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SKETCHES AID RAMBLES. 
 
SKETCHES 
 
 AND 
 
 B. A M B L E S. 
 
 
 \ — J 
 
 J. T.rHE ABLE Y. 
 
 %^ 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 BAKER AND SCRIBNER, 
 
 145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW. 
 
"S 
 
 . > 
 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1880, by 
 
 J. "T. HE ADLE Y, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of 
 New York. 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF CONGRESS 
 
 WASHINGTON 
 
 >"^~' 
 
 C. W. BENEDICT, 
 
 Siereotyper and Printer 
 aoi William street. 
 
 V 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page, 
 
 I. 
 
 Uy First and Last Chamois Hunt 1 
 
 II. 
 Brussels to Paris— Diligence Travelling— Paris 19 
 
 III. 
 
 Mementoes of Napoleon — Josephine's Home — Death of Robespierre — Hotel des In- 
 Talides— A Veteran, 31 
 
 IV. 
 
 An English Woman — Chamber of Peers — Marshal Soult — Marquis de Boissy — 
 Guizot — His Speech 46 
 
 V. 
 
 Garden of Luxembourg — Foundling Hospital — Catacombs — Curious Arrangement 
 of Human Bones 55 
 
 VI. 
 
 Effect of City Life— The Abattoirs— Widows' Alley— Isle of St. Louis 61 
 
 VII. 
 
 Overthrow of the Bastile 71 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Kamblos about Paris— Palaces of Paris 73 
 
Vi CONTENTS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Prisons— Louis Philippe— A Ludicrous Mistake... 
 
 X. 
 
 Champa Elysees — Amusements 
 
 XI. 
 
 Battle of Fere-Champenoise— Sad Fate of an Officer's Wife— Bonaparte on the 
 Field of Battle 
 
 XII. 
 
 Out of Paris— Over the Channel to England 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Across the Channel — Sea-Sickness— London by Night ■■•>.><t«> HO 
 
 XIV. 
 
 KamWes in London— Camphell—Wm. Beattie— Rev. Mr. Melville , ... 118 
 
 XV. 
 
 Hyde Park— Marchioness of p.— Duke of Wellington— The Queen 126 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The Thames — Houses of Parliament — Sir Robert Peel, Lord Lyndhurst, and 
 Lord Brougham 153 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Westminster AhTbey 139 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 starving Children — London Bridges — Madame Tuesaud's Exhibition — Bonaparte's 
 Carriage , , US 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Windsor Castle— St. George's Chapel— The Queen's Stables 153 
 
 XX. 
 
 Rambles about London— The Tower of London ,,. ,, 15S 
 
CONTF.NTS. VU 
 
 Fagb 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The Regalia— Bank of England — Thames Tunnel — ont of London — Murdering of 
 the King's English — Oxford — Stratford-on-ATon 167 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Guy's Cliff— 'Warwick Castle-^Kenllworth Castle— Coventry — Peeping Tom — 
 Chartists 176 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Kamhles in EnBland—Birmingham— Liverpool— A Tall Woman— Beggars— Chester 
 —North TTales 181 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Fenrhyn Quarries— Homeward Bound- Scotch Boy — Storm at Sea— Home 192 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The Waldenscs 202 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Persecution of the Waldenses — Valley of Bohi — Its Beauty 208 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Betum of the Waldenses — Perilous March — Battle of Salbertrann 214 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Valley of the Prajelas, opposite Col du Pis— Morning after the Battle 223 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 RockcfBaUillu— Siege and Heroic Defence of it 232 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 The same reason which induced me to publish the recent 
 volume of my Miscellanies has prompted me to issue the 
 present work. Most of the following sketches were published 
 in the unauthorized edition of my miscellaneous writings, 
 without my knowledge or correction, and entirely contrary to 
 my wishes. They were not only out of place where they 
 appeared, but were not in a state to be published under any 
 title, Some were composed in great haste, in order to fill up 
 deficiencies in a Magazine I was editing at the time, and oth- 
 ers never received my correction in the proofs. Many being 
 written previous to more labored articles of similar character, 
 and which I designed at a future time to collect in a perma- 
 nent form, naturally contained passages and descriptions 
 found also in the latter. It will be seen, therefore, at glance, 
 what repetitions and irregularities and sometimes contradic- 
 tions would occur in publishing them together without revi- 
 sion. 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is on this account I have felt it due to myself to give a 
 revised edition of them to the public. New matter has been 
 added, and the whole put in a form that possesses at least 
 unity of design. With this explanation, I commit them to 
 the good wiU and kindness of my friends. 
 
 The sketches of the Waldenses first appeared in the " Parlor 
 Magazine," the numbers of which have been collected into a 
 volume, and published under the title of " Headley's Parlor 
 Book." I would simply remark that the title, standing 
 alone, conveys a wrong impression, for those articles compose 
 only a fraction of the work. 
 
 For the benefit of my readers I will quote an extract from 
 the Introduction to my Miscellanies : 
 
 " I observe that the same individual who has had the 
 audacity to give my miscellaneous works to the public, 
 has advertised my " Sacred Scenes and Characters," " Adi- 
 rondack," " Napoleon and his Marshals," &c., and I would 
 here state for the information of my friends, that it is out of 
 his power to issue those works entire. The announcement is 
 false — ^he can publish only such portions of them as were first 
 given to the papers and Reviews, and those who purchase 
 them will be deceived — they ^oill obtain only fragments of 
 my books.'^^* 
 
 Note. — I shall contest the right to publish even those, and there- 
 fore take this opportunity to put all those who would sell them on 
 their guard. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 N. B. Since this work was stereotyped, my attention has 
 been called to a couple of passages in the description of The 
 Tower of London, which are to be found almost verbatim in 
 a work published several years since on England. To those 
 who may notice the resemblance and hence infer plagiarism 
 on my part, I would say that both sketches were written by 
 myself. A friend wrote the former work, and while suffering 
 under a severe fit of illness, requested me to assist him, in do- 
 ing which, I penned the passages refered to. I should have left 
 them of out in the following sketches, if my attention had 
 been directed to them sooner. It is a matter of small con- 
 sequence, still, it is easier to 'prevent a charge than to 
 rejpel it. 
 
GAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 I. 
 
 MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 
 
 " Es ist Zeit zu aufstehen — es ist drei viertel auf 
 eins," said a voice in reply to my question " AVer ist 
 da ?" as I was awakened by a low knock at my door. 
 I had just composed myself to sleep for the second 
 time, as this, "It is time to get up, it wants a quarter 
 of one," aroused me. I was in the mountain-valley 
 of Grrindelwald, in the very heart of the Oberland, I 
 had been wandering for weeks amid the glorious 
 scenery of the Alps, which had gone on changing from 
 grand to awful, till I had become as familiar with 
 precipices, and gorges, and glaciers, and snow-peaks, 
 and avalanches, as with the meadow-spots and hill- 
 sides of my native valley. I had stood in the shadow 
 of Mont Blanc, and seen the sun go down on his 
 bosom of snow, until, from the base to the heaven- 
 reaching summit, it was all one transparent rose color, 
 blushing and glowing in bright and wondrous beauty, 
 1 
 
A RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 in the evening atmosphere. I had stood and gazed on 
 him and his mountain guard united, with the same 
 deep rose-hue, till their glory departed, and Mont 
 Blanc rose white and cold, and awful, like a mighty 
 dome in the pale moonlight. I had wandered over its 
 sea of ice, and climbed its breakneck precipices, and 
 .trod the difficult passes that surround it, but never 
 yet had seen a wild chamois on its native hills. I had 
 roamed through the Oberland with no better success. 
 All that I had heard and dreamed of the Alps had 
 been more than realized. Down the bosom of the 
 Jungfrau, I had seen the reckless avalanche stream, 
 and listened all night to its thunder crash in the deep 
 gulfs, sending its solemn monotone through the 
 Alpine solitudes, till my heart stood still in my bosom. 
 From the highest peak of the Wetterhorn (peak of 
 tempests) I had seen one of those "thunder-bolts of 
 snow" launch itself in terror and might into the very 
 path I was treading, — crushed by its own weight into a 
 mere mist that rose up the face of the precipice, like 
 spray from the foot of a waterfall. With its cliffs 
 and crags leaning over me, I had walked along with 
 silent lips and subdued feelings, as one who trod near 
 the presence chamber of the Deity. I had never been 
 so humbled in the presence of nature before, and a world 
 of new emotions and new thoughts had been opened 
 within me. Along the horizon of my memory, some 
 of those wondrous peaks were now drawn as distinctly 
 as they lay along the Alpine heavens. Now and then, 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 3 
 
 a sweet pasturage had burst on me from amid this 
 savage scenery, like a sudden smile on the brow of 
 wrath, while the wild strain of the Alp-horn, ringing 
 through the rare atmosphere, and the clear voices of 
 the mountaineers singing their ^' ranz de vaches,^'' as 
 they lead their herds along the mountain path to their 
 eagle-nested huts, had turned it all into poetry. If a 
 man wishes to have remembrances that never grow 
 old, and never lose their power to excite the deepest 
 wonder, let him roam through the Oberland. 
 
 But I like to have forgotten the hunt I started to de- 
 scribe, in the wonderful scenery its remembrance 
 called up. 
 
 Grindelwald is a green valley lying between 
 the passes of the Wengern Alp and the Grand 
 Scheideck, which are between three and four thousand 
 feet above it, and are, in turn, surrounded by moun- 
 tains six or seven thousand feet loftier still, although 
 the valley itself is higher than the tops of the Cats- 
 kill range. There rise in solemn majesty, as if to 
 wall in forever the little valley, the Eigher, or Giant 
 — ^the Schreckhorn, or terrible peak — the Wetterhorn, 
 or peak of tempests — the Faulhorn, or foul peak — the 
 Grand Scheideck, and a little farther away the Jung- 
 frau, or virgin. Thus surrounded, and overlooked, 
 and guarded for ever, the green valley sleeps on as if 
 unconscious of the presence of such awful forms. 
 Here and there, by the stream that wanders through 
 it, and over the green slopes that go modestly up to 
 
4 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the mountain on either side, are scattered wooden cot- 
 tages, as if thrown there by some careless hand, pre- 
 senting from the heights around one of the most pic- 
 turesque views one meets in Switzerland. "When the 
 sun has left his last baptism on the high snow-peaks, 
 and deep shadow is settling down on G-rindelwald," 
 there is a perfect storm of sound through the valley, 
 from the thousands of bells that are attached to the 
 nearly six thousand of cattle which the inhabitants keep 
 in the pasturage during the day. The clamor of these 
 bells in a still Alpine valley, made louder by the 
 mountains that shut in the sound, is singularly wild 
 and pleasing. 
 
 But the two most remarkable objects in this valley, 
 are two enormons glaciers, which, born far up amid the 
 mountains — and grown there among the gulfs into seas 
 — come streaming down into these green pasturages, 
 plunging their foreheads into the flat ground, which 
 lies even lower than the village. Rooks are thrown up 
 and even small hills, by the enormous pressure of the 
 superincumbent mass. Miles of ice, from sixty to 
 six hundred feet thick, press against the mass in front 
 which meets the valley. These two glaciers push 
 themselves boldly almost into the very heart of 
 the village, chilling its air and acting like huge re- 
 frigerators, especially at evening. The day previous 
 to the one appointed for the chamois hunt had been 
 one of extreme toil. I had travelled from morning to 
 night, and most of the time on foot in deep snow, 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. O 
 
 although a July sun pretended to be shining over head. 
 Unable to sleep, I had risen about midnight and 
 opened my window, when I was startled as though I 
 had seen an apparition ; for there before me, and ap- 
 parently within reach of my hand, and whiter than 
 moonlight, that was poured in a perfect flood upon it, 
 stood one of those immense, glaciers. The night had 
 lessened even the little distance that intervened be 
 tween the hamlet and it during the day, and it looked 
 like some awful white monster — some sudden and ter- 
 rific creation of the gods, moved there on purpose to 
 congeal men's hearts with terror. But as my eye 
 grew more familiar to it, and I remembered it was but 
 an Alpine glacier, I gazed on it with indiscribable feel- 
 ings. From the contemplation of this white and 
 silent form I had just returned to my couch and my 
 slumbers, when the exclamation at the head of this 
 sketch awoke me. It was one o'clock in the morning, 
 and I must rouse myself if I would fulfill my engage- 
 ment with the chamois hunters. 
 
 In coming down the slope of the Grand Scheideck 
 into the G-rindelwald, you see on the opposite moun- 
 tain a huge mass of rock rising out of the centre of a 
 green pasturage, which lies at the base of an im- 
 mense snow region. Flats and hollows, no matter 
 how high up among the Alps become pasturages in 
 the summer. The debris of the mountains above, 
 washed down by the torrents, form a slight soil, on 
 which grass will grow, while the snows melted by the 
 
b RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 summer sun flow freely upon it, keeping it continually- 
 moist and green. These pasturages, though at an ele- 
 vation of eight thousand feet, will retain their verdure, 
 while the slopes and peaks around are covered with per- 
 petual snow ; and furnish not only grazing for the goats 
 which the mountaineer leads thither with the first 
 break of day, but food for the wild chamois, that 
 descend from the snow fields around at early dawn to 
 take their morning repast. But with the first sound of 
 the shepherd's horn winding up the cliffs with his 
 flocks, the latter hie them away again to their inaccessi- 
 ble paths. The eye of the chamois is wonderfully keen, 
 and it is almost impossible to approach him when he 
 is thus feeding. The only way the hunter can get a 
 shot at him, is to arrive at the pasturage first, and 
 find some plade of concealment near by, in which he 
 can wait his, approach. The pile of rocks I alluded to, 
 standing in the midst of the elevated pasturage, fur- 
 nished such a place of concealment, and seemed made 
 on purpose for the hunter's benefit. 
 
 It is two or three good hours' tramp to reach these 
 rocks from Grrindelwald : it may be imagined therefore 
 with how much enthusiasm I turned out of my bed, 
 where I had obtained scarcely two hours' sleep, on such 
 a cold expedition as this. It is astonishing how differ- 
 ently a man views things at night and in the morning. 
 The evening before I was all excitement in antici- 
 pation of the morning hunt, but now I would will- 
 ingly have given ail I had promised the three hunters 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 7 
 
 who were to accompany me, if I could only have lain 
 still, and taken another nap. I looked out of the 
 window, hoping to see some indications of a storm, 
 which would furnish an excuse for not turning out in 
 the cold midnight to climb an Alpine mountain. But 
 for once the heavens were provokingly clear, and the 
 stars twinkled over the distant snow summits, as if 
 they enjoyed the clear, frosty air of that high region ; 
 while the full-orbed moon, just stooping behind the 
 Western horizon, (which, by the way, was much 
 nearer the zenith than the horizon proper,) looked the 
 Eighter (the giant) full in his lordly face, till his 
 brow of iciB and snow shone like silver in the light. 
 With our rifles in our hands we emerged from the 
 inn, and passed through the sleeping hamlet. Not 
 a sound broke the stillness, save the monotonous roar 
 of the turbulent little streamlet that went hurrying 
 onward, or now and then the cracking and crushing 
 sound of the ice amid the glaciers. 
 
 I had hunted deer in the forests of America, both at 
 evening and morning, but never with teeth chattering 
 so loudly as they did before I had fairly begun to as- 
 cend the mountain.. Ugh ! I can remember it as if 
 it were but yesterday — how my bones ached, and my 
 fingers closed like so many sticks around my rifle. 
 Imagine the effect of two heaps of red hot coals, about 
 a hundred feet thick, and several miles long, lifted to 
 an angle of forty-five degrees, in a small and confined 
 valley, and then by contrast you may get some idea 
 
8 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of the cold generated by these two enormous glaciers. 
 Yes, I say generated ; for I gave up that morning all 
 my old notions about cold being the absence of heat, 
 &c,, and became perfectly convinced that heat was the 
 absence of cold, for if cold did not radiate from those 
 masses of ice, then there is no reliance to be placed on 
 one's sensations. 
 
 Now crawling over the rocks, now picking our way 
 over the snow-crust, which bore us or not, just as the 
 whim took it, I at length slipped and fell and rolled 
 over in the snow by way of a cold bath. This com- 
 pleted my discomfort, and I fairly groaned aloud in 
 vexation at my stupidity in taking this freezing tramp 
 for the sake of a chamois, which, after all, we might 
 not get. But the continuous straining effort demanded 
 by the steepness of the ascent, finally got my blood in 
 full circulation, and I began to think there might be 
 a worse expedition even than this, undertaken by a 
 sensible man. 
 
 At length we reached the massive pile of rocks, 
 which covered at least an acre and a half of ground, 
 and began to bestow ourselves away in the most ad- 
 vantageous places of concealment, of which there was 
 an abundance. But a half hour's sitting on the rocks 
 in this high region, surrounded by everlasting snow, 
 brought my blood from its barely comfortable tempera- 
 ture, back to zero again, and I shook like a man in an 
 ague. I knew that a chamois would be perfectly safe 
 at any distance greater than two feet from the muzzle 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 9 
 
 of my rifle with such shaking limbs ; so I began to 
 leap about, and rub my legs, and stamp, to the no 
 small annoyance of my fellow hunters, who were 
 afraid the chamois might see me before we should see 
 them. "Wearied with waiting for the dawn, I climbed 
 up among the rocks, and, resting myself in a cavity 
 secure from notice, gazed around me on the wondrous 
 scene. Strangely white forms arose on every side, 
 while deep down in the valley the darkness lay like a 
 cloud. Not a sound broke the deep hush that brooded 
 over everything, and I forgot for the time my chilliness, 
 chamois hunters and all, in the impressive scene that 
 surrounded me. As I sat in mute silence gazing on 
 those awful peaks that tore up the heavens in every 
 direction, suddenly there came a dull heavy sound like 
 the booming of heavy cannon through the jarred 
 atmosphere. An avalanche had fallen all alone into 
 some deep abyss, and this was the voice it sent back 
 as it crushed below. As that low thunder-sound died 
 away over the peaks, a feeling of awe and mystery 
 crept over me, and it seemed dangerous to speak in 
 the presence of such majesty and power. 
 
 " Hist ! hist !" broke from my companions below ; 
 and I turned to where their eyes were straining through 
 the dim twilight. It was a long time before I could 
 discover anything but snow-fields and precipices ; but 
 at length I discerned several moving black objects that 
 in the distance appeared like so many insects on the 
 white slope that stretched away towards the summit of 
 1* 
 
10 KAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the mountain. Bringing my pocket spy-glass to bear 
 upon them, I saw they were chamois, moving down 
 towards the pasturage. Now carefully crawling along 
 a ledge, now leaping over a crevice and jumping a few 
 steps forward, and now gently trotting down the in- 
 clined plane of snow, they made their way down the 
 mountain. As the daylight grew broader over the 
 peaks, and they approached nearer, their movements 
 and course became more distinct and evident. They 
 were making for the upper end of the pasturage, and 
 it might be two hours before they would work down to 
 our ambuscade ; indeed, they might get their fill 
 without coming near us at all. I watched them 
 through my spy-glass as they fed without fear on the 
 green herbage, and almost wished they would keep out 
 of the range of our rifles. They were the perfect im- 
 personation of wildness and timidity. The lifting of 
 the head, the springy tread and the quick movement 
 in every limb, told how little it would take to send 
 them with the speed of the wind to their mountain 
 homes. The chamois is built something like the tame 
 goat, only slighter, with longer neck and limbs. His 
 horns are beautiful, being a jet black, and rising in 
 parallel line from his head even to the point where 
 they curve over. They neither incline backward nor 
 outward, but, rising straight out of the head, seem to 
 project forward, while their parallel position almost to 
 the tips of the curvatures gives them a very crank 
 appearance. They are as black as ebony, and some of 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 11 
 
 them bend in as true a curve as if turned by the most 
 skilful hand. 
 
 I watched every movement of these wild creatures 
 till my attention was arrested by a more attractive 
 sight. The sun had touched the topmost peaks of 
 the loftiest mountains that hemmed in the sweet valley 
 of Grrindelwald, turning the snow into fire, till the 
 great summits seemed to waver to and fro in the red 
 light that bathed them. A deep shadow still lay on 
 the vale, through which the cottages of the inhabitants 
 could scarcely be distinguished. At length they grew 
 clearer and clearer in the increasing light, and column 
 after column of smoke rose in the morning air, striving 
 in vain to reach half way up the mountains that stood 
 in silent reverence before the uprising sun. The ruddy 
 light had descended down the Alps, turning them all 
 into a deep rose color. There stood the Griant, robed 
 like an angel ; and there the Schreckhorn, beautiful as 
 the morning ; and there the Faulhorn, with the same 
 glorious appareling on ; and farther away the Jungfrau, 
 looking indeed like a virgin, with all her snowy vest- 
 ments about her, tinged with the hue of the rose. All 
 around and heaven-high rose these glorious forms, 
 looking as if the Deity had thrown the mantle of his 
 majesty over them on purpose to see how they became 
 their glorious appareling. 
 
 It was a scene of enchantment. At length the 
 mighty orb which had wrought all this magnificent 
 change on the Alpine peaks, rose slowly into view. 
 
12 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 How majestic he came up from behind that peak, as 
 if conscious of the glory he was shedding on creation. 
 The dim glaciers that before lay in shadow flashed out 
 like seas of silver — the mountains paled away into 
 their virgin white, and it was broad sunrise in the 
 Alps. 
 
 I had forgotten the chamois in this sudden unrolling 
 of so much magnificence before me, and lay absorbed 
 in the overpowering emotions they naturally awakened, 
 when the faint and far-off strain of the shepherd's horn 
 came floating by. The mellow notes lingered among 
 the rocks, and were prolonged in softer cadences 
 through the deep valleys, and finally died away on the 
 distant summits. A shepherd was on his way to this 
 pasturage with his goats. He wears a horn, which he 
 now and then winds to keep his flock in the path ; and 
 also during the day, when he sees any one of the 
 number straying too near pitfalls and crevices, he 
 blows his horn, and the straggler turns back to the 
 pasturage. 
 
 A second low exclamation from my Swiss hunters 
 again drew my attention to the chamois. They also 
 had heard the sound of the horn, and had pricked up 
 their ears, and stood listening. A second strain sound- 
 ing nearer and clearer, they started for the snow fields. 
 As good luck would have it, they came trotting in a 
 diagonal line across the pasturage which would bring 
 them in close range of our rifles. We lay all prepared, 
 and when they came opposite us, one of the hunters 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 13 
 
 made a low sound which caused them to stop. At a 
 given signal we all fired. One gave a convulsive 
 spring into the air, ran a few rods, and fell mortally- 
 wounded. The rest, winged with fear and terror, made 
 for the heights. I watched their rapid flight for some 
 distance, when I noticed that one began to flag, and 
 finally dropped entirely behind. Poor fellow, thought 
 I to myself, you are struck. His leap grew slower and 
 slower till at length he stopped, then gave a few faint 
 springs forward, then stopped again, and seemed to 
 look wistfully towards his flying companions that van- 
 ished like shadows over the snow fields that sloped up 
 to the inaccessible peaks. I could not but pity him as 
 I saw him limp painfully on. In imagination I could 
 already see the life-blood oozing drop by drop from his 
 side, bringing faintness over his heart and exhaustion 
 to his fleet limbs. 
 
 Losing sight of him for the moment, we hastened 
 to the one that lay struggling in his last dying efforts 
 upon the grass. I have seen deer die that my bullet 
 had brought down, and as I gazed on the wild yet 
 gentle eye, expressing no anger even in death, but 
 only fear and terror, my heart has smitten me for the 
 deed I had done. The excitement of the chase is one 
 thing — to be in at the death is quite another. But 
 not even the eye of a deer, with its beseeching, im- 
 ploring look, just before the green film closes over it, 
 is half so pitiful as was the expression of this dying 
 chamois, Such a wild eye I never saw in an animal's 
 
l4 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 head, nor such helpless terror depicted in the look of 
 any creature. It was absolutely distressing to see 
 such agonizing fear, and I was glad when the knife 
 passed over his throat, and he gave his last struggle. 
 As soon as he was dispatched we started off after the 
 wounded one. We had no sooner reached the snow 
 than the blood spots told where the sufferer had gone. 
 It was easy enough to trace him by the life he left at 
 every step, and we soon came upon him stretched 
 upon his side. As he heard us approach the poor fel- 
 low made a desperate effort to rise, but he only half 
 erected himself before he rolled back with a faint bleat 
 and lay panting on the snow. He was soon dis- 
 patched ; and, with the two bodies strung on poles, 
 we turned our steps homeward. Who of the four had 
 been the successful marksmen it was impossible to 
 tell, though I had a secret conviction I was not one of 
 them — still, my fellow-hunters insisted that I was. 
 Not only the position itself made it probable, but the 
 bullet-hole corresponded in size to the bore of my rifle. 
 The evidences, however, were not so clear to my own 
 mind ; and I could not but think they would not have 
 been to theirs, but for the silver bullet I was expected 
 to shoot when we returned to the valley. The size of 
 that had more to do with their judgment than the rent 
 in the side of the poor chamois. 
 
 Part of one was dressed for my breakfast, and for 
 once it possessed quite a relish. This was owing to 
 two things — ^first, to my appetite, which several hours 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 15 
 
 on the mountain had made ravenous, and second, to the 
 simple way in which I had ordered it to be dressed. 
 The flesh of the chamois is very black, and possesses 
 nothing of the flavor of our venison. Added to this, 
 the mountaineers cook it in oil, or stew it up in some 
 barbarous manner, till it becomes anything but a 
 palatable dish. 
 
 The two most peculiar things about a chamois are 
 its hoofs and its horns. The former are hollow, and 
 hard as flint. The edges are sharp, and will catch on 
 a rock where a claw would give way. It is the pecu- 
 liar sharpness and hardness of the hoof that give it 
 security in its reckless climbing along the clefts of 
 precipices. It will leap over chasms to a narrow ledge 
 on which you would think it could not stand, even 
 if carefully placed there. It flings itself from rock to 
 rock in the most reckless manner, relying alone on its 
 sharp hoof for safety. Its horns seem to answer no 
 purpose at all, being utterly useless both from their 
 position and shape as an instrument of defence. They 
 may add solidity to the head, and thus assist in its 
 butting conflicts with its fellows. Some of the Swiss 
 told me, however, that the animal struck on them 
 when it missed its hold and fell over a precipice — thus 
 breaking the force of the fall. It may be so, but it 
 looked very apocryphal to me. It would not be an 
 easy matter, in the rapidity of a headlong fall, to ad- 
 just the body so that its whole force would come 
 directly on the curvature of the horns, especially when 
 
16 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the landing spot may be smooth earth, a rock lying at 
 an angle of forty-five degrees, or a block of ice. 
 
 The evening after my expedition I spent with some 
 hunters, who entertained me with stories of the chase, 
 some of which would make a Texas frontier man open 
 his eyes. 
 
 The affection of the Chamois for her young is one 
 of her most remarkable traits, and the skill and cun- 
 ning with which she protects it, seem like the endow- 
 ments of reason. She will fight, too, for her offspring 
 with the ferocity and daring of a tigress. 
 
 The story told of one by a hunter in the Tyrol, al- 
 most surpasses belief. He had discovered the parent 
 heavy with young, and wishing to take the kids alive, 
 had followed her for several days, to discover the place 
 where she would bring to the birth. He at length 
 tracked her to a cliff, along the face of which ran a 
 narrow path, till it opened into a large cavity. It was 
 removed, and wild, and lonely enough ; and the poor 
 chamois thought it secure from the approach of her 
 enemies ; but the bold hunter had marked the spot, 
 and was confident of his prey. Advancing along this 
 narrow path, he worked his difficult way towards the 
 cavity, which, to his great joy, he found closed at the 
 farther extremity by a huge rock. The chamois is 
 too good a tactitian ever to enter a " cul de sac''' — 
 there is always an exit as well as entrance to her re- 
 treats. But this time she had miscalculated, for 
 although the rock that filled the path at the farther 
 
MY FIRST AND LAST CHAMOIS HUNT. 17 
 
 end furnished no barrier to her movements, it was too 
 high for her tender young. But the moment she dis- 
 covered the approach of her enemy, she awoke to the 
 full extent of the danger to her young, and leaving them, 
 advanced against him with terrible fury, and strove 
 to butt him from_ the cliff. Rushing upon him again 
 and again, she endeavored to entangle her horns in his 
 legs and trip him up. The bold Swiss, however, 
 parried all her efforts, and steadily advanced. He 
 could not shoot her, for it required the most dili- 
 gent use of both his hands to keep from falling, so 
 narrow and dangerous was the path he trod. The 
 chamois no sooner discovered her inability to dislodge 
 or impede the hunter, than she ran to the farther end 
 and leaped upon the rock, and looked around to her 
 young, as if asking them to follow her example. The 
 latter understood the silent appeal, and put forth a des- 
 perate effort to scale the barrier. But the height was too 
 great for their feeble limbs, and they fell back into the 
 cavity. The anxiety and distress of tha mother were 
 now most painful to behold — she leaped backwards 
 and forwards on the rock to show her offspring how 
 easily it could be done, and the little fellows again and 
 again made a bold push for the summit, but in vain. 
 In the meantime, the eager hunter was slowly making 
 his way to the spot, and already imagined the victims 
 in his hands. At this juncture, and as if struck by a 
 sudden thought, the mother planted her hind feet at 
 the bottom, and stretching up her fore legs on the 
 
18 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rock as far as she could reach them, made a bridge 
 of her back. The frightened little things understood 
 the movement at once, and mounting their parent's 
 back, ran like cats to the top. The old chamois then 
 leaped after, and the whole started swiftly away. The 
 hunter reached the spot just in time to see them flying 
 like the wind for the inaccessible crags, and disap- 
 pointed and vexed, sent a bullet whistling after them. 
 Bat it smote harmlessly among the rocks^ and the next 
 moment the nimble fugitives were beyond his reach. 
 
II. 
 
 BRUSSELS TO PARIS DILIGENCE TRAVELLING PARIS. 
 
 There is scarcely any mode of travelling so tho- 
 roughly execrable as that of the diligence. Hence, 
 during all my travels, I had never set foot in but one. 
 At Brussels, however, meeting an American friend 
 who was to take the diligence to Paris, I engaged a 
 seat in the cabriolet with him, and was rewarded by the 
 most disagreeable ride I ever took. It is true we had 
 air, and hence were saved the intolerable closeness and 
 misery of the packed inside. But I never could travel all 
 night without being made wretched ; and when to this 
 discomfort was added the endless jar of a paved road, 
 my misery seemed complete. If it had not been for 
 the railroad, finished a part of the distance, and a lift 
 of thirty miles in a private carriage, I believe I should 
 have allowed my friend to go on without me. The 
 tedium of a part of the way was relieved also by the 
 
20 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 society of a friend and fellow-traveller of Buckland, 
 the celebrated geologist. I am excellent at " rough- 
 ing it," except at sea and in public conveyances. The 
 steady stretch through the wilderness, the bivouac on 
 the hard earth, the coarse fare and unremitting toil 
 of a border life, I enjoy ; for there is action, freedom, 
 aye, solid earth to stand on and the blue sky over- 
 head. 
 
 Throughout this whole distance I scarcely saw an 
 object that interested me. The monotonous plains of 
 France, groups of windmills, squalid hamlets, with 
 their still more squalid inhabitants, constitute the chief 
 features of the scenery. We passed through towns 
 and cities that would have repaid a visit — ^Valen- 
 cennes, G-emappe, Q,uentin, &c., are crowded with his- 
 torical associations. Aix la Chapelle and Liege are 
 also places of interest, but to me they were merely 
 passing objects in a moving panorama. Armies, bat- 
 tle-fields, and scenes long past, would start into life as 
 I swept by the spots with which they were associated, 
 then fade away as suddenly as they came. All night 
 long, during my snatches of sleep, they would mingle 
 in inextricable confusion in my dreams, which the 
 sudden yell of the conducteur by my side, or the 
 outcry as we swept past an opposition diligence, 
 would again and again dispel. Thus tantalized and 
 tortured, I passed a long night, and never was more 
 glad to see the dawn flushing the east, than when, at 
 last, I beheld it from the cabriolet of that diligence. 
 
BRUSSELS TO PARIS. 21 
 
 As the sun rose over the plains, I inquired how far 
 we were from Paris, and to my great joy found that a 
 few hours would bring us to the city. 
 
 One prominent idea filled my mind in entering Paris 
 — " the Revolution." As the smoke of the mighty 
 city rose on my vision, and its deafening hum rolled 
 towards me as we came thundering along in our lum- 
 bering diligence, an involuntary shudder crept through 
 my frame ; for I remembered the terrific tragedies of 
 which it had been the scene. I seemed to hear the tocsin 
 pealing on over the devoted city, sending faintness 
 and despair to the terrified inhabitants, and the firing 
 of the alarm guns, calling out the populace to the 
 place and work of massacre. But our arrival at 
 Meurice's, and the comforts of this splendid hotel, 
 for awhile drove these things from my mind ; and the 
 long sound nap I took on the top of a fresh bath, re- 
 stored both mind and body to a state of equili- 
 brium. 
 
 The French Revolution is just beginning to be un- 
 derstood. English historians, who hate republicanism 
 in whatever form it appears, have taken pains to throw 
 all the horrors of the Reign of Terror on the excited 
 populace ; and we have adopted their sentiments. 
 Added to this, the overthrow of religion, and the 
 worse than heathen orgies instituted in place of its 
 ceremonies, have destroyed our sympathy for the 
 people, and made us ready to uphold anything and 
 any system rather than the anarchy that worked out 
 
22 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 such terrible results in France. But we must remem- 
 ber that the French Revolution was the first dawn of 
 human liberty amid the despotisms of Europe, and 
 that convulsions like those which rocked France, and 
 sunk her in a sea of blood, were necessary to disrupt 
 and upheave the iron-like feudal system that had been 
 cemented, and strengthened, and rusted together for 
 centuries. This system had gone on increasing in 
 cruelty and oppression, till the people of France were 
 crushed into the earth, despoiled, robbed, and in- 
 sulted ; while, to crown all, famine, with its horrors, 
 appeared, sending the moan of distress, and the cry 
 of the starving, over the land. 
 
 Oppression had reached the limit where despair be- 
 gins, and THAT is the spot where the earthquake is 
 engendered. 
 
 But not to weary you with a political disquisition on 
 the French Revolution, stand here with me in the 
 beautiful G-arden of the Tuileries, and let the past 
 come back on the excited memory. Robespierre, 
 Danton, Marat, Camille Des Moulins, Couthon, the 
 bold Mirabeau, Vergniaud, the patriot Lafayette, the 
 unfortunate Louis and his queen, and, last of all, that 
 fearful man. Napoleon Bonaparte, pass in solemn pro- 
 cession through these green walks. Every step here 
 reminds one of the Revolution, and the actors in it. 
 There, in front, stands the noble palace of the Tuil- 
 eries, around which the mob so often streamed, with 
 shouts and curses, and from whence Louis and his 
 
BONAPARTE. 23 
 
 "wife went to the scaffold ; and just above the main 
 entrance is the same clock whose bell tolled the hour 
 pf death to the hundreds that perished by the guillo- 
 tine. Behind, at the farther end, just out of the Gar- 
 den of the Tuileries, in the Champs Elysees, rises 
 an old Egyptian obelisk, occupying the site of the 
 guillotine on which Louis and Marie Antoinette suf- 
 fered, and from which flowed the noblest blood of 
 France. Two beautiful fountains are throwing up 
 their foam beside it, where the mob were wont to sit 
 and sing " Ca ira,'''' as head after head rolled on the 
 scaffold. Around it saunter the gay promenadcrs, 
 never thinking what a place of terror they tread upon. 
 Here, too, walked the young Bonaparte with Bour- 
 ienne by his side, when he saw with ineffable scorn 
 Louis put on the red cap in obedience to the miserable 
 sans culotte. Three years after, he stood in this same 
 Garden in very different relations. The mob, and 
 the National Guard together, amounting in all to 
 40,000 men, had resolved to overthrow the Conven- 
 tion and government of France. An army of 5,000 
 soldiers was all the latter could muster to resist 
 this appalling force. It mattered not ; the young 
 Napoleon is at their head, showing in every fea- 
 ture and movement that he is no Louis XVI. No 
 womanish weakness or fear agitates his heart. He 
 looks on the approaching thousands as calmly as 
 the marble statues that fill the Garden about him, 
 and orders his trusty band to stand in dense array 
 
24 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 around his few cannon, that are charged to the 
 muzzles with grape-shot. He is about to try the 
 experiment he, three years before, had said the king 
 should have tried. With his stern, quick voice, 
 he inspires his men with confidence, as he hurries 
 from post to post; A short street, called the Rue St. 
 Honore, comes directly up in a right angle to this 
 spot, from the church St. Roche which stands at 
 the farther end. Up this short street pressed a body 
 of the insurgents, while the church was filled with 
 armed men, who kept up a deadly fire on the regular 
 troops. Bonaparte saw them approach with the same 
 indifference he had so often watched the charge of the 
 Austrian columns on his artillery, and pointed his 
 deadly battery full on the crowding ranks of his 
 countrymen. " Fire !" broke from his lips, and that 
 narrow street was strewed with the dead. Discharge 
 after discharge of grape-shot swept with frightful de- 
 struction through the multitude, till at length they 
 broke and fled in wild confusion through the city. 
 The walls of the church still bear the bullet-marks of 
 that hurricane of shot, and stand as a monument of 
 the great insurrection of Paris. But while victory 
 was with the young Bonaparte on this side of the 
 G-arden, the insurgents had carried the bridge that 
 spans the Seine on the other, and came poui'ing over 
 the gravelled walks full on his heated cannon. He 
 let them approach till within less than four rods of his 
 guns, and then hurled that awful storm of grape-shot 
 
MASSACRE OF THE SWISS. '16 
 
 into their bosoms. Smitten back by this tremendous 
 fire in their very faces, mangling and tearing through 
 their dense columns, they halted ; but not till they had 
 received three of those murderous discharges did they 
 break and flee. 
 
 Here, too, previous to this, fell the brave Swiss 
 Guards, fighting for their king. Had Louis possessed 
 a tenth part of their valor, he could have retained his 
 throne, and given the people a constitution and con- 
 stitutional freedom besides. He, in his womanly 
 weakness, enraged the mob to acts of violence, by re- 
 fusing to maintain the law by the strong arm of force. 
 Appointed to uphold the laws, he would not do it, and 
 hence shares the guilt of the consequences that fol- 
 lowed. 
 
 There was a curious exhibition of human nature in 
 this tragedy, as the Swiss were driven out of the palace 
 and slaughtered. Some of them, to escape death, 
 climbed up the statues that stand so thick in front of the 
 building. The mob, though drunk with blood, would 
 not fire on them lest they should mutilate the statues, 
 and so pricked them down with their bayonets and 
 speared them on the ground. A most singular in- 
 stance of mere taste disarming ferocity when humanity 
 and pity were wholly unable to do it I To spare a 
 statue and murder a man — to feel for art, and at the 
 same time have no feeling for human suffering, evinces 
 certainly a most remarkable state of mind, and one 
 2 
 
26 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 we believe none but a Frenchman would ever pos- 
 sess. 
 
