earth, though the
eye of a white man sees nothing but the
level lawn or uninterrupted symmetry of
the hills.
Some time in tlie latter part of the
last century, a decree went forth from
the sovereignty of the state of Massa-
chusetts, removing the Indians from their
hunting grounds. Some there were
among this race, who, by presents and
protestations of love and protection, com-
plied with this mandate; but others
were determined to die on the graves of
their forefathers. Such was the resolu-
tion of the chief of a small trilie, called
the Oiras. His name was Eagle-eye.
He had watched the handful of warriors
whom he had led on to battle, one by
one pass away into the western world ;
and when he pressed the young hand of
Snake-fiKjt, his only son, for the last
time, the silent tear sprang into his eye.
He told him to be brave — to seal]) every
male white that fell in liis way. He
pointed to the blue smoke that was curl-
ing over the dwellings of a distatit village,
and then turned his face to the green,
sunny slope where their fathers slept.
He yet recollected how the roar of a
falling tree, in the solitude of the forest,
started him from his slumbers, and now
tlioii^hl liow iriie the sus[>icion was that
then crossed his mind. He then ex-
pected tliiil a few more m<H)ns, and the
foreftl* would l)c gone, the turf of the
hillf broken, the gravss of liis ancestors
levelled ! He now saw all this, and him-
self a lone wanderer — a noble spirit
lingering above the bones of those he
once loved. Yet one companion was i>y
his side — it was his faithful dog. This
half spaniel, half cur, had slept in his
cabin tor hundreds of moons, and had
been taught every art which the sagacity
of a (log couki attain. There was no
trick that he was incapable of pcrtbrming.
His spaniel had caused him to love the
water, and the mixture of the cur like-
wise attached liim to the lar.d. He was,
tlieretiire, amphibious. IJut the most
noble trait of this animal was the allec-
tion he bore his master. He never left
his side at any great distance, without
being sent, in the daytime; and at night,
he always nestled himself down, and
watched his master in slumber with the
closest fidelity.
As the march of improvement increas-
ed, it was determined Eagle-eye should
remove. Plans were put in operation
to eflect this; talien a friend stepped
forth to comfort the warrior, anil give
him a home beyond the sweeping decrees
of the law. There was a rough, rocky
island, ot about six acres, in the river
Housatonic, where it crossed the Con-
necticut line, that appeared to be under
the jurisdiction of neither M;iss:u-husetts
nor Connecticut. The governments of
both states had often endeavoured to
decide to which it lawfully belonged, but
to no effect. This island was the pro-
perty of one M' infield. How be came
by it, I suppose it is not absolutely
necessary to know : at any rate, he had
an "indisputable title." This he gave
to Eagle-eye, to be his home ; and t'ur-
ther promised him, in case he died first,
he [AVinlield] would lay his body among
the bones of his ancestors, and keep a
sacred watch over them aflerward. The
Indian, in return, vowed eternal grati-
tude to his benefactor, and promised him
anv service he was capable of performing;
at the same time, swearing lasting ven-
geance on every other pule face within
his rcjich.
( 'poll this islaml was a curious cave,
formed by the rocks, that rendered it
famous for miles around. It was, in
the interior, like a large garret of a
house, the rocks running together like
the roof of a liiiilding. At one end was
a pi;ol of clear and sparkling water, that
was kept fresh by a small orifice in the
rocks that led a stream away. i he
music of the clinking rill was all that
broke tlie silence of the cave. I'liit «ai
the charm that lulled the warrior to rwl
300
THE rAllTEllRE.
at night, and the fifst thing that saluted
his drowsy senses in the morning. Doa,
(for that was his dog's name), on first
awaking, invariably trotted up to this
spring, and after lapping its pure waters,
used to proceed to the body of his reclin-
ing master, and putting his paws upon
his breast, lick his coppered and wrinkled
face, to warn him that the sun was break-
ing over the hills.
Although an enemy to the state, he
yet often crossed the narrow waters
between him and the main, for the pur-
pose of hunting. He went forth clad in
skins, with his belt of wampum, and
otherwise attired in the costume of savage
life. He spurned every article of civili-
zation but the rifle and its necessary
ammunition. These were furnished by
VVinficld. He might be seen in the still-
ness of a June morning, paddling liis
frail canoe in the cooling shade of the
banks, dressed in all the savageness that
characterized the warrior of the "far
west." His face was hideously painted,
and his head completely shaved, except
one long tuft on the crown. The
slightest noise would startle him, and
resting with his oar clasped in liis hands,
his keen eye would jjierce every crevice
in the creeping vines that ran along the
shores.
It was not many months before the
interior of his rocky home presented a
most beautiful sight. Few, save Win-
field, saw it while Eagle-eye was living.
The Indian used to say, that although
the game was fast leaving the hills, yet
his old age should not deprive him from
beholding it. He had, therefore, with
great ingenuity, stuffed the skins of
whatever he killed, and hung them on
the bare walls of the cave. Some, were
placed standing on the earth. A bear
might be seen in an elevated position,
with a rabbit clasped in his fore paws ; a
deer with his antlers flung back, as if
rushing with full speed through the
thicket ; the gaunt wolf, with his mouth
brought into a mock growl ; and ser-
pents of all species were coiled around
on the ledges of the rocks. Birds were
suspended by small threads from the
peak of the roof, with their wings spread
and their necks stretched out, as if in
the act of flying ; and several large
turtles were crawling on a damp spot of
earth in a corner of the cave. And
finally, the calm pool of water was lite-
rally alive with the quantity of fish that
were swimming around in it. But the
most touching spectacle of all, was a
little artificial forest. Eagle eye had
cut small trees of various kinds, and
taking them to this cave, erected them
in one corner, with all the taste of nature
itself. The branches were filled with
squirrels, and a few foxes were placed
round on the earth below. This is a
faint sketch of the home of Eagle-eye,
the chief of the Owas.
His hatred to the whites was un-
quenchable. When the western horizon
began to grow dark from the rising
storm, and the silent lightnings were
leaping around the edges of the clouds,
the warrior used to proceed to a small
rocky promontory on the south of the
island, and kneeling on its summit with
his dark hands thrown up, implore the
god of the thunders to shake the cabins
of the pale faces to the earth !
His dog, Doa, was the agent whereby
he kept up a communication between
himself and the whites ; and he had only
been taught the path leading to the house
of Winfield. They corresponded by
signs. The dog carried a slender stick
in his mouth, to one end of which was
tied a small basket, and in this some to-
kens were placed, the meaning attached
to which, had previously been agreed
upon.
Things were thus conducted, when
suddenly the Indian ceased receiving in-
telligence from Winfield. Day after day
passed, and the dog returned with the
same contents with which he departed,
rubbing lound the legs of his master
with a piteous whine. At last, one still,
bright night, the warrior was aroused
from his dreams by a stern voice. He
partly raised himself from his bed of
skins, while Doa by his side, was en-
gaged in a muttering growl. In the
aperture to the grotto, the figure of a
pale face was seen, and the broken moon-
beams were streaming in the cavern on
each side of him. Eagle-eye grasped
his tomahawk, and proceeded to the ob-
ject ; but the voice of Winfield paralyzed
his death-bent arm. '' I ftiijleld /" snid
the hunter, his eye surveying him from
head to foot, and then closed his speech
by bidding the dog to cease his noise.
VVIiat further colloquy ensued, it is need-
less to record. At any rate, the chief
proceeded to a large bag which liung in
the corner of the cavern, and taking out
some withered leaves and dry roots, they
both left the island, and shaped their
course for the village of Winfield's resi-
dence. Let us for a moment change
t!ie scene. Winfield's only daughter was
silently drooping away under the wither-
ing iniliiLnce of the consiiiiiptioyt. She
THE PARTERRE.
SOI
was once beautiful ;iiul lovely, but now
the soft vermilion bad faded from lier
cheeks, and an unearthly red triumphed
in its stead. She had been somewhat of
an enthusiast in her better days, and at
this particular time her feelings seemed
wrouglit to an unusual excitement. It
is said, just previous to death, the mind
grows more brilliant, and leaping back,
over the trodden pathway of lite, throws
its own bright light around the most
minute objects, — and with her such
seemed to be the case. She appeared at
this time to riot in the wild pleasures of
her imagination. She wondered where
she should be laid when she died. If
her soul, when the breath left the bodv,
would glide along amid the burning
stars. If her youthful friends would
strew the wild flowers of spring above
her grave, as she had over the dust of
her juvenile companions. If her father
would, when death stilled his pulse, be
placed by her side. She had breathed
out many a long starry night, with the
silence only interrupted by the drowsy
swing of the pendulum ot a clock, which
stood near her head. She made one
wish — it might be a foolish one. She
had nursed a rose-bush for years, and
she requested her younger brother to
plant it above her grave, and be sure to
transplant it again when the autumnal
winds began to get too chilly, returning
it back in spring; thus following this
custom as long as it should continue to
bloom.
In the midst of this warmth of feel-
ing, Winfield and the chief entered.
The hunter stuck his tomahawk in his
Ijelt, and with a noiseless step approached
the bed — the father drew a chair up at
the head of his dying daughter. l)oa
dropped down in a corner near the nurse
in a surly mood, and all was still. It
was a strange spectacle, as the savage,
arrayed in the horrid garb which he in-
variably wore, stood above the white and
emaciated girl in the last stage of a de-
cline. The shade of the lon;^' dark lock
of hair upon his crown, lay full upon her
brow, and in this posture the chief stood
like a monument, viewing the most
lovely wreck he ever s<iw. Aflcr satis-
fyitig himself, he drew forth from his
belt the leaves and roots he took from
the cavern, and giving thorn to Winfield,
whistled to his dog, and immediately de-
parted.
It has been thought th.at the Iridiansare
the tno*t kkilfid of all physicians. They
uve nothing an medicines but the wild
plants of the forest, and tradition aayn
some most wonderful cures have been
effected by them. Be this as it may, the
administration of this decoction com-
pletely restored the daughter of Win-
field, and she long shoi>€ as one of the
loveliest girls of " the land of steady
habits."' The whole regiment of .Smiths
in the state of Connecticut, sprang from
six families, and, as she married a hus-
band by the name, she contributed her
full quota to the gi-neral fund. This is
the greatest compliment recorded in her
favour. If anything more is wanted,
just procure a cojiy of her epitaph, which
comprehends about one hundred lines,
written by Deacon Dwight, and all the
Iierfections which humanity can ask,
will there be found. But this is getting
beyond my history.
It may be well to explain the cause of
^Vinfield's sudden appearance at mid-
night at the island grotto. Some friend
had informed him of the exquisite skill
of Indians in general, in cases of sickness;
and he recollected to have seen Eagle-eye
digging roots and gathering herbs in tlie
time of spring. His daughter had been
pronounced hopeles.s, and therefore no
great danger was to bo ap])rehended
from the |)rescriptions the hunter might
make. The reason of his adopting such
a lonely hour for his visit, was the re-
pugnance the chief had always manifested
to entering the village of the pale faces.
• ••••••
Few years had now passed, .tnd time
had nearly bent Eagle-eye to the earth.
His strength was so far gone, that in
vain he attempted to climb the ragged
promontory, where he had prayed to the
thunders. His canoe but seldom left
the inlet where it was moored, for his
hands were too feeble to clasp the oar,
and guide it round the bends of the
river. Sometimes, when the flowers
were out in s])ring, and the surface of
the waters was gentle anil glassy, he
would work it up near his favourite fish-
ing-spot, ami fling over his line. This
s|)ot was a deep hole near the roots of u
lol"ty elm, and when the waters were
still and transparent, the dark spotted
perch and swifl trout, might be seen
near each other. But the island itself
was a pleasing prospect to his eyes. He
use<l to walk around its coast, .ind ima-
gine it a wilderness. One noble, regal-
loiiking tree, stood upon its south side,
and many a long summer-hour the chief
spent beneath its shade. The burial-
place of his fathers was a gentle slojie,
wilhin sight of the island facing the
west, and he always watched the going
302
THE PARTERRE.
down of the sun, for he used to tell
Winfield its parting beams looked sweeter
as they gently faded away from this spot.
In the interior of the cavern, his birds
were still on the wing ; his beasts, though
in death, imitating life, and the fountain
of fish sparkled and shone as bright as
ever. True, the artificial forest had
shed its leaves, but it only reminded him
of his own fate. Yet the squirrels were
on the bare branches, and the foxes large
as life below. One mellow morning, in
the month of September, Winfield took
his usual walk to the cave of the Indian.
As his boat touched the island, he was
startled by the moaning of a dog. Upon
examination, he found the chief's canoe
drawn out upon dry land, and the In-
dian stretched in it — dead I The poor
dog was lying upon his breast, whining
most piteously, and licking the face of
his master with more than human fond-
ness. Eagle-eye had, from appearance,
previous to death, possessed sufficient
strength to draw his light bark canoe
from the water, and place all his imple-
ments of hunting within it, for he be-
lieved he should use them in the fair
hunting-ground of another world. He
was facing the hill where his ancestors
slumbered, an arrangement probably
intentionally made. The beams of the
rising sun lay full in his painted face, and
the tuft of hair hung partly over the side
of the boat. Winfield looked upon the
stern features of the fallen warrior, while
a few silent tears slid down the lashes of
bis eyes. He thought of his daughter
who might have been in her grave — but
yet she lived. The secret which con-
quered the consumption was never di-
vulged by the hunter.
Tlie dog followed the body of his
master to the tomb. Night after night
he watched above it, refusing all food
from the hand of Winfield. One chilly
morning, about four weeks after, he was
found dead. He was laid by the side of
him whom he so faithfully served.
O. S.
STUDENT OF HEIDELBURG.
f Fur the Parterre.)
In the year 179 — , the University of
Heidelburg differed but little from that
of the present day, save in point of num-
bers ; the same mixture of ranks and
classes, and the same swaggering half-
military looking personages, pipe in
mouth, were then, as now, to be seen at
all limes parading the principal streets.
The student at a German university is a
strange being, an odd compound of
dueling, smoking, billiard-playing, love-
making, and study ; but still there are
some whose object is study alone, who
lead a quiet regular life, and pass through
their terms unnoticed, save by their im-
mediate class fellows, and just such an
one was Karl Leibetz. He lodged at
the house of a widow lady, who had
hitherto declined receiving any of the
students, her reasons being two-fold ;
first, she had wherewithal to make her
yearly expenses meet without much
straining ; and secondly, her care and
solicitude for the welfare of the pretty
Adeline, her only daughter, clearly
pointed out to her that a gay and rattling
student would ill accord with her ar-
rangements. Her scruples were, how-
ever, removed by a note from Mr. Reis-
thans, the principal banker, requesting
to know whether she would have any
objection to receive as an inmate a young
man whose connexions were of the
highest respectability, and for whom he
would enter into any guarantee she
might desire. The recommendation of
the worthy banker was not to be refused,
and a reply in the aflfirmative, stating
how happy Madame Hartmann would
feel in receiving any friend of Mr. Reis-
thans, was immediately sent, and in due
course Mr. Carl Leibetz arrived.
In a short time Madame Hartmann
began to find that Mr. Karl was a re-
markably pleasant young man : he was
so quiet, that she could scarcely believe
she had received any addition in lier
household ; there was no smoking from
morn till night, no bottles of beer strewed
about the rooms in all directions, and no
carousing all night with his fellow stu-
dents ; in fact, she began to consider him
more as a friendly gviest than a lodger.
On his first arrival, the pretty Adeline,
whose expectations and curiosity had
been excited in the highest degree, had
expressed herself rather disappointed :
there was a chilling hauteur about him
which she could not at all understand,
but in a short time this wore away, and
Adeline began partly to coincide with
her mother's opinion, in thinking him
very agreeable, and partly to go rather
farther than Madame Hartmann had done,
in finding him a very handsome young
man.
Mr. Karl became at length to be so
much considered as one of the family,
that in any invitations to madame and
her daugliter, he was always included,
and never failed of accompanying them,
THE PARTERRE
303
and became elsewhere as great a favourite
as with Madame Hartmann.
I believe it to be a general rule witli
all narrators of " Historiettes," never to
allow a young couple to become domi-
ciled under the s;jme roof without en-
gendering the tender passion, and I mean
shortly, in a work of fiction, boldly to
strike out a new reading for myself; but
at the present time, as I have to do with
stubborn facts, I must be content to jog
on in the old-fashioned way, and admit
that there was some truth in the surmises
of an attachment existing between Mr.
Karl and the pretty Adeline ; and per-
haps it was not so wonderful that such
should be the case, — all things consi-
dered, — for Adeline was, in honest trutli,
a remarkably pretty girl, with a some-
thing so piquante and lively about her,
that you were lured away by her fascina-
tions, ere you had time altogether to
make up your mind tliat you were doing
anything more than considering her as
a very agreeable sort of a person. As for
Mr. Karl, I can't, as an honest liistorian,
quite agree with Adeline, in saying he
was very handsome. He was quiet in his
manners, elegant in his appearance, and
particularly attentive as to the make and
arrangement of his dress ; in fact, it
appeared as if he embodied in a German
person, that in England we generally
believed (at least before Prince I'uckler
Muskau taught us otherwise), to be only
found as belonging to an English gen-
tleman.
It was not until some time had elapsed
that Mr. Karl, finding himself extremely
annoved by the attentions of a pro-
vokingly handsome puppy towards Mam-
selle Adeline, began to question liimself
as to why he felt so much irritated, and
then it occurred to him in the strongest
manner possible, suddenly as it were,
without any mental train of rc.xsoning,
that lie was in love. Now the first thing
we do, after discovering tliat we are
thus cauglit, is to wonder at our stupidity
in not sooner being aware of it, because,
should circumstances or necessity render
it advisalile, we may have an opportunity
of quietly backing out before matters are
carried too far, and in Karl's cose, he
clearly saw that he was too far advanced
to be able to retreat,-— hiiwover mucii
stern necessity might ))oint out the pru-
dence of such a step. In consulting
with himself, he could only see one great
obstacle that presented itseU— his father
in sending him to llcidelburg, and spe-
cifying the various ac(iuirements neces-
sary for his son, had never said a word
about a wife, and he much doubted
whether such a thing had ever been
thougiit of — and even had it been in
contemplation, he was tolerably sure that
much as he might admire the charms,
the elegance and disposition of Adeline,
his father would not consider them as
sufficient, without the l)alance were
equipoised by rank and wealth.
If Karl, or even the pretty Adeline
had been slow in discovering the growth
of their aftections, Madame Hartmann
had been somewhat quicker; she had had
experience in tiiese matters, and could
understand the various little incidents,
which, unheeded by the parties them-
selves, speak volumes to a careful and
interested observer ; and its a wise and
prudent mother ouglit to do, she deemed
it right, before matters went too far, to
know something more about Mr. Karl
Leibelz : it was true Mr. Keisthan iiad
stated his family to be of tiie highest
respectability, and that he was instructed
to honour his drafts to any amount ; —
all that might be very well, as far as their
original position was concerned, but
something more she thought ought to be
known, as matters seemed to be taking a
diilerent turn. So one day, finding the
opportunity of making up some accounts
witii Mr. Reisthans to be very conveni-
ent, she stated at once what were her
suspicions, and begged to know who and
what the elder INIr. Leibetz might be.
The worthy banker seemed somewhat
posed at such a downright question, for
he stared at Madame through his spec-
tacles as if she had been a newly-disco-
vered error in his ledger, but the scrutiny
was unsatisfactory, for the lady had
screwed u]) her countenance in the most
determined manner ; and, like lirutus,
she paused for a reply.
"This is an awkward business, ma-
dame," rejoined the banker.
".An awkward business!" responded
the lady, in surjirise.
" Vjry."
" I really don't undersUmd you, Mr.
Reisthans."
" I am sorry for it, tnadame ; but to
explain. It is a pity your daughter
should love Mr. Karl, and it is a pity
Mr. Karl should be enamoured of the
young lady, because there can be no
marriage in the ease."
" Wliat," screamed the nslonished
mother, " not marry my (laughter '"
" Perfectly out of the (iiieslion."
" Is he married already ? "
" Certainly not."
" 'Jheii what is there to preveiil him."
204
THE PARTERRE.
"He has a Father."
" Doubtless."
" And his father is ''
" What ? "
" Why, madame, I am not exactly at
liberty to explain ; but as a friend to
yourself and family, believe me when
I say, it is quite impossible that a mar-
riage can, under any circumstances, take
place; therefore I would advise you, as
soon as possible, to put a stop to this
courting."'
The banker looked so serious, and
madame knew him so well for a matter
of fact personage, that she determined
on following his advice ; therefore, on
her return home, without much circum-
locution, she stated her mind pretty
freely. Mr. Karl hummed and ha'd
like a man who had a great deal to say ;
but did not know exactly how to explain
himself; but madame cut the matter
extremely short, by stating that, as a
mother, anxious for the welfare and
peace of mind of her daughter, she was
desirous of preventing her affections
being irrevocably fixed where the object
of them was altogether beyond her reach,
and if perfectly agreeable to Mr. Karl
Leibetz, his absence alone would bring
about so desirable an object.
Mr. Karl looked very angry, and tried
to expostulate; but madame remained
firm, and the result was his departure
from Heidelburg on the following day,
The pretty Adeline pined for some
time for the loss of her companion, but
as time wore on and as neither he nor
tidings of him ever reached her after-
wards, she gradually began to listen to
the addresses of a young merchant,
named Reiter ; and though he wanted
the grace, ease, and dignity of Mr. Karl,
yet the match was so desirable, and the
young man so agreeable, that she at
length consented to become Madame
Reiter.
Time wore away, and some few years
passed on, Madame Reiter having fol-
lowed the prosperous fortunes of her
liusband, who had finally settled at Mu-
nich ; as they were but recently arrived
with the intention of permanently resid-
ing at the Bavarian court, it was neces-
sary that they should be presented.
The important day being arrived)
found Madame Reiter arrayed in all the
splendour of a court dress, and plumes
" en suite," and looking more blooming
and handsome than ever ; and the ad-
miration of the crowd of courtiers wait-
ing their turn foi* presentation. When
iier name was announced as the next in
rotation, she felt a passing tremor of the
moment, but the gracious bow of the
sovereign instantly reassured her, and
she raised her eyes until they met those
of the king, when to her no small sur-
prise and as'onishment, she recognized
Mr. Karl Leibetz ; it appeared the re-
cognition was mutual, but the king,
looking around, and pressing his finger
on his lips, to prevent any breach of
court etiq«ette, she merely bowed and
passed on.
What were the precise results of this
" eclaircissement," I know not, or even
whether Madame explained to her hus-
band the circumstances of her "pie-
mieres amours," but I believe not, for
the worthy Mr. Reiter was often heard
to congratulate himself on the lucky
chance which had led him to carry on
his business at Munich, since he had
prospered even beyond his most sanguine
hopes. J. M. B.
THE
WISE WOMEN OF MUNGRET.
About two miles west of the city of
Limerick is an inconsiderable ruin, called
Mungret. This ruin is all that remains
of a monastic establishment, said to have
contained within its walls six churches,
and, exclusive of scholars, fifteen hundred
monks. An anecdote is related of this
priory which is worth preserving, because
it gave rise to a proverbial expression, re-
tained in the country to the present day,
"as wise as the women of Mungret." —
A deputation was sent from the college at
Cashel to this famous seminary at Mun-
gret, in order to try their skill in the lan-
guages. The heads of the house of
Mungret were somewhat alarmed, lest
their scholars should receive a defeat,
and their reputation be lessened, they
therefore thought of a most humorous
expedient to prevent the contest, which
succeeded to their wishes. They habited
some of their young students like women,
and some of the monks like peasants, in
which dresses they walked a i'ew miles to
meet the strangers, at some distance from
each other. When the Cashel professors
approached and asked any question about
the distance of Mungret, or the time of
day, they were constantly answered in
Greek or Latin; which occasioned them
to hold a conference, and determine not
to expose themselves at a place where even
the women and peasants could speak
Greek and Latin.
Tin: I'aktf.i;k;:,
.<05
Page 309.
MANORIAL ARCHIVES.
BV HORACE GUILFORD.
(For the Parterre).
THE SCOURGED PAGE.
ROMANCE THE SECOND.
[ Concluded from page 299.]
J N an hour afterwards, he of the sun-
Howcr was seen lo ride slowly and iinat-
tfiidcd, down the street by tiie castle
w.tjls, across the bridge over tlie Swale,
und u|) the woody steep of the opposite
biink.
.\ lonp range of dreary moor-land now
n-ceived .Sir Angeloand his gallant bar!);
bill they pricked briskly across it.
1,'nheeded was ihe inagnilicent vews
from ScatlerickHcad, into I'reslon Scaur,
b.u-ricaded by the broad I'eiiliili. IJn-
iioliced wan tliat long declivity which,
like u shifU.*d scene at a theatre, so ma-
gically cbaiigefi the wide purple he.-iih,
tor d.irk turfy lnne<t, i'ninured between
high banks, enamelled willi (lowers, and
kepulchred in foliage. Nor did the
vol.. I.
little tavern at the sliady village of Red-
mire, detain the knight ; the Peacock
sign over its sunny porch, its bay win-
dow, its oak-beanicd and stone-fla^ffed
parlour. Us massive elmine settle, and
its well- garnished beaufet, allured the
evening traveller in v.iin.
On, on, fared horse .Mid horseman into
the beautiful bosom of W'enslcy dale ; and
when the solemn form of Holton castle
arose liefore them, the sun was just
mantling his gigantic toivcrs with occi-
dental gold.
• Wliy I whatAnakiin
Mii»l niir baronial .inie^lors h;ive bet-n,
Siiire lor ilieii :iiicieiit siege and lliroiiedom,
iiaui;hl
Lc^« than a moulded mountain iniulit sulVice.
Tills embattled palace of the Scroops
the glory of Wenslcy dale, (ills and even
overpowers the mind l)y its prodigious
grandeur of dimension, und tlie cxtienu-
simplicity of its design.
If you were to be asked about H(jltoii
castle, and answered that there were four
s<|uare walls, (tanked by four square
towers— Olid nothing else, — you would
have said the truth. Hut whut towem,
and what walls ' — Semiraniis might huve
* Uld VTitgmenit.
\
306
THE PARTERRE.
been proud of them. • They would have
commanded admiration among the mar-
vellous streets of elder Babylon ; they
would have glorified, ay, and survived
that imperial city.
• " With towers and temples proudly elevate
On seven small bills, with p;ilaces adorned,
Porches, and theatres, baths, aqueducts, ^^
Statues, and trophies, and triumphal arcs."
What then must be the effect of this
colossal structure, as the cynosure of a
broad delicious dale;— with no neigh-
bour to its solitary magnificence ; nothing
but rich pastures, dark forest trees, and
blue waters, to divide attention ; the
bleak mountains of old Warden and
Penhill, its only rivals in bulk, and they
too distant to echo back the thunders
launched on its rebellowing pile in the
summer storm !
As Sir Angelo tramped through the
great gateway in the eastern front, the
towers soared so high that the sun , though
his goal was still distant, burnished the
standard of Scroop, impaling Neville on
the south tower ; — while the quadrangle,
immersed in shadow, had something in-
expressibly awful, from the uncommon
height of the buildings that surrounded it,
whose gloomy sides, however .were greatly
enlivened by the rich decoration of their
bright windows, exhibiting in muUion
and arch, beautiful variegations of orna-
ment and mould. The Lady Aveline
sat in her bower, a pleasant apartment
in the southern range of the castle ; and
two lovely children, about six and eight
years old, were engaged at her feet, in
some childish play, occasionally distract-
ing their beautiful mother's attention
from the gorgeous illuminations of the
parchment she was perusing ; — when the
missives, of which Sir Angelo was the
bearer, were put into her hands.
A cry of joy escaped her ; fondly did
she kiss the seal, and then, scarcely able
to articulate her orders, that Sir Angelo
Lascelles should be honourably enter-
tained, till she could be sufficiently
composed to receive him, — she hastily
severed the blue silk, broke up the wax,
and was soon immersed in the precious
and welcome intelligence they contained.
Great was the bustle of the officious
domestics in attending the stranger whom
their mistress delighted to honour.
First, Sir Angelo was ushered into
the hall, where, according to the profuse
hospitality of the time, — the table dor-
mant stood, garnished with all kinds of
delicates.
• Paradise Regained.
Scarcely had the knight time to do
justice to the good cheer, when he was
apprised that the bath awaited his plea-
sure ; and from thence he was escorted
to the chamber of Dais, where a couch
of gorgeous draperies, counterpane of
purple velvet, sheets like snow, and
blankets white as ermine,— Indian vases
of rich flowers,— a cage of golden lattice
filled with burning perfumes, and Tyrian
arras, representing the exploits of the
Crusaders, all testified how welcome to
Bolton castle, was the brother-in-arms
of its lord.
Here Sir Angelo received the very
acceptable tidings that his squire with
his sumpter mule had arrived ; and, in
consequence, our wandering knight
found ample employment in exchanging
his armour for a lighter habit, in which
he purposed to appear before the ba-
roness —
His choice was sumptuous but simple.
A close-fitting jupon of cloth of silver,
without seam, and bordered with red
velours, reached to the knee : the
splendid military belt of scarlet morocco
wrought with gold filagree, crossed it at
the hips : hose of white camlet, powdered
with sunflowers, terminated in sandals
fretted with silver ; and over all he threw
an exceedingly long mantle of purple,
coloured samite, having the foliated
border, so fashionable in those days, and
a large red cross, embroidered on the
shoulder. When we add, that the black
curly hair, now fleckering with insidious
grey, was duly anointed ; and the mus-
tachios and beard carefully crisped and
scented, — we have nothing left but to
accompany our old acquaintance Poly-
dore the page, under his new title and
costume, to the lady Aveline's bower.
Up the huge winding staircase, in the
south-west tower, along broad galleries,
and through stately rooms, with yawn-
ing fire-places, and ponderous cornices,
and carved oaken ceilings, and hang-
ings of divers colours, and divers histo-
ries, — they led Sir Angelo, till the
usher stopped at a fine round-arched
door.
Opening at his touch, it discovered a
beautiful apartment, not tapestried as
the others, but painted in fresco, with
some festal scenes of old romance ; for,
in one compartment, there were the pi-
lasters and balconies of a banquet house,
filled with gaily attired revellers ; in
another, a garden with fountains of silver
waters, and birds of rich plumage ; in a
third, a forest of lawny vistas, all sun
and shade, where the hart and the roe
THE PARTKHUE.
yov
disported and baiiked. Fresh and tine
rushes were strewn most orderly on the
floor ;— and large Cliina vessels, filled
with frafjrant flowers, stood in soft dal-
liance with the warm evening zephyrs
that floated in voluptuously from the
open lattices of three great windows, one
of which admitted the western sun that
obscured every thing in its own bril-
liance ; while the other two facing the
south, looked down over Wensley dale
and its twin-sister Coverdale, grouped
with herds of cows pouring their frothy
treasures into the vessels of the hind or
dairy-maid.
A boundless overlay of tranquil sun-
light tinged the glossy red, the snowy
white, and the speckless black of the
kine, the party-coloured raiment of the
peasants, the luxurious verdure of the
crofts, the darker greenery of the trees,
and the cool azure of the Ure, with its
overjiowering but most serene reful-
gence ; while the distant village of Mid-
dleham, with its castle towers and church
steeple, stood shimmering in the golden
light.
In this chamber, so sacred to a sum-
mer's eve, did tlie Scourged Page once
more gaze upon Aveline Neville, after a
lapse of five and twenty years ; and so
completely had those years done their
work both on Polydore's face and Ave-
line's heart, that even while she saluted
him as a stranger by his knightly name;
nay, while her eyes glittering with dewy
delight, tlianked him as the herald of her
lord's return ; while her heart honoured
him as lord Adrian's brother in arms,
and while her lips blessed him as the
preserver of his life, not a transient flash
of idea, not a glimpse of memory sug-
gested aught of what he had once been
to herself!
'Twere vain to say what eniotione
shook Sir Angelo. as his eyes wandered
from that form (whose cherished graces
of girlhood were now developed in the
full flowering beauty of the matron) to
the two noble children who, having over-
come their first awe, were now playing
alwul his stately form, and admiring his
costly liabit.
Whatever those feelings were. Sir An-
gelo mastered them admirably ; and, ere
long, all the emijarrassment of a first ac-
cjuitinlaiice having worn ofT, the Ba-
roness Scrooj) and the disgraced page of
Middlehain were in the easy and full
flow of an intcretiting convernation. With
thi<i difference, however, ifiat while Ave-
line was (juentioniiig of matters most
dear and near to her heart, such 08 the
health, gallantry, escapes, and precise re-
turn of her beloved Adrian; and listen-
ing with artless eagerness to Sir Angelo s
answers — the sensations which every look
and accent awakened in Polydore's
breast were so acute, that nothing less
than a long habitual discipline of dissi-
mulation could have borne him through,
or empowered him to suppress the cry of
agony that sometimes struggled in his
throat, and at others rose to his very
lips. Even tlie rousing chronicles of
Christendom and Osm;uilie, and the
glorious pictures of palmy Palestine,
which Aveline's interrogatories conjured
up — mighty as were the memories they
invoked — could scarcely for a moment
withdraw him from the ever gnawing,
ever burning thought, that he was in the
presence of one to whom he had once
surrended his affections, and received
her's in return ; for whose sake he had
endured an irremediable ignominy ; —
that it was Aveline — Aveline Neville, at
whose side he was then silting, who had
obliterated from her allection ; ay, from
her very remembrance, every trace of him
who was once so dear — him who loved
her still with a passion which borrowed
its chief ingredient from revenge !
We must now use our high preroga-
tive, and annihilate time and space in
order to suit the Imiits of this our true
Chronicle of Bolton Castle.
Imagine, then, nearly a month to have
elapsed since our last paragraph. Con-
ceive that interval to have been embel-
lished with all the gorgeous manifesta-
tions of ceremony and courtesy which
that pictoKial age of chivalry loved to
create for the entertainment of those
whom men held honourable. Paint, in
as lively colours as you can, the festi-
vals, the huntings, and the jousts, which
made old Wensley dale rock with the
gallojiing of coursers, the blowing of
boms, the clashing of shields, and the
ringing of bells.
Suppose Sir Angelo Lascclles to be
the distinguished hero of all these revel-
lings ; and imagine the beautiful and
illustrious Chatelaine presiding over all,
with high habitual state, and that frank,
joyous couitesy, which mine host of the
Black Bull so graijhically described to
the Crusader, bright and bountiful as the
sun, and as inaccessible too !
But Sir .Angelo, profoundly subtle a«
his ingine was in most instances, fell
short in this ; and, like all villains, think-
ing contemptuously of the sex, he took
this Ubrrahty fi>r license.
Siill, intoxicated as he wa» witli the
308
THE PARTERRE.
condescension of lady Aveline, and crav-
ing, he knew not what of vengeance,
Polydore was not insane enough to im-
agine, that to approach her affections by
the usual avenues, would ensure the ca-
pitulation, if not the surrender so im-
portant to the gratification of his odious
passions.
No ! his demeanour was uniform and
guarded. Seated next to her siege of
state at the banquet, galloping at her side
in the field, or sporting on the rushes
with the little Cicely and Maximilian
in her bower, the Crusader ransacked
every chamber of his imagination for ma-
terials wherewith to weave the golden net
in which it was his object to ensnare the
noblest as well as the loveliest lady in all
the North Riding.
And as far as his measures were cau-
tiously concerted did they succeed.
Sir Angelo now comported himself as
an affectionate brother towards Aveline,
and the lady on her part already enter-
tained for the Crusader that undisguised
regard which he flattered himself was
less cold than that -of a sister.
Accordingly he proceeded to his next
step in his gigantic treachery.
A change exhibited itself by degrees in
his conversation and demeanour. Me-
lancholy reveries, even in lady Scroop's
own presence — smiles cut short with
sighs — interrogatories not meant to be
understood — broken apostrophes intend-
ed to be only too intelligible — involun-
tary starts, and abrupt gestures; all apo-
logized for immediately ; together with
sundry similar mummeries, did our ad-
venturer begin to play off, to the great
pain as well as perplextity of Aveline ;
whose mind, as simple as it was generous,
remained disagreeably suspended be-
tween anxiety to discover the source of
Sir Angelo's perturbation, and delicacy
that prohibited her appearing to notice
it.
On a sudden the lady of Bolton be-
came as mysterious and melancholy as
Sir Angelo himself.
Her change of cheer was remarked
with surprise and sorrow, not only by
the inmates of the castle, but also by
those who assembled at its splendid hos-
pitalities.
Not that the entertainments were sus-
pended, or that Aveline withdrew from
them that spirit of enchantment which
her presence always inspired.
She was still, where the lady Chate-
laine was looked for, on her siege of
Dais in the hall, or in her balcony in the
tilt yard: and, as usual. Sir Angelo was
at the post of honour ; but herein was a
marvellous change : the lady Baroness
no longer appeared to affect the brother-
in-arms of her lord in public as hereto-
fore ; while, in private, they were con-
stantly together. She was for ever seek-
ing his conversation, and always left him
with increased disquietude and gloom.
While in the presence of her guests, or
even before her vassals and attendants,
Aveline exhibited manifest tokens of re-
straint towards the Crusader, and always
seemed to hesitate between the awkward-
ness of leaving him entirely unnoticed,
and the embarrassment of addressing him
at all.
Sir Angelo seemed at once to possess
a repellant and attractive power, which
the lady was both unable to resist and
unwilling to obey.
Now, there was a domestic in the
princely establishment at' Bolton castle
who looked upon Lady Scroop with idola-
trous affection.
Accustomed from her age, the length
of her service, and the post she filled in
the household, not less than from a mind
better cultivated than usual, and a heart
full of honest love, to share the unre-
served confidence of her lady — this mys-
terious change peculiarly afflicted the old
nurse Pamphila Norris.
But it was not her wont to foster in
secret any consuming grief, especially
where her beloved lady was in the ques-
tion ; and as we, too, like to unbosom
ourselves of any perilous stuff, the reader
must just imagine himself in that large
bed-room in the north west tower ;
where, if he visits Bolton now, he will
be shewn the dim lozenged lattice in its
coved recess, on a pane of which Queen
Mary Stuart inscribed her celebrated
lines — and a disconsolate looking place it
is ; but at the period when we draw the
curtain from the scene, it wore a very
different aspect.
It was night. A braul, of unusual
magnificence, had been held in honour of
young Maximilian's eighth birth-day.
The guests had now returned to their
stately homes, or retired to their rest in
the castle : the lights had ceased to flare
along the deep quadrangle, or to flash
from the galleries and windows.
The chamber was arrayed in the cost-
liest garniture, where colours bourgeon-
ing on damask and brocade, or subdued
along the storied arras, blended dreamily
with the softened lij^hts, and faint per-
fumes that floated through the apart-
ment.
'i'he baroness was half sitting, half
THE PARTERRE.
309
reclining in a large chair ; her hair, un-
bound, floated over her bosom, wliose
loosened zone almost betrayed the para-
dise it was meant to protect.
Tiie silken s^mdals were unlaced from
her fairy feet, one of which old Pam-
plii^s, on her knees, was gently chafing;
the gorgeous cap of ^Maintenance, purple
lined with ermine, lay beside lady Ave-
line, and, aL-ross it, an inestimable car-
canet, of great rubies and emeralds inter-
changed, was tossed as if in disdain.
The lady was speaking vcheimntly.
'■ Yes Pamphila ! ho admitted the fact !
iMuch importuned, Sir Angelo did re-
luctantly confess, that he had been dele-
gated by my husband, an accredited spy !
— foil ! how beastly the word sounds !
a spy upon my conduct — in the arduous
situation of Chatelaine, think ye? — oh
no !" — here lady Scroop laughed bitterl)',
" oh ! no, no ! — but as the young dame
— (save the mark!) the comely dame —
the wanton dame— (nay, interrupt me
not ! if my lord Scroop spoke not that
— his injurious act expressed it ! ) — I say
this Crusader, this stranger to my house,
my honour, and myself — is sent by my
dishonourable lord to spy out, ascertain,
and faithfully report, forsooth — how
Aveline Neville deports herself in his
absence ; — whether, as a mistress she is
prudent, affectionate as a mother, or —
(patience just heaven!) — faithful as a
wife !"
A violent burst of hysterical tears
closed this speech.
Pamphila Norris in the meantime,
listened, without either raising her coif-
ed head, or suspending her office of
chafing those lovely little feet, which, by
their agitation seemed ever and anon
manifestly to tlireaten the destruction of
the good old woman's ecjuilibrium ; a
thing not easily to be restored, if we con-
sider that lengthy and cumbrous involu-
tion of apparel, and the portly demensions
of the wearer.
At length, when the passion had ex-
pired in low piteous sobs, — Pam[)hila
ceased chafing her lady's foot, and turn-
ing up to her, a face, which, multled as
it was with the curtch to her brow, and
the gorgot to her chin, with not a lock
of her grey hair visible — left you to
imagine how well she would have looked
, aa a xpecimen in the liritish or Ilunter-
ian Museum, — she broke silence.
" .And what said the valiant Crusader
for liimMetf, my sweet lady-bird ?"
" Why? what should he say, s;ive that
he tocjk shame to himself for the ur)-
gcnerou* office which I-ord Scrooj) had
foisted upon him ; and which he had
rashly undertaken, from zeal for tliat
unjustifiable friend. "
" And ignorance of his admijable
wife?— closed not the pleading thus,
lady ?"
Hlood-rcd blushed the beautiful lady
Scroop, — blazed angrily her eye, — and
Scornfully her lip curled ; — you would
have paused, as men listen, when the
lightning hath flashed, for the tremen-
dous music of the thunder.
Not so, nurse Pamphila; who stood
her ground, and met these boding signs
with the dogged imperturbable air of one
prepared for the worst, and resolved to
combat with it too.
Quickly, however, as the summer
blaze softly shimmering in midnight
heaven, in whose silent train comes no
explosion, the expression passed away.
" Well, and if he did say so, my most
sententious and censorious Pamphila !
that wife knows herself too well, either
to feel degraded by unjust suspicion, or
elated by presum])tuous flattery."
" Lady ! the angry spot is yet on your
brow, although the gentle word is on
your lip, — but the old nurse hath begun
boldly, may she go on safely ?"
" She may !" was the steadfast answer
of the beautiful Baroness: — and, reason-
ably anticipating something of what fol-
lowed, though far from dreaming all, —
Aveline sate, with rigid hand, com-
pressed lip. and managed eye, — upright
in her velvet chair, as Pamphila Norris
proceeded.
"That's mine own sweet lily! — and
tell me now quietly, — why hast thou
been of late so frequently with Sir An-
gelo Lascelles alone?"
" Would you have us agitate such
themes in public?"
" No, sweeting ! — surely; but, the
bitter tale having been told, who would
touch a i)oisoncd cup twice ?"
" They who think an antidote lies at
the bottom ! the burning pang of insult
was to t)e cooled only by contempt !"
" Now forbid it all the saints ! but
this false knight hath been talking deceit
to my own guileless Aveline!"
Oh Pamphila ! he hath been breath-
ing in mine ears sounds like some half-
lost old melody ; his words I scarcely
marked, but his speech had such a
strange charm ; it was as though in win-
ter's ghjom, un<l cold, some chance re-
called to one the sunshine and sweet
flowers of sunmier."
" And you listened? '
" How could I help but listen?"
310
THE PARTERRE.
" And often and over ?"
" Again and again and again — till" —
" Oh my poor child ! till what?"
" Till I detected him ! — till I observ-
ed the serpent's trail too manifest upon
the flowers I had so perilously admired !"
" Well ! well, and then ?"
" Nay, Pamphila, my lord hath
foully wronged the wife of his bosom,
and she must have vengeance I"
" Oh, for pity, my lady !"
" Vengeance, I say, her bleeding
honour asks, and shall obtain : — but, oh,
Norris ! not that frantic that suicidal
vengeance, which, in order to punish a
groundless jealousy, proves it to be just/
No ! bear witness, angels ! that know
how innocent I am of ought that may
impugn a matron's honour, — not all
Lord Adrian's injurious suspicion, — not
all his knightly emissary's sugared adula-
tion, have quenched in Aveline Neville's
bosom, one spark of a wife's affection, or
loosened one link of a wife's fidelity !"
And Lady Aveline, wreathing her
white arms around Pamphila's neck, and
hiding her glowing face in her bosom,
indulged in a second but less passionate
luxury of tears.
"Sweetest Lady Aveline!" at length
said the sage and deep accents of the good
old Pamphila, — " sweetest lady ! waste
not thy time and powers upon this boot-
less passion. Bless heaven, as I do, that
thou hast had wisdom and grace, — in the
hour of temptation ; and, now, listen
from what a snare thou lias been deli-
vered ! Thou knowest Lambert, the
castlewarden ?"
" How should I not know my foster-
brother, my kind Pamphila's only son?"
" Well ! I meant not that ; but thou
rememberest he was the porter at Mid-
dleham ; and, at thy suit, my Lord
Scroop advanced him to be warden here
of Bolton."
" Good nurse ! the night wears late
and mine eyes wax dull !"
" They will be keener anon ! This
stranger knight — "
" Oh, enough, enough of him !"
"Ay, and more than enough! — but
not half what you are like to have ! — no
stranger is he !"
" Sayest thou ?"
" I say he is no stranger, — no knight,
or, if he be a knight, — no better an one
than may be made out of a Scourged
Page "
" ir/iat ? "
" This crusader, this intelligencer, as
lie delivers himself, of my Lord Scroop ;
this trusty servitor, who would fain see
carved for himself the pie he hath marred
for his master; this reveller at other
men's tables, — this chieftain in other
men's houses, is no other than that
Polydore, thy father's page, at Middle-
ham, whom they whipt because the poor
cur's mouth watered at forbidden dain-
ties. Marry, they say he hath paid off
part of the old score, and still thinks the
debt too deep by half!''
" Cruel Pamphila ! canst thou find no
other food for thy mockery than the events
of that dreadful time ?"
"Would I were mocking!" replied
the nurse, with trembling eagerness, and
forthwith proceeded fully to unbosom
herself in the ears of her affrighted and
breathless mistress.
It is not the province of our humble
chronicle to enter into minute details ;
and we are thankful that it is no business
of ours to relate how Polydore got to the
Holy Land, how long he had been there,
and how he became distinguished in the
Crusaders' host, not less for good fortune
than valour.
Among their fruits, it is enough for us
to record his attainment to that honour
which in those days rendered him the
peer of nobles, and the associate of sove-
reigns, together with the friendship of
the Baron of Bolton ; on -which last cir-
cumstance, the adventurer purposed to
build his entire structure of indemnity
for the past, and aggrandisement for the
future.
He had not been long an inmate of
Bolton Castle, — where it is hardly neces-
sary to say he had no commission what-
ever from the Lord Scroop, beyond that
which ushered him to the unbounded
hospitality of a princely mansion, and the
good graces of a consort, whom Baron
Adrian trusted as absolutely as he loved
intensely, — Polydore, we say, had not
been long there, before he had fully (as
he fancied) secured the co-operation of
Lambert Norris, already privy to his
mysterious and fatal re-appearance at
Middleham.
This was the man whom he had
noticed in the solar at the hostel of the
Black Bull. On that occasion he revealed
himself to Lambert, and partly by threats
of the past and promises for the future,
he obtained his oath of secresy ; and
secured his promise not to interfere with
his designs, which, by degrees, — then,
and, subsequently at Bolton, he fully
unfolded to his weak and pusillanimous
vassal, whom, in fact, the master vil-
lany of Polydore fairly overcrowed.
From that period, however the poor
THE PARTERRE,
yii
warden began to betray symptoms of the
melancholy and disorder which had ex-
hibited tliemselves among others in the
castle.
Old Pampliila, his mother, was of
course among the first who noticed it ;
and putting one circumstance to another,
in her sagacious brain, she never rested
till she had extorted the entire secret of
Lambert's compunctuous visitings of
nature ; in short, his mother so wrought
upon his vacillating mind, long agitated
by remorse for his negative acquiescence
in the unjust death of the cook at ^lid-
dleham, — that he ottered, not only to
prevent the crime Sir Angelo meditated,
but also to bring the arch traitor himself
to detection and punishment.
As to our hero's notions, they ran
somewhat in this strain. —
Bolton Castle, and Middleham, and
Raby, would make a glorious heritage !
and why should not his brother in arms
make him the heir ? but he would not
take it with incumbrances — not he !
Lady Scroop was to become the vessel of
his lust, — and then her reputation be
dashed down at the feet of her returning
lord, broken by his not fully- woven
calumnies, into irreparable ruin. And
the children, — they were to be spirited
awav, and Lambert N'orris had engaged
for this. But surely this was somewhat
ungrateful to his absent friend? Pish,
a mere rush in his way ! But it would
break his heart I So much the sooner
would Polydore be his heir ! he owed
him a life too already. Ay, but the
beautiful Lady Avelinc! had he no
compassion for her — her whom he had
once loved ? her ! what ?
The Scourged Page ! oh, no ! but we
loathe such devilish lucubr.itioiis, and
willingly sliake them off our hands.
The castle clock in the adjoining bell-
turret had tolled so often, during Pam-
phila's long and interlarded tale of dis-
may, that we nmst now leave the tliun-
derstricken Aveline to get what sleep
she might, after all these liberal designs
upon her hotionr, her happiness, and her
estate, had been laid before her ; — and
hasten to cut off the web of our story,
like a weaver who is either too idle to
complete his work or too eager to receive
his wages.
Alxiut two days after this important
conference, missives arrived at Bolton
Castle, witli tidings that Lord Adrian
had landed s.»fely at Whitby, and only
tarried to perform certain vows at .St.
Hilda's shrine, ere he ]iroceeded to em-
brace his wife and children in his own
princely castle.
They found the whole household
plunged in consternation.
That very morning, had the lady
baroness been discovered by nurse Pam-
pliila, dead in her bed.
Xo one bore the exterior tokens ol
grief and dismay, with more consum-
mate skill, than Sir Angelo Lascelles; —
but, as to his actual feelings, it is hard to
say, whether satisfaction or disappoint-
ment predominated. True ; — one main
impediment to his designs on the lordly
heritage of his brother in arms was thus
removed, and nothing seemed to remain
between him and his wicked wishes, but
the two young children, whom he could
put out of the way, as occasion suited, —
and by such time as he should have coin-
jdetely riveted the baron's affections and
confidence, which he had already so
greatly beguiled. „
But then, — though his covetousness
was thus advanced, — lust and revenge,
its associate devils, tormented him with
passions now iu'lxt to be gratified : for
Polydore could be as grand as he was
grovelling in villany; and to have hum-
bled her, who, having caused his igno-
miny, had trampled on his love ; to
have laid her honour in the dust, and
then yelled over it, " I am Polydore! I
am the Scourged Page I" had been a tran-
sport to his evil imagination, the reliii-
(juishment of which, maimed and de-
featured all his other prospects.
We would not, if we could, adequately
describe the scene that ensued on Lord
Scroop's return to his castle, — when Sir
Angelo Lascelles having received him in
the hall, himself as black in visage and
habiliments as the trappings of woe that
muffled its lofty walls, conducted the
widowed nobleman to the chamber of
death.
'I'here, watched only by the incon-
solable Pampliila, — stretched upon that
nuptial couch which she had preserved
so spotless ; her beautiful form enfolded
in long while drapery ; one hand ex-
tended by her side, holding a rosary ;
the other on her breast, grasping a cru-
cifix, — a chaplet of white roses around
her marble temples; — cold, pale, and
motionless, as if she had been her own
effigy, lay poor Aveline Neville.
On one side, stood the bereaved hus-
band ; on the other, Polydore.
Profound as the misery of Lord
Adrian was, he could not help, for one
moment, forgetting the intensity of his
own anguish, when, on raising his head
from a deep long trance of agony, he
observed the extraordinary state of Sir
.\ngclo Lascelles.
312
THE PARTERRE.
He had relinquished the little hands
of Cicely and Maximilian, whom he had
led to their mother's bedside, and tliey
had retired in terror to the very farthest
end of the chamber. He stood bending
over the bed, — his hands clasped, — his
body convulsed, — his limbs quivering, —
the veins on his forehead like cords,
braided with perspiration, — his eyes
glaring, his lips writhen, and his whole
countenance red, even to blackness, with
passion. This loas no counterfeit ! yet
the most elaborate acting would not so
effectually have promoted his views with
Lord Scroop, as this natural conflict
of the most hellish passions in his
heart !
The wretched Baron suspended his
own holier and more chastened grief,
that he might assuage these life-dethron-
iug paroxysms of Sir Angelo Lascelles.
And when, at length, his own deep
withering sorrow, eating away his
health, devouring his very heart, had
bowed the noble Adrian, like some
kingly oak of ages, to the eartli, — it was
the assiduous love of Sir Angelo Las-
celles — a love he deemed surpassing the
love of woman — that suggested, first of
all, a change of scene for the health of
his body ; and then, by degrees, a pil-
grimage to St. Thomas at Canterbury,
or to the Holy Sepulchre itself, for the
health of his soul.
In all this Sir Angelo prospered. A
lingering desire to resume the cross,
checked only by reluctance to leave his
orphan children, was thus fostered, and
at last matured into a resolution to join
immediately the remnant that was still
warring in Palestine.
Sir Angelo Lascelles, for his part, out
of pure love for his heart-broken brother
in arms, voluntarily offered to abandon
his own further prospects of distinction
in that realm of renown, and consented
to remain in Yorkshire, as chatelain of
Lord Scroope's castles and baronies, and
as guardian to the lovely little Cicely and
the noble Maximilian.
" Now then ! " exclaimed Pamphila
Norris to her son, the castle-warden ;
" now, then, the villain's cup is full, and
by my Halidome, it sliall overflow till
its last drop is poured out upon the
earth, and exhales like a dunghill vapour
in the sun ! "
Vying with each other to shew their
artping demonstrations of respect and
sympathy, the feudal aristocracy of the
North Riding flocked to Bolton Castle
at an early hour on the morning ap-
pointed for the Baron's departure.
It was that hour when the sun has
just ascended over the hills, and
" Fires the proud tops of the Eastern pines"
with a sparkling tranquillity, a sober
brilliance, peculiar to itself. The sky
has all the freshness of night, without
the dazzle of day. The woods retain
their shade without their gloom ; the
dust lies undisturbed on the dewy high-
way ; no smoke ascends from the chim-
ney ; the malin-song of the blackbird,
and the sonorous calls of the milky
mothers of the herd, resound from afar
through the clear, still air ; and the
river glides dreamily under its forest
banks, without one awakening sparkle
on its bosom.
A mantling flood of morning sunlight
illuminated the eastern front of the
castle, darting far into the ribbed vault
of its deep gateway. The ample plat-
form, that stretched before it, displayed
a congregation of knights and nobles,
whose steeds rivalled their riders in
stateliness of form and splendour of
equipment. And the squires, waving
the bannered cognizances of their mas-
ters, and the pages, shouting their war-
cries, and the steeds, jingling their har-
ness, and battering the paved platform
with their hoofs, bore as strange a coti-
trast to the melancholy tolling of 'one
great bell in the campanile, as the
haughty forms and blazoned apparel ot
that gorgeous assembly exhibited to that
grief-enfeebled form, which, attired in
pilgrim's weed, and attended only by
Sir Angelo Lascelles, emerged from the
shadowy arches of the great gateway.
Pamphila Norris had stationed herself
outside the portal, in front of a group of
vassals, who had thronged to take their
last look of their departing lord.
The solemn greeting between the
mourning nobleman and his sympa-
thising friends had now taken place;
Lord Scroop had delivered his solemn
thanks for their courtesy, and was turn-
ing away to mount his sumpter mule,
which a page held, ready harnessed, at
hand, when, at the same instant, Pam-
phila quitted the group at the castle
portal, moved up to Baron Adrian, laid
her withered hand on his arm, and ad-
vanced her lips to his ear.
Just then. Sir Angelo Lascelles, appa-
rently overpowered by his feelings, was
hurrying to hide himself in the seclusion
of the castle ; when lo ! a voice issued
from the quadrangle, sounding like an
angel's trumpet through the hollow
gateway :, —
THE PARTERRE.
an I
" Back ! traitor, poisoner, seducer, —
back I or these liijjh battlements will
crash and crumble above thine execrable
head ! Back to the death thou hast
deserved ! never more shall perfidy and
dishonour in thy shape pollute this
court I "
Sir Angelo, or Polydore, as we shall
style him now, recoiled ; and well he
might; for, sweeping from the inner
arc!i of the great gateway, with hasty
but stately step, like some beauteous
empress of romance bursting from the
dungeons of the cnchartcr, the Lady
Aveline passed fortli upon the platform.
But it was no longer the cold, ghastly,
grave-clad form, which liiid fo shaken
Polydore when he beheld it last.
Arrayed in her gorgeous habit of high
ceremony, radiant with tlie excitement
of the moment, leading in each hand the
young INIaxiniilian and his sister in their
holiday dress, Lady Scroop sped through
the portal, — saw the smiling old Pam-
phila supporting, rather than leading,
towards her the bewildered Baron, and
just articulating, —
" Forgive, forgive! I durst not trust
thee till that arch villain was unmasked ! "
fell in breathless transports on Lord
Adrian's bosom.
