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FACTS AND FANCIES, 
 

 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2016 
 
 https://archive.org/details/factsfanciescollOOgodw 
 
L 
 
PACTS AND FANCIES 
 
 A COLLECTION 
 
 OF 
 
 TALES AND SKETCHES. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE GODWIN, F.R.S., 
 
 HONORARY SECRETARY OF THE ART-UNION OF LONDON ; AUTHOR 
 OF “THE CHURCHES OF LONDON,” ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 G. W. NICKISSON, 215, REGENT STREET. 
 
 1844, 
 
Printed by J. & H. COX, BROTHERS, (late COX & SONS,) 
 74 & 75 , Great Queen Street, Lincoln’s-Inn Fields. 
 
Ac gt*, s/ 4L. * 4/Ll / 3 
 
 y&xf, 
 
 -,j 
 
 Jl 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. S. C. HALL. 
 
 My dear Madam, 
 
 I venture to inscribe to you this bundle 
 of trifles, (penned in such brief intervals 
 of leisure as an arduous profession and 
 some public duties afford,) in order that I 
 may record my admiration, not simply of 
 your genius, with which all are acquaint- 
 ed, but of those virtues and high feel- 
 ings which are exhibited in your life no 
 less strongly than they are enforced in 
 your writings. Accept my respect, dear 
 Madam, and believe me, 
 
 Very faithfully yours, 
 
 GEORGE GODWIN, Jun. 
 
 Brompton. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Mr. Fad's Tribulation ..... 1 
 
 Enough ! 66 
 
 A Packet from the Bridge .... 70 
 
 Morning ........ 78 
 
 Star-light 80 
 
 Misfortune 82 
 
 Night 87 
 
 Weep Not ........ 88 
 
 The Brothers — A Tale of To-day ... 90 
 
 The Castle of Ehrenfels — A Tale of the Rhine 102 
 Pompeii ......... 128 
 
 Bartholomew Fair in 1841 .... 131 
 
 “ Romantic ” ....... 137 
 
 A Preface for an Album 140 
 
 Rhoda — A Tale of Poland 143 
 
 A Paper of Paragraphs ..... 170 
 
 In Return for a Bible . . . . .181 
 
 A Chat about Westminster Abbey and Great 
 Men’s Monuments ...... 183 
 
 « 
 

 
 
 . s . . 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 
 
FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Fad Scrupleton, our hero — for such he is, 
 though no great hero himself — was an ordi- 
 nary boy, who left, in the ordinary manner, a 
 very ordinary school when about sixteen, and 
 was placed in a merchant’s counting-house to 
 acquire, as speedily as might be, the art of 
 buying and selling on a large scale. Without 
 any great parts, he nevertheless made an ex- 
 cellent man of business. He wrote a beautiful 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 hand (what Balzac calls the diploma of me- 
 diocrity), and was proud of it: he found in his 
 duties quite as much excitement as his tem- 
 perament required, and quite as much to learn 
 as he had disposition to attempt. He had no 
 other pursuit to distract his attention ; was 
 always at his post, precise in what he did, and 
 neat in his appearance. It would have been 
 as hard to discover an error in his conduct as 
 a blot in the ledger he kept, or a wrinkle in 
 his cravat. He was, in fact, a wonderful young 
 man in the eyes of Mincing Lane, and the 
 mouth of it said he was sure to make a 
 fortune. 
 
 And Mincing Lane was right. He married * 
 an amiable girl, with six or seven thousand 
 pounds instead of beauty ; became a partner 
 in the house, and went to India to take the 
 place of the leading member in the firm, who 
 had always resided there and was about to 
 retire. 
 
 After a stay of eight years in India without 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 3 
 
 knowing the cares of a father, his wife, one 
 fine morning when the thermometer stood at 
 a hundred and ten, brought him a son, and 
 completed his happiness. 
 
 Within six months afterwards, the wishes of 
 relatives, from whom Mrs. Scrupleton expected 
 an accession of fortune, led her to return to 
 England. The child accompanied her ; and 
 Scrupleton, unable to leave then, was to fol- 
 low at the end of the year. Unhappily, the 
 ship went down, and every soul perished. At 
 least, this was the conviction at which the 
 world and Scrupleton arrived after the most 
 rigorous inquiries had been made without ef- 
 fect. He mourned their loss for several years, 
 more especially that of his son ; and then re- 
 turned to England, where he soon afterwards 
 married again, and abandoned his commercial 
 pursuits. 
 