 But let us pass on to the "Place de Revolution." 
 Here, where now all is gayety and mirth, stood the 
 guillotine that groaned under the weight of bodies it 
 was compelled to bear. In the middle of the Reign of 
 Terror, Fouquier Tinville was the public accuser — a 
 man destitute of all passions but that of murder. All 
 the baser lusts of human nature seemed to have been 
 concentrated into one feeling in this iron man — the 
 love of blood. Massacres were at their height, and 
 here the tumbrels were constantly passing, bearing 
 their load of victims from the prisons to the scaffold. 
 There, in that spot, in fair sight of yonder palace, 
 where Robespierre was accustomed to sit and watch 
 the executions, stood the bloody engine. As I stand 
 here, memory is but too faithful to the history of that 
 bloody time. Here comes the king, carried like a 
 common criminal to his execution ! Scarcely has his 
 head rolled on the scaffold before the pale yet calm and 
 dignified queen passes by, hurrying to the same fate ! 
 Here, too, strides the base Malesherbes, with all his 
 family. The axe falls, and is scarcely raised again 
 before Madame Elizabeth, sister to the king, places 
 her fair neck under it, and is no more ! Custine, for 
 having said he loved his father, who had been exe- 
 cuted ; Alexander Beauharnais, for committing a mis- 
 take in the army ; the brave old Marshal Luckner, 
 for nothing at all ; General Biron and others ; the in- 
 
THE GUILLOTINE. 27 
 
 famous Madame du Barri ; the beautiful young Prin- 
 cess of Monaco ; the noble Madame Lavergne ; young 
 women in almost countless numbers, many going at 
 their own request to die with their parents ; the son 
 of BufFon ; the daughter of Yernet ; Florian, the 
 novelist ; Roucher, the poet, and literary men with- 
 out end, pass by in such rapid succession, that the eye 
 grows dim ; and one after another, lie down on the 
 block, and their bodies are trundled away in brutal 
 haste to the still more brutal burial ! The ascent to 
 that fatal guillotine was like the ascent to a public 
 edifice, constantly thronged with doomed victims. 
 Even the infamous Fouquier Tinville at length grew 
 frightened as the Committee of Public Safety ordered 
 him to increase his executions to a hundred and fifty 
 a day ; as he said afterwards, " The Seine, as I re- 
 turned home, seemed to run blood." And there, where 
 the gay Parisians are strolling, sat the inhuman mul- 
 titude, and sang " ^a ira,'''' as head after head tumbled 
 at their feet. Gutters were made to let the blood run 
 off that otherwise would have collected in large pud- 
 dles around the place of execution. 
 
 How one becomes accustomed to places with which 
 the most tragic scenes are associated. The Parisians 
 were gay and thoughtless as our own promenaders in 
 Broadway, while I, a stranger, and standing for the 
 first time in that bloody spot, could have but one ob- 
 ject in my mind — the guillotine I So with the 
 Tuileries. I could think of nothing as I threaded its 
 
28 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 sweetly shaded walks, but the awful scenes that had 
 been enacted in it. As my thoughts dwelt thus upon 
 this strange and bloody page in human history, I could 
 not but feel how Heaven allows men to punish them- 
 selves. A year before these brutal executions took 
 place, a procession passed by here on their way 
 to Notre Dame, carrying to an ancient church a 
 lewd woman as the goddess of reason. An apostate 
 bishop with several of the clergy, appeared at the bar 
 of the Convention, and publicly abjured the Christian 
 religion. Pache, Hebert, and Chaumette, the munici- 
 pal leaders, declared they would "dethrone the King of 
 heaven as well as the monarchs of the earth." Drunk- 
 ards and prostitutes crowded around, trampling on the 
 religious vessels that had been consecrated in the 
 churches, and on the images of Christ. It was publicly 
 declared in the Convention, that " G-od did not exist, 
 and that the worship of Reason was to take his place ;" 
 and Chaumette, taking this veiled female by the hand, 
 said, " Mortals, cease to tremble before the powerless 
 thunders of Grod, whom your fears have created. 
 Henceforth acknowledge no divinity but Reason." 
 Mounted on a magnificent car, this beautiful but aban- 
 doned woman was drawn to Notre Dame, followed by 
 courtesans, and there elevated on the high altar in the 
 place of G-od, while the church was re-dedicated as the 
 temple of Reason. Then followed a scene of licentious- 
 ness within the walls of that church the pen of the his- 
 torian dares not describe. "Well, G-od is no more to the 
 
GODDESS OF REASON, ^ 
 
 French people, and on all the public burial-places is 
 placed, by order of the government, "Death is an 
 Eternal Sleep !" "Death is an Eternal Sleep I" 
 Read it on the portals of the grave-yard, on the door of 
 the silent charnel-house, but as you trace the daring 
 lines, listen to the low rumblings of the earthquake 
 which shook the world. Yet I see the hand of a just 
 G-od in it all. First fell, before the wronged and 
 starved people, a haughty and oppressive nobility, by 
 the very violence they themselves had set on foot. 
 Next came the overthrow of the priests and the confis- 
 cation of their property, and their public massacre, all 
 of which they had merited by their oppressions, and 
 corruption, and profligacy, and robbery. Thus far, 
 each received the reward of his deeds. But now the 
 people, drunk with success and power, refuse to recog- 
 nize the hand of a Deity in enabling them to obtain 
 their rights — nay, publicly scoff him. Well, they too 
 then must perish in turn. He will sweep them all away 
 in succession, till they begin to obey the laws of jus- 
 tice and truth, and bow to his overruling hand. 
 
 The year that followed this dethronement of the 
 Deity has no parallel in human history. France bled 
 at every pore, and her population reeled in crowds into 
 the grave. One wild cry of suffei-ing rent the air, and 
 devils rather than men stood at the head of govern- 
 ment. A year thus rolled by, when Robespierre saw 
 that he could not control a people that recognized no 
 God ; and, trembling on his bloody throne, as he saw 
 
30 EAMELES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the unrestrained tide of human passions rushing past 
 him, bearing on its maddened bosom the wreck of a 
 mighty people, resolved to reinstate the Deity on his 
 throne. And lo ! in this garden, a magnificent am- 
 phitheatre is reared under the guiding genius of the 
 painter, David, and filled with the expectant crowd. 
 Clad in blue apparel, and bearing fruits and flowers in 
 his hands, Robespierre appears at the head of the proces- 
 sion, and, to the sound of stirring music, ascends the 
 platform built for his reception. Statues representing 
 Atheism, Discord, and Selfishness are set on fire by his 
 own hand, and consumed. But when the smoke dis- 
 appeared, there appeared in the place where Atheism, 
 Discord, and Selfishness had stood, a statue of Wis- 
 dom, But, alas ! it was blackened with smoke and 
 covered with ashes, a fit emblem of the sort of wis- 
 dom that occasion had exhibited. They then adjourn- 
 ed to the Champ de Mars, and closed the day with 
 patriotic songs and oaths offered to the Supreme Being. 
 Men, of their own accord, had declared that they could 
 not live without a G-od, and stamped themselves as 
 fools in the eyes of the world. But this did not pre- 
 vent the punishment. The oppressive aristocracy and 
 the profligate court had fallen as they deserved. Next 
 disappeared the corrupt and plundering clergy and the 
 infamous Catholic religion. They had been dealt 
 justly with, and now the atheistic and insulting 
 anarchists must take their punishment. And it is a 
 little singular, that this very occasion on which Robes- 
 
MORAL OF REVOLUTIONS. 31 
 
 pierre so haughtily re-enthroned the Deity should be 
 the chief cause of his sudden overthrow. 
 
 It seemed impossible, as I stood in this beautiful 
 garden on a bright summer evening, and watched the 
 gay throng passing by, that it had been the scene of 
 such strange events. How slight an impression the 
 earth takes from the deeds done upon it ! 
 
 But the wave swept on, and the wild storm passed 
 by, and the chaos again assumed shape and order. 
 "What experiments had been made in morals, and reli- 
 gion, and government ! What truths elicited and 
 errors exploded ! The race of man had tried to their 
 everlasting remembrance some experiments in society. 
 But after it all had subsided, and the smoke and dust 
 had cleared away, there stood the heavens as G-od had 
 made them, and there his truth as he had revealed it, 
 and there his government more commanding and awe- 
 inspiring than ever. Men are thrown into commotion 
 and become wiser than their Maker, but their wisdom 
 always turns out in the end to be folly ; and after they 
 have wrecked their own happiness, and destroyed their 
 own prospects, they confess it all, and obey for a 
 while the commands they thought they had for ever 
 shaken off. 
 
III. 
 
 MEMENTOES OF NAPOLEON JOSEPHINE S HOME DEATH OP 
 
 ROBESPIERRE HOTEL DES INVALIDES A VETERAN. 
 
 Every man to his taste, and I must be allowed to 
 dwell on those objects that interested me most. The 
 connoisseur in art will spend his time in palaces — the 
 lover of Parisian society amid its gayeties, and so each 
 seek out the objects that attract him. I could see 
 nothing until I had gone over .the ground and visited 
 the spots on which the Revolution had left its mark. 
 That great tragedy has a spell about it which, while 
 it makes the heart shudder, enlists all its feelings. 
 
 Bonaparte and the French Revolution are everywhere 
 present to the wanderer over Paris. If he looks on 
 the Tuileries or Louvre, it is to think of the unfortunate 
 Louis, or perhaps to be shown the scars of cannon-shot 
 on their solid sides, hurled there by a maddened mob. 
 If he sees an obelisk or fountain, it was placed there 
 by Bonaparte, or to honor Bonaparte. Look on that 
 beautiful palace standing close beside the Champs 
 Elysee : Robespierre used to sit there, to watch the 
 
MEMENTOES OF NAPOLEON. 33 
 
 executions decreed by the bloody Revolutionary Tri- 
 bunal. Cast your eye down to the Place A^endome ; 
 there rises a beautiful shaft, far into the heavens, 'but 
 Bonaparte is on the top, in his everlasting surtout and 
 plumeless chapeau, standing on the cannon taken by 
 him in battle. This beautiful and lofty shaft is com- 
 posed entirely of cannon which he captured during his 
 military career, — while, running around it in a spiral 
 direction, from the base to the top, are beautiful bas- 
 reliefs, representing the different battles in which he 
 was victor. From the Palace of the Tuileries to the 
 beautiful arch at the farther end of the Champs Eljsee, 
 it is all Bonaparte and the Revolution. Enter the 
 Madeline Church, one of the most elegant structures 
 in Paris, and you are reminded it was built by Napo- 
 leon for a temple of glory, though now changed into a 
 temple for worship. From one end of the Grecian 
 colonnade that goes entirely around it, look across the 
 Champs Elysee to the Chamber of Deputies and the 
 Hotel des Invalides, the other side of the Seine, one of 
 the most beautiful views of the kind I have ever seen, 
 and the Revolution and Bonaparte are still before you. 
 The obelisk, behind which the two fountains are gayly 
 sending their spray into the air, stands on the very 
 spot the guillotine occupied during the Reign of Terror ; 
 and in the Hotel des Invalides, that terminates the 
 prospect beyond the Seine, sleeps the mighty Conqueror 
 himself, while aronnd him tread the few surviving 
 veterans that once followed him to battle. The re- 
 2# 
 
34 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 miniscences of popular power and fury that meet one 
 at every turn, make him feel as if he were treading on 
 the side of a volcano, that might at any moment begin 
 to heave again, and swallow all in its bosom of fire. 
 
 But one morning as I strolled from the Hotel de 
 Meurice, in search of rooms more retired, as well as 
 more economical than those of a large hotel, I stum- 
 bled on an object which for a moment held me by a 
 deeper spell than anything I had seen in France. In 
 the Rue Victoire, close beside the principal baths of 
 the city, stands a small house several rods from the 
 street, and approached by a narrow lane. It is situ- 
 ated in the midst of a garden, and was the residence 
 of Josephine when the young Napoleon first yielded 
 his heart to her charms. The young soldier had then 
 never dreamed of the wondrous destiny that awaited 
 him, nor had surrendered his soul to that wasting am- 
 bition which consumed the noblest qualities of his 
 nature, and the purest feelings of his heart. Filled 
 with other thoughts than those of conquest, and dream- 
 ing of other things than fierce battle-fields, he would 
 turn his footsteps hither, to whisper the story of his 
 affections in Josephine's ear. His heart throbbed more 
 violently before a single look and a single voice, than 
 it ever did amid the roar of artillery and the sound of 
 falling armies. The eye, before which the world 
 quailed at last, and the pride of kings went down, fell 
 at the gaze of a single woman ; and her flute-like 
 voice stirred his youthful blood wilder than the shout 
 
napoleon's courtship. 35 
 
 of " Vive I'Empereur !" from the enthusiastic legions 
 that cheered him as he advanced. Those were the 
 purest days of his existence, and we believe the only 
 happy ones he ever passed. "When the crown of an 
 emperor pressed his thoughtful forehead, he must have 
 felt that it was better to be loved by one devoted 
 heart, than be feared by a score of kings. As I stood 
 before the humble dwelling, and thought of the monu- 
 ments of Bonaparte's fame that covered France and 
 the world, I could not but feel how poor a choice 
 he made after all. Surrendering the pure joy that 
 springs from affection, and the heaven of a quiet 
 home for the tumult of armies and the crown of 
 thorns which power always wears, he wrecked his 
 own happiness and soul together. His life was one 
 great battle-field, and he drove his chariot of war over 
 heaps of slain, and up to the axletrees in human 
 blood, and gained, at last — a grave. He could have 
 had that without such labor. How often, in the 
 height of his power, must that voice of singular 
 melody, whose tones, it is said, would arrest him in 
 the midst of the gayest assembly, have fallen on his 
 ear like a rebuking spirit, telling him of his desertion, 
 and bringing back faint echoes of that life he never 
 could live again. 
 
 Going one day to " Fere la Chaise," which is with- 
 out the city, on a hill that overlooks the endless field 
 of houses, I stumbled on a square column standing at 
 the end of the Boulevard beside the Seine, which at 
 
36 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 first puzzled me amazingly, I had no guide-book 
 with me — designing to visit " Pere la Chaise" alone — 
 but as I read the inscriptions upon it, I found I was 
 standing on the foundations of the old Bastile. I 
 shuddered involuntarily as memory brought back that 
 terrible dungeon and its still more terrible overthrow. 
 Suddenly, I seemed to hear the shout of thousands, 
 as "To the Bastile !" rose on the air. The wave 
 of insurrection that had been dashing from side to 
 side in the city, at length took a steady course, 
 and surged up around this hoary structure. The 
 dungeon of tyranny for ages, it had become peculiarly 
 obnoxious to the people, and its doom was sealed. I 
 gazed long and thoughtfully on this relic of the Revo- 
 lution, covered over with names, not of those who de- 
 fended it, but of those who levelled it to the earth. 
 The king does not live who would dare to put any 
 other names upon it. That was the beginning of the 
 exercise of physical force in the Revolution. 
 
 As I trod afterwards the silent walks of the ceme- 
 tery, and looked away three miles to the mighty city, 
 I could but think how quickly time erases battle- 
 fields, revolutions, and emperors from the earth, leav- 
 ing only here and there a monument in their stead, 
 which, in its turn, gives way to some other structure, 
 or finally falls back to its original elements. 
 
 I was anxious to see the tomb of Abelard and 
 Heloise, and after much effort found it. On the mar- 
 ble tablet which covers them are wrought two bas- 
 
HELOISE AND ABELARD. 37 
 
 reliefs, lying side by side, representing the two lovers. 
 Heloise was a lovely and true-hearted woman, but 
 Abelard was a selfish, heartless villain, notwithstand- 
 ing his genius, and the sentimentality of the French, 
 and the romance the world has made out of him. 
 
 From this quiet cemetery I visited the Hotel do 
 Ville, and lo ! I was again in the midst of the Revo- 
 lution. I followed the street leading from it to the 
 Church of the Carmelites, calling to mind the Sab- 
 bath morning of the 2d of September, 1792. Two 
 days before, the domiciliary visits had been made, 
 and the thousand then suddenly arrested were to 
 be as suddenly executed. I heard the shout — 
 " To the Abbaye,'''' as the excited throng went pour- 
 ing forward to that ancient edifice, where they slew 
 the priests at the very altars, and in imagination be- 
 held those scenes enacted over again which have no 
 parallel in the history of the world. As I stood and 
 pondered over the butchery of those thousand victims, 
 I could not but murmur, " Robespierre, thou shalt yet 
 acknowledge, in other ways than by a magnificent 
 fete and pompous declamation, there is a God in 
 heaven that rules over the affairs of men ! Thou hast 
 awakened elements thou canst not control, and raised 
 a storm thou canst not lay again !" And I was stand- 
 ing on the very spot where these scenes had been 
 enacted. The tread of hasty feet were around me, 
 and all the hurry and bustle of city life. I looked on 
 the pavements, but they were not bloody ; and on th© 
 
88 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 passing throng, and they were not armed. Nay, no 
 one but myself seemed conscious they were treading 
 over such fearful ground. They had been born, and 
 lived here, and hence could see only common walks 
 and pavement around them ; while I, a stranger, 
 conld think of nothing but the terrific scenes that had 
 transpired where I stood. 
 
 As I passed over to the " Place du Carrousel," where 
 the artillery was placed which Robespierre endeavored 
 in vain to make fire on the Convention that voted his 
 overthrow by acclamation, I could plainly see how 
 naturally everything proceeded, from the abrogation 
 of the Sabbath, and the renunciation of the Deity, to 
 that awful reign of terror. Cut a nation loose from 
 the restraints of Divine law, and there is nothing 
 short of anarchy. Release man from the tremendous 
 sway of obligation, and he is a fiend at once. Take 
 conscience from him, and put passion in its place, and 
 you hurl him as far as Satan fell when cast out of 
 heaven. 
 
 The course of Robespierre was necessary after he 
 had commenced his Jacobinical career. He had 
 all the means by which rulers secure their safety 
 except fear. But fear could not be kept up 
 without constant deaths. Besides, he thought to re- 
 lieve himself from his enemies by destroying them, 
 forgetting that cruelty makes foes faster than power 
 can slay them. But the hour which must sooner or 
 later come, finally arrived, and Paris awoke to her 
 
SEIZURE OF ROBESPIERRE. 39 
 
 condition. The guillotine, which had before chopped off 
 only the heads of the upper classes, began, at length, 
 to descend on the citizens and common people. There 
 seemed no end to the indiscriminate slaughter, and 
 the wave that had been sent so far, finally began to 
 balance for its backward march. Robespierre had at 
 first slain aristocrats, then his own companions in 
 blood ; and now saw the storm gathering over his own 
 head. Marat had gone to his account long before — 
 Danton and Camille Des Moulins had followed their 
 murdered victims to the scaffold, and when Robes- 
 pierre should fall, the scene would change. 
 
 It is sometimes singular to see the coincidence of 
 events as if on purpose to make the truth they would 
 teach more emphatic. When " Down with the ty- 
 rant !" thundered on the ears of the doomed man from 
 the whole Convention, he fled for his life to this very 
 Hotel de Ville, where the awful massacre of the 2d of 
 September commenced. After defending himself with 
 his friends in vain, against the soldiery, the building 
 was surrendered and the room of the tyrants entered. 
 There sat Robespierre, with his elbows on his knees 
 and his head resting on his hands. A pistol shot fired, 
 some say by himself, broke his under jaw, and 
 he fell under the table. Couthon made feeble 
 efforts to commit suicide, while Le Bas blew out 
 his own brains. Robespierre and Couthon, supposed 
 to be dead, were dragged by the heels to the Seine, 
 and were about to be thrown in, when they were dis- 
 
40 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 covered to be alive, and carried to the Committee of 
 General Safety. There, for nine hours Robespierre 
 lay stretched on the very table on which he used to 
 sign the death-warrants of his victims. What a place 
 and what a long time to ponder. Insults and curses 
 were heaped on him as he lay there bleeding and suf- 
 fering — the only act of humanity extended to him be- 
 ing to wipe the foam from his mouth. As if on pur- 
 pose to give more impressiveness to this terrific scene, 
 he had on the identical blue coat he had worn in 
 pomp and pride at the festival of the Supreme Being. 
 It was now stained with his own blood, which he 
 tried in vain to stanch with the sheath of his pistol. 
 Poor man ! writhing in torture on the table where he 
 signed his death-warrants — in the very blue coat that 
 made him so conspicuous when he attempted to re-en- 
 throne the Deity — what a lesson he furnishes to infi- 
 del man to remotest generations. But this was not 
 all : the guillotine, which had been removed, was roll- 
 ed back to the Place de Revolution, on purpose that 
 he and his companions might perish on the very spot 
 where they themselves had witnessed so many execu- 
 tions of their own commanding. Led by my own 
 feelings, I slowly wandered back to this Place de Re- 
 volution, to witness in imagination the closing up of 
 the great tragedy. As Robespierre ascended the scaf- 
 fold, the blood burst through the bandages that cover- 
 ed his jaw, and his forehead became ghastly pale. 
 Curses and imprecations smote his , ear ; and one 
 
DEATH OF ROBESPIERRE. 41 
 
 woman, breaking through the crowd, screamed in his 
 ear, " Murderer of all my kindred, your agony fills 
 me with joy ; descend to hell, covered with the curses 
 of every mother in France !" As the executioner tore 
 the bandage from his face, the under jaw fell on his 
 breast, and he uttered a yell that froze every heart 
 that heard it with horror. The last sounds that fell 
 on his dying ear, were shouts of exultation that the 
 tyrant had fallen. The people wept in joy when they 
 saw that the monster who had sunk France in blood 
 was no more, and crowded round the scaffold embrac- 
 ing each other in transport. One poor man came up 
 to the lifeless body of Robespierre, and after gazing 
 in silence on it for a long time, said, in solemn ac- 
 cents, " Yes, Robespierre, there is a God I" There 
 IS A G-OD ! was the shriek France sent up from round 
 that scaffold, and its echo has not since died away on 
 the nations of Europe, and shall not till remotest time 
 — for ever uttering in the ears of the infidel ruler, 
 " Beware !" 
 
 I have gone over these scenes of the Revolution just 
 as they were suggested to me as I looked on the places 
 where they occurred. I never before was so impressed 
 with the truth, that an irreligious nation cannot long 
 survive as such. Especially in a republican govern- 
 ment — where physical force is almost powerless, and 
 moral means, or none, can restrain the passions of 
 men — will the removal of religious restraints end in 
 utter anarchy. Men, governing themselves, are apt 
 
42 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 to suppose they can make Divine Laws as well as hu- 
 man, and adopt the blasphemous sentiment " Vox 
 populi vox Dei ; a sentiment which, long acted upon, 
 will bury the brightest republic that ever rose to cheer 
 the heart of man. Rulers may try the experiment of 
 governing without a G-od, if they like : but the nation 
 will eventually whisper above their lifeless forms 
 " There is a God !" 
 
 Oh ! how impotent do man and his strifes appear 
 after the tumult is over, and the Divine laws are seen 
 moving on in their accustomed way. Like the Alpine 
 storm and cloud that wrap the steadfast peak, do the 
 passions and conflicts of men hide the truth of heaven 
 till it seems to have been carried away for ever ; but 
 like that Alpine peak when the storm is over, is its 
 clear summit seen to repose as calmly against the blue 
 sky as if perpetual sunshine had rested on its head. 
 
 It was a relief, after I had gone over the localities 
 of the Revolution, to throw the subject entirely from 
 my mind, and dwell on the more pleasing scenes ot 
 Paris, at least those that did not call up such deeds of 
 horror. No one visits Paris without going to the Ho- 
 tel des Invalides. This, it is well known, is the home 
 of the old soldiers of Bonaparte. The poor and dis- 
 abled fragments of his mighty legions rest here, at 
 last, in peace. It was a bright summer evening, just 
 at sunset, that I strolled over the Seine to this magni- 
 ficent edifice. As I entered the outward gate into the 
 yard, I saw the bowed and crippled veterans, in their 
 
A VETERAN. 43 
 
 old uniforms, limping around among the cannon that 
 lay stretching their lazy lengths along the ground^ 
 the spoils of Napoleon's victories. My attention was 
 drawn to one beautiful gun, covered with bas-reliefs 
 sculptured in almost every part, and with the greatest 
 skill. As I stood looking on it, a soldier came up on 
 crutches, appearing as if he were willing to satisfy my 
 curiosity. I asked him where that cannon was taken. 
 He replied from Venice, andj if I remember right, add- 
 ed, that it was a royal piece. I asked him if he ever 
 saw Bonaparte. " yes," he replied, " I have seen 
 him in battle." He spoke with the greatest affection 
 of his old emperor, and I saw that, even in death. Na- 
 poleon held the same sway over the affections of his 
 soldiers that he was accustomed to wield in the day of 
 his power. Sacrificing his men with reckless prodi- 
 gality, they nevertheless clung to him with the great- 
 est devotion. As I strolled into the inner court, and 
 looked on the place where the ashes of the conqueror 
 slept, I could not but be impressed with the scene. 
 The sun had gone down over the plains of Franco, 
 and the dimness of twilight was already gathering 
 over this sombre building. I was alone, near the tomb 
 of the mighty dead. Condemn as we may the charac- 
 ter of Napoleon — and who does not ? — still one cannot 
 find himself beside the form that once shook Europe 
 with its tread, without the profoundest emotions. But 
 the arm that ruled the world lies still ; and the 
 thoughtful forehead on which nations gazed to read 
 
44 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 their destiny, is now only a withered skull ; and the 
 bosom that was the home of such wild ambition, is 
 full of ashes. 
 
 "Napoleon ! years ago, and that great word — 
 Compact of human breath, in hate, and dread, 
 And exultation — skied us overhead : 
 An atmosphere whose lightning was the sword, 
 Scathing the cedars of the world, drawn down 
 In burnings, by the metal of a crown. 
 
 "Napoleon ! foeman, while they cursed that name, 
 Shook at their own curse ; and while others bore 
 Its sound as of a trumpet, on before, 
 
 Brow-fronted legions followed, sure of fame j 
 
 And dying men, from trampled battle-rods, 
 
 Near their last silence, uttered it for God's. 
 
 " Napoleon ! sages, with high foreheads drooped, 
 Did use it for a problem ; children small 
 Leaped up as hearing in't their manhood's call : 
 Priests blessed it, from their altars over-stooped 
 By meek-eyed Christs ; and widows, with a moan, 
 Breathed it, when questioned why they sat alone. 
 
 " Napoleon ! 'twas a name lifted high ! 
 
 It met at last God's thunder, sent to clear 
 Our compassing and covering atmosphere, 
 And opens a clear sight, beyond the sky. 
 Of Supreme empire ! This of earth's was done — 
 And kings crept out again to feel the sun." 
 
 Ah, the grave is a reckless leveler ; but Bonaparte 
 did not meet " Grod's thunder" so much as the power 
 of despots. Miss Barrett is an English woman, and 
 
napoleon's tomb. 45 
 
 hence is allowed to speak of the overthrow of Napoleon 
 as an act of Grod, while I must think that the devil 
 gained more by it than any one else. 
 
 But his fierce onsets, and terrible passages, and 
 wasting carnage, and Waterloo defeats are all over. 
 Crumbling back to dust amid a few old soldiers, left 
 as a mockery of the magnificent legions he was wont 
 to lead to battle, he reads a silent, most impressive 
 lesson on ambition to the world. Ambitious he cer- 
 tainly was, yet the kings of Europe should come to his 
 tribunal for judgment rather than he to theirs. He 
 was not a "Washington — nor was he the fiend his ene- 
 mies would fain have us believe him. If we except 
 that of Spain, there was not a monarch of Europe 
 who was not more guilty than he. 
 
 It is one thing to speak of Napoleon's personal 
 character, and quite another to pronounce on his 
 political career. The former I have never defended, 
 the /«^/er I have. To make no distinction here, argues 
 a mind at once unjust and incapable of discrimination. 
 
IV. 
 
 AN ENGLISH WOMAN CHAMBER OF PEERS MARSHAL SOULT 
 
 ^MARQUIS DE BOISSY GUIZOT HIS SPEECH. 
 
 The Chamber of Deputies had just closed its sitting 
 as I arrived in Paris, and hence I was denied the 
 pleasure of seeing the Commons of France, and com- 
 paring them with the Lower Houses of other constitu- 
 tional governments. The Chamber of Peers, however, 
 was in session, and I frequently passed an hour or two 
 in witnessing its deliberations. Through the politeness 
 of our minister, I was furnished with his own card of 
 entree while in the city, and hence obtained a seat in 
 the apartment devoted to foreign ambassadors, which 
 gave me an excellent point of observation. 
 
 At my first visit to the Chamber, I was amused with 
 a rencontre I had with an Englishman and his wife. 
 They were of the lower orders, and evidently completely 
 bewildered in the mazes of the Palace of Luxembourg. 
 I was ascending the stairs to the Chamber, when I 
 met them coming down. The woman had learned 
 apparently but the simple phrase " do you speak 
 
AN ENGLISH WOMAN. 47 
 
 French ?" This was of no particular use to her, except 
 that it kept her husband constantly impressed with the 
 marvellous accomplishments of his wife, and compelled 
 him to allow her to be spokeswoman. " Parlez vous 
 Fran9aise ? said she, in a broad accent, and with a 
 comic prolongation of the last syllable, which was not 
 necessary to tell me she was an Englishwoman, for 
 she bore evidences of that in every feature and move- 
 ment. 
 
 " I speak English tolerably well," I replied. 
 
 " Oh !" she exclaimed, with a sudden brightening of 
 countenance, " do you speak English ?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well," said she, in the most dolorous tone, " we 
 came here to see the paintings in the palace, and a 
 man below took away my parasol, and gave me this 
 little piece of wood, and told me to go up stairs, and 
 they wont let me in." 
 
 It is customary all over Europe to take from a per- 
 son his cane, umbrella, or whatever he may have in 
 the shape of a stick, when he enters a gallery of paint- 
 ings or any public chamber, so that he may not deface 
 the pictures ; and give him a ticket in return. The 
 man guarding the entrance to the Chamber of Peers 
 had thus taken from the good Englishwoman her 
 parasol, and she being repulsed by the janitor of the 
 gallery, and unable to speak French, was'in a complete 
 puzzle. I told her she had been endeavoring to gain 
 an entrance to the Chamber of Peers, which she could 
 
48 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 not do without a permit from the ambassador of 
 England. She seemed quite shocked at her audacity, 
 and asked what she should do. I pointed out to her , 
 the direction to the gallery of paintings, and left her 
 thanking me in good broad English. 
 
 The Chamber of Peers is arranged like our two 
 houses of Congress. The seats are semicircular, 
 beading around a common centre, where the president 
 sits. The members are all dressed in diplomatic coats, 
 and present to an American the appearance of an 
 assembly of military officers. The Seance had not 
 commenced as I took my place, and the peers were 
 slowly dropping in one after another, and taking their 
 respective seats. There were the Duke de Broglie, 
 Guizot, and others, and last of all, in came, limping, 
 old Marshal Soult. He looks like an old warrior, with 
 his dark features, clear eye, and stern expression. He 
 is about the middle size, though stout, with a bald 
 spot on the top of his head. His pantaloons were very 
 full, made so evidently to conceal his bow legs. It 
 was a useless expedient, however, for the Marshal's 
 lower extremities form a complete parenthesis which 
 nothing but petticoats can ever conceal. As he stood 
 a moment, and cast his eye over the Chamber, I 
 thought I could detect in his cool, quiet glance, and 
 self-possessed bearing, the stern old chieftain, that had 
 stood the rock of so many battle-fields. As he limped 
 along to his seat, my mind involuntarily ran over some 
 of the most important events of his history. Born of 
 
MARSHAL SOULT. 49 
 
 humble parents, entering the army as a private soldier, 
 with musket in hand, he rose to be Marshal of the 
 Empire, Duke of Dalmatia, and Peer of France. He 
 early exhibited his wonderful coolness in the hour of 
 danger. At the battle of Fleurus, General Marceau 
 commanding the right wing of the army under Lefebvre, 
 was routed and forced to fall back. In his agony, he 
 sent to Soult for four battalions that he might renew 
 his lost position. Soult refused. " Grive them to me !" 
 exclaimed the indignant and mortified Marceau, " or 
 I will blow my brains out." Soult coolly replied, that, 
 to do it, would endanger the entire division. Being 
 then a mere aid-de-camp, and unknown, his refusal 
 astonished Marceau, and he asked, in a rage, " Who 
 are you ?" " Whoever I am," replied the impertur- 
 bable young soldier, " I am calm, which you are not ; 
 do not kill yourself, but lead on your men to the 
 charge, and you shall have the four battalions as soon 
 as we can spare them." His advice had scarcely been 
 given before the enemy was upon them, and side by 
 side these two men raged through the battle like Uons. 
 After it was over, Marceau held out his hand to Soult, 
 saying, "' Colonel, forgive the past ; you have this day 
 given me a lesson which I shall never forget. You 
 have in fact gained the battle." 
 
 This is a fair illustration of Soult's character. Cool, 
 
 collected, and self-reliant, the tumult of battle and 
 
 the chaos of defeat never disturbed his perceptions or 
 
 confused his judgment. At Austerlitz, he did the 
 
 3 
 
50 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 same thing to Napoleon. As Bonaparte gave him the 
 command of the centre that day. he simply said, "As 
 for you, Soult, I have only to say, act as you always 
 do." In the heat and terror of battle, an aid-de-camp 
 burst in a headlong gallop into the presence of Soult, 
 bearing orders from the Emperor that he should im- 
 mediately carry the height of Pratzen. " I will obey 
 the Emperor's commands as soon as I can," replied 
 the chieftain, " but this is not the proper time." 
 Bonaparte was enraged at his answer, and sent ano- 
 ther aid-de-camp with a peremptory order, but before 
 he could deliver it, " the proper time" had arrived, 
 and the awful column of Soult was in motion, and 
 the next moment its head was enveloped in the smoke 
 of cannon, and in a few minutes after, torn and man- 
 gled, appeared on the crest of the hill, where it strug- 
 gled two hours for victory, and won it. Soult had 
 delayed his charge because the enemy were extending 
 their lines, and thus weakening the centre. Bona- 
 parte saw at once the reason of his delay, and struck 
 with admiration of his behavior, soon after rode up to 
 him, and, in the presence of his whole staff, exclaim- 
 ed, " Marshal, I account you the ablest tactitian in 
 my empire." 
 
 It was Soult's cannon that thundered over the grave 
 of Sir John Moore, who fell at Corunna, and the noble- 
 hearted Marshal inscribed a memorial to his brave oppo- 
 nent on the spot. He was in the carnage at Waterloo, 
 
CHAMBER OF PEERS. 51 
 
 and there, on that wild field, saw the star of Bonaparte 
 set for ever. 
 
 As he slowly limped to his seat, I could not but 
 gaze on him with feelings of the deepest interest. On 
 what terrific scenes that dark eye had looked, and in 
 what fierce fights that now aged form had once mov- 
 ed. The memories of such a man must be terrible. 
 A word, an allusion to the victories of Bonaparte — 
 the standards taken from the enemy, and now droop- 
 ing over the President's head — the pictures on the 
 walls — must frequently recall to him the fierce-fought 
 fields ; and, forgetful of the business that is passing, 
 and the beings around him — on his aged ear will come 
 the roar of battle, and on his flashing eye the shock of 
 armies — the fierce onset — the perilous retreat — the 
 route, and the victory. Among the last-remaining 
 props of Napoleon's empire, he too is fast crumbling 
 away. He has escaped the sword of battle, but he 
 cannot escape the hand of time. 
 
 I might have thus mused for an hour over Soult 
 and his wonderful career, had not my attention been 
 aroused by the call of the Chamber to order. There 
 was no business of importance to be transacted, and I 
 amused myself in studying the faces of the peers 
 below me. Marquis de Boissy has put himself at 
 the head of {he opposition, and seems intent on making 
 a fool of himself. An able man in his position could 
 accomplish much good ; but he, by his foolish objec- 
 
52 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tion to everything, and ridiculous, nonsensical re- 
 marks, awakens only derision. On his feet at every 
 opportunity, he seems to think that the sure road to 
 fame is to talk. He is a conceited, vain man, carry- 
 ing in his very physiognomy his weak character. 
 Sometimes he ran ashore in his speech, and, ut- 
 terly at a loss what next to say, would hesitate, 
 and drawl out " maintenant," which would frequently 
 draw a titter from the house. These exhibitions of 
 contempt did not affect him at all, and he would 
 flounder on to another " maintenant." At length he 
 became abusive, and uttered sentiments that brought 
 down murmurs of scorn and the rebuke of the Presi- 
 dent. Making some disgraceful charge against the 
 peers — I forget now what — I heard the heavy voice of 
 Soult, muttering in scornful tones, " Comme un pair 
 de France ! "' At length the foreign affairs came on 
 the tapis, and in the course of discussion, Guizot, as 
 Minister of Foreign Affairs, was severely assailed for 
 some measures he had adopted. The remarks were of 
 a nature calculated to arouse the minister, and I saw, 
 notwithstanding his apparent nonchalance, that he sat 
 uneasy in his place. The member was not yet in his 
 seat, when Guizot arose, and in a few sentences said, 
 he would reply to those charges on the morrow. 
 
 I need not say I was at the opening of the session 
 the next day. The Paris papers had announced that 
 G-uizot was to speak, and the Chamber was crowded 
 with spectators. He ascended the tribune or desk in 
 
GUIZOT. 
 
 53 
 
 front of the President's chair, and launched at once 
 into the very heart of his subject. G-uizot is about the 
 middle size, partially bald, and of pale complexion. 
 His eye, which is piercing, indicates either an un- 
 amiable disposition, or a temper soured by the diffi- 
 culties and opposition he has been compelled to en- 
 counter in his progress. He must be of a very nervous 
 temperament, for all his movements are rapid, and his 
 speech vehement. As he stood in front of the audi- 
 ence and commenced his speech, he held a white 
 pocket-handkerchief in his right hand, and began to 
 gesture with his left. As he proceeded, he snatched 
 his handkerchief out of his right hand with his left, 
 and gestured with the former. He kept up this pro- 
 cess of snatching his handkerchief, first from one hand 
 and then the other, and gesturing with the vacant one 
 till he finished his speech. He appeared wholly un- 
 conscious that he was doing it, and it seemed the re- 
 sult of mere nervous excitement. There was not a 
 particle of grace in a single gesture he made, and I 
 do not remember that he once raised his arm to a right 
 angle with his body. His whole body worked, and all 
 his gestures seemed mere muscular twitches. He does 
 not talk like a Frenchman. There is no circumlocu- 
 tion, no rhetorical flourishes in his sentences, no effort 
 at mere effect, but he goes straight to his object. He 
 uses different French, also, from the other speakers. He 
 has none of a Frenchman's volubility. His sentences 
 are all compact, and his words sound more like Saxon 
 
54 . RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 words. Indeed, I think there is more of the English- 
 man than the Frenchman in his composition. There 
 is an apparent contradiction between the man and the 
 lanRuage he uses. With a Saxon soul he is forced to 
 bend it to the wordy language of his native country. 
 I have always thought it would appear strange to hear 
 such men as Ney, Soult, Macdonald, and Bonaparte, 
 talk in French. 
 
 G-uizot has risen from obscurity to his present proud 
 eminence by the force of his talents alone. "With rank 
 and power to combat, he has steadily won his way 
 through all opposition, and is, beyond doubt, the ablest 
 minister of the Court of Louis Philippe. 
 
V. 
 
 GARDEN OF LUXEMBOURG FOITNDLING HOSPITAL CATA- 
 COMBS CURIOUS ARRANGMENT OF HUMAN BONES. 
 
 The Grarden of the Luxembourg, with its terraces, 
 orange trees, magnificent avenues, almost endless 
 walks, statuary, and lofty trees, is a beautiful place. 
 Marks of revolutionary fury are everywhere visible 
 in it, but that which interested me most was a vacant 
 spot just outside the garden railing, where Marshal 
 Ney was shot after the overthrow of Napoleon at Wa- 
 terloo. The vengeance of the allied powers demanded 
 some victims; and the intrepid Ney, who had well 
 nigh put the crown again on Bonaparte's head at Wa- 
 terloo, was to be one of them. Condemned to be shot, 
 he was led here on the morning of the 7th of 
 December, and placed in front of a file of soldiers 
 drawn up to kill him. One of the officers stepped up 
 to bandage his eyes, but he repulsed him, saying, 
 " Are you ignorant that for twenty-five years I have 
 been accustomed to face both ball and bullet ?" He 
 then lifted his hat above his head, and with the same 
 
56 rambi.es and sketches. 
 
 calm voice that had steadied his columns so frequently 
 in the roar and tumult of battle, said, " I declare be- 
 fore God and men, that I never betrayed my country ; 
 may my death render her happy. Yive la France '." 
 He then turned to the soldiers, and striking his hand 
 on his heart, gave the order, " Soldiers, fire !" A si- 
 multaneous discharge followed, and the " bravest of 
 the brave" sank to rise no more. " He who had 
 fought-;^?;e hundred battles for France, not one against 
 her, was shot as a traitor !" As I looked on the spot 
 where he fell, I could not but sigh over his fate. 
 True, he broke his oath of allegiance — so did others, 
 carried away by their attachment to Napoleon, and 
 the enthusiasm that hailed his approach to Paris. 
 Still, he was no traitor. 
 