And here I would fain, as my brethren
of the gooscquill say, " dro]) my pen " —
but we have not ytt quite done with
Polydore, and something also ought to
be said about that imposture in the corpse
scene, — which we hope for the time,
proved successful.
Know all men ! therefore, by these
presents, that Pamphila Norris had em-
ployed the same means with lady Aveline,
as Friar I^awrence with Juliet.
" Takr Ihno thi» i>hial, beins Ihrn in I'td ;
And (lii« dislillt'd liquor drink ilion ct),
\\ Inn ptt-«-nlly thri>ui;h all tlij v< in^ thall
can
A wild and diouey humour, Hlii<li rhall
feizf
Each vit.il spirit, fi>r no piil-e rliall kt i-p
llisnatuial proK't-n, lint hurrtarc to bint:
No warnilh, im breath shall (e^ti^> Ihi ii
liv'ft;
Thf ro'cs in thy lips ami i hciks, thnll lade
'r,. i.'.l.- >kh.-*- lliii.j. ■>,.<•■' iiiiiiliiil* lull
I rir to'cs ID iny lips ami nciKs, snnii laiie
lo pal'- afht-s; iliii.e rjts' wimlows lall
Lilr ilcMlh when he fhuts up the day of
life
■!«rh pari, deprived of snpple covernmint.
thxil •lilf, and stalk, and cold appear, like
,1^ ,ii.
F
.Sh
death
Meath :
And, in this l>orri>wed likeneii of ihiiink
H*>lli
death,
neain,
Ihxu thalt remain, fnll two and forty hnuis,
And then awakr as from a pleasant sleep."*
Thuu, wliilc Polydore wn» left fully lo
• P' mio and Jeiljet.
unmask himself, the Baroness was with-
drawn from his peril.
Lambert, the castle warden's evidence
completely established Polydore's medi-
tated guilt, at Bolton ; and, as to the
darkly horrible deaths at iNJiddlehani,
though Norris could only speak to the
mysterious appearance, and sudden de-
parture of Polydore, on that direful
night, and lament his own criminal sup-
pression of that important fact ; yet the
conviction that the Scourged Page had
been the atrocious poisoner, , was univer-
sal.
Nay, if there had remained any doubt,
it was removed by Polydore himself;
who, after his first blank dismay had
subsided, relapsing into his old natural
fierceness, confessed himself the author
of those multiplied murders ; glorying
in the deed, and only lamenting that he
was to die without more eminently sig-
nalizing his revenge.
This false knight, nevertheless, ob-
tained what he scarcely deserved, a full
and patient trial ; and, being convicted
of the horrible crimes laid to his charge,
was sentenced to a death fearfully cha-
racterising the barbarism of the age ;
and which, together with the punish-
ments for heresy, high treason, and
standing mute, so long stigmatized the
jiages of the English statute book with
severities from which Draco would have
turned in disgust.
It was adjudged that an immense
cauldron should be set, filled with boiling
water, on a mound near IVIiddleham, and
that the poisoner should be plunged into
it, — bound, naked, and alive.
Amidst a prodigious multitude, from
the neighbouring villages, and towns, —
on the day np))ointed for Polydore's exe-
cution, a gigantic vessel of iron was seen
curling up its white vapours into the
clear air, while the darting flames that
licked the glowing metal, looked sickly
in the noontide sun.
At the sudden tolling of the great
castle hell, all eyes were turned towards
the gateway, from whence q procession
was now seen emerging in the direction
of I he fatal spot.
It was tlie shcrifT of Richmond, and
his men at arms, escorting the criminal
to his excruciating dealli.
Polydore walked in the centre, stript
to his hare skin, and having only his
shirt fastened iihoiit his loins : his liiintK
were tied licliind his liack, the thick
curls of his hair rut oil", and his liciid
close shaved in token of ignominy . He
looked round him however with efl'ront-
314
THE PARTERRE.
ery, and even fierceness; and the spec-
tators were compelled to think of his
horrid enormities, in order to counter-
act the compassion he so little de-
served.
Arrived at the place of punishment,
Polydore was suffered to wait some time,
to afford space for observing what im-
pression the appalling preparations pro-
duced upon him. But he viewed them
with a steady gaze, and appeared quite
indifferent to his fate ; sometimes glanc-
ing haughtily on the spectators, who
stood breathless with anticipation of
the tortures he so little regarded, — and
sometimes, looking carelessly at his own
sinewy limbs, and well-proportioned
trunk, — as if to see that every nerve was
in its place, to sustain manfully the agony
that awaited him.
At length the sheriff advanced to the
prisoner, and announced to him, that, at
the merciful intercession of those whom
he had most bitterly wronged, the mortal
part of his punishment was remitted to
him, on the sole condition, however, of his
banishing himself forth of the realm, for
the remainder of his life.
That officer then ordered the criminal's
hands to be unbound, and his apparel to
be restored to him.
The wretched Polydore stood for
awhile in senseless bewildered gaze, —
and then burst forth with a vehemence,
that proclaimed insanity. —
" Hence to Acheron with your whin-
ing cant of mercy ! twice have they bared
this wretched body of mine for torture.
Cnce have their cruel rods inscribed their
red characters on my skin ! And now,
they have got up this barbarous mum-
mery, they dare not act it, — lest they
should send their writhing victim to his
repose too soon ! But thus I spit at
you ! thus I defy you ! and thus I erase
tor ever the records of my shame ! "
Polydore shook aloft his unfettered
arm, threw a glance of triumphant frenzy
around ; and in the next moment, had
plunged himself headlong into the boil-
ing flaming cauldron.
Horace Guilford,
April lOth, 1835.
SKETCHES OF TURKEY.
No. III.
BY NATHANIEL P. WILLIS.
TRUTH.
The heaviest fetter that ever weighed
down the limbs of a captive, is as the
web of the gossamer, compared with the
pledge of a man of honour. 'i"he wall
of stone and the bar of iron may be
broken, but the plighted ivord never !
Sultan Mahmond at his devotions — comparative
splendour of Papal, Austrian, and Turkish
equipages — the sultan's barge or caique -de-
scription of the sultan — visit to a Turkish
Lancasterian school — the dancing dervishes
— visit from the sultan's cabinet — the seras-
kler and the capitan pasha — humble origin of
Turkish dignitaries.
1 had slept on shore, and it was rather
late before I remembered that it was
Friday (the moslem Sunday), and that
Sultan Mahmoud was to go in state to
mosque at twelve. I hurried down tiie
precipitous street of Pera, and, as usual,
escaping barely with my life from the
christian-hating dogs of Tophana, em-
barked in a caique, and made all speed
up the Bosphorus. There is no word
in Turkish for foster, but I was urging
on my caikjces by a wave of the hand '
and the sight of a bishlik (about the
value of a quarter of dollar), when sud-
denly, a broadside was fired from the
three decker, Mahmoudier, the largest
ship in the world, and to the rigging of
every man-of-war in the fleet through
which I was passing mounted, simulta-
neously, hundreds of blood-red flags,
filling the air about us like a shower of
tulips and roses. Imagine twenty ships
of war, with yards manned, and scarce
a line in their rigging to be seen for the
flaunting of colours ! The jar of the
guns, thundering in every direction close
over us, almost lifted our light boat out
of the water, and the smoke rendered
our pilotage between the ships and
among their extending cables rather
doubtful. The white cloud lifted after
a few minutes, and with the last gun,
down went the flags all together, an-
nouncing that the " Brother of the Sun"
had left his palace.
He had but crossed to the mosque of
the small village on the opposite side of
the Bosphorus, and was already at his
prayers when I arrived. His body-
guard was drawn up before the door, in
their villanous European dress, and as
their arms were stacked, I presumed it
would be some time before the sultan
re-appeared, and improved the interval
in examining the handja-bashes, or state
caiques, lying at the landing. I have
arrived at my present notions of equipage
by three degrees. The pope's carriages,
at Rome, rather astonished me. The
einperor of Austria s sleighs diminished
the pope in my admiration, and the sul-
tan's caiques, in their turn, "pale the
THE PARTERRE.
815
fires" of the emperor of Austria. The
handja-baih is built something like the
ancient galley, very high at the prow
and stern, carries some fifty oars, and
has a roof over her poop, supported by
four columns, and loaded witli the most
sumptuous ornaments, the whole gilt
brilliantly. The prow is curved over,
and wreathed into every possible device
that would not affect the necessary lines
of the model ; her crew are dressed in
the beautiful costume of the country,
rich and flowing; and, with the costly
and bright-coloured carpets hanging over
her side, and the fliishing of the sun on
her ornaments of gold, she is really the
most splendid object of state equipage
(if I may be allowed the misnomer) in
the world.
I was still examining the principal
barge, when the troops stood to their
arms, and preparation was made for the
passing out of the sultan. Thirty or
forty of his highest military officers
formed themselves into two lines, from
the door of the mosque to the landing,
and behind them were drawn up single
files of soldiers. I took advantage of the
respect paid to the rank of Commodore
Patterson, and obtained an excellent
position, with him, at the side the caique.
First issued from the door two Georgian
slaves, bearing censers, from which they
waved tiie smoke on either side, and the
sultan immediately followed, supported
by the capitan-pasha, the seraskier, and
Haleil Pasha (who is to marry the Sul-
tana Esmeh). He walked slowly down
to tiie landing, smiling and talking gaily
with the seraskier, and, bowing to the
commodore in passing, stepped into his
barge, seated himself on a raised sofa,
while his attendants coiled their legs on
the carpet below, and turned his prow
across the Uosphorus.
1 have, perhaps, never set my eyes on
a hands<jnier man than .Sultan V ihmoud.
His figure is tall, straight, ami manly,
his air unembarrassed and dignified, and
his step indicative of the well-known
firmness of his character. A superb
beard of jetty blackness, with a curling
moustache, conceal all the lower part of
hi« face ; the decided and lx)ld lines of
hit mouth just marking themselves when
he speaks. It is said he both paints and
dye« his beard, l)ut a pianlier brown upon
a cheek, or a riclier gloss upon a lieard, I
never saw. His eye is described by
writers as having a (loomed itarhwst of
expression, and it in certainly one that
would well Ijecomc a chief of bandit.s —
large, steady, and overhung with an eye-
brow like a thunder-cloud. He looks
the monarch. The child of a seraglio,
(where mothers are chosen for beauty
alone) can scarce escape being handsome.
The blood of Circassian upon Circassian
is in his veins, and the wonder is, not
that he is the handsomest man in his
empire, but that lie is not the greatest
slave. Our " mother's humour," they
say, predominates in our mixtures. Sul-
tan Mahmoud, however, was marked by
nature for a throne.
I accompanied Mr. Goodell and Mr.
Dwight, American missionaries at Con-
stantinople, to visit a Lancasterian school
establisheil with their assistance in the
Turkish barracks. The building stands
on tlie ascent of one of the lovely valleys
that open into the Bosphorus, some three
miles from the city, on the European
side. We were received by the colonel
of the regiment, a young man of fine ap-
pearance with the diamond crescent and
star glittering on the breast of his military
frock, and after the inevitable compliment
of pipes and coffee, the drum was beat
and the soldiers called to school.
The sultan has an army of boys. Nine-
tenths of those I have seen are under
twenty. They marched in, in single
file, and facing about, held up their hands
at the word of command, while a subal-
tern looked that each had performed the
mornint; ablution. They were healthy-
looking lads, mostly from the interior
provinces, whence they are driven down
like cattle to fill the ranks of their sove-
reign. Duller looking subjects for an
idea, it has not been my fortune to see.
The Turkish alphabet hung over the
teacher's desk (the colonel is the school-
master, and takes the greatest interest in
his occupation), and the front seats are
faced with a long box covered with sand,
in which the beginners write with their
fingers. It is fitted with a slide that
erases the clumsy imitation when com-
pleted, and seemed to me an ingenious
economy of ink and paper. ( I would
suggest to the minds of the beiievoiont, a
school on the same jirinciple for begin-
ners in poetry. It would save the eiitics
much murder, and tend to the sup-
j)ression of suicide.) The classes having
filed into their seats, the school opened
v*'itli a prayer by the colonel. The higher
benches then cominencvd writing, on
slates and liajier, sentences dictated from
the desk, and I was somewhat Mir))rise(i
at the neatness and beauty of the chii-
' raclers.
We passed afterward into another
room, where arithmetic and geography
.316
THE PARTERRE,
were taught, and then mounted to an
apartment on the second story, occupied
by students in mihtary drawing. The
proficiency of all was most creditable,
considering the brief period during which
the schools have been in operation —
something less than a year. Prejudiced
as the Turks are against European
innovation, this advanced step toward
improvement tells well. Our estimable
and useful missionaries appear, from the'
respect everywhere shewn them, to be in
high esteem, and with the sultan's ener-
getic disposition for reform, they hope
every thing in the way of an enlightened
change in the moral condition of the
people.
Went to the chapel of the dancing
dervishes. It is a beautiful marble build-
ing, with a court-yard ornamented
with a small cemetery, shaded with
cypresses, and a fountain enclosed in a
handsome edifice, and defended by gilt
gratings from the street of the suburb of
Pera, in which it stands. They dance
here twice a week. We arrived before
the hour, and were detained at the door
by a soldier on guard, who would not
permit us to enter without taking off our
boots — a matter, about which, between
straps and their very muddy condition,
we had some debate. The dervishes be-
gan to arrive before the question was
settled, and one of them, a fine-looking
old man, inviting us to enter, Mr. H.
explained the difl^iculty. " Go in," said
he, "go in!" and turning to the more
scrupulous mussulman with the musket,
as he pushed us within the door, " stupid
fellow !" said he, " if you had been less
obstinate, they would have given you a
bakshish (Turkish for a fee). He should
have said less religious — for the poor fel-
low looked horror-struck as our dirty
boots profaned the clean white Persian
matting of the sacred floor.
It was a pretty, octagonal interior, with
a gallery, the mihrab or niche indicating
the direction of the prophet's tomb,
standing obliquely from the front of the
building. Hundreds of small lamps hung
in the area, just out of the reach of the
dervishes' tall caps, and all around be-
tween the gallery ; a part of the floor was
raised, matted, and divided from the
body of the church by a balustrade. It
would have made an exceedingly pretty
ball-room.
None but the dervishes entered within
the paling, and they soon began to enter,
each advancing first towards the milirab,
and going through fifteen or twenty
minutes' prostrations and pr;iyors. Their
dress is very humble. A high white felt
cap, without a rim, like a sugar-loaf en-
larged a little at the smaller end, pro-
tects the head, and a long dress of dirt-
coloured cloth, reaching quite to the
heels, and bound at the waist with a
girdle, completes the costume. They
look like men who have made up their
minds to seem religious, and though said
to be a set of very good fellows, they
have a Maw-worm expression of face
generally, which was very repulsive. I
must except the chief of the sect, how-
ever, who entered when all the rest had
seated themselves on the floor, and after
a brief genuflection or two, took posses-
sion of a rich Angora carpet, placed for
him near the mihrab. He was a small
old man, distinguished in his dress only
by the addition of a green band to his
cap (the sign of his pilgrimage to Mecca),
and the entire absence of the sanctimo-
nious look. Still he was serious, and
there was no mark in his clear, intelli-
gent eye and amiable features, of any
hesitancy or want of sincerity in his de-
votion. He is said to be a learned man,
and he is certainly a very prepossessing
one. By the way, one learns in "dang-
ling about the world" to form opinions
of men quite independently of their
dress.
After sitting awhile in Quaker medi-
tation, the brotherhood rose one by one
(there were ten of them I think), and
marched round the room with their toes
turned in, to the music of a drum and a
Persian flute, played invisibly in some
part of the gallery. As they passed the
carpet of the cross-legged chief, they
twisted dexterously and made three sa-
laams, and then raising their arms, which
they held out straight during the whole
dance, they commenced twirling on one
foot, using the other after the manner of
a paddle to keep up the motion. I for-
got to mention that they laid aside their
outer dresses before commencing the
dance. They remained in dirty white
tunics reaching to the floor, and very
full at the bottom, so that with the regu-
lar motion of their whirl, the wind blew
them out into a circle, like what the girls
in our country call "making cheeses.''
They twisted with surprising exactness
and rapidity, keeping clear of each other,
and maintaining their places with the re-
gularity of machines. I have seen a
great deal of waltzing, but I think the
dancing dervishes, for precision and spi-
rit, might give a lesson even to the Ger-
mms.
We loft them twisting. They had
THE PARTEHKE.
317
be«n going for half an hour, and it began
to look very like perpetual motion, t'n-
less their brains are addled, their devo-
tion, during this dizzy performance at
least, must be quite susjiended. A man
who could tliinkof his Maker, wliilc re-
volving so fiist that his nose is indistinct,
must have some power of abstraction.
The frigate was visited to-day by the
sultan's cabinet. The seraskirr pacha
came alongside first, in his state caique,
and embraced the commodore, as he
stepped upon the deck, with great cor-
diality, lie is a short, fat old man,
with a snow-white beard, and so bow-
legged as to be quite deformed. He
wore the red Fez cap of the army, with
a long blue frock-coat, the collar so tight
as nearly to choke him, and the body not
shaped to the figure, but made to fall
around him like a sack. The red, bloat-
ed skin of his neck fell over, so as almost
to cover the gold with which the collar
was embroidered. He was formerly ca-
pitan pacha, or admiral in chief of the
fleet, and though a good humoured, mer-
ry looking old man, has shewn himself,
hioth in his former and present capacity,
to be wily, cold, and a butcher in cruel-
ty. He possesses unlimited influence
over the sultan, and though nominally
subordinate to the grand vizier, is really
the second if not the first person in the
empire. He was ori;;inally a Georgian
slave.
The seraskicr was still talking with
the commodore in the gang-way, when
the present capitan pacha mounted the
ladder, and tlie old man, who is under-
stood to be at feud with his successor,
turned abruptly away and walked aft.
The capitan pacha is a tall, slender man,
of jjrecisely that look and manner which
wc call gcnllemanli/. His beard grows
untrimmcd in the Turkish fashion, and
is slightly touched with grey. His eye
is anxious, but resolute, and he looks
like a man of res<5urce and ability. His
history is as singular as that of most
other great men in Turkey. He was a
slave of Mohammed .Mi, the rebellious
pacha of Kgyjjt. Heing entrusted by his
master with a brig and cargo for Leg-
horn, he (told vessel and lading, lived like
a gentleman in Italy for some years with
the proceeds and as the In-st security
against the retribution of his old master,
offered his services to the sultan, with
whom Ali was just commencing hostili-
ties. Naval talent was in reipiest, and
he coon arrived at his present dignity.
He is »ajd to be the only officer in the
fleet wlio knows any thing of his pro-
fession .
Jlaltnl Pacha arrived last. Tlie sul-
tan's future son-in-law is a man of per-
haps thirty-five. He is light- complex-
ioned, stout, roiuid-faced, and looks like
a respectable grocer, " well to do in the
world." He has commanded the artil-
lery long enough to have accjuired a cer-
tain air of ease and command, and car-
ries the promise of good fortune in his
confident features. He is to be married
almost immediately. He, too, was a
Georgian, sent as a present to the sultan.
The three dignitaries made the rounds
of the ship, and then entered the cabin,
where the pianoforte (a novelty to the
seraskier and Haleil Pacha, and to most
of the attendant officers), and the com-
modore's agreeable society and cham-
paigne, promised to detain them the re-
mainder of the day. They were like
children with a holiday. I was engaged
to dine on shore, and left them on board.
In a country where there is no educa-
tion and no rank, except in the posses-
sion of present power, it is not surprising
that men should rise from the lowest
class to the highest odices, or that they
should fill those offices to the satisfaction
of the sultan. Yet it is curious to hear
their histories. An English physician,
who is frequently called in to the sera-
glio, and whose practice among all the
families in power gives him the best
means of information, has entertained
me not a little with these secrets. I shall
make use of them when I have more
leisure, merely mentioning here, in con-
nexion with the above accounts, that the
present grand vizier was a boatman on
the Bosphorus, and the connnander of
the sultan's body gu.ird, a shoemaker !
The latter still employs all his leisure in
making slippers, which he presents to
the sultan and his friends, not at all
ashamed of his former vocation. So far,
indeed, are any of these mushroom offi-
cers from blusliing at their origin, that
it is common to prefix the name of their
profession to the title of jiachii, and they
are addressed jjy it as a proper name.
Tliis is one respect in which their Euro-
pean education will refine them to their
disadvantage.
IllflTATlnN.
Mks. Opie says, that all who wear " imi-
tation" ornaments are rirlunlli/ telling
untruths, by imposing on tlie suectatori
mock jewels for real ones.
318
THE PARTERRE.
ST. VITUS' DANCE.
At the close of the sixteenth century,
says Dr. Hecker, St. Vitus' Dance
was spoken of as a disease that had
been. Some further facts respecting it
may be interesting. We are told that
it "attacked people of all stations, espe-
cially those who led a sedentary life,
such as shoemakers and tailors; but even
the most robust peasants adandoned their
labours in the fields, as if they were pos-
sessed by evil spirits ; and thus those
affected were seen assembling indiscrimi-
nately, from time to time, at certain ap-
pointed places, and unless prevented by
the lookers on, continuing to dance with-
out intermission, until their very last
breath was expended. Their fury and
extravagance of demeanour so completely
deprived them of their senses, that many
of them dashed their brains out against
the walls and corners of buildings, or
rushed headlong into rapid rivers, where
they found a watery grave. Roaring
and foaming as they were, the bystanders
could only succeed in restraining them by
placing benches and chairs in their way,
so that their strength might be exhausted
by the high leaps they were thus tempted
to take. As soon as this was the case,
they fell as it were lifeless to the ground,
and, by very slow degrees, again recovered
their strength. * » *
"The cure effected by these stormy
attacks was in many cases so perfect, that
some patients returned to the factory or
the plough as if nothing had happened.
Others, on the contrary, paid the penalty
of their folly by so total a loss of power,
that they could not regain their former
health, even by the employment of the
most strengthening remedies. * * • That
patients should be violently affected by
music, and their paroxysms brought on
and increased by it, is natural with such
nervous disorders; where deeper im-
pressions are made through the ear,
which is the most intellectual of all the
organs, than through any of the other
senses. On this account the magistrates
hired musicians for the purpose of car-
rying the St. Vitus's dancers so much the
quicker through the attacks, and directed
that athletic men should be sent among
them in order to complete the exhaustion
which had been often observed to produce
a good effect*. • • This extraor-
'.' • It is related by Felix Plater (born 15.36,
1614) that he remembered in his youth the
authorities of Basle having commissioiud seve-
ral powerful men to dance with a girl, who had
the dancing mania, till she recoveied from her
disorder. They successively relieved each other.
dinary disease was, however, so greatly
mitigated in Scheneck's time, that the
St. Vitus's dancers had long since ceased
to stroll from town to town.* * Through-
out the whole of June, prior to the
festival of St. John, patients felt a dis-
quietude and restlessness which they were
unable to overcome. They were dejected,
timid, and anxious ; wandered about in
an unsettled state, being tormented with
twitching pains, which seized them sud-
denly in different parts, and eagerly
expected the eve of St. John's day, in the
confident hope, that by dancing at the
altars of this saint, or of St. Vitus (for
in the Breisgau, aid was equally sought
from both) they would be freed from all
their sufferings. This hope was not dis-
appointed ; and they remained, for the
rest of the year, exempt from any fur-
ther attack, after having thus, by dancing
and raving for three hours, satisfied an
irresistible demand of nature."
INDIAN WAR.
The following anecdote is given in an
American work, entitled "a Winter in
the far West." Two men, the survivors
of the fray, were left disabled on the
field. " One," says the writer, " had been
shot through the hips, so as temporarily
to paralyse both his legs; the other had
both arms broken; yet each, after being
struck down in the heat of the fight, had
managed to crawl into an adjacent thicket,
and so effectually to conceal himself, that
the savages who had assailed their party,
after scalping the fallen, departed and
left their retreat uninvaded. Many iiours
intervened, and apprehension kept each
of the woufided men so silent that he
was wholly unaware of the vicinity or
even the existence of the other. At
length, he who had the use of his arms,
being pinched with hunger, ventured to
shoot a rackoon which wandered near
him. His former comrade called out at
the report of the gun ; but the other,
fearing some Indian wile, refused to
answer until the man presented himself
before him. Mutual gratulation of course
ensued; and then he that had the use of
his legs kicked the rackoon towards the
other, who, having flayed and cooked it,
fed his companion. Their situation for
and this singular mode ot cure lasted above four
weeks, when the patient fell down exhausied,
and being quite unable to stand, was carried to
a hospital, where she recovered. Slie had re-
mained in her clothes all the time, and entirely
rcgaidless of the pain of her lacerated feet, she
hail merely sat down occasionally to take some
nourishment, oi to slumber, during which the
hopping movement of her body coniinneu.
THE P.^RTERRE.
ai9
pioneers after a battle, seemed tolerably
comfortable! but, unable to move from
his sitting posture, he that was wounded
in the hips must have perished from
thirst, if the other, who was deprived of
the use of his hands, had not taken his
hat in his mouth, and, wading to his cliin
in the river, dipped up a cooling drauglit
for his feverisli friend. In tliis condition
tliey are said to liave remained for more
than ten diys; the walking gentleman
driving turkeys and other game near
enough for the sitter to shoot, and the
sitting gentleman cooking the meals
which the walker thus provided, — the
latter in the meantime carrying the hat
to the river as regularly as a bucket to a
well. Ultimately a boat descending the
Ohio relieved them from their mutual
offices, and both are said to have after-
wards recovered."
Mathews might make a capital story
out of this anecdote; it is so charac-
teristic! !
ATMOSPHERIC PHENOMENA.
The mysterious appearances on the
Souter Fell, in Cumberland, are more
attributable to reflection than refraction.
The first of these was observed in 1743,
by Daniel Stricket, then servant to John
Wren, of Wilton-hall, who, together
with his master, saw the. figure of a man,
with a dog, pursuing some horses along
Souter Fell side, — a place so steep, that
a horse can scarcely travel on it at all ;
yet they appeared to run at an amazing
pace, till they got out of sight at the
lower end of the Fell. Stricket and his
master ascended the Fell next morning,
in full expectation of finding the man
and animals all lying dead, but no ves-
tige of either was to be discovered. The
following year, 1744, on the 2.3d of
June, as the same Daniel Stricket was
walking, about half-past seven o'clock
in the evening, a little above the house
of Mr. Lancaster, of Blake hills, with
whom he then lived, he saw a troop of
horsemen riding on .Souter Fell side, in
pretty close ranks, and at a brisk pace.
Remembering that he had been laughed
at for mentioning what he had seen the
previous year, lie continued to observe
them in silence for some time ; but,
being at last convinced that the appear-
ance was real, he went into the house,
and begged .Mr. Lancaster to come out,
an he had something very curious to
•bew him. They went out together ;
but, before he spoke, \m manter'x son
had already discovered theaerial troopers,
The whole members of the family were
then informed, and the strange spectacle
was seen by all. These visionary horse-
men seemed to come from the lowest
part of Souter Fell, and they became
visible at a place called Knott. They
moved in regular troops along the side
of the Fell, till opposite to Blakehills,
when they went over the mountain, in
this way describing a curvilinear path j
and both their first and last appearance
was bounded by the top of the mountain.
They went at a regular, swift walk, and
they continued to appear and disappear
for more than two hours, till night put a
stop to any farther exhibition of them.
Many troops were seen in succession ;
and frequently tlie last, or last but one,
in a troop, would quit his position, and
gallop to the front, where he marched
on at the same rate as the others. These
wonderful appearances were seen by
every human individual within the dis-
tance of a mile, and they were the same
to all. The spectators v.'ere about
twenty-six in number.
The natural explanation of this phe-
nomenon is, that a troop of those who
were preparing to rise in the subsequent
rebellion, were exercising in some hol-
low and concealed jiart of the mountain,
and that their figures being received
upon a dense cloud floating in the air,
were reflected downwards on the moun-
tain's side. It was a similar optical
accident that rendered a whole army
most distinctly visible to a farmer and
his son near Inverary — a circumstance
which, though extremely interesting
and well vouched for in all its parti-
culars, is too long to be given within our
present limits. We shall therefore con-
clude this subject with saying, that we
have no doubt that many of those strange
mysterious visions, such its those of pro-
cessions and of funerals, so often seen in
the highlands of Scotland, are quite ex-
plicable on the same princi]>les.
EGYPTIAN ANTIQUITIES.
Mr. Wilkinson, in his extraordinary
work ou the Antiquities of Thebes,
gives the following description of some
Egyptian pictures, which throw much
light on the military operations of that
wonflerfnl pe<)])le.
" On the north face of the eastern
pyramidal tower, or propylon. (of the
temple-palace of Remeses II.) is repre-
sented the capture of several towns from
32*)
THE PARTERRE.
an Asiatic enemy, wliose chiefs are led in
bonds by the victorious Egyptians to-
wards the camp of their army. Several
of these towns are introduced into the
picture, each bearing its name in hiero-
glyphic characters, which state them to
have been taken in the fourth year of
King Remeses II. * • In the scene
before us, an insolent soldier pulls the
beard of his helpless captive, while others
wantonly beat the suppliant, or satiate
their fury, with the sword. Beyond these
is a corps of infantry in close array,
flanked by a strong body of chariots ;
and a camp, indicated by a rampart of
Egyptian shields, with a wicker gateway,
guarded by four companies of sentries,
who are on duty on the inner side, forms
the most interesting object in this pic-
ture. Here the booty taken from the
enemy is collected ; oxen, chariots,
plaustra, horses, asses, sacks of gold, re-
present the confusion incident after a
battle ; and tlie richness of the spoil is
expressed by the weight of a bag of
money, under which an ass is about to
fall. One chief is receiving the salutation
of a foot-soldier ; another, seated amidst
the spoil, strings his bow ; and a sutler
suspends a water-skin on a pole he has
fixed in the ground. Below this a body
of infantry marches homewards ; and
beyond them the king, attended by his
fan-bearers, holds forth his hand to receive
the homage of the priests and principal
persons, who approach his throne to con-
gratulate his return. His charioteer is
also in attendance, and the high-spirited
horses of his car are with difficulty re-
strained by three grooms who hold them.
Two captives below this are doomed to
be beaten, probably to death, by four
Egyptian soldiers ; while they in vain,
with outstretched hands, implore the
clemency of their heedless conqueror."
THE SNUFF BOX.— PART I.
We take shame to ourselves for neglect-
ing to notice this little piece of drollery
sooner. It is about the size of the di-
minutive song books so much in vogue a
few years ago, and contains some really
clever and piquant articles in prose and
verse. It is also illustrated by woodcuts,
which, however, are any thing but clever
and characteristic. They are not worthy
to appear with the letterpress. From
among the pieces in verse we select the
following, which cannot fail to raise a
laugh : —
" INSCRIPTION FOR AN ARBOUR.
" Stranger, or friend, wUicliever name accord
With Tonikins' iieai ty sliabe, or civil word ;
Enter, wliere inteilacing bouglis have m;ide
O'er l^liiied trellis-work a verdant shade.
Here seal thysell on benches greenly damp,
Fraught with lumbago sweet, and cooling ciam|) ;
Here rt'st thy back against this wall of brick,
Perhaps the recent white-wash will not stick.
Here view the snail, his lodging on his back,
Mark on the table's length his silvery tiack;
Here, when yonr hat and wig are l.iid aside,
The Caterpillar from the le.if shall elide,
And, like a wearied pilgrim, faint and late,
Crawl slowly o'er the drsert of your pale
Here shall the spider weave his web so fine.
And make yonr ear the period of his line; —
Here, should still noon induce the drowsy gape,
A headlong fly shall down your throat escape ;
Or should your languid spirits court repose,
Th' officious bee shall cavil at your nose ;
While tindd beetles from a chink behind,
In your coat pocket hurried shelter find.
Oh ! thou, to whom such Summer joys are dear
Anrl Nature's w.tys are pleasant, — cn^er here I "
We have been so tickled with these
lines, that we have ordered them to be
engraved on a tablet for our summer-
house, surrounded by a border of spiders,
beetles, earwigs, and centipedes, and the
other genii loci of these " cool-grots."
CURIOUS GEOLOGICAL HYPOTHESIS.
It has been very generally supposed, says
Mr. Philips in his interesting " Guide
to Geology," that the internal parts of
the earth were once in a state of fluidity.
That such fluidity was occasioned by
heat, is a plausible, or rather a necessary
hypothesis, for no other known agent is
adequate to the effect. But our con-
fidence iu this hypothesis becomes
strengthened, when we find that the
results of careful experiments, repeated
in various parts of the world, agree in
demonstrating that the interior parts of
the earth, at small depths, are sensibly
hotter than the surface, and that this aug-
mentation of heat follows some regular
ratio to the depth. If then it be probable
that in former periods the whole interior
was fluid by lieat ; if there be at present
an interior heat; and if, without intro-
ducing the consideration of new sub-
stances, the expansive force of heat may
counterbalance the effect of condensation,
it seems by no means a chimerical theory,
that the nucleus of the globe may even
now be partially fluid with heat.
AVARICE.
A neighbour once refused another the
use of his well. He was thus compelled
to sink one himself; and in so doing,
accidentally filled up the vein of his
neighbour's spring. Thus avarice oft-
times defeats itself, and benefits its
enemy.
THi: haktrrrp:
Ml
Page 32(5.
LA VALLIERE,
A TAI.E OF LOUIS THE FOURTEENTH.
f Fur the Tarlerre.)
That princes never become tlie objects
of friendship, ba-> been tlie frequent
opinion of mankind. But do they
neither ever become the objects of love ?
Or is the female lieart capable of an
elevation unattainaJ)le by the other sex,
and, by castiiig all vanity and self-interest
afiide, in loving the man, of overlooking
t^ie prince?
Louis the Fourtccnthjthe so called great,
was a man who had perhaps If^vi real
claims to such a title, but was one who, in
his younger years at least, was worthy of
l)eing the object of love. Why was be
called upon to conquer kingdoms, when
be was s.-itisfied with conrjuering beans?
Had he lived but a century before, and,
instead <jf a sceptre, received a knightly
sword in his hand, he would everywhere
have borne away the pri7.e through bis
valour and his mercy. His intellect was
neither dazzling nor clouded. His out-
ward t>earing was noble and faultless ;
his stature tall and majestic; and to per-
voi.. I.
feet and regular features, he added a
large coinmanding eye.
An arch Italian girl, of the nainc of
Maria Mancini, and niece of the cele-
brated Cardinal Mazarin, was the first to
draw any advantage from the peculiar
disposition of the youthful monarch.
Without being positively beautiful, and
in spite of the disturbance which this first
love-affair of Louis immediately created
among the members of his family, she
managed to obtain entire possession of
his heart ; and not content with this,
even ventured to aspire to the rank of
her lover. The thoughtless youth was
actually on the point of yielding to her
wishes by espousing her. 'i'lie wily
Mazarin himself was daz/led at the bril-
liant prospect. To the complaints of the
king's family, however, was alre.idy addud
the mnrmuring voice of the people, who
shuddered at the possibility of the royal
blood of France, to which every true
patriot owed l>lind obedience, being
polluted by that of an Italian girl. The
cardinal, afraid of the coming storm,
dri'w back ; and Mari.i Maiicini, not-
withstanding her tears and eiitreatiei,
\
322
THE PARTERRE.
was obliged to leave, not only the court,
but the kingdom.
After having mourned for his first love
the becoming time, Louis took unto
himself a consort in the person of Mar-
garet of Savoy. Not finding, hovi^ever,
in this marriage all that his fickle nature
required, he began again to long for
novelty.
One clear and beautiful summer's
night, Louis, after being present at a
ball given by his consort at the chateau of
Vincennes, strolled forth into the neigh-
bouring grove, attended only by a fevir
courtiers. They had not been long there
before a faint and distant noise fell upon
their ears. Groping their way through
the thicket in the direction whence the
noise proceeded, they stopped to listen ;
and presently several female voices be-
came distinctly audible.
" So late in the night ?" exclaimed the
king to his favourite Beringer. "What
in the name of wonder can our fair ones
be seeking at this time? '
"What else, sire," answered the
courtier, smiling, but the joys of some
happy love, or consolation for an un-
happy one?"
" Well, in either case," returned Louis,
" it will be worth the trouble to watch
them."
The ladies approached, and passing
slowly by, were soon lost in the grove,
without having perceived either Louis or
his courtiers. The latter followed them
softly until they saw them seat themselves
on one of the benches.
The king, then making a sign to all
his attendants, with the exception of
Beringer, to withdraw, took his station
behind a large tree, from which, although
nothing could be seen, they could hear
all that passed distinctly and unobserved.
And what was it they heard? — Nothing
more or less than a very grave discussion
as to who had been the best dancer at the
ball ! Each gave her separate opinion ;
the one declaring this, and the other that
courtier to have been the best. One
lady, however, among them, was not very
willing to concur in the critical opinion
of the majority, and was consequently
taken to task by the others.
" Can one then," she at length said,
" for a moment look upon those whom
you have been mentioning, after having
seen the king?"
" Oh, oh !" they all exclaimed at once,
" so the happiness of attracting your eyes
is reserved for majesty alone !"
" That the king is not a private indi-
vidual," replied the refractory fair one,
" is a circumstance at which, I think, we
ought all to rejoice, for did he not wear a
crown, we might hope" —
" Well ! what ?" impatiently exclaimed
one of the company.
She was unable to finish the sentence
she had begun ; but after a few moments
taking courage, she continued, "even as
king, however, we must confess that
he must render one indifferent to any
other."
With ravished eyes the monarch looked
at Beringer ; and, nodding to him sig-
nificantly, they both receded a few steps,
as they perceived the ladies preparing to
depart.
" Who can that be ?" was the question
that first escaped the lips of Louis, as soon
as he found himself alone with his
favourite. " Whoever she is, tell me,
you must know her."
Beringer expressed extreme regret at
his total ignorance of who the fair one
might be ; and thereupon he received
his most gracious dismissal from his
irritable master, but with the caution
not to mention a word of what had passed
in the grove.
" Most singular !" said Louis to him-
self, as soon as Beringer had withdrawn.
" She loves me — an incognito ! Here at
my court, where coquetry and art are
continually striving to recommend them-
selves to my notice, where the eye of envy
is ever on the watch, here is one that loves
me, and in secret !" /
Who in Louis' situation could have
slept the night through after such a dis-
covery? And yet Louis, who, contrary
to his habits, rose early the following
morning, was obliged to wait several
hours before Beringer brought so much
intelligence that the ladies of the previous
night were in all probability attached to
the court of Henrietta, his brother's con-
sort.* Again a curious link in the chain
of events ! With this very Henrietta,
Louis was at that time carrying on a
sort of amorous intrigue, and he was
now to seek out his beloved unknown at
her court. At one moment he was will-
ing to dare all ; the next his fears were
the master of him. His courage, how-
ever, at last prevailed, and Louis deter-
mined to go to Madame.
With devouring looks the monarch's
eyes measured every female figure pre-
sent. Not less busily engaged was
Beringer, who felt himself in ut.er em-
barrassment until he had replaced on a
sure footing, his tottering reputation as
Henrietta of England, sister of our Chailes
(he Second.
THE PAUTEUKE.
;i2.')
a courtier. A well-known lady of tiie
court, whose name does not at present
concern us, fell under his notice, and
hastily going u|) to the king, he whis-
pered into his ear, " That is the fair one,
sire!" But no sooner had Louis heard
her voice, than he turned his back on
her, and took no further notice of Berin-
ger. At length, however, he discovered
among the crowd a tigure, with her pen-
sive eyes resting upon the ground. The
veil of modesty lay in her every look.
Louis accosted her. She blushed, and
stammered forth some broken sentence.
This was the fair one.
To have thrown himself instantly at
her feet, the delighted monarch would
have been but too happy. But in such
a company how could he do this? The
thought of the jealousy of Henrietta
pierced likea dagger into his heart ; he cast
one look on his fair one, and went away.
Louisa Francisca de la Valliire, the
newly discovered favourite of the king,
was one of those charming beings, whose
good qualities escape the observation of
common eyes, on account of their being
more touching than striking. She could
hardly be called handsome ; her face was
rather too long for the oval, and her
mouth rather large ; neither was her com-
plexion dazzling, nor her figure sufficiently
embon-poiiit. There was nevertheless
a charm and a grace about her, which
riveted the looks of the beholder. To
long flowing hair and dark blue eyes,
were added lips the colour of the rose ;
a faultless figure, a rounded arm and deli-
cately small hand, were such as to prevent
the circumstance of her being somewhat
lame* from being noticed. Her mind
was strictly in accordance with her body ;
without possessing wit or remarkable
talent, she had a happy spirit of observa-
tion. The idea of dazzling never entered
her mind, much less that of deceiving;
her heart was open as the day. Her
whole being seemed formed for love.
To have attracted the notice of the
king, was certainly a thought snfiicient
to add to the charms of a modest and
beautiful enthusiast. She was ignorant
that the king was aware of her regard
for him. The king himself was happy;
his first wish had l>een granted ; he had
seen her.
There wa* still, however, much want-
ing to a proper understiiiiding between
tliem. Louis, on his part, did all that
lay in liLs power, by frequently going to
the court of .Madame, ;iiid unhappily no
one wa-t lesh disposed to dihsemble than
• Thl« It itrlcily trae.
himself. Henrietta soon discovered that
the object of his frequent visits was some
other than herself, and her jealousy was
immediately aroused. She watched and
inquired, but all to no purpose. The
ladies of the court, however, whom the
unaccustomed and despotic tone of their
mistress ecjually as much surprised as
distressed, were more successful in their
iiKjuiries. It was soon whispered about,
and jiretty loudly, that the king was in
love with La Valliere. .\t first no one
gave credence to it, not even Henrietta.
Poor La Valliere, who soon became the
object of envy and ridicule at court,
grieved in secret. Even Louis, whether
through frivolity or shame, appeared all
at once to avoid her.
Bnt when did not love compel even
the most open character at times to put
on the mask ? Perhaps Louis, remem-
bering the history of IMancini, sought
only security under the mantle of indif-
ference ; perhaps he only wanted time
to determine on the plan best suited to
the accomplishmentof his wishes. How-
ever this might be, he still loved La Val-
liere as before, and all that he wished for
was an opportunity of conversing with
lier. This soon presented itself.
The whole court was one day walking
in the park of Vincennes, when a heavy
and unexpected shower came on, so that
every one sought shelter for himself,
without paying much regard to the king.
Louis, who during the confusion, had
fixed his eyes unceasingly on La Valliere,
soon perceived that on account of her
partial lameness, she was unable to keep
up with the rest of the company. He
held back ; — tlie company were soon out
of sight, and the king was alone with his
fair one.
" IMay I be permitted to offer my
arm ?" asked Louis.
The poor girl blushe<l crimson, and
stammering forth some broken answer,
accepted it. They had thus walked on a
few yards, when Louis proceeded ; —
" I'erhaps you are not so well ac-
quainted with this road as myself. I
will lead you the nearest way back."
For a nii)uite or two there was a per-
fect silence. 'I'he two lovers walked on
together without looking at each other.
Louisbecanieembarrassed, until at length
La \'alliere timidly observed —
" I am sorry that the company shoidd
have been so disagreeably disturbed by
the rain."
" If you oidy knew for what I am in-
debted to this rain"' —
" What might that be?"
324
THE PARTE RRE.
'•The power of at length disclosing to
you, what so long hath made me both so
happy and so miserable. Oh ! could
I but calculate that you would listen to
it with favour."
During the discourse, the words of
Louis became somewhat more connected.
The impetuous and irresistible ardour of
his address deprived the timid girl of her
senses, and her embarrassment only served
to increase the eloquence of the king.
He well knew that every word from the
mouth of a lover is sacred ; and if he had
not been previously persuaded of her
love towards him, her present conduct
must have betrayed it. Minute after
minute thus glided away, and instead of
returning to the company, they lost
themselves deeper and deeper in the
wood, and, after the lapse of an hour, on
their arrival at the chateau, the king
first perceived that during the whole
time he had been walking with his head
uncovered.
And now the path to a secret under-
standing between them was broken ; but
notwithstanding this, it was impossible
for them to think of seeing each other
again for the present, on account of the
unceasing watchfulness of Henrietta,
whose suspicions had been aroused far
more than was agreeable to either. Epis-
tolary correspondence, however, — that
xuiiversal assistant of separated lovers, —
Louis determined should help to alleviate
the dreary interval ; and Beringer was
again brought into requisition, to be the
bearer to La Valliere of a letter full
of burning expressions of tenderness.
But, how unexpected was its reception !
The poor simple-hearted girl certainly
loved the king more than he loved her ;
she would really have done, what he
merely said — have cast away a sceptre
to share a cottage with him. But the
thought of being his mistress, fell like
a poisonous mildew on every budding
flower of her wishes and her fancy.
Although the conviction of the king's
inability to marry her might have pleaded
for the lover, yet the knowledge of that
lover being the husband of another, was
sufficient to destroy her peace of con-
science. To his first letter, therefore,
the king received no answer.
Aroused by this opposition, Louis
wrote a second, and Beringer, the bearer,
made the necessity of an answer so ap-
parent, that the timid La Valliere con-
sented to answer it.
The correspondence which the lovers
now carried on, was certainly of a curi-
ous description ; nor can anything but
a knowledge of the manners of the court
at that period, preserve it from ridicule.
That striving after esprit, the national
malady Of the French, was then in its
infancy, and consequently, like all other
epidemics, at its greatest height. What-
ever was spoken, must have been spoken
with elegance ; and whatever was writ .
ten, must have been capable of appear-
ing as an appendix to the letters of
Voiture.* Truth, without colouring,
was looked upon as simplicity ; and the
language of love, without the flowers of
speech, as insensibility. Unfortunately
there was not a single lady at the court less
acquainted with these requisite flowers
of speech, than the child of nature. La
Valliere. She thought and thought of a
well-written answer, but all to no pur-
pose ; until, at length one day, when
buried in meditation on the subject, it
chanced that she received a visit from
the rhymster Benserade, who, although
not exactly the appointed poet-laureate,
generally performed all the duties apper-
taining to that honourable office.
" You seem quite lost in thought,
gracious lady," said Benserade, " one
would almost imagine that you were in
secret communication with the Nine
Sisters."
" No, dear Benserade, it is precisely
because I am not in this secret commu-
nication, that you find me thus in
thought. Suppose you were to assist
me. I am in one of those desperate
situations in which I can neither say yes
— nor no — but yet must say something."
" Most gracious lady [ all my little
riches are quite at your service. But
might I presume to ask '' —
" Oh yes ! The whole of the aflfair is
that I am to write a letter to one whom
I must deprive of all hope, but yet with-
out seriously hurting him."
" I always thought, that to write such
letters was the innate talent of the ladies.
You must say much, in order to say
nothing ; promise much, in order to
promise nothing; and grant much, in
order, unobserved, to take away the
more."
Jest soon became earnest; and Ben-
serade really indited a pretty tolerable
extempore answer, which, possessing the
requisite qualities. La Valliere copied, of
course with a few alterations and addi-
tions, and forwarded to the king,
" So she has esprit too ! " exclaimed
the astonished Louis. Without loving
* A courtier of those days famed for the ex-
travagant st)le of his letters.
THE TARTEURE.
323
her the more, the king rejoiced at this
newly discovered pert'ection ; and in
order not to be backward in g;dhuitry,
he gave a small fete in her honour, and
commanded Benserade to write a poeti-
cal epistle to her on the occasion.
No sooner had La Valli^re received
this poetical effusion, than she invited
Benserade to pay her a visit, but with
the caution to keep it secret. What
cannot the vanity of a poet conceive?
Benserade imagined that at least tiie
lady wiis in love with him. He appeared
at the appointed time — twilight, and
cautiously opened the door. The lady
beckoned to him slightly with her hand,
and in a moment the laureate was at her
feet, in due theatrical altitude.
" My goddess ! impressed with the
feeling of my happiness " —
" No, not so, dear Benserade ; no,
that is not the question. Rise, 1 want
you to indite me another answer."
The poet rose, and recovering from
his delusion, became from that moment
the confidant of both La Valli»^re and
Louis. Behaving himself with praise-
worthy discretion, he enjoyed the felicity,
through the means of the letters and
answers, which he alternately wrote, of
playing with the hearts of the lovers.
But La Valliereand Louis, soon found
that the most elegant sentences brought
them no nearer to the goal of their
wishes. To see each other daily, with-
out being able to utter more than a few
liasty words, was too much for the self-
denial of a king. How willingly would
he have concealed his love altogether
from the eyes of the court, if he could
have enjoyed it in secret ! But this was
not possible. He therefore boldly de-
termined to seize the first opportunity of
publicly bestowing on La Vallicre some
distinguished mark of his favour.
In those days, it was customary for
elderly ladies to pass away their leisure
evenings, either over tiieir breviaries, or
at card* ; but with the queen-mother,
the game of lottery was the usual amuse-
ment ; and those who were so happy as
to l>c in her good graces, were generally
presented with a ticket. The jirizes
were not unfre<juently of great value.
It happened one evening, that the king
was one of the party, and the first prize
a pair of beautiful bracelets. 'i'lie king
drew, and won. Every \i\) was ehxjuent
in the praises of the bracelets, and every
«ye strained to see who would receive
them. The queen-consort hmilc-d full of
curious hope, and Henrietta of I'.ngiaiiil
»at in haughty and silent expecl.ilion,
The timid La Valliere was almost con-
cealed in one corner of the room, when
Louis, with tiic bracelets in his hand,
and accompanied by every eye, walked
up to his charmer.
" What do you think of these brace-
lets, .Mademoiselle ?" at the same time
handing them to her. With down-east
eyes, she took them out of his hand, and
inspected them.
" They are uncommonly beautiful ! "
answered La Valliere, making a motion
to return them. The king however,
drew back, adding; " and in hands too
beautiful ever to be returned into mine."
The blood rushed to the cheeks of the
astonished girl. Henrietta sunk back in
her chair. Looks were exchanged in
every direction. The queen- mother was
uneasy ; the whole company was dis-
turbed. The king alone walked stalely
and unconcerned up and down the
room.
How much is it to be regretted that
Louis, daring enough to enter upon the
most hazardous enterprise, was not en-
dowed with sufficient courage to proceed
witli it. From that evening, I^a Val-
liere was watched with more liian Argus
eyes, and seldom enjoyed one happy mo-
ment.
Henrietta, however, bought her un-
generous persecution of this poor girl at
a dear price. Louis gave several fetes
nominally in honour of her, but in
which, in reality, his beloved played the
principal character. Hunting parties
especially, were the favourite amusement,
as the ladies then ajipeared in their
Amazonian habit, and no dress displayed
the slender figure of La Valliere to
greater advantage. It is true that Hen-
rietta often struggled to be absent from
these parties, but the eli(juette of the
court would not allow her presence al-
ways to be dispensed with.
Louis .soon became impatient to have
another interview with l.a \'allitre, at
whatever price; and after .ulupting and
rejecting many plans in his mind, he at
lengtli resolved on the following enter-
jirise.
The chamber of La Valliere in the
chateau, was adjoining to the chamber
of Mademoiselle d'.Artigny, whieii bor-
dered on one side i>f the roof. Around
the roof ran a leaden gutter. This neck-
breaking way of getting to the object of
his love, was right welcome to tiie chi-
valrous nature of Louis. Beringer was
so fortunate as to obtain the consent t)f
Artigny to the king's pii-ssage, througli
III I room; and the very evening oi)
326
THE PARTERRE.
which the plan was formed, it was also
carried into execution.
All was quiet in the chateau ; and
those who had neither hopes nor wishes
to keep them awake, were already in the
arms of sleep. The gentle La Valli^re,
however, as had been her custom of late,
sat up thinking of her lover. Half un-
dressed, she lay reclining in an arm
chair, wrapt in visionary dreams. She
heard something move without, but took
no notice of it. The door was gently
opened, — she looked up, and the next
moment Louis was at her feet. A loud
shriek escaped the terrified girl.
" For God's sake, be still, or we both
are lost ! "
" Oh, sire ! leave me," cried La Val-
liere, with a sunken and timorous voice,
at the same time trying to disengage
herself from Louis, who held her knees
firmly clasped.
" I leave you not, my dearest girl."
" Oh, God ! sire — at such a time — I
must call."
" Well, then, call : precipitate your-
self with me into the gulph, that I
perish."
" Sire, can you wish my shame ?
Were any one to divine that you were
here ! should any one have seen you
enter ! "
" If that is all, calm yourself, my dear
girl. No human eye hath seen me
enter; no one can divine it." Curiosity
now became the mantle in which modesty
veiled itself. La Valliere was inqiii-
sitive as to how the king had contrived
to gain an entrance, without being seen.
Louis openly acknowledged his obliga-
tions to Artigny; and was thereby the
gainer, inasmuch as the broken accents
of embarrassment soon passed into a
connected debate.
" Artigny ! " exclaimed La Valliere,
half aloud. "Oh, the traitoress! (she
added more softly), she shall suffer for
this."
Louis smiled. " But then you will
allow me to reward the sufferer, will
you not?" And in truth, he afterwards
granted her a considerable pension.
Suddenly the countenance of the fair
charmer assumed a different aspect.
" True, sire ! you are king. It is for
you to will, — not for me. You have
the right to stay."
Louis steadfastly regarded her for a
moment. " So, thus a king is told to
begone ! " He cast his eyes once more
on the fair one, and turning round, went
towards the door.
The poor girl trembled like an aspen-
leaf. " Oh, sire ! did you but know —
my God ! — oh, how lost a creature
am I!"
The king stopped at the door. "Am
I to take with me the conviction that
you are averse to me ? "
" Sire," she replied, sitting back in
her chair, " you wrong a heart that does
not deserve to be wronged, at least, by
you."
She hid her face. Louis went up to
her, and seizing her right hand with
both his hands, pressed it to his burning
lips.
" Thou unspeakably beloved ! if you
believe in my love, why not believe in
my honour ? Why am I king ? why
can I not share with you the whole
gains of my life ? May the sceptre fall
from the hands of him who could steal
a jewel which love did not grant him !
Since that happy night, when I over-
heard you in the grove ."
Scarcely had he uttered these words,
than the poor girl, starting up, looked
at him as if petrified, whilst the tears
rolled slowly down her cheeks.
" Alas ! " cried she, again hiding her
face, " what a miserable creature am I '."
Louis, with his hand resting on the
small table beside them, bent down to her.
" My dearest ! " do you, then, deem it
a disgrace to love me ?"
She neither answered nor looked up :
Louis continued —
" Will you not accord me the joy
which lightens the weight of the crown,
of knowing that there is one pure spirit
that can look on me, without regarding
the star that conceals my heart ? or was
it merely the feeling of a moment, that
gave me some little worth in your eyes ?
Is there nothing left of that charming
fervour with which you uttered those
memorable words in the grove ? —
Nothing ? "
She rose from her chair. A con-
strained composure was visible in her
features, which were working with the
disquietude of passion.
" Those words, sire, I confess, bore a
two-fold interpretation ; or rather, they
expressed what I thought, and only
what, under the circumstances, they
could express. For in truth, sire, you
dance better than any of the lords at
court. You dance so beautifully ! "
The king was silent. The eyes of the
poor girl wandered about in the greatest
confusion, whilst the blood mounted to
her cheek. After a few moments,
Louis, still retaining her hand, pro-
ceeded, —
THE PARTEllUE.
ii2i
" So, 't is only my dancing that can
please you, not myself? — not my heart ?
Does a girl of your feeling see in men
nothing better than whether they dance
well or not? And perhaps even now
you do not see what I must be to you if
I am to be happy ? "
He tirst pressed her hand to his heart ;
and then, without waiting for an an-
swer, fulling down before her chair,
drew lier, unconsciously forgetting to
offer resistance, towards him, whilst his
lips imprinted burning kisses on her
cheek.
" Here ! " exclaimed Louis, still
clasping her in his arms, " here I am
happy ! From this spot not even armies
should drive me ! "
" Monarch ! " said La Valliere, laying
her left hand on his shoulder, " why
speak of armies? — what need of them?
Shew your enemies your heart ! "
A pause of a few minutes succeeded.
" Rise, sire, I pray you," exclaimed
La Valliere, her left hand at the same
time gliding from the king's shoulder into
her lap, to the riglit, which Louis held.
La Valliere made a motion to get up;
thereby raising Louis as of his own
accord from the ground. Louis, taking
a chair, scaled himself beside her ; and
now the sweet emotions of refusal and
consent, doubts and assurances, were
renewed in every form. No attempted
liberty disturbed the serenity of that
happy night. The morning began to
dawn.
La Valliere looked through the win-
dow. " It is time, sire."
" It is yet early, my dearest, especially
here in the chateau, where love awakens
few before the time. Let me see those
eyes by the morning twilight. This
day must participate in the innocent
joys of the p;Lst night. A moment
longer, my dear girl I "
" Sire, if the day were to betray the
night ! See ! with every stroke of the
pendulum the hand of the clock becomes
brighter. It seems as if the day would
outstrip itself"
The king rose, and La Valliere with
him ; — she leaning against the window,
and he with his right arm round her
waist. A smile played round her lips,
whiUt her eyes bestjught him to leave
her.