 The lady selected to be the second Mrs. 
 Fad, was a maiden ten years older than him- 
 self, of a suspiciously curious, and, it might be 
 
 b 2 
 
4 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 added, curiously suspicious, disposition. What 
 brought them together, Hymen, who effected 
 it, might perhaps be able to tell — Cupid cer- 
 tainly could not, for he had nothing whatever 
 to do with it. Sooth to say, she led the poor 
 fellow a sad life : there was nothing right he 
 did, nothing right he said ; and Fad, who 
 would have died rather than allow the world 
 to think he quarrelled with his wife, was con- 
 tent to let her do exactly what she pleased — 
 grumble for his own satisfaction, and avoid, so 
 far as might be, all subjects likely to produce 
 open collision. He lived, nevertheless, under 
 a sort of Damocles’ sword, which the merest 
 breath the wrong way, brought down upon 
 him ; and, worst of all, was quite unable to 
 avoid it with certainty, right yesterday being 
 wrong to-day. 
 
 At the date of the episode about to be re- 
 lated they had been married a good dozen 
 years, — Fad thought it a bad dozen — and our 
 hero was fast becoming an old man. All his 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 5 
 
 early peculiarities had strengthened with his 
 years — reverence for appearances, desire to 
 stand well in the eyes of the world, regulated 
 tyrannically all his actions. He was finical 
 and fearful where before he had been but 
 precise, and suffered a martyrdom from his 
 sensitiveness in this respect, daily tormenting 
 himself by anticipations of annoyances which 
 might never arise, or if they should, were 
 hardly deserving of consideration. 
 
 The delight of Fad’s household was his 
 gay, light-hearted, affectionate niece, Mabel 
 Horton, an orphan ; who having resided with 
 him since his return to England, lessened the 
 regret he ever felt for the loss of his son, and 
 could at all times laugh or scold him into 
 peace with himself. 
 
 She was, in truth, an exquisite person, as 
 full of vivacity as of feeling, and with good 
 sense to keep both in subjection. They 
 all loved her — from Mark Antony, a quaint 
 old black, brought over by Scrupleton, up to 
 
6 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Mrs. Fad herself, who, when with this girl, 
 seemed to lose half her ill-temper. Mabel’s 
 free, joyous spirit threw itself around every 
 living creature in the house, removed aspe- 
 rities, prevented differences ; and served to 
 unite into a whole what had otherwise been 
 but a number of repellent atoms. Blessings 
 on such sweet influences ! 
 
 Now, on the day wherein this story opens, 
 circumstances had occurred to raise the ire of 
 Mrs. Fad. A great change had come over the 
 spirit of Mr. Fad’s dream; he was not the 
 same man ; he had forgotten to grumble, 
 seemed absorbed by some fresh feelings, and 
 moreover, was paying very remarkable atten- 
 tion to an entirely new acquaintance, which 
 acquaintance was a woman ; one Mrs. Sparkle- 
 sham, who with her son, a fop of the first 
 water, had just left the house. 
 
 “ Don’t tell me, child,” said Mrs. Scrupleton 
 to her niece ; “ I say once for all, it’s very mys- 
 terious. No one knows who she is, or where 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 7 
 
 she comes from. Of friends, she seems to have 
 none, and yet Mr. S., who is generally so 
 monstrously particular (especially with my re- 
 lations), is introducing her here and there and 
 everywhere, and can deny her nothing. I say 
 again, it is very mysterious.” 
 
 “ Why, my good aunt,” replied Mabel, 
 “ with you every thing is a mystery profound, 
 from the barking of poor Pug to the whisper- 
 ings in the servants’ hall, wherein you ever 
 detect very dreadful doings.” 
 
 Nevertheless, on this occasion Mabel did 
 certainly think with her aunt, and so could 
 answer only evasively. 
 
 And well she might. Mr. Fad, who was 
 more fearful of the wind than some men are of 
 a mad dog, and was almost afraid of breathing, 
 lest he should catch the small-pox or scarlet 
 fever, had been out three evenings to find Mrs. 
 Sparklesham. 
 
 “ The air is full of poisons,” he was in the 
 habit of saying : “ comes out of one person’s 
 
8 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 lungs into another’s, and goes here and there 
 like a mischievous Will o’ the Wisp, as it is ; 
 into the gaols, the hospitals, and the sewers, 
 and then is all mixed up together for common 
 use. Talk of the impurities of water, why, 
 they are nothing to the impurities of air, and 
 for these we have no filter. Hugh ! it is 
 dreadful to think of.” 
 