 Near this spot stands the Observatory, and, a few 
 steps from it, the " Hospice des Enfans trouves et des 
 Orphelins," or foundling and orphan hospital. This 
 was founded more than two hundred years ago, 
 and at the present time is under admirable arrange- 
 ment. Formerly, there was a box called " /o?/r," 
 fixed in the wall, and turning on a pivot, into which 
 an infant was dropped by any one that wished, — no 
 questions being asked, and the face of the person 
 bringing the child, not seen. This was found to work 
 badly, for it increased the number of illegitimate chil- 
 dren, and also brought in from the country many in- 
 fants whom their parents did not wish to support. 
 There was another evil connected with this arrange- 
 
FOUNDLINGS. 57 
 
 ment. A poor parent would bring her infant and 
 deposit it in this clandestine manner, and then, after 
 a few days, return and introduce herself as a nurse 
 from the country ; and, thus, by a little connivance 
 get her child back again, and receive pay also as a 
 nurse. Restrictions are now in force checking this 
 imposition. There is one evil attending this new 
 arrangement, however — infanticide is more common, 
 indeed the crime has increased almost twofold. There 
 are yearly received into this hospital nearly five thou- 
 sand children, of whom over four thousand are illegi- 
 timate — a sad comment on the morals of the French 
 capital. These are immediately put out to nurse in 
 various parts of the country, so that there are gene- 
 rally less than two hundred in the hospital at any one 
 time. Early in the morning, this multitude of infants 
 is placed in one grand reception-room, called La 
 Creche, where the different physicians visit them, and 
 assign them to the different infirmaries, according as 
 their case demands. The medical department is di- 
 vided into four separate branches — one for cases of 
 ordinary sickness ; one for surgical cases ; one for 
 measles, and one for ophthalmic cases. Cradles are 
 arranged in rows around the outer edge of the room, 
 against the walls, in which the little creatures are 
 put, while nurses are bending over them in every 
 direction. In front of the fire a bed is placed, at an 
 inclined plane, where the more sickly are laid ; while 
 little chairs are arranged in a snug, warm corner for 
 3* 
 
58 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 those who are strong enough to sit up a portion of the 
 time. Cleanliness and order prevail everywhere, and 
 no child is allowed to suffer from neglect. Nothing 
 can be more sad, yet more interesting, than the spec- 
 tacle presented by this large number of infants. Be- 
 reft of parental care — cast off from their mothers' 
 bosoms before they are old enough to know them, and 
 left to the tender mercies of strangers, they are still 
 unconscious of their condition, and ignorant of the 
 evil world that awaits their entrance into it. Neither 
 their smiles nor their tears have anything to do with 
 their position in life. Abandoned, deserted, forlorn, 
 they claim twofold sympathy — from their innocence 
 and their unconsciousness of evil. 
 
 There are several hospitals and infirmaries in this 
 neighborhood, and near by also are the famous Cata- 
 combs of Paris. The catacombs were ancient quar- 
 ries, from which stone was taken for building, chalk, 
 and clay, and sand, and limestone were also dug from 
 them. In 1784, the Council of State, wishing to clear 
 several cemeteries of their dead, ordered the bones to be 
 tumbled into these old quarries. At first, they were 
 thrown in pell-mell, like unloading a cart of stone, but 
 those having the management of the business, found 
 they would gain space by packing them in layers. 
 
 Shafts were sunk from the upper surface to the 
 quarries, and props and pillars placed under the 
 churches and edifices that stood over this subterranean 
 world. The quarries were then consecrated into cata- 
 
CATACOMBS. 59 
 
 combs with great solemnity, and on the 17tli of April, 
 1786, the work of clearing the cemeteries began. It 
 was all done in the night-time ; and as soon as dark- 
 ness drew its curtains over the city, might be seen a 
 constant procession of black cars, covered with palls, 
 going from the cemeteries to the quarries. Priests 
 followed from behind, chanting the service of the 
 dead. As they approached these shafts or openings, 
 the cars emptied their contents into the cavity and 
 wheeled back. Bones of priests, robbers, the gay and 
 the wretched, men, women, and children, were piled 
 in inextricable confusion together, to await the sum- 
 mons of the last trumpet, and the collecting power of 
 the breath of Grod. "What a startling truth is that of 
 the resurrection of the dead, and what faith it re- 
 quires to believe it, as one stands over such heaps of 
 commingled and decaying bones ! Among the monu- 
 ments of the dead carted here, was the leaden coffin 
 of the famous or e^famous Madam Pompadour. Since 
 they began to pile up the bones, the workmen engaged 
 in it have made several curious arrangements. Some 
 of the apartments are built around with bones so as 
 to form chapels, with altars, and vases, made of bones 
 also, and stuck over with skulls of different sizes as 
 ornaments. In the main gallery, the bones are piled 
 up like a wall, with the arm, leg, and thigh bones 
 in front, to give it the appearance of uniformity and 
 consistency, while at regular intervals three rows of 
 skulls are inserted, stretching along the face of the 
 
60 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ghostly structure, to impart greater beauty and variety 
 to the appearance. Behind this wall the smaller bones 
 are pitched pell-mell, like so much rubbish. Not only the 
 ancient cemeteries have been emptied here, but those 
 slain in the massacres of the Revolution were hurried 
 into this great receptacle of the dead. It is computed 
 that the bones of at least three millions of people re- 
 pose in these ancient quarries. They are situated in 
 the southern part of the city, and do not approach the 
 gay Paris of the present day. The palaces of the 
 Tuileries and Louvre, the Champs Elysees, and the 
 Garden of the Tuileries, the Boulevard, &c., are all 
 on one side of the Seine. Luxembourg is on the 
 other side of the river, and is almost as much by 
 itself as Brooklyn. These great excavations are 
 under this part of the city, running under the Pan- 
 theon, the Luxembourg palace and garden, the Odeon, 
 the Val de Grace, and several streets. Tivo hundred 
 acres or more are supposed to be thus undermined. 
 One-sixth of the whole surface of Paris is hollow 
 beneath, and may yet answer all the purposes of an 
 earthquake to ingulf the dissolute city. Strangers 
 are not allowed at present to visit these catacombs. 
 
 This Paris is a strange city. Wliat with its me- 
 mentoes of popular fury, its* temples of fame, and 
 arches of victory, and catacombs, and gardens, and 
 gayety, and wickedness, it furnishes more objects of 
 interest, and more phases of life, than any city I ever 
 visitedo 
 
VI. 
 
 EFFECT OF CITY LIFE THE ABATTOIRS WIDOWS 
 
 ALLEY ISLE OF ST. LOUIS. 
 
 Nothing illustrates the effect of a constant city life 
 on the physical condition of men more than the statis- 
 tics of Paris respecting its population. It has always 
 seemed to me that it was impossible to elevate our 
 race so long as it would crowd into vast cities, 
 where the whole system of life was to make the rich 
 richer, the poor poorer, and the degraded still more so, 
 God has spread out the earth to be inhabited; and 
 has not rolled the mountains into ridges along its 
 bosom, and channeled it with magnificent rivers, and 
 covered it with verdure, and fanned it with healthful 
 breezes, to have man shut himself up in city walls, 
 and bury himself in dirty cellars and stagnant alleys. 
 It is worth our consideration, the fact that every large 
 city on the face of the earth has sunk in ruins ; and 
 gone down, too, from the degeneracy, corruption, and 
 crime of its inhabitants. I am not speaking against 
 cities of whatever size or arrangement ; but point to 
 
62 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 history to ask whether the present enormous overgrown 
 structures are desirable ; or, if necessary, to inquire 
 whether it is not indispensable to have them broken up 
 by large squares and open commons in every part. 
 Large, close-packed cities are always corrupt, and I do 
 not see how it is to be prevented. But, independent of 
 all this, health, nay, the continuance of the race, forbids 
 this self-immuring within city walls. The free open air 
 of the country, the beautiful face of nature, the strong 
 and manly exercise it requires, are all so many props 
 of our systems, and indispensable to the growth and 
 manhood of the population. These remarks have 
 been drawn forth from a singular fact respecting Paris. 
 From statistics, carefully collected and made out, it 
 is found that all families residing constantly in the 
 city, become, after a few generations, utterly extinct 
 — slowly but surely disappearing. So undeviating is 
 this law of life, that not more than one thousand per- 
 sons in all Paris can reckon back their ancestors in 
 the male line, to the time of Louis XIIL I mention 
 the " male line," because city life is found to have a 
 worse effect on men than on women. Those who re- 
 tire to the country in summer exhibit this decay less ; 
 but still, they too show the injurious effect of city 
 dissipation, luxury, and extravagance on the physical 
 frame. The families of nobles, who reside on their 
 manors in the country during the summer, and come 
 to Paris in the winter, have degenerated from their 
 ancient strength and stature. It is said that a young 
 
ABATTOIRS. 63 
 
 man in Paris, of the third and fourth generation, has 
 the appearance, both in form and manners, of a 
 woman. He is weak, effeminate, puerile in mind as 
 well as body, and scarcely ever has children that live. 
 So universal is this effect of constant city life seen 
 to be, that it is laid down as a rule, that those 
 who make their permanent residence in Paris are 
 doomed to extinction as certainly as if a decree had 
 gone out against them. "What a lesson this is on city 
 life, and what a defence of the arrangements of 
 Heaven against those of man! He may seek plea- 
 sure and profit in the city, and rail against the soli- 
 tude and dullness of the country ; but his body, by 
 its slow decay, and its urgent demand for air, relax- 
 ation, and exercise, confounds his arguments, and 
 clears Nature from the dishonor he would cast upon 
 her. 
 
 But to return to our rambles. Paris is divided into 
 twelve arrondissements, or sections ; and let us wan- 
 der to the northern suburbs of the city, in the eighth 
 aiTondissement, to see one of the Abattoirs, or 
 slaughter-houses of Paris. Previous to Napoleon's 
 reign, cattle were driven through the streets, as in 
 New York ; and there were numberless private 
 slaughter-houses in every part of the city. The 
 filth which such a custom accumulated in the streets, 
 and the unhealthy effluvia it sent through some of 
 the most thickly-populated parts of the town, caused 
 Bonaparte to abolish it altogether, and establish in the 
 
64 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 place of private slaughter-houses five great public 
 ones, called Abattoirs, at an expense of more than 
 three millions of dollars. These are immense affairs 
 — those of Popincourt and Montmartre are each com- 
 posed of sixty-four slaughter-houses. As a specimen 
 of the largest of these, take the Abattoir of Popin- 
 court, It was erected twenty-six years ago, and is 
 composed of twenty-three piles of buildings, erected 
 on a sloping ground, to allow everything to be carried 
 away without difficulty. It is surrounded by a wall 
 half a mile in circumference, which gives to it the 
 appearance of a fortress, where men, rather than 
 dumb beasts, are slaughtered. In the centre of this 
 little village of butchers, is a court four hundred and 
 thirty-eight feet long, and two hundred and ninety- 
 one broad, lined on each side by four immense build- 
 ings, separated from each other by roads that go 
 straight through to the walls. Each of these struc- 
 tures is a hundred and forty-one feet long, and ninety- 
 six broad, divided in their turn by a broad court, 
 flagged with stones, on each side of which stand eight 
 slaughter-houses for the separate butchers. Above, 
 are attics for drying the skins, storing the tallow, &o. 
 Thus we have, first, the large inclosure, then the 
 twenty-three buildings, among which are the four 
 great slaughter-houses. Within these four huge struc- 
 tures are sixteen smaller butcheries, eight on a side 
 of the flagged and covered court, running through 
 their centres ; making in all sixty-four. Thus they 
 
widows' alley. 65 
 
 stand, building within building, constituting a very- 
 imposing affair for a butchery. Besides these, there 
 are sheep-folds, and stables, and hay-lofts, and arrange- 
 ments for melting tallow, and watering-places for the 
 cattle, and depots for the hides, and immense reservoirs 
 of water. The slaughtering is all done in the after- 
 noon, and the meat taken to the market-places at night. 
 As I remarked, there are five of these abattoirs in 
 Paris, and some idea may be got of the immense 
 quantity of meat the French capital daily consumes 
 from the average quantity furnished by the single one 
 I have described above. Upwards of four hundred 
 oxen, three hundred cows, and two thousand sheep 
 are slain in it every week. Eighteen families reside 
 in this single abattoir, exclusive of the butchers and 
 their assistants. 
 
 But let us re-enter the city, and, as we slowly loiter 
 back towards the Champs Elysees, turn into the 
 " Allee des Veuves," or Widow's Alley. It was once 
 the custom, in Paris, for widows in deep mourning to 
 shun all the public promenades. But there was a 
 solitary and sombre avenue, leading away from the 
 farther extremity of the Champs Elysees to the Seine, 
 where the rich and elegant widows of the capital could 
 drive in their splendid carriages, without violating the 
 code of fashionable life. This street soon became the 
 general resort of wealthy widows, which drew such a 
 quantity of admirers, not to say speculators after them, 
 that it soon grew to be one of the most thronged prome- 
 
66 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 nades of the city. It took the name of the Widow's 
 Alley, which it has retained ever since. 
 
 Following the Seine upward through the city, along 
 the Q,uai, we pass the Garden and Palace of the Tuil- 
 eries, the Palace of the Louvre, the Place de Hotel de 
 Ville, and come to the bridge of Louis Philippe, which 
 crosses to the Isle of St. Louis. The Rue St. Louis 
 cuts this island in two lengthwise, and as we stroll 
 along, stop a moment at No. 2d — that is the Hotel 
 Lambert, in which Voltaire planned his Henriade, and 
 where Bonaparte had a long and fearful conversation 
 with his minister, Montalivet, after the star of his 
 glory had set amid the smoke and carnage of Waterloo, 
 and the night — long, dark night of his misfortunes had 
 come. Fleeing from the disastrous plain, on which 
 lay his trampled crown, followed by the roar of canngn 
 that thundered after his fugitive army, he had hurried 
 with headlong speed to Paris, the bearer of his owij 
 overthrow. The Chamber of Deputies was thrown into 
 the utmost agitation. The allied army was marching 
 on the city, while there were no troops with which to 
 defend it. " Bonaparte must abdicate," was the gen- 
 eral feeling, strengthened by the firm support given it 
 by Lafayette. Prince Lucien accused him of ingrati- 
 tude to the distressed emperor. " You accuse me of 
 wanting gratitude to Napoleon," replied Lafayette ; 
 "have you forgotten what we have done for him? 
 have you forgotten that the bones of our children, of 
 our brothers, everywhere attest our fidelity : in the 
 
NAPOLEON AFTER HIS OVERTHROW. 67 
 
 sands of Africa, on the shores of the Gruadalquiver, and 
 the Tagus, on the banks of the Vistula, and in the 
 frozen deserts of Muscovy ? During more than ten 
 years, three millions of Frenchmen have perished for a 
 man who wishes still to struggle against all Europe. 
 We have done enough for him. Now our duty is to 
 save the country." " Let him abdicate, — let him 
 abdicate," was the response that met the ear of the 
 dismayed Lucien, and he hastened to his imperial 
 brother with the disastrous news. Napoleon went into 
 a storm of passion, and refused to listen a moment to 
 the request. Lafayette then declared if he did not, he 
 should move his dethronement. Bonaparte saw that 
 his hour had come, and he promised to resign his crown 
 and his throne. He was lost, and there was no re- 
 demption. It was in this state of anguish, and 
 mortification, and fear, that he came to this Hotel, 
 and in the large gallery had a long and earnest inter- 
 view with Montalivet. He talked of the past — of 
 "Waterloo — of the Deputies of France — of Europe — of 
 the world. He had lost none of his fierte of manner 
 by his misfortunes, none of his stern and independent 
 feelings. He railed on each in turn, and then spoke 
 of America as his final asylum. Europe could not 
 hold him in peace ; besides, he hated his enemies too 
 deeply to surrender his person into their power.^^ 
 
 But one cannot look upon this gallery, lined with 
 pictures, where the terror of the world strode back- 
 wards and forwards in agony, without the profoundest 
 
68 
 
 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 emotion. From a charity boy, at the military school 
 of Brienne, he had risen by the force of his genius to 
 the throne of Francy. His nod had been law to an 
 empire, and crowns the gifts he bestowed on his family. 
 Mighty armies had followed him as he walked the 
 trembling soil of Europe, but now there was none to 
 do him reverence. He paced to and fro, the tread of 
 his heavy heel echoing through the silent apartment, 
 filled, not as heretofore, with vast designs of conquest, 
 and absorbed with the mighty future that beckoned 
 him on, but engrossed with anxiety about his personal 
 safety. His throne, empire, and armies had all crum- 
 bled away before him, and he knew not which way to 
 turn for escape. The emperor had become the fugitive 
 — the conqueror of a hundred battle fields left alone, 
 
 " The arbiter of others' fate, 
 A suppliant of his own." 
 
 Sternly and fiercely the mighty-souled warrior trod 
 this floor, addressing, in his earnest, energetic manner, 
 his desponding minister — now proposing this and now 
 that measure, yet turning from each as a forlorn 
 hope. Untamed, and unsubdued as ever, he chafed 
 like a lion in the toils, but the net that inclosed him 
 could not be rent. 
 
 There is another event connected with this street 
 which is_more known. It was here, in the time of 
 Charles V., that the famous battle took place between 
 Chevalier de Macaire and the dog of Montargis, so 
 
SAGACITY OF A DOG. 6d 
 
 often cited as an illustration of the sagacity and faith- 
 fulness of dogs. Aubry de Montdidrer had been mur- 
 dered in a forest near Paris, and buried at the foot of 
 a tree. His dog immediately lay down on the grave 
 and remained there for days, imtil driven away by 
 hunger. He then went to the house of one of Aubry's 
 friends, and began to howl most piteously. The poor 
 famished creature would cease his howling only long 
 enough to swallow the food that was thrown him, and 
 then re-commence. At length he seized his master's 
 friend by the cloak, and endeavored to pull him along 
 in the direction from whence he had come. The 
 friend's suspicion became excited by the actions of the 
 dog, as he remembered Aubry had been missing for 
 several days, and so he followed him. On coming to 
 the tree where the body was buried, the dog began to 
 howl most furiously, and paw the ground. Digging 
 down, they found the body of the master, with marks 
 of violence upon him. Not long after this, the dog 
 meeting the Chevalier de Macaire in the street, flew 
 at his throat, and could hardly be forced from his 
 grasp. Every time afterwards that he met him, he 
 rushed on him with the same ferocity. This happened 
 once in the presence of the king, and suspicions at 
 length became excited that he was the murderer of 
 the dog's master. In accordance with the spirit of 
 those times, the king ordered that there should be a 
 trial by battle between the Chevalier and the dog, or, 
 as it was called, ^^ Jugement de Dieu,'''' — -judgment of 
 
70 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Grod. Lists were accordingly prepared on this spot, 
 then uninhabited, and Macaire, armed with a blud- 
 geon, was to defend himself against the dog, which 
 had a kennel in which to retreat. As soon as the 
 faithful creature was at liberty, he made at the mur- 
 derer of his master, and, avoiding his blows, ran round 
 and round him till an opportunity offered, and then 
 made a sudden spring at his throat. Fetching him to 
 the ground, he held him there till he confessed his 
 guilt before the king. Macaire was afterwards exe- 
 cuted, and the dog nourished with the greatest care 
 and affection. 
 
VII. 
 
 OVERTHROW OF THE BASTILE. 
 
 Taking a turn by the Hotel de Ville, and passing on 
 towards Pere la Chaise, we come to the Place de la 
 'Bastile. I have referred to this before in passing, and 
 speak of it now to describe the monument erected on 
 the site of the old prison, and the grand design, framed 
 by Napoleon, respecting it. The old moat is convert- 
 ed into a basin for boats which pass through the canal 
 that skirts its ancient foundation. But I never looked 
 on the site of this old prison, the first object of popu- 
 lar vengeance, in Paris, when the earthquake throes of 
 the Revolution began to be felt in the shuddering city, 
 without recalling to mind Carlyle's description of the 
 storming of it. In the midst of the uproar of the 
 multitude that surged like the sea round the rock -fast 
 structure — the rattle of musquetry, interrupted by the 
 heavy booming of cannon, and groans of the dying — 
 one Louis Tournay, a mechanic, was seen to mount 
 the wall8 with his huge axe. Amid the bullets that 
 
72 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rattled like hailstones about him, he smote away on 
 the ponderous chain of the drawbridge, till it parted, 
 and the bridge fell, making a causeway over which 
 the maddened population streamed. In describing this 
 scene, Carlyle says : " On, then, all Frenchmen, that 
 have hearts in their bodies ! Roar with all your 
 throats of cartilage and metal — ye sons of liberty ! 
 stir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty is in 
 your soul and body, or spirit ; for it is the hour. 
 Smite thou, Louis Tournay, cartwright of Marais, old 
 soldier of the regiment Dauphine — smite at that outer 
 drawbridge chain, though the fiery hail whistle around 
 thee ! Never over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike 
 such a stroke. Down with it, man, to Orcus ! let the 
 whole accursed edifice sink thither, and Tyranny be 
 swallowed up forever. Mounted, some say, on the 
 roof of the guard-room, some on bayonets stuck into 
 joints of the wall, Louis Tournay smites, — brave 
 Aubin Bunnemere (also an old soldier) seconding him ; 
 the chain yields, breaks ; the huge drawbridge slams 
 down, thundering." This memorable event in the 
 Revolution, Bonaparte designed to immortalize by 
 building a splendid monument on the site of the over- 
 thrown prison. An arch over the canal was to bear 
 a huge bronze elephant, with a tower on his back, in 
 all seventy-two feet high. The legs of this colossal ele- 
 phant were to be six feet in diameter, in one of which 
 was to be a staircase leading to the tower on his back 
 —the whole to form a fountain, with the water pour- 
 
PLACE DE LA BASTILE. 73 
 
 ing from the enormous trunk. If it had been finished 
 according to the design, it would have been a beauti- 
 ful, though strange monument. After Bonaparte's fall, 
 the plan was abandoned, though the model elephant 
 still stands here, slowly wearing away under the storms 
 that are constantly beating upon it. At the Restora- 
 tion, it was designed to build a colossal representation 
 of the city of Paris in its place. But after the three 
 days' revolution of 1830, and the accession of Louis 
 Philippe to the throne, the present structure was com- 
 menced and finished. The arch thrown over the canal 
 by Napoleon was retained, and the immense bronze 
 column rises from it a hundred and thirty feet into the 
 air. A spiral staircase leads to the top, on which is 
 placed a figure representing the Genius of France 
 standing m tlie position of the flying Mercury. On 
 one half of this pillar are written in vertical lines, and 
 in ['gilt letters, the names of those who fell in the 
 storming of the Bastile, and on the other half, the 
 names of those v>"ho fell in the famous three days of 
 July, 1830, At the base, by each corner, is placed a 
 Grallic cock, supporting laurel wreaths, and between 
 them bas-reliefs, inscriptions, &c. The cost of the 
 whole is about two hundred thousand dollars. 
 
 Thus do the kings of France honor the Revolution, 
 and are compelled to, which shows how supreme the 
 popular will is still in France. 
 
 From the Place de la Bastile, let us wander, as it is 
 a bright, balmy day of summer, to the beautiful emi- 
 4 
 
74 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 nence of Pere la Chaise. I have spoken of this ceme- 
 tery before, but one wants to behold it again and again, 
 for he sees new beauties and new objects of interest with 
 each repeated visit. This cemetery covers a hundred 
 acres, and contains the tombs of fourteen thousand per- 
 sons. It has been open over forty years, and it is estima- 
 ted that, during that time, twenty million of dollars 
 have been expended on monuments alone. There are 
 three kinds of graves in the cemetery — perpetual 
 graves, temporary graves, and fosses communes, literal- 
 ly translated cornmon ditches. The sleepers in the first 
 are never disturbed ; their wealth or their fame has 
 secured them a permanent resting-place till the final 
 trumpet shall invade their repose, and mingle perpetual, 
 temporary, and common graves together. Perpetual 
 graves ! "What an appellation ! Time recognizes no 
 such perpetuity, and the interval of a few centuries 
 will make but little difference with the sleepers there. 
 The fosses communes are trenches four and a-half 
 feet deep, into which the poor are gratuitously buried 
 — packed, with only a thin layer of earth between 
 them, one upon another. The poor of this world out- 
 number the rich, and even in their graves exhibit the 
 distinctions wealth makes among the living. But they 
 are not allowed to rest undisturbed, even in their 
 crowded sepulchres. In the clayey soil of which the 
 cemetery is composed, five years are deemed sufficient 
 to secure the decomposition of the bodies, and so, at 
 the end of that time, the spade crushes through their 
 
Lafayette's tomb. 75 
 
 coffins and mouldering bones, and other poor are pack- 
 ed amid their fragments. Thus, every five years, are 
 the temporary graves and the fosses communes invad- 
 ed, and generations mingled with generations in inex- 
 tricable confusion. 
 
 The magnificent monuments here seem endless. 
 Among them are those of Bonaparte's celebrated mar- 
 shals. Here is one to the fierce Kellerman, to Lefebvre, 
 Marshal Ney, the headlong Davoust, and the intrepid 
 Massena. 
 
 After wandering through this city of tombs, and be- 
 coming wearied with the endless inscriptions that meet 
 the eye at every step, and then refreshed with the sur- 
 passingly beautiful view that stretches away towards 
 the Seine, winding its silver chain round the mighty 
 French capital, let us stroll to the Rue de Picpus, for 
 here, at No. 15, in a small cemetery, rests Lafayette, 
 besides his noble-hearted Avife, and his relations. A 
 simple, unostentatious monument marks the spot 
 where the hero, and patriot, and philanthropist sleeps. 
 He needs no towering monument and eulogistic epi- 
 taph. His deeds are his monument, and his life of self- 
 sacrifice and virtues his glorious epitaph. 
 
VIII. 
 
 RAMBLES ABOUT PARIS PALACES OF PARIS. 
 
 There can scarcely be two things more dissimilar in 
 their outward appearance and inward arrangement 
 than a prison and a palace, yet in Paris one associates 
 them together more frequently than anything else. In 
 this gay capital, the palace has not only frequently 
 been the prison of its inmates, but the portico to a 
 gloomier dungeon. In the Revolution, a palace was 
 the most dangerous residence one could occupy ; and 
 there was not a poverty-stricken wretch in Paris who 
 did not feel more secure than those who dwelt in one. 
 From a palace to a prison was then a short step, and 
 from the prison to the scaffold a shorter still. 
 
 Pirst in the list comes the Palace of the Tuileries, 
 the residence of the king and court. I do not design 
 to describe this in detail ; for it would be indefinite in 
 the first place, and hence dry and uninteresting in the 
 second place. This magnificent palace fronts the G-ar- 
 den of the Tuileries on one side, and the Place du 
 
TUILERIES PALACE. 77 
 
 Carrousel on the other. In 1416, the spot on which it 
 stands was a tile field, where all the tiles with which 
 Paris is supplied were made, and had been made for 
 centuries. Those portions of the field not occupied 
 with the tile makers, and their clay and kilns, were 
 used as a place of deposit for carrion, and rubbish of 
 every sort. Francis I. built the first house upon it in 
 1518, and Catharine de Medici, in 1564, began the 
 present edifice. After she had proceeded awhile, she 
 became alarmed at the prediction of an astrologer, and 
 stopped. Henry IV. took it up again; and finally, 
 under Louis XIII., it was again completed. It is a 
 noble building, though of no particular order, or rather 
 of all orders combined. Each story shows the taste of 
 the age in which it was erected. The columns of the 
 lower one are Ionic, of the second Corinthian, and of 
 the third, Composite, all and each corresponding to the 
 epoch in which they were built. Its front towards the 
 garden is very imposing, and all over its solid walls 
 may yet be traced the fierce handwriting of the Revo- 
 lution. The frenzied mob that thundered against it 
 might not have been able to write, but they have left 
 their mark, which no one can mistake. The entire 
 length of the front is a thousand feet, while the build- 
 ing is a little over a hundred feet deep. Its interior 
 is divided into private and public royal apartments — 
 saloons, etc., etc. The Louis Philippe gallery is lighted 
 on one side only, and by immense windows, while on 
 the other side of the room, opposite them, and equally 
 
78 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 large, mirrors are arranged in the panels, eighteen 
 feet high, and seven feet wide — single, solid plates. 
 Here, too, is the silver statue of peace voted to Napo- 
 leon, by the city, after the peacre of Amiens. 
 
 The garden in front of it, with its statues, shaded 
 walks, long avenues and fountains, I have described 
 before. The other side of the palace fronts the Place 
 du Carrousel, beyond which is the Palace of the 
 Louvre. This "Place" derived its name from a grand 
 tournament which Louis XIV. held there nearly two 
 hundred years ago. On the eastern side, the infernal 
 machine exploded, destined to kill Napoleon, and in its 
 place now rises the triumphal arch, erected by the em- 
 peror in the days of his power. Eight Corinthian col- 
 umns of red marble support the entablature of this 
 arch, and above them are bas-reliefs representing great 
 events in Napoleon's life. There are the battle of Aus- 
 terlitz, the capitulation of Ulm, the entrance into 
 Vienna and Munich, and the interview of the empe- 
 rors, forming in all rather a curious comment on the 
 infernal machine. 
 
 On the farther side stands the palace of the Louvre. 
 It was begun by France I. ; but when Napoleon came 
 into power, the roof was not yet on. One of the things 
 that arrested my attention most, was the bullet marks 
 on the walls, left there in the last French revolution, 
 of 1830. The maddened populace swarmed up to it 
 as they had formerly done in the first revolution, and 
 hailed bullets on its massive walls. The Swiss 
 
PALAIS ROYAL. 79 
 
 Guards defended it, and, mindful of the fate of their 
 comrades half a century before, and determined not to 
 be massacred in detail, as they had been, hurled death 
 on the assailants. Those who fell were buried here, 
 and every year at the anniversary of their death, a 
 solemn service is performed on the spot where they 
 died. This palace is not so large as that of the Tuile- 
 ries, its front being a little over half as long as 
 the latter. It is a a fine building, but interesting 
 chiefly for the museums it contains. Here you may 
 wander, day after day, through the halls of paintings 
 and statuary, and ever find something new and beau- 
 tiful. A little removed from these two palaces, on the 
 other side of the Rue Rivoli and Rue St Honore, 
 blocked in with houses, stands the Palais Royal. The 
 orgies this old palace witnessed under the Regent, and 
 afterwards under the Duke of Orleans, otherwise 
 called Egalite, are perhaps without a parallel, if we ex- 
 cept those of the Medici in the Ducal palace of Flor- 
 ence. Scenes of debauchery and of shame, of revelry 
 and of drunkenness, such as would disgrace the inmates 
 of a brothel, were enacted here in gilded, tapestried 
 rooms, hung in costly curtains, and decorated with all 
 that art could lavish upon them. 
 
 But come, stroll around these royal gardens, seven 
 hundred feet long and three hundred feet broad, lined 
 with lime-trees, and fencing in flower-gardens and 
 fountains. It is a July evening, and the cool summer 
 air is breathing freshness over the crowds of loungers 
 
80 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 that throng the open area. There are four little 
 pavilions in which a man sits to let out papers to read 
 at a cent each. Around them your small politicians 
 are assembled, reading and talking, all hours of the 
 day. Were papers as cheap as in New York, this 
 would not be very profitable business, for each would 
 buy instead of hire his paper for a penny, but here it 
 is a money-making affair. Such a throng is always 
 found here in the evening, that the mere privilege of 
 allowing men to let out chairs and furnish refreshment 
 yields the crown more than five thousand dollars a 
 year. This garden is entirely surrounded by houses, 
 with the first story an open gallery, in which one can 
 promenade at his leisure, looking in the gay shops that 
 line it. Here, too, are restaurants and cafes in any 
 quantity, furnishing dinners at any price. You 
 may step into this elegant one — and a little soup, a 
 beef-steak, with a slight dessert, will cost you a dollar. 
 But a few steps farther on is a sign which says, a 
 dinner with five courses for two francs and a half, or 
 about forty-six cents ; and there is another, furnishing 
 an equal number of dishes, with wine^ for two francs, 
 or thirty-seven and a half cents. If you have a mind 
 to try this cheap dinner, step in and call for a two- 
 franc dinner. There is no deception — the five dishes 
 and wine come on in solemn order, but if you eat it, 
 shut your eyes, " and ask no questions," not " for 
 conscience," but for stomach's sake. Your mutton 
 may have been cut from the ham of a dog, and the 
 
A TWO-FRANC DINNER. 81 
 
 various dishes, so disguised in cooking, and with sauce, 
 are just as likely to be a hash of cats as anything else. 
 If you get the refuse of some rich man's table, be 
 thankful and say nothing. The wine you need not be 
 a temperance man to refuse, though you must be an 
 out-and-out toper if you can muster courage to swallow 
 it. Still it is well to make the experiment of one such 
 dinner to know what it is. I do not mean that you 
 should try the experiment of eating it — it is worth 
 two francs to look at it once. 
 
 The gallery on the south, called the Gallery of 
 Orleans, Galerie cV Orleans, three hundred feet long 
 and forty wide, is the most beautiful of all, and be- 
 wilders you as you walk through it. Many a time 
 have I wandered backwards and forwards here, 
 thinking the while I must be in a glass gallery. The 
 back part of it is composed of elegant shops, with the 
 windows flashing with the gay and costly things that 
 adorn them — all fancy articles, designed for ornament 
 and show, — while between the windows is neither wood 
 nor stone, but splendid mirrors fill the place of panels. 
 Wlien the brilliant lights are burning, and the gay 
 crowd are strolling about it, it is one of the most 
 picturesque scenes imaginable. The Palais Royal has 
 been called the capitol of Paris, and rightly enough, 
 too, for it is the concentrated gayety of the city. 
 
 G-oing out in the Rue St. Honore, where it nearly 
 joins Rue Rivoli opposite the Place du Carrousel, let 
 
 us go down the side of the Palace of the Tuileries, 
 
 4* 
 
82" RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 and, entering the gardens, stroll towards the Champs 
 Elysees. The Rue St. Honore goes direct to the 
 Palace of the Elysees Bourbon, but the route through 
 these magnificent grounds is just as near, and far 
 more pleasant. Strolling through one of the shaded 
 avenues of the garden, we emerge at the farther end 
 upon the Place de Concorde, the commencement of 
 the Champs Elysees. Pause here a moment, I always 
 do, though it be the hundredth time, and look back 
 on the dial of the clock that is placed in the fa9ade of 
 the Tuileries. If that old dial could speak, it could 
 tell tales that would freeze one's blood. You need not 
 shudder as you cross this place of terrible remembran- 
 ces, for care has been taken to have nothing left to call 
 them to mind. The beautiful and highly ornamented 
 fountains are throwing their bright waters around, 
 making a murmur-like music ; but though they flow a 
 thousand years, they cannot wash the blood out of 
 these stones. 
 
 Wandering down the Champs Elysees, we come, on 
 the right hand margin, to the " Palais d'Elysee 
 Bourbon." The building is fine, but the associations 
 alone make it interesting. During the Revolution, it 
 became the govermental printing-house. Afterwards, 
 Murat bought it and lived in it, after he married the 
 sister of Napoleon. Ma,ny of his improvements remain, 
 and one room is furnished to resemble a silken tent. 
 It was done by the wife of Murat, as a welcome to 
 her kingly husband when he returned from one of 
 
ELYSEfe BOURBON. 83 
 
 his victorious campaigns. After he was made King of 
 Naples, it reverted to the government, and became the 
 favorite residence of Napoleon. Here is the '• Salon 
 des Aides-de Camp," where he used to dine with his 
 family on Sundays, and there the " Salon de Reception,'' 
 his council chamber, and near by the Salon des Tra- 
 vails." Here, too, is the bedroom and the very bed on 
 which the fugitive emperor slept for the last time, as 
 he fled from the fatal battle of "Waterloo. The room 
 is in blue and gold, and the recess where the bed stands 
 is magnificent — but the last night the form of the em- 
 peror reclined there, sleep was far from its silken folds. 
 His throne and crown lay crushed and trampled on the 
 hard-fought field, and the sun of his power had set for 
 ever. The Emperor of Russia lodged in this palace 
 when the allied troops occupied Paris the first time ; 
 and after the final overthrow at Waterloo, Wellington 
 sat here and mused over the crisis he had passed, and 
 the world-wide renown he had gained. Old palace ! 
 I should think it would hardly know its own politics 
 by this time. To entertain loyally so many different 
 kinds of kings and heroes, and treat them all with 
 equal grace, argues a flexibility of opinion equal to 
 Talleyrand. 
 
 Opposite the Champs Elysees, on the other side of 
 the Seine, is the Palais Bourbon, distinguished now 
 chiefly as the seat of the Chamber of Deputies. The 
 famous Council of Five Hundred used to sit here, 
 and now the five hundred and twenty-nine represen- 
 
84 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 tatives of France meet in Congress within its walls. 
 It is hardly worth going over, but its beautiful white 
 front, adorned with columns, has a fine effect when 
 viewed from this side of the river. 
 
 Opposite the Tuileries, on the farther side of the 
 Seine, though out of sight, and a long way from the 
 banks of the river, stands the noble Palace of the 
 Luxembourg. I have spoken of this before, when 
 describing the debates in the Chamber of Peers, and 
 only refer to it now in the list of palaces. In the 
 days of the French Republic, the Directory occupied 
 it as the place of their sitting, and now the imbecile 
 and almost helpless peers legislate in its halls. 
 
 With a trip to Versailles I will close up { figura- 
 tively speaking) the palaces of Paris. This is about 
 twelve miles from Paris, with a railroad leading to it 
 each side of the river, so that you can go one side of 
 the Seine, and return on the other. I took the rail- 
 road as far as St. Cloud, or about half-way, and stop- 
 ped to see this other royal though rather petit palace. 
 The magnificent grounds interested me more than any- 
 thing else. It was a scorching day, and I strolled 
 under the shades of the green trees in perfect delight. 
 Just as I was approaching one of the cascades, I 
 heard music, sounding like human voices singing, 
 though the echo took a singular tone. I wandered 
 about hither and thither, but could not, for the life of 
 me, tell whence the sound came. At length, I stum- 
 bled upon a deep recess in a high bank, looking like a 
 
SEVRES. 85 
 
 dry cascade, and lo ! there sat a sister of charity 
 with several girls and young women about her, knit- 
 ting, and sewing, and singing together. They made 
 the woods ring again, while the deep cavern-like re- 
 cess they were in, by confining the sound, and send- 
 ing it upward instead of outward, produced a singular 
 effect on the ear. 
 
 I walked through the grand park a mile, to Sevres, 
 to see the famous porcelain manufactory. I do not 
 design to describe this manufactory, but the great 
 show-room is magnificent. Such costly and richly 
 ornamented vessels and bijouterie I never saw before. 
 The best painters are employed, and some of the de- 
 signs are most exquisitely finished. A man could 
 spend a fortune here without half gratifying his taste. 
 This is the best porcelain manufactory in Europe. 
 Here are kept also all the specimens of porcelain in 
 the world, as well as of the first variety ever glazed 
 in France. No one visiting Paris should fail of seeing 
 them. 
 