" Go, sire, I pray you."
Louis' countenance brightened u|).
" Hut to return another time?"
She cast her eye« on the ground.
" Alas ! at court even the night is not to
l>e trusted. Trust it no more than
once. Try rather '
"Try what?" exclaimed Louis im-
patiently.
La Valliere was silent. " Dear girl,"
he continued, " your silence proves that
even you can devise no other means for
my seeing you so safe and so free from
interruption. So, my love, 1 will re-
turn, ell ? or do you again distrust my
honour ?"
" As if I could do that ! "
Louis, taking hold of both her hands,
suddenly exclaimed, " A new life now
rises within me, with the sun which the
morning dawn yonder announces ! "
At that moment there was a gentle
tapping at the door; and, with many
excuses on her lips, the cautious Artigny
entered to inform the king that it was
now time to return to his own apart-
ment.
From this time forward Louis lived
and moved in the very fulness of love.
The path over the leaden gutter con-
ducted him night after night to his be-
loved. Night after night was thus passed
away in mutual endearment, and both
parties separated as innocent as they had
met.
But the report soon spread abroad
that a well-dressed man was seen fre-
quently at night walking along the leaden
gutters of the roof; and it at length
came to the ears of the Lady IVIarechale,
the Duchess de Navaillcs. The duchess
immediately applied for worldly advice
on the subject to her husband, and for
spiritual advice to her confessor. Both
confessor and husband recommended the
discipline of the cloister. All at once an
iron railing was seen before the windows
of Artigny and La Valliere. The two
girls exclaimed loudly against this pub-
lic injury to their character, and as their
complaints were considered wellgroinul-
ed, in order to remedy them, a rail-
ing was i)laced before the windows of
every lady of the court.
" So, they wish to tyrannize over me?"
exclaimed Louis, as soon as this last cir-
cumstance came to his knowledge ; so-
vereign in my own kingdom, and not so
much as master im my own house ? Who
ordered the windows to be barred?"
The looks of the courtiers were
chained to the ground. The pride, as
well .as the m;ignanimity of the king, wu.s
well known. No one dared to betray a
lady standing in such universal respect
as the Duchess de Navailles.
" 1, sire, gave thuoiders ;" the duchess
herself confessed, whilst standing before
the king.
" Who instructed you lo th.il eirecl!"
" .My duty!"
328
THE PARTERRE.
" Does your duty consist iu disobe-
dience to my wishes?"
" You had given no commands on the
subject, sire ! "
" But you knew that you were doing
that which would be displeasing to me."
" I knew that I was doing your Ma-
jesty a service."
Louis was about to speak ; but, fearful
of entering into a dispute with an elderly
matron on the duties of the married
state, became confused, and was silent.
The duchess continued —
" Sire, I have deserved your thanks,
not your ill-will. If you wish to punish
me for doing wliat I considered my duty,
it is easily in your power ; but could 1
fear punishment from a monarch of your
soul? I wished, sire, to bring you
peace, and content within yourself."
"Who told you, that I was not con-
tent within myself?"
" No one, sire, but my own heart
Has your Majesty any further com-
mands ? "
" You may depart."
Louis had been now attacked in his
most tender part, and that, in a two-fold
manner. His pride, which was equally
susceptible of a right as of a wrong di-
rection, had been both mortified and flat-
tered by the Duchess de Navailles. He
was as yet undetermined whether vanity
or duty should bear away the victory ;
the former had a powerful ally in love,
but the queen-mother, at the instigation
of the duchess, procured the triuinph of
the latter. She addressed her son, so
susceptible of every tender impression, in
such a friendly and maternal manner ;
painted to him the delights of connubial
peace in such bright colours ; and con-
versed with him so eloquently on the
evils of bad example, that the monarch,
who had in truth been forcibly deprived
of what he held most dear, consented to
go to confession.
I^et us compassionate rather than ridi-
cule the weakness of this well meaning
prince. That very evening he met the
Duchess de Navailles, and extending his
hand, said, " My dear duchess, let us be
friends ! "
If the elderly ladies at court had reason
to rejoice at this conversion of the king,
the young ones had much greater reason.
I^ouis's attachment to La Valliere had
disturbed all their calculations ; they
could now each again enter the lists for
victory. The king, however, remained
insensible to their attacks ; they had all
the pleasure of hope, but nothing further.
Only one, the Countess de Soissons, who
since Louis's love to La Valliere, had
entirely lost lier credit, and therefore
hated the poor girl with no common
hatred, was fortunate enough to find the
means of revenge. Despairing of her
own attractions, she determined to con-
tent herself with the pitiful pleasure of
robbing La Valliere of that which she
had no chance of obtaining. Perhaps
her intrigues were laid with a deeper
design. Perhaps the interest, with which
she inspired the king for her young
friend, was intended for the invisible
cord that was again to draw Louis to
herself. However that may be, it is suf-
ficient that she contrived to inspire Louis
with interest for a lady of the name of
De la Mothe-Houdancourt. But how
severe was the chastisement she received
for her short-lived pleasure ! The image
of his La Valliere was engraven too
deeply in the heart of the inonarch to be
effaced by a mere passing attachment.
Louis, seeing the net that was spread for
him, turned his back on De la Mothe-
Houdancourt, and never spoke another
word to the countess.
In the meantime. La Valliere was fast
consuming herself with grief in her re- '
tirement. The envy of the court ; the
chilly tarrying of those who waited to
see whether the love of the king would
not yet return ; and the contemptuous
language of others, whom she had deem-
ed altogether fallen, wounded her heart
not so deep as the accounts she received
of the levity of the man, on whom her
whole being now depended. Had she
been capable of revenge, many a favour-
able opportunity presented itself. But
this was beneath her nature.
However little Louis was faithful to
his wife, he nevertheless did every thing
in his power to preserve her from mortifi-
cation. During the time that his actions
were the subject of general conversation
at court, not one syllable reached the
cars of the queen. La Valliere remained
one of the ladies of the bed-chamber j
and, as propriety would not admit of his
entrance into their ai)artnient, he saw
himself subjected to tiiis restraint. But
when the object of our wishes is attain-
able, of what avail is all self-denial and
restraint beyond a certain period?
The sacrifice, which duty wrung from
love, Louis had made. His deluded
conscience seemed now appeased, and
love resumed all its former sway.
The king and his La Valliere were
again together before people were aware
of it. But how ? He dared not enter
her room through the door, and the
former entrance through the window at
the roof had been blocked uj). Here
THE PARTERRE.
S-29
love had ag;iin recourse to one ot' iis own
romantic ways.
Like Pyramus anil Thisbe of old, our
happy pair rejoiced at the discovery of a
chink in the wooden partition of one of
the apartments of tiie chilteau. Now,
that to embrace and look at each other
was denied tiiem, whispering was the
only consolation that remained. Wiiat
it was that they whispered to each other,
curiosity never learned; but again their
imlucky star did not long sutler them to
enjoy even this means of communication.
The old disturber of their happiness, the
Duchess de Navailles, doubly observant
of every step of the king, since her former
exploit had gained her such a name for
virtue, discovered, God knows how, the
secret communication. Without hinting
a word, she ordered the carpenter to
come ; and when the lovers appeared as
usual at the place of meeting, the chink
was no longer there.
But this stroke, which was too much
for the king, was also the List. Equally
unprepared for, as mortified by the con-
duct of the duchess, he gave orders for it
to be intimated to her and her husband,
that they were forbidden tiie court ; but
the queen-mother hearing what had hap-
pened, and fearing what miglit happen,
again interceded between tliem. Were,
the exile of the Lady INIarechale, she
represented to him, to come to the ears
of the queen, the cause of it could not
long remain secret ; and in her present
state, as she was pregnant, the discovery
might l)e attended witli serious conse-
quences. This had the efftTct ; and the
king revoked the exile of the duchessand
her husband, but enjoined tiiem in the
most positive manner, not again to inter-
meddle witii his affairs.
The interviews with I>a Vallicre, wiiich
Ix)uis had hitherto taken such trouble to
keep secret, he himself now publicly
acknowledged. He gave himself ijp
entirely to the impulses of his heart ; and
no longer fearing any witnesses, the only
restraint he put upon himself was in the
presence of his consort, who, whatever
might l>c her suspicions, was as yet in-
formed of nothing with cerUiinty. Oidy
on the queen's account was La Vallicre
obliged, at the f&tes which were given in
her own honour, to lose herself now, as
f«»rmerly, amongst the crowd of courtiers
present.
Louis, who publicly visited his be-
loved, and was persuaded that her attach-
ment to him was deeper than his to her,
iM-gan t<» think thai he niiglil now in-
crca%c his demand*. But how was he
to interpret it, that she, incapal)le cf
coquetry, since the day that his love for
her had been openly acknowledged, had
become more reserved in their tete-a-tetc
than formerly ; that she sought to evade
his warmed embraces; and that when he
entered to her in the triumphant feeling
of happy love, she always seemed lost in
sorrow. Questions were of no avail ;
l)rotestations of his love, of equally as
little. With the most ardent expressions
of passion she avowed herself his, and
tears answered for her vows. Louis was
confoimded.
Going one morning as usual to visit
his mistress, he found the door of her
rootn locked. "Where is she?' ex-
claimed the impetuous monarch. At
first the attendants hesitated to answer,
but were at length compelled to confess,
that she had that morning taken refuge
in the convent of Chaillot.
Without regarding the Spanish am-
bassador, who had just announced him-
self for an audience, Louis hastened into
tlie stables, and saddling a horse with
his own hands, mounted, and fled to the
convent of Chaillot.
The rules of the convent did not admit
of his seeing his beloved. He insisted.
Ttiey entreated him to yield to the regu-
lations prescribed by the order ; but to
no purpose. Terrible were his threats ;
for the idea crossed his mind that La
Vallii re had been forcibly taken away.
All were now compelled to bow down to
the will of the monarch. He saw his love ;
fell at her feet, and lx;forc she could
recover herself, led her in triumph away.
♦' 3Iy son!" said the queen-mother,
" you are no longer master of yourself !"
" Well then," replied the king, " I
will be of those who drive me to ex-
tremities ! "
The queen mother again sought refuge
in that, which, often before in critical
cases, h;ul been of happy elFect ; namely,
in religion. Father Annat, the royal
confessor, was called upon to re|)resenl
to his mighty penitent, the sinfulness of
his actions. Alter a long sermon re-
specting the duties of a i)rince, tiic
father ended with these words: " And
if you follow not my counsel, sire, I
leave your court !"
The kit)g turned roimd without deign-
ing to answer, and within the next hour
the fatlier had his dismissal.
Proceedings like these, of couise put
an end to all further remonstrance.
Louis Kiiw his La V'alliire unillslnibrd,
and saw her often ; the proofs of which
soon became visible.
3-30
TFIE PARTE II RK.
During the whole period of her preg-
nancy, the poor girl was obliged to in-
habit a room, through which the queen
passed daily to hear mass. On this
account, whatever reports might have
been spread, the queen always contra-
dicted them.
La Valliere was delivered of a son.
It was midnight. The king was present
with the physicians in the adjoining
room ; and, taking the new-born child
into his arms, gave himself up wholly
to a father's joy ; and when the queen
passed through on the following day, La
Valliere was indisposed, but nothing fur-
ther. In order not to leave the slightest
ground for suspicion, tuberoses, and
various strongly fragrant flowers were
placed in the room ; and what no other
woman in her situation could have borne,
was borne by La Valliere.
Numberless intrigues, which were now
entered into with the view of crushing
the favourite, only ended in the ruin of
their projectors. The king granted her
a beautifully furnished house to reside
in ; but, although surrounded with every
kind of splendour and amusement, she
was indifferent to every thing that was
not Louis, She never used her power
to intermeddle in the affairs of the state,
or to revenge herself on one of her nu-
merous enemies. Only by the love,
which she universally inspired, did she
render others unhappy. A young lieu-
tenant in the guards, who had sighed
after her previously to her acquaintance
with the king, and sent her a number of
letters, without receiving any answer,
happened at this time to return from the
army, and hearing how matters were
situated, put an end to his existence with
his own sword.
Modest and retired, notwithstanding
her good fortune ; ever apprehensive of
not being able sufficiently to reward the
tenderness of her lover ; ever delicate in
the proofs of her love ; La Valliere lived
several years as the acknowledged fa-
vourite of the king, and wept over a title
which envy unwillingly accorded her.
Oh, thou ! who knowest the order of
the world, and the ways of the human
heart, why cannot love alone secure a
return of love ? Why does the tenderest
heart in time oppress with its very tender-
ness? Why does the softness of feeling
lose its charm ' — La Valliere, faithful to
her lover until death, after a few years
became an object of comparative indif-
ference to him. She, who never dreamt
of hazarding her influence by a denial of
her favours, by these very means lost his
heart to a rival of unbridlod licentious-
ness, a witty but unfeeling coquette.
Athenais de Montemar, Marchioness de
Montespan, was a beautiful figure, well
formed, striking in her actions, and ac-
complished. Her abilities, both acquired,
and those with which nature had so richly
endowed her, she knew how to turn to
advantage with wonderful facility. No
sooner had she perceived the increasing
coldness of the king towards La Valliere,
than with a whole host of rivals, she
entered boldly and artfully into the lists
against her.
True, Louis' heart belonged no
longer so utterly to his La Valliere as
formerly, but still sufficiently to dispute
the victory with any one, bearing any
resemblance to her. But between La
Valliere and Montespan there was not
even the shadow of resemblance to be
found. Hence alone is it conceivable
how Louis, seduced by novelty, became
entangled in the net which he saw
openly spread out before him.
As yet, however, he had not found
the courage to tear himself violently
away from the heart which was so de-
votedly attached to him. Love asserts
its rights a long time ere they become
the prey of lust ; but fetters which
oppress are no longer the fetters of love.
In remaining faithful to La Valliere,
Louis did violence to his feelings, and
thereby became daily the less faithful.
He entertained her with the humours of
Montespan, and to which she, poor
girl, was patient and gentle enough to
listen. She even permitted her witty
rival the entrance into her own circle ;
but from that hour she was lost. The
result of the comparison which the king
daily instituted between a silent enthu-
siast, whose feelings of morality were so
great ; and a Phoyne at court, who ap-
peared both able and willing to grant
the man to whom she attached herself,
all that he could desire, was that he soon
wished to be relieved of the comparison.
In La Valliere, Louis saw now only the
troublesome spy. He visited Mon-
tespan alone.
As soon as La Valliere heard of the
open faithlessness of her lover, she was
bathed in tears. Montespan, not con-
tent with having driven her rival from
the field, wished to annihilate her; and
denied herself the enjoyment of that,
which she thought she could not as yet
maintain in security.
Her caution was but well-foiuided.
More than once Louis wavered back to
La Valliere; and she, the ever gentle.
THE PARTEUKE.
331
by not allowing any expression ot'jealousy
to escape her, gave him no cause for
separation. The reproaches she uttered
were unanswerahle; they proceeded all
from the lips of patient and suftering
love.
At length, when the king almost trod
in the very footsteps of Montespan,
wherever she went and stood. La \'alliiTe
could no longer conceal the deep morti-
fication she felt. She complained with
bitterness of his treatment ; and the king
was exactly in one of those moods in which
bitterness is insupportable.
" You know that I love you!" he ex-
claimed in an imperious tone, " but you
shall not be suffered to dictate to me."
This was certainly an intimation that
might be considered as conclusive, and
La Vallierc determined to withdraw
altogether from the court. The wily
Montespan, however, deemed it to lier
advantage that she should remain, and
one friendly word of Louis persuaded
ber to all.
Day after day, passed in sorrow and
weeping, soon destroyed the health of the
poor sufferer, and she began to sink under
the weight of a gloomy melancholy.
Inca))al)le of remaining any longer in the
neighbourhood of the court, she again
sought refuge in the convent. I5ut even
here the insatiable pride of her rival
granted her no rest. The king, who had
been persuaded that this sudden disap-
pearance would create a bad impression
abroad, sent some of the most influential
of his courtiers to bring her back. I5ut
this time in vain ! He at last wrote to
her with his own hands, and — La Val-
liere returned.
^ In the meantime, after many round-
about ways, Louis gained his ol)ject with
Montespan. His example was soon fol-
lowed by the whole court ; every one
spoke and dreamt of amours and intrigues.
La ValliCre, who had always been of a
religious turn, considered that duty now
ref|uired of her, what she had hitherto
done solely from despair. .After due
deliberation she again escaped to the
convent of Chaillot ; and her resolution
wa-i taken, to atone for her sii))posed
Sinn as a nun of the severest Carmelite
order.
At the king's earnest request she
returned once more to tlie court ; liul
neither request nor entreaty could prevail
on her stay. The laws of n-ligiiin would
not allow to<i lively reprewiitations to be
made, to withhold from the holy order a
treasure, which now seemed to iM-loiig to
it from nil inward call. La N'allicre be-
came novice.
As soon as the novitiate had expired,
and the day of investment arrived, the
whole court appeared amongst the spec-
tators. She was then in the '29th year
of her age. The latent fire of her heart,
without which she could not have ven-
tured upon such a step, suffused now for
the hist time her otherwise pale cheek
with a dazzling colour. Even the
courtiers could not refrain from tears at
the sight of the beautiful victim. In the
woolly garment of her order, she took
the solemn vow with a joyful voice; lived
with her slender frame in the severest
penance and solitude for thirty-five years;
and died, beloved and admired by all her
sisters of the convent, in the year 1710,
and in the 64 th of her age.
J. J. B.
HISTORIC GLEANINGS.
Historj- is philosophy, teaching by exomplc. —
Lord JJolinybrolu:
THE MOCK KINO.
The following interesting particulars are
taken from Mr. Riddell's legal and hii-
torlcal tracts, the publication of which
must ])rove a rare treat to the antiquary.
" One of the most atrocious actions in
the reign of Richard 1 1., was tiie murder
of his uncle, the Uuke of Gloucester,
chieHy perpetrated by William Serle, a
servant and yeoman of the robes to the
king — one of those creatures, in whose
society the monarch, who was fond of
low company, occasionally demeaned
himself Serle, along with Fraunceys,
yeoman of the chamber to the Earl of
Ihilland, suffocated tlie Prince, by tlirow-
iiig a featherbed upon him, which they
pressed with the full weight of their
bodies, until he was bereaved of existence.
• * He, Serle, was a man of the most
depraved character, ard, according to
Walsingham, a colemporary, an oliject
of exccr.ition to the whole kingdom.
With Richard's secrets, habits, and man-
ners, no one coidd be better ac(piaiiited
— a circumstance, as will be afteiw.iids
seen, of which he did not fail to avail
himself. He had at one time or oilier
contrived to steal Richard's signet, so
that, \iith the addition of a little forgery
and address, he was well al)le to iini)ose
upon piDjile by means of suppositions
htlers fioiM the Prince. When Iticliard's
cataslroj)he happened, a tol.il reverse, of
course, followed in his fortunes— his
|)revious dependence upon Richard, .so
far froMi benefiting him, made him iin-
popul.ir, anil an object of distiusl; and
332
THE rARTEIlUE.
finally, the apprehension of Hall, a party
in Gloucester's murder, but not so guilty
as himself, with his full confession of all
the particulars, rendered a stay in England
no longer safe, and he, therefore, wisely
lost no time in escaping to France.
" In this manner, a wretched outcast,
without certain means of livelihood, it is
not to be supposed that a man so un-
principled, and capable of any act, would
allow his peculiar talents to remain un-
exercised. Not only his own interest,
but a natural thirst of revenge, would
tempt him to devise projects that might
disturb the present order of things ; and
accordingly, we find him identified — and
this, it is conceived, is a circumstance of
great importance, with the veri/Jirst notice
that is preserved of the Scottish Richard.
It is proved by two English documents,
in June 1402, that there was then in
Scotland, a person bearing a kind of
resemblance to Richard, and that Serle
tuas with him, who, it is further stated,
was making due preparations for his hos-
tile ingress into England. At the same
time, it is instructed by other authorities,
that Serle had dispatched letters to per-
sons in that country intimating that
Richard II. was alive, and about to
proceed to England for the recovery of
his crown. Of the means he possessed
to do so, there can be no doubt, owing
to the circumstances stated of his theft
of Richard's signet, which Walsingham
expressly informs us he used ; and we
thus discover the origin of the next im-
posture, attempted through the medium
of an entirely new party, to personify
Richard. » * *
" From what has been detailed, there
is mucii reason to believe that Serle, rest-
less and discontented in his exile, was
the exclusive author of the new design,
so well adapted to his means and re-
sources, and the most likely method by
which he could restore his fallen fortunes.
He therefore, it is conceived, proceeded
from France to Scotland, in company
witli the puppet Avho has been mentioned,
and by means of their joint agency,
although principally by Serle's, the ru-
mour that Richard was still alive, and
had fled to the latter country, came first
to be circulated. * * »
" Tlie Scottish nation would be the
last either to check or deaden an attempt
that might, in an emergency, be useful
to them, and tlierefore it is not to be
wondered at that letters from Serle, who
had the best means of judging in such a
case, with others forged by him in the
name of Richard, containing the vcrv
impression of his seal, had considerable
success in England, and induced tliose to
whom they were addressed, to believe in
his survival. The juncture, too, was not
unfavourable ; the beginning of a usurpa-
tion, like Henry the Fourth's, is liable
to plots and intrigues of all kinds — there
were persons dissatisfied with the rewards
by which their services were requited,
and the natural fickleness of the English
inclined them to innovation. Yet it is
remarkable that the intelligence did not
produce the great excitement that might
have been expected ; although generally
discussed, it chiefly found favour among
the vulgar, and the friends and partizans
of Richard II., as might equally have
happened in the case of any favourable
rumour. Mr. Tytler lays much stress
upon the Countess of Oxford having
given it her countenance, — but was she
not, it may be asked, the most likely
person in the world to do so — the mother
of the minion Oxford, a relative of
Richard, whom that monarch had, in a
manner, raised to the rank of a prince,
under the titles of Duke of Ireland,
Marquis of Dublin, &c. — whom he had
loaded with rewards and benefits of all
kinds, and for whose sake he had sacri-
ficed his own popularity, and sunk him-
self in the esteem of the nation. She is
a partial testimony in the strictest sense,
and would evidently have grasped at any
straw that might have favoured the de-
lusion. # « •
"The year 1402 seems to have been
the time when the rumour of Richard's
survival, countenanced by the Scots,
made the greatest sensation; in 1403 we
hear but little of it; and, in 1404, tlie
political atmosphere improving, Henry
IV. was induced to grant a general par-
don to all state oflTenders, but from this
act of clemency he specially excepts
'William Serle,' and 'Thomas Waude
de Trunipington que se pretende et /eigne
d'estre Roy Richard.' The pardon, under
the same exception, obtained the sanction
of parliament, and, in consequence, the
parties in question were notoriously at-
tainted and outlawed.
" The person last mentioned was no,
other than the Scottish, or pseudo-
Richard, an Englishman by birtli, and,
as will be afterwards seen, the owner of
a pendicle of land, with whose name, and
identical connexion with the act of im-
posture, we are in this manner presented
His being conjoined with Serle upon the
occasion, while equally excepted from
the pardon, evidently shews that they
were implicated in the same crime, and
THE PARTERRE.
333
this with Wardc being expressly said to
have jKTsoniliod liicliard, clearly identify
him with the previi)us phantom of royalty
in 140'2 — who, as has been proved, had
then attempted the same thing, and w;is
instigated and assisted by the former.
The conclusion the more inevitable
follows, from its appearing by no autho-
rity, and never having been maintained,
that after Maiuielaine s imposture there
was more than one supposed Richard."
Serle was fuially taken by Sir ^^'illianl
C'litFord, governor of IJerwick, and sent
to London, where he was "drawen and
banged."
A MODERN BRUTUS.
(From tlie French. J
It was in the summer of 1810, that tlie
incident occurred which I am about to
relate, and which agitated all that part
of France which was the scene of it.s
enactment. I was studying the antiqui-
ties of Rouen, that beautiful city, on
which the character of the middle ages
is so deeply imprinted. I had alrea<ly
surveyed and admired its wonderful
cathedral, its castles, its fountains, and
its venerable crosses, when I found my-
self, one morning, before the hall of
justice. Crowds were flocking to it from
every quarter, the expression of whose
eager faces seemed to announce the ex-
pectation of some deejjly interesting ju-
dicial drama. The doors were not yet
opened, and I awaited patiently the mo-
ment which should give entrance to the
multitude, and leave me to the uninter-
rupted enjoyment of my antiquarian re-
searches, andof the reflections on the past,
which they should call up in my mind.
It came at length, and I was left in
solitude. Hours were passed in wander-
ing from one interesting relic to another
— examining, verifying, and com])aring
— recalling the scenes and incitlents of
ancient days, and contrasting them with
what now existed around me ; when my
attention was awakened by the animated
looks and gestures of two advocates, who
had halted at the foot of the great stair-
case, and from time to time directed
their eye* toward the hall of justice,
as if anxiously awaiting the result of
Home important trial. They a])proached
me, and the loud tone of their con-
vervilion, made mc involuntarily ac-
quainted with its subject: it w:ls the
judgment of a father, the murderer of
his only Hon. My curii>sity was artjused,
and, yielding to its impulv, I drew ne.ar
the Kpeakcnt, who wlutcd me wiiii cour-
tesy, and readily obliged me with the
following narration.
" Arnaud Magnier, who is at this mo-
ment under trial, is a retired veteran,
whose sjiirit is as loyal and true to ho-
nour, as his temper iscpiick and violent.
He had an only son, a young man of
about nineteen, who, inheriting the en-
ergetic character, without the rectitude
of his father, early became the slave of
corrupt and degrading passions. Fre-
quent complaints had been laid before
the old man, of his son's excesses, and
more than once he had inflicted upon
him severe punishment ; which, so far
from working a reformation, only seemed
to harden the spirit of the incorrigible
ortender. One evening, Magnier received
a visit from an old and valued friend,
M.Duval, the proprietor of an extensive
manufactory at some distance from the
city, who had accepted the invitation of
his ancient comrade, with the intention
of returning home at night.
" Edward, the son, who had for some
time apparently renounced his dissipated
and licentious habits, was present, and
cheerfully aided his father in fullilling
the duties of hospitality. The cheerful
glass and merry jest went round, and the
flight of time was unheeded, until at
length the eyes of M. Duval chanced to
fall upon the mantel-clock, which indi-
catetl the hour of eleven; he arose hastily,
and, resisting the entreaties of his friend
to i)ass the remainder of the night under
his roof, fastened on his belt, from which
the clink of gold was distinctly heard,
mounted his horse, and set off' for home.
" He had proceeded nearly half a mile,
and was about entering a little wood,
through which the road was carried,
wlien suddenly, at the termination of a
glade, conspicuously lighted by the
moon beams, he saw approaching him a
man whose face was blackened, and
whose movements indicated a hostile
pur|)ose. The merchant drew a pistol
from his holster, and giving his steed the
s|)ur, quickly found himself confrontcil
by the stranger.
" ' If you would save your life, give up
your i)urse ! ' excl.iimed the latter, in a
hoarse and apparently assumed voice,
presenting a pistol in each hand. M.
Duval had his finger upon the trigger of
his own, and was on the point of tiring,
when a sudden thought a|)peared to
strike him, and he dropped ids bund.
' .My purse! ' he replied ; 'take it — there
it is ; ' and he detached liis belt, and
placed it in (he hand of llie robber. 'I'lie
unknown turned, and was ipiickly out of
334
TEiE PAIITERRE.
sight ; while the merchant resumed his
journey, buried in thought, and allowing
the bridle to hang loose upon the neck of
his horse, whose pace gradually dwindled
to a walk, without appearing to attract
the notice of the rider.
" Thus he continued to proceed for
nearly half an hour, when raising his
head, like one who has arrived at a con-
clusion, M. Duval suddenly checked his
horse, and turning the rein, set off at a
full gallop on his way back to the place
from whence he had come. He drew up
in the suburbs of the city, near the house
of his friend, left the horse at an inn, and
proceeded to the gate, which opened
upon the garden at the back of Mag-
nier's dwelling. He entered, and ad-
vancing with cautious steps to the window
of the veteran's sleeping apartment,
which was upon the ground floor, tapped
gently against the glass. The signal was
lieard, and M. Duval speedily admitted.
' My friend,' said he to the old man, who
was impatient to know the cause of his
quick return, ' I have been way-laid,
and robbed — the voice, the figure, and
so far as I could distinguish them under
their disguise, the features of the robber
struck me — they have given rise to a
strange thought — I may be deceived, but
my conviction is strong — the honour of
your house —
" ' What do your words portend ? For
heaven's sake, explain.' —
" ' Listen — heavy charges are brought
against your son — I hope that my suspi-'
cions may be wrong — forgive me— it is
iny friendship for you'
" ' In mercy speak out at once — what
would you say ? '
" ' Alas, my poor friend ; I am forced
to suspect'
" ' Whom 'I What ? That it was he ? '
" ' Calm yourself — let us examine
quietly, and if possible convince ourselves
that it was nothing more than a resem-
blance '
" ' Come,' exclaimed the old soldier,
taking up the lamp, and led the way to
the chamber of his son. They entered
cautiously, and found him buried in a
profound slumber. The old man, whose
hand trembled violently, passed the light
before his eyes, to assure himself that
the sleep was real, and then turned to his
friend with a deep sigh, like that of one
who is relieved from a terrible suspense.
Tlie merchant bent down over the
sleeper, and doubt and fear again re-
sumed their sway in the mind of the
unhappy father, whose eyes roamed fear-
fully around the apartment — they rested
at length with horror upon a blackened
cloth, a pair of pistols, and the leathern
belt which the robber had imperfectly
concealed beneath his pillow.
" ' Still this proves nothing,' exclaimed
the merchant, who shuddered at behold-
ing the ghastly workings of the old
man's face ; ' besides, I was on horseback,
and how could he overtake me on foot ? '
" ' Tliere is a foot-path that is much
shorter,' answered the father, with a
dreadful look ; ' and if proof were want-
ing, it Is here,' he continued, pointing to
the shoes and gaiters of the young man,
which were covered with damp mud.
M. Duval cast down his eyes without a
word.
" ' And he sleeps,' the old man mut-
tered, while his eyes glowed with a fear-
ful light ; then with a desperate hand he
grasped one of the pistols, and before
the merchant could even move to inter-
rupt his purpose, he lodged its contents
in the brain of his guilty son.
" This is the crime upon which the
court is now engaged in passing judg-
ment, and it is the result of the trial,
that we, and the crowds whom you have
seen entering the hall, are so anxiously
awaiting."
Just then a multitude of people hur-
ried down the staircase, and amid the
confusion of voices that broke upon my
ear, I heard frequently repeated the
words " banishment for life." J. G. W,
NOTICE OF NEW BOOKS.
TRAITS AND TRADITIONS OF PORTUGAL.
Miss Pardoe's " Traits and Traditions
of Portugal" is rather an amusing book,
though it does not deserve half the praise
which has, with more gallantry than
justice, been liberally bestowed on it.
Ladies generally make good travellers ;
they notice a thousand little peculiarities
which escape our duller optics, and are
gossiping, graphic, and lively in descrip-
tion. In the work before us, the au-
thoress is much more entertaining when
she gives us her own observations and
impressions, than when she dresses up
old traditions, with the unfailing accom-
paniments of haughty marquezes, cowled
monks, tender-hearted beauties, cloaks,
guitars, serenades, and stilettos, though
we must admit that some of these tales
display considerable power of language.
The work is disfigured, both to the eye
and the taste, by one vile affectation —
the continual use of Portuguese expres-
THE PARTERRE.
3.15
sions. Why give such every-day words
as cloak, jacket, J)room, looking-glass,
etc., in the original, witli the translation
officiously waiting for iis, in the shape
of a note, at the foot of the page ? If
done to shew the world licr actjuaintance
with the langu;»ge, it is bad policy, for
such an unnecessary display is always,
and justly, looked upon as the ostenta-
tion of a smatterer. lie who is master
of a foreign language, will fastidiously
avoid such a barbarous medley. We
will not, however, part with our aullior-
ess in a bad humour. IVIany of iicr
sketches are light and pleasing ; and she
tells some curious anecdotes of Portu-
guese manners and customs. As a spe-
cimen of the manner in which they
manage those interesting matters, court-
ship and marriage, the following extract
will shew.
COURTSHIP AM) MARRIAGE.
" We arrived in town just in time to
accompany the rector to the parish-
church, to witness the ceremonial of a
Portuguese wedding. When we entered,
the bride-elect was on her knees between
lier two bride-maids ; all three were
dressed in black silk, and wore large
cloaks with the lioods drawn over their
heads, and long black veils beneath them.
The youngest lady of the party sported
a pair of white cotton stockings, and pale
blue satin shoes, which was the only
attempt at finery amongst them. The
bridegroom wore a cloak of brown cloth,
with gilt buttons on the shoulders. I
never saw a more anti-bridal costume.
" As we entered the church, each of
the gentlemen was presented with a long
■wax candle, ornamented with painted
flowers and gold leaf, which he held
lighted during the whole of the cere-
mony. The matrimonial rites were very
simple : the contracting i)arties followed
tiie rector to the extreme end of the
aisle, close to the door of entrance — a
short prayer was read — the lady repeated
a few Latin sentences after the ])riest —
and the gentleman followed her example
^-one hand of each, during this portion
of the cerenxjny, being covered up,
clas()ed together in the surplice of the
priest; these, at the conclusion of what
we supposed to Ix; the mutual vow of
acceptance, besprinkled with holy water ;
the ladies then knelt down at the church
door, while the bridegroom and his
friends followed the rector to the altar,
where they remained for about two
minutes when the bridegroom very
deliberately walked out of the church,
followed by Iuh (wo companions, scatter-
ing sweetmeats as they went, to a crowd
of dirty children, who thronged the
entrance — and thus he made his exit in
a manner as anti-bridal as his costume,
leaving the ladies to follow as they
might I — and these people, we were told,
were highly respectable, and tolerably
wealthy.
" It is not only possible, hut extremely
probable, that this couple had never ex-
changed a word in their lives ; it being
considered in Portugal, as the heiglit of
indecorum, even for an accepted lover
to visit at the house of his mistress, save
in the lower ranks, where convenience is
the step-dame of custom.
" As a proof of this fact, I will adduce
the instance of a family on which (on
our return from Coimbra) we were
quartered, at the town of Villa Franca.
The head of the house was a widower,
and the father of four daughters; the
elder of whom was married to an attor-
ney, the other three being still resident
under the paternal roof. They were the
least attractive specimens of " le sexe'
that I ever remember to have seen, with
the same advantages of station and res-
pectability. Daniel Lambert, en Jiipon,
would scarcely have exceeded the elder
in weight and circumference ; the second
was like a leaf of dried tobacco, as long,
as thin, and as uninteresting; and the
other had a form like a feather pillow,
and a face like a sheep !
" The centre grace was a bride-elect ;
and in a fit of extreme courtesy, she one
day asked ine if I should like to see her
lover. Of course, I expressed a becoming
anxiety on the subject, and I was desired
to hold myself in readiness at six o'clock
that evening. I confess that I was some-
what curious to see the suitor of such a
mistress ; and 1 accordiiigly ])romised to
be punctual. Six o'clock came, and I
was .xstonished,on walking into the apart-
ment usually occupied by tlie family, to
find tile fair one alone; who, having
embraced me, led me to a chair on the
balcony, and established herself as my
vis-a-vis. She then carefully drew the
Venetian blind over the balcony, leaving
us visible only from the two extremities
of the said screen. All this ceremony
was perfectly enigmatical to me, and i
began to ;ip|)relieri(l that I was to have
the honour and happiness of being num-
ber three, and, consequently, ««<.'t/f<ro/>/
in a thorough love-scene; with this before
my eyes, I ventured to inciuire whether
we should not be more conveniently
situated in the room than the lialcony ;
l*ut the lady looked astonished, as she
THE PARTERRE.
demanded, in her (urn, how she sliould
be able to see him ; and worse still, how
he would be able to see hei; if we were not
in the balcony when he passed.
" * Is he not tlien coming to visit j'ou?'
I inquired, in my ignorance, as I surveyed
her careful coiffiire, her clean dress, and
the tale-telling carnation in her bosom.
She looked at me for a moment in
perfect astonishment ; and then coolly
informed me that in Portugal, holding
any intercourse with the man whom you
were to marry, was a thing unheard of —
that she had never spoken to her intended
husband in her life — but — that he every
day sent a carnation to her ; which she
wore in her bosom each evening at the
hour when she expected him to pass the
house, as a proof that his attentions were
agreeable to her. And she assured me
that nothing would offend her so much,
as |his allowing the weather, be what it
might ; business, be it never so important ;
or any occupation, be it as agreeable as
heart could wish ; to interfere with his
punctuality in the performance of this
duty. The first time she should resent the
neglect by omitting to wear his carnation
on the morrow ; and the second dere-
liction from gallantry would infallibly
subject him to final and irrevocable
dismission.
" At this period of the conversation
the Senhor made his appearance — took off
his hat as gravely as if he had been pass-
ing a funeral, and — ^walked on ! The
lady, on her side, bowed and smiled ; and
then continued calmly to enlighten me
on the subject of Portuguese courtship.
She informed me, among other equally
interesting particulars, that 1 now knew
the reason why she did not comb out her
hair, and wash her face when she rose in
a morning — for both which indelicate
habits I had frequently chidden her — she
always put off her ablutions and their
concomitant ceremonies until five o'clock,
in order that she might look more beau-
tiful when she met the passing glance of
her namorado ! This was, of course, an
unanswerable argument ; and having
remarked that the lover (!) was a little
ill-looking fellow, and decidedly many
years younger than herself, I asked her
whether she did not feel unhappy at the
idea of marrying a man of whom she
knew nothing. The reply to this ques-
tion was as sensible, to the full, as her
previous reasoning had been : — she liked
the match extremely, for her intended
husband was mucli more wealthy than
the person who had married her sister,
and she should consequently be enabled
to dress better, and to give larger parties ;
besides, single womeii were not allowed
to attend the assemblies at Villa Franca,
and she was very fond of dancing.
" All this being extremely satisfactory,
I had only one more question to ask —
' how had he ventured to propose for
her ?' That, also, was easily explained ;
he was settled in life, and his friends were
anxious that he should marry — her father
having ascertained the fact, and knowing
that he had plenty of money, had offered
her to his family ; which offer, as she had
a fortune of four thousand half-crowns,
they had joyfully accepted !
" It is a singular fact, that when, in
Portugal, a lady is reputed to have such,
or such a fortune, it is perfectly under-
stood that she has not actually that sum
in money : but, previously to the mar-
riage, a friend is appointed by each family,
and these two individuals value the bride's
trinkets, clothes, and every article, how-
ever trifling, which belongs to her ; and
the father, when their value is thus
ascertained and decided on, makes up the
deficiency of her reputed property in
specie
MISCELLANIES.
PRECOCITY.
The degree of talent and industry dis-
played by boys is an erroneous index to
their future character as men. The for-
tunate competitors for school and univer-
sity honours are not always — perhaps it
may be said not often — eminent in after-
life; whilst the men who have failed ia
attaining these distinctions, not unfre-
quently exhibit a degree of ability of
which their early years afforded no indi-
cation. — Thornton's India.
CHEERFULNESS.
It is better to tread the path of life
cheerfully, skipping lightly over the
thorns and briars that obstruct your
way, than to sit down under every hedge
lamenting your hard fate. The thread
of a cheerful man's life, spins out much
longer than that of a man who is con-
tinually sad and desponding. Prudent
conduct in the concerns of life is highly
necessary — but if distress succeed, de-
jection and despair will not afford relief.
The best thing to be done when evil
comes upon us, is not lamentation but
action ; not to sit and suffer, but to rise
and seek the remedy.
Tin: F A RTF. R RE.
XU
rage 351.
MANORIAL ARCHIVES.
MY HORACE GUILFORD.
fFor the ParterreJ.
ROMANCE TIIK THinn.
THE SOLITARY GRANGE.
1 h<' moonsliiiic Btpalin? o'er llic scone,
H;<(t IiIciuUmI Willi llii' ligtiU of eve;
And nlie was there, my Iio|h', my joy.
My nwn ileal Oeuex icve !
Ske leaiK'il au'ain'^t llie arme ! man.
The matiie of the arineil kiii);hl;
8he nliMxl and ll^lell<(l lo my har|>,
Amid Ihe linuerint; lik<ht.
I [<la>e'l a had and doleful air,
I i-anK an old and moving slory, —
An old lude tuiit;, (ImI fitted well
That ruiu wild and hoary.
Colrridye't Park I.adie.
He it foiiiwoin, if e'er thofe eyi « <if your»
KehoM aiiutlK-r daybreak in the K.ial.
Itiii even lhi< niijhl, whose lilaik contaKioi >
hrtaih
Alri ady tmokri iibniit ihe biirnine <reM
<)i ihe old, let hie, and day-wearied nun, —
Kven Ihii HI nielli, )our hrea'hiiii' "hall expire.
•Sliakitprutr.
I chaunt the lionours of old inaiisiDiiK ;
a wortliy tlieiPL- of cliroiiiclu ; a ricli
iiiini- (if roiii.-iiicc!
Th.-it tlii-y wvrv inoiuiiiu-iits of llii-
i'|Mit>-ncc, the iiiii^^iiilic'ciici.', anil tlii.' ilo-
\UL. I.
minion of our forefathers — tli.it tlioir re-
verend frontispieces look on us as it were
from beyond
"The deep, backward abysm of lime:"
that their principal connexion is wiili a
buried world, and that they hold con-
verse with the living from among the
dead, arc fiot considerations to nod and
sleep upon, if you be instinct with one
sjiark of that heavenly fire wliii'h .•mi-
niates the earthy tenement called llesli
and blood.
The exquisite caprice of their artlii-
tecture — the noble disdain of rule w hicli
they exhibit, absolutely startling you by
the incessant novelties of their detail, as
jou jieruse them with reverential eye,
forms, perh.'ips, their least charm.
Their main attraction, in my opinion,
has been always entirely independent uf
tills circumstance.
I could ponder with admiration upon
the mailed majesty of a great tower. I
could hang enamoiireil on the prnportions
of a seroll-wiirk g.ible ; the iiiiiiiidiiigs of
a single wiiidnw wiiiild .irrest, ay, ri'inll
my strict invcligaliiiii ; and by a pnreli
of fuliuled arch, ur oak baliisliade woik.
338
THE PARTERRE.
I could linger for liours ; but these ac-
cessories, fascinating in themselves, were
not altogether, if at all, necessary to rivet
my regard for the antique dwelling.
I have stood before a sulky, unorna-
mented, uninviting house, that glowed
through a few squinting lattices, under a
nightmare of brooding chimneys, upon a
goodfornothing inoat half buried in foli-
age ; and should have wondered why the
earth cumbered itself with a burden that
seemed ready and willing to sink into its
bosom — but I knew its annals; had heard
them by the winter fireside; had mused
on them under the dark hedge of rose-
wildings in the midsummer meadow,
and, comparing them with the lurking,
equivocal- looking house itself, exclaimed,
" £sto perpetua ! " The deed, once done,
is never forgotten. The ancient abode
thenceforth assumes a mantle, which dis-
guises, perhaps disfigures, but never dis-
parages the pile. If it ceases to be the
obscure home of happiness and health,
it becomes, at least, the dreadfully fa-
mous cenotaph of guilt !
The deed, the deed accursed, is redly
engraved upon the door-posts, and the
fatal legend,* " Avoid it ! Pass not by it !
turn from it ; and pass away !'' is omin-
ously emblazoned above the gusty win-
dows, darkening the very stones and
bricks themselves. The traveller is at
once warned and attracted, when at the
close of his day's journey, pacing over
the glossy turf of the fragrant common,
he observes the forlorn mass peering
among tlie foliage in all its paraphernalia
of degradation and doom, which not even
the golden alchemy of sunset can en-
liven. And when, at last, it hath rum-
bled away, stone by stone, from men's
eyes, the very trees around take up the
tale from the ivy that mufHes its ruins ;
and the winds of heaven waft it abroad
to their quarters. Nay, when the last
bastion hath disappeared, how eloquent
in its irregular modulations is the inno-
cent turf of the tale that is never to die.
I cannot forget the effect which the vast
palladian fabric of old Elmhurst Hall
produced upon my boyish imagination.
I saw it once, and only once ; and, on
that occasion, the nurse told me a horri-
bly circumstantial story of its former
master (a Biddulf, I think), who had
killed his mistress, a woman of exqui-
site beauty and rare accomplishments,
by pushing her over the banisters of the
grand staircase upon the chequered black
and white pavement of the Hall below.
I have the mansion completely before my
* Proverbs of Solomon.
view at this moment; it was one of those
architectural marvels in which Inigo
Jones contrived to make bulk majestic,
and decoration chaste : but, alas ! the
weeds were flourishing in its iron-pali-
saded court, its sashes rotting, and its sun-
blistered door starting from its hinges.
An author, among the most powerful,
polished, and keen of this romance-writ-
ing age, has said, " Some houses have an
expression as it were on their outward
aspect, that sinks unaccountably into the
heart, a dim mysterious eloquence, which
dispirits and excites. You say some
story must be attached to those walls ;
some legendary interest of a darker
nature ought to be associated with the
mute stone and mortar ; you feel a
mingled awe and curiosity creep over
you as you gaze."
How frequently indeed in " Albion's
elder day," was the castle or the manor-
house built up, embattled and moated, that
within its ''guilty 'closure," men might
act such deeds as would have made the
pavement of the city streets mutiny ; or
the mountains of the desart topple over
their heads !
Much of these ancient deeds of evil
have come to light ; and the appearance
or the remembrance even of the dwelling
places they defiled, is terrific. But
where are those, — the imdivulged, the
undiscovered, the unseen, save of Omni-
science 9 They have no monument but
the Old House. Men have "built them
wide houses and large chambers, and
cut out windows, and they are ceiled
with cedar, and painted with vermilion'*
some four or five hundred years ago, and
no chronicles appear of them, more re-
markable than those appertaining to
their bridal or baptismal festivals ; holo-
causts of oxen, and cisterns of red wine ;
but I tell you, that if the figures of yon
tapestry could articulate, if the dead
echoes of those embossed wainscots, and
those emblazoned roof-trees could awaken
with the words of old, they would furnish
matter enough to adorn many a tragic
tale, and point many a humiliating moral.
In short, making every allowance for my
peculiar prejudices, I cannot conceive a
much more profitable study for a con-
templative mind, than a few hours, spent
alone, in some antique residence like
Haddon Hall, or Naworth Castle, where
everything is left so inviolately sacred to
the genius of Ancestry, that you might
fancy his stately step had only just
marched forth at the gateway, with the
feudal train. Nothing so vividly, and so
* Jeremiah.
Tin: I'.AKTERRL.
an!)
naturally suggests tlie trite, but most
important rcrievtioii, " Wliat is man !" —
Hcliold I — the edirice that arose at his
command, the furniture his grandeur
and his taste accumulated, the tapestry
that sheltered him from the wind, the tire-
place that enhanced his enjoyments, the
windows that gave hiin to view cither
the towered arches of his embattled quad-
rangle, or the meadovv-s and woods, and
gardens of his domain; the cedarn bed,
whose wrought velvet made a sanctuary
for his repose, nay, the very blazon that
beamed above his portal and his mantel-
tree, mere emblems of his far descended
greatness, all remain, as they have done
for ages past, and may do for generations
to come ; — while He, the learned, the
ambitious, the gallant, or the good —
hath gone down, with his high issue, to
the tomb. The worm hath fattened upon
his riesh, although the moth hath spared
his furniture ; — his lofty nobility hath
said unto corrui)tion, " Thou art my
father !" although the trees he jilanted
have scarcely accjuireti the midway mag-
nificence of their stateliiK'ss and strength ;
— the tal>ernacle of his body hath long
ago mouldered into dust; but the habi-
tation of his honour, the pillars, the
ramparts, the turrets, piled up to his re-
nown, still burnish in the sun, and battle
back the tempest. His thoughts h;ive
perished, — so have his works, — or they
Lave been entrusted to treacherous tradi-
tion, or embellished by the false colours
of conjecture ; — but the sacred retire-
ment of the oratory, or the illustrious
seclusion of the library, the munificent
publicity of the baronial hall, or the plea-
sant recreations of the alleys and Hower-
plots in the garden, survive, unell'aced by
the transit of centuries, — melancholy
receptacles of alien foijtsteps, patient wit-
nesses of the rambler 'sinipertinent prattle,
and pensive auxiliaries to the nmsings of
the romantic moralist.
Certes that ma.ster magician, that
\\ illiam Shak.-peare, was ushered into
the very paradise of iloincstic iinnanci;,
when lie ojiened his eyes amidst the
J'cldon and Arden (the open country,
and the woo<lland) of Warwickshire.
l-'roni the t<jwery palace of Karl (Juy,
with its wonili-rful ( 'edars of I^ebanon,
its musical .Avon, and its green court of
pine-trees ; to the elal>orate gables orna-
Mientedchiiimey khaflsand cosily windows
of rare workmanship, at Coinpton W y-
niate; from the r<N>k-haunted manor hall
of Hilton, breathing all the luxurious
ijiiaintneitKof old fashioned Knglisli homes,
to the dreary, ghastly, half turretcd, half-
dilapidated Grange of Cnuston, springing
sheer from the middle of a wilil green
field, as though it had been a tent pitched
at random by the patriarchs of old, with
that solitary old ash tree, suspending its
candelabra! branches over the moat, in
whose mossy roots and herby bank I
have gathered such fine blue violets. —
This fertile, soft and umbrageous county
abounds more in Old Houses, and what
is better, in Domestic Traditions, than
any of the midland districts I have yet
visited.
The villages, particularly those in the
Arden or woodland region, are so exqui-
sitely primitive in their situation, archi-
tecture, and other characteristics that
you cannot help thinking, such as they
are now, they were when the wonderful
Will, wrote, i. e. about three hundred
years ago .' You cannot take a spring
afternoon walk, without intruding (you
feel it an intrusion) imexpectedly upon
one or other of these rural cabinets, shut
and locked uj) in woodland, a perfect
miniature of picturesque antiquity. A
church, with ivied steeple, and em-
blazed gl.iss; a hall, distinguished by its
superior decorations and bulk, heading
a jumbled, up and down, particoloured
retinue of farms, cotes, gardens, and
orchards; a little brook, a little bridge,
ami, leaning against the hollow trunk
of a pollard elm, a little blacksmith's
forge.
There is not in all England, a town
more solemnly invested with the purple
and the pall of dead antiquity than the
spiry city of Godiva ; and, for a baronial
ruin, you ought to see Kenilworth by
such a twilight, as I beheld last Ajjril ;
those four tall decorated windows of the
great hall, and its majestic oriel, what
time the gorgeous west painted afresh
with peacock colourings, the yawning
mullions, and transomes ; and a cres-
cent moon glided over a lucid pavement
of stars, aiul a low sweet breeze 'plained
through those incredible forests of ivy ;
and you would deem that Master Sliak-
speare's panegyrist spake sooth, when
he said that he had woven him by the
Muses
" A ciiriniii riihe nf mlilc grave.
Fresh grvt'ii, and plvueant jcllow, red most
lir:ivt;
Anil conitlitiil blue, rich |)iii'pU>, ciiillli'<it while,
TIk- liiwly riiPM't,an<l the nailtl bii^^iil,
lirdni'lii'il and cnibroidi it'd like llie piiinted
»|iring,
K;icli Ir.il matched with :i llowii, and earli
Hiring
Of mildeii wile ; each line nf tdk iliiir iiin
Ilall.iM wuiku, whime tliM.idn liie Sisla in >|Min.
And llii'ir did "iiiK, i>r mi in I" •ii<i;, Ihe elm ce
Biidi uf a luiei^ii note, and varliua voice ;
3M
THE PARTERRE.
Here liangs a mossy loik, tlieie plays a l':iii-
Hill cliiding fountain pmlecl ; not the air.
Nor clouds, nor thunder, but were Hvingitrawn,
Not out of common tiffany, or lawn ;
But fine maltrials which the Muses know.
And only boast tlic countries which they show."
Many an hour, that sickness of body
and disease of mind would have rendered
insupportable, hath been soothed by ram-
bles (with one dearest associate) through
the baronial and ecclesiastical relics, the
manorial and rural ornaments of this
peaceful, smiling province; and I trust
that in the following narrative, assigned
to its sequestered scenery, I may com-
municate to others a portion of the en-
tertainment it has afforded inyself.
It was at that epoch of mystery and
marvel, when the war-cries of the White
and Red Roses began to wax faint ;
when England saw with perturbation
and doubt, the high -blooded and hum-
blo-badged house of Plantagenet, divided
against itself; of its two crowned and
anointed sovereigns, the one on the
throne, and the other in the Tower;
the buxom widow of a Lancashire knight
advanced to be
"The imperial jointress of our warlike realm-."*
and a highreaching subject, powerful
enough to make or immake kings,
awarding and withdrawing diadems at
liis will ; while faction (like a shifting
quicksand, converting a pleasant beacli
into a treacherous gulf) vacillated so
much, that you knew not whether he
who carved at your board to day, might
not be firing your house to-morrow,
that our story commences.
King Edward had been apparently
firm upon the throne for about eight
years, when the overpowering party,
that the noble demagogue Warwick had
won to his in terest, disturbed his security ;
and a circumstance which, in these times,
would only have led to the downfall of
ministers, was, at that day, sufficiently
influential to menace, and indeed, partly
accomplish the utter overthrow of the
House of York. On this state of affairs,
Hume has a striking passage, which I
cannot refuse myself the gratification of
transcribing. " There is no part of
English history since the conquest, so
obscure, so uncertain, so little authentic
or consistent as that of the wars between
the two Roses. Historians differ about
many material circumstances : some events
of the utmost consequence, in which they
Almost all agree, are incredible, and con-
tradicted by records ; and it is remark-
able, tliat this profound darkness falls
Hamlet.
upon us, just on the eve of the restora-
tion of letters, and when the art of print-
ing was already known in Europe. AH
we can distinguish with certainty, through
the deep cloud which covers that period,
is a scene of horror, and bloodshed ;
savage manners, arbitrary executions,
and treacherous, dishonourable conduct
in all parties."
Anthony Monkshaw, as far as stature
and sinew went, was a magnificent spe-
cimen of the Franklin, or esquire of the
middle ages. His height was that of a
Titan ; and he combined such breadth
of mould, with such activity of limb, as
we rarely find united in these giantless
days. Though he was now pacing the
declivity of years, few men far his younger
would have cared to meet the Franklin
of Heronswood on equal terms of com-
bat. Anthony was, moreover, a clear-
headed man, and successful in his enter-
prises, because he was wary in his
calculations. He was highly opulent,
for that period, and had not only amassed
estate upon estate, but had also mani-
fested such solid proofs of his devotion
to the White Rose in the shape of sun-
dry bags of imprisoned angels, and
coffers of golden rosenobles, that King
Edward, always an idolater of beauty,
had commanded to be presented at court,
and had treated with gracious distinc-
tion, Monkshawe's only child Floralice,
and had even honoured the Grange of
Heronswood with his presence more
than once. Anthony was not much
elevated either in manners, habits, or
costume, by these tokens of royal favour ;
his pride it was, to be esteemed neither
more nor less than the Franklin, the
wealthy PVanklin of Heronswood ; and
while he punctiliously exacted from
those around him the exact measure of
respect that his age, wealth, and station
demanded, wo to the parasite who
thought to ingratiate himself with Monk-
shaw, by tendering more than he con-
ceived to be his due ; — they never a second
time ventured to encounter his con-
tumelious reproach, or sarcastic con-
tempt.
He was equally rigid in the plainness
of his costume ; and although, not only
his fortune nearly centupled the sum,
which, in those days of sumptuary re-
traint, privileged the use of velvet,
dainask, and figured satin, but also the
distinguished favour of King Edward,
would have accorded to him any immu-
nity of that description — still, Anthony
Monkshaw jiersisted in one unvarying
hue and fusliion of habiliment, the
THE PARTERRE.
.Ml
s.tdilesl ana (lie Iiomeliest ; .iiul lliis cii-
cuinstance, addcil to liis otIicM- qtuilitios,
nKMital and corporal, acijuirod him tlio
tlilc of the Grim Franklin.
And thus flourished Anthony Monk-
shaw, self-poised and self-appreciated ;
even his iiiol, the White Rose Sovereign,
he regarded with sentiments which, de-
voted as they were, owed much of tlieir
devotion to that bigoted factioiiary feel-
ing wliich led him to identify his monarch
with himself.
In tveo instances alone was Anthony
of Heronswood known to have deviated
from the general outline of cliaracter,
tlius rougldy delineated.
Tlie one was, that however ordinary
tlie rest of his attire might be, he uni-
formly wore the weighty golden collar of
suns anil roses interchangetl, having tlie
white lion of the house of ."March append-
ed; Edward's favourite guerdon to his
most distinguished adherents, and placed
upon IMonkshaw's shoulders by tiiat
prince himself.