 And yet he had exposed himself to all its 
 dangers, even at night, for an acquaintance of 
 a few weeks’ standing. 
 
 At the conversation between Mrs. Scrupleton 
 and her niece just now alluded to, there was 
 present an elegant man — he could hardly be 
 called so — an elegant youth, known simply as 
 Allen, a constant visitor, and of whom it may 
 be said in brief, that he was the protege of 
 a Major Sternly, one of Mr. Fad’s oldest 
 friends. 
 
 “ And what think you, Mr. Allen,” said 
 Mabel, “ of Mr. Albert Sparklesham ? Hand- 
 some and gay, with an irreproachable coat. 
 
9 
 
 MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 and not an idea in his head touching any 
 thing less charming than himself.” 
 
 “ In my opinion,” replied Allen, u he is one 
 of the veriest coxcombs mirror ever cast re- 
 flections on. Conceited, impertinent, and 
 empty; and, like other empty things, making a 
 great noise with very little reason. I believe 
 he is fully of opinion that no woman yet looked 
 on him without tender emotions.” 
 
 Still Allen was an amiable man, and seldom 
 spoke ill of any person. His maxim was to 
 speak well of the absent if he could, and if he 
 could not, to say nothing ; and a very good 
 maxim it is. 
 
 What was it then which led him to break 
 this rule ? Was it envy ? 
 
 “ You quiet men of books,” retorted the 
 laughing Mabel, “ always abuse the readiness 
 and brilliancy to which you would, but have 
 not the courage to attain. You feel, as the 
 French wit remarked, that although you can 
 beat him on the staircase, in the drawing-room 
 
10 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 you are at his mercy, and abuse him accord- 
 ingly.” 
 
 Whatever may have been the reason, he 
 certainly said it. 
 
 Allen was a fine, noble fellow, who had little 
 occasion to be envious of any man’s appear- 
 ance. There was about him, too, with much 
 knowledge and good sense, an air of truth and 
 sincerity, which carried all that he said direct 
 to the heart, and made him an universal fa- 
 vourite. You felt when conversing with 
 him that you were speaking to a real man, 
 and not a thing of conventionalisms and 
 doubts ; a man on whom you could lean fear- 
 lessly, in whom you had entire faith ; and this 
 is a rare and comfortable thing to find. 
 
 You may compare your acquaintances to a 
 bundle of sticks. Many of them are rotten — 
 not to be depended on, though they may each 
 serve an end. Some few are sound, but, 
 crooked • if you lean on them, you must do it 
 the right way — that is, their own way — or they 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 11 
 
 will break, and let you down. Think yourself 
 a lucky man if you find one in the whole 
 bundle, who, press on it in what manner and 
 on which side you may, will yet bear you 
 nobly, and fail not. 
 
 Allen had troubles of his own, and bitter 
 ones ; but, as was said before, he had little 
 cause to speak enviously of Mr. Sparklesham. 
 The fact was, Allen loved Mabel Horton. 
 
 Of course, says the reader, they are evi- 
 dently made for each other. Don’t be quite so 
 certain of that : although they now have been 
 constant companions during several years, Ma- 
 bel behaves but indifferently to him ; is more 
 reserved towards him than to many com- 
 paratively new acquaintances, and often ends 
 a friendly speech with banter, which has some- 
 times, nevertheless, a forced and hysterical 
 air. She has likewise taken to call him Mr. 
 Allen, and but of all this anon. 
 
 When Scrupleton entered the room, his ap- 
 pearance was haggard and woe-begone; ten 
 
12 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 years seemed to have been added to his age; 
 his eyes were sunk and wandering, his hand 
 cold and clammy ; and, while Mabel affec- 
 tionately sought to learn the cause of this ex- 
 traordinary appearance, and to alleviate his 
 apparent sufferings, Mrs. Scrupleton (whose 
 remarks, if not very pointed, were usually 
 pretty sharp), let fall a shower of barbs, end- 
 ing with a remark, that it was exactly what 
 she expected, and flounced through the door. 
 
 To all her inquiries, Mabel obtained no 
 other return than that he should be better 
 soon. In order, therefore, that the reader 
 may be less in the dark than Mabel was, it 
 will be necessary to go back to the conversa- 
 tion which had passed that morning between 
 Mr. Fad and Mrs. Sparklesham. 
 
 “You see, Mr. Scrupleton,” said the lady, 
 “ concern for your welfare would not allow 
 me to remain long without seeking you. I 
 trust you have thought seriously on my com- 
 munication.” 
 