 From this place I took the cars to Versailles, and 
 in a few minutes went rattling into the miserable, 
 forsaken-looking little village that bears that name. 
 Soon after, I was looking on the Palace of palaces in 
 France. I do not design either to describe this im- 
 mense pile of buildings. Henry IV., the " glorious 
 Harry of Navarre," used to gallop over its site in the 
 chase. It has passed through many changes, but 
 now presents a richness and wealth of exterior sur- 
 
86 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 passed by few palaces in the world. You approach, it 
 by the ample Place d'Armes, and enter the spa- 
 cious court through groups of statues, looking down 
 on you as you pass. The main front is five hundred 
 feet long, flanked by wings, each two hundred and 
 sixty feet in length. I cannot even go over the names 
 of the almost endless rooms in this pile of buildings. 
 It is estimated that one travels seven miles to pass 
 through them all, I can walk twice seven miles in 
 the woods without fatigue, but to go that distance 
 through galleries of paintings, and statues and ele- 
 gantly furnished apartments, filled with works of 
 art, is quite another thing. Seven miles of sight-see- 
 ing on a single stretch was too much for my nerves, 
 so I selected those rooms most worthy of attention, 
 and avoided the rest. 
 
 The historical gallery interested me most. Here 
 are the pictures of all Napoleon's great battles. In- 
 deed, it might be called the Napoleon gallery. All 
 the pomp and magnificence of . a great battle-field 
 meet you at every step. But I was most interested 
 in a group of paintings, representing Napoleon and 
 his most distinguished marshals, both in their youth 
 and in the full maturity of years. There stands the 
 young Lieutenant Bonaparte — thin and sallow, with 
 his long hair carelessly thrown about his grave and 
 thoughtful face — and by his side the Emperor, in 
 the plenitude of his power and splendor of his royal 
 robes. There, too, is the sub-Lieutenant Lannes, the 
 
VERSAILLES. 87 
 
 fiery-hearted youth, and that same Lieutenant as the 
 Duke of Montibello, and Marshal of the Empire. In 
 the same group is the under-Lieutenant, Murat, tall 
 and handsome, and fiery ; and, by his side, Murat, as 
 King of Naples, gorgeously appareled, furnishing 
 strong and striking contrasts — histories in themselves. 
 There are also Bernadotte and Soult, in the same 
 double aspect, and, last of all, Louis Philippe, as 
 Lieutenant and as King of France. The grand 
 " G-alerie des Grlaces" is one of the finest rooms in 
 the world. It is 242 feet long, 85 wide, and 43 feet 
 high. Seventeen immense windows light it on one 
 side, while opposite them are seventeen equally large 
 mirrors. Sixty columns of red marble, with bases 
 and capitals of gilt bronze, fill up the spaces between 
 the windows and mirrors, while similar columns adorn 
 the entrance. You wander confused through this wil- 
 derness of apartments, filled with works of art ; and 
 it is a relief when you emerge upon one of the bal- 
 conies, and look off on the apparently limitless gar- 
 dens and parks that spread away from the palace. 
 Immense basins of water, little canals, fountains, 
 jets, arches, and a whole forest of statuary, rise on 
 the view, baffling all description, and astonishing you 
 with the prodigality of wealth they exhibit. There 
 is a beautiful orangerie, garden of orange-trees, sunk 
 deep down amid walls, to which you descend by 
 flights of a hundred and three steps. Here is one 
 orange-tree more than four hundred years old, that 
 
88 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 still shakes its green crown among its children. On 
 one side of these extensive grounds are two royal 
 buildings, called the great and little Trianons. In 
 the garden of the little [petit] Trianon is a weeping 
 willow, planted by the hand of Marie Antoinette. 
 Here, in her days of darkness and sorrow, she used 
 to come and sit, and weep over her misfortunes. Poor 
 willow, it almost seems to speak of its mistress, as it 
 stands drooping alone. 
 
IX. 
 
 PRISONS LOUIS PHILIPPE A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 
 
 There are eight prisons in the city, whose walls 
 have seen more of suffering, heard more cries and 
 groans, witnessed more unhallowed revelries and 
 scenes of shame, than the like number in any other 
 part of the world. During the Revolution, they were 
 crowded with inmates who, in the frenzy of despera- 
 tion, enacted scenes that day would blush to look 
 upon ; while the monsters who trod France, like a 
 wine-press, beneath their feet, made the foundations 
 float with the blood of the slain. There is La Force, 
 which forms so conspicuous a figure in one of Eugene 
 Sue's works. Here, too, is the Conciergerie into 
 which Marie Antoinette was hurried from her palace, 
 and lay for two months and a half, and left it only to 
 mount the scaffold. Here, too, pined the Princess 
 Elizabeth a weary captive ; and, last of all, it re- 
 ceived the inhuman Robespierre, from whence he was 
 taken to the scaffold. This prison has been the scene 
 
90 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of many a terrible massacre. In the one of 1792. 
 two hundred and thirty-nine were murdered at once, 
 and rivulets of blood poured on every side, from its 
 gloomy walls. Here, too, is the never-to-be-forgotten 
 Abbaye, with its gloomy under-ground dungeons, 
 which performed so tragical a part in the Revolution. 
 One cannot look on it without shuddering, and turns 
 away, wondering if the men hurrying past him are 
 of the same species with those who have made this 
 prison such a blot on humanity. 
 
 Ah I this Paris is full of extremes. Its population 
 rush into pleasure or into massacres with equal readi- 
 ness — turn dandies or tigers in a moment — are car- 
 ried away by romantic sentiments, one day, and by 
 the most ferocious feelings that ever filled the bosom 
 of a fiend, the next — gay, dancing popinjays, in the 
 morning, and heroes at night — votaries of pleasure, 
 and profound mathematicians — mingling the strangest 
 qualities, and exhibiting the strangest history, of any 
 people on the face of the earth. 
 
 Dining with our Minister to the Court of France, 
 the conversation naturally turned upon Louis Philippe 
 and his family. He told me that the social life of the 
 king was more like the quiet home of a citizen than 
 that of a great monarch. His early misfortunes and 
 wide wanderings had taught him lessons he never 
 would have learned in the dazzling circle of a court ; 
 while the bitter experience the Bourbons had passed 
 through, and his own experience in a foreign land, 
 
A LUDICROUS MISTAKE. 9l 
 
 among a free people, strong because they were free, ' 
 had showed him, thus far, how to steer clear of the 
 rocks on which his predecessors had wrecked. 
 
 No American can have sat beside the hospitable 
 table of Mr. Ledyard, in company with his beautiful 
 and intelligent wife and family, without carrying 
 away with him the most pleasant remembrances. 
 
 A thousand ridiculous mistakes occur in Paris 
 among Americans and English, from their ignorance 
 of the French language. Things are called for and 
 brought, which, are as different from what is really 
 wished as they well could be. A man frequently asks 
 for a table-cloth when he thinks he is ordering a nap- 
 kin, or a hat-store when he is after a hat-box. The 
 French, however, never tire of teaching you their lan- 
 guage. Where an American or Englishman would be 
 mum, if not sullen, a Frenchman will insist on making 
 you speak phrases and words till you are able to 
 talk with him. "With the utmost gravity, he will 
 stumble on through a cloud of blunders, and if he but 
 gets the mere fag end of the idea you are after, he 
 will shrug his shoulders with delight, and, taking a 
 pinch of snufF, say " eli hien^^'' and commence again. 
 
 A laughable incident was related to me here of a 
 couple of Englishmen who had just come over from 
 the " sea-girt Isle." Not having fortified themselves 
 with a very extensive knowledge of the French lan- 
 guage, it was the most natural thing in the world that 
 their debut into French phrases should be somewhat 
 
92 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ludicrous. Sitting together at their dinner, one ol 
 them finally spoke to the waiter in French, bidding 
 him remove the dishes. He spoke very plainly, but 
 the waiter had never heard such a phrase before, and 
 ignorant what to do, politely asked him what he had 
 said. The Englishman, suspecting he had made a 
 mistake, and too proud to expose his ignorance, merely 
 replied or wished to reply, " never mind," thinking 
 that would be the shortest mode of getting out of the 
 difficulty ; but he only involved himself deeper. In- 
 stead of saying nHmporte, he answered with the great- 
 est nonchalance, jamais esprit, which comes just about 
 as near to "never mind" in French, as nunquam ani- 
 mus in Latin. 
 
X. 
 
 CHAMPS ELYSEES AMUSEMENTS. 
 
 One should never fail, in Paris, to walk through the 
 Champs Elyseeson a holiday, for he will there get a 
 good idea of the way the French spend Sunday. This 
 Champs Elysees, I forgot to mention before, is a mile 
 and a quarter long, and averages about a third of a 
 mile in width. It is traversed by a wide avenue in 
 the centre, flanked with ample side-walks and lined 
 with trees. Numberless alleys, circles, and squares 
 appear in every direction. Look up and down it as 
 the summer sun is sinking in the distant sky, and you 
 behold an endless cloud streaming along, while mirth 
 and. music make the air ring again. Imagine the ef- 
 fect of an open space a mile and a quarter long and a 
 third of a mile in width, in the very centre of New 
 York, waving with trees, and filled every pleasant 
 evening with carriages and pedestrians without num- 
 ber, and echoing with strains of music. Yet what 
 sights it has witnessed! The excited mob has 
 
94 
 
 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 streamed through it, and its alleys have rung with 
 the cry of "To the Bastile !" and "Down with the 
 King !" The guillotine has thrown its gloomy shadow 
 over it, and the death cry of Robespierre startled its 
 quiet shades. Here the allied army was reviewed 
 after Paris surrendered and Napoleon abdicated ; and 
 a splendid sight it was, those myriad troops marching 
 with streaming banners and triumphant music along 
 these shaded walks. Here the wild Cossacks pitched 
 their tents during the occupation of the city. These 
 untamed warriors from the wilderness of Russia had 
 followed their emperor over the plains of Europe, till, 
 ascending the last heights that overlooked the city, 
 their barbarian hearts feasted on the gorgeous 
 spectacle that lay at their feet. They had looked on 
 Moscow in flames, and following the retreating, bleed- 
 ing army of Napoleon across the Borysthenes, had 
 seen it slowly disappear in the snow-drifts of a north- 
 ern winter ; and at last, with their wild steeds and 
 long lances, went galloping through these avenues, ani 
 stretched themselves under the shade of their trees, as 
 much at home as in their native deserts. Here, too, 
 the English army, under Wellington, the year after, 
 encamped, as it returned from the victorious field of 
 "Waterloo. 
 
 I could not but think of these things, as I stood and 
 looked on the thoughtless multitude that seemed occu- 
 pied with nothing but the present. These great con- 
 trasts show the fluctuations of Time, and how easily 
 
chamfs elysee. 95 
 
 the populous city may become the prey of the spoiler 
 and turn to ashes. 
 
 The right side as you walk up is devoted more es- 
 pecially to promenading, and the left to sports, where 
 boys and men are playing at bowls, skittles, and ball. 
 But on the right hand side, also, beyond the promen- 
 ade, are objects of amusement. Here is an upright 
 timber, to which are attached long arms, sustaining 
 boats, in which, for a few sous, the young can sit and 
 go round, rising and falling in long undulations, as if 
 moving over the billows. Near by is a huge horizon- 
 tal wheel, with wooden horses attached to the outer 
 edge, on which boys are mounted, moving round in 
 the circle. Returning to the main promenade, you 
 encounter a miniature carriage, elegantly furnished, 
 drawn by four beautiful goats, carrying along a gayly- 
 dressed boy, who is already proud of a splendid equi- 
 page. At the far termination, on a gentle eminence, 
 rises the magnificent triumphal arch, designed by Na- 
 poleon — " L'Arc de Triomphe de I'Etoile." Bending 
 at the end of this mile-long avenue, its white arch, 
 ninety-feet high, shows beautifully in the light of the 
 setting sun. Covered with bas-reliefs, wrought with 
 highest art, the splendid structure cost nearly two mil- 
 lions of dollars. There, in enduring stone, are sculp- 
 tured the taking of Alexandria, the passage of the 
 bridge of Areola, the battles of Austerlitz and Jemap- 
 pes, and warriors and war scenes without number. 
 
 Turning back down the Champs Elysees, and tak- 
 
96 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ing the side deserted by the ga}' and fashionable, a 
 different scene presents itself. Besides the games in 
 full motion on every side, here are collected all the 
 jugglers, lazzaroni, musicians, and men with wise 
 dogs and wise pigs, and dancing monkeys and self- 
 moving dolls, &c., &c., of Paris. There is a group stand- 
 ing in that oval shape which indicates something of 
 interest in the centre. Let us enter it. Lo, there is a 
 man with five dogs of various colors, which he has train- 
 ed to act like rational beings. First, he gives them the 
 order to march ; when, placing themselves in line, 
 each lifts his fore paws upon the back of the one before 
 him, and thus, walking on their hind legs, they move 
 gravely around the circle, amid the shouts of the spec- 
 tators. After various exhibitions of this sort, one dog 
 is selected to play dominoes with any of the company, 
 and, what is stranger still, he beats everybody that 
 plays against him. 
 
 A little farther on is a smaller group gathered 
 around an old woman, who is haranguing a large 
 doll baby she carries in her arm. Some terrible story 
 is illustrated in the contortions and gestures she ex- 
 hibits, as now she embraces and now casts from her, 
 the baby image. Farther still, the ground is covered 
 with nimble players, and the air rings with shouts 
 and laughter. This is a holiday of a summer evening 
 in Paris, and of every pleasant Sabbath evening. 
 What would we think of such an exhibition in New 
 York on ai4y day, especially on the Sabbath? In 
 
SABBATH IN PARIS. j97 
 
 every part of Europe this day ofrest is turned into a holi- 
 day ; but no where do the people seem to be so utterly 
 forgetful that there is any sacredness attached to it as 
 in Paris. Here it does not seem the wickedness of 
 depraved hearts, of seorners and despisers, but of those 
 who never dream they are doing anything im- 
 proper to the day — as if there existed no law but that 
 of pleasure. And yet who can blame Europeans for 
 preferring the field and the promenade to the church ? 
 Ignorant of all religion except the Catholic, and know- 
 ing it to be two-thirds a fable, and three-fourths of its 
 priests knaves, what can we expect from them but 
 utter indifference and unbelief ? 
 
XI. 
 
 BATTLE OF FERE-CHAMPENOISE SAD FATE OF AN OFFI- 
 CER'S WIFE BONAPARTE ON THE FIELD OF BATTLE. 
 
 The fountains of Champs Elysees, and, indeed, of all 
 Paris, are supplied by water from the Seine. There 
 are no aqueducts leading into the city, bringing water 
 from elevations, as in New York, where fountains 
 are made anywhere and everywhere a vent is given ; 
 but it is all pumped up from the middle of the 
 river by a tremendous steam engine, which raises 
 150,000 cubic feet in twenty-four hours. 
 
 Loitering through the grounds, my friend at length 
 stopped in a secluded place, and said, " Here, when 
 the allied armies first occupied Paris, was a bloody 
 fight between several Cossacks. It was outside of 
 their camp, and the quarrel had some circumstances 
 connected with it which caused many remarks to be 
 made about it. Do you know," he continued, " that 
 I have often thought it had something to do with the 
 wife of the French officer who was carried off by the 
 Cossacks at the battle of Fere-Champenoise ?" 
 
THE BATTLE. 99 
 
 The following is the story he referred to : When the 
 allied armies, in 1814, were in full march for Paris, 
 Marshals Marmont and Mortier, with twenty thousand 
 men, threw themselves before them to arrest their pro- 
 gress. A mere handful compared to the mighty host 
 that opposed them, they were compelled to retreat 
 towards the capital. As they approached Fere-Cham- 
 penoise, they were assailed by twenty thousand caval- 
 ry and a hundred and thirty cannon, and forced to 
 retire behind the town. The next day, Greneral 
 Pacthod approached the village with six thousand 
 men, fighting as he came, in order to effect a junction 
 with the French army. But as he was crossing the 
 fields, he found himself suddenly enveloped in the 
 Russian and Prussian cavalry. The Emperor Alex- 
 ander was there also with his guards, and wishing to 
 save an attack, summoned the French general to sur- 
 render. He refused ; and, although he knew that es- 
 cape was hopeless, addressed his men, exhorting them 
 to die bravely. They answered with shouts, and im- 
 mediately forming themselves into squares, commenc- 
 ed retreating. Thirteen thousand horsemen, shaking 
 their sabres above their heads, making the earth trem- 
 ble as they came, and filling the air with dust, burst 
 with loud hurrahs on those six thousand infantry. A 
 rolling fire swept round the firm squares, strewing the 
 plain with dead, as they still showed a bold front to 
 the overpowering enemy. Again and again, on a 
 headlong gallop, did those terrible masses of cavalry 
 
100 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 mcoe thundering on the little band, and as often were 
 they hurled back by the bayonet. At length, the 
 enemy brought seventy cannon to bear upon these 
 compact bodies. The destruction then became hor- 
 rible. At the first discharge whole ranks went down, 
 and when the smoke cleared away, you could see 
 wide lanes through those squares, made by the tem- 
 pest of cannon balls. Into these openings the cavalry 
 dashed with headlong fury. Everything now was 
 confusion and chaos. It was no longer a wall of 
 men against which cavalry were dashing in vain valor, 
 but a broken host through which the furious squad- 
 rons galloped, making frightful havoc as they passed. 
 Still the French refused to surrender. Some with 
 the tears streaming down their faces, and some frantic 
 with anger, kept firing on the enemy till the last car- 
 tridge was exhausted, and then rushed on them with 
 the bayonet. But half of the six thousand had already 
 fallen, and the other half was so rent and scattered 
 that they resembled a crowd of fugitives more than a 
 disciplined troop, and the general was compelled to 
 surrender. In the midst of this dreadful strusrgle. 
 Lord Londonderry saw the young and beautiful wife 
 of a French colonel who was bravely heading his 
 troops ; attempting to flee, in a light carriage, over the 
 field, Seeing that their case was hopeless, the officer 
 had sent away his wife from the dreadful scene of 
 slaughter. But as she was hurrying across the field, 
 three Cossacks surrounded the carriage and dragged 
 
SEIZURE OF AN OFFICER'S WIFE. 101 
 
 her from it. Lord Londonderry, though in the midst 
 of the fight, galloped to her rescue, and delivering her 
 to his orderly, commanded him to take her to his own 
 quarters, and then hastened back to the conflict. The 
 orderly placed the lady on the horse behind him, and 
 hurried away. He had not gone far, however, before 
 he was assailed by a band of fierce Cossacks, who 
 pierced him through with a lance, leaving him, as 
 they supposed, dead on the field, and bore off the 
 lady. She ivas never heard of more. Her case ex- 
 cited a great deal of sympathy, and the Emperor 
 Alexander himself took a deep interest in it, and 
 made every effort to discover what had become of her ; 
 but in vain. Her melancholy fate remains a mystery 
 to this day.* 
 
 These are the facts to which my friend referred, 
 when he said he believed that the quarrel between the 
 Cossacks, which occurred only a short time after this 
 tragical event, had something to do with it. Very 
 possible. It is not improbable that these wild warriors 
 brought her to Paris with them, and kept her concealed 
 from their officers ; and this fight, the cause of which 
 could not be discovered, was for the possession of her. 
 
 But there is no limit to the imaginations in these 
 things. She might have been slain on the field of 
 battle, and buried from sight ; and she may have 
 
 * I have referred to this incident in " Napoleon and his Mar- 
 shals," but here give it more in detail. 
 
102 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 lived for years a weary captive, doomed to suffering 
 worse than death. 
 
 How often does a single case of suffering affect us 
 more than the destruction of thousands ; and it is 
 only by taking one individual wounded on the field of 
 battle, and following him to the loathsome hospital, and 
 gathering up all the agonies of his single heart, and 
 the sighs and tears of his wife and children far away — 
 by computing the mental and physical suffering to- 
 gether, and then multiplying it by tens and hundreds 
 of thousands, that we get any idea of the horrors of 
 war ! I have often thought of a remark that Bona- 
 parte made respecting an incident that occurred on the 
 battle-field of Bassano. His generals had fought there 
 till nightfall, and conquered ; and Bonaparte arrived 
 upon it after dark, when all was hushed and still. 
 The moon was sailing up the quiet heavens, shedding 
 her mellow radiance over the scene, revealing here and 
 there unburied corpses, as he rode along, when sud- 
 denly a dog leaped out from beneath a cloak, and 
 barked furiously at him. His master lay dead on the 
 plain, covered by his cloak, underneath which the 
 faithful creature had crept to caress him. As he heard 
 footsteps approaching, he darted forth to arrest the 
 intruder. He would now rush up to Napoleon and 
 bark at him, and then return and lick his master's 
 face and hands, as he lay cold and dead. The alternate 
 barkings and caresses of that faithful dog, the only 
 living thing on that battle-field, clinging still to his 
 
AN INCroENT. 103 
 
 master when all other friends had left him — the scene 
 itself — the moon — the night — the silent corpses, all 
 combined to produce an impression he never forgot. 
 Years after, at St. Helena, he said it affected him more 
 than any incident in his whole military career. 
 
 But here is a farewell to Paris. "Without one word 
 of complaint against Meurice's excellent hotel, I 
 packed my baggage and prepared to depart. Changing 
 my French money into notes on the Bank of England, 
 I inquired at what time the cars started for Rouen, 
 turned to my chamber, and slept my last night in 
 Paris. 
 
XII. 
 
 OUT OF PARIS OVER THE CHANNEL TO ENGLAND. 
 
 The morning was dark and overcast, and a cliill 
 wind was blowing, as I stowed myself in the railroad 
 cars and started for Rouen. I had not made up my 
 mind whether I would go on to Havre, or cross from 
 Rouen to Dieppe, and so over the Channel to Brighton. 
 Past dirty villages, through a monotonous and inter- 
 minably flat country, we thundered along, while a 
 drizzling rain, that darkened and chilled all the land- 
 scape, made the scene still more dreary and repulsive. 
 Around me were chattering Frenchmen of every 
 grade, keeping up an incessant clatter, that was worse 
 even than the rattling of the cars. At noon, however, 
 the storm began to break away, and by the time we 
 reached Rouen, the fragmentary clouds were sweeping 
 over as blue a sky as ever gladdened the earth. 
 
 Having arrived at Rouen, I concluded to cross over 
 to Dieppe ; and so, having engaged my passage in a 
 diligence, and dined, I strolled round the town. This 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 105 
 
 old city has not changed, apparently, since Joan of 
 Arc blessed it with her presence. Everything is old- 
 about it — the houses are old ; the streets are old ; the 
 very stones have an old look, and the inhabitants seem 
 to have caught some of the rust. The streets are 
 narrow, without sidewalks, and paved, oh how roughly '. 
 They slope down from the base of the houses to the 
 centre, where they form a sort of gutter, through which 
 the water can pass off in a single stream. I venture 
 to say that horses never dragged a carriage faster than 
 a walk along the streets of Rouen. I wandered hither 
 and thither till I came upon the cathedral, which 
 presents a magnificent appearance, and is quite a 
 redeeming feature in the miserable slipshod town. 
 Near by is a stone statue of Joan of Arc. As an old 
 memorial of this wonderful woman, it possessed, by 
 its associations, a deep interest. Dressed in her battle 
 armor, she recalls strange deeds and strange times. 
 But the statue, taken by itself, is a mere block of 
 stone, and pays no great compliment to the Maid of 
 Orleans. 
 
 After being cheated out of my place in the dili- 
 gence, which I had engaged — a common custom, by 
 the way, on the Continent, and one you must make 
 your mind up to, if a man of peace — I was compelled 
 to take an outside seat. I should have preferred 
 it, were we not to ride a part of the way in the 
 night. I remember, on a similar occasion, having a 
 regular fracas with a diligence officer in Zurich, Swit- 
 
106 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 zerland, I had before always hired private carriages, 
 so as to stop or go when I pleased. But wishing to 
 go direct from Zurich to Basle, I concluded as a mat- 
 ter of economy to take the diligence. I had been in- 
 formed that the route was very much travelled that 
 season of the year, and I ought to engage my passage 
 as much in advance as possible. So, the night before 
 I wished to start, I went into the office and paid my 
 passage, took my ticket, and supposed all was right. 
 The next morning my baggage was put aboard, and 
 throwing my cloak into the coupe, I was strolling 
 about the yard waiting the moment to depart, when a 
 gentleman accosted me, wishing to know what my 
 number was in the coupe. I replied, I did not know ; 
 and did not take the trouble to look, as I concluded it 
 was none of his business. He soon, however, accost- 
 ed me again, which made me think something was 
 wrong. I took out my ticket, and replied. No. 2. 
 " That is my number," said he ; " let us go into the 
 office and see about it." I was taken somewhat aback 
 at first, but soon fathomed the mystery ; this man 
 was a citizen of Zurich, and wished a seat in the 
 coupe, w^hich will hold but four, but had come too 
 late. The villanous diligence proprietor, or his agent, 
 however, had concluded to give him my place, and 
 make me wait till night. I asked the agent how the 
 matter stood. He said I had engaged my passage for 
 the night. I told him it was false, and he knew it ; 
 for I had mentioned expressly when I was going, and 
 
TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS. 107 
 
 had his ticket in my hand. It was of no use, how- 
 ever ; he said I could not have my place. I was in- 
 dignant at the cheat, but finding that I was in his power 
 I told him I would take the body of the diligence. (You 
 must know, a diligence is divided into three compart- 
 ments — first, the coupe, in front, in which you sit and 
 look out on the scenery with a good deal of comfort. 
 Behind this is the main apartment, which is stuffed like 
 a stage-coach with seats. Behind this is still another 
 smaller apartment, the rumble, that will hold a few. 
 Over the coupe, on the top of the diligence, is the cabrio- 
 let, which is simply a calash-top, seat and all, set on the 
 diligence. Behind this are several open seats, like 
 those on the top of some of the Manhattanville stages, 
 furnishing a sort of deck passage, not only in appear- 
 ance, but price. The coupe is the highest in price ; 
 cabriolet next ; body of the diligence next ; stern 
 accommodations next ; deck passage cheapest of all.) 
 Well, cheated out of the coupe, I offered to take the 
 body of the diligence, without asking to have any of 
 the money refunded. The agent said the seats were 
 all engaged. I then told him I would take the cabrio- 
 let. That was full also. Anxious to leave that morn- 
 ing, as I had paid my bills and packed my trunks, 
 I offered, at last, to take a deck passage, and pay the 
 same price as for the coupe. But the deck seats were 
 all engaged. My patience was now almost exhausted; 
 but I swallov/ed my indignation, and quietly asked 
 him to refund the money, and I would post it to 
 
108 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Basle. No, I should neither go nor have my money 
 back, but wait till night and take a night passage ! 
 This exhausted the last drop of good-nature that had 
 been gradually oozing out for a long time, and I told 
 him he was a scoundrel and a cheat, and T would 
 fetch him before the city authorities, and spend a 
 thousand francs in Zurich before I would submit to 
 such treatment ; and I would see if there was any 
 justice for such men in Switzerland, This brought 
 him to terms, and I took my seat, I mention this for 
 the sake of other travellers, and would merely add 
 that a little boldness and a few threats will sometimes 
 save a vast deal of annoyance, expense, and injustice. 
 I managed the same in Rouen, whose dirty old walls 
 and streets I never care to see again. 
 
 Over an uneven and hilly road we wound our way, 
 till at last, after dark, tired and hungry, we rolled 
 into Dieppe, which is picturesquely situated on a small 
 port, with a very narrow entrance. I had become ac- 
 quainted on the way with a French merchant who 
 lived at Brighton, and we stopped at the same hotel. 
 In the morning, when we came to settle our bills, I 
 noticed that he paid much less than I did. I said 
 nothing at the time, but soon after asked him how it 
 happened that I was charged so much more than he, 
 when we had had similar accommodations. " 0," said 
 he, with the utmost Qidivete, " you are a gentleman 
 and I am a merchant ; , gentlemen always pay more." 
 I looked at him a moment to see if he was quizzing 
 
CHARGED FOR BELXG A GENTLEMAN. 109 
 
 me, but I saw he was quite serious. " "Well, but," 
 said I, " how did that woman know I was a gentle- 
 man and you were not ? I am sure you are dressed 
 more like one than myself." " 0," he replied, " I 
 told her I was a merchant, and tradesmen are always 
 charged less." This being called a gentleman merely 
 because you do not say you are not, and being charg- 
 ed for it too, was entirely new to me, traveller as I 
 was ; but before I got through with England I under- 
 stood it perfectly. It is curious sometimes to see how 
 one is made aware of his superior claims. Now I never 
 should have dreamed, from the apartment given me, or 
 the fare, that I was taksn for a gentleman; and as for 
 attentions, my friend the merchant received more of 
 them than I did ; and I might have left Dieppe, and its 
 miserable, dirty hotel, utterly unconscious of the high 
 estimation in which I was held by the slattern mis- 
 tress, if I had not been called to pay for that esteem. 
 With all due deference to the good woman, I must say 
 I do not think I got the worth of my money. 
 
XIII. 
 
 ACROSS THE CHANNEL SEA-SICKNESS LONDON BY NIGHT. 
 
 Next morning all was bustle and confusion, as the 
 passengers rushed for the steamboat that lay against the 
 wharf of Dieppe. The tide was fast ebbing, and we 
 must hurry or the boat would be aground. One would 
 have thought, from the uproar, that a seventy-four gun 
 ship had swam into port, and the exact moment of high 
 tide must be seized to get her out, instead of a paltry 
 steamboat, which would not be tolerated on any line be- 
 tween New York and Albany. With this contracted 
 thing, which would have answered to ply on the Hud- 
 son between some of the smaller towns, we pushed 
 from the port and stood out to sea. The wind was 
 blowing strongly off the shore, and we expected a pas- 
 sage of six or seven hours across the Channel. The 
 shores of France receded, and the little cockle-shell 
 went curtseying over the waves as self-conceited as if 
 she were a gallant ship. Some few fresh-water trav- 
 ellers could not stand even the gentle motion she made, 
 
JOHN bull's politeness. Ill 
 
 going before the wind, and disappeared, one after an- 
 other, below. I watched the receding shore awhile, 
 and the white sails here and there, that were flocking 
 out to sea, and then sat down near some Englishmen 
 and listened to their conversation. I soon fell into an 
 agreeable chit-chat with an intelligent and accomplish- 
 ed Irish gentleman, which wore away another hour. 
 During the forenoon I was struck with the different 
 manner an Englishman will assume towards an Amer- 
 ican and English stranger. There were too proud and 
 haughty-looking men, — from Nottingham, as I after- 
 wards learned, — who seemed averse to taking part in 
 the conversation. The increased motion of the boat 
 had continued to send the passengers below, till 
 scarcely any but those gentlemen were left on deck. 
 With nothing to read, and having got thoroughly tired 
 of my own company, I very naturally sought to enlist 
 them in conversation. But, John Bull like, they main- 
 tain a stubborn hauteur that nothing seemed able to 
 overthrow. At length, to gratify a mere passing whim, 
 I accidentally let it slip out in a remark that I was an 
 American. You cannot conceive the change that pass- 
 ed over them ; their frozen deportment became genial 
 at once, and they seemed as anxious to enter into 
 conversation as they were before to avoid it. This 
 sudden transformation puzzled me at first, but I was 
 soon able to unriddle it. Taking me for an English- 
 man, and not knowing what rank I held in English 
 society, they were afraid of putting themselves on too 
 
112 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 familiar footing with one below them. Perhaps I was 
 a London tallow chandler or haberdasher, or even 
 tailor, and it was not best to make too free with their 
 dignity ; but, as an American, I stood on fair and 
 equal ground. With a republican, one does not com- 
 mit himself, for he addresses a man who, if in the 
 lowest, is still in the highest rank. The King of 
 Sweden will invite a charge d'affaires, after he has 
 resigned and become an American citizen, to sit beside 
 the queen at his own table, which he would not do 
 while he remained a diplomatic officer of the second 
 rank. One of those English gentlemen, before he left 
 me in London, gave me a pressing invitation to visit 
 him at Nottingham — a hospitality as unexpected as 
 it was grateful. 
 
 But alas for this world of sudden changes! The 
 wind which had followed in our wake, and sent us 
 swiftly forward, began now to haul around, and 
 finally got directly abeam. The waves were making 
 fast, and the little boat careened over, as she puffed 
 and blowed along, while the sky became overcast, 
 and dark, and ominous. The wind kept constantly 
 moving about from point to point, till at length it set- 
 tled dead ahead, and blew in our very teeth. Acting 
 as if it had now achieved some great feat and fairly 
 outwitted us, it began to blow most furiously, and 
 made up for its mildness while creeping stealthily 
 around to head us off. If it had begun a little sooner, 
 it would have driven us back to Dieppe ; but now we 
 
SEA-SICKNESS. 113 
 
 were so far across, that by the time the sea was fairly- 
 awake, and its waves abroad, we hoped to be under a 
 bold shore. But before the white cliffs of England 
 began to rise over the sea, our little cockle-shell was 
 making wild work in the water. The sea had made 
 fast, and now kept one half of her constantly 
 drenched. Every wave' burst over her forward deck, 
 and the poor deck passengers crowded back to the 
 farthest limit of their territory, and there, crouching 
 before the fierce sea-blast, took the spray of each 
 spent wave on their shrinking forms. I never saw a 
 boat act so like a fury in my life. She was so small, 
 and the sea was so chopped up, that she bounced 
 about like a mad creature. Now on one side, and 
 now on the other ; now rearing up on her stern, 
 shaking the spray from her head, and almost snort- 
 ing in the effort ; and now plunging her forehead into 
 the sea and shivering like a creature in the ague ; she 
 tumbled, and floundered, and pitched on in such com- 
 plicated movements, that it completely turned my, as 
 I thought, sea-hardened stomach upside down. I had 
 never been very sea-sick in my life, although I had 
 crossed the Atlantic, and sailed almost the length and 
 breadth of the Mediterranean ; but here I was 
 thoroughly so. It was provoking to be taken off my legs 
 on such a strip of water as this, and in a small steam- 
 boat ; but it could not be helped. The frantic boat 
 jerked, and wriggled, and stopped, and started, and 
 plunged, and rolled so abruptly and irregularly, that 
 
114 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 it made the strongest head turn ; and, long after, I 
 could not recall that drunken gallopade in the waters 
 of the British Channel without feeling dizzy. I 
 walked the deck — then sat down — looked off on the 
 distant chalk cliffs that were just visible in the dis- 
 tance, and tried to think it was foolish to be affected 
 by such a small affair. It all would not do, and I at 
 length rolled myself up in my cloak and flung myself 
 full length on deck, and fairly groaned. 
 
 But at length Brighton hove in sight, and I stag- 
 gered up to gladden my eyes once more with the 
 fresh earth and the dwellings of men. As I saw the 
 carriages rattling along the streets, and men prome- 
 nading by the sea-shore, I woiidered how one could be 
 such a fool as to enter a ship so long as there was a 
 foot of dry land to tread upon. To add to the pleasure 
 of my just then not most lucid reflections, the captain 
 told me it would be impossible to land at Brighton, 
 the sea was so high ; and we must coast along to 
 Shoreham. " Can't we try it. Captain ?" I inquired, 
 most beseechingly. He shook his head. The boat 
 was wheeled broadside to land, and began to toil her 
 slow way to Shoreham, Narrowly escaping being 
 driven against the sort of half moles that formed the 
 port, we at length got safe ashore, and the pale, 
 forsaken-looking beings below began to crawl, one 
 after another, upon deck, and look wistfully towards 
 the green earth. 
 
 The miserable custom-house esteeming it quite a 
 
CUSTOM-HOUSE VILLANY. 115 
 
 windfall to have so much unexpected work to do, 
 caused us a great deal of delay and annoyance. The 
 officers felt the consequence " a little brief authority" 
 gives a man, and acted not only like simpletons but 
 villains, taking bribes and shuffling and falsifying in a 
 manner that would have made an American custom- 
 house immortal in some Madam TroUope, or Marryatt 
 or' Dickens' sketch. I never had my patience so tried, 
 or my indignation so aroused, by any govermental mean- 
 ness on the continent. An Italian policeman exhibits 
 more of the gentleman than did these English custom- 
 house officers. At length I lost all patience, and 
 bluntly told them I considered the whole of them a 
 pack of cheats, and I would be much obliged to them 
 if they would give me a graduated scale of their system 
 of bribes, that I might publish it for the sake of ray 
 friends who would not wish to lose the train for 
 London through ignorance of their peculiar mode of 
 doing business. For my plainness of speech my trunk 
 was overhauled without mercy ; and when the officer 
 was satisfied, he commenced tumbling back my things 
 in the most confused manner, on purpose to annoy 
 me. I touched his arm very politely, remarking that I 
 would pack my things myself. With a most impudent 
 tone he bade one of the assistants put my trunk on 
 the floor. The latter stepped forward to do it, when I 
 told him he could not be allowed to touch it, and 
 I was left alone. My English friends by this time 
 had become furious ; and several others getting 
 
116 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 wind of the trickery that had been practised, a general 
 hubbub arose, amid which the custom-house officers 
 became wonderfully bland and accommodating, conde- 
 scending to a world of apologies. 
 
 "We, however, missed that train for London, and 
 sat down to our dinner to wait for the next. ^ 
 
 It was dark before we approached London, and it 
 was with strange sensations that I looked out through 
 the gloom upon the suburbs of that mighty city. In 
 the deep darkness and fog, the lights past which we 
 fled seemed to come from houses built on high cause- 
 ways, stretching away for miles into the gloom. The 
 mouths of red-hot furnaces would come and go with 
 frightful rapidity ; and I could not but think of Dick- 
 ens' description of poor Nelly wandering at night 
 through the outskirts of London by the red forges of 
 the workmen. The utter confusion and indistinctness 
 that come over one on entering a vast and strange 
 city for the first time, and at night, make it seem 
 like a world in chaos. He stands blind and bewildered, 
 like a lost wanderer in the midst of a pathless forest. 
 London was the first city in Europe I had entered by 
 night, and my inability to catch a single outline, or fix 
 a single feature, produced a feeling of restlessness and 
 uncertainty that was really painful. There were long 
 lines of gas-lights before me, between which surged 
 onward the mighty multitude, while a confused hum 
 and steady jar filled all the air. "What a world of 
 human hearts was beating around me, and what a 
 
LONDON. 117 
 
 world, too, of joy and suffering they contained ! At 
 home, one may not notice it ; but in a strange city, to 
 stand alone in the midst of a million of people, produces 
 strange and sometimes overwhelming sensations. "What 
 a tide of human life was pouring along those streets ; 
 what scenes of suffering and crime that darkness 
 enveloped ! Could I look into every cellar and 
 gloomy apartment of that vast city that was shaking 
 and roaring around me, w-hat a frightful page I could 
 unfold ! To Him who sitteth above the darkness, 
 and whose eye reacheth not only every dwelling but 
 every heart, what a spectacle does such a town as 
 London exhibit. 
 
 It was with such thoughts that I rode through the 
 streets towards my hotel. As I looked round my 
 snug apartment, and saw something definite on which 
 ray eye could rest, I felt as if some mysterious 
 calamity had been evaded, and I could breathe free 
 again. 
 
 Wearied and excited, I turned to my couch and 
 slept my first night in London. 
 
XIV. 
 
 RAMBLES IN LONDON CAMPBELL WM. BEATTIE REV. 
 
 MR. MELVILLE. 
 
 The first day in a large, strange city, always 
 awakens peculiar feelings, for the mind has not yet 
 adapted itself to its new home, new associations, and 
 new objects. There is a sense of vagueness, indefi- 
 niteness, as if all landmarks and roadmarks were 
 mingled in inextricable confusion. As you pass along 
 and fix, one after another, some striking localities, 
 constituting, as it were, points of observation, gradu- 
 ally the chaos begins to assume form and arrange- 
 ment, till at length the endless web of streets lies like 
 a map in the mind. 
 