The other exception to his general
rule, referred to the bright creature who
called the grim Franklin of Heronswood
father.
If Anthony disdained to look beyond
himself for honour, gratification, or com-
fort, he found so pleasing and so influen-
tial a portion of that self in his daughter
Floralice, that in lavishing upon her the
most unbounded aflection, and c\en de-
ference, he fell into the common delusion ;
and never doubted but he was enriching
))is child with the indulgences he was in
fact bestowing upon himself. Nor had
he occasion to detect his error so long as
tl:e tide of life carried along the interests
of both in the same safe channel ; an ob-
stacle however shot into the stream, and
thenceforth the divided current* branched
asunder.
Floralice Monkshaw was now in the
full roselike bloom of summer, and a
sjtiendid flower she was.
Wlio has ever seen the Marchioness
Jane of (" — V She might sit for the
picture of Floralice ; but, to those who
liavc tiol, I desi)air of painting her. You
would not call her masculine luokitifi; for
her expression was most magically soft
when it be.iiiied upon you, m) you pro-
riiMinced her heroic. You confessed that
fiertf sjile throned and diademed upon
her fealiiri"i ; but, in tliat ijueenly brow,
and wreathing lip. you only fell how pass-
ing beautiful pride could look ; and, if
it had brought in its train the other
deadless sins y" deenieil lltal shrine
might have made ^ai^ts of tlieni all.
Floralice was a compoimd of the eagle
and ttie dove. Whore she loveil, all con-
siderations retired before it. Upon her
father slie doated ! and loiig and bright
years threw no shadow upon her aflection,
which was as much love as gratitude.
It was often jestingly asserted among
her acquaintance, that, if she married,
Floralice Monkshaw could never love a
husband so entirely, even though she
were to govern him as absolutely as her
father. Hut the time came wlien Flora-
lice was called ui)on to resign the gentle
acquiescence in delightful feelings, and
the passive enjoyment of indulged ailec-
tions ; and if the distiu-ber of her sun-
shine produced the most cruel conflict in
her bosom, it was principally because he
had dwelt there, side by side with her
most cherished joys, too long to be eject-
ed with ease when he could no longer
be retained with impunity.
Sir Baldwin Herccy was the only son
of a Warwickshiie knight, whose distin-
guished exploits on the field of Azincour,
had greatly advanced him in the favoiu' of
Henry the Fifth, but whose zeal, in fur-
nishing men and moneys for the French
wars, had im])overished his estates to
such an extent, that, out of eight lordly
manors, only one remained to him, at the
time when Henry's untimely death cut
otr all hope of present remuneration.
The jirotectoral government overlooked
him; and shortly after the last war was
lost in France, the boy Baldwin was left
an orphan, to the guardianship of the
grim Franklin of Heronswood. He was
brought uj) with the little Floralice, and
tliere was scarcely a year's dill'erence be-
tween their ages. The eruption of the
Rose conflicts effected (what political di-
visions generally do)an irreparable breach
between two old friendly families, whose
amity had gone the length of a projected
matrimonial alliance.
Floralice, for the first time in her life,
was thwarted by her father, in the matter
on whicli the happinessof her lifetlepend-
ed ; she was eominanded to think no
more of Baldwin Hercey at a time when
she coidd think of nothing else; in fine,
the ivy was to be plucked from the elm,
when the fibres of the one and the !)ark
of the other made it impracticable, with-
out fatal laceration to both.
The grim l''ranklin, we may lie sure,
had not sullered Sir Baldwin to follow
his hereditary inclination lor llu- l.ancas-
terian rose, without empliiyiiig all his
rhetoric, enforced by some loleralily broacl
allusions to l''loralice, in older to liiaH Ins
young and eiilhiisi.istic ward: but all liin
342
THE PARTERRE,
attempts bad proved vain. Equally un-
successful too had been Anthony's en-
deavour to alienate his daughter from ber
long cherished love. And so the affair
ended. Sir Baldwin shared the battles
and fortunes of king Henry : Monkshaw,
with princely munificence, swelled the
sinews of war from bis own coffers to the
duke of York and his sons, — and Flora-
lice, through evil report and good report
— in success or failure, in mournful sepa-
rations or at clandestine interviews, ready
alike to share the prosperity of ber be-
loved with the most patient fondness, or
to brave his misfortunes with the most
generous abandonment of self ; Floralice,
the soft, the magnanimous Floralice, pre-
served, or rather Jed, ber affection for
Baldwin Hercey.
At length the violence of the strife
having much subsided, on the coronation
of Edward the Fourth, Sir Baldwin
found himself, it Is true, in tlie reduced
state common to the partizans of the los-
ing side, and the fierce Franklin now de-
spised his poverty, as much as he loathed
bis politics ; — but still, to Floralice he
brought the same heart, — and a form,
Floralice thought, immeasurably im-
proved by the hardy exercise of war, tem-
pering the ripened vigour of manhood.
Of course Hercey was not to be seen
openly at Heronswood : so a regular
system of private meetings was arranged
between them; Floralice only stipulating
that she sboidd not be requested to aban-
don ber father, so long as his hostility
against Sir Baldwin, or, what was much
the same thing, his life, lasted.
Now there was a certain Luke Tyler,
near kinsman to the grim Franklin of
Heronswood, who had always made a
third in those youthful intimacies that
grew up and flourished under the auspices
of Monkshaw, He was ever a cringing,
supple, crafty knave, and vindictive withal,
as the rattlesnake, though, less generous
than that reptile, be never gave notice of
bis spring.
The same qualities, not the less evil
for being so paltry, which made Floralice
dislike and contemn master Luke as a
boy, excited ber detestation when he
grew to manhood.
Between Sir Baldwin and Tyler, how-
ever, there was a sort of friendship ; for,
ever since Luke bad felt the weight of
yoimg Hercey's arm, one day, that be
thrashed bim pretty sufficiently, for
stealing some candied plumbs from the
weeping Floralice, be bad outwardly
shewn him as much respect as was need-
ful to impose upon bis unscrutinizing
nature; while from that time forth, to
the hour of his death, a spirit of immor-
tal malice, at once crawling and bound-
less, timid yet greedy, influenced Tyler's
conduct towards Sir Baldwin Hercey.
The mantle of friendship Luke con-
ceived to be the safest cover for his
machinations; and as the warriors of old
approached the beleaguered city under
their Testudo, so did Luke Tyler skulk
into the heart and fortunes of the youth-
ful knight, only to ascertain in what
places they might be assailed, and where
they were most vulnerable.
Sir Baldwin Hercey would have
hesitated to acknowledge Tyler as bis
friend ; there was neither congenialily
nor equality for that; but he flattered
himself be bad given the hound a salu-
tary correction, which had amended bis
manners ; and as a subjugated province
is often amused by the victor with
empty baubles, to compensate the actual
dishonour it has sustained, so Luke
Tyler was treated by Baldwin with a
reckless generosity, too much alloyed by
undisguised contempt to be palatable to
that keen-eyed individual. Master
Luke, however, reaped too much of
paltry gratification to bis malice from
the advantages which the precipitate and
somewhat haughty temper of Sir Bald-
■win afforded him, not to endure, with
abject dissimulation, all the young
knight's assumed superiority, till at
length Sir Baldwin's unsuspecting heart
misgave him for his injustice, and from
that time forth, the inmost chambers of
Hercey's bosom were laid open to the
insidious foe ; its own best feelings having
traitorously unbarred the doors.
It could scarcely be said that Luke
loved Floralice Monkshaw ; indeed it
inay be disputed whether be loved a
single human being, even himself not
excepted ; but be was an admirable
hater ; and as he proceeded in bis path
of skulking malice, employing the
smooth pebble from the brook, as well
as the poisoned arrow from the quiver;
turning aside either to trample upon a
flower, or uproot a plant, he came, at
length, upon the bower of love, into
whose recesses no snake bad yet glided ;
yet in crawled Luke, and very nearly
got bis reptile bead crushed in the
attempt,
Trutli to say, however successful
Tyler might have been in his lesser ma-
chinations against Baldwin, he was sin-
gularly infelicitous when he proceeded
to designs of a larger growth.
Educated at the Priory of Saint Se-
THE PARTE HUE.
a4;3
pulclire, at Warwick, Luke Tyler had
cullivtttedall tlic liiglier and nioro refined
aceomplishnients, which in those days a
monastery alone could teach.
He was a beautiful illuminator; no
meaiv limner, aiid excelled in the ex-
ercise of several crafts; in architecture
lie was a special proficient ; legendary
lore found a capacious cabinet in liis
brain ; he could somewhat of music ;
nor of all the sonnets to his mistress's
eyebrow, were those the meanest tliat
flowed from the pen of Master Luke.
All these, and every other means
wliich his subtle engine suggested, did
Tvler put in requisition in favour of
Eioralice, from the first moment he per-
ceived her inclination to Sir Baldwin
Hercey. And so far lie succeeded, that
the communings between liim and Flo-
ralice became far more freijuent than
Hercey (whose less scientific pursuits
led him to heath and forest) quite a))-
proved. Luke's likings, however, fed
upon Baldwin's dislikes; so he perse-
vered, and, as he thought, prosjjcred.
But Fortune, whatever slie may do to
the brave, does not alwaijs favour tlie
unscrupulous ; and just when Luke
Tyler had attained the j)oint at wliich
he imagined he might unfurl the banner
of his hopes, the fickle jade tore it down,
and trampled it under foot. To speak
plainlv, he one day told Eloralice Monk-
shaw that he loved her, and she told Idni
what we may as well not rei)eat.
Repulsed in this quarter, IMastcr
Luke applied himself to cultivate the
gtH)d graces of the grim Franklin him-
self; but here he had a|>i)arenlly still
less chance of success. Old Anthony
had no very violent love for any of his
poor kinsfolk. If they were independ-
ent, and kept aloof from the rich Frank-
lin, they were welcome to do so ; he
never troubled his pate about them. If
they haunted the dreary courLs and
dingy halls of Heronswood, so much the
better, :is long as they would patiently
dance in his round, and while their
habiUi and opinions jumpeil witli bis
humour ; but there w;i-s the dilliculty.
At once the most suspicious and the
most intolerant man alive, Monkshaw
endured not the slightest contradiction
or stricture ; while a snarl and a shew
of teeth (well if it were not a head and
shoulders eji-ction through the gateway ! )
were the uniform .ind inevitable gueidim
uf ill-timed conciliation or unskihiil
flattery.
But even with the impraclicable
I'raiiklin, Luke, sis usual, for some lime
played liiii part succcHsfully.
If Anthony could endure, he must
needs agree with Master Tyler in con-
versiition ; and at such times he would
shoot forth, from under his grey beetling
eyebrows, a nuteor glance of something
very like complacency, at I^ike's com-
ments upon men and manners. A
growl of welcome from Monkshaw's
cavernous jaws, generally liailed his ap-
pearance at the homely but abundant
board ; and a giipe like a Bramah screw,
accompanied the bidding to a repeated
visit.
And when the Civil War broke out,
just as the Lancasterian Hercey 's star
declined at Heronswood, did the Yorkist
Tyler's culminate.
So now, dear and much-enduring
reader, behold Luke Tyler at once the
rejected suitor of Floralice, the treache-
rous confidant of Sir Baldwin Hercey,
who hath just been permitted to rcjios-
sess his impoverished manor at Redlbrd,
and the identical person now walking in
yonder meadow with that dark burly
man of age, who is dressed in a tawny
leathern jerkin, partially covered by a
cloak of russet serge ; a fox fur tipped
about his shoulders, anil ujion his broad
furrowed brow, a slouching cap, large
and wide, utterly uiiornamented, whose
colour, originally scarlet, had now, from
time and weather stains, assumed a most
truculent die of blackish red; the far re-
fulgent collar of suns and roses glowing
over all this worn-out mockery of hu-
mility, marks him at once for the grim
Franklin of Heronswood.
It was the afternoon of a blazing
summer's day. Old Dunsmoor, with
his patches of ancient trees and open
fells intermixed, lay panting and parch-
ing beneath the meridian sun. Not a
breeze durst stir, and the steer and the
steed stood motionless in the shallow
waters of the old ]nl, which scarcely
reached their knees, and whose high reil
banks were wooded with luxuriant but
motioidess trees ; the verdure of leaf
and herb was thirsty an<l dull ; the very
shade was hot, and the grass dry. The
weathercock on Bilton steeple was shin-
ing and asleep ; and the littk' blue brook,
that used to twine like a coloured snake
around those delightful meads, now
plaintively tinkled over its enamelled
l)ed, whose Mosjiic had lost half its
brilliance.
Anthony Monkshaw, aller lending a
heedful ear to some coninuinical iiMiJVom
his associate, stalked before him through
the blinding heat of the meadow, leaping
the river which bisected it with a strength
and af-ilily that jiut to sliume llienwk-
341
THE PAIlTEtUtE.
ward sprawl of Luke, and clearing a
stile tli;it led into a thicket of princely
old limber ; here, having reached a spot
where their conversation might be free
from intruders, and themselves pro-
tected from tlie insupportable heat, the
Franklin paused until his laggard kins-
man should come up with him.
A close and grass-grown alley, wliere
the woodbine hung in perfumed clusters
upon the maple, and the briony, strang-
ling what she embraced, spread in mere-
tricious draperies over the hazel, led
them into a sylvan area, where, at
regular intervals, the trunks of elm, ash,
and oak trees, soaring into the summer
heavens, concealed their height from tlie
eye. Massive columns were their stems,
and their lowest boughs meeting at a
great distance from the earth, lent the
place a resemblance to some old Gothic
Chapter-house. Thick, bright, and
featliery, sprang the fern beneath ; and
bashfully blue, the light harebell wooed
in vain the far distant breezes to its
fragile clusters. A few patches of
gleaming sky from above, and the sunny
glow through the boles and vistas rare,
redeemed that grove from the character
of gloom, which the loftiness of the trees,
the masses of foliage, the profound still-
ness, and the very form of the inclosure
contributed to produce.
Here then halted Anthony Monk-
shaw, awaiting with grim composure the
approach of the discomfited Luke, who
hurried panting up the alley, and at
length reached the old Franklin, the
usual clayey hue of his brow and check
being now diversified with streams of
perspiration ; and his rats-tail hair more
hopelessly lanky than ever.
Monkshaw, in the meanwhile, stood
as calm and as cool as if he had been
airing himself in the pleasant solary at
bis own manor house; and with a
grisly smile he thus began : —
" And now, Master Luke, sith thou
liast drawn breath, and wiped thy brow,
prithee impart tiiese weighty tidings,
that were too pregnant and too delicate
to trust the echoes of yon moated Grange
withal."
" A bird of the air shall carry the
' matter ! " was Luke's reply, conveyed in
a low cowardly tone, as strongly contrast-
ed with the Franklin's hlutf" round voice,
as his grovelling, chidden air was to
Anthony's dreadnought figure. —
" 4 '^'•'d of the air, good kinsman, shall
carry the matter : and, even in this deep
woodland, I would use caution, lest " —
" Lest we ofTend tlie iMlking— eli ? —
that wont to scare our Saxon ancestors :
— or, haply, bring upon us a troop of
nymphs and fauns, in the character of
eaves-droppers ! Body o' me man ! what,
is this mystery so sacred, that even these
old silent woods are not to hear it, lest
they should babble when the wind comes
back again to set them a nodding and
gossiping ? — Why, one would think
there was to be another tale of the
bloody templar ! "
"If he whom men call the grim
Franklin of Heronswood, take not the
better head," was Luke's bold reply,
" the Bloody Templar's Chronicle may
find a sequel yet ! "
Anthony raised his shaggy brows, and
opened wide his clear blue eyes upon the
speaker, — but Luke had chosen his tone
well, and the attitude of importance, and
even of admonition, which now charac-
terized the supple kinsman, was so novel
that it partly startled, and partly pleased
the griin Franklin.
" Well, well man ! I will be patient I
Thou knowest I deem not lightly of
thee, though I do gird at thee some
times ! Mass ! there are few of whom
Anthony Monkshaw would either stoop
to inquire, or tarry to hear advice ! but I
trust thy love to our house, and I know
thou bearest a brain ! — out with it then !
why hast brought me out here, like a
love-sick virgin forsooth, to a woodland
tryste with her lover ! ''
The grim Franklin laughed aloud at
his own conceit; — and the explosion
liushed the gentle hollow melody of a
wood-pigeon, the only voice of that sultry
hour that was swelling forth its indolent,
peaceful coo from an adjacent pine.
" It is not here ! — the lover's tryste
you speak of is not here ! " and Tyler
paused, either from embarrassment or
design ; — if from the latter motive, he
soon saw cause to repent it, for Monk-
shaw's wrath arose, his very beard stirred
with ire ; and his eyes contracted, and
his teeth closed, as if to let as little as
possible of the internal fury escape before
its time.
" Master Luke Tyler ! " he said, and
this time, Luke had no occasion to com-
plain of his loud voice, for the prattle of
the brook might be heard above it ; —
" Master Luke Tyler ! vvhether you deem
the granger of Heronswood hath as small
value for his time, as a slothful hanger-
on, boots not me ! — but, you have made
me dance at your bidding, and, if my
music is to be no better than a fool's
babble, — I will look to the musician.
Dog I let me dejiart with my errand, or
by heaven's, I'll brain thee ! "
And, suiting the action to the word,
Tin: rAKTERRE.
;u.-)
Antliony lifted a walking start', whose
size and sliape, added to his own massive
rugged tigure, made liim no mean repre-
sentative of tlie well-known Warwick
cognizance. — Luke's presence of mind
wavered for a moment only, — he had not
so long studied the grim Franklin for
nothing.
" Esijuire of Heronswood ! " he said,
and even Monksiiaw felt he spoke with
tlignity, " demean not yourself in the
presence of your poor cousin, whose duty,
as well as wish, it is, to respect the head
of his house. — How would you have me
speak, when my speech so nearly involves
that liouse — ay, touches the very heart of
its honour ! "
Monkshaw lowered his staff, and as if
ashamed of his i);issionate violence, turned
slightly a-side, listening with bent brow,
and hands woven over his ragged staff, as
Luke resumed his speech.
" Mine is a difhcult, and an irksome
oflice. — I stand distracted between inter-
est for my kinsman's honour, aad afFec-
tion for an old friend. If partiality for
my friend sways me, I become an accom-
plice in a subject's disloyalty, and a child's
disobedience : if zeal for the liouse, of
which I am but a withered branch, prc-
v.iil with me — how shall I escape impu-
tations of treachery and selfishness? "
Here Master Tyler sighed profoundly,
and looked askance at the Franklin.
That furtive and instantaneous glance,
shewed him how accurately he had cal-
culated. Monkshaw had dismissed all
fury from his brow ; a new feeling
seemed to have awakened there, but it
w;is that dubious indefinite expression
which the sky wears iK-fore a change in
the elements ; or a strange dog, wliilc
you caress him, before he either shews
his teeth, or wags his tail ! — His ruddy
cheek, at first grew pale, and then
coloured over from his temples to his
very throat; his breatiiing became tliick,
and violent, but he maintained his half-
averted posture, and seemed, at length,
made up to await Luke's tidings, till
ihev came in his own good time.
Tyler saw that the Franklin, by this
time, was primed for his intelligence, —
M) he proceeded.
" Will my honoured kinsman bear
with me, while I uiil'old what must be
more painftd for me to speak, than even
for him to hear ? "
" .S'<ie;itli man ! do but spe.ik out,
and if thy words stretch me a corpse
upon the earth, it will Ik- better than
this racking ! "
'■ Your daiiglitei " -
" Wli.il of //.T / ''
" And Sir Baldwin Hercey " —
" ir/io .'"—
" Your daughter and Sir lialdwin
Hercey are in the habit "
" I'atience of heaven ! did I ever
dream to hear those two names coupled
together again! — speak not, — breathe
not, look not one more syllable ! — It is
enough, and more — oh death of my life!
is it come to this ? "
The old man dropped his slafl', and
staggered against the rough trunk of an
immense elm. Supporting his shaking
frame with one hand, with the other he
motioned away Luke Tyler, who how-
ever advanced, seeing it was the time ;
and poured with ruthless pertinacity, his
unwelcome information into the cars of
the stricken and overpowered Franklin.
" But, I must speak, and you must
HEAR ! They have been in the constant
habit of meeting imder the great elin,
by the bloody Templar's monument. I
have myself often been privy to their
interviews; and, unknown to them, I
have still oftener watched them.''
" And yet dared to conceal it from
me ? '■
" Your pardon, sir ! — I ilid but bide a
fitting time. Mistress Floralice hath
promised to fly with Baldwin Hercey
this very night ; — and, and — how could
I see your cliild and your estates grasjjcd
by those hands, so redly gilded with
Yorkist blood ! "
" Her//«forit! "shouted the Franklin.
" And which would scatter the
treiisure of your stufTed coffers, among
the rallying and replenished ranks of
Lancaster ! "
" By the saint who distinguished my
day of birth ! — by that planet Saturn, tlie
ascendant of my fortunes! — by light anil
darkness, — by hope and by despair, — by
every oath tliat heaven records, and earth
holds binding, — this Baldwin Hercey
shall die the death I Have they met
oflcii? that I should ask! and </(tc!— but
HAVE they often met':'"
"Nightly."
"And will, this evening, thou siiidst,
this very evening?"
" After moonrisc."
"Then, of that moon let him make
much, for sun I swear he never shall see
more ! But where bides he, — where
tarries this skulking prowler about my
fold r
"Sir Gerald Vernon, his fatliti 's
ancient brother-in arms, and, as thou
kniiwest, nuich favoured by the King,
although no friend to thie. hold-, him m
high hospitality at Bilton Hall."
" Sii (III, lid \'irn<in ' tlolli he so?
346
THE PARTERRE.
then, Sir Gerald Vernon look to your-
self, — faith, I'll curtail your courtesies,
if they are to be the cover for assailing
your neighbours ! Look to your goodly
manor too, Sir Gerald Vernon ! King
Edward shall hear how you harbour his
rebels ! Out upon this railing babble,
what is he to me? But, Luke, come
nearer ! I say, my faithful Luke ! — this
love-sick thief — this moonlight paramour
must be met with."
"Oh, Sir! be cautious; your success
in such an encounter slays your friend's
son."
" I would slay my own in such a cause ;
ay, if heaven had blessed me with one
the very mirror of his age, I would peril
my life to destroy his."
" But your failure" —
"Seals my loyalty with my blood! I
tell thee, Luke, that blood is curdling
into poison every moment the felon lives.
My sovereign and my daughter, mine
allegiance and my love: — oh-h ! she
could never be so mad! Edward him-
self hath singled her forth ; men said she
might have shared his throne ! she could
never be so basel this beardless champion
of the wolfish Margaret I this ingrate,
who, after shaking a firebrand at the
house which sheltered him, comes by
night to plunder what he could not
destroy in the day ; this incendiary, as
ready to undermine a family as to over-
turn a kingdom; — oh! Fioralice, thou
couldst never be so abandoned!"
" Of that, mine esteemed kinsman
may satisfy himself — if he will deign to
present to Mistress Fioralice this token,
of which I was commissioned by Sir Bald-
win to be the bearer."
And Luke, as he spoke, drew forth a
gimmal ring, with a ruby and turquoise
so cut as to represent two hearts joined
in one, the hoop being of solid gold
most exquisitely branched and chased.
Monkshaw seized and thrust the jewel
into his vest, and, after musing awhile,
with hand drawn over his brow, he said :
" Luke ! wilt hold with me to the
Templar's Tomb to-night?"
" Why, of a surety, in so delicate a
matter you would not wish your ser-
vants"
" Not for the kingdom ! it would be
said the Franklin of Heronswood had so
lost all pith and manhood, that he was
forced to trust the hands of his servants
for the chastisement of a traitor!"
" Truth ! and then they might chatter
too, what were best concealed !"
" 'Tis not to be thought of; wilt aid
nie then in cutting out, and keeping
secret, this cancer to my honour, or
(and he darkened into a fiendish glow)
art thou but the carrion crow, that can
croak out the quarry, but stoops not
upon it till it be slaughtered?"
Luke cursed the savage insolence of
old Anthony, in his heart, but the very
rage he inwardly felt, gave him courage
to make the decisive attempt he had long
meditated.
" Franklin of Heronswood ! I vnllgo:
— and for thy taunt, know, that the
tameless eagle never struck down his
prey more boldly than I shall to night,
if — I strike for myself!"
" What mean ye?"
" That I have long adored your daugh-
ter Fioralice, that I am your nearest
kinsman, and that if I peril my life in
this matter"
" Hold Luke ! thou fool and braggart,
but far greater knave ! hold, on your life!
By heaven I do esteem thy tale a forgery ;
false and black as thine own heart ! —
Tlwu, dare so much as let thy dreams
wander that way ! Thou I — begone sir !
and see my face no more ! A carrion
crow ! with a vengeance ; if I had said
apye — an empty, mischievous, rapacious
pye, — it had been nearer the mark ! —
Hark ye, sirrah ! if thy tale be false, I
will wring that very neck of thine before
the hangman can clutch it ; if true, this
night shall satisfy me. But know, that
should I meet yon red-rose robber at the
Templar's tomb, (as, well I trust to slay
him if I do!) I would rather myself lead
him by the hand to Heronswood; place
in his girdle the key of my coff'ers ; lay
at his feet the titles of my estate ; and
knit into his bloody grasp, the soft white
fingers of my Fioralice ;— ay, kneel at
his very shoes, and bid him command me
for Henry of Winchester, — than brook
the presence of one whom I alike discre-
dit and despise !"
With these words the grim Franklin
struck the cowering Luke no light blow
with his walking staff; and then stalked
savagely away through the meadows, to
his old lair at Heronswood, leaving his
kinsman smarting with bodily pain, and
in such a state of mind, as we had rather
not endeavour to analyse.
Heronswood Hall, or Grange, as An-
thony Monkshaw's proud humility
thouglit proper to entitle his abode, pre-
sented a style of manorial residence of
which very few specimens have survived
to the present day. I myself have only
seen one, and its peculiar characteristics
of uncouth architecture, and solitary
.situation, attracted more frequently my
THE PARTERRE.
847
vagrant feet when I was a schoolboy at
li , than any other object in that
lair ncighbourliood.
Heronswood Hall, then, occupied no
mean space in the centre of a large
meadow, built at various periods ; the
English architect might have traced
there the monuments of his skill asso-
ciated at random with masses of Saxon
and Norman niasonrv.
With that most liberal disregard of all
uniformity and consistency, which so
often produces the highest eflects of
picturesque beauty, Heronswood en-
throned its multifarious buildings about
a great irregular court, not altogether
sijuarc nor circular, but of sutlicient ex-
tent for a far more important ediKce. A
wide and forbidduig moat sullenly sur-
rounded the pile, across which a bridge
led to the gate-house tower, which form-
ed the sole access to the old Grange, and
whose arch, wide yawning in the day
time, disclosed the gaunt imwieUly
buildings within; no great attraction to
the , few, whose wandei ings conducted
them to that solitary spot. A deep co-
lonnade of wood and stone, extending its
arches along two sides of the court, and
surmounted by the so/ari/, a pleasant sort
of corridor, with a long range of lathed
windows and balustrades, connnunicating
with the court by a broad oi)en staircase,
banistered and jiillared with oak, struck
the eye, on entering, by its peculiar
gracefulness.
This with the two towers (rude enough
in themselves, but still lowers) of the
gateway, and lockhouse, constituted the
only portions of this strange fabric which
it is possible to ilciuimiitalc, if we except
one or two florid oriels, and a porch of
later date, with steps ascending to the
ball, which revealed their elaborate orna-
ments liere and there, just as Serena
might have looked among the Satyrs.
Hut these, although of far richer decora-
tion, and more dignified character, were
not unplcusiiigly combined with craggy
roofs, colunmar chimneys, striped wood-
work, low d(x>r ways, jutting piers, dingy
Weathercocks, and gables high uj), i>ro-
jecting so far into the court, that they
Inirig like c.'iges in the air. In short the
Solitary Grange, in all its combinations,
wore an air of independence, |)erhaps
dftiance, that greatly resembled grandeur,
if not sublimity.
Two or three pine trees of enormous
fci/.e, and reverend age, t«»ssed their fune-
real shidowK across the court, and peering
alM>\e its jagged roofs their poiiilerous
branches si-eincd to Ik- looking around to
see if everything beyond the old pile were
as gloomy antl dull as its interior, at once
their cradle, their prison, and their grave.
The clock, a vast brazen dial, with tigiues
like Anakim, stood glaring from its
tower, in a corner of the court, over
against its brother at the gatewav ; and
seldom did that dull area listen to other
sounds than the hours that jjealed tVoni
the one, and the bell that jingled in the
other.
INIeal time or mass time, the arrival of
a guest, or the approach of a stranger,
formed the sole topics that set these olil
cronies a gossiping, — and even then you
might imagine those dreary disheartening
tolls, to be the very groans cf Time, as he
heavily and dismally fleeted over the
solitary Grange.
Anthony Monkshaw hated many ser-
vants, and all those employed upon his
extensive farms, were accustomed to lodge
in the villages and cotes round about.
So that, with the exception of the old
porter and his wife, witli their son, who
officiated in the hall, three women ser-
vants formed the whole establishment at
Heronswood ; and of those, two were
considered as the peculiar and special at-
tendants of Mistress Floralice, who, in
herself, her attire, and her establishment,
formed an exception to every thing else
belonging to Anthony Monkshaw and
his solitary Grange.
But if the interior of the mansion oi
Heronswood were thus gloomy, it only
kept the promise which its exterior made
to the passenger's eye. The moat which
shut in its patchwork structures, shut out
nothing but a broad pasture of fine old
turf thinly dotted with a icw magnificent
elms, and the prospect w;ui barricaded
at some distance liy woodland, or termi-
nated in the fells of dreary Dunsmoor,
beyond which, the broad siible tower of
Uunchurch formed the sole object.
i'loralice sate in her private bower,
ami no ogre, ca])tivated by the lady whoin
he had intended for his own ravenous
maw; no enchanter who, guarding his
castle with diagons and demons to others,
made it a bower of bliss to the damsel he
wished to ensnare, could have furnished
a more delicious chamber than the con-
centrated love of an idoli/ing father bad
here built for his oidy child.
Hut the splendours of that period, gor-
geous as they are to the fancy aiul
pleasant in delineation, are somewhat
monotonous ; and, though we may love
to picture an apartment lumg all over
fiom floor to ceiling, with storied dru-
pel ies, depicting
348
THE PARTERRE.
* " His;li t'lweis, fail l(.n;ples, K»odIy tlieadrs;
Strolls; walls, rich porclies, piinci-ly pilaces,
Large streets, brave hoiists, saned sepici lires!
Sure gates, sweet g.inlens, stale y 5;alleiit's,
Wrought with fair pillars, and line imageries ;
yet a liif^her, and indeed paramount ob-
ject inteiposes between us and them.
Most vividly have I in my mind's ej'e,
at this moment, the rosewroiight span-
drils, and elaborate mouldings of that
arched oriel ; together with tlie burning
intensity of the blue and yellow and red
which glow upon its legendary glass.
How odorous those fresh rushes smell !
what gushing music does the summer
wind breathe up that broad palisaded
staircase, courting, through its pillared
sides, all the sweet influence of sun and
air, but protected by its long shelving
roof from rain and wind ! That massive
cabinet, the sumptuous spoil of Agra or
of Delhi ; and that gaudy coloured bird,
swinging upon his gilt perch, demon-
strate that master Anthony hath taxed
the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, for
tributes to his darling.
But Floralice herself is there, and
monopolises both heart and eye.
Not that high ' fontange' of crimson
and azure silk, streaming in long folds
from Iter stately liead, but the clear
smooth cheek, and majectic forehead, and
the hair bright in its darkness, and the
dread beauty of the glittering eye, that
beamed beneath it ; — not the broad girdle
of embroidered satin, with its sumptuous
clasp of silver lions studded with ame-
thysts, a gift from king Edward himself,
— but the graceful waist it adorned; —
not the voluminous train of blue samite,
with its erinine border sweeping half
across the room, but the exquisite little
foot and ancle it disclosed, would have
commanded your admiration, dear reader,
— and even they, had you conversed with
Floralice Monkshaw, would have retired
l>efore the more attractive charms of her
mind.
" For that same goodlie hue of white and red,
With whith the cheeks are sprinkled, shall liecay;
And those s«cet rosie lea\es so f.iirly spiead
l'p<in thf lips, shall fade and (all away
To thai thf-y iverc, even to corrupled clay :
That golden wire, those sparkling stais so bright.
Shall turn to (Inst, and lose their goodly li^lit.
" But that fair lamp, from wh<i-e celestial ray
That light proceeds, which kiiidlcih lover's lire.
Shall never be extinguished nor decay I
But when the vital spirits do expire,
IJnto her native planet slidl retire;
For it is heavenly born, and cannot die,
lieing a parcel of the purest sky."+
Phyllis, her favourite handmaiden,
stood behind her cliair, whose dark
• Spenser's Knin- ol Time.
+ .''peneer'.s U3 niiis.
scitlptured back, resembling the foliated
atid feathered shrine in some old minster,
was padded with red velvet.
The young lady's soft white arm sup-'
ported her cheek, and by that diiI)ious
air, half stinshine and half gloom, in her
contemplative countenance, you might
divine tlie theme of her thoughts before
she breathed them.
"No, no! good Pliyllis! — it may not
be ! — often have my thoughts turned that
way, and as often have they recoiled
with a disiTiay I cannot master, as they
encountered tny father's linage : trust mo
wench ! were I to adventure the ineasure
thoti talkest of, it would break his heart !"
"Troth!" said the petted attendant,
" it would have store of tough sinews
and hard ribs to penetrate, before it
reached so far !"
"I tell thee, girl! — my flight with
Baldwin Hercey, would unchain a wild
fiend there, that would break all down,
were the sinews iron, and the ribs brass I
Oh no, no I I will never desert my poor
rash father !"
" Well ! for my part," said Phyllis, " I
am but a poor casuist, yet I ponder
much, whether it be worse to keep one's
true love, night after night, in a dreary
haunted wood, and all for a sugared word
and a honeyed kiss — or, to go oflT witli
him at once, and so make an end. Marry,
you offend the Franklin either way ! —
And, by my goodly ! here he is, coming
back froin the meadows. Saints be good
to us! what ails the master? he runs
through the gateway like a wounded
wild boar!"
Floralice turned excessively pale, but
neither stirred nor spoke ; and no scared
child ever fancied that raw/wad and
blood?/ hones were clamping up the stair-
case to its nursery, with half the dismay
she experienced as her sire's giant strides
ushered him into her bower.
She attempted to rise, on his entrance,
but sank down trembling.
Monkshaw's appearance was terrific ;
but the mute meaning of liis bloodshot
eye, pale face, and bristling hair, needed
no other interpreter than the fatal Gim-
mal Ring, which he silently held up be-
fore his stricken daughter's eyes.
Phyllis, with an involuntary impulse,
made two steps in advance of her young
mistress' chair, as if to interpose between
her and the inenacing attitude of the
grim Franklin. But Monkshaw silently
signed to Iter, that slie must leave tlie
rooin : and her hesitation in obeying was
quickly decided l)y the look and tone
which accomijunied the single word
TlIK I'AUrERUE.
.•M9
<• begone !'' I'livllis v:iiiis1ieil like the
lij;litiiin<j from a tcnipestiiims lii-aven.
Moiiksliaw closed anil fitsteneil the
narrow arched door upon her ; drew over
it the gaudy tai)estr_v ; and then,- either
ashanifti to sliew his fury, or heginniiig
to mingle softer feelings with it in his
daughter's presence, he deliheralely dnu-
near to Kloralice.
" I'he grim Franklin," ho sai<l, wiili
an iMinaturally low and measured voice,
somewhat like the ilull prelusive moan
of a hull, shut up by hedge and gate from
his antagonist, " the grim Franklin of
Ueronswood is but a lame messenger for
1 love-token."
He paused. Floraliee, pale as ashes,
but mustering, with great eflurt, an air
of intrepidity to her brow, and absolutely
governing all exterior signs of the trepi-
dation that sickened her very soid -
neither moved a limb nor uttered a word.
" Still less," resinned .\nthony," doth
it beseem the years and reverence of a
father, to convey to his child the seal of
//(■/• disobedience, and the badge of his
own dishonour I"
" Dear father !"
" I am no longer dear f I shall never
l)e dear again — until <leath has swept
away the fond old dotard whom his un-
gratefid child no longer wishes to live!
Dear! — pl.iec a serpent in a young child's
cradle, — a dove in a vulture's nest, a kid
among a litter of wolves — then link inine
with Baldwin Hercey's image in thy
heart, and call me ' dear !' — Thou art fid,
wanton, thankless thing!"
" I ileserve not those epithets, and I
disclaim them I" answered Floraliee,
who-.e naturally high spirit, trebly armed
with long habits of deference, which, till
that moment, her father had never in-
fringed, rose at these reproaches. " Tliank-
Irsi 1 am not ' — for if my best blood,
poured out, could pleasure you, it should
be shed, were there no better weapon at
hand than this gold bodkin ! and waiiloii !
— father, your own honourable heart, and
your memory of her who bore me, might
strangle that calumny ere it saw the
light! Artful I — if to love excellence,
and yet deny myself its possession, when
it courted my acceptance, be artful — art-
ful at least I will be no longer, for here
I profess and vow tli.it, barring a daugh-
ter's duly, above all the world 1 love, and
will love to my life's end, Sir Daldwin
llerccy ! — And if my father cannot esti-
mate that fdinl tie, preserved inviolate
At the expense of a life-long heart break,
then let him lieware, lest the freight he
undervaluci l>e tossed to the waves, and
every thing be snciiliecd lo "'
" Z/c/'t.'/ a well rounded period, mistress
— and needing no QCdipus to finish it oH"!
And so you dare" — the foam flew from
Monkshnw's lips as he spoke, " you dare
to confess a passion for this beggar of
knighthood, this rebel to your king, this foe
to your father, this outlaw, this vagrant,
— detested, beaten, skulking Ilercey?'
As olil Anthony chafed and frothed
forth this speech, the gorgeous collar,
with its lion badge, of wliich, it has been
shewn, he was so idolalrously proud,
became imclasped, and fell to the floor;
where its large golden orbs and flowers,
gleaming with coloiued jewels, formed
a strong contrast to the soft modest ver-
dure of the fiesh rushes.
"See! the very cognizance of my
rightful prince breaks irom about the
neck, where his own anointed hands
first pl.iced it! well may it scorn to deck
the pari'nt of so disloyal a chilil !"
" Father !'' said Floraliee, to whom
this paroxysm had given time lo select
from woman's ever burnished .irmoury
of wit, the fittest conduct in this emer-
gence, " I have heard my confessor say,
that twelve jewels, like these, blazed in
the high jtriest's pectoral of olil ; and
that each, in its coloius and glory, com-
posed lilt' Incastplale af jud^inciit. Alas!
the lucid s:ii)phire, the calm emerald, the
enlightened diamond, the majestic ame-
thyst, well might thus abandon the bosom
that hath banished them ! Methinks
the House of INIarch might blush to see
ils emblematic badge so lightly worn !"
Floraliee stooped, as she spoke, and,
presenting the magnificent gorget lo her
sire with a profound obeis:uice, stood
before him, with her arms submissively
folded, in humility's meekest attitude,
liul there was placid peril in her eye,
and her brow bore determination graven
as on a tablet; her very quietude w;is
dangerous, and Monkshaw fell it so: at
all events he took tlie collar gently
enough ; and, turning on his heel, as if
to re-fasten the radiant badge, he strode
to ihe far end of the bower, and at length,
returning to Floraliee, *' I am a fool !"
he said, "but a father's folly shews ill,
indeed, rebuked by a chilli's wisdom !
My gill!" (the grim Franklin stood full
in front of his beautiliil daughter) "you
never told me an untruth, since you eoulil
first lisp my name ; and, allhoiigli you
have disobeyed and counter.-icted my
wishes, yet well 1 deem those lips will
never utter the thing they do not ineiin.
Will you resign this man ; whom, ils
invidious to mc, you should never liavo
3j0
THE PARTERRE.
entertained ; but whom, revolted from
his sovereign, and avoided by true men,
— nay ! interrupt me not, and the chafed
old Man will bridle his just anger if he
may — say, my sweet, dear Floralice, will
you discountenance Baldwin Hercey?
or will you sever the links, the long, the
close, the bright, bright links that bind you
to your fond and lonely parent !"
The grim Franklin's voice faltered,
and he wept ; — yes, heavy, burning tears
hunted each other down those gaunt
cheeks, spasmodic sobs heaved that her-
culean chest ; in vain he dashed his
massive hand across his eyes, their foun-
tains became torrents, and at length,
subdued by such an earthquake of an-
guish, as only a fond, a fierce, and a dis-
appointed father can feel, Monkshaw
sank down in his daughter's chair, and
buried his face in his gown.
A heart far less affectionate than that
of Floralice could scarcely have endured
this sight, but to her it was agony ; she
threw herself about her father's neck,
covered his hard cheek and grisly hair
witl^ kisses, and sinking down on her
knees, clasped his waist, laid her fair
cheek upon his lap, and lavished on the
stern old man, every expression of en-
dearment, every assurance of unceasing
love, every demonstration of an affection
which not only flowed from her heart at
that moment, but had ever been its
actuating principle. But not one word
spake Floralice which could be con-
strued into an answer to Monkshaw 's
solemn question.
The grim Franklin's paroxysm passed
away, as rapidly as it came on ; and long
ere Floralice had relaxed her caresses and
ceased her dulcet blandishments, old
Anthony had resumed his grim rigidity
of manner.
" It is all very well," he said, looking
down on the youthful Niobe that still
clasped his knees, " and I doubt thee not
my child ! Still there is but one test.
Swear to me that this Hercey (oh ! how
liis name blisters ray tongue ! ) shall
henceforth be to thee, as the roaming
wolf at evening-fall, like the ringed
adder basking at noon on Dunstnoor !
Oh F'loralice ! take but one live coal off
the fire that animates thy father's breast,
only say that my hatreds are thy hatreds,
my affections thy affections ! No !
no ! no ! I ask too much — hear me then,
my darling ! look around, and choose !
cull from the rival gardens of both the
factions, be it White Rose or Red; — ay,
the very reddest that ever flourished from
loyal blood ; be the flower ever so lofty,
1 have a high arm shall pluck it for thee;
be it ever so thorny, 1 have a golden
gauntlet shall grasp it — but grant me,
only grant the fond old father, thy solemn
oath that, whether 1 be alive to ban, or
dead to haunt thee, — whether in palmy
prosperity, or sank even below his pity,
— nay, even though I should myself for-
get my enmity, and, in my dotage, beg
thee to accept him, swear tliat thou wilt
never wed Sir Baldwin Hercey !"
"My father! my father!" cried
Floralice in the most acute distress,
"what evil, demon hath inspired this
bitter passion?"
" Swear !"
" How can you forget that Baldwin
and your child have loved, ever since you
used to poise us on either knee !"
" But swear!"
" And loved to fetter us with our
plaited ringlets !"
" I only ask you to swear 1"
" Is it nothing, then, that your own
consent sanctioned our affection, before
these cruel discords compelled true love
to lurk like treason?"
" You will not swear then ?"
" Oh ! for pity, for manhood, for very
nature's sake, — if you would not pluck
tlie crown from yoin- own gray hairs; if
you would not blight the garland, only
kept alive by tears, that knits up two
unhappy hearts, — recal, recal your thead-
ful words !"
" I have nothing to substitute in their
place," said Monkshaw, coldly ; " I have
made my request, — it is my first, and
to a daughter it should be the last. It is
my only one !"
" Then, said Floralice, arising from
her suppliant attitude, " I have nothing
to do but to deny it, and — "
" Deny it ?"
" Deny it, and die !"
" Die then, and with a wronged sire's
malison upon thy head !" roared Monk-
shaw, and bounding from the chair, with
all the mad brute in his nature unfet-
tered, he stood in the middle of tlie floor,
tlie spurned rushes scattering in all
directions from his trample, while the
arras wavered, and the gilded glass shook
in the oriel, and the rainbow-plumed
parrot contributed her scream to tlie sud-
den storm, " for by yon sacred saint I
swear," (and he pointed to a portraiture
of Saint Anthony, whose scenes of
temptation glowed, in countless colours,
upon the sun-clad panes of a large-arched
window,) " by hiiri I swear, who surely
never was tried by so dire a visitation as
a rebellious child,- I solemnly swear, and
THE PARTERRE.
351
so heaven parilon mens I keep niincontli,
that if, in two hours hence, thy stubl>orn
purpose melts not, these eyes of mine
sliall look on thee in life no more !"
With these words Anthony JMonkshan-
strode out of the bower. Floralice fol-
lowed him with her eyes, and long her
giize was strained upon the doorway by
which her sire had so sternly departed,
although nothing but the closed tapestry
met her piteous despairing look.
Then, blinding tears gushed into her
eyes, and, ere the furious voice of the
grim Franklin, rating poor Phyllis, had
died along the eclioing cloister below,
Floralice was in her oratory on her knees,
numbering her golden beads with crystal
drops, severing her orisons with sighs
like frankincence, but still not insensible
to the consolations which devotion always
bestows, whether before the pall-clad
altar of the high cathedral, or in the
inscrutable sanctuary of a humbled and
suppliant heart.
The sun-set of this eventful day, was
succeeded by hoarse and wild gales, that
roamed shrieking over the smooth mea-
dows of Heronswood, brushed, with
solemn moan, through the court of the
solitary Grange, and murmured about
its venerable pines.
Among the majestic trees that stood
about a bowshot from the mansion, testi-
fying the antiquity and grandeur of the
forest of which they were superb relics,
the summer night-gusts swelled with im-
pressive melancholy.
That old and reverend grove was in-
deed a gloomy yet attractive spot; spread-
ing out into wide patches of velvet sward,
where the trefoil and the moss were
starred with tiie yellow tormentil; and,
winding its green undulating slopes
around single trunks of colossal size, it
lost them occasionally in the deep, still
bosoms of the oaken and elmine thicket.
The whole place, thus diversilied, re-
ceived its last charm from the bushes of
golden gorse and purple heather, which
exhaling their luscious odours amidst beds
of woodsage and wild thyme, streamed,
as from a censer, upon the air, fanned by
the heavy wings of the night wind.
• " Palhi there were many,
Wiii'liiij; thruii^li |ialiii) fvrn and nitlivs fcuny :
Anil lv> baiiki, nil Ivu liii;; plean iiilly
'I'll a «iil'; la'^n ; wliciitt iinc could only »ie
S|~MM iliron^ii:); all aruun'I bi-iMein llii- jiucll
Ol liicr an I tlaiitint; liranclien : ulm couM Ii.-ll
Till- Itrshnenof the »pare ol heaven above,
K<l;:<'<l round with dark tree tupk, through which
a dove
Wi/idd o'ten beat ll> wingt, and often too
A little clond woul<l tnuvc acrotn (be bloc."
• Keat'i Eiidyiiii' ii.
Aged and enormous, however, as the
trees were, they did not constitute a
wood, except in one spot ; where either
chance or design had left about three or
four acres completely buried in antiijue
shade. In the centre of this thicket
expanded a little turfy area, swelling
with the grass-grown fragments of a
down-fallen chapel, which, having 1k'-
longed to a fraternity of knigh; templars,
had been involved in their ruin. In
front of these deserted remains, and
protected by the burly trunk and over-
shadowing branches of a gigantic elm,
arose a most beautiful altar-tomb, of ex-
traordinary dimensions, and the most
elaborate sculpture. The sides were en-
riched with soine score panels, contain-
ing, in alternate niches, richly stoled
saints, and armed warriors ; a fascia of
armorial shields composed the massive
and projecting cornice ; and, at the four
angles, boldly relieved, stood a gigantic
Heron.
This mighty cenotaph sustained on the
surface of its ponderous slab, the effigy in
full panoply of Sir Ottorick of Herons-
wood, or " The Bloody Templar," as he
was called, either from the dark red co-
lour of the freestone, in which his helmet
and habergeon were sculptured, or from
the blushing sanguine hue of his charac-
ter ; which was in such vile odour in
that part of Warwickshire, that few with-
in the verge of Dunsmoor, but would
have encountered the black demon him-
self, rather than have ventured, after sun-
set, into the vicinity of the bloody
templar's tomb.
Nearly two centuries had elapsed since
the death of Sir Ottorick; but tradition
told that he spared neither man in his
anger, nor woman in his lust : and he
was said to have perished ignobly, at last,
under the massive arm and knotty club
of some village hind, whose sweetheart
he had seduced.
The sides of this great sepulchre were
a solid foot in thickness, and the vene-
rable elm which had stood guard by it
for centuries, suspended over its sculp-
tures that foilage at once full and airy,
massed with shadow yet scintillated with
light, s<j i)ictures(pie in woodland fells.
The monument itself had sulfered much
from spoliation as well as time; the
images were greatly mutilatetl; and, ut
one end, the i)aiielliiig had been com-
pletely l)roken away, so as to present an
easy entrance to the vaidty interior.
At this tomb, silently watching the
summer moon as she streamed through
the narrow vistas of tiie wood, or, l>etosl
3.y2
THE rAUTKURE.
like a gikled galley in an ocean of clouds,
careered above tlie tall black trees, — lis-
tening to the night-gusts, that hurled
cloud upon cloud over her car, as if to
shut her up for ever, while the indignant
trees, with upturned heads and agitated
arms appealed to her in vain, — Sir Bald-
win Hercey stood.
Nothing could be more simple, nor at
the same time more graceful than his
costume. Fine cloth of white and azure,
the Lancastrian colours, composed a
thickly plaited pourpoint, cut off level
with his broad shoulders, and shewing
the hordure of a very fine shirt, above
which his stately throat rose bare ; a red
embossed belt tightened his waist, and
his hose developed the symmetry of his
well-turned limbs. A bonnet nearly a
quarter of an ell in height, richly purlled
with the red roses of Lancaster, and a
long rapier, with crosletted hilt, together
with a massive gold chain twisted several
times around his neck, completed Sir
Baldwin's attire, which imparted no or-
nament it did not tenfold derive from his
stately stature, his vigorous form, and
liis noble countenance.
lie stood near the broken panel of
the templar's tomb, in the genuine lover's
attitude ; his brond back leaning against
the elm trunk, his nervous arms folded
pensively across his breast, and his face
upturned to the maiden moon, that kiss-
ed and fled, and fled and kissed again
those large Hesperean eyes and full red
lips, as though she thought herself at
Latmos ; while, ever and anon, like
some envious pantaloon in the panto-
mime, the ugly clouds came tumbling
over and whirling her away.
A stir, not of the night wind, in the
thicket behind the ruined chapel, awaken -
ed the young lover from his dreams at
once. He sprang forwards from the
chequered shade of the elm, into the
moon-light grass, and hurrying towards
the figure he perceived stirring in the
Vipposite shade, had all but clasped to his
t)som Master Luke Tyler !
Sir Baldwin recoiled, and not without
Jeason.
liepulsivB, Luke's appearance always
was, but now it really was revolting.
Like the hideous vestiges of a conflagra-
tion among the brambles and pitfalls of
some ill-favoured common, traces of the
most outrageous passions disfigured a
face unprepossessing at best. His eyes
seemed to have burnt out with fury, and
glimmered like ashy embers ; his cheeks
were white and clammy; his li])s clung
back from liis teeth, like a wretch dying
of thirst in a desart, and his voice seemed
to expend its last gasp in saying, tliick
and hoarse, to Sir Baldwin,
" Your life is beset ! the Franklin has
found out your meetings here ; but fear
not ! — he will come alone, and, kinsman
though I be, it shall go hard but I will
throw in my odds on your behalf V
" Nay ! that shall thou never, my kind
Luke ! besides man, there is no need ;
trust me, my own arm can keep ray head ! "
"True! — but will not thy heart un-
nerve thy arm, will it not hear the absent
Floralice imploring her lover to spare
her sire ?"
" Spare him ? I tell thee Tyler, 1
would not scath one hair on that gray
head were it to win me even Floralice !
hurt the kind old Franklin — the protec-
tor of my boyhood ? oh no, Luke ! testy
and implacable as he now is, I would as
soon strike my own father, if he lived !"
" He will kill thee then ! Fate is not
more unrelenting than his fury."
" Fear me not! I shall easily hold him
at bay : and if not, — sooner than fight
with my old white-headed guardian, —
faith, good Luke, I shall hold it no
shame to trust my life to my legs!"
And Baldwin laughed.
" That shall thou not, if I can hamper
ihem !" muttered the malignant Luke.
" Sayest thou ?"
" Only that, whether thou wilt or no,
my fine foolhardy friend ! — Luke Tyler
shall stand by to see fair play !"
Sir Baldwin coloured, and was about
to reply with resentment ; but, at that
instant, Luke hurriedly glanced over his
shoulder, and, grasping Sir Baldwin's
arm, had only time to breathe the single
sentence, "Beware! the grim Franklin
is upon thee!" and to retire behind the
templar's tomb, — when, like some Indian
buffalo, rending his way through the
thicket, and heralding his approach by
crashing branches, ominous bellowings,
and menaces of hoof and horn, — the
Franklin of Heronswood came bound-
ing over the turf-clad fragments of tiie
chapel, and stood at the templar's monu-
ment, absolutely incapable of articulating
for passion.
Whether he was invoking the Thor
and Woden of his Saxon ancestry, or the
saints of the Romish calendar, — angels
at)ove, or fiends below, — was not to be
distinguished; but there stood Anthony
Monkshaw, the foaming, stamping, bel-
lowing personification of rage.
THK I'AKTK K Kt.
:?5:i
Page 363.
THE SOLITARY GRANGE.
BY HORACE GL'ILFORI).
In fact, tlie Grim Fr.-jtiklin was fresh
from a second iiiL-flcctiril assault upon
tlie mild but immovealjle resolution of
Floral ice ; and every step of his approach
to the Templar's Sepulchre had been
immbered with memories of wrongs, and
oaths of vengeance.
Sir Baldwin's feelings, at encountering
the unwelcome substitute for his serene
and heavenly Flor.ilicc, may be best
imagined by that school boy, who, having
thrust his hand into the ne-t, far hid
arnoDg ground ivy and moss, under some
deep old liedge, — feels and draws out,what
he conceives to be the soft fledgling, and
discovers it to bea full grown pulling to.ul.
Suon, however, did Hercey rally his
xtartleil and confounded spirits ; and, in-
deed, there was need, for, shouting jls far
at his hoarse ])a.s!iionate tones would
articulate —
" Rebel ! robber ! seducer ! defend thy-
self! for I am upon thee for the death !''
Monksliaw launched from the trees hi.s
Titan form, and brandished his huge
kteel full in front of the knight, who bud
vol.. 1.
just time toput aside the blow with his
sheathed rapier ; but that was the sole
efTort he made at self-defence. The
next moment, he stood with his arms
folded, his head erect, and his eyes stea-
dily rivetled on old Anthony's glaring
orbs, and sim|)ly said,
" If the Franklin of Heronswood, can
forget the laws of chivalry, he is no an-
tagonist for Baldwin Hercey!"
It has been said that the lunatic, in
the very pitch of his paroxysms, (juails
before a steady eye, and a determined
tone.
Such undoubtedly was the first effect
thus produced upon .Anthony Monk-
shaw : he stood transfixed in his career
of fury, lowered his weapon, and for a
fvw moments was silent; but the glare
of his eye might be seen in the moon-
light fr(jm under his shaggy brow, like a
smouldering tire in the cave which the
bandit h.isjusl (juitted.
" Ilarkye, sir knight of the red rose!"
he at length said, and his voice trembled
with suppresseil passion, "you may think
you h;ive me at a vantage ; — and, cerles a
brazen front and oily tongii'- are great odds
against downright lionest unger ; — but if
2 A
35-1
THE PARTERRE,
I curb my sacred indignation, think not
it is at thy bidding — but from very shame,
to waste in words, a vengeance which
should be as the dread calm before the
thunderbolt !"
" I would to heaven that ill word ven-
geance, were blotted from thy vocabu-
lary, Franklin ! it shall have no place in
mine."
" Peace ! thou whom I so loathe, that
thy sword were more welcome to my
heart, than thy name to my tongue ! peace,
and thank me for one chance of life.
Wilt swear, by this monument of my
dead ancestor, never, by thought or word,
further to practise on my foolish child's
aflfections?"
" Be satisfied Master Monkshaw ! I
will take no such oath ; and, least of all,
will I resign my pure affection at the
tomb of Sir Ottorick, the bloody and the
licentious !"
" Then is that tomb thine own !" roared
Monkshaw; and again, with uplifted
glaive, he rushed on Sir Baldwin, who
still abstained from drawing his rapier,
and now retreated several paces before
the frantic assault of Anthony.
Luke Tyler had hitherto watched this
encounter, ensconced behind the Tem-
plar's monument ; it would not be easy,
perhaps, to decypher the various feelings
which conflicted in his dark spirit.
It was almost a matter of indifference
to him which of the two perished.