MR. FAD S TRIBULATION. 
 
 13 
 
 “ Madam, I have thought of nothing else,” 
 replied he ; “ and could I believe it entirely, 
 should hang myself at once. Having heard 
 so much, however, I must hear more. You 
 spoke of the child — the boy.” 
 
 “ I cannot go into particulars here,” re- 
 turned the lady. “ But do not deceive your- 
 self by doubting what I say. A letter — a 
 word, would place you in a position so em- 
 barrassing, and would subject you to such 
 painful notoriety, if not shame, that your 
 whole fortune is not too great a price to pay 
 to escape from it.” 
 
 “The world, the world !” groaned Scruple- 
 ton. 
 
 “ And depend upon it,” continued she, 
 “ you will not find me hesitate. Comply with 
 my wishes — insist on the marriage of Miss 
 Horton and my son, and you are safe and re- 
 spected. Disoblige me — I can, and will, ruin 
 you.” 
 
 Beseeching her not to speak so loudly, 
 
14 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Scrupleton arranged to see her at her own 
 house in the afternoon to hear more of the 
 revelation which had thus affected him. She 
 then asked him (on the ground of disappoint- 
 ment in her remittances) for a hundred pounds ; 
 and, having obtained it, took her departure, 
 leaving Mr. Fad in the distracted state in 
 which we saw him with his niece. 
 
 Previously to Mrs. Sparklesham’s leaving the 
 house, a circumstance occurred which excited 
 some comment in ScrupletoiTs household. At 
 the instant when the hall-door was opened for 
 her, she uttered a low scream, and, hastily 
 turning back into the house, she shut-to the 
 door. The servants, alarmed at her appear- 
 ance — her face had lost all trace of colour, 
 and she trembled violently — wished her to re- 
 join the family. This, however, she refused to 
 do ; and in a short time, having perfectly re- 
 covered, a vehicle was obtained for her, and 
 she left. 
 
 Not to affect mystery, the statement which 
 
15 
 
 MR. FAD ? S TRIBULATION. 
 
 Mrs. Sparklesham had made to Fad, and to a 
 certain extent substantiated, was to the effect 
 that his first wife and child had not perished 
 in the wreck, as was supposed, but were even 
 then alive, and in communication with his in- 
 formant. 
 
 To a man of Fad Scrupleton’s rigid notions 
 of propriety, with his dread of the world, and 
 so inflexible a helpmate (save the mark !) as 
 his second wife, it will be readily imagined 
 that the position in which this information, if 
 true, placed him, appeared so distressing as to 
 overwhelm him with despair, and prevent him 
 from exercising his judgment upon it dis- 
 passionately. His place in society, his repu- 
 tation, his future comfort, perhaps even his 
 personal liberty, seemed endangered ; and he 
 felt disposed to make any sacrifice of fortune 
 that might be required to avert such a result. 
 All his powers gave way before his fears. 
 The one idea filled his mind, and brought him 
 to the verge of insanity. 
 
16 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 In this dilemma he called to his aid Allen’s 
 
 t 
 
 protector, Major Sternly, and was somewhat 
 re-assured by the view he took of the matter. 
 
 “ I don’t like Mrs. Sparklesham,” said the 
 major; “I never did. It’s a falsehood, de- 
 pend upon it : a deep-laid plot to work on your 
 fears. If your wife were alive, why has she 
 kept herself hidden so long? — why has she not 
 written ? It is ridiculous to think of it.” 
 Scrupleton, fully possessed by the results 
 he had conjured up, urged that Mrs. Sparkle- 
 sham held letters and trinkets which once 
 belonged to his wife, and was acquainted 
 with circumstances which could have been 
 learnt from no other person but herself. 
 
 The major, however, remained incredulous,' 
 and proposed that Scrupleton should boldly 
 advertise in the public prints for information. 
 
 “ There is nothing like it,” said he; “ some- 
 body always has what he don’t want, and 
 another wants exactly what the other some- 
 body has. Now, no objections, no objec- 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 17 
 
 tions — leave it all to me, and we’ll blow 
 her out of the water yet. In the meantime 
 keep the appointment you have made, and 
 pacify her for a bit.” 
 
 “ Half my fortune would I give,” said 
 Scrupleton, “ to relieve my mind from its 
 present load ; but how that is to be done, 
 I cannot tell.” 
 