 I have always had one rule in visiting large cities 
 on the Continent. First, I get a map and study it 
 carefully, fixing, at the outset, some principal street as 
 a centre around which I am to gather all other high- 
 ways and byways. This is a capital plan, for every 
 city generally has some one great thoroughfare along 
 which the main stream of life flows. Thus you have 
 
TABLETS IN CITIES. 119 
 
 the Toledo at Naples, the Corso at Rome, the Boule- 
 vards at Paris, Broadway in New York, &;c., &c. 
 After this is done, I select some day and wander ab- 
 jectless about till I am completely lost. Guided by 
 no definite object, following merely the whim of the 
 moment, I am more apt thus to fall in with new and 
 unexpected things, and see every object with the eye 
 of an impartial observer. 
 
 But London has three or four thoroughfares of al- 
 most equal importance. Its millions of souls must 
 have more than one outlet, and hence a person is 
 easier confused in it than in almost any other large 
 city in the world. There is one thing, however, that 
 helps a stranger amazingly in knowing his where- 
 abouts — the three great streets, Regent street, Oxford 
 street, and the Strand, all empty themselves near 
 Cheapsido, and thus fix a centre for the mind. 
 
 There is one peculiarity in foreign cities, especially 
 on the Continent, which always strikes a stranger, 
 and that is tablets, etc., fixed in the houses, indicat- 
 ing some great event, and the time it transpired. 
 Thus, in Florence, there are inscriptions fixing the 
 rise of a great flood ; and in the pavement near the 
 Duomo, one which informs the stranger that Dante 
 used to come and sit there of an evening, and look on 
 the splendid cathedral, as the glorious sunbeams fell 
 upon it. In another direction, you are informed that 
 Corinna inhabited the house you are looking upon ; 
 and by the Arno, that a man there once boldly leaped 
 
120 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 into the water and saved a female. So in walking 
 along Aldersgate street, London, I saw a tablet fixed 
 in the walls of a house, stating that on that spot a 
 bloody murder was committed, and warning all good 
 people against the crime. Sauntering along I came 
 to Smithfield, famous for the martyrdom of Rogers 
 and his family ; but I never was so bothered to get up 
 any feeling or sympathy about an interesting locality 
 in my life ; for there before me, in the open space, 
 were countless sheep-pens, composed each of some 
 half a dozen bars, while the incessants bleating of the 
 poor animals within made a chaos of sound. 
 
 There is nothing I have regretted so much in trav- 
 elling as carelessness in providing myself with letters 
 of introduction ; the most essential of all things, if 
 you wish to know men ; though utterly worthless, if 
 you are anxious only to see things. I do not know 
 that I should have taken a single one to London, had 
 not a friend put it into my head, by offering me a 
 couple, one to Thomas Campbell, and another to Wil- 
 liam Beattie. These, however, were quite enough for 
 one who wished only to see the literary men of Lon- 
 don, for it is one of the excellent traits of an English 
 gentleman that he takes pleasure in introducing you 
 to his friends, and thus you are handed over from one 
 to another, till the circle is complete. But I was un- 
 fortunate, for I found neither of these gentlemen in 
 London. A day or two after my arrival, I drove down 
 to the residence of the latter, in Park square, Regent's 
 
REV. MR. MELVILLE. 121 
 
 Park, and was told by the servant that Mr. B. was in 
 Dover. Leaving a little present for him, with which 
 I had been entrusted by one of his friends, I returned 
 to my lodgings somewat disappointed. A few days 
 after I received a letter from Mr. Beattie, saying that 
 he regretted exceedingly that his absence from Lon- 
 don prevented him from seeing me, and inviting me 
 to Dover, adding the unpleasant information that 
 Campbell had just left him for France. From that 
 journey the poet never returned. This dished all my 
 prospects in that quarter, and I set about amusing 
 myself as T best could, now wandering through Hyde 
 Park at evening, strolling up the Strand, or visiting 
 monuments and works of art. 
 
 On the Sabbath, I concluded to go to Camberwell, 
 and hear the celebrated Mr. Melville preach. I had 
 read his sermons in America, and been struck with 
 their fervid, glowing eloquence, and hence was ex- 
 ceedingly anxious to hear him. Camberwell, which, 
 though a part of London, is three miles from St. 
 Paul's, resembles a large and beautiful village. I 
 had been told that it was difficult to get entrance to 
 the church, as crowds thronged to hear him ; and as 
 I entered the humble, unpretending building, packed 
 clear out into the portico, I could not but wonder why 
 he should not choose some more extensive field of 
 labor. By urging my way to the door, and consent- 
 ing to stand during the whole service, I succeeded in 
 getting both a good view and good hearing. As he 
 6 
 
122 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rose in the pulpit, his appearance gave no indication 
 of the rousing, thrilling orator I knew him to be, 
 unless it was the expression about the eye. There 
 was that peculiar lifting to the brow, a sort of 
 openness and airiness about the upper part of the 
 face, which belong more or less to all your ardent, 
 enthusiastic characters. No man who has a soul with 
 wings to it, on which it now and then mounts upward 
 with a stroke that carries the eye of the beholder in 
 rapture after it, is without some feature which is 
 capable of lighting up into intense brilliancy. 
 
 Mr. Melville looks to be about forty-five. His full 
 head of hair, which lies in tufts around his forehead, 
 is slightly turned with gray, while his voice, without 
 being very powerful, is full and rich. His text era- 
 braced those verses which describe the resurrection of 
 Lazarus. The topic promised something rich and 
 striking, and I was expecting a display of his impas- 
 sioned eloquence, but was disappointed. He had di- 
 vided the subject into two sermons, and the first, 
 which I was to hear, was a train of reasoning. He 
 commenced by taking the infidel side of the question, 
 and argued through the first half of his discourse as I 
 never heard a skeptic reason. He took the ground 
 that the miracle was wholly improbable, from the fact 
 that but one of the evangelists had mentioned it. Here 
 was one of the most important miracles Christ ever 
 performed — one which, if well established, would au- 
 thenticate his claim and mission beyond a doubt, and 
 
Melville's sermon. 123 
 
 yet but one evangelist makes mention of it. All the 
 other miracles were open to some criticism. The son 
 of the widow of Nain might have been in a trance, 
 or the functions of life suddenly suspended, as is 
 often witnessed now, and the presence and voice of 
 Christ been the occasion only, not the cause, of his 
 awaking at that particular time. As for healing the 
 sick, that had been done by others, and there were 
 many instances on record where the excited action of 
 the mind in a new channel had produced great bodily 
 effects. But here was a case in which none of these 
 suppositions could be of any weight. Lazarus had 
 lain in his grave four days, and decomposition had 
 already commenced. All the friends knew it, for they 
 had been present at the funeral. They had not only 
 closed his eyes, but laid him in his grave, and placed 
 a huge stone upon it. Shut out from the light and 
 air of heaven, his body had begun to return to its 
 mother earth. In this state of things Christ arrives, 
 and going mournfully to the tomb of his friend, calls 
 him from his sleep of death. The dead man moves in 
 his grave-clothes, arises, and comes forth ! Now, in 
 the first place, was it likely that so wonderful an 
 occurrence as this should have escaped the knowledge 
 of the disciples, or if known, would have been omitted 
 in their biographies of him ? Did not the unbrolcen 
 silence of all these writers argue against the occur- 
 rence of the miracle ? These disciples mention with 
 great minuteness many acts of the Saviour apparently 
 
124 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of less importance, and yet this wondrous miracle is 
 unacconntably left out. Mr. Melville went on in this 
 way, bringing forward argument after argument, and 
 applying them with such power and force, that I 
 really began to tremble. That his views were correct, 
 I had no doubt ; but I feared he was not aware of the 
 strong light in which he was putting the case, nor of 
 the impression he was making on his hearers. I knew 
 he designed to meet and overthrow this tremendous 
 array of argument, which no infidel could have used 
 with such consummate ability ; but I doubted whe- 
 ther the audience would feel the force of his after- 
 reasoning, as they evidently did of his former. To 
 his mind, the logic might be both clear and convinc- 
 ing, but not to the hearer. But I was mistaken. 
 The giants he had reared around his subject became 
 men of mist before him. They went down, one after 
 another, under his stroke, with such rapidity, that the 
 heart became relieved, as if a burden had been sud- 
 denly removed. He denied, in the first place, that 
 there was anything so peculiar about the miracle as 
 the whole argument of the infidel assumed. He ad- 
 duced several other miracles giving more convincing 
 proof of Christ's divinity than it — furnishing less 
 grounds for cavil ; and then went on to show that 
 this very omission proved, if not that miracle, the 
 truth of the statements of the evangelists, and their 
 perfect freedom from all collusion, and thus in the end 
 proved the miracle itself. His argument and illustra- 
 
REV. MR. MELVILLE. 125 
 
 tions were both beautiful, and I was very sorry when 
 he was through. 
 
 I should like to have heard the other part of the 
 subject, when he came to speak, with the faith and 
 love of the believer, of that thrilling scene. I have 
 no doubt it gave occasion to one of his finest efforts, 
 and around that grave he poured light so intense and 
 dazzling, that the hearer became a spectator, and 
 emotion took the place of reason. Mr. Melville is the 
 younger son of a nobleman, and exhibits in his man- 
 ner and bearing something of the hauteur so peculiar 
 to the English aristocracy. He, however, does not 
 seem to be an ambitious man, or he would not stay in 
 this village-like church in the suburbs of the city. 
 His health may have something to do with it ; but I 
 imagine the half rural aspect and quiet air of Cam- 
 berwell suit him better than the turmoil, and tumult, 
 and feverish existence of a metropolitan life. 
 
XV. 
 
 HYDE PARK MARCHIONESS OF P. DUKE OF WELLING- 
 TON THE QUEEN. 
 
 It is quite a long step from Camberwell to Hyde 
 Park, and the scene that presents itself is quite dif- 
 ferent from that of a house of worship. It is a week 
 day, and through this immense park are driving in all 
 directions the gay and luxurious nobility of England. 
 About five o'clock in the evening the throng is the 
 thickest, and along every winding road that intersects 
 these magnificent grounds are passing splendid car- 
 riages, or elegant delicate structures of the wealthy 
 and noble, making the whole scene a moving pano- 
 rama. Here English ladies show their skill with the 
 whip, and drive their high-spirited horses with the 
 rapidity and safety of a New York omnibus driver. 
 Look, there goes a beautiful, light, graceful thing, 
 drawn by two cream-colored ponies, with silver manes 
 and tails. Of faultless form, they tread daintily 
 along, while behind, on two other ponies of the same 
 size and color precisely, are mounted two outriders, 
 
FEMALE ACCOMPLISHMENTS. 127 
 
 who dog that light vehicle as if it were death to lose 
 sight of it. The only occupant of that carriage is a 
 lady, fat and handsome, with auburn hair, blae eyes, 
 and a full, open face, who, with the reins in one hand, 
 and the whip in the other, is thus taking her airing. 
 As she passes me, a long stretch of road is before her, 
 and with a slight touch the graceful team springs 
 away, while the fair driver, leaning gently forward, 
 with a tight rein guides them in their rapid course. 
 Those two outriders have hard work to keep up with 
 the carriage of their mistress as it flies onward. The 
 lady is the Marchioness of P., a noted beauty. 
 
 I give this simply as a specimen of the manner in 
 which the ladies of the English nobility amuse them- 
 selves. It is no small accomplishment to be a good 
 whip, and the lady who can manage a spirited team, 
 is prouder of her achievement than if she performed 
 a thousand domestic duties. What a singular thing 
 custom is ! I have seen women in our frontier settle- 
 ments going to the mill, and driving both horses and 
 oxen with admirable skill, nay, pitching and loading 
 hay. The Dutch girls in Pennsylvania will rake and 
 bind equal to any man, and many of our western fe- 
 males perform masculine duties with the greatest suc- 
 cess ; but we have not generally regarded these things 
 as accomplishments. It makes a great difference, 
 however, whether it is done from necessity or from 
 choice. It is singular to see how our refinement and 
 luxury always tend to the rougher state of society, 
 
128 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 and not unfrequently to that bordering, in many re 
 spects, on savage life. Gladiatorial shows, bull-fights, 
 &c., spring from the weariness and ennui of a refiner^ 
 lazy, voluptuous life. The want of excitement pro- 
 duces these spectacles ; for when men become insen- 
 sible to the more refined pleasures, from their long 
 enjoyment, they seek the stimulus of grosser ones. 
 Exhausted luxury must terminate in brutal debase- 
 ment or brutal ferocity, and just in proportion as the 
 senses are gratified does man seek for the stronger 
 stimulants, which are found in that state of society 
 bordering nearest on animal life. Thus luxury pro- 
 duces the opposite of true refinement, say what those 
 will who rule in the high places of fashion. 
 
 But I will speak of Hyde Park again, and will just 
 step across to St. James's Park, which is laid out with 
 an eye as much to taste as to convenience. A little 
 lake slumbers in the centre, on which ducks are 
 quietly sailing, and green and beautiful trees are 
 shaking their freshness down on the dreamy groups 
 that are strolling about, while palaces on every side 
 shut in with their gorgeous fronts the large and de- 
 lightful area. I was sauntering along, musing as I 
 went, when a single horseman came on a plunging 
 trot towards me. It needed no second look to tell me 
 it was the "iron duke." That face, seen in every 
 print-shop in London, with its hooked nose, thin, 
 spare features, and peculiar expression, is never mis- 
 taken by the most indifferent observer. He had on a 
 
THE "iron duke." 129 
 
 gray Tweed overcoat, which cost him probably five or 
 six dollars, and his appearance, manner, and all, was 
 that of a common gentleman. He is an ungraceful 
 rider, notwithstanding so much of his life has been 
 passed on horseback, and in the field ; but I must con- 
 fess that the kind of exercise he has been subjected to 
 in that department was not the most favorable to ele- 
 gance of attitude in the saddle. His long and weari- 
 some campaigns and fierce battles have demanded en- 
 durance and toil, — and though his seat is not that of 
 a riding-master, he has, nevertheless, ridden to some 
 purpose in his life. As I turned and watched his 
 receding form, I could not but think of some of the 
 perilous passages of his life, and of the wild tumult 
 amid which he had urged his steed. There are Al- 
 buera, Badajos, Salamanca, St. Sebastian, and last of 
 all, Waterloo, about as savage scenes as one would 
 care to recall. Where death reaped down the brave 
 fastest, and the most horrid carnage covered the field ; 
 amid the smoke and thunder of a thousand cannon, 
 and the fearful shocks of cavalry, he has ridden as 
 calmly as I see him now moving away into yonder 
 avenue of trees. 
 
 The Duke has a house near by, in a most dilapi- 
 dated state, which he, with his accustomed obstinacy, 
 steadily refuses to repair. The mob in their fury thus 
 defaced it, and he is determined it shall stand as a 
 monument of lawless violence. His great influence 
 in the administation of the government, has made 
 
130 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 him the object ot marked hatred to that whole class 
 of men who are starving for want of work, and 
 have sense enough to know who are their oppressors. 
 Once he came near being trodden under foot by them. 
 They pressed fiercely upon his steps as he rode along 
 the street, and were just about to drag him from his 
 horse, when a cartman drove his cart right behind 
 him, and kept it steadily there, notwithstanding every 
 effort to push the bold fellow aside. His devotion 
 saved the Duke, and the latter was so grateful for 
 it, that he endeavored, afterwards to discover his 
 name, for^ the purpose of rewarding him, but never 
 did. 
 
 Soon after, I came to Buckingham Palace, the royal 
 residence, and seeing a crowd at the main entrance, I 
 asked a sentinel on guard what it meant. He replied 
 that the Q,ueen was every moment expected. This 
 was a sight worth stopping to see, so I fell into the 
 ranks that were arranged on each side of the gate. I 
 had not waited long before several outriders came up 
 on a full gallop, and the ponderous gates swung back 
 on their hinges as if touched by an enchanter's wand, 
 while those horsemen reined up on either side, and 
 stood as if suddenly turned into statues. Soon an 
 open carriage, drawn by six horses, came sweeping 
 up, followed by several men in gold lace on horse- 
 back. There was quite a movement at the sight 
 of this cortege, yet there was nothing particularly im- 
 posing in it. The top of the carriage had been thrown 
 
QUEEN VICTORIA. 131 
 
 back, giving it the appearance of a barouche, and 
 within sat two ladies and two gentlemen, looking for 
 all the world like, any other well-dressed people ; yet 
 one of those ladies was the Q,ueen of England, and 
 one of those gentlemen was Prince Albert. The Queen 
 had on a straw hat and a light shawl, and with her 
 very plain face, full and unpleasant eye, retreating 
 chjn, and somewhat cross expression in her look, seem- 
 ed anything but an interesting woman. The portraits 
 of her have as little of her features in them as they 
 well could ; for Victoria, as Queen of England, is a 
 very plain woman, while Victoria, a milliner, would be 
 called somewhat ugly. 
 
 The royal cortege swept into the court, the gates 
 sullenly closed again, and the blessed vision had 
 departed. The - Queen, however, had deigned to 
 bow to me — that is, to us, some fifty or a hundred — 
 and I turned away to my hotel wondering when the 
 farce of queens would end. Here is one of the most 
 powerful empires in the world, sustained by the most 
 powerful intellects it possesses, with a mere stick, a 
 puppet moved by wires, placed over it. A young 
 woman who probably could not manage an ordinary 
 school well, is presented with the reins of govern- 
 ment, because the registry says that her great-grand- 
 father's uncle, or some similar relative, once wore a 
 crown legitimately. So hoary-headed statesmen, the 
 proud, the great, and the wealthy, come and bow the 
 knee, and hail her sovereign who they know really 
 
132 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 exercises no more sway than a wooden image placed 
 in her stead, with a little royal blood dropped into its 
 mouth by way of consecrating it. This putting up 
 the mere symbol of royalty, and then bowing with 
 such solemn mockery before it, will yet appear as 
 ludicrous as the worship of the G-rand Lama, when an 
 infant six months old, by the people of Thibet. 
 
XVI. 
 
 THE THAMES HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT SIR ROBERT PEEL, 
 
 LORD LYNDHURST, AND LORD BROUGHAM. 
 
 I FREQUENTLY stroUed through the streets of London 
 to the Thames ; for I loved to stand on one of the many 
 noble bridges that span it, and gaze on the graceful 
 arches of the others, and watch the throng of little 
 steamboats that hurried about on every side in 
 the most funny manner imaginable, as if worried to 
 death in the effort to keep the multitudinous craft 
 around and the busy wharves in order. They 
 darted hither and thither — now bowing their long 
 pipes to pass under an arch, and now emerging into 
 view, shooting along the stream as if possessed with 
 the power of will. And then their names are 
 so pretty—" Daylight," Starlight," " Moonlight," 
 " Sunbeam," etc. etc., just fitted for such wee bits of 
 things. 
 
 This world-renowned Thames is a small afPair, and 
 bears about the same proportion to our noble Hudson 
 
134 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 as our Croton acqueduct does to the latter. No wonder 
 that an Englishman, born and bred in London, and 
 taught to consider the Thames as a very fine river, 
 should regard the accounts of our majestic streams 
 with incredulity. An American standing besides the 
 Thames one day with a Londoner, took occasion to 
 speak of the* Missouri, a mere tributary of the Missis- 
 sippi ; and in order to convey some definite idea of its 
 size, told hov/ many of the Thames it would hold. 
 When he had finished, the Englishman simply gave a 
 long whistle and turned on his heel, as much as to 
 say, " You don't suppose I'm such a fool as to believe 
 that !" This, by the way, is a fair illustration of the 
 manner we this side of the water get wrong impres- 
 sions of foreign nations from Englishmen. It must be 
 remembered that an Englishman never looks on any 
 country in the abstract, or by itself, but always in 
 comparison with his own. England is the standard 
 by which to judge of the size, and state and degree of 
 civilization of all other countries on the globe. Thus 
 we have heard a thousand changes rung on the clear 
 sky of Italy, till every traveller looks up, the moment 
 he touches the Italian coast, to see the aspect of the 
 heavens. He finds them blue and beautiful enough, 
 and immediately goes into ecstasies ; when the fact is, 
 the sky that has bent over him from his infancy is as 
 clear and bright an arch as spans any land the sun 
 shines upon. There is a softness in the Italian sky 
 not found in the United States, but no clearness equal 
 
HOUSE OF COMMONS. 185 
 
 to ours. The English, accustomed to everlasting 
 mists, are struck with astonishment at the pure air of 
 Italy, and utter endless exclamations upon it. This 
 is natural, for a Londoner considers a perfectly bright 
 and clear day at home as a sort of phenomenon, not 
 expected to occur except at long intervals. The at- 
 mosphere of London is a perpetual fog ; the pleasant 
 days are when this fog is thin and light, and the 
 cloudy days when it soaks you to the skin. As you 
 get up morning after morning and see this moveless 
 mist about you, you wish for one of those brisk north- 
 westers that come sweeping down the Hudson, chasing 
 all vapors fiercely out to sea. 
 
 But let us take a peep at the two houses of Parlia- 
 ment. Our minister, Mr. Everett, has sent me his 
 card with his ambassadorial seal upon it, which gives 
 me the entree to the House of Lords ; while Mr. 
 Macau lay has kindly given me access to the House of 
 Commons. I visited the latter more frequently than 
 the former, for there is always more life in the repre- 
 sentation of the people than in that of a mere shadow, 
 nobility. A very fine Parliament house is going up, 
 but the rooms in which the two houses now meet are 
 very ordinary affairs. The chamber of the House of 
 Commons looks more like one of our mongrel churches 
 — met with in some country places — half church, half 
 school-house, than anything I can think of Some of 
 the members are compelled to sit in the gallery, while 
 the seats are of the most common kind. One is struck 
 
136 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 on approaching the House of Commons in seeing so 
 many saddle-horses held by servants, as if a squadron 
 of troopers had just dismounted ; but on entering, the 
 mystery is dispelled ; for there sit the owners, some 
 with hats on, others with their feet on the backs of 
 benches before them, with their riding- whips in their 
 hands. The younger members of Parliament regard the 
 sittings of the House a bore, and come in only occasion- 
 ally and stay a short time, for the sake of propriety ; 
 then mount their horses and away. I heard Robert Peel 
 speak here one evening, in reply to young O'Connell, 
 nephew of Daniel O'Connell. O'Connell, a short, 
 thick-set man, was full of fire and ardor, like his race, 
 and dealt his blows on the right hand and on the left 
 with hearty good- will, if not always with the greatest 
 skill. Peel's whole manner and reply were character- 
 istic of the well-bred Englishman. He was carefully 
 dressed, and his entire speech was marked by that 
 urbanity and good sense which usually distinguish 
 him. He had on light-colored pantaloons, a light vest, 
 and brown coat ; and, with his full fresh face, looked 
 the perfect picture of health and good living. Probably 
 there is not a man in England that does more thinking 
 and downright hard work than he, and yet his appear- 
 ance indicates one who lives a life of ease and comfort, 
 sets a fine table, and enjoys a good glass of wine. 
 How, amid the harassing cares of his station, and the 
 incessant toil to which he is subjected, he manages to 
 retain that florid complexion, full habit, and bland 
 
ROBERT PEEL. 137 
 
 expression, I cannot divine. I believe it is a mere 
 physical habit, that is, the expression of his face ; but 
 still that does not explain how he is able to keep in 
 such good bodily condition. There is much complaint 
 of the rude manners of our representatives in Congress ; 
 and they are an unruly, rough set of men as one would 
 wish to see in any legislative hall ; but the members 
 of England's House of Commons are quite as uncouth 
 and ill-bred in their behavior. 
 
 The House of Lords, like the Senate, has more 
 dignity, but the room in which it sits is inferior even 
 to that of the Lower House. It would make a re- 
 spectable session-room for some church, and nothing 
 more. Lord Lyndhurst was on the woolsack when I 
 went in, and, with his immense powdered wig and 
 gown, looked comical enough to my republican eyes. 
 I could hardly divest myself of the impression that I 
 was looking on some old picture, till he opened his 
 mouth to speak. This same Lord Lyndhurst, Lord 
 High Chancellor of England, was once a poor boy in 
 the streets of Boston. His father was a painter in 
 that city, but managed to give his son a good educa- 
 tion ; and industry and genius did the rest. A lawyer 
 in England, he went up, step after step, till he finally 
 found himself on the " ivoohack'''' — which, by the way, 
 is simply a huge red cushion somewhere near the 
 centre of the House of Lords. I had also a fair look at 
 Lord Brougham, whose face indicates anything but 
 greatness. But with all his genius, he bids fair to 
 
138 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 make a wreck of himself. His misfortunes or own 
 evil natm-e have made him a dissipated man ; and 
 there are stories told of him in London which would 
 disgrace a member of the Empij-e Club of New York. 
 It is stupid, sitting in the House of Lords when no 
 exciting topic is on the tapis, for it is simply a dull 
 routine of business. 
 
XVII. 
 
 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 
 
 Westminster Abbey is close by the House of Com- 
 mons, and let us step up into it ^ moment, and walk 
 amid the tombs of the mighty dead. This old struc- 
 ture has stood the wear and tear of centuries, witness- 
 ed the rise and fall of kingdoms, and seen changes that 
 have altered the face of the world. Yet still it stands 
 in its ancient strength — the sepulchre of England's 
 kings and poets, and historians, and warriors. Its ex- 
 terior would arrest the eye as a fine specimen of archi- 
 tecture. It is built in the form of a cross, four hun- 
 dred and sixteen feet in length, and nearly two hun- 
 dred feet in breadth. Two noble towers rise from the 
 west end, two hundred and twenty-feet high. But 
 the interest is all within. The choir occupies the cen- 
 tre of the building, and hence destroys the effect of 
 the nave, and indeed lessens to the eye the magnitude 
 of the whole interior. Around the sides are small 
 chapels, in which lie kings and queens in great abund- 
 
140 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ance, each surmounted by monuments characteristic 
 of the age in which he or she lived. Here sleeps an 
 old Saxon king, and near by Henry Y. The chapel 
 of Henry "VH. is the greatest curiosity in the Abbey, 
 being built itself in the form of a cathedral, with nave 
 and side aisles, and adorned with Grothic towers, 
 while the ceiling is wrought into a variety of designs, 
 and all from the solid stone. Two heavy brass gates 
 open into it, and one feels as he stands amid its 
 strange architecture, as if he were in the presence of 
 the ancient centuries. 
 
 But let us stroll around this old Abbey, whose at- 
 mosphere is so different from that of the busy world 
 without. It is all tombs, tombs, tombs — standing si- 
 lent and mournful in the "dim religious light;" and 
 one treads at every step on the ashes of greatness 
 and pride. Here is a monument to Shakspeare, and 
 there lies Milton, the poet of heaven, whose lyre rang 
 with strains that had never before fallen on mortal 
 ears. Underneath him sleeps G-ray, and on the tablet 
 above him stands the Muse, pointing to the bust of 
 Milton, with this inscription : — 
 
 "No more the Grecian muse unrivalled reigns, 
 To Britain let the nations homage pay ; 
 She felt a Homer's power in Milton's strains, 
 A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray." 
 
 Near by is Dryden's monument, and a little farther 
 away that of Chaucer and Spencer. Here, too, are 
 
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 141 
 
 Thomson — sweet poet of the seasons — and Addison, 
 and Butler the author of " Hudibras." But what a 
 contrast do the monuments of John Gray and Handel 
 exhibit ! On the former, is the epitaph written by 
 himself : 
 
 • " Life is a jest, and all things show it ; 
 I thought so once, and now I know it." 
 
 Before the figure of the other is placed the " Messiah," 
 opened at the passage " I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth." Can anything illustrate more forcibly the 
 difference between the views of the wicked man and 
 those of a Christian — one saying, even in his grave, 
 " Life is a jest, and now I know it ;" and the other ut- 
 tering in exulting accents, " I know that my Redeemer 
 liveth ?" With what different hopes and feelings, must 
 two men, each of whom can utter these sentiments in 
 sincerity, go out of the world I Which is most likely 
 to have his knowledge prove false ? 
 
 A little further on are monuments to Andre the spy 
 and Grarrick, the actor. Here, too, are sleeping side 
 by side, Pitt and Fox, rivals no more ; and here also 
 are Grrattan and Canning, and Sheridan, and more 
 than all, Isaac Newton. But step once more into this 
 side-chapel. There are sleeping, almost within reach of 
 each other, Mary and Elizabeth. The beautiful but err- 
 ing Queen of the Scots rests in her mouldering tomb as 
 quietly as her proud and successful rival. The 
 haughty Elizabeth sent her to the scaffold, and held 
 
142 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the proud sceptre of England in security, and vainly- 
 thought that her reputation was safe. Years rolled 
 by, and she, too, was compelled to lie down in death. 
 A nation mourned her departure — princess and nobles 
 followed her to the tomb, and there were all the pa- 
 geantry and pomp of a kingly funeral when she was 
 borne to her resting-place. Centuries have passed 
 away, and history has drawn the curtain from before 
 her throne : and now pilgrims come from every land 
 to visit her tomb and that of her rival. Ah, could she 
 listen to the words spoken over her grave, hear the 
 sighs breathed over the beautiful Mary, and the scorn 
 and contempt poured on her own queenly head, she 
 would learn that the act by which she thought to have 
 humbled her rival has covered herself with infamy. 
 The two queens sleep side by side ; but who thinks of 
 Elizabeth over the tomb of Mary but to scorn her? 
 Had she let her rival live, her errors would have ruin- 
 ed her fame ; but now the mournful and cruel fate to 
 which she fell a victim covers her faults, and fills the 
 heart with sympathy rather than condemnation. 
 
 Oh! what a contrast the interior of this old Abbey 
 presents to the world without ! London, great, busy, 
 tumultuous London, is shaking to the tread of her 
 million of people, while here all is sad, mournful, and 
 silent. The waves of human life surge up against these 
 walls, but cannot enter; the dead reign here. From 
 the throne, the halls of state, and the heights of fame, 
 men have come hither in their coffins, and disappeared 
 
WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 143 
 
 from the world they helped to change. As one stands 
 beneath these old arches, it seems as if a monarch 
 whose word was fate had sat enthroned here century- 
 after century, and slowly beckoned to the great to de- 
 scend from their eminences and lay their proud fore- 
 heads in the dust at his feet. Overlooking all the 
 common herd, he would have none but the lordly as 
 his victims. He beckons the king, and he lays aside 
 his sceptre and royal apparel, and with a mournful 
 countenance obeys and descends into the tomb. He 
 waves his imperial hand to the statesman whose single 
 intellect rules the nation, and he ceases his toil, and 
 lies down beside his monarch. He nods to the orator, 
 and his eloquence dies away in indistinct murmurs, and 
 with a palsied tongue he too yields to the irresistible 
 decree. The poet is stopped in the midst of his song, 
 and with lyre snapped in his hand, hastens to this 
 great charnel-house. Thus, century after century, 
 has this invisible being stood under the gloomy 
 arches of AVestminster Abbey, and called the great 
 and the kingly to him ; and lo I what a rich har- 
 vest lies at his feet ! and still he is calling, and still 
 they come, one after another, and the marble falls over 
 them. What a congregation of dead are here ! Some 
 of the noblest hearts that ever beat are mouldering 
 under my feet, and I tread over more greatness than 
 ever the haughtiest trod upon when alive. 
 
 After wandering for an hour in this sombre place, I 
 emerged into the daylight once more, with strange 
 
144 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 feelings. For a moment, I could not sliake off the be- 
 lief that I had been dreaming. I had lived so complete- 
 ly with the past that the present had been forgotten ; and 
 now as it came back again, it seemed that one or the 
 other must be a dream. Carriages were rattling 
 around, and the hasty multitude went pouring on, and 
 the jar and hum of London rolled up like the confused 
 noise from some great battle-field. The tide of human 
 life swept fiercely on, shaking the gray Abbey on its 
 ancient foundations ; but none of this reached the ears 
 of the mighty sleepers within. Their work was long 
 since done. I do not remember ever to have had such 
 feelings but once in my life before, and that was in 
 emerging from the tombs of the Scipios, near Rome. 
 The sun was just sinking in the west as I entered 
 those gloomy portals by torch-light, and roamed 
 through the damp and sombre apartments. As I saw 
 the names of those ancient Romans above the places 
 where they had reposed, time seemed suddenly to have 
 been annihilated, and I felt as if standing in the bury- 
 ing-ground of those who had but just died. The fa- 
 miliarity of the scene made it appear real, and when 
 I again stood at the mouth of the tomb and looked off 
 on the landscape, it was some time before I could fairly 
 recall my scattered senses. The fields appeared 
 strange, and the glorious light that glowed where the 
 sun had gone down, looked mysterious and new. 
 
 With my heart full of mournful reflections on the 
 fleeting nature of all human greatness, and with a 
 
REFLECTIONS. 145 
 
 deeper awe of the tomb that engulfs such great souls 
 in its silent portals, I strolled homeward, scarce mind- 
 ful of the throng through which I passed, and noticing 
 it only to sigh over its evanescence, still sweeping on 
 to the dark inane, wave after wave striking on the un- 
 seen shore of the future, but sending back no echo — 
 flowing ever onward, and no returning wave. 
 
 " We are such stuff 
 
 As dreams are made of, and our Utile life 
 Is rounded with a sleep." 
 
XVIII. 
 
 STARVING CHILDREN LONDON BRIDGES MADAME TUS- 
 
 SATTd's EXHIBITION BONAPARTe's CARRIAGE WINDSOR 
 
 CASTLE THE QUEEN's STABLES. 
 
 I WAS constantly meeting in London evidences of 
 the miserable condition of the poor. Though there is 
 a law forbidding street begging, it cannot prevent the 
 poor wretches asking for bread. I was struck with 
 the character of many of the beggars that ac- 
 costed me, so unlike those I had been accustomed to 
 meet. I had just come from Italy, where the whining 
 tone, pitiful look, and drawling " me miserabile !" 
 " fame !" '' per carita I" and the ostentatious display 
 of deformed limbs, had rendered me somewhat harden- 
 ed to all appeals. But here it was quite differ- 
 ent. Men of stout frames, upright bearing, and man- 
 ly voices, would tell me in a few plain words that they 
 were out of work, and that their families were starv- 
 ing ! 
 
 One pleasant afternoon, as I was strolling up Lud- 
 
A SCENE OF SUFFERING. 147 
 
 gate Hill filled with the multitude, I saw a sight I 
 shall never forget ; it even arrested the Londoners, ac- 
 customed as they are to all kinds of misery, and a 
 crowd had collected on the walk. Two children, a boy 
 and a girl, the latter I should judge about eight, and the 
 former five or six years of age, sat on the flagging, 
 pressed close against the wall, wholly unconscious of 
 the passing multitude. In their dress, appearance, and 
 all, they seemed to have been just taken from some 
 damp, dark cellar, where they had been for months de- 
 prived of light and almost of sustenance. Their 
 clothes were in rags, black, damp, and ready to drop 
 from their crouching bodies ; their cheeks were per- 
 fectly colorless, as if bleached for a long time in the 
 dews of a dungeon, and the little boy was evidently 
 dying. How they came there, no one could tell; but 
 there sat the sister, struggling feebly to sustain her 
 sinking brother. The poor little fellow sat with his 
 head waving to and fro, and his eyes closed, while his 
 sister, to whom some one had given a morsel of bread, 
 was crowding the food into his mouth, conscious that 
 famine was the cause of his illness. The spectators, 
 moved by the touching spectacle, rained money into 
 her lap ; but she did not even deign to pick it up, or 
 thank them, but, with her pale face bent in the deep- 
 est anxiety on her brother, kept forcing the bread into 
 his mouth. The tears came unbidden to my eyes, and 
 I also threw my mite of charity into her lap and has- 
 tened aM^ay. Oh how strange it is that men will roll 
 
148 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 in wealth, and every day throw away what worJd make 
 hundreds happy, and yet feel no reproaches of conscience 
 for their acts ! We hear much now-a-days of the hor- 
 rors of war ; but there is no battle-field which exhibits 
 such woe, and suffering, and mortality, as the streets 
 and lanes and cellars of a great city reveal. Even our 
 preachers are on the wrong track in the efforts to 
 ameliorate the condition of our race. It is not war, 
 nor ambition, nor intemperance, nor any of the great 
 vices so openly condemned, that lies at the bottom of 
 human misery. It is covetousness — the thirst for gold, 
 which fills the church too much, as it does the world, 
 that makes our earth a place of tears. These very 
 vices, against which such anathemas are hurled, grow 
 out of this very covetousness, which is treated as an 
 imperfection rather than as a crime. The place that 
 Christ gave it no one dare now give it, and man is doom- 
 ed to mourn in poverty and want, and all the hateful 
 passions of the wretched are left to rise up in rebellion 
 and scorn against the heartless religion that condemns 
 their vices and urges them to repentance, while it 
 leaves them and their children to starve. " The 
 Church,'''' par excellence, of EnglanJ, may treble her 
 prelates and her incomes, build countless cathedrals, 
 and pray for the salvation of the world till doomsday ; 
 but, so long as she robs the poor, and neglects the phys- 
 ical condition of the suffering, she will pray to a deaf 
 God. " To visit the widow and the fatherless in their 
 distress" is one of the chief duties of religion, and yet 
 
LONDON AND ITS BRIDGES. 149 
 
 the Church of England does precious little of it; on 
 the contrary, she sends the tithe collector in her place. 
 
 But I have not yet given a general description of 
 London. Well, this city of more than a million of 
 inhabitants, occupies about one thousand four hun- 
 dred square acres packed with houses. It is nearly 
 eight miles long and between four and five broad ; so 
 that, you see, Manhattan Island will have to be crowded 
 from limit to limit before New York equals London iu 
 its population. It is divided into West End, occupied 
 by the noble and wealthy ; the City Proper, embrac- 
 ing the central portion, which constituted old London; 
 the East End, devoted to commerce and trade, and 
 business of every kind, and hence filled with dust and 
 filth ; Southwark, made up, in a great measure, of 
 manufactories and the houses of the operatives; and 
 AVestrriinster, containing the royal palace, parks, two 
 Houses of Parliament, and the old Abbey. There are 
 two hundred thousand houses in this mammoth city, 
 eighty squares, and ten thousand streets, lanes, rows, 
 &c. 
 
 The bridges, to which I referred in a former ar- 
 ticle, constitute one of the chief beauties of London. 
 There are six of them, and magnificent structures 
 they are. A suspension bridge is also in contempla- 
 tion ; and then there is Thames Tunnel, the wonder 
 of the world, of which I will say something more by 
 and by. Of these six bridges, New London is by far 
 the finest. Yauxhall, about seven hundred feet long. 
 
loO RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 is made of cast iron, and composed of nine arches each 
 of seventy-eight feet span. Westminster is of stone, 
 over a thousand feet long, and cost nearly two million 
 dollars. Blackfriars is a thousand feet in length, and 
 has nine arches. This is also of stone. Southwark 
 is of cast iron, and, though nearly seven hundred feet 
 in length, is composed of but three arches, the mid- 
 dle one being two hundred and forty feet span, 
 the largest in the world. The effect of this central 
 arch is beautiful, especially when a whole fleet of 
 boats is beneath it, and a crowd of people streaming 
 across it. The New London, which has taken the 
 place of the Old London Bridge, is indeed a noble 
 structure. It is built of Scotch granite, and goes 
 stepping across the Thames in five beautiful arches, 
 completing this wonderful group of bridges, the like 
 of which no city in the world can furnish. It cost 
 seven and a half millions of dollars, while the six 
 together were built at the enormous expense of over 
 fourteen and a half millions. Across them is a con- 
 stant stream of people, and a hundred and fifty thou- 
 sand are supposed to pass New London alone daily. 
 One is amazed, the moment he begins to compute the 
 enormous wealth laid out on public works in this 
 great city. The finest buildings it contains are St. 
 Paul's Cathedral, Westminster Abbey, and Bucking- 
 ham Palace. There are other magnificent buildings, 
 but these are the most prominent. St. Paul's is a 
 noble structure, and, as you stand under the magnifi- 
 
BUCKINGHAM PALACE. 151 
 
 cent dome, it seems higher than that of St. Peter's, in 
 Rome. The grand scale on which everything in the 
 latter is built, deceives the eye when attempting to 
 measure any one object in particular. But the dome 
 of St. Paul's is so much larger in proportion to other 
 parts of the building, that you look at it almost as if 
 it stood by itself. Around the walls are monuments 
 to dead warriors, statesmen, &c., some of them being 
 fine specimens of sculpture. 
 