The one had, that very day, loaded
him with brutal insults, and even in his
savage mood spurned and struck him ; —
but he might yet be won over to his views ;
while, in the other, from whom he had
received many kindnesses, there existed
an insurmountable obstacle.
In far less time, however, than we have
written this, were the conflicting causes
weighed and decided in Luke's mind.
Envy of past and fear oi future supe-
riority, sank before the trampled feeling
of raw and recent contumely; and, ere
Hercey with his back against the great
elm, parrying, as he might, with his
sheathed rapier, the deadly lunges of his
assailant, had received a second wound,
Tyler, leaping from his lair, had planted
his short broad dagger so unerringly in
Monkshaw's naked neck, that the raging
monster, in a moment, rolled heavily
over, and could not even groan, before
the blood, spouting in fountains from the
lanced artery, hurried life along with its
red cataract.
Sir Baldwin stood utterly thunder-
struck — motionless, speechless,breathless:
and the murderer stooped low over the
quivering corse as if to scrutinize the
departure of the vital principle from a
frame so dreaded and so abhorred.
When the homicide raised his face, its
horrible ghastliness first recalled Sir
Baldwin to a sense of his situation.
He turned shuddering from Tyler,
with an aversion, which not even the
conviction that to him he owed his life,
could entirely restrain : *' Luke, thou
hast murdered thy kinsman !"
" At least I have saved him from doing
murder — and Sir Baldwin Hercey is
alive to thank me !"
" To curse thee, to abhor thee ever-
lastingly!" exclaimed the distracted
young man. I am undone, undone ! all
my prospects are darkened for ever, and
by a false, fawning poltroon ! oh wretch,
hast thou drawled through life a paltry
trail of coward vices, only to swoop at
such gigantic villany at last ?"
"And oh, thou of wisdom only second
to thy courage ! bearest thou so slender
a wit, that, when the brute whose tushes
have gored thee, lies rolling in his blood
at thy feet, thou wouldest quarrel with
the slayer because he broke through the
rules of the chase ? Nay then. Sir knight !
e'en save thyself, when thy next adver-
sary has thee at his mercy : though
i' faith, thou mayst seek far in Arden or
Feldon, ere thou stumble on such another
monster as this ! "
And, bursting with cowardly malice,
Luke Tyler ferociously spurned the
prostrate bulk of the dead Franklin, now
weltering in a pool of blood !
This was too much : and Baldwin,
seizing the miscreant by the throat, shook
him as if he would scatter his limbs to
the four winds.
" Dare to repeat that beastly outrage!"
he said, "and I will brain thee against
this sepulchre, whose bloody inhabitant
might burst his cerements at thy unpre-
cedented crime !"
"Hold, Hercey, hold!" exclaimed
Luke, extricating himself with difficulty,
"or thou wilt come off worst! thou art
stronger than 1, but remember, I bear a
sting. And if I have done a violent deed,
surely thou art not the man to avenge it ;
thou who but for me, wouldst have wel-
tered in his place yonder !"
" Oh, would I had ! would God I had !
Remorseless man, take my life too, for
thou hast cursed it this night for ever !"
" Out and alas ! I little thought Luke
Tyler's love for Baldwin Hercey was so
slightly estimated, that thou wouldst
spurn me when, transported by my zeal,
I had rescued thy life, at the expense of
THE PAUTKUUE.
.ijj
my kinsman's ! This is hard to bear !" —
And Luke, turning away, pnaend^d to
be overcome witli emotion. Hercey's
guileless heart smote him for the harsh
return he was making to one who, at
any rate, had interposed between him
and destruction ; and approaching the
bloody hypocrite, he said, with tone and
manner greatly softened, " True, true,
Luke, I am wrong, I am ungratcfid to
upbraid thee for this terrible act ; surely
thou didst intend my preservation, and,
haply, but for thee, I had not lived to
chide thee: forgive my sharp speech ; —
But oh, man ! 'tis a deed earth will not
cover: — and then, Floralice — oh Luke,
Luke! his idolizing Floralice!'
" Need never know it ! — he hath treat-
ed her like the brute he ever was ; she is
shut up in the old Solitary Grange ; and
he left her with threats of a nunnery —
But see ! the lightning hath supplanted
the pale lady moon ; and this rain will
help to swell away the filthy puddle
yonder. Rouse ! rouse thee, Baldwin
Hercey, we must stow him away in the
templar's tomb ; were he five fathom in
the sea, he would not be so secure : and
to-morrow we will return to arrange this
matter finally."
Baldwin felt that he would rather
meet again old Anthony's uplifted glaive
— or, more dreadful still, his angry ghost,
than touch his murdered body. But
there was no remedy. Luke's arguments
were as resistless as sophistry could ren-
der them. He had killed Monkshaw, at
the critical moment, to save Hercey's
life, and right or wrong, it was now too
late to calculate: so that the unfortunate
Baldwin saw himself i)lunged into a sea
of difficulties, not only without having
the sorry privilege of reproaching the
author of his misfortune, but also, un-
der the hateful conviction, that to him he
was indebted for his very life.
'I'lie summer tempest, which had long
l>een bro(«liiig in the heavens, now burst
forth ; and under floods of rain, lanced
through and through by iiglitning shafts,
and resounding with the dread re(|uiem
of the thunder, — that fatal wood l)eheld
Uie miserable corpse inurned witliin
another'^ se|iulchre : and there it lay, a.s
grindy tr^ntjuil as the red effigy of the
templar alnive, amidst an elemental uj)-
roar wliicli hisleil the live-long night.
.Sir IS:d<lwin Hercey, who, iimoceMt as
be was, felt himself enveloju-d in his as-
Kociate'* mantle of guilt, followed Luke
Tyler to bin lodging ut IU>okby ; and
there, this ill-matched pair concerted the
bf<*t measures to be pursued in this
emergence.
Loud were the exclamations, and deep
the murmurs, not only in tlie neii;hbour-
hood, but even in King Edward's court,
when day upon day, and week upon week,
accumulating on the Grim I'ranklin's
sudden and mysterious absence, without
tidings of him in any quarter, darkened
at length into the confirmed belief that
he had met with foul play. \'igorous
measures of investigation were set on
foot, and only cut short by the insurrec-
tion which shook the kingdom and un-
throned the king. Breaking out almost
simultaneously with Anthony's strange
disajipearance, this public convulsion
soon swallowed up all minor occurences;
and, for the time, the Grim Franklin and
his fate vanished from men's minds and
tongues, as completely as though he had
never existed.
But who shall dare to draw aside the
veil from the hallowed aftiiction of the
devoted Floralice? who shall portray
what that aft'ectionate spirit underwent,
whose .sorrows at this mysterious be-
reavement, were empoisoned l>y the
recollection of that violent displeasure
under which she had parted from her
passionate but doating parent, never to
behold him more ?
Amidst the early desolation of her
grief, Floralice awaited with some impa-
tience, the aid and consolation of tl.e
only person who could render them
availing. But Sir Baldwin Hercey had
never been seen at the Grange since the
night on which Monkshaw disajjpeared.
She expressed her astonishment to
Master Luke, (who, l)y his officious
bustle, on the occasion, had much ingra-
tiated himselfwith the mourning heiress);
but that discreet kinsman ventured to
differ from her; and, for his jiart, thought
it was not at all extraordinary, consider-
ing the unhappy rupture existing so
openly between the late Franklin and
Sir Baldwin : and Luke even added, that
be considered it a great proof of .Sir
Baldwin's delicacy, that he forbore in-
truding ni«)n the .sorrows of Floralice,
knowing how unha|)pily the late events
must connect him in her mind with lier
father's misadventure.
There was something in this ambigu-
ous panegyric upon his friend, that, flow-
ing from Luke's lips, jarred strangely on
the heart of Floralice.
Not that she implicated Hercey in
the disapi)earance of her lather, lor a
single moment : she would os scMin have
swathed a smiling infant in the cerements
of a corjjse, as liave associated Baldwin
Hercey s name with treachery or violence.
No ! she knew him belter.
35G
THE PARTERRE.
Master Luke had now succeeded in
partly domesticating himself at Herons-
wood, to which, as her nearest relation,
Floralice had neither scruple nor ohjec-
tion to admit him.
Almost the first use, however, that
Floralice made of her accommodating
and right trusty kinsman's residence at
the Solitary Grange, was to dispatch him
with such a message as a well-born, high
dowered maiden might without disparage-
ment send to a dear and intimate friend,
whose counsel she was anxious to obtain.
Sir Baldwin liad withdrawn to the fine
old manor-house of Redford Hall, in
the vicinity of Warwick.
It was the last which a long course
of ancestral imprudence, and the civil
spoliation consequent upon unshaken
adherence to an unsuccessful cause, had
left to him of all his family estates.
Beautifully situated on a green bank,
rising softly from the river Learn, this
fair relic of manorial architecture still
stretches its long fajade of gables, porch,
and oriels, beneath its massive and aged
evergreens ; and, looking over the vale
to the castle and church of Warwick,
still courts the evening sunlight on its
feebly resplendent lattices, like some
brilliant revisitings from the feelings and
fancies of youth, upon the dimly lighted
musings of melancholy old age. The
place however is best adapted to the grey
and windy skies of autumn, or the deso-
late stillness of winter ; for June itself
can do nothing for those thick bowers,
where laurel, laurestinus, and box rear
their walls of living foliage, and immense
firs and yew-trees, piled over each other,
blot out the very heavens with a gloom no
sun can brighten, and no storm destroy.
Master Tyler sought the knight of
Redford, amidst the plots and labyrinths
of tlie quaint garden, and found him in one
of those arbours of lilac and honeysuckle
and sweetbriar, which Chaucer and Spen-
ser so much delight in painting. It
was thickly pleached with a twisted net-
work of branches, and projected over the
old stone wall, which marked off the
garden from the highway.
Hercey sate, half recumbent, on a
thick turf seat perfectly bejewelled with
daisies, and, at his side, slipped carelessly
from his hand, lay an open letter.
Tlie slanting rays of a September sun
fell in flakes ujjon his hair and cheek ;
and danced, in little yellow stars, on the
turf floor, as the faint zephyrs agitated
the fragrant foliage through which they
twinkled.
Sir Baldwin started up on perceiving
Master Luke, who, having resigned to a
menial the steed on which he had
performed his brief travel, had vainly
investigated the summer-hall, the dialled
grass-plat, the shady alley, and the sunny
margent of the old stone fountain, till at
length he stumbled upon the arbour, his
presence being the only token of his
approach.
" Tliou here, Luke?'' exclaimed Her-
cey, in a peevish tone; " I deemed not to
see thee again so soon i"
" Nor wished it, Baldwin Hercey, thou
wouldest have said ; but to shew I can
forgive discourtesy, even in thee — know
I bring thee good tidings."
" Ay ! as the raven did to the old
witch, when he told her on what gibbet
he had pecked out her son's eyes !''
" Whether I be the raven or thou the
old woman, certes the gibbet may apply
to both of us."
And Luke laughed a dreary, odious
laugh.
Hercey coloured violently.
" Darest thou then ? and to me ? me
who, but for certain foolish scruples,
might free myself from misery at once,
by delivering thee to the justice thou hast
so baffled — murderer !"
" I thought, Sir Baldwin ! we had
agreed not to miscall each other as touch-
ing that occurrence. In you it is scarcely
fair ; seeing you are to reap the harvest
thereof!"
"Oh! and such a harvest! — to find
myself even in imagination stained with
homicide, were evil enough ; but that
Floralice should be torn from me for ever
by the untimely destruction of the sole
obstacle that stood between us ! and Ihou
the destroyer ! — Luke Tyler, thou canst
not wonder that I hate thy very face!"
I do not wonder, thought Luke to
himself, as the cold cruel malice of his
eye gloated on the mournful amination
of Baldwin's glowing countenance ; I do
not wonder, for of a surety the thing
thou sayest, / have done ! You are
indeed separated for ever I Those high-
flown romantic scruples of thine, will be a
barrier more insuperable than his abhor-
ence! — She is for ever torn from thee ! and
the deed was mine — mine, and my master-
piece ! Master Tyler now spoke aloud.
" At any rate, Baldwin ! revile me not
now, for it was my beautiful kinswoman
commanded me to this unwelcome visit."
Thereupon, Luke delivered the mes-
sage from Floralice, and stood silent ;
devouring with his eyes the agitation of
Sir Baldwin, as if it were food for which
he ravened
THE PARTERRE.
•Jo7
'• I tcUl not see her I I cannot — I dare
not ! oh, pity me heaven, did ever inno-
cent man feel so guilty I"
"Nay! an' thou mend not tliy mood,
'twere mere madness to present thyself
before lier. I cannot fathom thy feel-
ings: hut this I tell thee; if I, Luke
Tyler, whose hand is still hot and red
with its revenge, were tu sit in judgment
on thee as thou lookest nuw — I should
say guilty, guilty, guilty!''
" Ay, and I am guilty ! Ask the
thimderings and the lightnings of that
dreadful night which saw me lielp thee
to conceal the deed, — if I am not guilty !
Demand of that Red Templar, from whose
ponderous and helmed jaws, I swear I
heard a crashing groan mingled with the
war of elements, — if I am not guilty I
Appeal to that tonih, profaned and dis-
turbed by our sacrilegious dejiosit, — if I
am not guilty ! The sanctity of the in-
violable wood, — the soft and innocent
tuif, loathing those strange stains, — tlie
offended eartli, the lamenting wind, the
rain that reluctantly washed away the
witness of the crime, all with one voice
pronounce the secret burier of the mur-
dered, an accomplice with the murderer/"
" Well ! I have done my fair cousin's
bidding ; and I am weary of the remorse
I do not share. What is to be my answer
to Mistress Floralice?"
" This!" replied Ilcrccy, putting into
Luke's hand the open missives that lay
on the arbour seat.
Tyler took it ; and as he read, his guile-
ful brow, for once, betrayed the surprise
its contents were calculated to |)roduce.
" Amazement 1 " he exclaimed ; " War-
wick, with his son-in-law, the young
George of Clarence, at the head of sixty
thousand men ? their standard raised
for Henry of Windsor, their numbers
daily increasing, and a decisive action
cxi)ecled immediately ? Why this in-
telligence might stir up the sleepers in
yon bloody warrior's sepulchre ! "
" Would it might awaken oiw at least !"
groaned Hercey.
" Marry, and amen ! if some obliging
hand would put me in his place, so I
might 'sc.ipe thy whining, lialdwin !
Well, give me my commission, and let
me begone. I have twelve miles to ride;
and these ini.ssivcH of thine contain mat-
ter to put a spur in my heel : but what
am I to say to Mistress Monkshaw?"
" .Say that my armour is furbished f<ir
liml>s that never (juailed under it before!
.Say that, ere thou reacheit Hermiswood,
my barb will have iHirne me tn the lield ;
a »wurd without an arm lo wieM it, jui
helmet that hides a distracted head, and
a breastplate that girds in a broken
heart ! "
" Trust me ! " said Master Luke, as
he spurred his steed up the shady road
that led beside the venerable steeple of
Otrdiurch ; " trust me, but I prosper !
Doth Fate smile upon the stroke of \'en-
geance ? Courage Luke ! if the battle
sweeps /liiii away, another of thine in-
sulters is removed ! Ah ! but the third
remains behind ! and her I so hate and
love at once, that I know not which to
follow : she hath beauty, she hath gold ;
she hath house and land; I must win
her therefore, and then — she hath Houted,
she hath spurned, she hath cast mo off
once, — but l/n-n let her look to herself !
I prosper ! I prosper I "
Thus soliloquising, Tyler rode furi-
ously towards the great highway to Dun-
church ; and as furiously must we goad
on our pen to the period immediately
succeeding the brief restoration of King
Henry, and Warwick's six months' admi-
nistration.
We may state then, in few words, that
Sir Uaidwin Hercey, so far from fullil-
ling his own melanclioly forebodings, had
been received with distinguished favour
at King Henry's, or rather Lord War-
wick's, court ; that rich portions of his
alienated estates had been restored to
him; and that, although he scrupulously
persisted in avoiding Heronswood Hall,
his influence with the victorious party
had been of the last importance in i)re-
serving from confiscation the vast posses-
sions of the old Yoi kist Monkshaw, which
had now centred in the loveliest damsel
that ever wished well to the White Rose.
Fickle fortune, however, soon fleeted
from the victorious bamier to the iluwn-
falleii crest; and the vermilion flower
of Lancaster flagged and failed (some
thought died) when /«• fell,
" The wrinkles of uliuae brows, then filled wilfi
bloo.1,
Wert- likened oft to kiiiuly »e|)ulclire» :
For who lived kin;;, bin hr could dii; his grave ;
And who durst smile when Warwick bent hin
brow I "
Luke Tyler, who, rich in malignity,
was now a miser of vengeance, had, dur-
ing the short-lived Lancastrian restor.i-
tion, conlined his nianiruvres to the
humblest and most patient cultivation of
Mistress Floralice's favour; and endea-
vours (often fruitless) to elude, flatter,
baflle, or holil at bay the iiiicoii<|ueral)le
aversion of .Sir Kahluiii Hercey, whose
then flourishing st;ile placed him etpially
above his lull I c'i and lievond his feiii.
358
THE rARTEIlRK,
But now things wore a different as-
pect. The Red Rose was trampled down:
starlike, and with enhanced lustre, the
White Rose glittered above the throne.
Hercey was disgraced, beggared and out-
lawed. All his hopes of the hand and
wealth of Floralice (though higher than
ever, if fhe were to be consulted) were
now shut out for ever by his own proud
delicacy, no mean auxiliary to his horror
of the irremediable past !
Justly, therefore, did Luke Tyler ap-
prehend that, thus left without hope or
aim, Sir Baldwin might, at length, in
the anguish of his heart, pour out the
intolerable load that had so long weighed
down his conscience, and at one stroke
reduce Luke's detestable machinations
to dust.
In offering once more his person and
fortune (the latter not a little aggrandized
by his skilful fishing in troubled waters)
to Floralice Monkshaw, Master Tyler
was not unduly influenced by sanguine
expectations of success.
He meant it, as a kind of gracious
overture, on his part, by which his hatred
to Baldwin might be spared further trou-
ble ; and he himself be the consort of
Mistress Monkshaw's wealth, before he
broke her heart to become its heir. Then
Baldwin might babble if he chose ; who
would impugn the wealthy Yorkist?
The outlaw might impeach him if he
durst ; who would believe a Lancastrian
beggar ? It was in Luke's self-applaud-
ing eyes a ready way of severing that
gordian knot of wickedness, whose viper
folds began to weary, if not to disgust
even himself.
When, therefore, his overtures were
received wit'n incredulous contempt,
Luke Tyler adroitly shifted his ground,
and, hiding in his vest the arrow which
had twice pierced him, till such time as
he could hurl it back tenfold poisoned,
he continued to endure, and even court,
the constrained civilities of Floralice at
the Solitary Grange.
But Floralice, whose intolerance of
disguise overcame the very slight respect
she entertained towards her indefatigable
cousin, soon intimated to him that his
farther residence at Hcronswood might
be dispensed with : and thus the cowardly
shifting villain, so long lingering on the
very brink of his design, was, at once,
precipitated into it.
The spot, over which a secresy so im-
penetrable had now brooded, for upwards
of six months ; the spot, where the bloody
and unblessed remains of Anthony Monk-
shaw were concealed by the murderer and
his involuntary accomplice, was much
nearer the Solitary Grange than its inha-
bitants either imagined or would have
wished.
From the Bloody Templar's Tomb
there extended that uniform appendage
to the manor-house of olden time, a
subterraneous passage ending in a vault,
which had a secret stair communicating
with the Great Hall at Heronswood.
The existence of this oubliette was not
generally known ; Luke had discovered
it during his sojourn in the Solitary
Grange ; and Floralice had occasionally
made use of it in her clandestine inter-
views with Sir Baldwin.
Of course, this place of darkness did
not escape tlie general search that ensued
on old Anthony's disappearance ; but
terror, at the dreadful character it had
obtained in the Grange, and its vicinity,
rendered its investigation too hurried and
suprerficial for the detection of its horrible
secret. .
Meanwhile, the ill-fated Hercey, now
under sentence of outlawry, after wan-
dering about in every variety of privation
since that fatal battle, that seemed to
enshroud the glory of Lancaster for ever,
had returned to visit, for the last time,
that place so identified with his happiness
and misery, the Templar's Monument.
He had resolved on quitting England, to
join the shattered following of Queen
Margaret at her father's court, and there
to shape for himself the best way of ter-
minating with honour a life overburthened
with despair.
Luke Tyler encountered Sir Baldwin
on his return into Warwickshire, imme-
diately after that worthy had been a second
time scornfully rejected by Mistress
Floralice.
His measures being now fully matured
in his own wicked brain, Luke put forth
all his wit to overreach this poor broken-
hearted young man. Bowed as he was .
by misfortune, and rendered accessible
to the least shew of kindness, Baldwin
communicated to Tyler all his future
plans ; the only feature of which, that
Luke thought worthy of notice, was the
knight's intention to do penance at the
unhonoured grave of Monkshaw ; and he
eagerly made himself acquainted with the
very day and hour, promising to join him
in his devotions there.
In short, before they parted, Luke
Tyler had so practised upon his unhappy
companion, that Hercey more than ever
upbraided himself for this unjustifiable
disgust and aversion (as he considered it),
which had actuated his conduct towards
THE PARTE HUE.
350
Tyler ever since the night of Moiikshaw's
murder; he even took to himself the
guilt of that bloodshed, in which he felt
convinced that, but for him, Luke would
never have embrued liis hands.
Alas ! how often does Innocence wou«\d
itself with imaginary imjjutations, while
Wickedness hardens into unconsciousness
of crime !
The day when Sir Baldwin Ilerccy
was to do penance in the vault now
arrived.
Luke Tyler appeared, that day, with
downcast looks before the presence of
Floralice. He had signified liis intention
of removing his liateful presence from
Heronswood, for ever ; and, thougli Flo-
ralice felt it difficult to grieve at liis de-
parture, still his meek demeanour and
silvery speech had succeeded in making
her, as well as his other victim, think that
he was too hardly used.
Floralice even so far overcame a severity
not natural to her, as to oHer many ex-
pressions of good-will towards her cousin
Luke.
Tills was to be their parting interview.
" Methinks my worthy kinsman is
more sad than his departure from a
house, so little pleasurable, can warrant?''
"I am sadder, my fair cousin! (whom
I may not, alas! call dear) — I am sadder
tiian even banishment from this Eden,
whose angel is my foe, could render me !"
" Some rare cause, then," (juotli Flo-
ralice, with an irony she found it impos-
sible to repress, " halh extended Master
Tyler's sphere of sorrow beyond him-
self!"
" Rare indeed I since few bemoan the
downfal of a rival !"
Floralice was checked in an instant :
her face became a-sliy pale, and tlien
blood-red. Luke thought her llnohbing
Ixfsom would have burst her velvet bo-
dice, as he continued:
«' I have just left Sir Baldwin Her-
cey !"
The lips of Floralice moved and parted,
but no sound reached them, and, pale as
death, she grew again.
" And, in sueli wretchedness of heart
and form," pursued Luke, " tiiat little
as I have cause to love him"
" Thou hast noiic to hate him, I wot
well I" hoarsely murmured Floralice.
" None ? — Would tlie scorn so deadly
lM:autiful, from lips which liave twice
slain me, have l)een half so bitter, but for
liim ? — Woulrl that eye — sun of my life! —
hhine m) coldly on my di-s|)nir, but that
Sir Baldwin Herccy claims its undivided
rayn? — What makcn that cheek, which.
when I said farewell, beamed like tlie
heavens upon the halcyon's nest — now
overcast like a summer tempest ? The
very name of Hercey I — What over-
balances our various fortunes, so that liis
bare foot-print, in the sand of thy court-
yard, is dearer to thee than all the biavcry
of my sunny state? What ? — but that he
is Baldwin Ilercey, — and "
" And thou, Lide Ti/lcr f burst forth
the provoked and insulted Floralice. " 1
had not thought to stoop again to talk
like this ; nor will I longer brook it I
Thou hast dared — audacious ! — to descant
upon my preferences. Thus far then,
hear me I — If, as thou hast most impu-
dently affirmed, I do esteem Sir Baldwin
Hercey higher than all the world beside,
remember that my choice stands not so
much between him and other men, as
between every quality that might ennoble
manhood, and every stain that can dis-
grace it I "
And the incensed lady burst into tears
of ofiended pride and wounded afl'ection.
Luke felt the taunt, and it steeled him
against the tears
" 1 am ill at applying sarcasms, lady I
but let us part friends, and the rather as
I shall be no longer an impediment"
" Insolent ! "
" Cousin, you do me wrong I " I am
only sorrowful, and that makes men
sour. But, if I had foreseen this, I would
not have done Sir Baldwin's bidding so
readily."
" His bidding ("
" Yes ! he besought me to deliver this,
as his parting token, to his lady love I "
Floralice gazed in bewildered suspense,
as Luke, after some delay, drew from his
bosom the superb collar of suns and roses,
that princely badge which her father had
so ostentatiously cheiislied, and which had
never been discovered since his murder.
" Merciful heaven ! it is my jioor fa-
ther's worshijijied and sole ornament !
from that he never would have parted
while in life; oh! till now, I had some hope
— till now, the grave seemed not to have
closed on him! — but this — this mortal
token shuts out the last feeble glimmer
for ever ! — Oh, good, kind l^uke ! forgive,
forgive my vehemence ; and tell me the
meaning of this horrible enigma ! "
" Thai, my sweet coz. must ask of Sir
Baldwin Hercey; at his hands 1 received
it. How it chanced to pass from your
sire, who cherished it so highly, to the
man he hated most of all 'in eaith, .Mis-
tress Floralice must judge— judge, too,
whether Hercey '^ long sell'-exile from a
hnuHC and lieurl which waited his beliest,
3G0
THE PARTERRE.
be not the enigma which this gay bauble
solves ! Farewell ! "
" Stay, in mercy stay, thou man of
power ! wliether for good or evil, I know
not. Tell me but this ! sent he no mes-
sage — no word of comfort?"
" Marry ! Comfort would travel ill in
mij company, lady ! The affliction that
shook him was deeper than I could fa-
tliom ; and the speech he employed darker
than I could interpret. But tliyself mayst
question with him. "
" I ? — Oh, excellent kinsman ' tell me
but how — but where!'''
" Nay! ofa surely— no how, and no
whL're--if /)!.« will be consvdted. I war-
rant Baldwin Hcrcey would rather meet
the grand Fiend than thee, in the place
wliore he now is ! ''
" Oh, where?'
" Beneath the Bloody Templar's Mo-
nument ! "—
'■ Ha!'^
" In the secret passage, imder the
meadow; — in that airless vault, by that
dark recess ; — with a mouldering corse ;
— a murdered man ; — thy Father !
And now, woman, if thoii knowest not
how to avenge Anthony Monkshaw's
miu'der, his kinsman does ! "
Luke Tyler almost yelled out this
speech with choaking rapidity ; and his
whole appearance resembled what we
imagine of the great enemy, vanishing
from the victim he has ensnared and
ruined. He rushed out of the room, and,
in another moment, his horse's hoofs were
heard thundering through the broad-
ribbed gateway of the solitary Grange.
Floralice stood in that ancient cham-
ber, like her who bent her last glance on
the doomed cities of the Dead Sea ; the
doomed, — but how delightful once, and
still how dear I
Recollection's slow return, however,
brought back the menaces of Tyler, and
with them, such lively pictures of danger
to her bosom's treasure, that the neces-
sity of instant exertion chased the throng-
ing shadows of horror from her brain,
like one master-spirit controlling the
subordinate demons. That passage ! well
she knew it. By its dismal path had
she sped to Sir Baldwin, when every
otlier outlet from the Solitary Grange
was closed ; and the Grim Franklin
dreamed that his deep moat and inex-
orable gates had secured all.
Swift as flame from vapour, Floralice
started from her trance ; hurried on her
cloak and hood, and darted into the so-
lary, through whose latticed arcade the
noon-day sun and gale were playing with
the creepers which treillaged its moidd-
ings, and quivering, in delicate shade-
work, over its gaily tesselated pavement.
She sped do%vn the open staircase into
the court ; congratulated herself that it
was empty ; and then, with trembling
eager hand, pushed open the massive
door of the great hall. It had never
been used, scarcely entered since Monk-
shaw's murder ; its air was close and
heavy like a vault, and its aj)pearance,
never very cheerful at the best, was wrapt
in that drear character of gloom and
bereavement and solitude, which sinks
the heart and intimidates the eye. To
Flcralice, the gorgeous but dead images
on its arras, and the silently resplendent
pictures in its windows, seemed too many
witnesses in that void, abandoiied room.
Ascending the two broad steps that, tra-
versing the upper end of the hall, formed
the elevated platform entitled The Dais,
Floralice entered a colossal oriel, whose
narrow alcove opened at the head of the
high table ; and, pressing the floor in
one of its angles, a panel, behind the
massy court cupboard, gave way, and
ushered her down those long steps she
had so often trodden with far different
feelings. In former times it was only
the gloom of night, and the Solitary
Grange, and the Grim Franklin she was
leaving behind, and love and hope lent
both light and speed to her steps ; but
now, as she quitted the fair healthy beam
of day, disporting in happy colours on
all around, with feet stumbling in dark-
ness, and with a heart, wliose high beat-
ings excited by the horrors she had just
heard, were only stilled by apprehensions
of those she anticipated, poor Floralice
felt as though she were going down to
her own grave — home and hope, life and
joy, shut out from her for ever. Now,
as with difficulty she threaded the dismal
mazes of the souterrain, the expectation
of the horror she was to behold, while it
filled her soul with feelings she herself
covdd not define, was inseparably mixed
up with one ruling impulse ; and that
was, at any sacrifice, and any peril, to
save Sir Baldwin, whom tlie parting
words of Luke Tyler so darkly threat-
ened.
Tliat gentleman, it will be imagined,
did not vent such words for empty air.
He posted away to Dunchurch, laid his
charge before the worshipful Justice
Caxton — and so naturally acted the zeal
of a man prosecuting the nnirder of a
near kinsman, upon an accidental dis-
covery of the murderer — and so artfidly
worked upon the worthy magistrate who
Tin: PARTEKRE.
SCI
had ohtiiincd liis cuminissiun under tlic
White Rose, and w;is a personal iVioiid
of Anthony .Monkshaw, tliat, bc-roio even-
ing had lengthened the shadows of tlic
great ehn, ^Sl.ister Caxton, with a suffi-
cient coniitatus approached the dreaded
precincts of tlie Templar's Monument ;
Luke himself acting as tlieir guide
through the formidable sepulchre into
the soutcrrain.
The spectacle, which ass;iiled their
eyes in the vault, might well stretch to
tlie utmost every feeling of horror and
compassion — for there, dindy seen by the
lampliglit, stood Sir Baldwin, the image
of unutterable woe, Floralice fainting in
his arms, and at his feet the bloody, pu-
trefying, and unshroudcd remains of the
mnrilered Monkshaw.
We would fain liasten over this scene,
to which we feel our powers utterly in-
competent ; but there was one incident
which claims to be recorded.
At the direction of Master Tvler,
whose wishes were imjilicitly followed by
the much shocked magistrate, Floralice,
still insensible, had been conveyed, under
the care of her summoned attendants,
b.ick to Herc.-nswood; the sad remains of
the once redoubtable Franklin were also
removed to his Solitary Ginnge ; and .Sir
Baldwin Hercey, disarmed and strong-
ly guarded, was escorted to Warwick,
there to await the result of the inquest.
Luke Tyler and the magistrate were
the last to quit the soutcrrain ; they
had arrived at the bottom of the long
flight of steps which led upwards into
the bloody templar's tomb. The sul-
len swoofs of wind through the long
p.issage behind them, sounded most
appalling, and, on the damp stcjis,
which they now began to ascend, the
daylight fell in streams of silver and
elx)ny — a weltering, cold, and spectral
lustre, like l!ie nioonbeam.
They continued the toilsome .iscent,
till the broken side of the sujiulchre dis-
closed its orifice, with the green thicket
beyond ; when, on a sudden, Luke grasp-
ed his companion's arm convulsively.
Master (,'axton turned, and saw his face
working with spasms, and his hair erect
on his dewy brow ; while his eyes were
Ntrained upward through the opening by
which the unwelcome daylight intruded;
and his limbs v) utterly failed him, that
it required all the nerve of the worthy
justice, to get him up the remaining
steps into the oi)en air. 'I'liere Luke
soon recovered ; recent circumstances
easily accounted for his indisposition ;
and he himself treated il lightly, but it
was neither light nor trilling ; for, to his
eyes, manifest as the daylight which it
obstructed, a Jigurc of L^iaiit staliiif oiul
stativnrt tiinb, arrayed in a tawny lealhei n
jerkin, and a ctoa/c of ruisrt serge, with a
fox fur tippet about bis shoulders, a collar
of blazing suns and roses upon his breast ;
a red morion, blackened trith time stains,
hoeerinii over a livid, grisly haired, stony
face, anil, in his ?ieck, th<.' mortal gash,
occupied the broken aperture of the
lem|dar's tomb.
They passed on through the wood,
and over the very meadow, where Tyler
had been so grossly insulted by I\Ionk-
shaw. The towers of the solitary Grange
stood in naked outline against the blue
sky, their gaunt uncouth features mock-
ing the imgenial umbrage of their decre-
pid pine trees.
At length Master Tyler and his com-
panion reached the tower which defended
the bridge of Ileroiiswood Hall ; when
a similar epilei)sy. the second time, seized
upon the conscience-stricken Luke : and
again those dead eyes, half veiled with
grisly hair, glared from underneath that
dark red cap ; and again the fox fur
tijjpct and the tawny and russet clothes,
contributed their visionary attributes, so
horribly mocked by the phantom glories
of the I'lantagenet collar, to that angry,
ajjparition, whose well known figiu'e
needed no herald to Tyler's blood-stained
sold.
This time the wretched Liikc was so
far overcome, that he sank down imder
the archway, and was carried almost
insensible to a bed chamber, followed
by a degree of commiseration from those
who witnessed his disorder, almost equal
to that which they bestowed on their
most miserable, but innocent mistress.
The well known circumstance of the
factionary enmity, between Anthony
ISIonkshaw, and Sir I'aklwin Ilcrcey,
combined with the discovery of the latter
in such an extraordinary situation, by
the dead corse of his supposed victim,
was backed by more than sufHcient false
witness on the j>art of Luke I'yler, to
overwhelm an innocent man ; even if
that man had not been a distinguished
object of suspicion to the government.
Luke, partly from covetousness, and
partly with a view to th.at ulterior use,
to which at length he applied it, had, on
the very night of the murder, carefully
secured old Anthony's sun and rose
collar.
So far from his having been intrusted
with il by Sir Baldwin, it is a (|uestioii,
whether th.it devoted being refnendiere<l
362
THE PARTERRE.
its existence. And, as to Floralice, Her-
cey had not indulged his lips even with
her name, during his last interview with
Tyler ; and he had prepared himself for
voluntary exile from all his affections
and all his hopes, in calm uncomplaining
heroism ; strong in the panoply of inno-
cence, and consoled by feeling that Flo-
ralice never would believe him guilty.
But the unslumbering justice of heaven
provided for him a happier fate.
If Sir Baldwin had any reason to
apprehend that Floralice's confidence in
him was staggered upon the first break-
ing out of this shocking affair; if in
their most unexpected interview in the
oubliette of the Solitary Grange, the
agony of Floralice, at the first sight of
her slaughtered parent, had extorted
from her such bitter and vehement re-
proaches against her guiltless lover, as
to send him in proud and despairing
silence to his dungeon at Warwick ; yet,
to that very dungeon, did Consolation
follow him with her balmy chalice, and
Fortitude stood a championess sheathed
in adamant at his side.
Generosity's martyr to the last, Bald-
win resolved that the fatal truth should
descend with him to his grave ; not only
from a rational conviction that any
attempt to rebut the accusation, so wel-
come to the ruling party, and so reck-
lessly impledged by Luke Tyler, would
be fruitless ; but also, from a desire that
the heart of Floralice, already so deeply
lacerated, should not be further wounded
by a late and unavailing proof of his
innocence.
As for that unhappy lady herself, — no
sooner had she rallied from the conse-
quences of that heart-scathing scene in
the Templar's Vault, than not only her
love, but her judgment, pronounced it
impossible that Baldwin Hercey should
be the miscreant he was represented by
Liuke Tyler.
The die however was cast ; the coroner's
verdict had consigned Sir Baldwin to a
public trial for murder : any attempt at
an interview with her devoted lover was
on all hands impossible ; and Floralice,
•left to the only resource for the helpless,
besieged heaven day and night with
prayers that the guilty, and the guilty
alone, might be punished.
Master Luke Tyler had, during this
interval, greatly withdrawn himself from
public ; which was the less remarked, as
he was the nearest male kinsman to the
deceased, and the principal witness for
the impending trial.
It was not generally known however.
that, although he resided at the Solitary
Grange, Floralice had pertinaciously re-
fused to see him, till the day preceding
the trial of Sir Baldwin : and of that
interview, extorted from the mourning
orphan by his importunity, little was
generally divulged, save that Master Luke
came forth from the presence of Floralice,
a stricken and blasted man, and that the
leech who was hastily summoned to his
assistance, had great diflSculty in restor-
ing him.
It did not transpire till afterwards,
that Phyllis, who had entered the room
upon a piercing bitter cry from her mis-
tress, declared that in the tapestried par-
lour, manifested by such sombre light,
as one high casement fretted with blazon-
ries admitted, she beheld the apparition
of her murdered master, with all his
dreadful paraphernalia, the gory gash in
his neck, the huge red cap, the fox fur-
tippet, the tawny jerkin, the russet cloak,
and the grand golden collar : he stood in
the centre of the apartment ; his clothes
and face blood-bedabbled ; his counte-
nance frozen and livid ; and his right
arm extended towards Floralice, who lay
fainting on the floor.
Whether this was, or was not, merely
a spectral illusion, such as the harrowing
and exciting character of the recent trans-
actions might very naturally produce,
we cannot tarry to discuss.
Certain it is, that the same power
which took off the wheels from the
chariots of the Egyptians, after he had
permitted them to plunge undaunted into
the abysm of the Red Sea, only to over-
whelm them in more inevitable destruc-
tion, — had now made bare his holy arm.
When Luke Tyler was called upon to
give his evidence before the high court of
justice, assembled to try this solemn cause,
— all his acquaintance were astonished at
his altered appearance. His demure and
placid demeanour was gone ; his eye roved
to and fro round the vast hall of judg-
ment, — from the pavement of upturned
human faces, to the ribbed and arched
oak ceiling ; from the gothic windows
flaming with sun-purpled robes of prelates
and princes, to the scarlet-mantled judge,
and the gorgeous magnates of the county
at his side, who had been attracted by the
deeply pregnant interest of the cause. —
His suit of rich mourning habiliments,
was singularly marred by the hasty dis-
order, in which it had been put on ; — a
neglect most striking in one, who had
hitherto been remarkable for the precision
of his dress.
When, however, he was requested by
THE PAUTERUE.
963
the judge to state wliat he knew of this
dark aSair, Luke seemed completely to
have recovered his selt-possessioii. He
commenced in a low, clear, and not un-
musical voice, by expressing his rejjret
at being called upon to testify against
one, whom, till lately, he had held most
dear.
Some further glossing about duty to
his kinsman, regard to public justice,
and so forth, brought him at last to the
commencement of his story ; the begin-
ning of the end, as it might well be
termed.
" Every inducement, both natural and
moral, ray lord ! urged me to do my en-
deavour in hunting out the perpetrators
of this foul deed, ere these last troubles
shook the land, and public justice veiled
her head before domestic war. When
the peace, for wiiich we are now blessing
our prosperous, happy king, had given
men leisure to think of their own atfairs,
my head and heart were sorely exercised
by distracted musings upon my poor lost
kinsman. At length, my lord ! I had a
dream ."
Luke had proceeded thus far, with his
eyes obstinately bent upon the earth :
here he raised, and directed them to-
wards the judge, and in so doing, his
voice was as suddenly arrested as if he
had receiTed a blow across his mouth ;
he stopped, trembled, and gazed earnestly
at the judgment-seat ; but he mustered
effort to suppress his emotion, and, once
more casting down iiis eyes, proceeded
with his fictitious narrative ; but now he
became so confused, so winding, and so
obscure, that the judge called upon him
to be more concise and lucid iu his state-
ments.
Tyler's eye answered the judge's ap-
peal ; and again a violent shudder, as of
some suppressed sensation, that shook
his very life within him, pervaded his
whole frame, and he said in hurried
tones : —
" .'\Iy lord, it is impossible for me to
proceed, while that old man in the red
cap is glaring and mowing at me from
yonder lattice ! "
He pointed upward, to a feature of
domestic architecture very common in
those buildings, and which I have myself
seen at old Il.iddon Hall, and the castles
of Tamworth and Naworth ; namely, a
wide shallow lattice, of dusky greenish
glovs high up in the lofty wall, and com-
municating either with a chaml>er, a
closet, or a gallery, on the other ^ide ;
by the means of whicli, persons from
above had the privilege of observing
(themselves unseen) whatever was going
on in the hall below.
Every eye now turned, in wondering
expectation, to the lattice, which, dull
and dark, from its interior situation, ex-
hibited a singular contrast to the other
windows, whose coloured and burnished
glass neighboured nearer to the sun.
Nothing, however, was then discerni-
ble beyond the gloomy i)anes.
Still, many a hind there was who,
when lie talked over that day's events by
his winter hearth, or among his com-
panions at the sheepcote, used to afhrm
that a huge red morion, and grisly hair
and beard, and dead staring eyes, and
hollow, stony jaws, were to be traced on
the other side of that umbered lattice.
The trial proceeded : matters, how-
ever, seemed to grow more hopelessly
confounded with Master Tyler. He no
longer pursued his story witii downcast
eyes, but darted them hither and thither,
like lightning, as at first. Rambling,
too, and incoherent was his talk.
Nothing but the vital importance of
his evidence, and compassion for his
emotion (which was only too charitably
interpreted), would have induced the
court to listen to him.
When the rose and sun collar was
produced, and Luke was asked if he
knew it,
" Ay, well enough, well enough, I
know it ! "
" Had he seen Master Anthony Monk-
shaw wear it ? "
"Have I seen him wear it? shame,
shame, my lord ! why do you ask mc?
do you not see he is wearing it now ?
What mockery is this, to bewilder a
man's brains already crazed with sorrow?
Ask himself all about it : tie is at t/oitr
side, and he can tell t/ou ! — nay ! do not
whisper with him ! — beware your ermine,
my lord judge ! the Franklin's throat
hath bloodied his old fox fur ; — faugh !
— see now ! — faugh ! — how it has smirched
your tippet ! — ah, hah ! the judge him-
self bloody ! nay, then, good night to
justice ! she ought to be spotless, they
say."
The presiding judge, together with
the whole range of m.ignates on the
bench, arose in the utmost consternation,
but amidst a breatlilcss hush in that ap-
palled assembly, the frantic man jiro-
ceeded.
" No! no! believe him not, he hath a
favour to the prisoner I Sir Uahlwin hnth
Ixiuglit him off! he will say anything —
111- will say, — liush ' what ll<tt•^ he sjiy ?^
False, false, lord judge I — I did not strike
36 i
THE PARTERRE.
the blow — it was not murder, — it was in
self defence — it was for my friend, it was
7iot, not, not murder !"
Terrific was the energy with which
Luke uttered the word murder ; and it
was on his lips, when he fell backward in
strong convulsions.
What eye, that turned from this
heaven-smitten wretch, to the fettered
prisoner, could fail of admitting the con-
viction of his innocence into the inmost
heart !
Baldwin's own sorrows, his own im-
pending doom, were all lost in unfeigned
commiseration for agonies himself could
never experience.
Beauty is, in itself, a more powerful
advocate with us than we often choose
to acknowledge ! when conbined with
worth, it becomes truly powerful ; but
when exhibited in the person of a gene-
rous, uncomplaining, innocent sufferer, it
is irresistible ; — you would clasp it to your
heart, — you would lay your life at its
feet.
Among the haughty magnates on the
judgment seat, Sir Baldwin Hercey had
distinguished many, the bitterest antago-
nists of his political opinions ; but when,
on the removal of the dying Luke, — Sir
Baldwin's manly and modest narrative
was heard, — not even the judge himself
was more forward in descending from his
state, to congratulate the knight on his
acquittal, — than those noble champions
of the White Rose, to clasp the right
hand of a calumniated and high-minded
adversary.
Why more words ?
Luke Tyler expired in frantic out-
pourings of remorse. The outlaw was
restored : on many a rich manor did the
golden coffers of the lady Floralice Hercey
rebuild the ruined mansions with ten-
fold magnificence. Heronswood Hall
was abandoned to ivy and jillyflowers,
and thieves and gypsies ; and to this
day the peasantry affirm that the red cap
of old Anthony Monkshaw, may be seen
in twilight, glooming over his grey locks,
and staring eyes, from the hollow and
melancholy window frames of The Soli-
tari/ Grange.
NOTICES OF NEW BOOKS.
ABBOTSFORn AND NEWSTEAD.
Under this very " catching title,'' Mr.
Washington Irving gives us a good deal
of gossip about Sir W. Scott and Lord
Byron. There is a clap-trap in this
whicli is quite imwortliy a writer of Mr.
Irving's reputation ; but it has no doubt
sei'ved the purpose of both author and'
publisher, and as the book contains plenty
of extractable matter, the reviewers have
of course been lavish in their praises.
By the bye, we wish to know why Ab-
botsford stands before Nevvstead : does
Mr. Irving consider Sir Walter the
greater genius ? if so, we believe he will
not find many Englishman, or foreigners,
of the same opinion. There is more ex-
quisite sentiment in a stanza of Don Juan,
than in three volumes of Scott, (admirers
as we are of nearly all that he has written) ;
not that we commend Don Juan as a
poem, or recommend it to the perusal of
our children ; we merely mention it be-
cause we consider it to contain passages
far surpassing those which have been
lauded in " Childe Harold." But to re-
turn to the work which has led us into
these remarks: it contains many anecdotes
of Scott and Byron, which will doubtless
be read with interest ; and as the book
registers no friendly scandal, we hope to
find that it has obtained a favourable
reception from the lovers of this kind of
gossip. The following passage is taken
from the paper entitled " Lake Leman
and its associatiotis.''
" The mornmg after my arrival at the
inn, which is placed (a little distance
from Geneva)on the margin of the lake, I
crossed to the house which Byron inhabit-
ed, and which is almost exactly opposite.
The day was calm but gloomy, the waters
almost without a ripple. Arrived at the
opposite shore, you ascend, by a some-
what rude and steep ascent, to a small
village, winding round which, you come
upon the gates of the house. On the
right-hand side of the road, as you thus
enter, is a vineyard, in which, at that
time, the grapes liung ripe and clustering.
Within the gates are some three or four
trees, ranged in an avenue. Descending
a few steps, you see in a small court be-
fore the door, a rude fountain ; it was
then dried up — tlie waters had ceased to
play. On either side is a small garden
branching from the court, and by the
door arc rough stone seats. You enter a
small hal), and, thence, aji apartment
containing three rooms. The principal
one is charming, — long, and of an oval
shape, with carved wainscoting — the
windows on three sides of the room com-
mand the most beautiful views of Geneva,
the lake, and its opposite shores. They
open upon a terrace paved with stone ;
on that terrace how often lie must have
' watched with wistful eyes the setting
sun I It was heie that he was in ripest
THE PAIU'ERUE.
365
maturity of Iiis genius — in the most
interesting epadi of his life. lie h.id
passed tlie bridge that severed him from
his country, but the bridge was not yet
brolwen down. He had not yet been
enervated by the soft south. His luxuries
were still of the intellect — his sensualism
wiis yet of nature— his mind had not
faded from its youthfulness and vigour —
his was yet the season of hope rather than
of performance, and the world dreamt
more of what he would be than what he
had been.
" His works (the Paris edition) were
on the table. Himself was everywhere !
Near to this room is a smaller cabinet,
very simply and ruilely furnished. On
one side, in a recess, is a bcd,^-on the
other, a door communicates with a ilress-
ing-room. Here, I was told, he was
chiefly accustomed to write. Ami what
works? ' Manfred,' and the most beauti-
ful stanzas of the third canto of 'Childe
Harold,' rush at once upon our memory.
You now ascend the stairs, and pass a
passage, at the end of which is a window,
commanding a superb view of the Lake.
The passage is hung with some curious
but wretched portraits. Francis I , Diana
of Poitiers, and Julius .Scaliger among
the rest. You now enter his bed-room.
Nothing can be more homely than the
furniture ; the bed is in a recess, and in
one corner an old walnut-tree bureau,
where you mav still see written over some
of the compartments, ' I>etters of Lady
U .' His imaginary life vanishes be-
fore this simple l.ibel ; and all the weari-
ness and all the disappointment of his
real domestic life, come sadly upon you.
You recal the nine executions in one
year — the aiuioyance and the bickering,
and the estrangement, and the gossip
scandal of the world, and the ' IJroken
Household Gods ' Men may moralize
as they will, but misfortunes cause error,
and atone for it."
NOTES OF A HEADER.
AS ISCIDKNT AT SRA.
Each day reduced, in rapid strides, the
span <jf our voya^'c, and we began to
think of other and diHlrent scenes. The
Venus was putting on her holiday attire;
her suit of sails were changed, lier to|)-
rnasts were scraped and fresh gre;Lsed,
her rigging set up and newly " rattled
down,'' and lier sides were in course of
painting, while she pursued her impetu-
(»us course, at the rate of eight miles in
the hour, through the yielding waters.
GraciuuM heaven* ' what sound is
th.at ! The ship heels to the wind, aiul
the curling waters iu'her wake deline, by
a circuitous trail, a deviation from her
course. The captain's voice is hurried
and imperative, and the confusion on
deck bespeaks an urgent aaid a desperate
cause.
We hastened from the cabin as soon
as we could recover ourselves from Ihe
leeward part of it, where we had l)oen
suddenly conveyed by the heeling of the
vessel. 'I'lie crew were collected at the
after part of the quarter-deck, hastily
preparing one of the quarter-lMats; every
thing indicated consternation and alarm.
" Cut away, my lads! — stand by (o
pimip in," exclaimed Captain Dove.
A heavy, deep-drawn sigh called our
attention in a dirterent direction — it was
IVIrs. Gluimbs uii herfi-et.
•' Dear me ! what a shocking thing!"
she exclaimed, as we exchanged a liasty
and iiuiuiring look, and some big round
drops started at the moment from her
eyes ; " I fear there's no chance !''
" Lower away handsomely," continued
the captain ; and the boat descended to
the surface with six of the crew. " Now
then, my lads, pull away! — starboard
your helm — there, straight as you go ;"
and every eye was directed to one point,
every heart throbbing responsive to the
sound of the oars, and the rocking mo-
tion of the boatmen.
The ship had been brought round
suddenly, and without preparation, the
moment the cries of two men, who had
suddenly fallen overboard, called atten-
tion to their situation ; but so great was
her velocity, with all sail set going be-
fore the wind, that by the time her pro-
giess v/as stopped, their heads were
scarce to be seen at tlie opposite point of
a semi-circle of dcuU water, which marked
the course she had taken, and the inter-
vening waves occasionally hid them from
our view. The men in the boat, being
so much nearer the surface, coidd not
behold even the heads of their unfortu-
nate shipmates: they pulled towards the
spot by conjecture, or by the direction
given to them by the captain at starting;
and we continued to watch their progress
with intense anxiety, and with appre-
hension that the objects of our solicitude
woidd be exhausted before a.ssistancc
cutdd be all'orded them.
There are times when all the faculties
of the human soul seem to assiune a co--
ordinate rank, luul to converge, to con-
centrate, and interfuse one with another,
as if in unison of (lurpose to proiluce one
great efliirt, otie intense and indivisiblu
366
THE PARTEHRE,
feeling; no matter wliether of hope or
fear, joy or sorrow, love or hatred, as
each in turn may require the co- opera-
tion of the whole, or when all, save one,
become so paralysed or subordinate in
action, that we cease to be under their
respective influence. It was thus we
stood assembled together on the deck,
scarce conscious of each other's presence,
all absorbed by one feeling, all intent on
one purpose : the sails were left flapping
in the wind, and the wind whistled
mournfully through the rigging, as if
performing a dirge over the departed.
At length doubts were entertained whe-
ther the heads of the unfortunate seamen
were yet to be seen : " I can only see
one" exclaimed Captain Dove, who had
stationed himself on the mizen rigging,
to have a more extensive view, " and the
boat is approaching the spot ; it is now
pulling in a different direction."
" Oh ! I fear it's too late," observed
Mrs. Glumbs.
" It turns again," continued the cap-
tain, " and now stops."
" They have got them, they are taking
them into the boat," said one of the
crew.
It was evident they were not pulling,
and that some were standing up, but we
could not discern their motions distinct-
ly : they resumed their seats, and pulled
towards the ship — Captain Dove de-
scended to the deck.
Hope and fear contended for the mas-
tery over us, as the boat approached.
We could not see the sufferers, but they
were probably at the bottom of the boat,
exhausted, perhaps insensible.
" Yes, there is one !'' exclaimed Trip-
tolemus, " I see his head ! "
" It's Vernon, then, no doubt," said
one of the crew ; " he is the best swim-
mer, and poor WentivortKs gone."
The boat came alongside — we looked
into it, but no one spoke — the ladies
descended mournfully to the cabin :
Charles Vernon and Wentworth were
not of this life — the hat of the former
was all that was found.
" And could you see nothing of them ?"
inquired Captain Dove, when the crew
came on deck. " We saw one of them
for some time, but when we got to the
spot he had disappeared, and the water
was the colour of blood : at that moment
we thougiit we saw hiiu again above
water ; but it was the back fin of one
of the largest sharks I ever beheld, and
we afterwards saw three of them.''
"Poor fellows!" exclaimed Captain
Dove, with emotion ; " poor fellows ! "
he repeated to himself, as he walked to
the opposite gangway. For a few mo-
ments he was absorbed in painful reflec-
tion, he passed the fingers of his right
hand across his eyelids as he resumed his
station at the quarter-deck, and he gave
orders to make sail, with a dispirited and
oppressed heart.
The two sufferers had been employed
painting the sides of the ship, and a
plank, which formed a moving stage, was
suspended overboard by two ropes at the
extremities of it, for them to stand on.
Vernon had been on deck, and returning
to his duty full of life and animation, he
jumped with boyish gaiety on the fragile
board, and severed it in two.
THE WHAI-E FISHERY.
If, among the perilous and adven-
turous occupations of a sea-life, there is
one requiring more energy, activity,
skill, courage, and patient endurance
than another, it is when man, in a fragile
skiff, comparatively a nutshell, defies and
attacks in his own element the mighty
monarch of the ocean, one of the fiercest
and most active of all the finny tribes,
the sperm whale. This enormous crea-
ture, as much a fish of prey as the shark,
measures nearly eighty feet in length,
and from thirty to forty in circumference;
the head, shaped like a huge box rounded
at the corners, and rising a little towards
the neck, in some species forming nearly
one- third of the whole. The tail, moved
with as much facility as the whip of a
wagoner, is horizontal, and from eighteen
to twenty-four feet in breadth ; while a
tremendous lower jaw, from twenty-five
to thirty in length, thickly studded with
conical, curved teeth, ten or twelve inches
long, is moved as adroitly as the tail, and
both, when running on his side, with a
power that would crush a ship, and a
noise like thunder. To these irresistible
faculties he possesses the agility of the
salmon, leaping from tjie water, and —
as the instance of the unfortunate Ame-
rican South-seaman in 1821 — falling on
the decks of ships with a weight capable
of sliattcring or sinking the largest. This
redoul)table animal wars not only witli
many other fish, but with some of the
more peaceable of its own species, pur-
suing, attacking, and with its long sharp
teeth, tearing the flesh from the carcasses
of many of the whale-tribe.
The ships employed in this trade to
the Soutii Seas sail at all seasons ; they
require to be in good repair, newly cop-
pered, with three years' provisions of the
best quality, and a liberal supply of sails.
THE PARTERRE.
867
rigging, sea-stores, and antiscorbutics,
tlie success of the voyage often depend-
ing on their ability to keep at sea.
The coast of Peru and Galapagos
Islands were, until lately, the great re-
sort of these fish ; but, witli a singular in-
stinct, they have abandoned those shores,
and taken to the coast of Japan, the
Feejee, Navigation Islands, and tiie In-
dian Ocean. During the passage out,
the crews, from thirty to thirty-five, ac-
cording to the number of boats in each
vessel, are employed in preparing tiie
latter and their gear ; for, on entering
the trade winds, or even off the Western
Islands, sperm whales may be met with.
The boats are usually from twenty-three
to twenty-eight feet long ; sharp at both
ends, like a canoe, with six men, five
rowers and a steersman, and capable of
carrying seven or eight hundred weight
of whale-line and other materials. The
instruments of attack, are the harpoon
with a barbed prong, and a lance. Look-
outs are placed at the mast-head; and
whi-n a fish is seen, it is made known to
the deck by the cry of "Town oh!''