 “ Pooh ! pooh ! ” rejoined his more collected 
 adviser ; “ make up your mind to do it, and— 
 do it. Say it shall , and depend upon it, it 
 will. Power waits on will ’n our days.” 
 
 “ You re-assure me, my good friend — you 
 comfort me, and that is the truth,” exclaimed 
 Scrupleton. “It is extraordinary what an 
 effect a few words have on one ; but don’t 
 leave me yet — pray don’t leave me, for I am 
 afraid to be alone, and” (the words seemed 
 to stick in his throat) “ dread even more to 
 meet my present wife.” 
 
18 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 George Blacker was a bankers clerk, 
 with a small salary, and few fixed principles 
 — even these were not good ones. He mar- 
 ried a girl (the daughter of a very clever 
 actress at one of the minor theatres), who, 
 having been suckled in the green-room, was, 
 to the extent of her parent’s ability, educated 
 for the stage — if so high a word may be 
 applied to the acquirement of reading, danc- 
 ing, and singing — and was, alas ! as little able 
 to bring regularity and order into the dwell- 
 ing of Blacker, as she was to give a healthful 
 tone to his thoughts, or fixedness to his 
 good resolves. 
 
 One of our essayists remarks, that those 
 
MR. FAD ? S TRIBULATION. 
 
 19 
 
 who live by chance seldom live frugally. 
 Hope is always liberal; and they that trust 
 her promises make little scruple of revelling 
 to-day on the profits of to-morrow. And 
 thus it had been at her early home. One 
 day so steeped in poverty, that a few pota- 
 toes might form the meal, and on another, 
 paying a pound for a turbot, or two for a 
 bonnet. 
 
 She possessed considerable energy and na- 
 tural power, sufficient with proper training 
 to have enabled her to play an elevated part 
 in her sphere — and soon ruled Blacker, un- 
 fortunately, to his ruin. He became deeply 
 involved in debt, increased by the birth of a 
 son ; and waiting an opportunity, ultimately 
 absconded, at his wife’s suggestion, with an 
 enormous sum of money. 
 
 After living a short time abroad, he was 
 taken; brought to England, and ultimately 
 transported. But the money was never re- 
 covered, nor was his wife ever heard of again 
 
20 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 in her own country. She travelled from the 
 foreign port where he w r as found, altered her 
 external life and her name, and educated her 
 son in respectability. 
 
 After the lapse of years she returned to 
 England, and, by dint of ingenuity, and a 
 lavish expenditure of cash, contrived to ac- 
 quire a certain position in society, or at all 
 events, a showy circle of acquaintances; not 
 a difficult task to a person living in a well- 
 appointed house, with plenty of money, and 
 one good introduction. 
 
 How often might you find in a crowded 
 room, that not one of the smiling guests had 
 been acquainted with the pains-taking hostess 
 three months, or knew any thing more of her 
 than that she visited at Brown’s, and Smith’s, 
 and was therefore, of course, respectable at 
 least. In due order they will invite her to 
 their houses, and be very glad to see her ; 
 but should a doubtful whisper go forth, or 
 reverse of fortune become apparent, they will, 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 21 
 
 without compunction or a moment’s regret, 
 forget the acquaintanceship, and be quite in- 
 different to her after-fate. 
 
 Nor indeed, to digress an instant, need 
 this be matter for much reproach. We have 
 a friend, whom we respect and esteem for 
 his supposed probity, fine intellect, and good 
 heart ; a frothy acquaintance, whom we visit, 
 and fete in return, because pleasant society 
 is found at his house ; a dependent, respected 
 but little, and with whom we have nothing 
 in common, but yet invite, because his skill 
 as a musician, or his power as a mimic, serves 
 to render our rooms agreeable to those whom 
 we regard. 
 
 If the friend of our bosom prove traitor, 
 if that for which we loved him no longer 
 exist, the world will not wonder if we cease 
 to seek his presence. Why should it greatly 
 do so if, when our acquaintance loses the 
 power of giving the accustomed “ parties,” 
 or our dependent the ability to amuse, in 
 
22 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 return for our countenance — we neglect the 
 one and fail to invite the other? 
 
 The world often expects too much from 
 poor humanity, and when it is not found, ex- 
 claims — ingratitude ! 
 
 This, however, is leaving the wife of 
 George Blacker, to whom and her son, my 
 readers have been already introduced. The 
 name she had assumed was Sparklesham. 
 
 The progress of the story leads us now 
 to this lady’s house, where she had returned 
 after the visit to Mr. Fad already alluded to. 
 At the moment when the door was opened 
 for her on that occasion, a man passed oft 
 the step. 
 