 One of the most peculiar things that strike the eye 
 of the beholder when looking on Buckingham Palace, 
 is a huge bronze lion standing on the top, with head 
 and tail erect. The rampant attitude, as it is pre- 
 sented in such strong relief against the sky, has a 
 singular effect. It is quite characteristic, however, cl 
 the nation it represents, for rampant enough it has 
 been, as the history of the world will testify. France, 
 Spain, the East, America, and the islands of the sea, 
 can all bear testimony to the appropriateness of the 
 symbol. This Anglo-Saxon race is strangely aggres- 
 sive ; no people, except the ancient Romans, ever 
 equaled them. Without being cruel, their thirst for 
 conquest and desire of territory are insatiable. This 
 evil trait has not disappeared in the children, but ex- 
 hibits itself just as strongly on our side of the water, 
 and under a republican form of government. There is 
 a good story told of the rampant lion on Buckingham 
 Palace, for the truth of which rumor is the only 
 voucher. A man having laid a wager that he could 
 
152 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 gather one of the largest crowds ever assembled in 
 London, without saying a word, took his station in 
 one of the streets that overlook this palace, and point- 
 ed steadily towards the bronze lion. Men, as they 
 passed, paused, and asked what he saw. He made 
 no reply, but continued pointing solemnly to the dis- 
 tant lion. Arrested by his manner, they also stopped 
 and gazed in the same direction. Enquiries passed 
 from mouth to mouth, and at length several declared 
 that the lion's tail began to move. This phenomenon 
 completed the wonder, and the crowd of spectators 
 kept increasing till the street was blocked as far as 
 the eye could see. 
 
XIX. 
 
 MADAME TUSSAUd's EXHIBITION WINDSOR CASTLE ST. 
 
 George's chapel — the queen's stables. 
 
 One of the curiosities of London is Madame Tus- 
 saud's exhibition of wax figures. She has nearly all 
 the distinguished characters of the present century, 
 as large as life, and executed with remarkable fidelity. 
 Robbers, murderers, &c., figure in this strange collec- 
 tion. As I was strolling around, I came upon Cob- 
 bett, in his plain, Quaker-like garb, without noticing 
 him. Casting my eye down, I saw a man in a 
 gray coat and a white hat, sitting with a snuff-box in 
 his hand, and his head gently nodding, as if in approval 
 of something he saw. It never occurred to me he 
 was not a live man, and I passed him a step without 
 suspecting I was giving a wax figure such a wide 
 berth. Among other things, was a corpse of some 
 woman, I forget who, the most human looking thing I 
 ever saw not made of flesh and blood. In an adjoin- 
 ing apartment were several relics of Bonaparte, among 
 others, two of his teeth and his travelling carriage. 
 7* 
 
15-4 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 This carriage Napoleon had made on purpose for him- 
 self and Earthier, and it was used by him during all his 
 later campaigns. It was divided into two compart- 
 ments, one for himself and one for his chief of the 
 staff. Napoleon had it so arranged that he could lie 
 down and sleep when weary, or when travelling all 
 night ; — there was also a little secretary, which he 
 could, by a touch, spread open before him, containing 
 several drawers for his dispatches and papers of various 
 kinds. He had also made arrangements for a travel- 
 ling library, which he designed to fill with small 
 editions of the most select books in the world. I 
 could not but think, as I sat in it, what vast plan? 
 had been formed in its narrow apartments — plans 
 changing the fate of the world — and what mental 
 agitation and suffering it had also witnessed. As it 
 was whirled onward along the road, the restless spirit 
 within disposed of crowns and thrones, changed dy- 
 nasties, and made the earth tremble. From thence 
 issued decrees that sent half a million of men to the 
 field of battle, and from thence, too, terms have been 
 dictated to humbled kings. Another of the exhi- 
 bitions in this same building was " artificial ice^'' 
 a curious thing, by the way, to manufacture. 
 
 Windsor Castle is some twelve or fifteen miles from 
 London, and of course is visited by every traveller. 
 It was a pleasant morning — that is, as pleasant as it 
 ever is in London — when I jumped into the cars of 
 the great western railway, and shot off towards "Wind- 
 
WINDSOR CASTLE. 155 
 
 sor. I roamed over this magnificent castle with feel- 
 ings very different from those I had experienced as I 
 mused amid the ruins of feudal times on the continent. 
 Here was an old castle, yet perfect in all its parts, 
 enjoying a fresh old age, and blending the present 
 with the past, just enough to mellow the one and give 
 life to the other. William the Conqueror laid the 
 foundation of this structure when he built a fortress 
 here, and the kings of England have, from time to 
 time, enlarged and repaired it, till it now stands one 
 of the finest castles in the world. The Q,ueen being 
 at Buckingham Palace, visitors were allowed to pass 
 through it without trouble. I am not going to de- 
 scribe it ; but there it stands on that eminence, with 
 its gray turrets, and round towers and walls, and 
 stern aspect, as haughty and imposing an object as 
 you could wish to look upon. There are no jousts and 
 tournaments to-day in its courts — no floating banners 
 that tell of knights gathered for battle ; but the 
 sentinel is quietly pacing up and down, and here and 
 there a soldier informs you that you are in the pre- 
 cincts of royalty. I \n\l not speak of the ante-room, 
 vestibule, throne-room, with their paintings both in 
 fresco and on canvas ; nor of the "Waterloo chamber, 
 where William IV. gave dinners in honor of the battle 
 of Waterloo ; nor of St. Greorge's Hall, two hundred 
 feet long ; nor of the Queen's presence and audience 
 chambers ; nor of the choice paintings that cover the 
 walls of these apartments. But you may, if strong of 
 
156 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 limb, wind up and up the stone staircase of the Round 
 Tower, and look off on the extended landscape. The 
 mist is not thick, to-day, and the parks and trees — 
 nay, forests — below, shaven lawns, pools and lakes, 
 are scattered about in endless variety. Twelve shires 
 are visible from the summit of this tower, and the 
 limitless landscape melts away in the distance, for 
 there are no mountains to bound the vision. Windsor 
 town is beneath you, and a little farther away the 
 white walls of Eton College rise amid the green 
 foliage. 
 
 Descending from the tower, I left the castle and 
 entered St. George's Chapel. The architecture of 
 this building is fine. The roof is richly carved, and 
 the western window is a magnificent specimen of 
 stained glass. But one of the most singular things to 
 an American eye is the stalls of the knights of the 
 garter, on each side of the choir. As all the knights 
 of this order have been installed here, each one of 
 course has his stall appropriated to him, and be- 
 neath a carved canopy, hang his sword, mantle, 
 crest, helmet, and mouldering banner. I looked upon 
 these silent symbols, covered with dust, with curious 
 and blended feelings. Noble names are in that list of 
 knights ; but where is the strong arm and stalwart 
 frame ? (3-one, leaving but these perishing symbols 
 behind. Their effect on the mind is like that of an 
 elegy on the dead — a world of mournfal associations 
 cluster around them, and their motionless aspect and 
 
THE queen's stables. 157 
 
 unbroken silence are more eloquent than words. There 
 is a beautiful cenotaph here of the Princess Charlotte, 
 erected by Wyatt. The body of the Princess is lying 
 on a bier, covered with the habiliments of death, while 
 the face, too, is shrouded in drapery. Around her, 
 with faces also veiled, kneel the mourners, while the 
 soul of the Princess, in the form of an angelic being, 
 is soaring exultingly heavenwards. As a group of 
 statuary, it has great merits as well as some great 
 defects. 
 
 I turned from old "Windsor Castle and its feudal 
 associations, from St. George's Chapel and its solemn 
 and sombre choir, to the Queen's stables. A special 
 permit is required to get access to these ; but as I had 
 seen how Yietoria and her nobles lived, I was curious 
 to see also how her horses fared. I do not know how 
 many there were in the stables, but I should think 
 thirty or forty. Here were beautiful carriage horses, 
 saddle horses, and ponies, lodged in apartments that 
 tens of thousands of her subjects would thank Grod if 
 they could occupy. Thus goes the world. Parliament 
 could reject a bill which appropriated a small sum of 
 money to the purposes of education, and yet vote thirty 
 thousand dollars to replenish and repair the Queen's 
 stables. Here, too, are carriages of every variety, from 
 the delicate, fairy-like thing which is drawn by ponies, 
 to the heavy travelling vehicle ; and bridles and 
 saddles of the choicest kind. I could not but think, 
 as I looked on these fine apartments for the horses, 
 
158 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and the useless expenditure in carriages, &c., of the 
 starving population of London and the thousands of 
 poor children in the factories. "What kind of govern- 
 ment is that which will tax the wretched human be- 
 ing, nay, deprive him of education, to lavish the money 
 on horses and stables ? The English government is 
 well fitted for national strength and greatness, but 
 most miserably arranged to secure competence to the 
 lower classes. However, she is slowly changing be- 
 fore that mighty movement that no power can resist — 
 the onward progress of the principle of freedom. One 
 of these days, these now apparently sluggish and 
 wretched masses will rise in their strength and terror, 
 and by one terrible blow settle the long arrears of 
 guilt with the luxurious, profligate nobility of England, 
 and begin to reap the fields they have so long sown. 
 Woe to her when that day shall come ! 
 
XX. 
 
 RAMBLES ABOUT LONDON THE TOAVER OF LONDON. 
 
 It is said that Webster had scarcely arrived in 
 London, before he ordered a carriage, and drove to the 
 Tower. There is probably no building in the world so 
 fraught with history, and around which cluster so 
 many and varied associations as this. — Kings have 
 held their courts there ; and there, too, lain in chains. 
 Queens, princes, nobles, and menials have by turns 
 occupied its gloomy dungeons. The shouts of revelry, 
 triumphant strains of music, and groans of the dying, 
 and shrieks of murdered victims, have successively 
 and together made its massive walls ring. Every 
 stone in that gray old structure has a history to tell — 
 it stands the grand and gloomy treasure-house of 
 England's feudal and military glory. Centuries have 
 come and gone, whole dynasties disappeared, and yet 
 that old tower still rises in its strength. It has seen 
 ancient monarchies crumble to pieces, and new ones 
 rise — the feeble town become the gorgeous and far 
 extending city — the Roman galley give place to the 
 
160 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 fleets of commerce — the heavy-armed knight, with his 
 hauberk and helmet and shield, disappear before the 
 cabman and omnibus driver of London. The pomp 
 and glory of knightly days have vanished before the 
 spirit of trade and the thirst for gain. The living tide 
 rolls like the sea around it ; yet there it stands, silent 
 yet eloquent — un wasted by time, unchanged by the 
 changes that destroy or modify all things human. It 
 has a double effect, rising as it does amid modern im- 
 provements. 
 
 The moment one crosses the ditch and passes under 
 the gloomy arch, he seems in another world — breath- 
 ing a different atmosphere, and watching the progress 
 of a different life. All the armor ever worn in ancient 
 days — every instrument of torture or of death, used in 
 the dark ages — crowns and sceptres and jewels, are 
 gathered here with a prodigality that astonishes the 
 beholder. 
 
 We enter by the " Lyons' Grate," and crossing what 
 was once occupied as the royal menagerie, pass to the 
 Middle Tower, near w^hich is the Bell Tower, where 
 hangs the alarm-bell, whose toll is seldom heard. 
 
 Here, John Fisher, Bishop of Rochester, was im- 
 prisoned for refusing to acknowledge the supremacy of 
 Henry YHL, and afterwards executed. A little far- 
 ther on is the " Traitor's G-ate," and near by the Bloody 
 Tower, where, it is said, the two princes — nephews of 
 Richard HL — were suffocated by their uncle. Tho 
 armory is mostly gone, having been destroyed in the 
 
THE TOWER. 161 
 
 conflagration which took place a few years ago. But 
 here is the Horse Armory, a hundred and fifty feet 
 long, and thirty-three wide, with a line of equestrian 
 figures, as if in battle array, stretching through the 
 centre. A banner is over the head of each — the ceil- 
 ing is covered with arms and accoutrements — the 
 walls with armor and figures of ancient warriors ; and 
 over all, rest the dust and rust of time. That row of 
 twenty-two horsemen, large as life, armed to the teeth, 
 with helmet and cuirass and breastplate and coats of 
 mail, and lances, and swords, and battle-axes, and 
 shields, sitting grim and silent there, is a sight one 
 will not easily forget. They seem ready to charge on 
 the foe, and their attitude and aspect are so fierce, 
 that one almost trembles to walk in front of the steeds. 
 
 But pass along these dusty kings and knights of old. 
 Here sits Edward I., of 1272, clad in mail worn in the 
 time of the Crusades, and bearing a shield in his left 
 hand. So, haughty king, thou didst look when the 
 brave and gallant Wallace lay a prisoner in these dun- 
 geons, from whence he was dragged by thy order, tied 
 to the tails of horses, and quartered and torn asunder 
 with fiendish cruelty. 
 
 Next to the tyrant and brute sits Henry YI., who, 
 too feeble to rule the turbulent times, became the in- 
 mate of this dungeon, and was one night darkly mur- 
 dered in his cell. Gay Edward. IV., in his dashing 
 armor we pass by, for here sits an ancient knight in a 
 suit of ribbed mail, with ear-guards to his helmet and 
 
162 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 rondelles for the armjjits, and altogether one of the 
 finest suits of armor in the \Yorld. Beside him is 
 another knight, his horse clad in complete armor, and 
 a battleaxe hanging at the saddle-bow. Beware, you 
 are crowding against the horse of old Henry VIII. That 
 is the very armor the bloody monarch wore. His re- 
 lentless hand has grasped that short sword, and around 
 his brutal form that very belt once passed, and beneath 
 that solid breastplate his wild and ferocious heart did 
 beat. Horse and horseman are clad in steel from head 
 to heal ; and, as I gazed on him there, I wanted to 
 whisper in his ears the names of his murdered wives. 
 Here all the pomp of royal magnificence honored the 
 nuptials of Anne Boleyn, and here, three years after, 
 she lay a prisoner — the beautiful, the honored, and re- 
 jected — and wrote from her dungeon to her relentless 
 lord, saying: — 
 
 " Let not your Grace ever imagine that your poor wife will ever 
 be brought to acknowledge a fault, when not so muca as a thought 
 thereof, ever proceeded * * * Try me, good king, but let me have 
 a lawfull tryall ; and let not my sworn enemies sit as my accusers 
 and judges, yea, let me receive an open tryall, for my truth shall 
 fear no open shames -^^ * * But if you have already determined 
 of me, and that not only my death, but an infamous slander must 
 bring you the enjoying of your desired happiness, then I desire of 
 God that he will pardon your great sin therein, and likewise mine 
 enemies, the instruments thereof, and that he will not call you to 
 a strict account for your unprincely and cruel usage of me at his 
 general judgment-seat, where both you and me myself, must 
 shortly appear, and in whose judgment, I doubt not, (whatsoever 
 
ANNE BOLEYN, 163 
 
 the world may think of me,) mine innocence shall be openly re- 
 corded and sufficiently cleared. 
 
 "From my doleful prison in the Tower, this 6th of May, 
 " Your most loyal! and ever faithful wife, 
 
 "ANNE BOLEYN." 
 
 It availed not, proud king, and that beautiful neck 
 was severed at thy command ; but, at that dread judg- 
 ment to which she summons thee, her tremulous voice 
 — lost here on earth in the whirlwind of passion — shall 
 be to thy ear louder than a peal of thunder. Katha- 
 rine Howard is another swift witness ; last, though 
 not least, the Countess of Salisbury. This high-spir- 
 ited woman, though seventy years of age, was con- 
 demned to death for treason. When brought out for 
 execution, she refused to place her head on the block, 
 declaring she was no traitress, and the executioner 
 followed her around on the scaffold, striking at her 
 hoary head with his axe until she fell. But I will not 
 dwell on these separate figures. As I looked on this 
 long line of kings sitting motionless on their motion- 
 less steeds, the sinewy hand strained over the battle- 
 axe, the identical sword they Avielded centuries ago 
 flashing on my sight, and the very spurs on their heels 
 that were once driven into their war steeds as they 
 thundered over the battle plain — the plumes seemed 
 to wave before my eyes, and the shout of kings to roll 
 through the arches. The hand grasping the reins on 
 the horses' necks seemed a live hand, and the clash of 
 the sword, the shield, and the battleaxe, and the 
 
164 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 mailed armor, rung in my ears. I looked again, and 
 the dream was dispelled. Motionless as the walls 
 around them they sat, mere effigies of the past. Yet 
 how significant ! Each figure there was a history, 
 and all monuments of England's glory as she was. At 
 the farther end of the adjoining room sat a solitary 
 " Crusader on his barbed horse, said to be 700 years 
 old." Stern old grim figure ! on the very trappings 
 of thy steed, and on that thick plaited mail, has 
 flashed the sun of Palestine. Thou didst stand per- 
 chance with that gallant host led on by the wondrous 
 hermit, on the last hill that overlooked Jerusalem, and 
 when the Holy City was seen lying like a beautiful 
 vision below, glittering in the soft light of an eastern 
 sunrise, that flooded Mount Moriah, Mount Zion, and 
 Mount Olivet, with its garden of suffering, and more 
 than all, — Mount Calvary, the voice from out that visor 
 did go up with the mighty murmur of the bannered 
 host, " Jerusalem, Jerusalem !" On that very helmet 
 perchance has the oimitar broke, and from that mailed 
 breast the spear of the infidel rebounded. Methinks I 
 hear thy battle-shout, "To the rescue !" as thy gal- 
 lant steed is borne into the thickest of the fight, where 
 thy brave brethren are struggling for the Cross and 
 the Sepulchre. 
 
 But Crusades and Crusaders are well-nigh forgotten. 
 For centuries the dust of the desert has drifted over 
 the bones of the chivalry of Europe. The Arab still 
 spurs his steed through the forsaken streets of ancient 
 
RALEIGH AND ELIZABETH. 165 
 
 Jerusalem, and the Muezzin's voice rings over the se- 
 pulchre of the Saviour. 
 
 But let these grim figures pass. Here is the room 
 in which Sir Walter Raleigh lay a prisoner. By his 
 gross flatteries he had won the favor of Elizabeth, 
 who lavished honors upon him until she at length 
 discovered his amour with the beautiful Elizabeth 
 Throckmorton. Her rage then knew no bounds, and 
 was worthy of her character, and she cast the luck- 
 less, accomplished courtier into the Tower. Up and 
 down this very stone floor he has paced day after day, 
 pondering on the sad change that has befallen him, 
 and sighing heavily for the splendor and luxury he has 
 lost. 
 
 He did not, however, despair ; he knew too well 
 the weakness of his termagant mistress, and so, one 
 day, as he saw from that window the queen's barge 
 passing by, he threw himself into a paroxysm of pas- 
 sion, and in his ravings besought the jailer to let him 
 go forth in disguise, and get but one look of his dear 
 mistress. His request being refused, he fell upon the 
 keeper, and finally drew his dagger. Good care was 
 taken that this extraordinary mad fit should be report- 
 ed to Elizabeth. Raleigh followed up the news with 
 a well-timed letter, which so won upon the vixen that 
 she liberated him. Says he, in this rare epistle, "My 
 heart was never broken till this day, that I hear the 
 queen goes away so far off, whom I have followed 
 so many years with so great love and desire in so 
 
166 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 many journeys, and I am now left behind in a dark 
 prison, all alone. "While she was yet near at hand, 
 that I might hear of her once in two or three days, 
 my sorrows were the less, but even now my heart is 
 cast into the depth of misery. I, that was wont to 
 behold her riding like Alexander , hunting like Diana, 
 walking like Venus, the gentle wind blowing her fair 
 hair about her pure face Tike a nymph, sometimes 
 sitting in the shad.e like a goddess, sometimes sing- 
 ing like an angel, sometimes playing like Orpheus. 
 Behold the sorrows of this world once amiss, hath be- 
 reaved me of all." 
 
 Elizabeth was at this time sixty years old, ugly as 
 death's head, and yet the foolish old thing swallowed 
 it all. Her tiger heart relented, and she released her 
 cunning lover. 
 
 It seems strange that a woman of her strength of 
 intellect could have a weakness so perfectly ridiculous 
 and childlike. But flattery was never too gross for 
 her, and Raleigh knew it. He had often filled her 
 royal ear with such nonsense before, and seen her 
 wrinkled face relax into a smile of tenderness — com- 
 ical from its very ugliness. So goes the world ; every 
 man has his weak side, and the strongest character is 
 assailable in some one direction. Pride, or vanity, or 
 envy, or covetousness, or passion, furnishes an inlet to 
 the citadel, and it falls. 
 
XXI. 
 
 THE REGALIA BANK OF ENGLAND THAMES TUNNEL 
 
 OUT OF LONDON MURDERING OP THE KINg's ENG- 
 LISH OXFORD STRATFORD-ON-AVON. 
 
 I INTENDED, in my last, to go more into details of 
 the Tower ; but I will mention only one or two ad- 
 ditional things. In Qneen Elizabeth's armory are 
 stored all the the varieties of ancient weapons of war- 
 fare. There are the glaive, giusarne, the bill, catch- 
 pole, Lochaber axe, two-handed battleaxe, halberd, 
 crossbows, &c. Passing over the rooms and instruments 
 of torture, let us drop for a moment into the tower-house 
 containing the regalia. Here, in a single glass case, 
 are gathered all the crown jewels, diadems, sceptres, 
 &c., of rich old England. There are five crowns in 
 all, and five royal sceptres, heavy with gold and flash- 
 ing with diamonds. The queen's diadem, made for 
 the wife of James II., is a single circlet of gold, yet, 
 with its large, richly-set diamonds and edging of pearls, 
 it cost a half million of dollars. Victoria's crown has 
 a large cross in front entirely frosted with brilliants. 
 
168 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and in tlie centre a single sapphire, two inches long, 
 and blue as heaven — it is the size of a small egg. 
 There leans St. Edward's staff, four feet and a half 
 long, and of pure gold, and near it a royal sceptre, 
 three feet and a half in length, radiant with its own 
 jeweled light. There, too, are the golden eagle, which 
 holds the anointing oil for their most gracious sove- 
 reigns — the anointing spoon — the great golden salt- 
 cellar of state, surrounded with twelve smaller ones, 
 all of gold — the baptismal font, in which Victoria and 
 the present Prince of Wales were both baptized, silver- 
 gilt, four feet high — and the heavy sacramental plate 
 — two massive tankards, all of solid gold. 
 
 " Only sixpence a sight," and lo I the eye feasts on 
 this profusion of diamonds, jewels, and precious stones. 
 Millions of money have been wasted on these baubles, 
 and there they idly flash year after year, while their 
 worth expended on famishing Ireland, would give 
 bread to every starving family, or instruction to every 
 ignorant and depraved child of the kingdom. But 
 this is the way of the world — millions for show, but 
 not a cent for wretched, starving men. 
 
 AVith a mere glance at the Bank of England and 
 the Thames Tunnel, we will away to the open coun- 
 try — to the green hedge-rows and rolling fields of 
 merry old England. The Bank of England is a fine 
 building : "It is an immense and very extensive stone 
 edifice, situated a short distance north-west of Corn 
 Hill. The principal entrance is from Threadneedle 
 
BANK OF ENGLAND. 169 
 
 street. It is said this building covers five acres of 
 ground. Business hours from nine o'clock until five, 
 P. M. There are no windows opening on the street ; 
 light is admitted through open courts ; no mob could 
 take the bank, therefore, without cannon, to batter the 
 immense walls. There are nine hundred clerks em- 
 ployed in the bank, and not one foreigner among the 
 whole. Should a clerk be too old for service, he is 
 discharged on halp-pay for life. The clock in the 
 centre of the bank has fifty dials attached to it ; each 
 of the rooms has a dial, in order that all in the bank 
 should know the true time. Large cisterns are sunk 
 in the courts, while engines in perfect order stand 
 always in readiness in case of fire. The bank was 
 incorporated in 1694. Capital, d£18,000,000 sterling, 
 or $90,000,000." 
 
 The Tunnel is one of the chief wonders of London, 
 This subterranean passage is thirty feet beneath the 
 bed of the Thames River, and twenty two feet high. 
 It is thirteen hundred feet long and thirty-eight wide, 
 and lighted with gas. One has strange emotions in 
 standing under these dark, damp arches. Over his 
 head a deep river is rushing, and vessels are floating, 
 and steamboats are ploughing the water, and he can- 
 not but think of the effect a small leak would produce, 
 and what his chance would be in a general break- 
 down of the arches above. 
 
 The Tunnel is composed of two arches, with a row 
 of immense columns in the centre. It is designed for 
 8 
 
170 RAMBI-ES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 carriages, but is not yet sufficiently completed to re- 
 ceive them. You descend by a winding staircase, 
 and passing under the river emerge into daylight by 
 a similar staircase on the farther side. Little hand 
 printing-presses, fruit and candy tables, and nick- 
 nacks of various kinds, are strung through this pas- 
 sage. 
 
 As I was sauntering along, suddenly I heard a low 
 humming sound which startled me prodigiously. The 
 first thought was, that the masonry above had given 
 way, and that ringing arose the steady pressure of the 
 down-rushing waters. The bare possibility of being 
 buried up there was too horrible to entertain for a mo- 
 ment. I looked anxiously around ; but finding no 
 one, not even those who lived there, the least alarmed, 
 I concluded it was all right, and walked on. But that 
 strange humming grew louder and louder, and 
 completely bewildered me. It had no rising swell, or 
 sinking cadence — but monotonous, deep, and constant, 
 kept rising every moment louder and clearer. Hasten- 
 ing forward, I came to the farther entrance of the 
 Tunnel, where I found a man and boy sitting, one 
 with a violin and the other with a harp — the innocent 
 authors of all the strange, indescribable sounds that 
 had so confused me. The endless reverberations amid 
 these long arches so completely mingled them together 
 — one overtaking, and blending in with another, and 
 the whole bounding back in a mass to be again split 
 asunder and tossed about, created such a jargon as I 
 
THAMES TUNNEL, 171 
 
 never before listened to. The sounds could not escape, 
 and in their struggles to do so — hitting along the roof 
 and sides of the Tunnel — they at length lost all dis- 
 tinctness of utterance, and became tangled up in the 
 most astonishing manner. 
 
 At length I bade smoky London adieu, and driving 
 early one morning to a stage-office, booked myself for 
 Oxford. As I was waiting for the stage to start, I 
 stepped into a shop near by for some crackers, think- 
 ing, perhaps, my early breakfast would leave me with 
 something of an appetite before it was time to dine. 
 But, to my surprise, the keeper told me he had no 
 " crackers," and looked as though he regarded me a 
 lunatic, or fresh from some remote region. I returned 
 his look of surprise, for there before me were bushels 
 of crackers. All at once I remembered that cracker 
 was an Americanism, and that Englishmen call every- 
 thing of the kind biscuit. This put matters right. 
 
 In a short time we were trundling through the long 
 streets of London, and at length passing from the 
 dirty suburbs, found ourselves in the open country. 
 For a while it was pleasant, but we soon came to a 
 barren, desolate tract, which quite damped the hopes 
 with which we had set out. 
 
 But this being passed, we entered on the beautiful 
 farming districts of England. The roads were per- 
 fect — and the long green hedge-rows gently rolling 
 over the slopes ; the masses of dark foliage sprinkled 
 here and there through the fields, and the fine bracing 
 
172 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 air, combined to lift my spirits up to the enjoying 
 point. I had taken a seat on the top of the coach, 
 and hence could overlook the whole country. Marlow, 
 which we passed, is a pretty place ; and the seats of 
 English gentlemen along the road are picturesque and 
 beautiful. 
 
 As we were descending a gentle inclination to 
 Henly-on-the- Thames, the valley that opened on our 
 view was lovely beyond description. But just here an 
 accident overtook us ; one of our wheels broke, and 
 we were compelled to foot it into town. The driver 
 immediately sent one of those hangers-on around tav- 
 erns and stables to a coachmaker, to see if he could 
 obtain a coach or extra wheel. As he came slouching 
 back, I was struck with his reply. English people 
 are always ridiculing the language spoken in this 
 country ; but that loafer beat a down-easter out and 
 out. He had been unsuccessful, and as he came up 
 he drawled out, " He hain't got nary coach nor nary 
 wheel !" Now, an ignorant Yankee might have said, 
 '' He hain't got nary coach nor wheel," but he never 
 w^ould have doubled the "nary" — this was wholly 
 English. I had often noticed a similar dreadful use 
 of the English language among the cabmen of London ; 
 they are altogether worse than our cabmen at home. 
 
 We, however, succeeded in getting under way at 
 last, and reached Oxford just as the clouds began to 
 pour their gathered treasures down. 
 
 I will not attempt to describe old Oxford. It is a 
 
mSTAKE OF A GOVERNESS 173 
 
 venerable place, and the pile of buildings which com- 
 posed the University one of the most imposing I have 
 ever seen. Old and time-worn, with their grave arch- 
 itecture and ancient look, they present a striking ap- 
 perance amid the green-sward that surrounds them. 
 Of the Bodleian and RadclifFe libraries I shall say 
 nothing. In conversing with one of the tutors of the 
 University, I was surprised to learn that Pusey was 
 regarded there rather as an honest old proser than an 
 able and profound man. 
 
 The morning I left Oxford for Stratford-on-the-Avon 
 was as beautiful a one as ever smiled over New Eng- 
 and. The broken clouds were hasting joyfully over the 
 sky, the fresh, cool wind swept cheerfully by, and the 
 newly- washed meadows and fields looked as if just 
 preparing themselves for a holiday. Again I took my 
 seat on the top of the coach, with two or three others, 
 and started away. We soon picked up an additional 
 companion — a pretty young woman — ^who also climbed 
 to the roof of the coach. The inside was full, and you 
 must know that an Englishman never gives up his 
 seat to a lady. He takes the place he has paid for, 
 and expects all others, of whatever sex, to do the same. 
 If it rains, he says it is unfortunate, but supposes the 
 lady knew the risk when she took her seat, and must 
 therefore bear her misfortune like a philosopher. 
 
 This lady, I should think from her general appear- 
 ance and conversation, was a governess. She had 
 evidently traveled a good deal, and was very talkative 
 
174 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 and somewhat inquisitive. When she discovered I 
 was an American, she very gravely remarked, that she 
 mistrusted it before from my complexion. Now it 
 must be remembered that I have naturally the tinge 
 of a man belonging to a southern clime, which tinge 
 had been considerably deepened by my recent expo- 
 sures in the open air in Italy and along the Rhine. 
 Supposing that all Americans were tawny from their 
 close relationship to the aborigines of our country, she 
 attributed my swarthiness to the Indian blood in my 
 veins. I confessed myself sufficiently surprised at her 
 penetration, and humored her inquisitivenses. She 
 left us at Stratford, bidding my friend and myself 
 good-bye with a dignified shake of the hand. AVe of 
 course regarded this great condescension on her part 
 to two Indians with proper respect, attributing it to 
 the comparative fluency with which we spoke English. 
 She evidently thought us savages of more than ordi- 
 nary education. 
 
 After dinner, I strolled out to the house of Shaks- 
 peare, a low, miserable affair at the best, and hardly 
 large enough for three persons. Yet here the great 
 dramatist was born. After going through it, I went 
 to the church where his bones repose, and read, with 
 strange feelings, the odd inscription he directed to be 
 placed over his tomb. 
 
 It was a beautiful day, and I went out and sat down 
 on the banks of the Avon beside the church, and gazed 
 long on the rippling waters and green slopes of the 
 
STRATFORD ON THE AVON. 175 
 
 neighboring hills and greener hedges. Cattle were 
 lazily grazing in the fields ; the ancient trees beside 
 the church bent and sighed as the fresh breeze swept 
 by, and all was tranquillity and beauty. I had never 
 seen so pure a sky in England. The air was clear 
 and bracing, and, although it was the middle of Au- 
 gust, it seemed like a bright June day at home. ■' 
 
 How many fancies a man will sometimes weave, 
 and yet scarce know why ! A single chord of memory 
 is perhaps touched, or some slight association will arise, 
 followed by a hundred others, as one bird, starting 
 from the brake, will arouse a whole flock, and away 
 they go swarming together. It was thus with me as 
 I sat on the banks of the Avon, soothed by the ripple 
 of its waters. Along this stream Shakspeare had 
 wandered in his boyhood, and cast his dark eye over 
 this same landscape. What gorgeous dreams here 
 wrapped his youthful imagination, and strange, wild 
 vagaries crossed his mind. Old England then was 
 meriy, and plenty reigned in her halls, and good cheer 
 was everywhere to be found. But now want and pov- 
 erty cover the land. Discontent is written on half the 
 faces you meet, and the murmurs of a coming storm 
 are heard over the distant heavens. 
 
 Farewell, sweet Avon ! your bright waters, bordered 
 with green fields, and sparkling in light, are like a 
 pleasant dream. 
 
XXII. 
 
 GUY S CLIFF WARWICK CASTLE KENTLWORTH CASTLE 
 
 COVENTRY PEEPING TOM CHARTISTS. 
 
 I WILL not speak of Woodstock, which Scott has 
 made immortal ; for the village of that name is mere- 
 ly a collection of dirty-looking hovels, arranged along 
 the streets in blocks, like houses. It is now distin- 
 guished only for the quantity of leather gloves manu- 
 factured there. 
 
 G-uy's Cliff is known as the home of the stern old 
 Sir G-uy, renowned in the feudal wars. A mile 
 farther on are Warwick and Warwick Castle. The 
 village itself looks like a fragment of antiquity, though 
 the streets were somewhat enlivened, the day I 
 passed through them, by multitudes of men, women, 
 children, cows, horses, and sheep, to say nothing of 
 vegetables and saleables of all kinds and quality. One 
 of those fairs so common in England, and so charac- 
 teristic of the people, was being held, and I had a 
 good view of the peasantry. The yeomanry collected 
 
SIR GUY WARWICK. 177 
 
 at one our of cattle-shows are gentlemen compared to 
 them. 
 
 I will not describe the castle, with its massive walls 
 and ancient look, for the impression such things make 
 does not result from this or that striking object, but 
 from the whole combined. The walls may be thick, 
 the moat deep, the turrets high and hoary, and the 
 rusty armor within massy and dinted — it is not either 
 of these that arrests your footsteps and makes you 
 stand and dream, but the history they altogether un- 
 roll, and the images your own imagination calls up 
 from the past. 
 
 The rusty sword of this strong-limbed old earl is five 
 feet long, and weighs twenty pounds, his shield thirty 
 pounds, breastplate alone fifty-six pounds, and helmet 
 seven pounds, in all one hundred and thirteen pounds, 
 to say nothing of his massive coat of mail. It was no 
 baby hand which wielded that sword and that shield. 
 A strong heart beat under that breastplate of fifty-six 
 pounds in weight ; and when, mounted on his gigantic 
 war-horse, clad also in steel, he spurred into the bat- 
 tle, the strongest knights went down his path, and his 
 muffled shout was like the trumpet of victory. 
 
 Thence we proceeded to Kenil worth Castle, a mere 
 ruin, standing solitary and broken amid the green 
 fields. Gone are its beautiful lake, drawbridge, port- 
 cullis, and moat — its strong turrets have crumbled, 
 while over the decayed and decaying walls the ivy 
 creeps unchecked. It is one of the most picturesque 
 8* 
 
178 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ruins I have ever seen. Here and there a portion re- 
 mains almost entire, while in other places a heap of 
 rubbish alone tells where a magnificent apartment 
 once rung to the shout of wassailers. The bow-win- 
 dow, in which sat the flattered Earl of Leicester and the 
 proud Elizabeth, and looked down on the grand tour- 
 nament, is still entire. As I stood here and gazed be- 
 low on the green-sward, now spreading where the gay 
 and noble once trod in pride, and around on the ruin 
 whose battlements once glittered with decorations in 
 honor of the haughty queen, and before me, through 
 the gateway, where the gorgeous procession passed, 
 the pageantry of life seemed a dream. There char- 
 gers had careered, and trumpets rung, and helmets 
 bowed in homage ; and there now swung an old gate, 
 kept by a solitary old porter. The snake and lizard 
 occupy the proud halls of Leicester, and of all the 
 beautiful and brave who once thronged these courts, 
 not one remains. The stooping walls and crumbling 
 stones have outlasted them all, and serve only as a 
 tombstone to what has been. What wild heart-throb- 
 bings, and dizzy hopes, and bitter griefs, have been 
 within these ruined inclosures ! But now all is still 
 and deserted — the banners flutter no more from the 
 battlements ; the armed knight spurs no more over 
 the clattering drawbridge ; lord and vassal have dis- 
 appeared together. Time has outwatched each warder, 
 and hung his mouldering hatchment over all who have 
 lived and struggled here. As I beheld in imagination the 
 
KENILWORTH CASTLE. 179 
 
 stern, severe Elizabeth, passing beneath the arch 
 on her gallant steed, and princes and nobles of every 
 degree pressing on her steps, and then turned to the 
 deserted ruin, I involuntarily exclaimed, " ghosts are 
 we all." 
 
 Ah, proud Leicester ! what deeds of thine could 
 these dumb walls, had they a tongue, tell ! Wliat re- 
 cords are registered in their mouldering forms against 
 thee ! Kenilworth, thy Kenilworth, is apparently de- 
 serted ; but around it still linger, methinks, the spirits 
 of those thou has wronged, nay, perchance, murdered. 
 
 It was with sombre feelings I turned away from 
 this beautiful ruin. The heavens were gathering 
 blackness, and now and then a "big drop came danc- 
 ing to the earth," and all betokened a storm at hand. 
 Had the fading sunlight gilded its dilapidated turrets 
 as I passed from under its silent arches, it would not 
 have seemed so mournful ; but, amid this suspense of 
 the elements and increasing gloom, its irregular form 
 had a sad aspect, and left a sad impression. 
 
 When I first approached the castle, I was struck 
 with the curious English used by a girl, perhaps thir- 
 teen years of age, who had little pamphlets, describing 
 the ruin and giving its history, to sell. As she ad- 
 vanced to meet me, holding the book in her hand, she 
 exclaimed : " A shilling, sir, for the book, or a sixpence 
 for the lend. "^ sixpence for the lend,^^ 1 replied: 
 *' what do you mean by that?" On inquiry, I discov- 
 ered that the price of the book was a shilling, but 
 
180 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 that she would lend it to me to go over the castle with 
 for half price. Thinks I to myself, you might travel 
 the length and breadth of the Atlantic States, and not 
 hear such an uncouth English sentence as that. 
 
 Coventry is on the railroad that connects Liverpool 
 and London. It has a quaint old church, and a quaint 
 look about it altogether. As I strolled through the 
 graveyard, I seemed to be among the fragments of a 
 past world — the very tombstones looked as if they had 
 withstood the deluge. While I was thus wandering 
 about, dreaming rather than thinking, strains of mu- 
 sic stole out from the antiquated structure, soothing 
 my feelings, and filling my heart with a pleasure com- 
 posed half of sadness. 
 