" Where away ? " is the demand, which
is answered by denoting the quarter it is
in. The course of the ship is directed
towards it, and the boats prepared for
lowering; when near, they are off in an
instant, and skim the sea with the fleet-
ness of the dolphin. On approaching
the fish, great precaution is necessary,
generally pulling up in iier wake until
near, but steering clear of the sweep of
the tail until abreast of the shoulder or
fin, and then closing, the harpoon is
struck before the hump, at the moment,
if possible, when the animal is diving,
the skin being at that moment more
tigiit. When this is done, the boat is
sheered off, clear of the convulsive play
of the tail, which is thrown about with
great violence, with a tremendous noise,
and lashing the sea into a perfect foam.
She now either sets oH" at full speed, or
" sounds," that is, goes jierpendicularly
down. In the former case the boat is
towed behind at a tremendous rale, the
people sitting perfectly still, as the least
motion would risk the loss of the boat
and all on board; in the latter, the line
must be veered unchecked around the
loggerhead, a round piece of wood, ten
inclies in diameter, fixed in the stern of
the iMWt — this operation requiring much
skill, if* not the least dangerous. If the
fish is large, a signal ifi made by tossing
iip:in oar or hoisting a flag, when a second
lx)at comes with more line to bend on in
ca«e of need. After a time, tiie animal
comes again to the surface, blowing and
spouting up the water many yards, woich
at a distance looks like smoke. A fresh
attack is now made, the boat already fast
hauling alongside, and with a lance nine
feet in length, including pole, com-
mencing to probe her between the ribs,
after eacli thrust withdrawing the instru-
ment. She now begins to spout blood ;
tile water, and sometimes the men and
boats, being covered with it, all tlie time
cutting or dipping her tail, to tlie great
danger of tiie boats, which require much
management to keep tiiem clear. In
the last convulsive agonies, she runs
round on her side in a circle, clashing
her lower jaw, and shortly after turns
u)), and generally dies witii iier head to-
wards the sun. Siie is then towed along-
side, secured, and the ceremony of cut-
ting-in is commenced.
MARTIN WERNER.
A SKETCH.
The shades of evening were beginning
to creep darkly over the surrounding
objects, ere INIartin Werner laid down
his brushes and palette. His easel was
placed so as to catch every ray of light
from the solitary window that illuminated
the room in whicii he sat. He had been
working all tlie day to finish his picture,
and it was with a heavy sigh tliat he now
desisted. But tiie sigii was not one of
despair, for iiis nature was sanguine, and
there was a buoyancy in his soul that had
never yet deserted him. This might
have resulted from tiie consciousness of a
genius that must either at the jiresent or
a future time, find its reward in tiie ap-
plause of thousands ; or it iniglil l)e only
the light-lieartediiess of youtli and heaitii.
I5ut certainly, to look at himself and iiis
abode, most jiersons would have said that
Martin Werner liad great cause for
melanciioly. Tiie apartment was large
and cold, liut he consoled iiimself l)y say-
ing tiiat he could not complain of having
no room to work in ; and thougii tiic
wiiulow would not open to admit air as
well as tile yellowisii liglit by wiiicii tiie
]>ainter worked, yet driiiiglits poured in
from every direction, wliicii, he said, kept
up a constant circulation of fresh air. No
fire cast a cheerful glow over the desolate
region, and tiie corner o))posile to tlic
empty grate was occupied l>y a lowly
bed, beside wiiicli stood a large chest,
containing tiic painter's wardrobe. Mar-
tin Werner had laid aside Iiis eiilours, and
was carefully searcliing fur Kometiiing
tliat lay at the bottom of this clieNt. At
368
THE PARTERRE.
if'igtli, he dragged forth the object, and
I)roceeded to the window to examine its
contents. It was a leathern purse, and
from it he drew — carefully wrapped in
paper to preserve its lustre — a shining
coin. In a happier hour he had been
attracted by its brightness, and had de-
termined never to part with it. But
now the hand of stern necessity was held
forth ; he had tasted no food all day.
He gazed upon it, and, for a moment,
a tear dimmed his eye ; for it recalled
distinctly his mother, in her distant home;
his brothers, tossing on the fickle and
deceitful waves; and his sisters, even
now, perhaps, thinking how their bro-
ther's pictures would be admired and
gazed at in the great city. The whole
course of his life passed as in a dream
before him. Again he was in the cottage
home which had sheltered his infancy ;
again he heard the shouts of the happy
urchins wiio had been his playmates ;
again he wandered from them, and stood
alone with nature — the blue vault above
and the lovely earth beneath ; he heard
the gurgling of the thousand streamlets —
the roar of the distant ocean — the songs
of the wild birds — and high overhead the
lark, the sweetest songster of them all,
sending forth its notes, distinct and clear.
" I cannot part with it,'' he said, un-
consciously aloud ; ' surely such a dream
of happiness is worth starving for. Be-
sides, my picture will be finished to-
morrow, and I can wait till then."
With this heroic resolution he replaced
his treasure ; and folding his arms, he
stood at the window, whistling one of the
plaintive little airs of his country. Group
on group of chimneys, of all shapes and
sizes, formed the most prominent feature
in the landscape before him ; and houses,
with flat roofs and steep roofs, a strange
heterogeneous mass of buildings, through
which the eye in Vain wandered for some
pleasing object on which to rest. Among
them, however, our artist's imagination
went to work. Lofty domes and stately
palaces arose at the waving of the magic
wand of his fancy — forms of beauty and
lovelinesss, wandering amid gardens of
luxury and delight, while angel messen-
gers bore peace and happiness to their
solitude. From these visions of bliss he
turned to the destruction of worlds and
empires, and the awful depths of the in-
fernal regions — the gigantic billows over-
hanging the sluiddering group of devoted
wretches collected on a roek during the
great deluge, or the conflagration of
majestic cities, doomed by the will of
heaven to destruction.
Again his dreams were painfully in-
terrupted by the pangs of hunger ; he
thouglit that sleep miglu lull him into
insensibility to them, and stretched him-
self on his bed. But sleep came not ;
and, after tossing about for some time,
he started up and sought, through se-
veral streets, the shop of a baker. One
he at last espied, and hastily entered.
The shopkeeper cast a suspicious eye
upon his customer ; for his clothes were
not so new as they had been, and were,
besides, covered with divers spots and
patches of paint, which did not, by any
means, add to the gentility of his ap-
pearance. Our artist demanded a loaf,
in payment whereof he laid down his
last bright coin. The baker took it,
scrutinized it, turned it over and over,
then dashed it violently • against the
board, and declared it a counterfeit.
"A counterfeit," exclaimed the painter,
dismally. But fearing that his tone and
look might betray his circumstances, he
added carelessly, at the same time laying
down the coveted loaf, " well, it's of no
consequence ; I don't happen to have
another with me now: good night, sir."
Affecting an independent swagger, he
left the shop, and hastened down the
street; but, had he looked back, he would
have seen the sharp face of the baker
peering after him, as he muttered to
himself, " You don't happen to have any
more with you, sir, now 'i Ay, ay, you're
a pretty scamp, I warrant you ; and I shall
look twice at your money if ever you
come to my shop again."
Martin Werner hastened home. Till
that hour he had not known absolute want,
and even his buoyant spirits threatened
to desert him at the approach of grim
petiury. Once more he ransacked his
chest, for in one corner he remembered
to have seen a crust. He found it ; it
was mouldy, and covered with dust ; but
he shook that off, and ate it with a keen
relish ; then got into bed, and slept more
soundly than he who had supped upon
all the delicacies that wealth could pro-
cure.
The morning sun was shining brightly
upon him, through the window, when he
awoke. He leaped from his bed, ex-
claiming, as he hastily dressed himself,
" The crisis of my adversity is past !
The sun shines gaily on my morning's
work ; I will take it for an omen — a
prognostic of brighter days to come !"
Under these favourable auspices he
finished his picture ; and we need not
tell how rapidly he rose to fame.
T H K F A K 1 1 •: R R F.
369
Page 305.
CARDINAL PETRALIA.
/"/or </is Parterre. J
Chap. I.
THE CONFERENCF.
Cardiv.m. Petralia, a Sicilian by hirth,
ami a Franciscan, had for a lonj; course
of years inliabited the convent of Saint
Francis of Assisi. Altliouuli a ])rincc' of
the cljurch, and hifrh penitentiary, high
casuist, and first confessor of Christianity,
lie led the life of a monk. A cell, fur-
nislied with all the severity of the order,
and an apartment equally simjile, com-
posed all his rooms. Ho was as the
good an^jel of the Trastencrins, so libe-
rally hJH hand scattered its bounties
amongst them; and the holiness of his
lift' was proverbial.
Hut his fame was not confined to such
narrow limits ; it extended beyond the
walls of Home. The rtnnour of his vast
ac(|tiireinents and great piety had spread
no far, that the highest personiges, even
kings, every day consulted him upon
difticult (juesiions of morality and Chris-
tian discipline. A judge supreme, and
VOL. I.
xviiliout appeal in all cases of conscience
in Catholicism, his decrees had the
strength of laws, and were receired every
where as oracles inspired by God.
Emulous to have so great a saint for
confessor, sovereigns had often, though
imavailingly, invited him to their courts;
but he invariably declined the direction
of royal consciences, saying witii Jesus,
that he was sent only to the lowly. His
])iof()und humility but increased his re-
nown, and his glory beamed from the
depth of the obscure Trastenerin con-
vent, like the sun from the height of
heaven, to spread over both worlds.
The cardinal h^d the high s(juare fore-
head, black deep-set eyes, strait nose,
and i)eifeclly oval fice, with that dignity
of exterior, indicating the (ireek or Si-
cilian origin ; for Sicily is the oilspi ing
of Greece, and despite invasions, and
foreign conquests, has preserved herself
more Greek, ])erhai)s, than the mother
country. His beard and hair were wiiile,
his eye-brows retained their sable hue,
which rare phenomenon imprinted on
bis physiognomy a singular character of
strength and energy.
This was not, however, its habitual
expression. In repose, his countenunc*
•2 B
THE PARTERRE.
had a tranquillity, a seraphic quietude ;
his features had even an oriental power
of immobility, recalling by its perma-
nence the ecstatic contemplations of the
Chinese bonze and Indian faquir. Per-
haps an eye skilled in the analysis of the
human countenance, might have read
many hidden things on that inert and
passive face : for, furrowed less by years
than thought, his wrinkles seemed to tell
that griefs and conflicts had been known
to his deep and unfathomable spirit. But
common observers see not so much. Tall
and well formed, his long monastic robe
still increased the imposing dignity of his
bland and placid appearance.
Such was the individual who now pur-
sued his way to the Marian Mount,
whither he had Invited to a private con-
ference Anselm, a young Roman, of ex-
ceeding popularity amongst the lower
orders. When the cardinal reached the
appointed place of meeting, Anselm was
already there.
" You are," said the cardinal to him
at once, without prefatory observations,
" the individual whom I most esteem in
the world : the confidence I am going to
place in you, will prove this better than
any protestations. It is the story of my
life that I am going to relate. I shall
lay my heart bare before you, and reveal
things which no eye has penetrated, no ear
heard, and which my lips will pronounce
to-day for the first and last time; bosom
secrets, wliich have slumbered in my soul
for forty years. Listen to me, then : I ask
but one favour ; it is that you will not
interrupt me. This is no discussion, it
is a narrative ; and to make it, I have
need of your passive attention, and all
my own self-collection."
Seated on the mountain turf, Anselm
was mute with surprise and attention.
The cardinal collected himself for a mo-
ment, as if to gather strength to accom-
plish his energetic resolution ; he rose,
and paced beneath the cypress with hur-
ried tread, then tranquillized, reseated
himself by the side of Anselm, and com-
menced as follows, with a strong and dis-
tinct voice.
" You know that I am a Sicilian, but
you do not know that I am the bastard
of a valet. Born in shame and obscurity,
I was educated in a Foundling Hospital.
I shall not recal my early days; I re-
member only that I was accused of ob-
stinacy and passion, and was beaten, and
that I was reared with contempt and
brutality, with the rest of my companions
in misfortune. At sixteen I was made
a valet. I lived two years with a noble-
man of Palermo, where my office was to
stand at table behind his chair, and in the
street behind his carriage. Quarrelsome,
insubordinate, and a gambler, for two
years I lived the degrading life of the
ante chamber. At length, for some con-
duct displeasing to the major-domo of
the mansion, wliose favourite I had in-
gratiated myself with, I was ignomini-
ously driven from the house.
" Behold me then at eighteen years of
age, alone in the world, pacing the street
with ten ducats in my pocket. I had a
taste for the romantic, and was fluent of
speech ; I became a comedian. The
young head of a wretched strolling com-
pany, I wandered two years through
Sicily, acting plays in barns and taverns-
Weary of tliis life, I entered into a regi-
ment garrisoned at Syracuse. The bar-
racks were intolerable to me, and at the
expiration of three months I deserted, to
escape the degradation of corporal punish-
ment.
" I fled to a distance, and remained
for six months concealed in the barren
mountains of Madonia, sleeping on trees
and in caves, and living upon wild fruits,
and milk stolen at night from the cattle
in the folds.
" Solitude led me to reflection. My
wandering life became more insupport-
able to me as winter approached, and with
it snow, rain, and hunger.
" Disgusted with thus vagabondizing
amongst the mountains, I began seriously
to think of returning to the cities, and
again filling some social situation.
" Oh ! many times, when from the
heights of the Madonian, I saw some dis-
tant steeple glittering beneath, did I
bitterly exclaim, was there then no room
for me in those brilliant cities? Was I
banished from the family of humanity ?
I felt the secret workings of those un-
known germs that required for their de-
velopment the fertilizing sun of society.
" Solitude was hateful to me. I wan-
dered for whole days amongst the rocks
and forests, braving a thousand times
dangers and suprises, to see, were it only
at a distance, the face of a man. An
irresistible impulse impelled me to the
world ; and when dread of tlie punish-
ment that awaited me, and horror ot the
galleys drove me back to the desert, the
return to myself was frightful ; in my
melancholy I could have cursed heaven
and earth ; in my despair I was ready to
throw myself from the precipices.
" If I resisted these impulses to suicide,
that seemed to court me from the depth
of the abyss^it was neither from religion
THE PARTERRE.
.S71
nor philosophy ; for I was without prin-
ciples without a God. But I had a
kind of undefined ambition ; a presenti-
ment of fortune, vague and shadowy, yet
omnipotent in its glory, which linked me
to that earth where I was so unhappy,
so desolate. I visioned forth a future of
reparation and of justice. I had splendid
instincts, bold fore warnings. I\Jy ima-
gination peopled my solitude; the phan-
toms it called up in tlie void created for
me an ideal court, of which I was king;
and tliis ideal royalty endowed my soul
with an energy, sombre but magnificent,
that was my salvation.
" The sovereign of an invisible world;
I was, however, not the less pitiable to
look at. Thin, pale, with a long beard,
ragged and half naked, I might rather
have been taken for a wild beast than a
human being. It is a miracle that I did
not )K>comc a brigand ; but God tlirew a
monk in my path, and I am a cardinal !
" One day when I was dying with
hunger, a Franciscan passed by, driving
before him a mule laden with provisions.
I rushed upon it, and began to devour
the food. Terrified at my voracity and
ferocious aspect, the Franciscan offered
no interruption. When I was satisfied,
I related to him my desertion from the
regiment ; he pitied me, and invited me
to follow him to the monastery. I ac-
quiesced, and this circumstance decided
my life.
" The military service awoke in Sicily
no sympathy, and in the convents still
less than any where else. The brethren
gave mc a cordial reception, holding me
as one rescued from the claws of Beelze-
bub. Their cloister was at Petralia ; a
small town lost amidst the rocks, and of
which I look the name, having none of
my own.
" For several months I was an oly'ect
with the fraternity of the warmest hos-
pitality, and during this lime a revolution
was effected within me. My incural)le
idleness adapted itself wonderfully to the
life of a monk. No ties of aU'ection or
interest bound me to the world. I was
twenty -one years of age, — no path wa.s
open to me ; I was without a ducal ; I
became a Franciscan.
" My life had hitherto been liumble,
restlevi, and precarious ; I ihouglit to
give it dignity, repose, and continuity.
I saw the fathers honoured in the country,
sure of the future, lixing wiliiout fatigue,
and, above all, without lalxiur : could I
hesitate? .Such at that time w.is my
dread of toil, that the monastic (Tlleness
decided me more tlian all the rcKt.
" Chastity, poverty, and obedience, are
the three fundamental vows of the order.
I jironounced them in good faith, with
the rashness and giddiness of youth. To
obedience I thought myself moulded ;
and besides, at the convent it appeared
to be neither servile nor oppressive. To
poverty I subinitteil with the less repug-
nance, havini; never known aught else,
and the poverty of the cloister was opu-
lence to me. As to chastity, I sincerely
made the sacrifice of my disorderly habits,
and no reserved thought then weakened
the merit of my abnegation.
" Thus, at the age when the passions
begin to reign, 1 grappled with the
future. I was sustained in tiiis great
act by the feverish excitation j)roiiuecd
by every strong resolution, and tlie en-
thusiasm that prompts youth with every
generous idea : for, I must avow it, I
blushed at my past life, I desired a re-
formation, and the conversation of the
Father Preceptor had touched mc. I
glowed with ardent i>iety.
" Not being a priest, my duties at the
convent were nearly those of a domestic;
this hurl my pride, and I resohed on a
change. I spoke to the superior, he was
attached to me ; he thought he discovered
in me some germs of talent, and under-
took the difficult and radical task of my
education.
" I now had an end, and my detesta-
tion of work bent to the yoke of a daily
occupation ; at length, after two years of
study and assiduity, I was admitted to
holy orders. I was now the equal of
the brother priests, the superior of the
lay converts. This idea of superiority
flattered me : I soon officiated at the
mass.
" My studies were limited to very
little: some Latin, the breviary, the
ecclesiastic usages and discipline, formed
the l)ase of them. The casuist of the
convent added a course of moral theo-
logy ; that is to say, he made me look
over all the cases of conscience that can
be submitted to a confes.sor at the tri-
bunal. My progress kept pace with his
instructions so well, tli.it I was invested
with the power of tlie confessional before
tlie canonical age.
" From a valet, comedian, and vag.i-
bond, behold me then metamorphosed
into a confessor. I who had sinned so
much, receiving the confessions of sin-
ners, and punisliing scandals. I soon
ac({uired, by my personal austerity, and
tolerance for others, a marked considera-
tion.
" This mode of existence was so new
372
THE PARTERRE.
to me, that for a long time tlie change
was a delight; but I soon familiarized
myself with my new duties, and they
became matters of routine : I advanced
towards the future with lofty hopes, in-
spiring all around me with security and
confidence.
" Petralia was to me the universe ;
when I passed through the town I com-
posed my countenance, and measured my
steps. I tendered my hand to be kissed
with a proud humility, and my preten-
sions were unbounded. The best houses
were open to me, and my fame reverted
to the dignity of the convent.
" Before I was twenty- five, I spake
with authority, imposing upon all ages.
I was summoned to Palermo to preach
there during Lent. This sumptuous
city. Asiatic by its luxury, Spanish by
its customs, appeared to me under a new
aspect; risen from the degradation of the
ante-chamber to tlie pulpit of truth, I
preached penitence and humiliation to
those whom I had formerly served, and
thundered against the nobles more from
revenge than piety. Never had language
' so severe resounded in tlie ears of the
powerful of the earth. My preaching,
however, was so popular, that nothing
greater had been known. Lent over, I
bid adieu to all these pomps, and quitted
Palermo.
" I returned moody and discontented.
I had hitherto fancied myself of import-
ance ; Palermo had taught me that I
was only an obscure Franciscan. I had
breathed the sweets of the world, had
seen its splendours, and I regretted that
world, which was closed against me for
ever.
" The remembrance of the archbishop
above all, haunted me with its parade and
magnificence. It was when on my knees
before him, that I experienced the first
sensation of my nothingness. This
thought thrilled to my heart ; and when
he said to me, ' My Father, rise,' and I
had replied, with a deep sigh, the haughty
title of ' My Lord ! ' burnt my lips in
passing.
" I was in this state of sullen discon-
tent and vague ambition, when the life
of Sixtus the Fifth fell into my hands.
My ignorance at that time was so great
that I was unacquainted even with his
name. It was to me a perfect revelation.
I wore the garb of a priest, hencefortli I
clothed myself with the spirit. I had
seen an obscure shepherd deck his brows
with the tiara because of an energetic
will, and I also, I exclaimed, ' I will
learn to will it.' P-*t in what language
can I relate what passed within me?
What form can I give to those hidden
emotions whose essence is silence and
mystery, — supreme ascendant of intelli-
gence ! sacred empire of thought! when
for the first time I vowed allegiance to
yon? One must have felt that stormy
delirium, have throbbed with some great
design, to understand the state of my
soul. I was ambitious, and I gave my-
self up to the dreams of dominion with
the impetuosity of the African tempera-
ment. I was ashamed of my life, of my
littleness, of my misery ; I despised the
temptations of the world, henceforth sure
of myself and my shield.
" I dare not say that from the recesses
of the cloister of Petralia, I ventured at
once to raise my eyes to the crown of
Saint Peter. But my dream was of power
— I was a priest — one only path was
open to me; and the example of Sixtus
the Fifth was the master-spring of my
actions. My boldness increasing, my
rash desires soon knew no bounds. The
veil of Sais was rent, and I looked into
the face of the idol without trembling!
" Now commenced my life of self-
collection and concentration. I resolved
to forget the world, that I might return
to it not a slave, but a master. My ig-
norance seemed an obstacle in the way of
my advancement. I imprisoned myself
in my cell ; I devoted myself to unremit-
ting .study. A fallow soil is rebel to the
plough. Long neglected, and untrained,
my southern mind accustomed to per-
ceive effects without ascending to causes;
to contemplate nature without under-
standing, or inquiring into it; was at first
bewildered in the labyrinths of science.
" Tracing the history of man from his
cradle, I saw him naked, weak, sur-
rounded witli enemies ; I saw him in-
crease in size, conquer and reign. I saw
him in bodily combat with nature, sur-
prising her secrets, seizing her treasures,
but, nevertheless, always subject to her
laws.
" At length, enlightened by study and
meditation, I read history and events
clearly. I comprehended true greatness
and true strength. From the tent of the
Patriarch, from the hunter Nimrod, who
began to be powerful upon earth, to the
Vatican, and that Sixtus the Fifth, who
had awoke me to new life, I saw man,
king by his thought; imagining, establish-
ing, preserving, and destroying by it.
Nature, the invisible Sphinx, propounds
to earth lier deep riddles; intelligence is
the ingenious CEdipns wlio penetrates and
explains them; hers is the throne and
THE PAKTERUE.
373
the empire: in vain, violence, blind and
brutal instrument, usurps her place; she
falls, she perishes, and with her the fra-
gile work : it is the rebel son of Izliar,
plunging in the abyss before Moses the
triumphant !
" Having explored the difTerenl paths
of science, I fell upon the niidille ages as
the eagle on its prey. The world kneel-
ing before a weak priest, kings bending
to his laws, humbling tiiemselves befoie
his censures ; the imposing triumph of
mind over matter seemed to me then, and
still seems to me, the last degree, the de-
finitive point of human progress.
•' Strong in this conviction. I fed upon
the history of that Christianity which is
the eternal haven of humanity."
Anselm here made a gesture of im-
patience and incredulity.
*• I repeat," said the Cardinal, " this
is not a discussion, but a narrative. I
am entitled to your silence ; be kind
enough not to offer any interruption.
" Familiarized with the history of the
Papacy, I turned to that of the Popes. 1
passed them in review before me, and
those pontifs who in this secidar gallery
of glory and holiness awoke my liveliest
sympathies, were all those who, as well
as myself, had sprang from the lowest
ranks of the people. It was Hildebrand,
son of a carpenter, like the IMaster ; the
Englishman, Adrian the Fourth, son of
a valet, and a beggar before he was Pope ;
Bennet the Eleventh, the Lombard,
whose father was a shei)herd ; Bennet
the Twelfth, the Frenchman, whose fa-
ther was a miller ; John the Twenty-
Second, Urban the Fourth, Adrian the
Sixth, all three children of common me-
chanics ; Sixlus the Fourth, son of the
fisherman of Savonia ; Nicholas the
Fourth, herdsman in a remote mountain
hamlet ; finally. Sixtus the Fifth I These
were the men whose illustrious fortunes
captivated and dazzled me : I inquired
of them their secret ; I vowed to follow
in their stej)S.
" The joys of ambition arc immense,
and surpass all other delights. In com-
munion with my own thoughts, I si)ent
whole daj s of ecstasy in my cell. My
monastic robe was dear to me. Did it
not open to me a road to glory and domi-
nion? If I sought the forenl shade, the
mountain solitude, it was no longer to
indult'C in usclesiregrets,l)ut to strengthen
my iioul by the contemplation of great
thingn, to raise it al)ove enervating jdea-
turen, to temper it for the battle.
" Yearn thus rolled away in these silent
and secret preparutioni. I fulfilled the
duties of my ministry with the punctu-
ality of long habit. My fame for know-
ledge and holiness increased; and though
my ambition outgrew my reputation, I
accepted it as an augury of a brilliant
name.
" 1 had longantuiunced a pilgrimage to
Rome for the accomplishment of a vow ;
and what more terrible vow ever linked
man to the future? It was at Rome
that I determined to begin the conflict.
I solicited and obtained peiniission to
depart. Jly courage and piety were ap-
plauded, and, deceiving everybody, I
quitted the convent of Petralia never to
return to it. I was then thirty years of
age, I am now sixty five— reckon.
" From a last inspiration of youth, I
determined to bid adieu to Sicily from the
top of Etna. I ascended it before sun-
rise, and the dawn overtook me at the
summit of the cave. Stretched out be-
neath me lay the whole of Sicily like a
map, with the clear outline of its coast
marked as by a pencil. Long absorbed
in contemplation as I gazed upon that
Sicily, which I loved without knowing
wliy, and which I was going to quit for
ever, my eyes filled with tears. \\'liat,
then, is the mysterious power of the
natal soil, that we love for its own s;ike
and without cause? What hidden link
chains us to it ? What magic is it that
charms us in it ?
" ' But what,' I exclaimed with bit-
terness, 'have I to legiet in the past?"
and I compared myself to Etna: solitary
alike in Sicily, 1 lost neither father
nor mother. I left behind me neither
love nor regret. A nd it was from the
depth of this oblivion, of this abasement,
that the bastard of a valet dared to cast
a covetous glance on the supreme dig-
nity — that, blighted by ignominious ser-
vitude, he aspired to empire ! But is not
empire a compensation for happiness?
Does not the soul, shut out from all the
voices of nature, draw its strength from
its isolation ? INIy solitude, I thus rea-
soned, was providential, ahd from that I
still drew presages.
" Stifling the last regrets of an miat-
tached heart, I steeled it, I barbed it
with iron, and, regreiiess, irrevocably
broke with a world I had fijinid so iiarsh.
" Greeting with one last look my
gloomy birth place, I descended througli
the lava and forests, and tlie next day
embarketl at Messina.
" Seated on the deck (luting the pas-
siige, I saw the brow of Elnaslouly sink
bimatli the waves; like a gigantic jia-
iiurama, I >''tw (lit ii\, the mountainous
374
THE PARTERRE.
shores of Calabria, the lovely gulfs of
Policastro, Salerno, Naples, and Gaeta;
but nothing could divert me from the
one fixed thought. It was like a band
of iron round my temples, and each un-
dulation of the vessel, impelling me to-
wards my end, but tightened the uiflexible
circle.
" We at length hailed Ostia; I was
put ashore at the mouth of the Tiber.
The vessel pursued its course towards
Civita-Vecchia, whilst 1 alone, and on
foot, took the route to Rome through
the Campagna.
" All was silence around ; the noise of
my monastic robe brushing the worn
pavement of the antique way, the only
sound in these Saturnian solitudes.
" I walked on, sometimes across naked
meadows, sometimes beneath the shade
of myrtles and green oaks, with glimpses
of the yellow and voiceless Tiber shewing
here and there. Suddenly the horizon
opened. Encircled by the graceful bend
of the Sabine hills, the floating plain
rolled out before me like a waving sea.
" At length the cupola of the Vatican
was discernible. My breath failed me,
my knees trembled, and I sat down on
an antique pedestal left standing by the
way side.
" The Vatican ! — behold the electric
spark that had first roused me into being !
It was there before my eyes ! That
Rome, the Queen of ancient times as of
the middle ages — Rome, that disposed of
sceptres and bound the diadems on the
brows of the kings of the earth, was
there before me ! A ray of the setting
sun lighted the cross of Saint Peter, the
Pharos of the world, which still glittered
after the extent of the desert slept in sha-
dow. I resumed my route, and reached
the gate of Saint Paul before it was closed
for the night.
" How would the Cardinals in their
purple, and the supreme Pontif under
his tiara, have smiled with pity, could
they have read the heart of the obscure
monk who then crossed the threshold of
the Holy City !
" But they might also have smiled at
the thoughts of the shepherd of Montal-
to ; and the sheplierd of Montalto be-
came Sixtus the Fifth !
" I entered Rome as a future con-
queror ; the fever of ambition maddened
my brain and fired my soul.
" The convent in which I was to be
lodged occupied the most deserted part
of the Ganiculus. You see it hence be-
hind Saint Onaphrus. I had letters for
the Superior, and was received by him-
self and his fraternity as one of them. It
is but a Franciscan the more at Rome,
thought they ; but I said to myself, ' It
is a Pope !' "
Overcome by the violence of these
abruptly-awakened remembrances, the
Cardinal was silent. Anselm surveyed
him with astonishment; so unmeasured
an ambition surpassed his expectation,
and surprise at what he had just heard
held him mute.
At length the Cardinal resumed, in a
trembling and uncertain voice, — " The
first thing I perceived in Rome was that
my order was the least esteemed of any ;
thanks to the poverty and obscurity of
its members, the greater number of whom
were, like myseltj from the dregs of so-
ciety. But I made my very obscurity
available to my advancement. A learned
Benedictine would have astonished no
one ; he would have been lost in the
crowd ; a learned Franciscan, on the
contrary, was a prominent individual ;
the ignorance of his fraternity was a pe-
destal that heightened him personally,
and drew him into notice.
*' My reputation for learning rapidly
advanced, and soon was as undisputed at
Rome as it had formerly been at Pe-
tralia.
" I can see hence the church in which
I commenced my warfare, and which is
still dear to me. Saint Charks of Borro-
mea. I preached there in Lent, as I
had preached at Palermo five years be-
fore. Palermo had revealed my nothing-
ness to me ; Saint Charles drew me forth
from it. This was the first step towards
my fortune.
" My preaching was successful, and I
became popular. My order stirred heaven
and earth in my behalf, and I was pre-
sented to the Pope as one of the firmest
champions of the church.
" I was received by his Holiness with
marked distinction, for the church at that
time, enfeebled and threatened, required
support and defence. The Pope pro-
longed the audience more than he would
have done for a Prince. The humility
with which I received his notice sur-
prised all. I knelt down a simple Fran-
ciscan ; I rose up a Bishop. At this
stroke of fortune, I thought I should have
fainted. I returned thanks to God in a
torrent of tears ; this was again taken for
humility — it was the sutFocating fever of
ambition ; I had made one step towards
the tiara !
" It was a part of my plan to remain
St Rome. The Holy Father anticipated
my views by giving me a diocese in par-
THE PARTERIIE.
J7j
tibus, and attaching me to his person, as
preacher in Ills chapel. 3Iy episcopal
title and otticc henceforth assured nie an
important part in liie Pontifical family.
•' Often in my wanderings in the pre-
cincts of Rome have I interrogated my-
self as to my enterprise. Was it not all
illusion and madness? But the sime
instincts and presentiments that had for-
merly saved me amongst the ahysses of
the .Madonia, served as my ;vgide, and
saved me tlien likewise from despair.
" But 1 u-ill not fatigue you with the
long recital of the forty years of combat,
doubt, and hope. The revolution of
France, then of Italy, at length broke in
upon tlie monotony of my long expecta-
tions. Shaken in the sixteenth century
by the Reformation, fought in the breath
in the eighteenth by Philosophy, that
church to wliicii I had linked my des-
tiny was threatened with total ruin, and
with it my fortune and existence.
" I followed the Pope into exile. I
lived ten years in bondage ; but, like
Israel beneath the willows of Babylon, I
despaired not of Jerusalem, and never
ceased lifting to Heaven, from the depths
of adversity, a hymn of contidence and
resignation. I learned, like the poet,
how bitter is the salt of the stranger, and
how steep the stairciise of another. For
ten vears 1 was witness to the splendour
of the superb conipieror ; but 1 abstained
from all festivities, and ])reserved un-
touched my treasure of grief and hope.
Kneeling day by day at the foot of the
forsaken altars, I demanded of God the
accomplishmentof his word— the triumph
of truth over error, of the church over
incredulity. But I will not detain you
with my reflections ; my soul was in
heaviness, but faith sustained me, and I
waited.
" I did not wait in vain. You know
the history of the memorable triumph, for
it is of your age.
" With what throbbing of the heart I
saw once mure the eternal cupola of
Saint Peter! How august appeared thy
pumps ! how imposing thy solenniilies !
Tlie marbles, the pictures, the statues of
the saints and martyrs, all sp<jke to my
heart with an energy they had never done
belorc. It was tlius that my path, long
he<lged up, again opened before me. My
step was slow, for my aim was distant ;
and I flaw, n ilhout hastening my course,
the vulgar rolling in lion<jnrs. Remark
those two birds," continued the ( ardinal,
pointing with hi« linger to an eagle and
a dove, that l><>th sprang from the side of
the mountain, " how dilferent is tlieii
flight I How swift is this, how slow the
other ! And look, the dove ever* out-
strips the eagle ; it reaches first the peak
of the cypress ! But it rests there ex-
hausted ; it wdl ascend no higher. Seek
the eagle now .... He is lost in the
clouds !
" (.)ne by one I attained to all the spi-
ritual dignities of the church, constantly
rejecting the temporal. The magistracy
ot consciences conciliates men and im-
poses upon them ; the magistracy of
worldly interests alienates and repulses
them ; therefore, confining myself to the
narrow ciicle of ecclesiastical functions,
I constantly held aloof from the world,
refusing nunciatures, legations, and all
political charges that were ottered to me,
and which, besides, would have removed
me from that Rome that it behoved me
not to tpiit again. The hat, at length, re-
warded my diligence and patience; the
last Pope made me a Cardinal. I am the
forty-sixth of my order ; my order has
given five Popes to the church ; 1 shall
be the sixth.
" Once a member of the Sacred Col-
lego, it was my aim to keep to the lowest
rank, that I might with the more cer-
tainly aspire to the first. Although a
prince of the church, I have never quit-
ted the obscure Trastenerin monastery,
where, since my return from exile, 1 had
fixed my residence.
" I live, you know, the life of a simple
monk. I ascend the pulpit as a mis-
sionary, and if my mouth open to preach
charity, my hand is not slack to practise
it. There is not in Rome u hospital or
a dungeon of which I do not know the
names of the sick and the captive ; not a
poor man whose bread 1 have not multi-
plied by my alms ; and if the political
world are in |)rofouiid ignorance of my
name, there is tiut it> the Holy City a name
more popular or more revered. Tliis is
my object : a political name would, in
the present juncture, alarm European
susceptibilities : it is ati itivincible ob-
stacle to the tiara ; the tiara binds only
neutral brows.
" My pride has often blushed at the
impostor's part which I have condemned
myself to play. It humiliates me; but
what can I do? I am of my age, of my
country too, above all ; and on this thea-
tre of hypocrisy and servitiuie, I have
been compelled, like the lest, to v»-ear a
mask, and belie myself lor a time.
" Honours and dignities havi- pursued
me unsparingly to the obscurity of my
Irasterierin retreat ; but I have rejected
them all, foi the reasons I have given you.
376
THE PARTERRE.
" Ambition, a strong and sacred pas-
sion, has quenched in me all sparks of
vain glory ; I have but one step to take
to the first of all thrones; but the step is
a difficult, a decisive one ; the moment
for the trial is at hand. The Pope is
dying; the Conclave will open, and the
Pope who will go out from it will be my-
self, if you will aid me. "
— " I!' cried Anselm, with astonish-
ment.
— " I am overcome this evening ; but
meet me to-morrow in my cell, after the
Ave-Maria, and I will there reveal my-
self farther to you.
" I love you, Anselm, and esteem you
more than any other. Of this I have
just given you sufficient evidence. I have
bound you to my fortune ; — what do I
say ? I have placed myself at your
mercy. A word from you can be my
ruin ; but this word j'ou will never utter ;
you would rather aid me to ascend a
throne than to descend into the tomb, for
you are loyal and generous. Of a Prince
of the church you might make the bye-
word of Rome ; and hurl to the sepul-
chre, amidst the jeers of the world, an
old man who entrusts to you his thoughts
and his honour.
" That is what you can, but what you
never will do ; and in a month Rome,
that now raises at our feet her palaces and
cupolas, that miraculous Queen encircled
by the desert, will have a new master, the
bark of Saint Peter a new pilot, the Son
of Man a new vicar ; and that vicar, that
pilot, that master, is before you : it is the
Bastard of the Sicilian valet!" — Pro-
nouncing these words, the Cardinal
stretched out both hands towards Rome,
as if to grasp it.
— " O Rome!' he added, in solemn
accents, " Rome I honour of nations ! O
Vatican! star of the world I religion of the
crucified ! sole object of my love and of
my thoughts ! O law of intelligence ! and
of progress ! law of charity, magnificent
instrument in the hand of God, you liave
civilized and regenerated earth ; Eternal
Church, I will be faithful to thee unto
death ! The sword and the sceptre shall
again be abased before the crook of the
shepherd ; worldly diadem before the
tiara ! And you will have laboured with
me in this great work, Anselm ; and the
church, relempered, and by us renewed in
her youth, shall blend both our names in
one eternal hymn ofgloryand gratitude I"
A long silence succeeded to this burst
of enthusiasm ; it was broken by the An-
gelo pealing. All the bells in Rome
joined in concert, as if Rome entire had
trembled with joy at the coming accession
of the Bastard of Sicily.
At length twilight shrouded with her
latent hues the J'apal city and the Cam-
pagna ; the purple of the distant moun-
tains died away in the night.
— " To-morrow I" repeated the Cardi-
nal, and he descended the path alone ;
his carriage was waiting for him beneath,
and he rapidly crossed the Vallc d'ln-
ferno, and re-entered Rome by the gate
Angelica and the square of the Vatican.
Anselm remained long motionless, en-
tranced in a lengthened astonishment.
He was subjugated, fascinated, carried
away by the eloquence of the Sicilian.
I have just heard (these were his
thoughts) a fine poem ; I have made a
magnificent journey into the past. This
man is a mighty magician ; his wand has
the gift to restore the dead to life ; but
he comes not the less for that too late, he
links his fortune to a dead carcass. An-
selm rose and returned to Rome by the
Milvian bridge, in the direction that he
had taken on coming.
What did the Cardinal want of him ?
What was the purport of so extraordi-
nary a confidence ? This was the pro-
blem Anselm had proposed to himself as
he crossed the gate of the Temple, and
he again pondered on it as he returned.
( Continued at page 394).
NOTICE OF NEW WORKS.
A Few Observations on the Natural
History of the Sperm Whale, &c.
By Thomas Beale, Surgeon.
Under this modest title, Mr. Beale has
given us a pamphlet of some sixty pages
full of interesting and curious matter re-
specting this monster of the deep. The
gratification which we have received from
its perusal, induces us to lay before our
readers some extracts from this singular
history of an animal whose habits are
scarcely known to the naturalist. We
should premise, however, that our author
first favours us with an account of the
six distinct species of whales, varying
between 25 and 100 feet in length. He
next mitmtely describes respectively, —
The Anatomy, — habits (feeding, swim-
ming, breathing, gambolling, and fight-
ing), — the pursuit and capture, followed
by a list of its favourite places of re-
sort : —
" Notwithstanding his enormous size
we find tliat the Sperm Whale has the
power of moving through the water with
THE PARTERRE.
377
. the greatest ease, and with considerable
velocity.
" When undisturbed, he passes tran-
quilly along just beloiv the surface of the
water at the rate of about three or four
miles an hour, wliicli motion he etl'ects
by a gLMille ol)li<iue motion from side to
side, of the flukes, precisely in the s;une
manner as a boat is sculled by means of
an o:ir over the stern W hen proceeding
at this liis common rate his lH>dy lies
horizontally, his hump projecting above
the surface, with the water a little dis-
turbed around it, and more or less so
according to his velocity ; this disturbed
water is called by whalers ' white water,'
and from the greater or less (juantity of
it, an experienced whaler can judge very
accurately of the rate at which the whale
is going, from a distance even of four or
five miles.
" In this mode of swimming the whale
is able to attain a velocity of about seven
miles an hour, but when desirous of
proceeding at a greater rate, the action
of the tail is materially altered ; instead
of being moved laterally and obliquely,
it strikes the water with the broad flat
surface of the flukes in a direct manner,
upwards and downwards ; and each time
the blow is made with the inferior sur-
face, the head of the whale sinks down to
the depth of eight or ten feet, but when
the blow is reversed, it rises out of the
water, presenting then to it only the
sharp cutwater-like inferior portion. The
blow with the uiijjer surface of the flukes
a|)pears to be by tar the more powerful,
and as, at the same time, the resistance
of the broad anterior surface of the head
is removed, apjiears to be the princijjal
means of progression.
" This mode of swimming, with the
head alternately in and out of the water,
is called by sailors, ' going head out,'
and in this wav the whale can attain u
speed of ten or twelve miles an hour,
and this latter I believe to be his greatest
velocity.
" The tail is thus seen to be the great
means of progression, and the fins are not
used for that purpose, but occasionally ;
when suddeidy tlisturbeil, the whale sinks
quickly and directly douii wauls in tlie
horizontal position, whiili he cHccts by
striking upwards with the tin and tail.
" It is ditKcidt to conceive ariv object
in nature calculated to cause alarm to
this leviathan ; he appears, however, to
be remarkably timid, and is readily
alarmed by tlie apjiroach of a whale boat.
When seriously alarmed, the wliale is
said by sailors to he 'gal lied,' or pro-
bably galled, and in this state he performs
many actions very difllerently from his
usual mode, as has been mentioned in
speaking of his swimming and breathing;
and many also whicii he is never ob-
served to perform under any other cir-
cumstances — oneofthem is what is called
' sweeping.' which consists in moving the
tail slowly, from side to side, on the sur-
face of the water, as if feeling for the
boat, or any other object that may be in
the neighbourhood.
" The whale has also an extraordinary
manner of rolling over and over, on the
surface, {see cut) and this he does, espe-
cially when ' fastened to,' which means
when a harpoon, with a line attached, is
fixed in his body ; and in this case they
will sometimes coil an amazing length
of line aroimd them."
We insert the following specimen of
the engravings; it has been reduced from
the beautiful print by I\Ir. Huggins,
which was the (irst correct representation
of the Sperm Wliale |)ut)lished in this
country. It exhibits the form of the
boats, number and actions of the crews,
and a correct view of the mode by which
the animal is destroyed with the lance.
" Tln-y sometiini-s aUo plicc them- the head only above water, presenting in
eUes in a perpendicular posture, with this positioti a most extraordinary ttp-
378
THE PARTERRE.
pearance; when seen from a distance, re-
sembling large black rocks in the midst
of the ocean : this posture they seem to
assume for the purpose of surveying
more perfectly, or more easily, the sur-
rounding expanse. A species of whale,
called by the whalers the ' Black fish,' is
most frequently in the habit of assuming
this position.
" One of the most curious and surpris-
ing of the actions of the Sperm Whale is
that of leaping completely out of the
water, or of ' breaching,' as it is called
by whalers.
" The way in which he performs this
extraordinary motion appears to be by
descending to a certain depth below the
surface, and then making some powerful
strokes with his tail, which are frequently
and rapidly repeated, and thus convey a
great degree of velocity to his body be-
fore it reaches the surface, when he darts
completely out. The inclination his body
forms with the surface, when just emerged
and at his greatest elevation, forms an
angle of about 45 degrees, the flukes lying
parallel with the surface : in falling, the
animal rolls his body slightly, so that he
always falls on his side ; he seldom
breaches more than twice or thrice at a
time, or in quick succession.
" The ' breach" of a whale may be seen
from the mast-head, on a clear day, at
the distance of six miles.
" Occasionally, when lying at the sur-
face, the whale appears to amuse itself by
violently beating the water with its tail ;
this act is called ' lob tailing,' and the
water lashed in this way into foam is
termed ' white water' by the whaler, and
by which he is recognized from a great
distance.
" The female whales are much smaller
than the males, and are very remarkable
for attachment to their young, which
they may be frequently seen urging and
assisting to escape from danger, with the
most unceasing care and fondness.
" They are also not less remarkable
for their strong feeling of sociality or
attachment to one another, and this is
carried to so great an extent, as that
one female of a herd being attacked and
wounded, her faithful companions will
remain around her to the last moment,
or until they are wounded themselves.
" This act of remaining by a wounded
companion is called by whalers ' heaving
to,' and whole ' schools' have been de-
stroyed by dextrous management, wlien
sevtral ships have been in company,
wholly from the whales possessing this
remarkable disposition.
" The attachment appears to be reci-
procal on the part of the young whales,
which have been seen about the ship for
hours after their parent has been killed.
" The young males, or ' young bulls,'
also generally go in large ' schools,' but
diflfer remarkably from the female in dis-
position, inasmuch as they make an im-
mediate and rapid retreat upon one of
their number being struck, who is left to
take the best care he can of himself.
" All Sperm Whales, both large and
small, have some method of communicat-
ing by signal to each other, by which
they become apprised of the near ap-
proach of danger ; and this they do, al-
though the distance may be very consi-
derable between them, sometimes amount-
ing to four, five, or even seven miles.
" The mode by which this is effected
remains a curious secret.
" The ships engaged in this pursuit
are generally of from 300 to 400 tons
burthen, having crews to the number of
about 30 men and officers.
" Each vessel carries six whale-boats,
which are the principal means used in the
pursuit and capture.
" Each boat has a crew of six men,
two of whom are called the ' Headsman'
and ' Boatsteerer,' (see Plate). Four of
these boats are generally used in the
chase, and are under the command of
the captain and their mates respectively.
" From the commencement cf the
voyage, men are placed at each mast head
who are relieved every two houis, one
officer is also placed on the fore top-
gallant yard — consequently there are four
persons constantly on the look out from
the most elevated parts of the ship.
From the commencement of the voyage
also all utensils and instruments are got
ready, although the ships are frequently
out six months without taking a fish.
" When a whale is seen by any of the
look-outs, he calls, ' there he spouts,' and
as often as it spouts afterwards, he cries,
' there again : ' it is impossible to de-
scribe the excitement and agitation pro-
duced by this welcome intelligence ; the
listlessness produced by the previous
monotony of a long, and perhaps hitherto
profitless voyage, is shaken off among all
on board ; from the highest to the lowest
all is bustle and activity ; some rushing
up the shrouds and rigging, to observe
the number, distance, and position of the
whale, or whales ; and if near hand,
others eagerly leap into the boats, and
pull with ardent emulation towards their
intended victim.
'• If the whales should be some dis-
THE PARTERRE.
379
tance to leeward, endeavour is made to
run the ship within a quarter of a mile
of them, but if to windward, the boats
are sent in chase ; an arduous task.
From hour to hour, for several successive
risings of the whale, sometimes from sun
rise to sun set, under the direct rays of
a tropical sun, do tlicse hardy men en-
dure the utmost suffbring and fatijjuc,
unheeded and almost unfelt, under the
eager excitement of the chase; for hope
surports their minds.
" When in pursuit of the whale with
boats, it occasionally happens tliat just at
the moment tiie harpoon is about to be
thrust into its body, the whale suddenly
descends — its course, however, has been
observed, and the boats are placed in a
position to be near it when it again rises
to breathe ; the time, as has been before
stated, when he will do this is known to
a minute.
" But these enormous creatures are
sometimes known to turn u])on their per-
secutors with unbounded furv, destroving
every thing that meets them in their
course, sometimes by the powerful blows
of their Hukes, and sometimes attacking
w itli the jaw and head.
" Numbers of unfortunate whalers and
their boats have been destroyed in this
way. It is, however, fortunate that tiie
large whales seldom shew tliis violent dis-
position to defend themselves by assailing
their enemies.
" Numberless stories are told of fight-
ing whales, many of which, liowever, are
probably much exaggerated accounts of
the real occurrences.
"A large whale, called Timor Jack, is
the hero of many strange stories, such as
of his destroying every boat that was sent
against him, until a contrivance was made,
by lashing a barrel to the end of a har-
poon, with which he was struck, and
whilst his attention was directed to this,
and divided amongst several boats, means
were found of giving him his death wound.
" In the year 1W)4, the sliij) Adonis
being in company with several others,
struck a large whale off the coast of New
Zealand, which ' stove,' or destroyed nine
boats before breakfast, and the chase con-
scquenlly was necessarily given up. After
deslroyiiigboats belonging to many ships,
this whale was at last ca))liire(l, and many
harpoons of the various slii|)s that liad
from time to time sent out boats against
him, were found sticking in his body.
This whale was called New Zealand Tom,
:iiid the Irailition in carefully preserved
by whalers."
Had we consulted only our own taste
in extracting from this little work, we
know not what we should have omitted :
there is such a charm of novelty in the
subject, combined with unassumingness
of diction and ability, that we trust it
will not be long ere we again meet our
author in i)ritit. We ha\e never seen a
work so full of interest on an object so far
removed from continuous observation.
KNOWLEDGE OF TIIE ARTS
AMONG THE ANCIENT
EGYPTIANS.
In page 319, we gave an extract from
Mr. Wilkinson's erudite work on ancien
Thebes, respecting the military opera-
tions of the Egyptians as conveyed to us
by extant paintings; we now give a few
passages illustrative of their knowledge
of the arts as seen on pictures in the
catacombs of their kinjis : —
" On the right hand wall are some
very elegant vases, of what has been
called the Greek style, but common in
the oldest tombs in Thebes. They are
ornamented as usual with Arabesques and
other devices. Indeed, all these forms
of vases, the Tuscan border, and the
greater part of the painted ornaments
which exist on Greek remains, are found
on Egyptian monuments of the earliest
epoch, even before the Exodus of the
Israelites; which plainly removes all
doubts as to their original invention.
Above these are curriers, chariot-makers,
and other artizans.* The semi-circular
knife used for cutting leather is precisely
similar to that employed in Europe at
the i)resent day for the same piirjiose, of
which there are several instances in other
j)aits of Thebes; and another point is
here satisfactorily eslal)lished, that the
Egyptian chariots were of wood, and not
of lironze, as some have imagined."
Another tomi) furnishes some addi-
tional information respecting the me-
chanical skill of the l''.gyi)tians : —
" The inner chamber contains subjects
of the most interesting and diversilied
kind. Among these, on the left (enter-
ing), arc cabinet-makers, carpenters,
rope-makers, and sculptors, some of
whom are engaged in levelling and
S(|uaring a stone, and others in finishing
a sphinx, with two colossal stalues of the
• " Otiiiiit arc i'iii|)lii\i'(l in iviijil.iiiy f lil :<ii<l
»ilv<r iliiKi, tin |irii|irit\ i>r the (Ui-i-.mil. Tlii-ir
v%ri|ili>B mi' an inliier.ilt, llic Ik.hI uI iin hx,
(■III h.ilr »riKl>'), 'OkI iriiall ti\al b.ill»(llii- (|ii,'ii-
l«r \m1|;IiIii). 'I'licy li.iv,' ,i vi rj MikiiiIimiii tnixlf
<<l |iii'Vi niiiii; III)' »rnli- Ironi ^[nklllt, »liiii die
uliji ri till-) li.ivi' \M lulii'd ]• t.iki'ii mil, li\ nil an
< f » rlni; ii|ii'ii tliu li. .mi. \ nlv Gtiii tii xllii. 'l\,
' Oiii iiioMf) III full xfriylit.'"
3yi)
THE PARTERRE.
king. The whole process of brick-mak-
ing is also introduced. Others are em-
ployed in heating a liquid over a charcoal
fire, to which are applied, on either side,
a pair of bellows. These are worked by
the feet, the operator standing, and press-
ing them alternately, while he pulls up
each exhausted skin by a string he holds
in his hand. In one instance the man
has left the bellows, but they are raised,
as if full of air, which would imply a
knowledge of the valve. Another singu-
lar fact is learnt from these frescos — their
acquaintance with the use of glue — which
is heated on the fire, and spread, witli a
thick brush, on a level piece of board.
One of the workmen then applies two
pieces of different coloured wood to each
other, and this circumstance seems to
decide that glue is here intended to be
represented rather than a varnish or
colour of any kind."
From an unfinished chamber in the
tomb of the kings at Thebes, we learn
the process used by the Egyptians in
forming these bas-reliefs : —
" In Egyptian bas-reliefs the position
of the figures was first decided by the
artist, who traced them roughly with a
red colour, and the draughtsman then
carefully sketched the outlines in black,
and submitted them to the inspection of
the former, who altered (as appears in
some few instances here) those parts
which he deemed deficient in proportion
or correctness of attitude ; and in that
state they were left for the chisel of the
sculptor. But the death of the king, or
some other cause, prevented, in this case,
their completion ; and their unfinished
condition, so far from exciting our regi-et,
affords a satisfactory opportunity of ap-
preciating their skill in drawing, which
these figures so unequivocally attest."
A BROTHER'S MISERIES.
I am one of that unfortunate, persecuted,
snubbed, neglected, tyrannized, be-petti-
coated class, — brothers. I hear your sigh,
Mr. Editor ; I feel your gentle sympathy.
The tears spring to my eyes at the ima-
gination of the drops fast falling from
your's. Yes, sir, we are a much-to-be-
pitied race : and what is worse, the world
seems to be agreed in holding our sor-
rows as nothing in the scale of social
evil. We come into the world predes-
tined to grief; we are born to misery —
doomed to wretchedness : there is no
escape from our lot, — and we meet with
no sympathy (save only among our ill-
used selves), but are treated as ihougli
we were the happiest of the happy ! Lit-
tle does the world dream of the sorrows
that weigh down a brother's spirit — of
the sleepless nights that he devotes to
the furtherance of his several sisters' little
whims ; small credit does it grant him
for the numberless sacrifices he is daily
called upon to make, to satisfy the never-
ending whim-whams and crotchets of the
Charlottes and Carolines, the Emmas
and Emilies, who, under the idle pretext
of relationship, cling to his skirts. When
I see brothers going to balls, and plays,
and races, and entering into scenes of
gaiety and dissipation, I mourn over this
striking proof of their wretchedness.
" Frater sum, et nihil a me alienum
puto ! " I know the worm that is canker-
ing within ; I see through their motives ;
they seek but to fly the recollection of
the griefs of home ; they are in search of
Lethe. What though they smile — 'tis
but the smile of misery : what if they
laugh — 'tis the very wantonness of grief:
what if they marry — 'tis but rushing in
despair into another kind of woe ; wea-
ried of their own sisters, they try those
of others. Poor mistaken fellows ! —
lambs hurrying to the sacrifice — victims
crowding to the altar — types of suffering
innocence, fated to fly from the vessel in
which, into the element by which, we
perform our culinary operations ! Would
that the recital of my griefs could act as
an emollient to their wounds ! Would
that I could, in any way, call up a feel-
ing of sympathy for our race in the pub-
lic mind ; and induce those opiniated
persons, parents, to look with a regardful
eye on the already overwhelming num-
bers of our female persecutors.
I am the last of six consumers of pap,
and bread and butter : the first five were
girls (I hear your groan); we are all
alive ; and consequently 1 struggle on
in a painful existence, surrounded — no,
preceded, by five sisters. There 's Hetty,
and Caroline, and Charlotte, and Susan,
and Johanna; then I come, John. I
pass over tlie periods of elecampane and
hard-bake ; of dessert and eight o'clock
beds. I say nothing of the pushings and
shakings I endured for a number of
years (each of my sisters considering she
had an undoubted right, as an elder, to
command my implicit obedience when
and where she chose). I allude not to
the numberless mortifications I was made
to feel in the daily eatings and drinkings
(as the youngest, and a boy, I was always
last served, and so got the worst portions;
and my fingers were rapped if I com-
plained, and I was told young ladies
THE PARTERRE.
881
were always to be helped first ; « liy, was
a mystery tome). I touch not upon the
indignities I went through, of being un-
ceremoniously tlirust out of the room,
whenever my sisters had any secrets to
chat ocer with little girls of their own
age (how often I iiave wondered wliat on
enrth they could be whispering about !)