 He was miserably attired, and of dissolute 
 and repulsive appearance. His hair was 
 matted over his face, his chin was unshaven, 
 his eyes sunken. Still, and although the 
 glance was momentary, she recognized him. 
 
 It was her husband ; returned at a time 
 when she stood best with the world, when her 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 23 
 
 plans for the re-establishment of her son, on 
 whom she doated, were on the eve of accom- 
 plishment — returned at a time when probably 
 his presence would destroy for ever all her 
 rising prospects. 
 
 This and much more passed through her 
 mind in the instant during which she saw him 
 (miraculously swift is thought), and overcome 
 equally by this fear and extreme surprise, she 
 screamed. 
 
 All doubt as to his identity, if the shadow of 
 such existed, was removed when she reached 
 her home; where she learnt that a person, whose 
 description answered that of the man whom 
 she had seen, had been making inquiries of 
 the servants. On reaching her dressing-room, 
 vexation conquered resolution for a time; her 
 reflections were of the bitterest kind, and her 
 wishes, the direst. She soon determined on 
 her course, and recovering composure, sent for 
 her son to learn the state of his suit with 
 Mabel. 
 
24 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Even with his mother this young man in- 
 dulged in an affected drawl and manner which 
 ill assorted w 7 ith her present position and 
 feelings. She was somewhat surprised to 
 gather from him that he had received letters, 
 which assured him that Mabel was ready to 
 fall into his arms. “ Be astonished as you 
 may, my excellent mama,” said he, “ such is 
 the case, and , parole d'honneur , the girl will be 
 excused by those who know me.” 
 
 After some vain endeavours to induce him 
 to be serious, she briefly, but explicitly, laid 
 before him the whole of her past history, to 
 which, up to that time, he had been a 
 stranger. Confined to her own bosom as this 
 fearful story had been so long, its utterance 
 afforded her inexpressible relief, and served for 
 a moment to destroy the fears which had led 
 her thus to unburthen herself. 
 
 Her statement sobered him, although for a 
 time he affected to regard it with incredulity. 
 As its truth gradually forced itself upon him, 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 25 
 
 beads of perspiration stood upon his forehead 
 and lip, he literally gasped for breath, and 
 would have fallen to the ground but for a 
 chair which his mother pushed towards him. 
 
 “ Your position is critical,” continued she, 
 “ but depends mainly on yourself. Act with 
 vigour, and you are safe; delay — and ruin 
 stares you in the face. My resources are 
 nearly exhausted. Fearing to invest the 
 monies in my possession, I have lived on the 
 capital, and but for the hold on Scrupleton 
 which Fortune has given me, should now be 
 without a guinea.” 
 
 It was then arranged that she should en- 
 deavour to force Scrupleton to consent to her 
 son’s marriage with Mabel ; but, to lessen the 
 probability of failure, Edmund was to persuade 
 the latter to elope with him. 
 
 During their conversation, Mr. Fad Scru- 
 pleton was announced, and entered the room 
 before Edmund could quit it. The latter at- 
 tempted to bow to Scrupleton as elaborately 
 
 c 
 
26 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 as usual, but the alteration in him was too 
 apparent not to be noticed by Scrupleton. 
 
 Mrs. Sparklesham apologized for receiving 
 him in her dressing-room, on the ground that 
 they would be less liable to interruption there ; 
 but our hero was too impatient to obtain infor- 
 mation on the matter she had broached to 
 heed these remarks. 
 
 “ Don’t talk about excuses ; let me hear 
 something more about this dreadful affair. 
 The boy, madam, or rather the man, as he 
 must be by this time, he is also alive, you say. 
 Is he still with his mother ?” 
 
 “ No, he is not/’ replied the lady ; “ when 
 quite young he was sent by your wife — your 
 proper wife — to one of her friends in England, 
 with a letter explaining his parentage. The 
 letter, it seems, never reached its destination, 
 but the boy was, nevertheless, adopted by him, 
 and is now — but time enough for that, Sir, 
 when you assent to my offer. In that case, 
 you shall hear no more of your wife, and 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 27 
 
 every thing of your child. The hand of your 
 niece for my son is the first stipulation.” 
 
 “ Over my niece/’ said Scrupleton, “ I never 
 have, and never will exercise control. She is 
 independent of me, and not likely in such a 
 matter as this to listen to me. But if she 
 were not so, I would never screen myself by 
 sacrificing her young affections. No, Ma’am ; 
 let the world talk, let the fools jeer ; mine was 
 the error, let mine be the punishment. On 
 this head I am quite resolved.” 
 