 One of the greatest curiosities of this place, it is 
 well known, is " Peeping Tom." The story of Lady 
 Godiva has been woven into poetry as well as prose 
 and is laiown the world over, but I will repeat it that 
 the custom I wish to describe may be fully appreciated. 
 Her husband, Earl Leofric, was captain-general of all 
 the forces under King Canute, and exercised his power 
 in laying heavy taxes on his subjects. Those of 
 Coventry were ground to the earth by his oppression, 
 and though their sufferings could not move his iron 
 heart, they filled the soul of the gentle Grodiva with 
 the deepest sorrow. Impelled by her sympathies, she 
 constantly, but in vain, besought her lord to lessen 
 the burdens of the people. But once, being received 
 after a long absence with enthusiastic affection, he in 
 
PEEPING TOM. 181 
 
 his sudden joy asked her to make any request, and 
 he would grant it. Taking advantage of his kindness, 
 she petitioned for his subjects. The stern old earl 
 was fairly caught, but hoped to extricate himself by 
 imposing a condition as brutal as it was cruel. Know- 
 ing the modesty of his lovely wife, he promised to 
 grant her request, provided she would ride naked 
 through the streets of Coventry. "Anything," she 
 replied, " for my suffering people." He was astonished . 
 but, thinking she would fail in the hour of trial, prom- 
 ised to fulfil his part of the contract. G-odiva appointed 
 a day ; and Leofric, finding she was determined, or- 
 dered the people to darken the fronts of their houses 
 and shut themselves up, while the Lady G-odiva was 
 passing. They joyfully obeyed, and the blushing, 
 frightened benefactress, with her long tresses stream- 
 ing over her form, rode unclad through the streets. 
 All was silent and deserted ; but one man, a tailor, 
 could not restrain his curiosity, and peeped forth from 
 an upper window to get sight of her. In a moment, 
 G-odiva's charger stopped and neighed. The fair rider, 
 being startled, turned her face and saw the unfortu- 
 nate tailor. Instantly the poor fellow's eyes dropped 
 from his head, in punishment of his meanness. 
 
 So runs the tradition, and so it has run from time 
 immemorial. In the time of Richard II., a painting 
 was placed in Trinity Church, representing the earl 
 and his wife — the former holding in his hand a char- 
 ter, on which was inscribed, 
 
182 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ' I, Leofric, for the love of thee, 
 Doe make Coventrie tol-free."' 
 
 I had heard of " Peeping Tom," and went in search 
 of him, I had forgotten, however, that he occupied 
 the upper story of a house, and went the whole length 
 of the street in which I was informed he was placed, 
 without finding him. I expected to see a statue 
 standing in some square or open place upon the ground, 
 and hence was compelled to inquire more particularly 
 of his whereabouts. "When at length I caught a 
 glimpse of him, with his cocked hat on, peeping from 
 an aperture in the corner of a house standing at the in- 
 tersection of two streets, I had a long and hearty laugh. 
 His appearance was comical in the extreme, as he 
 stood looking down on the throng of promenaders. 
 The man who owns the house receives an annual sti- 
 pend for allowing it to remain there, and every two 
 years it is clad in a new suit, made after the fashion 
 of the tenth century. On these occasions, the shops 
 are closed as on Sundays, and a procession of the 
 citizens, with the mayor at their head, passes through 
 the principal streets of the place, accompanied by a 
 woman dressed in white or flesh-colored tights, on 
 horseback. When they come opposite '• Tom," the 
 procession halts, the high sheriff invests the effigy in 
 its new suit, and the imposing ceremonies are ended. 
 This was the year for the procession, but I arrived too 
 late to witness it. A woman of rather easy virtue, 
 clad in a flesh-colored suit, fitting tight to her skin, 
 
FULL GROWN CHARTISTS. 183 
 
 was placed on a horse, and, with a quantity of false 
 hair falling around her form, represented the lovely 
 G-odiva. I could not but think how such a procession, 
 with such comical ceremonies, would appear in New 
 York, and what the good people of that practical city 
 would do on such an occasion. 
 
 Continuing my walk, 1 came upon three or four 
 hardy, weather-beaten men, one of whom approached 
 me, and said : " Sir, I am not in the habit of begging, 
 but my master in Stafford has broke, and I am left 
 without work. I came here with my family to find 
 work, but cannot, and have sold my last bed and 
 blanket to buy provisions. If you could give me 
 something, I should be much obliged to you." This 
 was said in a manly tone — so unlike the whining ac- 
 cents of a continental beggar, that I was struck with 
 it. " Why," said I, " this is very strange — here you 
 are, a strong man, with two good arms, and a pair of 
 stout hands at the end of them, and yet are starving 
 in the richest kingdom of the world. This is very 
 strange — what is it all coming to ?" He turned his 
 eye upon me with the look of a tiger, and exclaimed : 
 " What is it all coming to ? Why it is coming to this, 
 one of these days ;" and he struck his brawny fists to- 
 gether with a report like that of a pistol. I need not 
 say that I gave him money. 
 
 A strong man, willing to work for his daily bread, 
 and yet denied the privilege, is the saddest sight un- 
 der the sun. 
 
XXIII. 
 
 RAMBLES IN ENGLAND BIRMINGHAM LIVERPOOL A 
 
 TALL WOMAN BEGGARS CHESTER NORTH WALES. 
 
 It is only eighteen miles from Coventry to Birming- 
 ham, and by the great London and Liverpool railway 
 the distance is made in forty minutes. So, just at 
 evening, myself and friend jumped in the cars, and 
 soon found ourselves amid the tall chimneys of this 
 great manufacturing city of England. It is useless 
 to repeat the story of factory life, or describe over 
 again for the fortieth time, the sickly children and 
 girls who spend their days (few enough) at the looms, 
 and in the unhealthy apartments of those immense 
 cotton-mills. Money is coined out of human life ; and 
 degradation, and want, and misery are the price this 
 great kingdom pays for its huge manufacturing cities. 
 
 But one thing in my hotel struck me especially. It 
 is well known, notwithstanding the complaints of 
 English travellers of our love of money, that next to 
 Italy, England is the most dishonest country in the 
 world to travel in. The hackman cheats you — the 
 
AN englishman's LOVE OF MONEY. 185 
 
 landlord cheats you, and the servants cheat you. You 
 are fleeced the length and breadth of the kingdom. 
 Such outrages as you are compelled to submit to 
 would not be tolerated for a moment in the United 
 States. You are not only charged enormously for 
 your board, but are compelled to make up the ser- 
 vants' wages — which by this process swell to such an 
 amount that they give the landlord a large price for their 
 places, demanding nothing for their labor. In travelling, 
 you not only pay your fare, but every time the horses are 
 changed, or once in fifteen or twenty miles, are ex- 
 pected to give the driver an English shilling, or about 
 twenty-five cents of our money. But this landlord of 
 Birmingham was none of your swindlers — ^he scorned 
 to fleece travellers — and would have no one in his 
 house Avho practiced it. So he had regulations printed 
 and neatly framed hung up in the apartments, on pur- 
 pose, it was stated, to prevent those who stopped at 
 his hoase from being imposed upon. Servants were 
 not allowed to demand anything, and it was contrary 
 to the rules of the house to charge more than four 
 shillings (a dollar) for a bed, the same for dinner and 
 breakfast ; or, in other words, it was not permitted to 
 ask more than about four dollars a day from any per- 
 son, unless he had extras, I could not but exclaim, 
 as I turned towards my bed — " Honest man ! how 
 grateful travellers must feel for the interest you take 
 in their welfare ! No cheating here ; and one can lay 
 his head on his pillow in peace, knowing that in the 
 
186 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 morning there will be no trickery in the account — a 
 dollar for his supper, a dollar for his sleep, and a dol- 
 lar for his breakfast, and he can depart in peace I" 
 
 The approach to Liverpool through the tunnel is 
 anything but pleasant — this subterranean travelling 
 is unnatural — it seems a great deal worse to be killed 
 under ground than in the clear air of heaven, and be- 
 neath the calm quiet sky. Liverpool is an unpleasant 
 city to stop in ; yet, before I embarked, I was com- 
 pelled to spend a month there. I will not describe it ; 
 I do not like to describe cities ; they are simply a con- 
 fused heap of houses — an endless web of streets. One 
 day, as I was sauntering along, I saw in a stairway 
 leading to the second floor, a man two-thirds drunk, 
 dressed like a clown, with a single feather in his cap, 
 and a monkey hopping to and from his shoulder. 
 Holding by a rope, and swinging backwards and for- 
 wards on the steps in his drunkenness, he kept bawl- 
 ing out to the passers by, "Walk up, gentlemen — 
 only a penny a piece — the tallest woman in the world 
 — besides Oliver Cromwell, Q,ueen Elizabeth, Henry 
 YIIL, and other great men, large as life — only a penny 
 a sight — well worth the money. Walk up, gentle- 
 men!" It was such an out-of-the-way-looking hole, 
 and withal such a comical advertisement, that I pre- 
 sented my penny, and ^'•walked %;?," and sure enough 
 there was a woman seven feet high, towering head 
 and shoulders above me. Her form was slender, 
 which, with her female apparel, that always exagge- 
 
A TALL WOMAN. 187 
 
 rates the height, made her appear even a greater gi- 
 antess than she was. I could not believe my eyes, and 
 suspected there was some trickery practiced, and told 
 the exhibitor so. He immediately requested her to 
 sit down, and take off her shoes and stockings, and 
 then asked me to feel of her feet and ankles, I did 
 so, and found that they were actually bone and 
 muscle. But, to use a Western phrase, she ivas " a 
 tall specimen," and I came to the conclusion I had 
 seen three of the most remarkable women in the 
 world. First, a Frenchwoman who weighed six hun- 
 dred and tiventy-four pounds — a mountain of flesh ; 
 second, an Italian without arms, who could write, 
 thread a needle, embroider, sketch, load and fire a 
 pistol with her toes ; and last of all, this English girl, 
 seven feet high, or thereabouts. 
 
 Another day, as I was passing along a by-street, I 
 heard some one singing, and soon after a man in his 
 shirt sleeves emerged into view, leading four children 
 — two on each side — and singing as he approached. 
 He took the middle of the street — the children carry- 
 ing empty baskets — and thus traversed the city, I 
 soon discovered that he was a beggar, and this was 
 his mode of asking alms. "With his head up, and a 
 smile on his countenance, he was singing at the top 
 of his voice, something about a happy family. At all 
 events, the burden of his strain was the happiness he 
 enjoyed with his children — how pleasant their home 
 was for the love that dwelt in it, &c. He did not 
 
188 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 speak of his poverty and sufferings, or describe the 
 starvation in his hovel ; but, taking a different tack, 
 solicited charity on the ground that people ought to 
 keep such a happy family in the continued possession 
 of their happiness. Where begging is so common, im- 
 posture so frequent, and men's hearts have become so 
 steeled against the pitiful tale and the haggard face, 
 the appearance of suffering accomplishes but little ; 
 and I could not but admire the man's ingenuity in 
 thus striking out a new path for himself. Still, it 
 was pitiful to watch him — it seemed such an effort to 
 appear happy ; and the hungry-looking children at his 
 side, though trained to their task, and wearing bright 
 faces, seemed so way-worn and weary. I followed 
 their footsteps with my eyes till they turned an angle 
 of the street ; and as their voices died away in the dis- 
 tance, I fell into one of my fits of musing on life, its 
 strange destinies, and the unfathomable mystery at- 
 tached to the unequal distribution of good and evil in 
 it. Alas ! how different is the same man — that is, 
 the apparent man. Circumstances have placed one on 
 a throne, and his heart is haughty, his glance defiant, 
 and his spirit proud and overbearing. Misfortune has 
 placed another in poverty and want, and he crouches 
 at your feet — solicits, with trembling hands, and eyes 
 full of tears, 'a mere moiety for his children. Injus- 
 tice, abuse, contempt, cannot sting him into resistance 
 or arouse his wrath. With his manhood all broken 
 down, he crawls the earth, the byword and jest of his 
 
BANKS OF THE DEE. 18f 
 
 fellows. Yet life to him is just as solemn as to the 
 monarch — it has the same responsibilities, the same 
 destinies. That humbled and degraded spirit will yet 
 stand up in all its magnificent proportions, and assert 
 its rank in the universe of Grod. The heap of rags 
 will blaze like a star in its immortality — and yet that 
 unfortunate creature may struggle and suffer through 
 this life, and enter on another only to experience still 
 greater unhappiness. The ways of heaven are indeed 
 dark and beyond the clouds. 
 
 My friend left me at Liverpool, and took the steam- 
 er for Dublin, where I promised, in a few days, to 
 meet him. I wished to make the land route through 
 North Wales, and thence cross over the Channel. 
 Crossing the Mersey in a ferry-boat, I took the cars 
 for the old city of Chester, lying on the confines of 
 England and "Wales. This ancient town, which has 
 borne such a part in the history of England, stands 
 just as it did centuries ago. The same immense wall 
 surrounds it that guarded it in knightly days. It en- 
 virons the entire place, and is so broad that the top 
 furnishes a fine promenade for three persons abreast. 
 Towards evening I wandered without the walls, and 
 strolled away towards the banks of the Dee. It was 
 a lovely afternoon for England — the sky was clear, 
 and the air pure and invigorating. A single arch is 
 sprung across the stream, said to be one of the largest 
 in the world. It is a beautiful curve, and presents a 
 picturesque appearance, leaping so far from one green 
 
190 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 bank to another. Following the shore, winding through 
 the field, is a raised embankment, covered with green 
 turf for a promenade. Along this, ladies and gentle- 
 men were sauntering in groups, while here and there 
 a fisherman was casting his line. It was a lovely 
 scene, there on the quiet banks of the Dee, and in 
 full view of the old walls of Chester ; and I sat down 
 under a tree, and thought long and anxiously of 
 home. It is always thus — in the crowded city, and 
 turmoil and hurry of travel, one almost forgets he has 
 a home or far distant friends — but a single strain of 
 soothing music, one quiet night, or one lonely walk, 
 brings them all back to him, and he wonders that he 
 ever left them for boisterous scenes. One hour we 
 are all energy and will — wishing for a field of great 
 risks and great deeds, and feel confined and straitened 
 for want of greater scope and freer action — the next, 
 we feel lost in the world of active life around us — ut- 
 terly unequal to its demands on our energies, and 
 thirst only for a quiet home and more tranquil enjoy- 
 ment. The land of my birth looked greener to me 
 there, on the banks of the Dee, than ever before — and 
 the wide waste of waters that separated me from it, 
 never so wide and unfriendly. 
 
 At sunset I took the stage-coach for the north 
 coast of Wales. I travelled till midnight, and then 
 stopped to make the rest of the route along the north 
 shore by daylight. A little "Welsh inn received me, 
 the landlady of which, in return for my politeness to 
 
SCENERY OF WALES. 191 
 
 her, secured me a seat next day in the coach, which I 
 otherwise should have lost. She had been accustomed 
 to the haughty bearing of Englishmen, and though 1 
 treated her with only the civility common in my own 
 country, it seemed so ^^;^common to her, that she asked 
 me where I resided. She seem delighted when I told 
 her in America, and the next morning prevailed on the 
 driver to give me a seat, though he had told me the 
 coach was full. 
 
 I had read much of "Wales, and had obtained, when 
 a boy, very extravagant ideas of the wildness of its 
 scenery from Mrs. Hemans' poems. It did not occur 
 to me that I had just come from the Alps, the grandest 
 scenery on the globe, and hence should prepare for 
 disappointment ; but expected to be astonished with 
 beetling crags and lofty mountains, until at last 
 Snowdon crowned the whole, as Mont Blanc does the 
 peaks that environ him. I never stopped to question 
 my impressions, nor inquire when or where I derived 
 them ; and therefore was wholly unprepared for the 
 diminutive hills that met my gaze. One must never 
 form a notion of a cataract or a mountain from an 
 Englishman's description of it. Living on an island 
 and in a rolling country which furnishes no elevations 
 of magnitude, and hence no large streams, the latter 
 regards those relatively large of immense size. Still, 
 the north coast of Wales presents bold and rugged 
 features ; and with its old castles frowning amid the 
 desolate scenery — gray as the rooks they stand on — 
 is well worth a visit. 
 
XXIV. 
 
 PENRHYN QUARRIES HOMEWARD BOUND SCOTCH BOY 
 
 STORM AT SEA HOME. 
 
 Some of the castles on the north coast of "Wales are 
 in ruins, and others in a good state of preservation. 
 Many a fierce struggle and wild tale they could tell, 
 could they but reveal their history. Cromwell's army 
 has thundered against their walls, and England's chiv- 
 alry dashed over their battlements ; and deeds of 
 daring and of darkness too, stained every stone with 
 blood. Our road lay right along the base of one, with 
 its old towels still standing, and the ancient draw- 
 bridge still resting on its ancient foundations. A lit- 
 tle farther on, the whole breast of the mountain seem- 
 ed converted into a modern castle ; for ramparts rose 
 over every ridge, and turreted battlements stretched 
 along every precipitous height. 
 
 Nothing can be more bleak and desolate than this 
 whole coast. The rocky shores, treeless, shrubless 
 mountains, and ruined castles, combine to render the 
 scene sombre and gloomy. At length we reached 
 
SLATE QUARRIES. 193 
 
 Bangor, from whence I made a visit to the slate quar- 
 ries of Mr. Tennant. This gentlemen was an English 
 colonel ; but being so fortunate as to marry the only 
 daughter of the owner of these extensive quarries, 
 he threw up his profession, and settled in Wales. 
 Becoming sole heir to Penrhyn Castle, on the death of 
 his father-in-law, he improved it by additions and ren- 
 ovations; till now, with its extensive and beautiful 
 grounds it is well worth a visit. The quarries, how- 
 ever, were more interesting to me than the castle, for 
 they are said to be the largest in the world ; yielding 
 the proprietor a net income of nearly one hundred 
 thousand dollars per annum. The whole mountain, in 
 which these quarries are dug, is composed of slate. 
 The miners commenced at the base of it, and dug, in 
 a semicircular form, into its very heart. They then 
 blasted back and up, a terrace all around the space 
 they had made, some thirty or forty feet from the bot- 
 tom. About the same distance above this terrace, 
 they ran another, until they terraced the mountain, in 
 the form of an amphitheatre, to the very top. Around 
 each terrace runs a railroad, to carry out the slate ; 
 while small stone huts are placed here and there, to 
 shelter the workmen when a blast occurs near them. 
 These terraces are filled with miners, who look, from 
 below like so many ants crawling over the rocks. 
 Taking one of these as a guide, I rambled over the 
 quarries, in a more excited state than one usually 
 views so plain and practical an object ; for the blasts 
 9 
 
194 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 that occur every few moments, keep the mountain in 
 an uproar. The amphitheatre is so far across, that a 
 person need not fear a blast from the opposite side ; 
 but one from the terrace he is on, or from the one 
 above or below him, is always more or less dangerous. 
 To prevent accidents, just before a blast takes place, 
 the man who is to fire it, steps to the edge of the ter- 
 race, and hallooes, " Ae /«oo .'" at which all in the 
 neighborhood run for the stone cabins, like prairie dogs 
 for their holes. Again and again was I compelled to 
 dodge into one of these coverts ; when, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, there would follow a heavy explosion ; 
 and the next moment the loose stones would be rat- 
 tling like hail on the roof above me. Several times I 
 measured, with considerable interest, the thickness of 
 the covering over me, and calculated how heavy a 
 rock it would require to crush through it. When out 
 on the open terrace, the constant reports, like the rapid 
 discharge of cannon in various parts of the mountain, 
 keep one constantly on the look-out. The depot of the 
 finished slates is also a great curiosity. The latter are 
 piled in huge rows, according to their size and value, 
 and are named Dukes, Marquises, Counts, &c., to 
 designate their respective worth. All sorts of orna- 
 ments are made by the workmen in their leisure mo- 
 ments, and sold to travellers ; several of which I brought 
 away with me. I paused, after leaving the quarries, 
 and turned to look back on that excavated mountain. 
 It was a curious spectacle — those terraces rising one 
 
CAERNARVON. l95 
 
 above another, sprinkled all over with human beings, 
 appearing like mere spots on the spire of a church. 
 
 From Bangor I went to Caernarvon, to visit the 
 ruined castle there, so famous in the ancient history 
 of England. I clambered up its spiral staircase — 
 looked out of its narrow windows — plucked the ivy 
 from its massive and immensely thick walls, and then 
 went to a neighboring eminence to have the whole in 
 one coup d'ceil. It is an impressive ruin, independent 
 of the associations connected with it. It was my de- 
 sign to cross the island of Anglesea and take steam- 
 boat for Dublin, where I had promised to meet my 
 friend, who left me at Liverpool ; but that afternoon a 
 storm set in which frightened me back. I had had 
 some experience in the British channels, and conclud- 
 ed I had rather not see Dublin than again be made as 
 deadly sick as I was in coming from Dieppe to Brigh- 
 ton. I therefore returned to Bangor ; roamed over 
 the island of Anglesea ; saw the stone block, once a 
 sacrifice stone of the ancient Druids ; stood on the 
 Menai bridge, next to that of Frybourg, the longest 
 suspension bridge in the world ; and finally set sail 
 for Liverpool. "Waiting here two weeks, till I could 
 get a state-room to myself, I at last embarked on board 
 the packet England, and dropped down the Channel. 
 Rounding the southern coast of Ireland we stood out 
 to sea, and soon the last vestige of land disappeared 
 behind the waters ; and homeward bound, we were on 
 the wide Atlantic. 
 
196 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 An incident occurred on leaving port which 
 interested me exceedingly, "With the departure of 
 almost every vessel, some poor wretches, without 
 the means to pay their passage, secrete themselves 
 aboard till fairly out to sea, when they creep forth 
 from their hiding-places. The captain cannot put back 
 to land them, and he cannot see them starve on board 
 his ship ; and so they get a free passage to our land, 
 where every man can find work. So common has this 
 become, that an officer is always hired to ransack the 
 vessel while she is being towed out of the harbor. 
 Several were found hid away in ours, whom I saw 
 shoved over into the "tug," as the tow-boat is called, 
 without the least feeling of commiseration. They 
 were such hard, depraved-looking cases, that I thought 
 it no loss to have them kept from our shores. But at 
 length the officer drew forth a Scotch lad about seven- 
 teen years of age, who seemed unlike his companions. 
 Dirty and ragged enough he indeed was, but a cer- 
 tain honest expression in his face, which was covered 
 with tears, interested me in him immediately. I stop- 
 ped the officer, and asked the boy his name. " Robert 
 S." he replied. " Where are you from ?" " Grreenock. 
 I am a baker by trade, but my master has broke, and 
 I have come to Liverpool to get work." " Why do 
 you want to go to America?" said I. "To get 
 work," he replied in his strong Scotch accent. He 
 seemed to have but one idea, and that was work! 
 The object of his ambition, the end of his wishes, was 
 
A SCOTCH BOV. 197 
 
 the privilege of working. He had wandered round 
 Liverpool in vain ; slept on the docks, and lived on 
 the refuse crumbs he could pick up ; and as a last re- 
 sort determined, all alone, to cross the Atlantic to a 
 land where man is allowed the boon of working for 
 his daily bread. I could not let him go ashore, and 
 promised the captain that I would see that his passage 
 was paid. The passengers joined with me, and I told 
 hirn he need not be alarmed, he should go to America. 
 I was struck with his reply : said he, in a manly tone, 
 " I don't know how I can pay you, sir, but I will work 
 for you." I gave him clothes, and told him to wash 
 himself and be cheerful, and I would take care of him. 
 In a short time he became deadly sick, and at the end 
 of a week he was so emaciated and feeble I feared he 
 would die. I said to him one day, " Robert are you not 
 very sorry now that you started for America ?" " No, 
 sir !" he replied, " if I can get work there." " Merci- 
 ful God I" I mentally exclaimed, "has hunger so 
 gnawed at this poor fellow's vitals, and starvation 
 stared him so often in the face, that he can think of 
 no joy like that of being permitted to work !" 
 
 Days and -weeks passed away, wearisome and lonely, 
 until, at length, as Ave approached the banks of New- 
 foundland, a heavy storm overtook us. It blew for 
 two days, and the third night the sea was rolling tre- 
 mendously. The good ship labored over the moun- 
 tainous billows, while every timber, and plank, and 
 door seemed suddenly to have been endowed with a 
 
198 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 voice, and screeched, and screamed, and groaned, and 
 complained, till the tumult without was almost drown- 
 ed by the uproar within. It did not seem possible that 
 the timbers could hold together for an hour, so violently 
 did the vessel work. I could not keep in my berth 
 — and ropes were strung along the deck to enable even 
 the sailors to cross from one side to another, I crawl- 
 ed to the cabin door, and holding on with both hands, 
 gazed with strange feelings upon the wild and ruinous 
 waste of waters. We had a host of steerage passen- 
 gers aboard, whom the captain was compelled to 
 drive below, and fasten down the hatches over them. 
 The sea was breaking madly over the shrinking, 
 shivering ship, as if determined to crush it down ; 
 and at every shock of the billows, as they fell in 
 thunder on the deck, the poor wretches below thought 
 themselves going to the bottom, and kept up a con- 
 stant wailing, screaming, and praying, at once pitiful 
 and ludicrous. Still I could not blame them ; for to 
 one unaccustomed to the sea, the rush and roll of 
 waves on the trembling planks overhead are anything 
 but pleasant sounds. One moment, as we ascended 
 a billow, the jib-boom of our vessel seemed to pierce 
 mid-heaven ; the next moment, in her mad down- 
 ward plunge it w^ould disappear in the sea, and tons 
 of water come sweeping with a crash over our decks. 
 Once the second mate, who was forward, was caught 
 by one of these furious seas and borne backward the 
 whole length of the deck, ao^ainst the after-cabin. As 
 
A STORM AT SEA. 199 
 
 the ship pitched again, he was carried forward, and 
 the second time was hurled backward, before he could 
 feel the deck, although the water was running in a 
 perfect torrent from the scuppers the while. Oh I it 
 was a fearful night — the clouds swept in angry masses 
 athwart the heavens, and all around was the writhing, 
 wrestling deep, over which our groaning vessel strain- 
 ed with desperate efforts and most piteous complaints. 
 I turned in, sick of the sea — but I could not sleep ; 
 for one moment my feet would be pointing to the 
 zenith, and the next to the nadir, and immediately 
 after, head, body, and legs would be lying in a con- 
 fused heap on the state-room floor. As a last resort, 
 I stretched myself on the cabin sofa, which was bolted 
 to the floor, and bade the steward lash me to it with a 
 rope : and strange to say, in this position I dropped 
 asleep and slept till morning. It was the soundest 
 night's rest I ever had at sea. But it is startling to 
 be waked out of sleep by the creaking of timbers and 
 roar of waves ; and the spirits feel a sudden reaction 
 that is painful, I staggered on deck, and such a sight 
 I never beheld before. The storm had broken, and 
 the fragmentary clouds were flying like lightning 
 over the sky, while the sea, as far as the eye could 
 reach, was one vast expanse of heaving, tumbling 
 mountains — their bases a bright pea-green, and their 
 ridges white as snow. Over and amid these our 
 good ship floundered like a helpless thing. On our 
 right, and perhaps three quarters of a mile distant 
 
200 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 (though it seemed scarcely three rods), lay a ship rid- 
 ing out the storm. When we went down and she 
 went up, 1 could see the copper on her bottom ; and 
 when we both sunk together, the tops of her tallest 
 masts disappeared as though she had been suddenly 
 ingulfed in the ocean. The sun at length emerged 
 from a cloud and lighted up with strange brilliancy 
 this wild scene. It was a sublime spectacle, and I 
 acknowledged it to be so ; but added mentally, as I 
 clung to a belaying pin and braced against the bul- 
 warks to keep my legs, that I thought it would appear 
 much better from shore. 
 
 Days and nights passed away, until, at length, a 
 bird came and lighted on our rigging, and then I 
 knew we were near my fatherland. I could have 
 kissed it. The last night came on with rain and 
 storm, and we flew on before the gale with our white 
 wings spread, thankful that it bore us homeward. At 
 noon next day, the clouds broke away, and soon after 
 we took on board a pilot. The sun went down in 
 beauty, and the moon sailed up the golden sky, and 
 the stars came out and smiled on the sea, and all was 
 lovely and entrancing ; but soon other lights flashed 
 over the waters, that far outshone both moon and 
 stars — the lights from Sandy Hook. My heart leaped 
 in my throat at the sight, and an involuntary burst of 
 joy escaped my lips. No bay ever looked so lovely as 
 New York bay the next morning ; and when my 
 
HOME. 201 
 
 feet pressed my native land, I loved her better than 
 
 f^'\T(^Y* •7f> ^ ^ '}? ^ 
 
 The good packet England, a few months after, left 
 Liverpool for New York, and was never heard of more. 
 A better officer than her captain never trod a deck, and 
 her first mate was also a fine man. He had been 
 lately married, and went to sea because it was his 
 only means of livelihood. Alas ! the billows now roll 
 over them and their gallant ship together. 
 
 I will only add that my protege, the Scotch boy, 
 was provided for, and proved worthy of the interest I 
 had taken in him. He is now on the fair road to 
 wealth and prosperity. 
 
 9* 
 
XXV. 
 
 THE WALDENSES. 
 
 Perhaps there are no people equally limited in 
 number, so widely known, and for whom so much sym- 
 pathy has been expended, as the "Waldenses. Sur- 
 rounded by a corrupt church ; oppressed by the strong 
 arm of civil power ; tortured, hunted, massacred, and 
 driven forth from their homes, they still have clung to 
 their religion, and remained true to their principles. 
 Now suffering, without a murmur, death and impris- 
 onment ; and now rising in sudden wrath, and falling 
 with resistless force, upon their foes ; braving alike 
 the Alpine storm and serried armies, they fix them- 
 selves in our affections, and enlist all our sympathies. 
 So weak, and yet so resolute; so peeled and scattered, 
 and yet unconquered ; they exhibit all that is noble, 
 and great, and heroic in man. Their very home, amid 
 the Alpine hills — their quiet valleys, nestling in the 
 laps of rugged mountains, add to the interest that sur- 
 rounds thera. Who has not thought of the " Vales of 
 
VALES OF THE VAUDOIS. 203 
 
 the Vaudois" with the deepest emotion, and lingered 
 in imagination around their homes by the Alpine 
 stream ? 
 
 Though Piedmont itself is an extensive province, 
 extending across the Alps to Geneva on the north, and 
 resting on the Apennines around Grenoa and the Po on 
 the south, the Waldenses occupy a tract of country 
 only about twelve miles square, and situated amid the 
 Alps, on the confines of Italy and France. Through 
 this small, but wild region, are scattered several val- 
 leys, which look, amid the savage peaks and heaven- 
 piercing cliffs, like Innocence sleeping in the lap of 
 Wrath. In midsummer, they are delightful ; being 
 covered with carpets of green, which contrast beauti- 
 fully with the snowy summits and everlasting glaciers 
 that surround them. Here flocks of goats and herds 
 of cows may be seen sprinkling the sweet pasturages ; 
 while the tinkling of bells, the song of the moun- 
 taineer, and bleating of flocks, combine to render 
 them enchanted ground. But in winter, the Alpine 
 storm lets forth all its fury upon them, roaring through 
 the gorges, and sifting the snow in blinding showers 
 over all things. Long after spring has decked the 
 plains of Piedmont in verdure, snow covers the valleys 
 of the "Waldenses. 
 
 A bird's-eye view of the whole plain of Piedmont, 
 with the Alps in the distance, is extremely fine. Near 
 by is seen the Po, winding through the plain until it 
 is joined by the Stura and Doria. In the centre 
 
204 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 stands Turin, the capital of Piedmont. To the right, 
 and close under the Alps, lies Rivoli ; while to the 
 left, and almost directly back of Turin, is Pignerol, a 
 Waldensian town, from which proceeds the pass of 
 Susa into the very heart of the AValdensian country. 
 
 Turin is about three miles in circumference, and 
 surrounded with pleasant promenades and carriage- 
 roads. It has thirteen squares and eighty-four streets, 
 the latter crossing each other at right angles, like 
 those of Philadelphia ; and contains a hundred and 
 ten thousand inhabitants. The environs of the city 
 are beautiful, decked with picturesque villas and 
 churches. 
 
 Leaving the Piedmontese capital, let us go west- 
 ward into those fastnesses of the Waldenses, where 
 still remain the people who have withstood all the 
 corruptions of the Italian church, survived the changes 
 that have rocked Europe and overthrown old dynas- 
 ties, and emerged pure as gold from the fires of per- 
 secution. They are a standing miracle amid the na- 
 tions of the earth. That a small and rude community, 
 a band of mere peasants, should dare resist the author- 
 ity of the Church, condemn her departure from the 
 truth, and finally separate from her, and brave the 
 fury of Catholic Europe, is certainly one of the strang- 
 est events in human history. The strong empire of 
 the Csssars was dismembered, and northern barbari- 
 ans occupied the ancient Roman capital. Italy was 
 overrun and subdued, her republics wiped from exist- 
 
CHARACTER OF THE WALDENSES. 205 
 
 ence, and she, throughout her entire extent, made to 
 shake under the victorious tread of armies — yet there, 
 in their mountain home, the pious Waldenses lived, 
 the same in manners and religion. 
 
 From the wild waking up of Europe in behalf of 
 the Crusades, when the West precipitated itself in 
 boundless enthusiasm on the East to rescue the Holy 
 Sepulchre from the hands of infidels, to the terrible 
 overthrow of the French Revolution and triumphant 
 march of Napoleon — through all the changes that in- 
 tervened, they have remained the same apostolic 
 church — a pure flame amid surrounding and limitless 
 darkness — true and faithful Christians amid an apostate 
 world. Now serene anJ quiet, their prayers and songs 
 have filled the Alpine valleys with joy, and again 
 their shrieks and death-cries loaded the shuddering 
 air with sorrow. To-day, gazing on their smoulder- 
 ing homes and wasted vineyards, and to-morrow 
 standing on an Alpine summit, and like the captives 
 of Zion as they ascended the last hill-top that over- 
 looked Jerusalem, sighing forth their sad farewell to 
 their mountain homes — at one time fugitives and ex- 
 iles, fleeing to stranger provinces, and anon breaking 
 with their strong war-cry through their ancient defiles, 
 they move before us in light and shade, alternately 
 filling us with joy and sadness, and bringing succes- 
 sive smiles and tears. A G-od-protected band, the 
 heart of every true man loves them, and the prayer 
 
206 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 of every Christian rises to heaven in their behalf 
 They have indeed been " witnesses for the truth." 
 
 Of the origin of the Waldenses little is known, ex- 
 cept what doubtful tradition has left us. They claim 
 to have been founded by the Apostles, and to have re- 
 mained the same church from the spread of Chris- 
 tianity. But nothing certain, however, can be ascer- 
 tained of them prior to the ninth century. As the 
 Christian Church gradually receded from the truth, 
 and began to adopt the errors which now characterize 
 Romanism, the AValdenses, by their firm resistance to 
 the tide of corruption, and their independent attitude, 
 excited the hostility of both the civil and ecclesiastical 
 power, and those persecutions commenced which have 
 covered their name with glory, and the Roman hier- 
 archy with everlasting infamy. During the nine hun- 
 dred years in which they have withstood all attempts 
 to overthrow their religion, their history has been 
 marked by wonderful events. 
 
 The first persecutions against them were carried on 
 by the Inquisition, which tortured and slew by detail. 
 This being found insufficient, the soldiery were called 
 in, and the sword of war hewed down men, women, 
 and children indiscriminately. This also failing to 
 exterminate the heretics, a general expatriation was 
 resorted to. This succeeded only for a while, and the 
 Waldenses again reared their altars in their ancient 
 mountain valleys. I cannot trace them through all 
 their changing career ; but religion. 
 
WALDENSES. 207 
 
 ' Diffused, and fostered thus, the glorious ray, 
 Warmed where it went and ripened into day. 
 'Twas theirs to plant, in tears, the precious shoot ; 
 'Twas ours in peace to reap the promised fruit. 
 By them the bulwark of our faith was built — 
 Our church cemented by the blood they spilt. 
 In Heaven's high cause they gave all men could give, 
 And died its martyrs that the truth might live." 
 
XXVI. 
 
 PERSECUTION OF THE WALDENSES VALLEY OF BOBI ITS 
 
 BEAUTY. 
 
 The church and valley of Bobi have borne a dis- 
 tinguished part in the history of the Waldenses. 
 This valley is so shut in by the hills, that its exist- 
 ence cannot be detected by the traveller till it bursts 
 at once in all its richness and beauty upon him. The 
 river Pelice and its tributaries wind through it, lacing 
 its meadows with silver veins, while all around 
 stretches a border of green forest, which constitutes 
 the wealth of the inhabitants. Dark chestnuts con- 
 trast beautifully with the pale willows that run in 
 stripes across the meadows — huge rocks rise along the 
 outskirts, covered with moss, on the top of which the 
 peasant spreads his threshing-floor. Higher up, crag 
 beetles over crag — thunder riven — ^here leaning threat- 
 eningly over their bases, and there towering heaven- 
 ward like the embattled walls and turrets of some 
 feudal castle. In the upper end of the valley rises 
 one immense rock, a mountain in itself. In some 
 
PICTURESQUE SCENE, 209 
 
 ancient convulsion it split at the summit, leaving a 
 crack through which the blue sky beyond is seen. By 
 crawling on his hands and knees, the adventurous 
 traveller can approach the edge of this enormous crev- 
 ice, when lo ! all the valley below bursts on his view. 
 There it sleeps in the summer sunlight, with the 
 bright streamlets sparkling and flashing amid the 
 masses of green — men and cattle are seen moving 
 across it — ^the peasant is laboring in the field — the 
 cart trundling along the highway — and yet not a 
 sound reaches the spectator, lying in the shadow of 
 the huge cliff. Far, far below, like pigmies, the in- 
 habitants are toiling in the sun ; but they seem as 
 objects that move through a dream, so noiseless and 
 still are they. Up that serene height the murmurs 
 of the valley never come, the crash of the thunderbolt, 
 and scream of the Alpine eagle around its summit are 
 the only sounds that disturb its repose. This old 
 rock was once made the chief stronghold of the Vau- 
 dois, when they fought their way back to their valleys. 
 The view from the top is wonderfully beautiful. From 
 the margin of the valley, to the Po, the whole expanse 
 is distinctly seen. Snow-capt mountains piercing the 
 heavens with their shining helmets — peaks on peaks 
 rolling in an endless sea of heights along the horizon, 
 combine to render it a scene of indescribable interest. 
 But the rock itself is a striking object when viewed 
 from the valley ; especially at evening, when the sun 
 is going to his lordly repose amid the hills, does its 
 
210 rambi.es and sketches. 
 
 colossal form stand out in bold relief against the cloud- 
 less heavens. Its ragged outline is subdued and 
 softened — its black surface covered with rose tints — 
 and it looks like a glorious pyramid of light and 
 beauty rising over the plain which slumbers in deep 
 shadow beneath. Gradually, the gorgeous hues disap- 
 pear ; the stars displace the sun ; and the moon, rising 
 in the east, casts it in still darker relief against the 
 sky. 
 
 The picturesque little church of Bobi has borne its 
 part in the struggle of the Waldenses. "With the 
 rocks around it, and the mountains above, it has rung 
 to the prayer of the persecuted Christian, the war-cry 
 of his murderers, and the clash of arms. Solemn 
 vows have been repeated there, and on its very thresh- 
 old men and women been butchered with worse than 
 savage barbarity. 
 
 The whole history of the Waldenses has been mark- 
 ed by persecutions carried on in a spirit of ferocity and 
 cruelty, and accompanied by outrages so fiendish, as 
 almost to transcend human belief. 
 
 About the year 1200, the persecutions commenced, 
 and at greater or less intervals, and with more or less 
 cruelty, have continued till this time. As I before re- 
 marked, the Inquisition first slew its victim silently ; 
 but in 1488 open force was used, and the soldiery sent 
 against the peasants. From that time on, the sword 
 has been the instrument of the persecutor. Whole 
 valleys have been depopulated, and the inhabitants 
 
PERSECUTIONS. 211 
 
 driven into caverns, and there suffocated with smoke. 
 Hundreds of children have been found dead together, 
 some mangled in the most inhuman manner, Youngr 
 women have been ravished in presence of their fathers 
 and brothers, and then brutally murdered. Men have 
 been hurled from the cliifs, and tortures and violence 
 unparalleled endured, till these Protestant valleys were 
 soaked in blood, and the hill-sides covered with the 
 bones of thousands of the inhabitants. Decency for- 
 bids me to name the enormities practiced on this un- 
 offending people, because they chose to worship G-od 
 according to the dictates of their own consciences. 
 