I complain not of the being made to
fetch and carry for live whimsical mis-
tresses from morning to night, to the
utter neglect of all my own little plans
(John, my dear, do this John, sir,
come here. — John, you ill-natured thing,
come directly). I am willing to forget
the vory few glimpses I could get of the
fire during the cold days, while five
claimants stood firmly fixed round the
fender, surprised that a 601/ could be so
chilly. I will not call to mind the com-
plete indifference with which my school
sorrows and triumphs were treated ; nor
the coolness with which I was received
on my return home for the holidays; nor
the provoking carelessness with which
my departures were viewed. I scorn to
complain of the superior deference which
ray five sisters always paid to other
brothers ; for I gradually discovered, to
my excessive gratification, that this feel-
ing was not confined to my own relatives.
— Of none of these do I complain. No,
sir, I turn to griefs of a far more im-
portant character : I turn to the days
which h»\e gone by, since holidays and
dolls, smiles and short lessons, have all
disappeared : me miserum, — to what a
period do I come !
You s])oke, sir, in a previous paper, of
a sister ( Maria, you call her ; jjerhaps a
Lady Maria) and a guitar. Happy man,
to have your miseries reduced within so
small and manageable a compass ! Sir,
I have five sisters; and they all i)lay the
^ilar : from ten to two, every day (such
is the superabundance of my happiness)
1 am fairly guitarred up into the re-
motest corner of the house. But the
matter does not end here : besides the
fiTuilar, all my sisters play the piano ; all
sing, and three jilay tlie harp. I leave
you to imagine the succession of sounds
from morning to night. IJeing extremely
fond of a moderate (juantity of niusic, I
would not complain so much, if any of
them liked duets and trios ; for besides
the change, the ground would be got
over (juicker; but no, — nothing but solos
will d(j ; Ht» that the day is barely long
enough for their multifarious practisings ;
and to avoid putting e.-ieli other out, they
occupy every room in the house. I need
Lordly wy, I am tolerably Hurfeilcd of
sweet sounds : but would you believe it,
I am consiilered little less than a Goth,
for even hinting at the possibility of such
an occurrence : I am not allowed to be
tired of music; it is insisted I must be
gratified at their persevering ])ractisings:
were I to hint at the exjiedieiicy of 11
little cessation, the whole five would be
u]) in arms You can conceive the situa-
tion in which 1 am thus jilaced, when,
listening of an evening to their doings,
some young unmarried man turns round
to iTie, and exclaims in an insinuating
loud whisper, '' how very beautiful that
was ! can't we have it again ? " — if I fail
to cry bravo as loud as he does, 1 am
sure to be found out, and get snubbed
the next day : " How indillerent you
were with the music last night, John ;
you do chill everybody so." Mais reve-
nons a nos moutons ; I was speaking of
the difficulty of finding a room unoccu-
pied. The only place where my troubled
spirit can be at peace, under tliis inces-
sant cultivation of the science of har-
mony, is in a room at the very top of the
house; in fact, in one of the (why should
I hesitate) attics. In this ignoble place,
I hear little of the fiddlements going on
in the lower part of the building; and
to it I now remove, immediately after
breakfast. But alas ! I fear even this
poor refuge is about to be wrested from
me ! the other day, 1 came in with a
hole in my glove ; I threw it on the
table (my sisters all present), a:ul "sup-
posed nobody would mend it for me"
(I am used to neglect, sir): it hardly
reached the table, before three of them
flew at it : and the conqueror began
stitching immediately. What "s in the
wind now, said I to myself; — Hetty
hoped 1 was (juile well, and Charlotte
begged me to explain when she oufjht to
castle at chess. I began to be alarmed ;
Susan jjut my hair to rights, and Jo-
hanna smoothetl my hat. 1 threw my-
self desperately into a chair : " My dear
John," said Hetty, " would you do us a
great favour ; you need not look so : it
is only to allow Johanna juit to practise
her guitar in your room of a morning,
she does ))ut us out so here." — " Now
do, John," chorussed the whole five. I
bounced up, and ran out of the room,
putting a determined veto on the matter.
I escaped it is true, but the conse(|uence
of it is, that three of them have done
nothing but pout at me since; and the
other two are at open war, and amuse
themselves with kiting oil", every now
and then, some apparently carelevs two-
edged remark, one side of which I can-
38-2
THE PARTERRE.
not help taking to myself. — They have
been complaining, I suppose, to the su-
perior powers ; for yesterday evening,
my respected mother, who had been
dozing in the arm chair by the fire, was
pleased all at once to lift up her head,
and, half awake, to express herself "sj/r-
prised I could be so unkind to my sis-
ters ; why did I not let them practise in
my room?" Really, Mr. Editor, I do
not know what to do.
These are only samples of my musical
miseries: you will readily understand 1
endure very many others. Most people
look forward to the London season with
great delight ; need I say, I dread it ?
Engagements of all kinds ensue ; and
with only one brother to do walking-
stick, of course no small share of fag
must fall on his shoulders. My sisters
find a large quantity of morning visits to
pay, exhibitions to see, shoppings to go
through ; and I, no leave asked, must do
propriety whenever I am wanted ; just
as if my own private engagements were
to be considered as nothing (yojt know,
sir, there are, now and then, little mat-
ters in this line, which it is very distress-
ing to be obliged to put off). You have
undergone, I suppose, the process of
shopping ? What a very pretty bracelet
this is, John, is it not ? The poor be-
wildered brother, knowing what is com-
ing, calls up a look of calm contempt for
the trash ; and he is in return fairly
pounced upon with a " Now do buy it
for me, John; it is not so very dear; and
Caroline does so want that chain ! " It
is awful the money spent this way by
brothers, in gloves, ribands, jewellery,
scents, and other the like nicknacks ; and
the worst of it is, our ringleted plagues
seem to go upon the principle, that it is
a mere duty we owe them to supply their
amiable wants as fast as they can fancy
them ; so that we get no thanks for our
compliance (it is true we are only too
glad to do all they wish us); and if we
refuse, oh, mercy, what torrents of elo-
quence ensue !
Talk of the comfort of having sisters
indeed ! Only imagine the going to
parties with so many female relatives !
" Mrs. B., Mr. B., and the Miss B.'s,"
shouts one servant; " Mrs. B., the Miss
B.'s, and Mr. B.," shouts another — and
in we walk in a body. I dread to look
round, for I am sure to see a titter on
the faces of the people in the room, at
such a wholesale supply. I once sug-
gested, as regarded my sisters, the pro-
priety of some two or three having colds
on these occasions, taking it by turns for
every invite ; but bless me, I got into
such hot water, that I have not dared to
interfere since : it was fairly asserted,
and considered as proved, that I wanted
to keep them all at home, that I was
ashamed of them, that I hated them ;
that, in short, I was a sort of a monster
of a brother !
When we have a full house here, you
will Easily conceive the fever I am put
into. My sisters have each their several
plans and views, and ideas ; and for two
or three days previously, it is " hinted,"
and " wished," and " requested," and "of
coursed,' I will be particular to do this,
and not to do the other. Attention to
the confusing wishes of five people is so
very difficult, that sometimes a little
error will occur, and then the next day
I am victimized ; I am assured that my
non-compliance with their wishes was
extremely unkind ; indeed they are not
certain it was not intentional. " How
could you, John, do so and so? you know
I wanted you to draw out Mr. A., and
not to argue with Mr. B., or to back
Miss C. — And you went away from the
piano just when Mr. D. was going to
sing ' Idolo mio ; ' it was so rude of you.
— And when Mr. E. asked you if ti<e
sung, you said you did not know. — And
you left tiiat poor Miss G. alone twice
in the evening, when you know mamma
wants you to be civil to her. — And when
aunt asked us for ' Perfida Clore,' which
is Charlotte's best, you told her you had
quite forgotten your part ; you might
have stood up, at all events — And you
looked so grave when Mr. H. told that
story over again, about the man and his
dog. — And when Caroline wanted to
dance, you left her with that disagreeable
Mr. L., whom you know she abominates.
— And when Johanna got out in the
guitar passage, you did nothing to cover
it, but stood silent ; you migiit have
laughed, or coughed. — And when Miss
M. was playing her tiresome variations,
I could hear you talking to Mrs. O
And when Hetty wanted you to find
some music, you would not look our way,
but pretended to listen to Miss P.- — And
when you were sitting next Miss R., you
did not say a word to her. — And when
Mr. S. came over to you, you never in-
troduced him to us." To all these com-
plaints I listen patiently, only turning
my head from this side to that, to receive
the shots as they pour in vigorous succes-
sion from my five oifended sisters. Any
attempt at a defence, I find, only makes
the matter worse ; so 1 submit, wonder-
ing what is to be the next accusation.
If I break off here, it is not that I
have exhausted the list of my miseries —
THE PAKTEllRE.
383
rwn inoins que cela — but that Hetty and
Charlotte want to make a few caJls tliis
morning, and 1 mui.1 go.
H. F. G.
NOTES OF A READER.
Is Sir Grenville Temple's Excursions in
the Mediterranean, we find the following
amusing anecdotes : they are highly cha-
racteristic of the Tunisians, as well as of
the other Hai bary States:— -
SDMMAKY JUSTICE.
DruiNG the reign of nammooda Ba-
slia, the Kaeed, or Governor, of Tunis,
who, according to custom, had made his
rounds and had ascertained from differ-
ent travellers what they had paid for
their provisions, found that one of tliem
had purchased a certain quantity of bread,
which was found deficient in weiglit wiien
placed in the Kaeed's scales. Tiie party
proecetled tothebakcr's, whose scales gave
correctly the weight at which he had sold
the bread ; on this the Kaeed had them
broken, when they were found to contain
a quantity of quicksilver in a hollow tube,
which could thus be made to throw its
balance on either side. The baker's oven
happened at the moment to be properly
heated, and the Kaeed, without any fur-
ther trial, ordered the culprit to be im-
mediately thrown into it. Hammooda
having heard of this, remonstrated with
the Kaeed on his preci])itancy, when he
answered — " I have done great good ;
bakers will in future deem it preferable
to heat tlieir ovens for bread of a proper
weight, than to bake themselves, of what-
ever weight they may chance to be."
THE ENGLISH ALMOST MAHOMETANS.
Thf. learned men told me that they looked
upon the Englisli nearly in the light of
Mussulraen, slating that Muhammed the
prophet liad sent to acquaint them with
his announcement of tiie true faith, and
to request tlicm to range thcinselves in
the numl)cr of his disciples. The English
answered that they felt deeply the truth
of his religion, but that previous to
openly adopting it, they re(jueste(l ex-
planatiotis upon one or two trilling points,
chiefly reg.trding the al>olition of wine;
iinfortimately, however, before this letter
reached Mecca, the pri>|)het had been
taken up to the seventh heaven. Had
his death been for a short time delayed,
he would have explained any little difli-
culties, and we should have been faithful
follower* of the tenets of .Muhaiiiiiiedan-
inm. — They also told me that England
wa« the nearest country to Timix, and
that the Moors and English were, and
always had been, the greatest friends.
BANGEROL'S BATHING
In these shallow waters are caught great
quantities of lish, by forming curved lines
or pallisades some way out to sea, with
palm branches, by wiiich the fish which
come up with the high water are retained
when it recedes. The horrid |)olyi)us,
which is, however, greedily eaten, abounds,
and soine are of an enormous size ; they
prove at times highly dangerous to ba-
thers. An instance of this occurred two
years since ; a Sardinian captain bathing
at Jerbeh, felt one of iiis feet in the grasp
of one of these animals : on this, with his
other foot he tried to disengage himself,
but this limb was immediately seized by
another of the monster's arms ; he then
with his hands endeavoured to free him-
self, but these also in succession were
firmly grasped by the polypus, and the
poor man was shortly after found drowned,
with all his limbs strongly bound together
by the arms and legs of the fish ; and it
is extraordinary that where this hap])ened
the water was scarcely four feet in depth.
MISCELLANIES.
ACCURACY.
No doubt the Yankees sometimes laugh
at the account which our travellers give
of them and their manners ; but we
question whether we have not in the
following extract something which Jona-
than cannot parallel. I\Ir. Grant Thor-
burn, " the original Laurie Todd," as
ho is called, has just published a second
work, which he entitles " I\Ien and
INIanners in Britain. '' Among other
absurd things, he says — " Nothing can
exceed the good-natured humility of many
ladies and gentlemen of the British me-
tropolis; for instead of employing their
coachmen and grooms to drive them,
they frequently undertake the office of
their servants, and mount the coach- box,
or the dicky, while the servants are
lounging by their sides, lol/irif; within the
carriafif. The coach-tmr ti te-a-ti te hetireen
ladies and their grooms, has a most en-
gaging effect in the crowded streets of
London, i)articularly if Thomas happens
(which is sometimes the case), to have
his arms round the waist (if his mistress, to
prevent her fatting — into worse hands.
The drive in Ilyde Bark, and that noisy,
crowdi-d thoroughfare. Bond-street, that
|>iippet-show stage of fashion, present*
many seenes of this kind.'' After this,
who will not own that " trnvclleis see
strange thingi ' "
384
THE PARTERRE.
THK DUKE FOR A DAT.
In the following anecdote, froin the
French, will be recognized the original
of Cliristopher Sly's adventure in the
"Taming of the Shre^v." Philip the
Good, Duke of Burgundy, travelling one
night to Bruges, found on the high road
a man stretched on the ground in a pro-
found sleep. He caused his attendants
to take him up, and carry him to his
palace, where, after stripping him of his
old clothes which were very ragged, they
put on him a night robe of the finest
quality, and laid him on the prince's own
bed. When the drunkard awoke next
morning, his surprise was extreme, on
perceiving himself in a superb chamber,
surrounded by attendants richly attired,
who respectfully inquired what dress his
highness would wear that day. This
completed his confusion ; but after a
thousand protestations that he was no
prince, but a poor cobbler, he submitted
to the oppressive honours of his supposed
rank. He was splendidly dressed, ap-
peared in public, attended mass in the
ducal chapel, and, in short, went through
all the accustomed ceremonies, conclud-
ing with a grand supper and ball, al-
though it must be confessed, that at the
former he drank more deeply than was
consistent with good breeding.
The comedy now approached its con-
clusion. Having fallen fast asleep, he
was re-clothed in his rags, and car-
ried to the same spot on which he had
been found sleeping, where he remained
for the rest of the night. With the morn-
ing's light he awoke, and returning to his
dwelling, recounted to his wife his sin-
gular dream, as he very naturally con-
cluded his adventure to have been. This
histotiette furnished the subject of a
comic drama, entitled " Arlequin tou-
jours Ax-lequin."
A COSUIANDiMENT.
The evening before a battle, an officer
asked Marshal Toiras for permission to
go and see his father, who was at the
point of death. ' Go." said the Marshal,
who saw through his pretext ; " honour
thy father and tliy mother, that thy days
may be long in the land."
INFALLIBILITY.
Homer has been accused of purloining
all his beauties from Ilesiod, and Plato
condemns him.
Cicero calls Plato the god of philo-
sophers ; Aristophanes charges him
with impiety, and Porphyry with incon-
tinence.
Aristotle is accused of ambition, igno-
rance and vanity, by Cicero and Plutarch.
Dennis lashed Pope with fury ; and
the critical attacks upon Byron, Kirke
White, and Keats, are familiar to all.
Seneca and Pliny, say that Virgil hud
no invention ; while many have regarded
Pliny's history as fabulous.
Cicero calls Demosthenes the prince
of orators ; while Eschines declares that
his language is impure, and that his pro-
ductions smell of oil.
Cicero himself has been said by some
to possess more art than nature — to be
affectedly witty, and unaffectedly labour-
ed and artificial.
In modern times, Johnson has taken
up the cudgels against Milton ai\d Gray.
REMONSTRANCE WITH THE SNAILS.
Ye little snails.
With slippery tails,
Wlio noiselessly travel
Along this gravel ;
By a silvery path of slime unsightly,
I learn that you visit my pea rows ni^hily.
Felonious your visit, I guess!
And I give you this vvaniing,
That, every morning,
I'll strictly examine the pods ;
And if one I hit on.
With slaver or spit on.
Your next meal will be with the (Jo;!s.
I own you're a very ancient race.
And Greece and Babylon were amid;
You have tenanted many a royal dome,
And dwelt in the oldest pyramid;
The source of the Nile!— Oh, you have been
there !
In the ark was your floodless bed ;
On the moonless night of Marathon
You crawl'ti o'er the mighty dead;
But still, though I reverence your ancestriei,
I don't see why you should nibble my peas.
The meadows are yours, — the hedgerow and
brook.
You may bathe in their dews at morn ;
By tlie aged sea you may soimd your shells,
On the mountains erect your horn;
The fruits anil the flowers are your rightful
dowers,
Tlien why — in the name of wonder —
Should my six pea-rows be the only cause
To excite your niidniL;ht plunder?
I h ive never di.-turbed your slender shells.
You have hung round my aged walk ;
Ami each might have sat, till he died in his fat.
Beneath his own cabbage-stalk :
But now you must tly from the soil of your sires.
Then put on your liveliest crawl;
And ihink of your poor little snads at home.
Now orphans or emigrants all.
Utensils domestic, and civil, and social,
I give you an evening to pack up :
But if the moon of this night does rjot rise on
your flight,
To-morrow I'll hang each man Jack up.
You'll think of my piasand your thievish tricks.
With tears of slime when crossing the Stpx.
POSTSCRIPT.
If darkness should not let thee read this.
Furtive Snail,
Go ask thy friend, the Glow worm,
For his tail.
THR I'ARTFKRE.
,t8J
I'3ge 386.
EARLY RECOLLECTIONS
(For the Parterre.)
At the time when the struggle lor
mastery with our American colonics was
at its height, and the communication
betwixt the motlier country and the
different ports of America not in pos-
session of the insurgents, of almost daily
occurrence ; a vessel was one evening
observed standing off at some distance,
on the Lancashire coast, near Black
Pool. She was cTidently by her build,
a trader, and her destination, from her
hovering alxiut the coast beating up for
a favourable wind, to cross the Atlantic.
At some distance from the village of
IJlack Po<d. a Ixjat had been run in
khore, and the crew, with the exce|)tion
of one who remained in charge, were
gone to hare what they called a " jollifi-
cntion,' and for this purpose, luider the
pilotage of one .Matthew lirain, were in
quest of a neat little road-side inn, called
the " Three Hells," staiiditig as .'Mattlu-w
anM-rted, M<mcwhere alKdit these parts.
Now Matthew knew loo well the
vituation of the Three Hells, to remain
lung in duubt us to which way to steer,
Voj.. I.
for he had often sought the house of late,
since he had been desperately smitten by
the attractions of one Mary Willis, the
niece of my landlady of the Three Bells ;
for he and IMary had been born and
bred in the neighbouring town of Pwd-
ton, and when Mary became an orphan,
and went to reside with her aunt as an
humble companion, even in their hum-
ble sphere still did Matthew follow in
her footsteps, striving to make himself
agreeable in many ways ; but such is the
waywardness of our feelings, that every
means by which he urged his suit, served
only to strengthen the dislike Maiy bore
towards him, and which had even Ik-cu
increased since her residence with her
aunt; but this, however, might be ae-
coimted for in some degri-e, by stating
that Mrs. Jerrold, the landlady of the
Three Bells, had an only son, Harry
Jerrold, who was in many respects the
counterpart of .Matthew : fie was wild
and reckless, yet in outward form naluie
had been favourable to him ; .nid thuugh
Mary eould see the faults of .Mallliew
Brain, which were but loo palpable, still
was che fjlind to tfiose of Hany Jermld.
which toall other eyes were gross enongli.
It has been of\en said, that the mild,
2 c
THE PARTERRE.
kind, and virtuous woman most frequent-
ly fixes her affections upon the exact
reverse of her own disposition, and seeks
the love of some ingrate, wholly ignorant,
or incapable of feeling the pure and
fervent passion which silently yet strongly
works its way.
Mary was now in her sixteenth year, and
one would almost have ventured to assert,
that nature had for once erred in placing
a girl of her manners, appearance, and
disposition, in such a situation : she was
one of those interesting creatures, that
one feels insensibly drawn to admire,
and yet not positively handsome : one to
command respect and admiration, with-
out seeking to rtquire it, — so much so
indeed, as to be the only person who had
ever been known to fix for an instant
the wild passion of Harry Jerrold.
That Harry was the favourite, was
no secret to INIatthew, and his wild un-
governable fury at times burst forth in
the most bitter denunciations against liis
rival ; but Harry heeded them not, nor
in fact scarcely anything save his boon
companions. Now as Matthew was re-
lated to the captain, he had influence
enougli whilst the vessel lay off Black
Pool to obtain leave for himself and
some of his companions to go on shore ;
the idea of some inischief lurking within
him, though it had not formed itself into
any plan, had prompted him to ask per-
mission ; but something at times ran
through his mind of meeting and reveng-
ing himself upon Harry Jerrold, for he
well knew his companions were lO be
relied upon at any extremity ; but Harry's
good fortune for once prevailed; he was
absent from the neighbourhood, and not
likely to return for some days, and to
add to Matthew's annoyance, Mary also
had gone to a neighbour's, and would
not return for some hours : so to drown
his annoyance he sat with his companions
drinking hard until it was time to return
to the vessel, or else, as one of the most
sober observed on looking out of the win-
dow, there was a chance from the appear-
ance of the sky, of their being left behind.
They had reached the boat and were
about stepping in, when Matthew observed
coming along the path a figure, that was
too firmly fixed in his remembrance to
be for an instant mistaken — he sprang
forward, and in an instant was at the side
of Mary Willis ; but she seemed in no
way pleased at the meeting ; the evening
was drawing on, and the path was lonely,
and she liked neither the appearance of
Matthew nor his companions, all of whom
were far from sober.
"Mary," said he, grasping her tightly
by the arm ; " I will be heard, you shal'
not cast meofF for this Jerrold : listen tt
me, when I say that before Harry Jerrola
should become your husband, I would" —
" For heaven's sake, Matthew, do not
grasp my arm so, and as for Harry Jer-
rold, he has done nothing to merit your
ill will."
" Not to merit my ill will! — I could
curse him as the foulest thing on earth,
I could — but mark me; I have said it,
and I say it again, you shall never be
the wife of Harry Jerrold." His looks
grew fiercer as his passion strengthened,
and Mary being alarmed, strove to dis-
engage her hand, but it was too firmly
grasped for her to succeed : a distant
moan of thunder increased her alarm,
and she besought Matthew to let her go,
as she was still some distance from
home. Matthew looked around, he
saw the storm gathering — it suited his
passions, it might vent its fury, what
cared he! — he looked towards the vessel —
saw preparations on board to shift their
anchorage, and not a moment was to be
lost in getting on board.
" Far, far from home — ay, and from
Harry Jerrold — curse him, but I will
pay him for his favours," he looked once
more around — no one was near — no way-
farer to overlook the road — none but his
companions. — " Mary" said he, " by fair
means you would never be mine, by foul
you shall, for mine from this time you
must be;" and almost as quickly as he had
spoken, he caught her in his arms, and
stepping into the boat, bid the men lay
on as though every devil in Erebus were
at their backs : they needed no further
bidding, and in a few minutes were
alongside, Mary forced on board, and
the vessel, with as much canvass as she
dared carry, standing out with a driving
wind direct for the Atlantic.
Had Matthew Brain reflected for a
moment as to what his reception on
board would be, he might have hesitated
in taking such a step ; not that he much
feared the captain would have thrown
any impediment in his way, for they
were too closely connected to quarrel
about such a trifle as a silly love-sick
girl, but in the present instance, the
captain's power on board was limited
solely to sailing the ship, for it so hap-
pened that the owner of the vessel was
on board, going out as passenger to
America. Mr. Stanley, the owner, was
one of the wealthiest merchants in
Liverpool, and though young, was still
a steady man of business. At his father's
death, which had recently occurred, it
was deemed necessary either that himself
THE i'ai;teriu:.
387
or partner slioulcl procecl to the colo-
nies, for the inirpose of arraufjing some
business, which during the last few years
had not been carried on to the s;itisfac-
tion of the principals, and as INIr. Stanley
had no connexions in England to make
him particularly desirous of remaining,
he liad determined to become for two or
three years, or until such time as their
business should he put in proper train,
the resident partner in America.
Much as the captain wisiieil to screen
his relation, lie found it impossible to do
so in the i)resent instance, without run-
ning too great a risk himself; for Mr.
Stanley, as he well knew, was by no
means a man to be trifled with, and any
attempt at concealment would be as
hazardous as it would be little likely to
succeed. Wlien Mr. Stanley appeared
on deck the following morning (for being
indisposed, he had retired early to rest
on the preceding evening), he was in-
formed by the captain of what had taken
place: his indignation was unbounded,
that so atrocious an act should have been
committed on board a vessel belonging
to him, and much was he grieved to find
it quite impracticable to have the jjoor
girl sent on shore, the vessel during the
night having been driven too far out, to
leave the least chance of their running
into any port. All that could be done,
under the circumstances, to render her
situation as comfortable as possible, was
ordered by >rr. Stanley, togetlier witii tlie
strictest injunctions that Matthew Hrain
should be discliarged from tiie ship the
moment she arrived in port ; nor was
the captain best pleased at the intimation
conveyed at the same time, that the dis-
cipline must have been very bad, to have
allowed such a circumstance to have
taken place.
Thrown so strangely in Mr. Stanley's
protection as Mary had been, siie became
to him an object of much solicitude: lier
conduct under the trying circumstance
in which she was placed, he could not
too much admire, and as he became
more accjuaiiited with her manners and
disposition, he bitterly regretted that
her mind had not received its due ex-
pansion, by the aid of talented instruc-
tors. 'I'o be in the company, for some
weeks, of a woman for whom we feel in-
terested, and whose manners, simple and
unaffected as they may be, arc still the
more attractive, fr(»m all want <jf eflort
in the aft of ple.asing, is a dangerous
situation for any man ; and so it wiis to
Mr. Staidey, for lieing arrived in Ame-
rica, he found it would lie littU' in con-
sonance with his feelings, tor them to
part, and his original idea of sending her
back by the first ship, was abandoned.
The space of three years may be
briefly run over : IMr. Stanley had placed
Mary in the house of a respectable
gentlewoman, and the first masters the
colony could produce, had been em-
ployed to impart to her the various ac-
comi)lishnients of the day: the traces of
the former Mary had ra|)idly vanislicil ;
the timid air, antl somewhat rustic man •
ners, had given place to a more dignified
carriage, and polished manners ; and
iVIr. Stanley saw with pleasure, that
thcic was nothing to be feared fiom the
impromptu acts of one not early initiated
in the elegancies of society, and that
with such a partner through life, he
could be truly happy ; but of this he
had not spoken to her, nor did he in-
tend, until some time after tiieir return
to England, which at the expiration of
three years from their first arrival in
America had taken place.
How ditterent was her situation on
her arrival in England, to that in wliich
she had been j)reviously to her abrupt
departure ; then she was the humble de-
pendent of a relation, now the mistress
of an establishment, and surrounded with
all the elegancies and luxuries to make
life desirable. i\Ir. Stanley was a con-
stant visitor, and though she felt for him
all the warmth of esteem and gratitude
that woman could feel for man, she felt,
that elsewhere, a still warmer feeling
existed, — she had truly loved Harry Jer-
rold, he had been tlie bright object ot
all her fondest hopes, and she would have
looked forward to the day of her becom-
ing his wife, as the happiest of her exist-
ence ; and strange to say, lime had in
nowise obliterated these feelings. Her
return to her native land, had brought
back with greater strength the cinreiit
of her former feelings ; during her ab-
sence she had never heard from him, or
even whether he still existed, but perhaps
he had forgotten her, and the alli-ctions
she had hojied would be only her own,
might now be lavished upon another ;
she felt she nmst once again see
him, and look again upon that scene
where so many happy days had been
passed. 'I'iie residence Mr. Stanley had
procured for her, was situated near
Liverpool, and at no great distance from
iilack I'ool, and she determined once
more to visit a spot so fondly remembered
by her. .She sent word to Mr. Stanley
of her intention, and proceeded to put
her plan into execution.
388
THE PARTERRE.
Had she desired it, IMr, Stanley's
carriage and servants would have been
at her disposal ; but this suited not her
purpose, she wished to appear as she had
been when living at Black Pool, and
throwing aside her rich dresses, and
jewels, assumed the coarse and simple
dress of her early days.
What a ciowd of feelings, recollections
and associations, came rushing across
her mind, as she looked again upon the
" Three Bells!' The sign still waved to
and fro with the same hoarse creak,
sounding to her ears as the sweetest mu-
sic ; the stunted tree, looking sea-ward,
with its crazy bench and table, and the
gaunt-looking post, stretching out its
arms to shew the traveller where the
road branched off to Poulton, were still
there, unscathed by time; but the house
seemed changed for the worse, the neat
tidy appearance was gone, the frequent
white-washing and the gay green paint-
ing of the wood -work, seemed alike
forgotten ; it seemed to have sunk into
an ordinary pot-house. The name of
" Martha," under the sign, had been
obliterated with badly matched paint,
and a large " Harry " inserted in its
place : but perhaps, as she thought the
place itself might not be changed, the
style in which she had of late lived,
might have jaundiced her opinions ; but
the interior itself seemed to keep equal
pace with the exterior, all seemed going
to rack and ruin ; she gently opened the
door of a room (for no one seemed about
the house) that she remembered as the
little sitting room of the family, and
here her heart beat and throbbed as she
recognised seated at a table, Harry
Jerrold himself. An exclamation scarcely
suppressed was rising to her lips, but she
mastered her feelings ; a hasty glance
sufficed to shew her the position of
affairs; a young but coarse, vulgar-look-
ing and debauclied woman, of features
still handsome, but fast fading from the
effects of hard livLng, was seated opposite
to him ; and as for Harry, the change
had been great indeed! The ruddy hue
had left his cheeks, whilst the dull pale
of the drunkard had assumed its place ;
and the dress was carelessly put on, the
stockings hanging about the ancles, and
shoes, rivalling in appearance the muddy
roads they had so largely robbed ; before
them were placed bottles and glasses, to
which they seemed to have paid frequent
visits, and Harry was on the point of
commencing, in a hoarse cracked voice,
his favourite drinking song, when the
opening of tlje door checked him. He
looked to see who was the intruder, and,
dimmed and confused as his recollection
was by drink, he did not fail to re-
cognize one for whom he had once felt
more than his ordinary feelings towards
woman-kind.
" By heavens," he exclaimed, "am I
asleep or awake ! it cannot be, and yet
it is, as I am alive — what, Mary Willis."
" Then you have not forgotten me,
Harry Jerrold." —
" Forgotten you girl, oh no — not for-
gotten you ; but bless me, it is long since
you left us: been seeking your fortune at
Jjiverpool, eh ! Susan there comes from
Liverpool — nice place, isn't it; but, sit
you down, girl, sit you down."
" No, Harry, I have not been seeking
my fortune at Liverpool, nor was it
willingly I ever left this spot. I have
been far away, and it is but a few days
since I have returned to England."
"Ah ! well, well, say no more about it.
I am glad you are come back at any
rate; come, take a glass of this, girl ; it's
the right sort ;" and he essayed with un-
steady hand to pour out a glass of spirits
from the bottle beside him, but Mary
declined.
"What, not drink with me! why Susan
there, drinks as hard as I do — don't you,
slut 1 "■
But Susan didn't like the new comer,
and she turned her nose up, with a toss
of the head, not deigning any other
reply.
" Now you know you do, and so no
nonsense about it," and as for your
tossing your head up in that fashion, it
won't do, 'cause you see I know what it
means; and if I say you and Mary there
shall live together, and be good friends,
why you see I'll have it done, do you
hear me? "
" Nay, Harry," said Mary, her voice
faltering as she uttered the word, " I am
not come to be the cause of quarrel be-
twixt yourself and wife."
" My wife — she's no wife of mine, I
don't like such lumber; she's my mis-
tress, and so shall you be: the house is
large enough for you both, I should
think."
"Your mistress!" exclaimed Mary,
rising —
" To be sure, take my word for it, a
wise man never gets married — why how
the girl looks."
" Mary did indeed look at him, as
well as the rising tears wliich filled her
eyes would allow her; the deep bitter
feelings of disappointment were not to
be controlled; the brigiit and sunny day
THE PARTERRE.
*in
dreams of years had been dispelled ; the
objects she had looked up to, ami clothed
witii all that the fanev of her iinagiiia-
tion could paint, as most to be admired
and loved, were in an instant dashed to
the ground.
" Harry," she said, her voice partak-
ing the emotion of her feelings, "I did
not expect this from you ; it is true I
sought you here ; it was in error ; the
Harry Jerrold of former days exists no
longer. I have conjured up in my mind
a being that does not exist, and the fault
has been mine, in not sooner seeing that
I have been so long in love with an ob-
ject, existing only in my imagination.
Vour insult, sir, I forgive, for we shall
never meet again."
Harry rose from his seat to speak, but
it was too late ; he and Susan were alone,
and the stupefaction of his brain was
such, that he seemed scarcely aware
whether he had been dreaming ; but if
annoyed or not, lie turned again to the
bottle, poured out a large glass, which
having swallowed, and drawing in his
breath after it, exclaimed, "ah well,
women are strange creatures, there's no
understanding them."
Hut little remains to add. When Mr.
Stanley heard the story of Mary's jour-
ney, he laughed heartily at the idea of
her finding such a being as the fancy of
her now educated mind had made of
Harry Jerrold, and wondered that she
had not sooner perceived her error :
however, to prevent any future such
wanderings, and to have her more under
his control, he tiiought it prudent to
place her under the restraint of a wife,
which he did by almost immediately
making her Mrs. Stanley.
NOTICE OF NEW HOOKS.
BRDCE, THE TRAVELI.FR.
We have been lately reading, or rather
skimming, a life of Ilenry Salt, recently
published. The writer, a Mr. Halls,
appears to have been a very intimate
friend of the traveller ; and tries hard to
arrest the jjrogress of his name and
actions to that oblivion which is their
cerlain destiny. The fact is, .Mr. Salt
was \>y no means a rem.irkable man, and
did nothing remarkable ; and he will be
remembered, more from his unjust and
ungenerous attempts in conjunction with
Ixjrd N'alenli.i, to retard the slow, lint
dure redemption of j)oor Hruce's memory
from the undeserved wciglil of ignominy
under which it has mi long HuH'ered, than
by any other of hi<t perforindnceH. Mi.
Salt's biographer, we are pained to sec,
besides making a very prolix, dull, and
meagre book, has made another attempt
to dej)reciate Hruce, and fix again upon
his name tiie stigma of mendacity, which
every year and every subsequent traveller
in .-Miys-sinia has done something to
remove. Even Salt himself was com-
pelled to confirm Hruce's statements by
reiterating them, at the very moment
when he allected to question and to sneer;
the truth was mighty, and lie coidd not
)irevail against it. 15y reading Mr. Hall's
weak and tlisingenuous cavils we were
induced to take up Captain Head's Life
of Hruce, and we were much struck with
the honest eloquence of his vindication.
We feel confident that our readers will
be pleased with the extract; and, if it
does not awaken a sympathy for Hruce,
which would rejoice his sjiirit, could he
take cognizance now of mundane events,
we are grievously mistaken.
Frank and open in society, Bruce, in de-
scribing his adventures, generally related
those circumstances which he thouglit
were most likely to amuse people by tiie
contrast they ailbrdetl to tlic Euro])ean
fashions, custom.s, and follies of the day.
Conscious of his own integrity, and
not suspecting that in a civilized country
the statements of a man of honour would
be disbelieved, he did not think it neces-
sary gradually and cautiously to prepare
his hearers for a climate and scenery alto-
gether different from their own ; but, as
if from a balloon, heat once landed them
in Abyssinia, and suddenly shewed them
a vivid picture, to which he himself had
been long accustomed. They had asked
for novelty ; in complying with their
request, lie gave them good measure, and
told tliem of people who wore rings in
their lips instead of their ears — who
anointed themselves not with bear's grease
or pomatum, l)ut with (he blood of cows
— who, instead of |)laying tunes ni)on
them, wore the entrails of animals an
ornaments — and who, instead of eating
hot jiutrid meat, licked their lips over
l)leeding living flesh. He described de-
bauchery dieadfullv disgiisling, beciinse
it was so diflireiil from tlieir own. He
told tiiem of men who hunted each otiier
— of mollieis who h. d not si-eii ten win-
ters — and he described crowds of human
beings and luigc animals retreating in
terror before an army of little flies ! In
short, he told them the Irulh, the whole
tiiilii, and nothing but ihe truth ; hut
the mind of man, like his sloniai-h, cnn
only eoiit.iin a certain quantity, and the
390
THE PARTERRE.
dose which Bruce gave to' his hearers
was more than they had power to retain.
The facts he related were too strong —
they required to be diluted, and this base
office Bruce haughtily refused to perform;
he had given them plain wholesome food
— he did not profess to give them diges-
tion.
At that time (to say nothing about
the present day), the English public in-
dolently allowed itself, with regard to
particular regions of the world, to be led
and misled by a party of individuals —
who dogmatically dictated what idle
theory was to be believed, and what
solid information was to be disbelieved.
These brazen images Bruce refused to
worship. In their presence he main-
tained bis statements, — they frowned
upon him with pompous incredulity.
With just indignation, he sneered at
their garret life — their port-wine opin-
ions : they knew their power — and fancy-
ing that, like buffaloes, their strength lay
in their heads, they deliberately herded
together to run him down.
" It is universally known," states the
Gentleman's Magazine for 1789, "that
floubts have been entertained, tvhether
Mr. Bruce was ever in Abyssinia.'^ The
Baron de Tott, speaking of the sources
of the Nile, says, " A traveller named
Bruce, it is said, has pretended to have
discovered them. I saw at Cairo, the
servant who was his guide and companion
during the journey, who assured me that
he had no knowledge of any such discovery."
To the persuasions of his friends Bruce
at last yielded, and as soon as he resolved
to undertake the task, he performed it
with his usual energy and application.
In about three years he submitted the
work, nearly finished, to his very con-
stant and sincere friend, the Hon. Daines
Barrington. In the meanwhile his ene-
mies triumphantly maintained a clamour
against him, and in his study he was
assailed by the most virulent accusations of
exaggeration and falseliood — all descrip-
tions of people were against him ; from
Dr. Johnson, the great lexicographer and
moralist of the day, down to the witty
Peter Pindar ; heavy artillery as well
as musketry were directed against Bruce
at Kinnaird.
When Bruce's work was completed,
just before it was printed, and while
public attention was eagerly expecting it,
Johnson translated and publislied the
travels in Abyssiniaof the Jesuit, Jerome
Lobo. In the Gentleman's Magazine
for 1789, it is stated, that Johnson had
declared to Sir John Hawkins, " that
when he first conversed with Mr. Bruce,
the Abyssinian traveller, he was very
much inclined to believe that he had been
there, but that he had afterwards altered his
opinion! " In Johnson's preface, accord-
ingly, he evidently, at the expense of
Bruce's reputation, extols the Portuguese
traveller, as one who " has anmsed his
reader with no romantic absurdities or
incredible fictions. He appears by his
modest and unaffected narrative to have
described things as he saw them, to have
copied nature from the life, and to have
consulted his senses, not his imagination.
He meets with no basilisks that destroy
with their eyes, his crocodiles devour
their prey without tears, and his cataracts
fall from the rock without deafening the
neighbouring inhabitants."
These round, rigmarole sentences were
rolled against Bruce, a man who had
patiently visited three quarters of the
globe, by Johnson, one of the most pre-
judiced men of his age, who, himself a
traveller, had not temper enough to
travel in a hack-chaise to Aberdeen !
Bruce concludes his preface in the
following remarkable words :
" I have only to add, that were it pro-
bable, as in my decayed state of health it
is not, that I should live to see a second
edition of this work, all well-founded,
judicious remarks suggested should be
gratefully and carefully attended to ; but
I do solemnly declare to the public in
general, that I never will refute or answer
any cavils, captious or idle objections,
such as every new publication seems un-
avoidably to give birth to, nor ever reply
to those witticisms and criticisms that
appear in newspapers and periodical
writings. What I have written I have
written. My readers have before them,
in the present volumes, all that I shall
ever say, directly or indirectly, upon the
subject ; and I do, without one moment's
anxiety, trust my defence to an impartial,
well-informed, and judicious public."
Now, if the public had been really
" impartial, well-informed, and judici-
ous," what a favourable impression it
would have formed of a work appearing
under circumstances which so peculiarly
entitled it to belief. The author was not
only of good family, but he was a man
who, having entailed his estate, was evi-
dently proud of his family, and conse-
quently not very likely wilfully to dis-
grace it. He had received a liberal
education, inherited an independent for-
tune, and for a number of years had
deliberately prepared himself for the
THE PARTERRE.
SUl
travels wliich he had performed. He
had not hastily passed throiir;h tlie coiin-
trifs which lie described, but had remained
in them six years. His descriptions
were not of that trifling personal nature,
which in a few years it might be difficult
to confirm or confute, but, with matlie-
matical instruments in liis liands, he
professed to have determined the latitude
and longitude of every place of import-
ance which he visited, thus ofll-riiig
to men of science of all future ages, data
to condemn him, if he should deserve
condemnation ; and yet in the meanwhile,
these data were of a description which
afforded the general reader no pleasure or
amusement. The work was not a hasty
production : on the contrary, it appeared
seventeen years after the travels which it
described had been ended. It did not
proceed from a man basking in tlic vain
sunshine of public favour, but it was the
evidence of one who, by the public, had
been most unjustly hustled from the
witness-box to the dock, and there con-
demned before he had been heard.
The scenes which Hruce witnessed —
the real dangers which he encountered
— the hardships he underwent — the
fatigue lie endured, required no ex-
aggeration; and as he was lying pros-
trate in the desert, fainting under the
simoom, he could have had no feeling
more just, than that it w;is out of his
power to make any one feel by descrip-
tion the sensation under which he was
suffering. However, though his draw-
ing was imperfect, and its scale very
diminutive, yet when he brought his
picture to the civilized country, people
all cried out that it was too large! But
the real trutli was, that it was 7iot as
large as life; but that the mind of liis
enemy, like the ^'icar of ^Vaketield's
fusty room, was too small to contain the
picture — and as the Arabs who inhabit
villages have a mortal hatred towards
those wandering tribes who live in tents,
BO did the garret critics of the day feel
jealous of the man whose tether was so
nuich longer than their own : and :ls
soon as Hruce's work was ])ublislied, lie
experienced most severely how completely
party spirit, whether in religion, politics,
or science, destroys both the heart and
the head.
His enemies, with jiens in their hands,
IliJ inipatieiilly waited for his book, like
Shylock whi-iting his knife ; and it was
no MKiner publinhed, than Kruce wits
deprived of what was actually nearest to
his heart — his honour and his reputation.
It wa.-i tiKclevi to slund against the
storm which assailed him; it was im-
possible to resist the torrent which over-
whelmed him. His volumes were uni-
versiilly disbelieved; and yet it may be
most confidently stated, that ISruce's
Travels do not contain one single state-
ment which, according to our jireseiit
knowledge of the world, can even be
termed improbable.
Bruce's great object in travelling to
such remote countries had been honestly
to raise himself and his family in the
estimation of the world. 'J'his reward,
to which he was so justly entitled, was
not only withheld from him, but he
found himself absolutely lowered in
society, as a man guilty of exaggeration
and falsehood. Under such cruel treat-
ment, nothing could be more dignified
than his behaviour. He treated his
country with the silent contempt which
it deserved — he disdained to make any
reply to the jiublications which impeach-
ed his veracity; and when his friends
earnestly entreated him to alter, to mo-
dify, to explain, the accoinits which he
had given, he sternly replied, in the
words of his preface — " What I have
written, I have written!"
To his daughter alone, his favourite
child, he opened his heart: although she
was scarcely twelve years of age when he
published his Travels, she was his con-
stant companion ; and he used to teach
her the proper mode of pronouncing the
Abyssinian words, "that he might leave,''
as he said, "some one behind him who
could pronounce them correctly." He
repeatedly said to her, with feelings
highly excited, " / shall not live to see
it, but i/oii probably will, and you will
then see the trutli of all I have written
thoroughly conlirmed."'
But, although his life at Kinn.iird
w,as apparently traiupiil, his wounded
feelings, res|)ecting his travels, occasion-
ally betrayed themselves. One day,
while he %vas at the house of u relation
in East Lothian, a gentleman present
bluntly observed, that it wjus impossible
that the natives of Abyssinia could eat
raw meat! Bruce said not a word; but,
leaving the room, he shortly returned
from the kitchen with a piece of raw
beef steak, peppered imd salted in the
Abyssinian iiishion. " You will eat that,
sir, or tight me!" he said. When the
gentleman had eaten up the raw flesh,
( most willingly would lie have eaten his
wijrds instead 1, Itiiiee calmly obsii ved,
" Now, sir, you will never again siiy it ist
iiii/MnMlf f"
392
THE PARTERRE.
This, and other trifling anecdotes,
sufficiently shew how justly sensitive
Bruce was to the insult that had been
offered to him. For twenty years,
which had elapsed since his return to
Europe, he had endured treatment which
it was totally out of his power to repel.
It is true, he had been complimented by
Dr. Blair, and a few other people, on
the valuable information which he had
revealed; but the public voice still ac-
cused him of falsehood, or what is
equally culpable, of wilful exaggeration ;
and against the gross public an individual
can do nothing. Bruce's career of hap-
piness was at an end — he had survived
his reputation, and the only remedy left
him, was that which a noble Roman is
supposed to have prescribed for his own
son. " What could he do," he was asked,
"against so many?" he answered —
"Die!' and this catastrophe — tliis "con-
summation devoutly to be wished," we
have now the pleasure to relate.
The last act of Bruce's life was one of
gentlemanlike, refined, and polite atten-
tion. A large party had dined at Kin-
iiaird; and while they were about to
depart, Bruce was gaily talking to a
young lady in the drawing-room, when,
suddenly observing that her aged mother
was jiroceeding to her carriage unat-
tended, he hurried from the drawing-
room to the great staircase. In this
effort, the foot which had safely carried
him through all his dangers happened to
fail him ; he fell down several of the
steps — broke some of his fingers — pitched
on his head — and never spoke again !
For several hours every effort was
made to restore him to the world ; all
that is usual, customary, and useless in
such cases was performed.
There was the bustle, the hurry, the
confusion, the grief unspeakable, the
village leech, his lancet, his phial, and
his little pill ; but the lamp was out —
the book was closed — the lease was up
— the game was won — the daring, rest-
less, injured spirit had burst from the
covert, and was — " away !"
Journal. Bv Frances Anne Butler.
Mrs. Butler, '^ late Miss Fanny Kemble,"
as the recent puffing advertisements in
all the literary journals inform us, has
just published a work entitled her " Jour-
nal," or some one has made a very un-
warrantable use of her name. The book
is such a farrago of vulgarity, that we
really are inclined, for the honour of the
sex, to doubt its being her performance.
Everybody knows that, not long ago,
Miss Fanny Kemble "came out," as it
is termed, at one of the great theatres in
London ; not, however, before every
species of puff had been called into aid to
give eclat to her appearance. All the
hireling scribes with whom our great
city abounds, were feed to write articles
about this scion of a house which their
biographer, Thomas Campbell, says, has
the presumption to talk of their being
descended from the Kembles of Widhill,
an ancient Wiltshire family. But all
these efforts proved abortive; and after
a short time, " a beggarly account of
empty boxes '' clearly shewed that the
English public can sometimes judge for
themselves; nevertheless, a good sum
was obtained by the Kembles. Then
came out a Tragedy, and a pretty affair
it was ! and this young lady was said to
be the author. Here again we hope for
her sake she did not write that " Tra-
gedy '(!) — because, as a very sensible
friend of ours observes, there are in it
passages which betray a knowledge which
a very young lady is not supposed to
possess. This wretched composition was
be-puffcd and be-praised until every
sensible and thinking person was dis-
gusted, and tiien the puffing ceased ;
since which it has been entirely forgotten,
and in all probability the remaining
copies have been assigned by Mr. Murray
to some philanthropic trunk-maker.
We are truly sorry to be compelled to
speak thus of any one, but particularly
when that one is of a sex for whose
superiority (not in mental acquirements,
for these are seldom associated with the
virtuous and the good) we have often con-
tended. Miss Kemble was, we believe,
a clever girl, and she may be a clever
woman, l)ut she has greatly over-rated
her abilities. And who has she to thank
for this? — her father. It is one of tlie
important duties of a parent to check by
timely intervention, by reason and ar-
gument, the budding vanity of his chil-
dren. Vanity is inherent in all human
creatures, and it extends to animals, ay,
even to reptiles, if we may credit Chris-
topher North. It is, as the poet truly
observes, " the source of all our good,
and all our ill." Now, Mr. Kemble
watered and cultivated the weed, instead
of applying the hoe to it, and lo ! it has
grown rank, and tall, and offensive even
to the eyes of those who once admired it.
Having thus given vent to our indig-
nation, we sliall proceed to lay before
our readers a few extracts from " the
.Journal of Mrs. Butler, late Miss Fanny
THE PARTERRE.
am
Keinble." Here the lady, speaking of
her situation on board, says: —
" On my back all day ; mercy, how it
ached too! the ship reeled about like a
drunken thing. 1 lay down and began
readuiji Hyron's life.
" Atleruards s;it working and stifling
in the round-house till near ten, and
then, being no longer able to endure tlie
heat, came down, undressed, and sat
luxuriously on the groutul in my dress-
ing-gown, drinking lemonade. .At twelve
went to bed; the men kept up a horrible
row on deck half the night ; singing,
dancing, whooping, and running over
our heads.
"Lay all day on my back, most
wretched, the sliip heaving like any
eartlxjuake ; in fact, there is something
irresistibly funny in the way in which
peo|)le seem dispossessed of their power
of volition by this motion, rushing liither
and thither in all directions but the one
they purpose going, and making as many
angles, fetches, and sidelong deviations
from the point they aim at, as if the devil
lui'i tied a string to tkeir legs, and jerked it
evcTt/ now and then in spite.
" Heard something funny that I wish
to remember — at a Methodist meeting
the singer who led the Psalm tune,
finding that his concluding word, which
was Jacob, had not syllables enough to
fill up the music adequately, ended thus
— Ju-a-a-a — Ja-a-a-a — fol de-riddle —
cob!
" One of the curses of living at an inn
in this unceremonious land; — Dr.
walked in this evening, accompanied by
a gentleman, whom he forthwith intro-
duced to us.
" Poor good ship, I wish to Heaven
my feet were on her deck, and her prow
turned to the east. / icoiild not care
if the devil himself drove a hurricane at
our backs.
" .My dresses were very beautiful ; but
oh, the muscjuitocs had made dreadful
havix; with my arms, which were covered
with hills as large and red as Vesuvius
in an eruption."
Here is another specimen:
" We left the table soon ; came and
wrote journal. When the gentlemen
joined us, they were all more or less
•how com'd you so indeed?' Mr.
and Mr. particularly.
" Went to the theatre : the hou8C was
full, and dreadfully hot. My father
acted Romeo beautifully : I looked very
nice, anil the pi-opli- applauded my gown
abundantly. .\t llie end of the play I
WAS half dead with heat and fatigue
came home and supped, lay down on the
floor in absolute meltiness away, and then
came to bed.
" Oh, bugs, flea.s, flies, ants, and nuis-
quitoes, great is the misery you inflict
upon me ! I sit slapping my own face
all day, and lie thumping my i)illow all
night.
" After rehearsal, walked into a shop
to buy some gauze : the shopman called
me by my name, entered into conversa-
tion with us; and one of them, after
shewing me a variety of things which I
did not want, said, that they were most
anxious to shew me every attention, and
render my stay in this country agreeable.
A christian, 1 suppose, would have met
these benevolent advances with an infini-
tude of thankfulness, and an t)ut-pouring
of grateful ])ieasure ; but for my own
jiart, though I had the grace to smile
and say, ' I'hank you,' I longed to add,
' but be so good as to measure your
ribands, and hold your tongue.' I have
no idea of holding parley with clerks
behind a counter, still less of their doing
so with me. So much for my first im-
pression of the courtesy of this land of
liberty."
We just stop to ask, what clerk would
not be ashamed to own a wife or a sister
who could write in this vulgar strain?
It is truly laughable to hear an actress,
descended from a family of the s^tme
profession, talk contemptuously of a
decent slioiinian, who for aught she
knew, might be a lineal descendant of
one of those stout hearts and cool heads,
that left their country and affluence, in
disgust at the licentious atrocities of the
Stuarts ; fah I A little further on we
meet with a fine scene.
" When I went on, I was all but
tumbling down at the sight of my JafHer,
who looked like the a|)olhec;iry in Romeo
and Juliet, with the addition of some
devilish red slashes along his thighs and
arms.
"In the parting scene, — oh what a
scene it was! — instead of goitig away
from me when he saiil 'farewell for ever,'
he stuck to my skills-, though in the
same breath that I abjured him, in the
wokIs of my part, not to leave me, 1
a<lded, aside, ' (Jet away from me, oh do ! '
When I exclaimed, ' Not one kiss ut
parting?' he kept embracing and kissing
me like mad ; and when I ought to have
been |)ursuing him, .mil calling after him,
' Leave thy dagger with me,' he hung
hiiiiHelf up .against tin- wing, and re-
mained il.ingling there for five ininutcK.
I was half cru/y ! and the giiuil people
394
THE PARTERRE.
sat and swallowed it all : they deserved
it, by my troth, they did. I prompted
him constantly, and once, after struggling
in vain to free myself from him, was
obliged, in the middle of my part, to
exclaim, ' You hurt me dreadfully, Mr.
Keppel !' He clung to me, cramped me,
crumpled m,e, — dreadful !
" At the end of the play, the clever
New Yorkians actually called for Mr.
Keppel ! and this most worthless clapp-
ing of hands, most worthlessly bestowed
upon such a worthless object, is what,
by the nature of my craft, I am bound
to care for ; / spit at it from the bottom
of my soul!
" Rose late : when I came in to break-
fast, found Colonel sitting in the
parlour. He remained for a long time,
and we had sundry discussions on topics
manifold. It seems that the blessed
people here were shocked at my having
to hear the coarseness of Farquhar's In-
constant — humbug! "
One more scene, and we have done
with Mrs. Butler.
" Yesterday was evacuation day ; but
as yesterday was the Lord's day also,
the American militia army postponed
their yearly exhibition. * * To-day,
however, we have had firing of pop-guns,
waving of star-spangled banners (some
of them rather the worse for wear), in-
fantry marching through the streets,
cavalry (o/j Lord, what delicious objects
they were /) and artillery prancing along
them, to the infinite ecstasy and peril of
a dense mob. * * O, pomp and cir-
cumstance of glorious war ! They were
certainly not quite so bad as FalstafF's
men of ragged memory ; for, for aught
I know to the contrary, they perhaps all
of them had shirts to their backs. But
some had gloves, and some had none ;
some carried their guns one way, and
some anotlier ; some had caps of one
fashion, and some of another ; some had
no caps at all, but 'shocking bad hats,'
■with feathers in them. The infantry
were, however, comparatively respectable
troops. They did not march many
degrees out of the straight line, or stoop
too 7nuch, or turn their heads too often.
* * But the cavalry ! oh, the cavalry !
what gems without price they were !
Apparently extremely frightened at the
shambling tilupj)y chargers upon whose
backs they clung, straggling in all direc-
tions. * * If anything ever might be
properly called wondrous, they, their
riders and accoutrements, deserve the
title. Some wore boots, and some wore
shoes, and one indei)endent licro had gut
on grey stockings and slippers! Some
had bright yellow feathers, and some red
and black feathers. * * The bands of
these worthies were worthy of them ;
half a dozen fifers and drummers playing
old English jig tunes.
" After breakfast, put out clothes for
to-night. When I came down, found
in the drawing-room with my
father : paid him his bill, and pottered
an immensity."
" Another lady, rather more civil, and
particularly considerate, asked me to do
her the favour of lending her the other
volume. I said, by all manner of means,
wished her at the devil, and turned round
to sleep once more."
" ' Handsome is that handsome does,'
is verity ; and, therefore, pretty as was
my steed, I wished its good looks and
itself at the devil, before I was half way
down Chestnut Street."
We are not sorry to find that the re-
viewers have treated this impudent pro-
duction as it merits. For vulgarity and
bad temper, it is unrivalled ; and the
ungrateful treatment of the Yankees, is
worse than all. Our countrywomen
have been noted for their courtesy to
strangers in a foreign country, for their
willingness to pass over what may be
strange and un-English ; but this lady
vents her spleen in every page; and in
return for the cordial reception which
the Americans gave her, neglects no
opportunity of holding them up to con-
tempt and derision.
CARDINAL PETRALIA.
Chapter II.
THE CELL.
Absorbed by the extraordinary recital of
the cardinal, Anselm retired to his own
home to meditate upon it. So solemn
an exordium, so unlimited a confidence,
threw him into strange perplexity. Had
the cardinal penetrated into the secret of
his double office? Did he think to make
a weapon or a stepping-stone of the Car-
bonari? In short, what was it he wanted
with him ? This was the insoluble ques-
tion, always and by every route, to which
he returned.
Anselm was true to his appointment.
The Angelus was ringing when he
crossed the threshold of the Trastenerm
cloister : the cardinal was alone in his
cell.
" I thank you for coming," he said;
THE PARTERRE.