 “ Very well, Sir,” rejoined Mrs. Sparkle- 
 sham ; “ but the time may come when you will 
 bitterly repent this obstinacy; it shall come 
 — it has come, unless you act as I require.” 
 Their conference was at this moment inter- 
 rupted by the abrupt entrance of a foot-boy, 
 who, in reply to his mistress’s angry excla- 
 mation, stated that the man who had inquired 
 for her in the morning had applied again, and, 
 learning she was at home, was forcing his way 
 up-stairs. 
 
 c 2 
 
28 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Mrs. Sparklesham’s alarm and agitation 
 were excessive ; nor did Mr. Fad seem to be 
 much less excited, simply from dislike to being 
 found in Mrs. Sparklesham’s dressing-room, 
 and fear lest the story should reach the ears 
 of his wife. Rushing from one side of the 
 room to the other, he exclaimed, “ I would 
 not be found here for a thousand pounds. Is 
 there no other door, — no closet ?” 
 
 There was neither. Mrs. Sparklesham flew 
 to the window ; it was thirty feet from the 
 ground. The unwelcome visitor was heard 
 approaching, when she remembered that the 
 stove of the apartment had been removed, and 
 that behind the chimney-board was more than 
 sufficient space to receive Scrupleton. 
 
 Here, then, our poor hero, with all his no- 
 tions of neatness, his fear of draughts, his 
 dread of detection in such a situation, was 
 compelled to ensconce himself, and had hardly 
 succeeded in doing so when Blacker entered 
 the room. 
 
MR. fad’s tribulation. 29 
 
 For an instant the remembrance of some- 
 thing like affection caused Mrs. Sparklesham 
 to look on him before she spoke ; it was an 
 instant only. The thought of her position, 
 his miserable appearance, the presence of 
 Scrupleton, who, she feared, could hear their 
 conversation, — all concurred to stifle any re- 
 mains of feeling, if such there were ; and she 
 coldly inquired why he thus forced himself 
 into her house. 
 
 Blacker, however, was in no mood to be 
 trifled with. He had escaped from transporta- 
 tion a confirmed villain, equal to any crime. 
 He knew perfectly well that his wife was en- 
 tirely in his power, and was determined to 
 take advantage of it to the utmost extent. 
 
 “ You needn’t tell me, wife,” said he, “that 
 my appearance is not the most elegant in the 
 world, — my manner not quite so refined as 
 you have been used to. But who made me 
 what I am ? Who forced me into courses 
 which have ended thus ? Who played the 
 
30 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 tempter, and now despises her own work ? 
 You — you — you ! However, I have no time 
 for reproaches. I come to you because I want 
 you, — for no other reason. Money !” 
 
 “ Money you shall have,” replied Mrs. 
 Sparklesham, still without any exhibition of 
 feeling, “ if you will wait. At this moment I 
 have none to spare.” 
 
 “To spare, or not to spare,” interrupted the 
 man, “ I must have money now. I can’t wait. 
 My return from the other side has been dis- 
 covered, and I must seek some hiding-place.” 
 Overcome by her fears, she gave him all the 
 money she had, and besought him to fly. Not 
 contented with this, he took from her neck 
 a gold chain, exclaiming, “What’s yours is 
 mine, you know, wife ; and what’s mine is 
 my own.” Then, with a coarse laugh, left 
 the room. 
 
 Hastily Scrupleton emerged from his un- 
 pleasant retreat. He was cramped, and torn, 
 and harassed. The nature of the connection 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 31 
 
 into which he had fallen was fully before him, 
 and the knowledge displayed itself in a most 
 rueful countenance. He had hardly shaken 
 the dust from his coat, when Mrs. Sparkle- 
 sham, who had been watching Blacker’s des- 
 cent, said hurriedly, “ He is returning and 
 before Scrupleton could again conceal him- 
 self, Blacker was in the room, exclaiming that 
 his steps were dogged, and that he could not 
 leave the house. 
 
 Seeing Scrupleton, he turned fiercely to his 
 wife, and demanded to know who he was. 
 
 “ One from whom there is nothing to fear,” 
 was her reply. “ You cannot, however, remain 
 here, let what may happen. They will search 
 the house ; you will be discovered, and I shall 
 be ruined.” 
 