 But in the persecution of 1665, set on foot by the 
 Duke of Savoy, Bobi bore a more important part 
 than in those which preceded. The mere recital of 
 the sanguinary scenes which were enacted would 
 freeze the blood. Horrors unheard of, except in the 
 history of the Romish Church, were perpetrated in the 
 presence of the civilized world, until Cromwell, then 
 wielding the power of England, uttered his stern re- 
 monstrance, declaring he would put a stop to them, 
 if he had to sail his ships over the Alps to accomplish 
 the object. 
 
 It began by the invasion of the Waldensian ter- 
 ritory with a large French army. Against this power- 
 ful array, it seemed impossible that the Christians 
 could contend. Nevertheless, they bravely rallied, 
 and, after kneeling in solemn prayer to God, fell on 
 the enemy with such enthusiasm and terror, that, 
 
212 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 though outnumbered a hundred to one, they broke 
 their ranks in pieces, and sent them shattered and dis- 
 comfitted back. The Marquis of Piannesse, seeing 
 that they were not to be overcome by arms, resorted to 
 duplicity, and calling to him deputies from the diffe- 
 rent valleys, promised them peace and security. The 
 only favor he asked in return v^as the permission to 
 quarter one regiment of foot, and two troops of horse, 
 among them for two or three days, as an evidence of 
 their fidelity. To this the unsuspecting peasants 
 joyfully acceded, and the army marched in. But no 
 sooner was it in possession of the strongholds than it 
 began the work of massacre. The poor people, taken 
 by surprise, fled to the mountains — those who could — 
 and the rest were slain. Around the Church of Bobi, 
 the dead lay in heaps. The shouts of infuriated men, 
 and the shrieks of women and children, made this 
 sweet valley ring with terrific echoes. The ordinary 
 means of torture were not sufficient, and new modes 
 of cruelty were invented. Infants were pulled from 
 the breasts of their mothers, and their brains dashed 
 out against the rocks. Mothers and daughters were 
 ravished in each other's presence, and then filled with 
 pebbles. In their mouths and ears powder was cram- 
 med, and set fire to, and thus the helpless sufferers 
 were blown up. Sick people were tied with their 
 heads and feet together, and thrown down the precipices. 
 Many of both sexes and all ages were impaled alive, 
 
PERSECUTIONS, 213 
 
 and thus, naked and writhing in agony, were planted 
 in rows along the highways. 
 
 Afterwards, however, these persecuted Christians 
 rallied, and falling on their persecutors, routed them 
 with terrible slaughter. In 1686, another persecution 
 commenced ; but its history is like that of all the oth- 
 ers — it is a record of duplicity, treachery, cruelty, and 
 barbarity too horrible to give. The people of Bobi 
 suflfered in both these persecutions severely ; but they 
 had brave hearts, and fought around their ancient 
 altars with a heroism deserving of a better fate. Out 
 of fourteen thousand who were imprisoned during the 
 former persecution, eleven thousand perished. Still a 
 remnant remained, and true to their ancient faith, 
 bore all with the firmness of martyrs. 
 
XXVII. 
 
 RETURN OF THE WALDENSES PERILOUS MARCH BATTLE 
 
 OF SALBERTRANN. 
 
 At length, they were driven from their homes and 
 scattered over Protestant Europe. But they still 
 turned their eyes w^istfully towards their mountain 
 homes. They were exiles in a strange land, and, like 
 the captive children of Israel, wept when they re- 
 membered their quiet churches amid the Alps, The 
 very fact that their altars had been baptized in blood 
 rendered them doubly dear. Their hearts were in 
 their desolate homes, and still clung to the ashes of 
 their fathers, and children, and wives, and brothers, 
 who had fallen nobly for their holy religion. 
 
 These remembrances at length induced them to at- 
 tempt to return, and with the intrepid Arnaud, a priest, 
 at their head, they started for their native valleys. 
 Like the children of Israel in their march to Ca- 
 naan, they were compelled to fight their way back to 
 their ancient altars and possessions. Their journey 
 occupied thirty-one days, and was marked by trials, 
 sufferings, heroisms, almost miraculous escapes, such 
 as are seldom found in the history of any people. 
 
THE RETURN, 215 
 
 Having been compelled to leave Germany, the exiles, 
 after a while, found themselves scattered amid the 
 cantons of Switzerland, close on the confines of their 
 native land. They had previously made two attempts 
 to return, but had failed in both. Still, however, they 
 boldly resolved on a third. The hostility existing be- 
 tween England and France, and the known sentiments 
 of the Prince of Orange, who had just ascended the Eng- 
 lish throne, together with the reports of spies, that the 
 French king had withdrawn his troops from the farther 
 side of the mountains, encouraged them to make this 
 new effort to regain their land. As I have already 
 stated, M. Arnaud, a clergyman, headed the expedition. 
 Having assembled in the forest of Nyon, they waited 
 for the arrival of their brethren from the Grisons and 
 Wirtemberg. These latter, to the number of a hun- 
 dred and twenty-two, had agreed to join them ; but, 
 soon after setting out, they were all taken prisoners, and 
 marched over the Alps to Turin, and thrown into prison. 
 
 Finding, at length, it was growing dangerous to 
 wait longer, Arnaud, at the head of his gallant band, 
 resolved to proceed without delay. It had been whis- 
 pered about that the exiles were plotting some new 
 expedition, which caused many strangers to seek the 
 forest of Nyon, bordering on Lake Greneva. Of the un- 
 expected supply of boats thus furnished by them, Ar- 
 naud, immediately took advantage, and pressing them 
 into temporary service, commenced the passage of the 
 lake. When all was ready, Arnaud, who had assumed 
 
216 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the name of M. de la Tour, stepped into the midst of his 
 followers, and, uncovering his head, knelt on ■ the 
 ground, and offered up a fervent prayer that G-od 
 would smile on their endeavors. Having thus com- 
 mitted their cause to Heaven, the Waldenses shoved 
 their boats from the shore. It was a warm August 
 night, and a little before midnight, that frail fleet 
 might have been seen gliding over the blue waters of 
 Lake G-eneva, 
 
 No sooner did the exiles step ashore than they 
 formed in order of battle. In one column, com- 
 posed of nineteen companies in all, they started on 
 their perilous march. Of their difficulties by the way, 
 danger from treachery, deceit, and open hostility, I 
 can mention but a moiety. In a solid phalanx, with 
 their scouts thrown out on every side, and their arms 
 in their hands, and shut out from all reinforcements, 
 they boldly entered the heart of a hostile country, de- 
 termined to cut their way through it, — and, driving out 
 the occupants of their homes, take and maintain pos- 
 session of them. Every villages rung its alarm-bells 
 at their approach, and armed bands of peasants 
 prepared to dispute their passage; but the firm 
 order and presence of the "Waldenses awed them into 
 respect, and forced them to supply provisions and 
 guides. Now and then a skirmish took place, and a 
 few were killed ; but the bold exiles kept on their way 
 for a long time without any serious obstacles, except 
 what the Alps presented. Through gloomy gorges, 
 
PASS OF THE COL DE BONNE HOMME. 217 
 
 where twenty brave men could have withstood a hun- 
 dred, and over snow-covered heights, they passed on until 
 they at length reached the base of the *' Haute Luce." 
 
 This mountain was covered with snow, and envel- 
 oped in fog : yet up its steep sides pressed the fugi- 
 tives. The guides endeavored to lead them astray into 
 the ravines that intersect it, where they might wander 
 around until the Savoyards could arrive, and cut their 
 throats. But Arnaud, detecting the foul play, threat- 
 ened to hang them if they did not conduct his band 
 safely, and thus frightened them out of their treache- 
 ry. Up steps cut in the rocks, they mounted in single 
 file, and, at length, reached the summit. Thence, 
 sliding down, one after another, on their backs, guided 
 by the white snow, they reached, late at night, a few 
 shepherd's huts at the base, which they unroofed to 
 provide themselves with fuel. A cold and drenching 
 rain, which lasted till morning, chilled their frames, 
 and they arose benumbed, yet still resolute, to com- 
 mence the fourth day's march. In soft snow, a foot 
 deep, and pelted by an Alpine storm, they began the 
 ascent of the Col de Banne Homme. Along this pass 
 7500 feet high, forts had been erected by the ene- 
 my, and the Waldenses expected every moment a 
 sanguinary conflict ; but their prayers had been heard, 
 and silence and solitude reigned over the entrench- 
 ments. Now hanging above an Alpine cliff at mid- 
 night — now kindling their camp fires in some quiet 
 meadow — and anon swallowed up in a fearful gorge, 
 10 
 
218 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 or cautiously threading a quiet valley, they slowly but 
 steadily approached their former home. 
 
 At length, they reached the foot of Mount Cenis, 
 where, it was reported, troops were waiting to receive 
 them. Nothing daunted, and trusting in that G-od 
 whose protection they had invoked, they began the as- 
 cent. No language can describe the horrors of this 
 passage. The exiles lost their way, and stumbled 
 about in frightful gorges. Several men were lost and 
 taken prisoners, and gloom began to gather over the 
 path of the exiles. At the foot of the Touliers, they 
 sounded their trumpets a long time to recall the fugi- 
 tives who had lost their way ; and then marched on. 
 Upon the summit they saw, through the thick fog that 
 crowned it, a band of two hundred armed men, 
 advancing with beating drums to the charge. 
 The latter, however, gave way, and the exiles kept on 
 until they came within three miles of the village of 
 Salbertrann, This was the eighth day of their march, 
 and, weary and hungry, they inquired of a peasant if 
 they could obtain provisions at the village, " G-o on," he 
 replied, " and they will give you all you desire, and are 
 now preparing a warm supper for you." The "Wald- 
 enses understood the hint, but marched forward until 
 within a mile and a half of a bridge that crossed the Do- 
 ria, when they descried in the depth of the valley nearly 
 forty camp-fires burning. The Christians were in need 
 of rest and food ; but, before they could obtain either, 
 a fierce and unequal battle must be fought. They 
 
BATTLE OF SALBERTRANN. 219 
 
 kept on, however, until the vanguard fell into an am- 
 buscade, and a sharp firing of musquetry awoke the 
 echoes of the Alps. The intrepid Arnaud saw that a cri- 
 sis had indeed come. Before him was a well-appointed 
 French army, two thousand five hundred strong, and 
 commanding a narrow bridge. Halting his tired col- 
 umn, he ordered them all to kneel ; and there, in the 
 still evening, prayed to the (3rod of their fathers that he 
 would save them from the destruction that seemed in- 
 evitable. Scarcely had the solemn prayer died away 
 upon the evening air, before the rattling of arms was 
 heard, and, in one dense column, the exiles pressed 
 straight for the bridge. 
 
 As they approached, the sentinels on the farther side 
 cried out, " Qui vive !" to which the "Waldenses re- 
 plied, " Friends, if they are suffered to pass on !" In- 
 stantly the shout, "Kill them! kill them I" rang 
 through the darkness, and then the order " fire I" was 
 heard along the ranks. In a moment, more than two 
 thousand muskets opened on the bridge, and it rained 
 a leaden storm its whole length and breadth. They 
 expected, and rightly, that under a well-directed fire, 
 the little band of exiles would be annihilated ; and so 
 they would have been but for the prudence and fore- 
 sight of their pastor and leader, Arnaud. Expecting 
 such a reception, he had given orders that his follow- 
 ers, the moment they heard the word "fire" from the 
 enemy, should fall flat on their faces. They obeyed 
 him, and that fiery sleet went drifting wildly over their 
 
220 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 heads. For a quarter of an hour did these heavy 
 volleys continue, enveloping that bridge in flame ; yet, 
 during the whole time, but one "Waldensian was 
 wounded. At length, however, a firing was heard in 
 the rear : the troops that had let them pass the moun- 
 tain in the morning, had followed after, on purpose to 
 prevent their escape from the snare which had been set 
 for them. Crushed between two powerful bodies of 
 soldiers, with two thousand muskets blazing in their 
 faces, and a narrow bridge before them, the case of 
 the wanderers seemed hopeless. Seeing that the final 
 hour had come, Arnaud ordered his followers to rise 
 and storm the bridge. Then occurred one of those 
 fearful exhibitions sometimes witnessed on a battle- 
 field. With one wild and thrilling shout, that little 
 band precipitated itself forward. Through the de- 
 vouring fire, over the rattling groaning bridge, up to 
 the entrenchments, and up to the points of the bayo- 
 nets, they went in one resistless wave. Their deafen- 
 ing shout drowned the roar of musketry, and, borne 
 up by that lofty enthusiasm which has made the hero 
 in every age, they forgot the danger before them. They 
 fell on the solid ranks with such terror and sudden- 
 ness, that they had not time even to flee. The en- 
 raged Waldenses seized them by the hair, and trampled 
 them under foot, and with their heavy sabres cleaved 
 them to the earth. The terrified French undertook to 
 defend themselves with their muskets ; and, as they 
 interposed them between their bodies and the foe, the 
 
THE VICTORY. 221 
 
 "VValdensian sabres struck fire from the barrels till the 
 sparks flew in every direction. The Marquis of Larry- 
 strove for a while to bear ujj against this overpowering 
 onset; but finding all was lost, he cried out, "Is it 
 possible I have lost the battle and my honor ?" and 
 then exclaiming " Sauve qui peut !" turned and fled. 
 That army of two thousand five hundred men then 
 became a herd of fugitives in the darkness, mowed 
 down at every step by the sword of the Waldensian. 
 The slaughter was terrible, and the victory complete. 
 All the baggage and stores were taken ; and at length, 
 when the bright moon rose over the Alps, flooding the 
 strange scene with light, Arnaud called his little band 
 from the pursuit. Having supplied themselves with 
 all the powder they wished, they gathered the rest 
 together, and set fire to it. A sudden blaze revealed 
 every peak and crag, and the entire field of death, 
 with the brightness of noonday, — followed by an explo- 
 sion like the bursting of a hundred cannon, and which 
 was heard nearly thirty miles in the mountains. A 
 deep silence succeeded this strange uproar, and then 
 Arnaud ordered all the trumpets to sound, when every 
 man threw his hat into the air, and shouted, " Thanks 
 to the Eternal of Armies, who hath given us the vic- 
 tory over our enemies!" That glorious shout was 
 taken iip and prolonged till the fleeing foemen heard it 
 in the far mountain gorges. 
 
 The entire loss of the AValdenses in this bloody en- 
 gagement did not reach thirty men, while the ground 
 
222 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 was cumbered with the dead bodies of the French. 
 The latter had refused to destroy the bridge, and thus 
 effectually arrest the progress of the exiles, because 
 they wished to annihilate them. But G-od had given 
 them the victory, and their shout recalled to mind the 
 ancient shout of Judah in battle. 
 
XXVIII. 
 
 VALLEY OP PRAJELAS, OPPOSITE COL DU PIS MORNING 
 
 AFTER THE BATTLE. 
 
 The glorious battle just mentioned, occurred on 
 Saturday night, and the next (Sunday) morning the 
 weary but victorious exiles found themselves on the 
 top of the mountain of Sei. For three days previous 
 to the battle, they had been constantly on the march, 
 drinking only water, and eating scarcely anything, 
 and hence, at the close of the engagement, felt the 
 need of repose and food. But the routed enemy might 
 rally, and reinforcements arrive to their aid, and the 
 conquest, which had been so hardly won, be wrested 
 from their grasp ; and so, guided by the glorious 
 moon, they slowly began the ascent of the mountain. 
 All night long they toiled up the steep acclivity, 
 though numbers, overcome by fatigue, kept staggering 
 from the line of march, and falling beside the rocks. 
 Several were thus lost ; and but for the rearguard, 
 which kept rousing the sleepers, as the moonbeams 
 
224 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 revealed their dark forms on the mountain-side, many 
 more would have perished. 
 
 At length, the morning began to break in the east; at 
 first a cold gray light, and then a rosy red, bathing the 
 lofty Alpine peaks in the same ruddy hue. Oh ! a 
 sunrise in the Alps is glorious beyond description. How 
 often I have stood mute and awe-struck to see the King 
 of day slowly roll his blazing car over those giant forms 
 of nature, and look with his regal eye on the deep val- 
 leys sleeping sweetly below ! AYhite snow-peaks and 
 glaciers above, dark fir-trees midway, and the green 
 vales beneath, with here and there a gloomy gorge that 
 defies the daylight to reach its abysses, combine to form 
 a scene that baffles description. Ml this burst on the 
 wanderers, as they stood and leaned on their trusty 
 muskets, and gazed below them. Yet the beauty and 
 splendor unrolled before them were forgotten in the 
 emotions of love and joy that found utterance in min- 
 gled tears and smiles and loud thanksgivings ; for, as 
 the mist sailed slowly upward, and the sunbeams 
 flooded the earth, they saw the mountains that locked 
 in their native homes. The hills of their boyhood — 
 the hills their fathers had trod — the peaks that had 
 ever risen before them in their dreams and their 
 prayers, and towards which their eyes had been con- 
 stantly strained through their long perilous march — 
 the hills that surrounded their sanctuaries and their 
 altars, at length stood clear and bold against the dis- 
 tant horizon. Arnaud paused a moment, and gazed 
 
WALDENSES IN SIGHT OF THEIR HOME. 225 
 
 with swelling heart on the scene : then calling all 
 his followers about him, and pointing to their native 
 fastnesses, he bade them bless G-od for having brought 
 them, as by a miracle, through so many perils, and 
 now permitted them to behold again the hills of their 
 fatherland. He then knelt in their midst, and with 
 uncovered head offered up a solemn thanksgiving to 
 God. What a scene they presented on that mountain 
 top in the early sunrise ! Those men, who the night 
 before had stormed so wildly through the battle, were 
 now bent in humble prayer to the God who had led 
 them safely on. 
 
 But though they had arrived at the borders of their 
 own land, their perils were not over. Delays were 
 dangerous ; and before the sun had mounted far up 
 the heavens, their long column might be seen wind- 
 ing down the breast of the mountain, directing its 
 serpentine course towards the valley of Prajelas. 
 Keeping on their march, they in the afternoon com- 
 menced the ascent of the Col du Pis. Suddenly, a 
 company of dragoons came galloping along the road to 
 intercept their progress ; but the firm presence of the 
 Waldenses so awed them, that they retired without 
 striking a blow. The next day — Monday — they came 
 upon a body of troops, drawn up in battle array, at 
 the foot of the Col du Pis, ready to receive them, 
 Arnaud immediately halted his feeble troops, and, 
 gathering them around him, solemnly committed them 
 and their cause to the God who had thus far befriended 
 10* 
 
226 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 them. He then formed his band into three columns, and 
 firmly began the ascent of the next mountain. The en- 
 emy, seeing the determination of the Waldenses, gave 
 way, and the latter marched triumphantly forward. 
 
 For several days after, they met with more or less 
 obstacles, but at length reached the valley of Paoli, 
 where still stood one of their old churches. There the 
 first public worship was performed in their march. 
 After the religious emblems which the catholics had 
 put in the church were removed, and a chapel they 
 had built beside it set on fire, Arnaud mounted a 
 bench placed in the doorway, and gave forth the 
 seventy-fourth Psalm to be sung. Together those 
 stern warriors chanted that touching complaint of 
 David, commencing, " Grod, why hast thou cast us 
 off for ever ? why doth thine anger smoke against the 
 sheep of thy pasture ? Remember thy congregation, 
 which thou hast purchased of old ; the rod of thine 
 inheritance, which thou hast redeemed," &c. AVhen 
 they came to the passage, "Olet not the oppressed 
 return ashamed : let the poor and needy praise thy 
 name. Arise, Grod, plead thine own cause," many 
 an eye was filled with tears, and voices that had 
 shouted steady and strong in the tumult of the fight, 
 trembled with emotion. The glorious anthem rang 
 through the Alpine valley as the hymns of the Wal- 
 denses echoed of old, recalling their ancient worship, 
 before the sword of the oppressor had driven them 
 forth to eat the bitter bread of captivity. 
 
SONG OF VICTORY. 227 
 
 After a short pause they again struck up, and sung 
 the hundred and twenty-ninth Psalm ; " Many a time 
 have they afflicted me from my youth, may Israel 
 now say: many a time have they afflicted me 
 from my youth : yet they have not prevailed 
 against me. The plowers plowed upon my back : 
 they made long their furrows. The Lord is right- 
 eous : he hath cut asunder the cords of the wick- 
 ed. Let them all be confounded and turned back that 
 hate Zion," &c. After they had finished singing this 
 Psalm, Arnaud preached in exposition of it. He 
 showed how they had been afflicted, and sorely, like 
 Zion of old — how the plowers had plowed upon their 
 backs and trodden them down. He spoke of their 
 long exile in other lands — their toils and hardships, 
 until they were ready to weep anew over their misfor- 
 tunes. But when he came to show how the Lord had 
 " cut asunder the cords of the wicked," and " turned 
 back" those that " hated Zion," the eye of the exiles 
 beamed with joy and triumph, and there hovered on 
 every lip the shout that went up so loud from the bloody 
 field of Salbertrann : " Thanks to the Eternal of Ar- 
 mies, who hath given us the victory." 
 
 I cannot follow the Waldenses through all their diffi- 
 culties, until they finally reached Bobi and encamped 
 around their little church. The building was in ruins, 
 but the minister, M. Montoux, the colleague of Arnaud, 
 placed a door from one rock to another, and standing on 
 it as a platform, preached to that toil-worn band, from 
 
228 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the words, " The law and the prophets were until John ; 
 since that time the kingdom of G-od is preached, and 
 every man presseth into it." The hearts of the exiles 
 were sad as they looked on their desolate valley; but 
 the words of the preacher comforted them. After 
 sermon, their cause was committed in solemn prayer 
 to G-od, and then they adopted certain regulations, by 
 which they were to be governed, and took an oath of 
 fidelity to each other. This was the oath taken at 
 Bobi :— 
 
 "God, by his divine grace, having happily led us back into the 
 heritage of our forefathers, there to re-establish the pure service 
 of our holy religion, by the completion of that enterprise which 
 the Lord of Hosts has hitherto conducted in our favor: We, the 
 pastors, captains, and other officers, swear in the presence of Al- 
 mighty God, and at the peril of our souls, to observe union and 
 order among us; never willingly to dis-unite or separate, so long 
 as God shall grant us life — not although we should be so misera- 
 ble as to be reduced to three or four — never to temporize or treat 
 with our enemies of France, nor those of Piedmont, without the 
 participation of our whole council of war, and to put together the 
 booty which we have now or may have, to be applied to the wants 
 of our people, on cases of emergency. And we, soldiers, swear 
 this day, before God, to obey all the orders of our officers, and 
 vow fidelity to them with all our hearts, even to the last drop of 
 our blood ; also, to give up to their care the prisoners and booty, 
 to be disposed of as they shall judge tit. And, in order to more 
 perfect regulation, it is forbidden, under heavy penalties, to an of- 
 ficer or soldier to search an enemy, dead, wounded, or a prisoner, 
 during or after batLle, but for which office proper persons shall be 
 appointed. The officers are enjoined to take care tbat the soldiers 
 keep their armg and ammunition in order, and, above all, to chastise 
 
OATH OF THE WALDENSES. 229 
 
 severely all who shall profanely swear or blaspheme. And, to ren- 
 der union, which is the soul of our affairs, inviolable among us, 
 we, the officers, swear fidelity to our soldiers, and we, soldiers, to 
 our officers ; solemnly engaging, moreover, to our Lord and Sa- 
 viour Jesus Christ, to rescue, as far as in us lies, our brethren from 
 the thraldom of the cruel Babylon, and with them to re-establish 
 and maintain his kingdom unto death ; and by this oath we will 
 abide all our lives."' 
 
 On Sunday, one September morning, did the brave 
 "Waldenses repeat this solemn oath with arms in their 
 hands. The hills of Bobi looked down upon them — 
 God heard the oath, and gave them deliverance, and 
 once more they assembled in this secluded church, and 
 worshipped God in sincerity and purity of heart. 
 
 Only one charge has been laid to the door of the 
 "Waldenses in this long and perilous march — that of 
 cruelty to their captives. During the latter part 
 of their expedition, they invariably put them to 
 death. Whether they surrendered or were taken by 
 force, it mattered not, they were slain without mercy. 
 But it must be remembered this was not an act of ven- 
 geance, nor did it spring from that thirst of blood 
 which has made so many tigers of the human species, 
 but was an act of self-defence — of pure necessity. 
 Few in number themselves, they could not be incum- 
 bered with prisoners, for the latter would soon outnum- 
 ber their captors. They could not turn them loose, for 
 they would not only immediately arm again to oppose 
 their progress, but convey to others that informa- 
 tion on the concealment of which their own salvation 
 
230 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 depended. To set them free, was to secure their 
 own destruction : and they could not confine them, 
 for they had not a hut, much less a fortified place, 
 on the whole route. It was a hard necessity, but 
 one which their enemies laid upon them. They 
 could not have done otherwise, and the poor victims 
 were slain while crying for mercy. Shut out from all 
 reinforcements, with no post to fall back upon, and no 
 line of communication kept open between them and 
 succor, they were forced to cut their way through to 
 their possessions and homes with the sword, and right 
 nobly did they do it. Their pastor, Arnaud, was af- 
 flicted with no childish squeamishness about shedding 
 blood, while leading his suffering flock back to their 
 altars and their homes. He knew his cause was just 
 and holy, and that the blood of the slain lay at 
 their own doors. He would pray with his face 
 to the ground for the help of heaven, and then rise and 
 rush to battle. He would send up his loud thanks- 
 giving for deliverance, and then coolly slay his prison- 
 ers ; and God heard him and sanctioned his course, 
 and made him the founder again of his church in the 
 Alps. He was a noble and a great man. Far-reach- 
 ing in his plans — clear in thought — correct in judg- 
 ment — prompt and fearless in action — humble and de- 
 vout in his religion, he excites our wonder and admi- 
 ration, at the same time that he wins our love and 
 sympathy. A man of peace, ignorant of arms, he yet 
 withstood the King of France, at that time the terror of 
 
CHARACTER OF ARNAUD. 231 
 
 Europe, and put to flight his veteran troops. The 
 hand of an overruling Providence is seen in all that 
 transpired under his guidance. The Israelites never 
 fought a battle in which the interposition of Heaven 
 was more clearly seen than in that of Salbertrann. 
 That eight hundred peasants should attack, in an en- 
 trenched position, and put to flight nearly three thou- 
 sand regular troops, and in the open valley slay six 
 hundred men, with a loss of only fifteen to themselves, 
 is little less than miraculous. Equally so is the rout- 
 ing of twenty-two thousand French and Piedmontese 
 by three hundred and sixty-seven "VValdenses, just 
 emerged, pale and thin, from six months' imprisonment. 
 It is also a remarkable fact that the grain upon the 
 earth was preserved till nearly winter, so that the 
 "VValdenses could gather it for their preservation after 
 they had got possession of their country. In those 
 high latitudes and elevated regions, to see men harvest- 
 ing grain surrounded by the snows of winter, one is 
 ready to believe it a miracle, as much so as the 
 showers of manna were, that fell around the camp of 
 Israel. 
 
XXIX. 
 
 ROCK OF BALSILLE SIEGE AND HEROIC DEFENCE OP IT. 
 
 I spoke in the last chapter of the safe return of the 
 "Waldenses to their native valleys. But though they 
 had overcome all opposition, and again reared their al- 
 tars in their ancient places, their troubles and dangers 
 were not yet over. Their powerful enemies resolved 
 to make one last great effort for their overthrow. For 
 this purpose, the French king formed an alliance with 
 the Duke of Savoy ; and their combined troops, to the 
 number of twenty-two thousand men, marched into 
 the "Waldensian country. Against this overwhelming 
 force the pastor and leader, Arnaud, could muster but 
 three hundred and nxty-seven men. Trusting, how- 
 ever, in that God who had thus far protected and 
 saved him, he boldly resolved, with his mere handful 
 of peasants, to withstand this army of veteran troops. 
 It was useless to attempt an open warfare in the val- 
 leys, and so he withdrew his band to the impregnable 
 
ROCK OF BALSILLE, 233 
 
 rock of Balsille, and began to cast up entrenchments. 
 This rock rises in the form of a cone, from the valley 
 of Marcel, or rather at the angle where two valleys 
 unite. It consists of several precipices, rising one 
 above another, whose edges are fringed with scattered 
 pine-trees, that give a still greater wildness to the sav- 
 age scene. The approach to it is through a fearful 
 gorge, Avhere a few brave men could keep at bay ten 
 times their number. Into this fortress of nature the 
 weary exiles cast themselves, with the stern resolve to 
 conquer, or leave their bones to be picked by the moun- 
 tain, vultures. Their case seemed a hopeless one, and 
 their long journey and battles and hardships were appa- 
 rently about to end in utter extermination. So confident 
 were the enemy of victory, that they brought along 
 executioners and halters, with which to hang up the 
 captives. 
 
 What a sublime spectacle did that rock then present 
 in the dead of winter ! All over its massive form 
 hung the snow-drifts, here and there relieved by the 
 dark edge of a precipice, or the dwarf pine-trees that 
 rocked and roared in the Alpine blast ; while in caves 
 they had excavated in the heart of the mountain — 
 living on roots and herbs which they dug from under 
 the snow — lay three hundred and sixty-seven brave 
 Christians, ready to die for their altars and their homes. 
 Like mere insects they hung along that precipitous 
 height, and looked boldly down on the thousands of their 
 enemies crowded in a dark mass below. Shut out from 
 
234 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES, 
 
 the world around them, exposed to all the severity of an 
 Alpine winter, and all the horrors of famine, they 
 dragged out the weary months, sustained by that lofty 
 faith and heroism which have made the martyr and 
 patriot of every age. But they were not idle : every 
 precaution was taken and every defence made in their 
 power. They dug themselves eighty holes in the 
 earth for houses, each surrounded with a gutter, to 
 carry off the water, and then commenced their fortifi- 
 cations. On the Sabbath, they assembled on a small 
 flat, near what was called the castle (the spot where 
 they made their first stand), and had divine worship — 
 Arnaud preaching them two sermons. Every week 
 day, also, he assembled them morning and evening for 
 prayers. In the morning, at early daylight, these 
 bold men would gather together, and, kneeling on the 
 cold earth, with their heads bowed between their 
 knees, listen reverently to the prayer of their pastor, 
 and then seize the spade and axe and labor till night 
 on the intrenchments. They made a succession of 
 breastworks, seventeen in number, each higher up the 
 rock than the other ; so that when driven from one they 
 could retire to another, until they reached the sharp 
 summit, where they had resolved one and all to die. 
 
 The French, and soldiers of the Duke, when they 
 saw how strongly the Waldenses were intrenched, 
 hesitated to attack them, and finally contented them- 
 selves with hemming them in, hoping that the severe 
 winter and famine would force them to surrender. 
 
STORMING OF THE INTRENCHMENTS. 235 
 
 But they bore their privations and sufferings without 
 a murmur, and still clung to their dens amid the 
 snow-drifts and clefts of their mountain rock, with 
 their first purpose to conquer or die. 
 
 At length, spring opened, and the enemy, seeing no 
 prospect of discouraging, or starving out the exiles, 
 resolved to storm their intrenchments. So, on the 
 Sabbath morning of the last of April, 1690, they put 
 their troops in motion, and began to enter the defiles 
 that led to the first barricade. There was but one 
 way of access to the castle, as it was called, and that 
 was by a torrent which had cut a natural passage 
 through the rocks. This Arnaud's practiced eye soon 
 discovered, and he paid particular attention to it. He 
 planted there strong palisades, working upon them 
 with his own hands, and raised parapets of wall. He 
 also laid down trees, with the bushy tops towards the 
 enemy. On these he rolled a layer of rocks to keep 
 them down, and on the rocks placed another layer of 
 trees, and so on, until an almost insurmountable breast- 
 work was reared. As the enemy approached, the Wald- 
 enses opened their fire with terrible effect, which 
 caused them to retire. At length it was resolved to 
 pick out five hundred men, and with them carry the 
 first barricade by assault. 
 
 In close and firm order this band of brave men, 
 sustained by a still larger body of peasants, moved 
 forward, under cover of a terrible snowstorm which 
 filled the air like a driving mist ; until within close 
 
236 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 musket-sliot, when they halted and delivered their 
 fire. They then with a loud shout sprang forward with 
 the bayonet. They imagined they could pull away the 
 trees by the tops, and thus open a passage, — but the 
 rocks held them fast. Thus brought breast to breast 
 with the Waldenses, the fire of the latter could be 
 delivered with horrible effect, as indeed it was. The 
 muzzles of their guns almost touched the bosoms of 
 their foes, and when the word " Fire I" rang along the 
 breastwork, a volley opened that laid the front rank 
 dead at its base. The second rank, however, stepped 
 bravely in the blood of their comrades, and with loud 
 huzzas pressed onward ; but that same tempest of fire 
 smote them down. The "Waldenses were divided in 
 two portions, one of which, in the rear, loaded the 
 muskets, while those in front discharged them. This 
 made the firing more constant and terrible — it was a 
 continual blaze there in the snow-storm, and the air 
 was filled with bullets, which rained in an incessant 
 shower on the devoted heads of the assailants. The 
 latter, however, bore bravely up till more than two- 
 thirds of their entire number lay stretched on the rocks 
 and amid the snow ; and were still striving desperately 
 to stem the fiery torrent, when the Waldenses sallied 
 forth and fell on them with such fury, that all order 
 was lost, and the fight became a slaughter. Only a 
 small band, without hats or arms, of all that brave 
 detachment, were left to bear to the army the news of 
 
THE VICTORY. 237 
 
 their sad overthrow, while not a single Waldensian 
 was killed or wounded. 
 
 Darkness and the storm finally shut in the scenes 
 and all was still save the gi'oans of the wounded. The 
 next morning Arnaud assembled his little band for 
 prayers ; and tears of joy accompanied their morning 
 thanksgiving. After prayers, they cut off the heads 
 of the dead, and stuck them on poles, which they 
 planted on the palisades, to show the enemy that they 
 had cut themselves loose from mercy, and neither 
 asked nor expected pardon. 
 
 The French, overwhelmed by this great disaster, 
 broke up their encampment the next day, and retired 
 over the borders of France. On that very day, Ar- 
 naud preached a sermon, which was delivered and 
 received with flowing tears. 
 
 But the enemy had not abandoned their designs, 
 and on the 10th of May again marched back and in- 
 vested the rock of Balsille. In long and glistening 
 array the steady columns wound through the deep de- 
 files, while the roll of a hundred drums and the pro- 
 longed blasts of trumpets made the rocks above the 
 "Waldenses ring with echoes. Having learned wis- 
 dom from their previous failure, the enemy advanced 
 with more caution, and investing the place on every 
 side, began to erect redoubts and mount their cannon. 
 The batteries soon opened, and it rained an iron storm 
 on the works of the Waldenses. Not satisfied with 
 this, they made gradual approacnes, by sending for- 
 
238 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ward soldiers protected by fascines and sacks of wool, 
 who erected parapets in closer proximity to the Wal- 
 denses. The latter, having no artillery, could not pre- 
 vent these approaches, nor beat down the parapets 
 when raised : and hence were compelled to witness the 
 circle of fire growing narrower around them every day. 
 They made sally after sally, but were compelled to re- 
 tire before the superior strength of the enemy. In a 
 short time they found themselves entirely surrounded. 
 The French commander having planted his cannon so 
 as to completely uncover the Waldenses, hailed them 
 through a trumpet, and sent a flag of truce, offer- 
 ing them, in the name of the King of France, free 
 permission to leave the country, if they would retire 
 without further resistance. To this summons the 
 "Waldenses returned the following heroic reply : — 
 
 " Messieurs, ^-he answer we have to make is, that 
 not being subjects of the French King, and that 
 monarch not being master of this country, we cannot 
 treat with any of your gentlemen ; and being in the 
 heritages which our fathers have left us from time out 
 of mind, we hope, by the help of Him who is the Grod 
 of hosts, to live in them and die in them, one and all, 
 even though there should be but ten of us left. If 
 your cannon fire, our rocks will not be frightened at 
 it, and we will hear them roar.^'' 
 
 Bravely said, bold exiles ! the Grod of hosts will 
 help, and send deliverance. 
 
THE LAST BATTLE. 239 
 
 The cannon and small arms then opened with 
 a terrific uproar, till that old rock trembled under 
 the incessant explosions. Still, the Waldenses did 
 not shrink from their high purpose, and replied 
 with their feeble volleys^ Before noon, the French 
 had fired a hundred and fourteen rounds of artil- 
 lery, and a hundred thousand musket shots. The 
 feeble intrenchments of the Waldenses melted away 
 like frost-work before this tremendous fire. Huge 
 gaps were opened in the walls ; and the next day was 
 fixed upon by the enemy for a grand assault, at three 
 difierent points. Arnaud saw at a glance that his 
 feeble band could not, in their uncovered state, sus- 
 tain a general assault, and so ordered them to retire 
 by night to an intrenchment farther up the rock. 
 This, however, was found to be impossible, for the 
 French had completely hemmed them in. There was 
 but one way of escape, and that was down the moun- 
 tain over a frightful precipice, and within sure striking 
 distance of the enemy's guards. They could not 
 carry out their first resolution and make their last 
 desperate stand on the top of the rock, for the enemy 
 had got possession of it above their heads. 
 
 Thus encompassed and uncovered, they could only 
 turn to the Grod who had thus far defended them ; and 
 again he appeared for their deliverance by sending at 
 night a dense fog which completely concealed the 
 movements of the besieged. Under cover of it they 
 filed out of their intrenchments, and began to slide 
 
240 RAMBLES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 down the precipices. If for a moment the fog lifted 
 before the night wind, they would fall flat on their 
 faces till it again settled on the breast of the moun- 
 tain. With their shoes off to deaden the sound, and 
 and at the same time make secure their footing, they 
 continued their perilous way, now letting themselves 
 down a ledge, and now crawling through a ravine, 
 — passing at times so near sentinels that the slight- 
 est motion of the latter could be distinctly heard. At 
 length one of the Waldenses let a kettle drop from his 
 hand, and roll down the precipice. As it went jingling 
 and rattling by a sentinel, he exclaimed, " who goes 
 there ?" but the kettle making no reply, and soon ceasing 
 its noise altogether, he turned again to his drowsy 
 watch. The fugitives in the mean time had descended 
 into the ravine at the bottom, and by steps cut in the 
 snow, ascended the opposite precipice. In the morning 
 when the fog lifted before the sun and rolled away over 
 the Alpine heights, the French commander saw with in- 
 dignation and astonishment the little band he had made 
 such immense sacrifices to capture, winding rapidly 
 around the crest of the opposite mountain. He imme- 
 diately ordered out a detachment in pursuit, but the 
 prey had escaped. 
 
 Various skirmishes after this occurred between the 
 Waldenses and detachments of the French ; but at 
 length the Duke of Savoy quarreling with the King 
 of France, the former sought the aid of his subjects 
 whom he had persecuted and driven from their homes. 
 
PEACE RESTORED. 241 
 
 The "Waldenses received his proposals of an alliance 
 with joy, and fought as bravely under their unjust 
 prince as they had done for themselves. As a reward 
 for their services, their country was restored to them. 
 Still, as Protestants, they were subjected to various re- 
 strictions, and burdened down with heavy taxes. 
 
 When Bonaparte undertook the conquest of Pied- 
 mont, they rallied bravely around their prince, and were 
 the last to yield. Notwithstanding their stubborn 
 resistance, Bonaparte, after he had subdued them, re- 
 moved all the odious restrictions under which' they had 
 suffered, abolished the tax for the support of the Catholic 
 priesthood, and let them appropriate their funds for the 
 support of their own pastors, and gave them every right 
 guaranteed to a Catholic subject. After his downfall, 
 they sunk under their old oppression, in which they 
 languish at the present day. 
 
 I have thus gone over a few of the most striking 
 incidents, in the Waldensian history. Every candid 
 reader must acknowledge that it is marked by extraor- 
 dinary events, such as have attended no people since 
 the Israelites performed their miraculous journey to 
 the land of Canaan. 
 
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