395
" I expected you." And entering at once
upon his subject, " you know the pro-
verb," he continued, "where there is a
will, there is a way; and it is to compass
the end I will, that I am a Sanfedist. I
have made a party for myself in the courts
of Italy. You will doubtless deem this a
frail support ; but undeceive yourself. Its
strength consists in its nullity. Though
held in contempt as a European power,
proximity, connexions of commerce, lan-
guage and climate, the thousand ties of
friendship, almost of family, assure them
an unsuspected authority in the Con-
clave. Now I am persuaded that they
will have a mutual understanding about
me ; I trust not either to their principles
or their promises, but I trust to their
self-interest. The Ghibelline worm is
gnawing at the throne of each, and at
this moment a Pope decidedly Guelph
is their only hope. The occult but tried
champion of their independence, I am
at once their patron and their client ;
and they can only invest their patron
with strength and authority, by raising
tlieir clienl to the chair of Saint Peter."
" And when at length you are there,
what shall you do, my lord ? "
" Wait! we are not come to that part
jet, we are only on the eve, not the
morning after. Sure of the Italian
courts, I have farther, the word of the
Czar : a heretic ])rince, he has but an
indirect influence in the Conclave. Now
that is for me, the strongest — the only
one I desire."
" What ! " interrupted Anselm with
vivacity, " you trust to the Czar ! and see
not that he aspires to the same ascend-
ancy over us with Ca;sar ! Eagle for
eagle, yoke for yoke. I will have none of
them. Away with them beyond tlie
bounds of Italy ! Whilst they wrangle
about the bloody corpse, do you yourself
resuscitate that Italy that lies in her
coffin ; snatch her from the shroud of
death — belie the poet, let her once at
length fight with a sword that is her
own ; let her fight for herself ! let her
as an avenging phantom rise up and de-
scend into the arena to reign. It is a
grand part, my lord, and worthy of you.
Listen," he continued, with impetuosity,
seizing an open volume of ^laehiavel
from the desk of the cardinal, " listen to
what the great I-'lorentine wrote three
centuries ago to a Medici: — 'This oj)-
portunily must not be allowed t<j pass by,
to the end that Italy may see her Saviour
appear ; I cannot Kpeak the love, the
ihirM of revenge, the obstinate faith, the
pity, the tears with which he would be
received in all the provinces that have
suffered so nuich from f"orcign invasions.
What Italian would refuse him alle-
giance? Let your illustrious house once
take this resolution, with the courage and
the hope that every righteous enterprise
inspire, that your country may be enno-
bled beneath your banners . . . .' M'hat
the Medici did not do," continued An-
selm, closing tlie book, "do you do, my
lord. It would be grand for the son of
the people to accomplish what the jirince
dared not attempt. That which was
true three centuries ago, is still more
true to-day, and the opportunity is
equally hajipy. You have your hand on
the tiara, and the voice of a pope who
should say to Italy ' be free ! ' that voice
would resound like thunder, and make of
every man a soldier ! "
" And who has told you that this cry
will not resound from the Vatican, as
that of e()uality erst sounded from Cal-
vary ? Who has told you that froin the
mute belfries shall not peal, as in the mid-
dle ages, the tocsin of independence and
the Italian vespers? Who has told yuu
that churches will not be converted into
forums, and pulpits into tribunes ? that
the cry of Julius the Second will not be
heard from Etna to the Alps ? that his
helmet will sit ill upon the white hairs of
the new pontiff? Go, young man ! the
thoughts of God arc not as our thoughts,
nor his ways as our ways. John I'roeida
was a Sicilian ; let the tiara ti>-day bind
the brows of the bastard of Sicily, and
to-morrow Italy will have her re-
deemer ! "
" The unity of Italy is then youi
end?"
" I wish Italy strong, and unity is all-
powerful."
" jVIy lord,'' said Anselm, with calm-
ness and dignity, " if it be true that you
also dream of Italian unity ; that it is
your aim to reunite in a single body the
scattered members of the Peninsula oi
grief, swear upon the crucifix that once
pope, it shall be your only thought."
" I swear it ! " said the cardinal,
stretching out his hand over the body of
the crucified ; " it shall be my oidy
thought ! "
•* Since it is thus," resumed Anselm,
putting one knee to the ground, " I swear
to de\ote myself to your fortune, iiiul to
make for you, if need l>e, a stepping-
stone of n.y body tow.irds the tiara."
" Your youlhiid ardour has outstrip-
ped me. I accept your oflir, but not
your oath, until you have heard nie.
Listen. I liild you yeslerd.iy. on the
396
THE PARTERRE.
Marian Mount, and I repeat it here,
that you may serve the great end of my
life, and through me, Italy. But re-
member, you risk your head in it. I
know that Italy is not wanting in warm
hearts, fiery and generous spirits, that
abhor the Austrian, and are ready to die
for Italian independence. They are the
men of whom I would make my Mace-
donian phalanx. Will you lend me your
aid in seeking them? But here meta-
phors are superfluous : I will explain
myself clearly," and laying on the table
a pontifical decree, recently fabricated in
the sanguinary dens of the Vatican, he
read from it these words, ' Shall be pu-
nished with death, as guilty of high
treason, whoever shall be surprised in a
meeting of the Carbonari.' Now, do
you understand me ? "
" I begin to comprehend. — Go on !"
" I have but one word more to add :
will you, after this, become a Carbonaro?
That is what I ask of you."
" And what do you ask of them ?"
" Assistance and allegiance."
" And in return, what do you promise
them?"
" The Italian Crusade against Austria,"
" And you have chosen me as your
secret Ambassador, your interpreter
amongst them V
" Yes ; but reflect well upon it ; be-
hind is the scaffold. Speak of yourself
and of them, not of me. I know their
number and power. Th^y must accept
me as their candidate for the tiara, and
support me by every method. Formerly
the people of Vitabe compelled by their
energy the election of Gregory the Tenth.
A demonstration of the Carbonari might,
in despair of the cause, compel mine, and
intimidate the Conclave by dictating the
law to it."
" Alphonzo Petrucci brought about
the election of Leo the Tenth by a popu-
lar shout, and Leo the Tenth strangled
Alphonzo Petrucci in the Castle of Saint
Angelo. That, my lord, is what the
Carbonari would reply to me."
" But yourself, Anselm, do you not
believe in my word, in my oath ?"
" I believe in them, but they do not
know you that they may believe in you.
Have they heard you this evening swear
upon the crucifix ? Were they yester-
day at the Marian Mount?"
" It is for you, Anselm, to carry con-
viction into their minds. If it be in yours,
it will be transfused into theirs Trust
me, faith is electric ; it is contagious ; it
is gained by language."
" May God, then, give me a golden
tongue, that I may persuade them ; from
this moment I am a Carbonari, and swear
fidelity to you."
" But," resumed the Cardinal, "have
you the means to penetrate into the sit-
tings of the Carbonari?"
" I will find them, my lord ; that is
my concern."
" Go then, generous spirit ! You will
find your fellow in those subterranean
camps of the proscribed and decimated,
whither I send ycu as a hostage. If I
have waited long — if the wheel of P'or-
tune have turned slowly for me, my day
is at length arrived. Sixtus the Fifth is
going to throw away his crutch."
Suddenly there was a violent knocking
at the door of the cloister, and a monk
rushed into the cell. — " My lord, the
Camerlingue," said he, gasping for breath,
" apprises your Highness that the Pope
IS DEAD !" So saying, he went out.
" The Pope is dead !" exclaimed An-
selm and the Cardinal both at once.
" Dead!" repeated the Cardinal, and
he fainted away. The bell of the capitol
pealing the mighty tidings, restored him
to life.
" My lord!" said Anselm to him with
emotion, " do you hear that bell? It is
the alarm bell of the Italian Crusade I"
" Already!" replied the Cardinal, re-
opening his eyes, and so near the end, he
forgot his forty years of expectation.
" At length !" said he, after a silence,
and he appeared to breathe more freely.
Completely himself again, he took An-
selm's hand affectionately, and added
with solemnity — " That bell is a bell
from heaven ; it is the peal of triumph
or of death ; the hand of God is now at
this instant preparing in obscurity a
throne or a scaffold."
" Perhaps both," interrupted Anselm ;
" but his will be done ! Let us think of
the throne first, and the scaffold may
come afterwards ! "
" And you fearlessly plunge your hand
into the fatal urn? If you should draw
out black, Anselm ?"
" Well, my lord, I should go to rejoin
the Gracchi, Crescentius the consul, Ar-
nold of Bresica, the tribune Rienji, and
all the martyrs for Roman liberty."
" Happy are the young !" exclaimed
the old man ; " it is a Vjlessed ago that
can join to such carelessness such intre-
pidity and confidence."
The deep-toned bell of the capitol con-
tinued to sound, filling the air with its
iron voice. But it was not long heard
alone ; starting to life at its call, every
JK'll in llunie replied to it, and the hun-
THE PARTEUUE.
3l>7
dreil and fifty churches of tlie Holy City
blended all their voices in one vast noc-
turnal concert, without an equal in the
world.
Invited by so many summonses to the
mortuary festival, the people poured by
torrents info the streets ; they overflowed
in the public squares and joined their
mighty voice to that of all the others. —
" The Pope is dead ! — The Pope is dead !' '
This funeral shout roiie on the whirl-
wind, and beat as a mighty wave against
the cell and the heart of the Sicilian ;
then the liurricane carried it oil' in its
aerial gust, and it was lost in the tempest :
but the tempest was fertile ; it kindled
in passing the ambition of the living from
the dust of the dead, erecting a throne
upon a cortin.
A long silence prevailed in the cell ; it
was broken by Anselm.
" My lord," said he, " our bark is
afloat, launched a month before the hour !
It is for us now to guide it through the
storm."
You are my pilot," replied the Sici-
lian ; and after renewing their oaths,
they separated.
Chapter III.
THE CONCLAVE.
The great bell of the capitol, which an-
nounced to the Itoman people and to
Christendom the death of the pontif-
king, pealed for nine days and nine
nights : the funeral season was spent
in prayers, in chantings, and in plots ;
theatres, courts of law, universities — all
at Rome were suspended ; for, with the
pope, expires every office, all business,
and pleasure. The theocratic sovereignty
returns to the bosom of the sacred col-
lege ; but until its entire re-union, the
head of the state is the Car<linul Camer-
lingue. Pope for the interregnum, he
takes possession of the pontifical palace,
and coins money, with his name and
family arms: — more than one of their
highnesses are said to have|)rolited largely
by the days of sovereignly.
The pope was dead ! deceiving by a
month the augury of medicine and po-
licy. Abruptly roused from her inerli;i,
the Holy City was all in action ; with a
restless, but frivolous movement of rou-
tine. People went and came; groups
by thoiis;ii>ds darkened tlie sr|iiares ;
arti/aiis, princcM, inerchunis, and iiioiiks;
English, I'Veiich. Russians, and men of
all nations, bn/.zed confusedly in the
streeti. Three-cornered hats, und shop-
keepers of London, were in the majority.
Forgotten before he was cold, the dead
pontiff w;is only called to mind by some
ferocious pas<iuinade ; and l)urning with
hope, ambition, and uncertainty, every
imagination turned towards the future
pontiff, as iron to the magnet.
The solemnities of the nine days con-
eluded, the Conclave opened, but in the
absence of some expected foreign cardi-
nals, the business transacted during the
first week, was merely nonunal.
It was the season of the mal'Rria,
which, during the summer heats, p:isses
the walls of the Holy City, and invades
even to the dwelling of the sovereign
PonliiF; and the Conclave had met in the
more airy and healthy palace of the (iui-
rinal. Rut strictly cloistered witliin the
four walls of their narrow and hot cells,
the holy electors had very little enjoy-
ment of its spacious and splendid a))art-
ments, and cool and delightful gardens.
The captives were, however, numerous;
for the Conclave was a little world of
itself. Physicians, chamberlains, apothe-
caries, barbers, — nothing was waiaing ;
for each of their highnesses had in at-
tendance for the use of his hotly, soul,
and spirit, a chamberlain, secretary, and
confessor. Once locked in, the members
of the Conclave cannot go out again ; or
if they do, it must be to return no more.
It is only the election of the pope, that
can restore them to the open air and to
liberty. The police of the jilace is en-
trusted to a liigh lay ofticer, who bears
the military title of Marshal of the Con-
clave. He resides in the palace, of which
he has the keys ; and to him belongs the
right to open or shut the prison. The
doors are guarded by Swiss. The mar-
shal is aided in his ("unctions of gaoler by
the first conservator oftlie Roman people,
who is the true Cerberus of the place.
It is he who searches, or is supposed to
search, the persons of all who enter, as
he is sup))osed to search the contents of
the jiat^s and chickens that figure on
the tables of the electors ; for the dimier
of the cardinals is not picpared in the
palace, but is sent to them, ready -dressed.
Every day at noon, the ceremony of
the ever-blessed dinners connneiices ;
locked in a box, with the colours of the
master, it is pompously carried on a
litter of the same colour, by two servants
in state liveries. Two footmen open the
procession, bearing canes ; and empty or
full, the carriage of his highness doses
the cortege. 'I'he heavy magnificence of
these cur<linalic carriages is one of ihe
curiosities of Rome. I'uinted purple,
398
THE PARTERRE.
tlie sacramental colour, and surmounted
at the four corners by massive ornaments,
of purple also, they are gorgeous with
heavy gildings, armorial bearings, and
pictures, often rather profane ; the gayest
bordered by Venuses, and little dancing
loves, beneath wreaths of roses.
Every day these gothic convoys, des-
tined for the service of the belligerent
armies of the Holy Spirit, peaceably
parade through the streets, and stop in
procession at the entrance in the field of
battle. As dear admirers of siglits as
their ancestors, the Romans have a de-
cided fiincy for this gastronomic cere-
mony, and rarely fail to line at noon
the avenues to, and besiege the doors of
the Conclave.
Another ceremony in equal estimation,
is what is called at Rome, la Fianata :
it is as follows: — The electors have a
scrutiny twice a day, in the morning
and afternoon ; a formality that is renewed
so long as no candidate has obtained two-
thirds of the votes ; the lowest number
to secure an election. Until that event,
the votes are burnt, and the smoke of the
sacred paper escapes by an iron tube
exposed to public gaze. This is what is
called la Fuviata. At eleven and five,
the crowd on foot press around the mys-
terious palace, with eyes fixed on the
prophetic tube, as the mariner on his
compass, to await their destiny : if the
smoke issue, the pope is to be chosen ; if
it do not, he is chosen.
But this is not, as the procession of
the dinners, an idle and childish cere-
mony. The states of the church are, in
temporalities, under a pure and absolute
despotism ; so the choice of the sovereign
is important to each, as it aiFects him
individually. He is above the laws ; he
is himself the living law ; he reverses
sentences ; annuls or overrules decrees ;
and can, on his own authority, without
even consulting the creditor, release a
debtor from his debt, whatever it may
be, by a simple order ; an iniquitous
favour that may indefinitely, and in con-
tempt of all justice, be renewed every six
years, for the benefit of a protege; hence
it may easily be imagined, with what
feverish impatience and throbbing of the
heart, all classes of the Roman populace
interrogate the augural Funiata.
As to the captives, their chain is short,
and sufficiently heavy. Old and ailing,
they regret their luxuries and palaces ;
and when, after long intrigues and many
stratagems, the Conclave was still pro-
longed, they often suddenly agreed to fix
upon the first name that should come out.
A private entrance is appropriated to
the ambassadors, who come in great
pomp to present their credentials to the
sacred college.
The presiding cardinals are three in
number, and are changed every morning.
Every day before the first scrutiny,
the mass of the Holy Ghost is celebrated
in the chapel of the Conclave ; and after
dinner, the Veni Creator Spiritiis is loudly
chanted : the simple meaning of which
is — Gentlemen, make haste ; for all these
superanuated pomps are now, as says the
apostle, but sounding brass, and tinkling
cymbals.
The old electoral machine of this
sacerdotal Poland, rolls now upon the
veto of the catholic powers, France, Aus-
tria, Spain, and Portugal, who all four
enjoy in the Conclave the privilege of
exclusion : that is to say, each may reject
the candidate he deems inimical to his
interests. Thus Europe presides at the
Conclave, and every one is master there,
except the cardinals.
As tlie veto can only be exercised once,
the talent of the parties consists in neu-
tralizing it, and making it fall upon a
head that it was well known could never
wear the tiara. They usually commence
on either side, by bringing forward some
cardinal too decidedly compromised in
the eyes of foreign courts, either by
birth, or political feelings, and upon
whom the exclusion must of necessity
descend.
But the foreign diplomacy are all on
their guard : they are in constant in-
telligence witl) the sacred college ; for
the marshal of the Conclave does not
keep his gaol so strictly, or search so
deeply into the apostolic provisions, but
that notes are exchanged daily between
the princes of the church, and the hotels
of earthly potentates. The result of
these manoeuvres is generally the same ;
it may be considered certain that a party
candidate will never succeed. Balancing
between one and another, the triple
crown generally falls unexpectedly upon
some insignificant person, of whom no
one at first had tliought : for, as Cardi-
nal Petralia said to Anselm, the tiara no
longer binds any but neutral brows.
Thence the adage — lie who enters the
Conclave pope, will go out cardinal, —
and therefore, the constant care of the
Sicilian to enter the Conclave cardinal,
to go out pope.
He had no party ; he was not the
client of any ultra-montane court ; there-
fore, as lie had not to fear the veto of
any, he %vas nearer the throne than any
THE PARTERRE.
39C
of their candklatcs. lie was, liowcvcr,
the candidate of the Roman ]>eoplo : his
name was great on the Seven Hills ; and
where he had scattered ten in alms and
consolations, he had reaped a thousand-
fold in love and veneration ; for the
people are not ungrateful.
The Czar, being a heretic prince, had
neither veto, nor ofKcial voice in the
Conclave, but his political influence in
the Vatican was not the less for that ;
hence Cardinal Petralia depended more
upon the oblique insinuations of this
northern prince, than on the dangerous
support of their most faithful majesties.
The Sicilian liad the promise of the
Muscovite; not certainly that the iNIus-
covite cared for the pope, as pilot of the
bark of St. Peter, but he cared for the
pope, as an Italian prince ; and in this,
lie was with every one else, the dujie of
the high penitentiary. He likewise
counted him an anchorite ; and as an
interested patron, reckoned upon reward
for his services, by reaping the benefit of
the political incapacity of his crowned
client. In this lay the secret of the pro-
tection of this distant power ; which was
the most active and intriguing in the
pious comedy of the Quirinal.
His mines thus disposed, the Sicilian
had not slumbered in the arms of hope ;
but had foreseen every chance. Calcu-
lating the possibility of a reverse, he had
had recourse, as a last alternative, to the
Carbonari. He was thoroughly ac-
quainted man by man, with every mem-
ber of the sacied college; he was not
ignorant that such was the feebleness of
these decrepid old men, that an armed
rising on the Quirinal, to the shout of
Cardinal Petralia for ever ! would com-
pel, in case of need, his election ; but
this was only an extreme and desperate
resource. Anselm, whom the cardinal
had commissioned as his agent with the
Carbonari, was himself, unknown to the
Cardinal, the head of tlie Carbonari, pre-
sided in their sittings as grand master of
the order, and helil in his hand the
strings of a mighty confederacy, that,
organized in the lieart of tlie Holy City,
extended its occult but powerful agency
to the remotest hamlet in the jieninsula.
Hence the animated and confident sup-
port promised by .Anselm to the cardinal,
in tlie conversation of the cell.
The cardinal pinictually attended the
formality of the scrutiny, and the cere-
monieii of the chapel. 'l"hough a domi-
nant parly to every plot, he jireserved
liis patient Kclf-collection, and appeared
o enter into nofie, but gave his vote to
each ultra-candidate, well persuaded he
had nothing to fear from his rivalry.
The thought of the papacy intlamed
his imagination ; the s;icred diadem
glowed before his eyes, and the tempest
of ambition was rife within him ; but to
see him slowly and collectedly move
along, his monastic robe sweei)ing the
pavement of the Pauline chapel ; to see
him avoiding intrigue and faction, and
indifferently voting first for one, then for
another, the Conclave persisted in regard-
ing him as a saint, incompetent for ter-
restrial afl'airs, and absorbed in heavenly
ci)ntcmi)lations. His severe renunciation
was edifying, and they repeated with the
pious Pasquin: Si Saitctiisord pro iioOis,
si doclus docc ct nos ; and of the sixty
cardinals cf the sacred college, not one
had ever thought of giving him a vote.
And thou ! oh strong man ! thou didst
see all these things, and rejoice at them.
Intrigues followed their course, and be-
came daily more energetic, in proportion
as the foreign cardinals arrived at the
Conclave ; but skirmishes only had as yet
taken place, and the august assembly
waited for the decisive stroke, the arrival
of the Austrian cardinal, bearing the im-
perial veto.
At length he came: he spent one
whole day with the ambassador of his
court, and they concerted together their
plan of attack and defence. The secrets
of tlie Trastenerin cloister, the residence
of Cardinal Petralia, filled an important
place in the mysterious conference.
The second day, the subtle Austrian
pursued with his suite the way to the
Quirinal. He was received at tlie outer
gate by the Marshal with military hon-
ours, and in the Conclave, by tlie cardinal
presidents; his highness took possession
of the cell destined to him by lot, and
his entrance was the signal for commenc-
ing the battle.
(^Concluded at page 403^.
INSECTS or A DAY.
( Translated from llic French.)
Cicero sjicaks of insects on the banks
of the river Hypanis, the extent of
whose life is one day. He amongst
them who dies at five in the morning,
dies in his youth ; he who lives to five
in the evening, dies in his decrepitude.
Supposing one of the most mhust of
these Hypanians to be as niuient ns
time itself, in the estimation of his
compatriots, he would have commenced
his existence at daybreak, and, by the
400
THE PARTERRE.
extraordinary strength of his constitu-
tion, have sustained an active life
throughout the infinite number of mo-
ments of ten or twelve hours. During
this long succession of instants, by
experience and reflection upon what he
has seen, he will have acquired great
wisdom ; he sees his fellows dying
around him at noon-day, as creatures
happily freed from the many inconve-
niences attendant upon old age. He
relates to his grandchildren marvellous
traditions of facts anterior to the me-
mory of the whole nation. The young
swarm, composed of beings who may
perhaps have already lived an hour,
respectfully approach the elder, and
listen with admiration to his instructive
conversation. Everything he recites
will appear a prodigy to a generation
whose life is so short. The space of a
day will appear to them as the entire
duration of time, as comprising the
length of his scroll, and the number of
his sands ; and the early twilight, in
their chronology, be recalled as the
great era of creation.
Let us suppose, now, this venerable
insect, this Nestor of the Hypanians, a
little before his death, and about the
hour of the going down of the sun,
assembling together around him his
family, friends, and acquaintances, to
communicate to them his last instruc-
tions, and to give them his death-bed
experience. They lepair from all parts
to his abode, under the spacious shelter
of a mushroom, and the departing sage
addresses them in something of the fol-
lowing style : —
" Friends and fellow-countrymen ! I
am sensible that the longest life miust
have its conclusion. The limit of mine is
attained ; I regret not my destiny, since
my great age is a sore burden for me,
and there is nothing new remaining for
me beneath the sun. The revolutions
and calamities that have laid waste my
country, the innumerable accidents to
which we are individually liable, the
infirmities that aflfiict our species, and
the misfortunes that have occurred in
my own family, all that I have seen in
the course of my long life, have but
too clearly taught me this great truth —
that no happiness placed in things
without ourselves, can be certain or per-
manent. A whole generation have
perished by an east wind ; a multitude
of our adventurous youth have been
swept away in the water by a sudden
breeze. What dreadful deluges have we
not witnessed from a hasty shower !
Even the most solid habitations are not
always proof against a storm of hail.
A dark cloud passing, has struck terror
into the stoutest hearts.
" I have lived in earlier ages, and
conversed with insects of a more power-
ful organization, of stronger constitu-
tion, and, I may say, of loftier wisdom
than those of the present generation. I
entreat you to give credence to my last
words, when I affirm, that the sun
which now stands on the verge of the
ocean, and seems almost to touch the
earth, I saw formerly fixed in the centre
of the sky, and pouring down its beams
directly upon us. In the remote pe-
riods of which 1 speak, the world was
brighter, the air warmer and healthier,
and our ancestors more temperate and
virtuous.
" Although my powers fail me, my
memory does not ; and I assure you
that this glorious star has motion. I
saw his early ascent over the brow of
yonder mountain, and I began my
existence about the same period when
he commenced his mighty course. He
has kept through the lapse of time his
onward career, rising high in the hea-
vens with a prodigious heat, and a ra-
diant glory such as you can have no idea
of, and which your frame undoubtedly
would not have been able to sustain ;
but now, in his decline and sensible di-
minution of vigour, I foresee the ap-
proaching extinction of nature, and am
persuaded that this goodly earth itself
will soon be wrapped in a veil of darkness.
" Alas, my friends! how often did I
net formerly flatter myself with the
vain hope of making an eternal habita-
tion of this green earth ! how magni-
ficent were the subterranean abodes I
excavated for myself! wliat confidence
I placed in the strength of my limbs,
the elasticity of my joints, and the
buoyancy of my wings ! But I have
lived enough for nature and for glory,
nor will a single one of those whom I
leave around me experience an equal
satisfaction in the gloomy and degene-
rate age now commencing !"
B. E. M.
A NEAT VICE VERSA.
An elderly French gentleman being at a
dinner- table in London, concluded a long
harangue about Cupid and Psyche, by
pronouncing oracularly, " I'amoiir fait
passer le temps " to which an Englisli
lady replied, with a ready inversion of the
phrase, that seemed particularly approved
by the rest of the company, " Et le temps
fait pas'ier I'aniour." B. E. M
THE FAUTERRi:.
401
Paire -102.
ERIAG OF HAYTI.
Although tlie following narrative is
doubtless a Icctle heightened, the chief
features arc probably authentic ; it is
given as a fact in all its details by a
Jamaica paper. It is one of the many
illustrations of the remark of the old
Greek philosopher — a remark which
every wliiskered dandy and simpering
mivs supposes to have been first uttered
by Lord Kyron (or Hirron, as his Lord-
ship aflectodly called himself )— namely,
that " truth is stranger than fiction."]
So>ip. monllis since, a mulatto, named
Eriag, of Port-au-Prince, was con-
demned to death for the assassination
of a merchant of Hayti. A few days
after, a young Portuguese was sentenced
to the same fate for having stabl)ed his
mistress in a fit of jealousy, 'i'he two
criminals were confined in the same pri-
son, but each had a separate cell. Eriag,
wliose strength and ferocity were the
xubject of much dread, occupied an
ol>scure dungeon in which the air pene-
trated tliroiigh a small grating wliich
overlookeil the staircase of the priwm ;
no ray of light entered into his cell.
Dardeui, wIiomj crime was less hor-
VlJf,, I.
rible, was placed in a larger room with
some light, and which had a grated
window overlooking the country. Tiie
two condemned men were manacled
with chains on their feet and hands. It
was announced to each that their exe-
cution would take place in three days,
and a sufficient provision of bread and
water was given them, which was to
last until the fatal moment arrived.
Each of the prisoners had meditated
escape. Dardeza, who had been per-
mitted to receive the visits of his friends,
had obtained some instruments to faci-
litate his project, but without vigour
and address, was soon discouraged l)y
his fruitless essays, and had fallen into
des|)ondency. lie waited with most
|)ainful dread the appearance of the
gaoler. Eriag, more vigorous, more
daring, did not despair. Eioin tin-
position of'his cell, he reckoned that one
of the walls was the boundary of the
prison, .and if he could effect an open-
ing, he might get into the open coim-
try. lie commenced his work, and to
prevent the noise being heard, and to
Moften the stones, he threw water on the
cement, and with the chains tliat were
on his hand scrutched against the walls.
•2 l>
402
THE PARTERRE.
He deprived himself of sleep, and never
for an instant quitted his work. From
time to time the gaoler would come to
the grating, and, with a lantern, would
see that his prisoner was safe. But
Eriag kept an attentive ear, and when the
gaoler came he would find Eriag lying
near the hole, pretending to sleep. Al-
ready was the wall very deeply pierced ;
but how thick was the wall ? Eriag
was ignorant what he had to do ; he did
not even know what time remained to
the hour of execution. However, he
made a last trial, and with clenched
teeth he attacked the wall. — He is
saved ! — the stones give way — the wall
is pierced ! — but alas ! the wretch was
deceived in his idea of the situation of
the place. It is not the pure air and
fresh country which meets his eager
breath and look, through the opening he
has so painfully effected. He perceives
only another cell, feebly lighted by the
pale glimmering of a lamp ; he heard
heavy sighs — he calls in a loud voice.
It is the cell of Dardeza. In a short
time these two vmfortunates approach
each other. Eriag communicates his
design to Dardeza, and, learning that his
window overlooked the country, he ima-
gined their flight was a thing effected :
but how many days had passed? How
many hours were there still remaining
him to live ? He asked Dardeza, who
had been able to count both hours and
days, and found that the night which
had commenced was their last, and that
the morrow's sun would light them to
the gallows. Far from dispiriting
Eriag, this dreadful news only redou-
bled his courage. Dardeza seconded
his efforts, and the two uniting their
energies to widen the hole made by
Eriag, it was soon large enough to
admit him into the cell of Dardeza.
The latter had received from a friend a
file to break the bars from his windovv.
The presence of Eriag animated him ;
he seized the file, the two set to work,
and they had soon separated several bars
of the grating. The opening was large
enough to admit them, and, if they
could effect a leap of sixty feet, their
escape was assured. It remained only
to file the chains which attached their
feet and hands. But this would be still
a work of time — the night was advanc-
ing, the day about to appear. The
precious resource, the file, could not
serve both at the same time. If one
only used it, scarcely would there have
been time to break his chains, and with
the weight of them flight was impossi-
ble. A terrible dispute arose between
the two — the file was in the hands of
Dardeza ; he would use it ; Eriag threw
himself on him to wrest it away. A
mortal combat ensued. Eriag, being
the strongest, threw his enemy. Dar-
deza saw himself vanquished ; but, that
neither might be saved, he dragged him-
self to the window, and would have
thrown out the instrument. Eriag pre-
vented him. " You shall never have it,"
cried the frantic Dardeza, and, making
a violent effort to disengage himself
frpm the hands of his adversary, he
put the file in his mouth and swallowed
it. At this sight Eriag sunk exhausted !
it is done, he must die. Dardeza, over-
powered by the efforts he had made, lay
extended on the ground like one really
dead ; the file he had swallowed was en-
tangled in his throat — he was suffocat-
ing. Suddenly a horrid idea came over
Eriag. He threw himself on Dardeza,
seized him violently by the throat to
strangle him ; dashed his head forcibly
against the walls, plunged his hand in
his throat, tore open his chest, and even,
in the still beating breast of the unfortu-
nate, he sought by the pale light of the
lamp the precious instrument of safety —
he drew it forth in blood — soon he is at
work — his chains fall ; then, with the
linen of Dardeza he made a kind of line,
which he attached to a bar of the win-
dow. He let himself out ; but, arrived
to the extremity of the line, he cast his
eye below him — an abyss of more than
thirty feet was still left. However, he
did not hesitate ; liis fall was broken by
a platform on which he rolled; then he
fell on a pavement ; but all is not yet
over ; he found himself surrounded by
a higli wall, which it was still necessary
to climb. At the moment he was
searching for the place where ascent was
easiest, a watch-dog attacked him. Eriag
met him, and, fearful lest his barkings
should be heard, he thrust his hand into
his mouth and strangled him ; but in
the midst of his convulsive pangs the
dog bit off his thumb. There was no
time to lose, day was beginning to
dawn. Eriag chose his spot, and soon
the harassed and mangled murderer was
at liberty. At break of day the gaoler
sought the criminals to lead them to the
gallows — he found only a horribly muti-
lated corpse ! The alarm was given ;
proclamations issued for the apprehen-
sion of the criminal ; but the traces of
blood near the dog, and the thumb,
were still there; it was ascertained tlie
right hand of the murderer was muti-
THE PARTERRE.
40-3
latcd, and tliese details were publislied.
Eriag liad run for the space of an lioiir,
when, overcome by fatigue and hunger,
he stopped near a small hut and de-
manded refreshment, thinking that the
rumour of his escape could not have
preceded him tiiere. An old negress
who inhabited the hut gave iiim food.
He was on the point of (juitting her,
when Caro, the brown son of tlie old
woman, arrived from the town, and im-
mediately told the news he had heard.
Eriag thrust his hand still deeper into
his bosom, but the rapid glance of Caro
caught the movement. The brave young
man rushed towards Eriag, tore ort" his
cloak, and perceived the bloody wound.
Eriag sprang rapidly to a hatchet, which
was in a corner, and threw himself on
Caro, who was only armed with a heavy
stick. Caro adroitly parried the blow
aimed at him. The axe of Eriag glided
down his adversary's club, and cleft the
skull of the old negress, who iiad run to
p'otcct her son. At this sight Caro
threw himself upon Eri;ig, and at a blow
felled him to the ground, leaving him
without sense, and hors tie combat. He
then vainly endeavoured to recall his
mother to life. At the same moment
three mounted police officers, who had
been searching for the culjirit in all di-
rections, arrived, upon tliis new theatre
of his crimes. Immediately Eriag was
seized, bound, tied to the tail of a horse,
and dragged at full gallop back to the
prison. Hardly arrived, Eriag asked
for a bottle of rum and a priest. To
the latter he recounted, with horrible
sang-froid, all the details of his escape,
and then swallowed the former at a
draught. Scarcely had the priest left
him, when lie fell senseless, and on the
officers entering to drag him to the
gibbet, he had ceased to breathe.
INKLLENCE OK BOOKS.
Afteii all that is said of fame — who
has it ? Baron Munchausen, Robinson
Crusoe, and Mother Hulibard. Noble
rivalry ! to enter the field against tlie
latter lady and her dog. Fame!— who
gives it? a snarling, snapi)ish, currish
critic from his chimney-corner. Who
greedily thieves and pilfers it all ? old,
weak, bald-headed lime. And this it is,
the great vital breatli, that keejts the
world in motion. This it is that causes
all this htir and din, that prevents our
fellow-beings from becoming melancholy
a.s rogueo on their way to the gallows;
and maken the brain work busily at the
dc»k,inthe]iulpit, unduntheKenute-fliMjr !
CARDINAL PETRALIA.
Chap. IV
THE SCRUTINY.
Ai.i. secondary factions were merged in
the two great parties of Eraiiee and
Austria. The Austrian cardinal had in
his pocket the veto of Vienna, and the
French cardinal that of Paris.
Several candidates had been already
rejected, and the votes had centred upon
two eminent names, but both too power-
ful for the one ever to surmount the
other. Tlie electors were sixty in num-
ber ; consequently forty voles assured
the election. The rivals constantly ob-
tained thirty votes each, for a week to-
gether, without being able to advance a
step further. Had the balloting litsted
for six months, the number of thirty
would regularly, twice a-day, have been
drawn from the inflexible urn.
The High Penitentiary had not even
one vote.
The cardinals began to grow weary.
The heat was intense, the cells were
small, and the sacred blood of their
highnesses had already more than onc«
flowed from the lancet of the func-
tionary. Besides, the high solemnities
of Saint Peter approached, arTd under
existing circumstances it was ini|>ortant
not to disapjioint the Roman jiopulace
of their pojie and their cardinals, for
they depended upon them ; and there is
no festival for Rome without the tiara
and the red robes : a show wanting, was
an unpardonable oflcncc — panem ct in-
censes is still the cry.
It was tiien that the Consistory inter-
posed : informed by their sj)ies of all
that passed, the three Sanfeilist princes
of Italy re(juested that a Head might
be given to the Church Jis siieedily as
possible. The times were dillicult ;
j)rovisional measures perilous; and im-
piety bolder, and more threatening than
ever. Nations under its delusions wa-
vered in their faith ; and the voice of a
sovereign iionliU' coulil alone support the
altar. 'i"hey entreated the Conclave,
above every thing, to watch over the
safety of the Church, and not to throv
in the holy balance any jiolitical or
worldly consideration. Passing thence
to a sketch of the pastor suited to the
wants of the flock, tiiey drew the every
feature of the High Penitentiary, and
guaranteed from such a pope, not oidy
a blind sirbmisKiun in the choice of the*
bisliu|i, but more — an irresistible argu-
404
THE PARTERRE.
ment — temporal advantages of a nature
to enrich the treasure of the Vatican ;
and suggested (remitting entirely to the
Conclave the difficult choice), in conse-
quence of the rivalries of the Catholic
courts, and the inconvenience of the
veto, to refer it to the arbitration of a
neutral power, whose faith and geogra-
phical position secured impartiality.
This was to name Russia. But the
Muscovite minister had not waited until
now to mix himself up with the in-
trigues of the Quirinal. Wily as a
Greek of the Lower Empire, he had
regularly communicated twice a-day
with the Conclave.
" You will never be in accord !" thus
he wrote to the Camerlingue himself:
" should the Conclave last ten years, a
political pope would not be created."
" Be our mediator," replied the Ca-
merlingue (under the prompting of the
Italian princes) ; " were you elector,
whom should you name ? "
" Your Highness will laugh," replied
the Byzantine, " but were I a cardinal,
I should vote for the High Penitentiary.
He is a saint — I know it; he is quite
ignorant of business — I know that too ;
but you will be freed from him by giv-
ing hkn a good secretary of state.
Accept that office, my lord, and you
will reign in his name."
This overture pleased the Camer-
lingue, who was ambitious, but too
compromised in the political world to
aspire in his own name to the chair of
Saint Peter,
" The Carbonari," said the Camer-
lingue to the Conclave, " are more
numerous and active than ever : let us
name a cardinal popular amongst the
people, as the most effi-'ctual method of
silencing them. A popular pope would
destroy Carbonarism without drawing a
sword. I propose one who certainly
has not to fear the veto of any power :
I propose the High Penitentiary."
The proposition of the Camerlingue
was received with a smile, but accepted
unanimously.
It remained only to sound the Sicilian
himself on the business, and with this
office the Camerlingue was entrusted.
Night reigned on the Quirinal. All
slept, or at least all were silent. No
sound was .heard but the fall of the crys-
tal fountain, and the measured tread of
the Swiss who was sentinel at the gates
of the Conclave.
Enclosed in his narrow cell, the Sici-
lian dreamt of empire. Fortune in
every aspect seemed propitious to him ;
the unforeseen could alone destroy the
chance ; but if the unforeseen, that
phantom of ignorance and weakness,
ever disturbed his enthusiasm, his cold
and stern logic repulsed it as an evil
dream. Suddenly a mysterious knock-
ing was heard at the door of his cell,
and the Camerlingue glided into the
apartment.
" My lord," said he to the Siciliaii,
" the Conclave is prolonged beyond the
term suitable to the interests of the
Church. The flock calls for its pastor,
Christianity inquires for its head : but
parties are as yet far from being agreed ;
could some conciliatory path be opened
to them, they would, I am sure, eagerly
avail themselves of it. I know but one
man who can effect this miracle, and
that man is yourself."
« Me ! "
" Yourself. Let your Highness only
deign to accept the candidature I lay
at your feet, and all parties will sup-
port it."
" My lord ! " replied Cardinal Petra-
lia, with coldness and dignity, " I can-
not — I will not suppose that your
Highness is laying a snare for me, to
render me the mock of the Conclave,
and the by-word of Christendom ; but
your proposal is so strange, it has so
much the air of a joke, that without
the high idea I entertain of your cha-
racter, I should deem myself insulted."
The Camerlingue scarcely expected
such a reception. For a moment he
was disconcerted ; but a priest and a
diplomatist, he soon recovered him-
self. His justification was zealous ; he
launched out into pompous eulogies
upon the modesty, piety, and learning
of the Sicilian, all which he either dis-
believed or despised : an atheist him-
self, he held the High Penitentiary for
one of the simple and poor in spirit.
But he had his part to act, and sup-
ported his character to the end of the
chapter.
The Sicilian was not his dupe; but
he had likewise his part, and to which
he was faithful. He accepted in silence
the lying defence, every word of which
was a triumph ; and justifying the fore-
sight of forty years, was to him a de-
monstration of his talent,
" Dispose of me, my lord," he said,
bending to the Camerlingue ; " dispo.se
of my weakness. But strengthen me
with your power; illuminate me with
your intelligence ; lighten, by sharing,
the burden with which God overwhelms
me ; and if indeed he call me to empire.
THE PAHTEURE. *
405
deign to be my minister, tliat the same
liand whicli has sinoolhoil for me the
patli to the tliroiie. may guide and pro-
tect mc on it. ^ly lord, will you pro-
mise me this? ''
The Camerlingiic took good care not
to refuse ; and the one resigning himself
to be pope, the other kindly submitted
likewise to be secretary of state. So
they both had what they wanted.
IJut suddenly starting, as from a
dream — " No !" exclaimed Cardinal Pe-
tralia; "no, my lord! it cannot be,
that heaven destines this heavy burden
for my weakness. If my faith be
known, my incapacity is still better
known ; it is impossible that a suffrage
can be given to me ! "
" That is the best reason for uniting
them," replied the Camerlingue ; " I
will answer for your election : besides,
it is an aflair of figures." And he
unrolled before the Sicilian a list of fifty
cardinals, whose votes were secured lor
him. This was all the sceptic wanted to
know ; he added nothing more.
" Fifty out of sixty," resumed the
Camerlingue, folding up the list ; " your
Highness sees now that your election is
certain. To-morrow you will be jiope!"
Tliat is to say, I sliall be, thought
the ambitious vulgar to himself; for he
depended upon being the iVIazarin of
Home, and reigning under the name of
the devotee.
Go— thought the high-minded am-
bitious, on his side — you think to give
me a master, but Sixtus the Tiftli had
none.
Midnight struck by the clock of the
Madona, when the two cardinals sepa-
rated.
^Vhat a night for the Sicilian ! His
election was sure ; it was tangible to his
touch. For the veto, he feared it so
little, that he had scarcely ever called it
to mind.
His thoughts reverting from Rome,
where he was to reign, to Sicily, where
he had been a laquais, he recapitulated
with a glance his whole life. Again he
Kiw the worldly ante-chamber, the cor-
rui)t theatre, the brutal barracks; he
s,iw himself a poor deserter, wandering
hungry amidst the mountains of Ma-
donia ; he viw the monk who saved him,
the cloister that opened for him, Pa-
lermo and the archbishop ; he read over
again the life of .Sixtus the I'ifth in the
cell of Petralia, and felt the first tears of
anibitioii silently flow down his liurning
cheeks. Fiiiergiiig from the dust of
ktudv and medJtalion, he re iutcended
Etna, and kneeling on the verge of the
crater, recalled the vow he had made in
the sight of heaven ; the terrible vow
that was accomplished.
Embarkeil at IMessina, and landed at
Ostia, he traversed the desert on foot ;
again with beating heart he saw the
mighty cupola, and sat down to draw
his breath on the ancient pedestal, and
a future pope glided at night into Rome
like a smuggler, or a thief
The convent of Janiculus ; the
church of Saint Charles of Borromea ;
his first conflict; his first triumph;
then the exile, and the return ; the
forty years of expectation, of isolation,
of concentration, all unrolled beneath
his eyes in the cell of the Quirinal.
It was like a long and stormy night,
of which the sim was about to dis))ersc
the clouds and shadows. At length he
took leave of the jnist, as of an early
friend, whom we are quitting for ever,
and the exhilaration of triunii)h soon
jirecluded all return or remembrance.
It was a magnificent victory ; if the
path had been long and wearisome, it
but enhanced the delight of the achieve-
ment ; it was a prize well worth waiting
for.
Gradually laying aside the old man,
to put on the new man, he felt his mind
cxjjand ; and so near the sovereignty
after so many indignities and humilia-
tions, the old leaven of plebianism which
had brooded for forty years in the heart
of the Sicilian, fermented beneath the
sun of his fortune.
To-morrow you will be pope ! These
last words of the Camerlingue still
sounded like music in his listening ear.
To-morrow, then, the new era was to
begin ; to-morrow the Church would
have its Gregory, Italy its Procida ; to-
morrow the dungeons of Rome would
open as by enchantment, and the gene-
rous cajitives whom persecution had
heaped up there, would be born again to
light and liberty.
The Sicilian's heart beat high at the
thought of the proni|)t and Liuly royal
anmcsty he should accord ; and his hap-
piness enlarged itself to the measure of
the happiness that all Italy was to enjoy.
iVleantinie the convent hells announced
to Cardinal Petralia the dawn of his day
of triumph. Their morning voice re-
called him not to himself, but to the
part he had so long acted, and which
drew to its close. He wore his mii.sk
for the l;ust time; and when the hour
suniiiioned liini to the muss of the Holy
(iliosi, he icpaired to the Pauline Clia-
406
THE PARTERRE.
pel, with a step still slower and graver
than on the preceding day. He offi-
ciated himself to assist the presiding
cardinal, with such calmness and tran-
quillity, that all were astonished. Not
one flash of the hurricane at work within
him gleamed in his eyes ; the most in-
quisitive glance could read nothing but
a pious unconcern on his iniipassible
countenance.
He passed through to the hall of the
Conclave with the same indiflference, and
took his place amongst the electors as if
the interests to be discussed had no re-
ference to him.
At length the scrutiny commenced.
Although the result was known be-
forehand to each, the attention of the
august assembly was not the less pro-
found, and every glance was eagerly
fixed upon the Sicilian, to detect on his
iron brow some sign of joy or hope.
But faithful to himself to the last se-
cond, neither look nor gesture betrayed
his internal intoxication.
Twenty times had the fatal hand
plunged into the urn, and one name
only had been drawn out, — that of the
Sicilian. Proclaimed by the Secretary
of the Conclave every time, it smote as
a battering ram against his invincible
heart, so loudly that every stroke seemed
to deprive him of • breath ; but the
struggle was to himself alone ; it was
internal only ; had neither communica-
tion nor echo from without, and its vio-
lence was invisible. Thus concentrated,
it was but the more terrible, and the
occult torture for an instant was so do-
lorous, so powerful, as to be almost
triumphant. Beneath these repeated
shocks, the stout heart of the Sicilian
trembled ; at the thirtieth stroke he felt
liimself giving way, but at the instant
of being overthrown he was ashamed.
Could he without ignominy, without
being wanting to himself, belie at the
last hour the falsehood of forty years?
He collected then in one last, one super-
human effort, all that remained to him
of physical and moral energy : he made
a buckler of his pride, and his pride
saved him. Preserved by that from
his fall, he found afterwards, in the
grandeur of his destiny, a surer and
more dignified support.
Whilst these tempests were rife within
the heart of the future pope, the electors
deemed his inertia and immobility, stu-
pidity. They already congratulated
themselves upon a choice that was to
make themselves masters of Rome, and
indulged in ideas of wealth and renown
beneath the weak croak of the accom-
modating pastor. But this accommo-
dating pastor read their thoughts better
than they did his, and was silently pre-
paring for them the metamorphosis of
Sixtus the Fifth.
He again compared himself to Etna,
no longer, as formerly, in its isolation,
but Etna in the plenitude of its power.
Did he not conceal, like the giant of
Sicily, a consutning fire beneath a brow
of snow? Was he not about, like Etna,
to manifest himself by a sudden and re-
verberating eruption ? like it, to reign
over Italy ? Scarcely separated by a
few minutes from the throne, after so
long a career these last minutes were to
him centuries ; so wearisome seemed to
him the lengthened deception ; so irk-
some was it, not to shew -himself in his
true character — not to lay aside for ever
his borrowed mantle.
Thirty bulletins had issued from the
urn, each of the thirty bearing his name.
The thirty-first, the thirty-second, the
thirty-third, were inscribed with the
same ; and all presaged to the austere
Franciscan of Petralia the honour of
unanimity accorded formerly to the face-
tious Archbishop of Bologna. This was
the opinion of the Conclave ; the four
following suffrages but confirmed it, —
all the four were his. It was the same
with the thirty-eighth.
The secretary had just read the
thirty-ninth bulletin, which, like all the
rest, bore the name of the High Peni-
tentiary ; only one vote then was want-
ing, and that supreme vote the hand of
the scrutator was drawing from the urn,
when the Austrian cardinal entered.
" I have the honour," said he, in cold
and sinister accents, " to inform your
Highnesses that the emperor, my mas-
ter, gives the exclusion to the High
Penitentiary."
So saying, he sat down.
What a turn of the wheel ! The
Conclave were astounded, and in con-
fusion. The cardinals spontaneously
quitted their seats, and disorder reigned
throughout the hall. Never had a more
unexpected exclusion disconcerted their
intrigues ; they could not believe it ;
they were fain to suppose it a trick, or a
mistake, so unsuspected was the High
Penitentiary by them, so proverbial was
his political nullity.
But the Austrian ambassador was
better informed.
Every eye was turned towards the
object of this inconceivable interdict.
The same in defeat as in victory, the
THE PARTERRE.
407
Sicilian had neither changed his attitude
nor his countenance ; impassible beneath
the weight of the veto, as beneath the
weiglit of the tiara, he rose with gra-
vity, and crossing tlie hall with dignity,
went direct to the Austrian cardinal, to
wlioni lie said, embracing him — " What
do I not owe to your Highness, for the
fortiniate intervention that has freed me
from the burden on the point of over-
whelming my weakness!" At these
words he withdrew to his cell, with the
same measured and tranquil step with
which he had left it ; and of all those
who so greedily rivctted their glance on
the intrepid monk, not one could boast
to have surprised in his voice, gesture,
or features, the most insensible altera-
tion.
It was thus-that the information of
the Austrian spy snatched the tiara from
the brow of the Bastard of Sicily.
Bedford, Jan. '2G, 1835. B. E. M.
TRAVELLERS NOTE UPON
TOURVILLE,
A MAMLET OF ANCIENT MORMANDY.
(^Translated from the French").
We had heard much at Dieppe of a
hamlet on the coast remarkable for its
situation, traditions, and ruins; this was
sufficient to prompt the wish to visit
Tourville. We set out towards the close
of one of those dubious autumnal days
when the general agitation of nature seems
ominous of storm and Imrricane. The
arrangement of the clouds, the sudden
gusts of wind, and the purple and livid
sky, all confirmed the dismal foreboding.
We, however, pursued our way over a
rocky road, across the high steeps bound-
ing the Manche, the unvaried whiteness
of their immense masses opposing a
strong contrast to the gloomy but
changeable hues of the restless waters
beneath. The wreck of an unknown
world, tlicy have that death - like ste-
rility, the cliaracteristic of past creations,
whose vital powers are extinct. Their
parts without homogenity, adhesion, or
power, brittle as the calcined l>ones
whose colour and fragility they imitate,
appal the imagination with the inertia
of their ashes. The steeps of la Manche
already l>ear the impress of the end of
terrestrial things ; it is an ouuay of fifty
centuries, which Ocean has drifted to
tlicM; shores its a mighty monument of
ti;i.c- finished, rcdling onwards to the
gdte« of infinity. Rcx-ks covered with a
yelluw and mournful-looking bhortgnuii;
the noise of the waves beating against
tlic shore; the distant sound of an echo,
that renewed from behind us the roaring
of the sea, as if the beach had suddenly
become an island unknown to navigators.
Tiie extraordinary appearance of the
sunset, at the approach of the tempest,
brought, back to our remembrance our
excursions in the western Hebrides of
Scotland, amidst the whirlwinds of the
north.
After journeying for two hours, wc
came in sight of a iiivr cottages forming
the entrance to a valley, and which
might have been fancied gloomy walls
raised for dykes to the wretched fields
annually devastated by the waters. A
small number of earthen mounds, par-
tially destroyed by a recent inundation,
attested the unavailing efforts of man to
oppose barriers to the ocean, and gave
us a sad presage of the fate awaiting the
poor inhabitants of this sea-beaten shore
on the first tempest. Beams of wood,
thrown across a kind of galley, served
for a bridge over the river of Tourville,
and conducted to a few halt-abandoned
huts forming the hamlet.
Cape Ahi has doubtless derived its
imitative name from the groans of the
shipwrecked, or from the murmur of the
waves breaking at its feet. It, however,
shelters a small bay capable of aftbrding
a refuge to the fishermen against the
violence of the east wind ; for there are
few dangers near which Providence
has not jilaced a resource and a hope.
It was probably this little haven, known
to the mariners, that induced several
families to construct near it their fragile
tenements, so open to dangers by sea
and shore: thus it is that misfortune
founds colonies.
This hamlet, disinherited of the gifts
of nature, was, however, jilaced near a
protection that allays all anxieties, and
consoles every sorrow. It had a temple,
whose walls for many centuries defied the
storms that ravage these coasts ; but it
fell a sliort time ago by the agency of a
dill'erent tempest. The north wind con-
tented itself with whistling through its
domes, und the sea with beating against
its foundations ; but men destroyed it.
What remain of its ruins belong to
the brilliant period of the revival of the
arts. The shaft of a column bearing on
iron cross, still standing, presents round
iU upper portion a triple row of pearls
and shells, seulpliired witli much ele-
gance. Tliis iiiiitalioii of the produc-
tions of the sea iH in graceful harinony
willi its bhores, and gives rise to tliougiits
408
THE i'AdrERRE.
of sootliing melody. Tliere is something
prompting to a reflection on the uncer-
tainty and heedlessness of life, in the
solicitude of the artist who spent his
time to entrust his monuments to the
sands of the sea, and to decorate a
breaker !
The terrific aspect of the sea con-
tinued to increase. We are acquainted
with few sites that present a sterner
front to the glance or the imagination
than Tourville in this state of stormy
atmosphere; it reminded us occasionally
of the moving sands of Saint Michael,
and of the barren shores of the Lido ;
and never did the melancholy character
of a landscape more dispose our minds to
give ear to the superstitious traditions
of the spot. B. E. M.
RHODES.
" Rhodes," says M. de La Marline,
" rises like a bouquet of verdure out of
the bosom of the sea: the light and
graceful minarets of its white mosques
erect themselves above its forests of
palms, of sycamores, of plane, carob-
trees, and fig-trees. It attracts from afar
the eye of the navigator to those deli-
cious retreats, the Turkish cemeteries,
where one sees the Mussulmans lying on
the grassy tombs of their friends, smok-
ing tranquilly, like sentinels waiting to
be relieved.
" The oriental character of its bazaars ;
the Moorish shops, constructed in sculp-
tured wood-work; the street of the
knights, where each house bears the arms
of ancient families in France, Spain,
Italy, or Germany, still preserved entire
on its doors, all interested us.
" Rhodes still exhibits some splendid
remains of its ancient fortifications, and
the rich Asiatic vegetation which crowns
and envelopes them, imparts more grace
and beauty than are to be seen at Malta.
An Order that could allow itself to be
driven from such a magnificent posses-
sion, must have received its death-blow.
It seems as if heaven had formed this
isle as an advanced post on Asia. Any
European power who was master of it
would hold at once the key of the Archi-
pelago, of Greece, of Smyrna, of the Dar-
danelles, and of the seas of Egypt and
Syria. I do not know in the world a
better maritime military position, a finer
climate, or a more prolific soil. The
Turks have stamped that air of indolence
and inaction on it which they carry every-
where : all is in a state of inertion and
poverty; but if this people neither cre-
ates, preserves, nor renews, it neither
injures nor destroys. They at least
allow time and nature to act for them-
selves."
INVASION AVERTED BY STRATAGEM.
During the Pindarrie war, says Mr.
Thornton in his work on India, the Bur-
mese were in communication %vith several
of the belligerent native chiefs, and were
even prepared for an invasion of the
frontier of Bengal. This was averted by
a stratagem. The Marquis of Hastings
had received a rescript from the Burmese
monarch, requiring the surrender of all
provinces east of the Bangrutty. The
projected hostility was evidently a mea-
sure concerted with the Mahrattas. Lord
Hastings sent back the envoy with an
intimation that the answer should be con-
veyed through another channel. It de-
clared that the governor-general was too
well acquainted with his majesty's wis-
dom to be the dupe of the gross forgery
attempted to be palmed upon him, and
he therefore transmitted to the king the
document fabricated in his august name,
and trusted that he would submit to con-
dign punishment the persons who had
endeavoured to sow dissension between
two powers, whose reciprocal interest it
was to cultivate relations of amity. By
this proceeding the necessity of noticing
the insolent step of the Burmese monarch
was evaded, and that sovereign, on hear-
ing of the defeat of his Mahratta allies,
was content to remain at peace.
GRACE-FUL.
" Be sure you remember to say ' Your
Grace,' if the Duke speaks to you," said
the landlord of an inn in a borough town,
where the nobleman alluded to was mo-
mentarily expected, to an ostler of recent
date in the concern. Whilst Boniface
was yet speaking, up rode the Duke,
looking as pleasant as a primrose at
Christmas, and in the best temper ima-
ginable with every thing about him. As
fate ordained it, the Duke, before dis-
mounting from the fine courser he be-
strode, called the ostler to him, wiio, with
the instructions just received full in his
mind, ejaculated with the greatest so-
lemnity as he approached—" For what I
am going to receive, the Lord make me
truly thankful ! "
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