 “Nay, then,” said Blacker, “your friend 
 here must aid me, for I can’t afford to have 
 you ruined yet.” Then, seizing Scrupleton, he 
 exclaimed, “ Your coat, old gentleman.” 
 
 “You insolent scoundrel,” replied Scruple- 
 
32 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 ton, “ what do you mean? Take your hand 
 from my collar, or I’ll knock you down. Mrs. 
 Sparklesham, ring for assistance.” 
 
 The lady made no attempt to do so, but, 
 reminding Scrupleton of his secret, said — 
 
 “ There is no alternative ; assent to his de- 
 mand, or we shall be ruined.” 
 
 “ Quick,” exclaimed Blacker, “ or I’ll strip 
 it off with the skin in it.” 
 
 Scrupleton, oppressed by a variety of emo- 
 tions, vented his rage in abuse of Blacker; 
 but while he vowed he would spare no pains 
 or cost to punish him, felt it necessary to 
 comply. Blacker first put on Scrupleton’s 
 coat, then took his hat, wig, and stick, and 
 having forced his own hat over Scrupleton’s 
 eyes, exclaimed, “ There, a fair exchange is 
 no robbery. And now, perhaps, they’ll take 
 me for a gentleman, and let me pass.” 
 
 He then walked leisurely down the stairs 
 and out of the house, leaving our poor hero 
 full of despair and rage. 
 
33 
 
 * 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Allen’s love for Mabel Horton was in- 
 tense. A deep melancholy had long hung 
 over him as a thick cloud, and love pro- 
 mised at one time to be the sun which 
 should dispel it. His dependent position 
 galled him. The major, from a desire to 
 keep him constantly about him, in attend- 
 ance, as it were, upon his person, had long 
 
 fed him with the hope of discovering his 
 
 * 
 
 parents by the aid of a miniature and some 
 articles of dress in his possession, and had edu- 
 cated him to no profession. He seemed un- 
 willing that he should seek a path for him- 
 self, and yet often reminded him (although 
 
 c 3 
 
34 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 without wishing to wound) that he had no 
 claim on him for an after-provision. 
 
 Every day increased Allen’s anxiety, and 
 made the necessity of exertion on his own 
 part more apparent. Still he hesitated, and 
 Hope, backed by the major (who, when 
 Allen asserted his intention of entering an- 
 other course, would always withdraw what 
 he termed, his thoughtless remarks), suggest- 
 ed at times a future , bright enough to render 
 the present endurable. 
 
 It was little to be wondered at, that when 
 thrown constantly into the society of Mabel, 
 through the intimacy which existed between 
 Scrupleton and the major, his love for her 
 should become passionate and intense. As the 
 stream pent up between banks in an undi- 
 vided current is more impetuous and power- 
 ful to on6 end, than when irrigating in the 
 shape of a dozen rills as many meadows ; 
 so was the love of Allen, as compared with 
 that of men surrounded by affectionate friends, 
 
35 
 
 MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 and moving in a circle of kindnesses and 
 enjoyment. 
 
 For a time he believed himself loved in 
 return, and his determination was made to 
 call at once on the major for his assist- 
 ance in obtaining an appointment, and, in 
 the event of his refusal, to appeal to Scru- 
 pleton. 
 
 The appearance of Mrs. Sparklesham and 
 her son in the scene had entirely altered 
 the state of things. Not merely did he see 
 that Edmund Sparklesham’s attentions were 
 received by Mabel with, at all events, as 
 much apparent satisfaction as she ever ma- 
 nifested to himself, but he had heard Spar- 
 klesham speak so as to lead to the inference 
 that he was a received suitor. 
 
 If Allen had possessed a fortune, he would 
 have hastened to offer that and his whole 
 soul unconditionally to Mabel, and so to as- 
 certain the truth or falsehood of Sparkle- 
 sham’s insinuation. Dependent, however, as 
 
36 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 he was, he shrunk from entailing on him- 
 self the imputation of interested motives, 
 and determined, although the struggle nearly 
 killed him, to avoid any active step ; but to 
 watch her conduct closely, and, in the event 
 of discovering that Sparklesham had said no 
 more than the truth, to bid adieu to Eng- 
 land, and seek to gain for himself in a 
 foreign army the name which others had 
 refused him here. 
 
 The day after the occurrence mentioned in 
 the last chapter, Mrs. Scrupleton, Mabel, a 
 Miss Howard (then visiting them), Allen, and 
 Sparklesham were sitting together. 
 
 The appearance of Scrupleton, on his re- 
 turn the night before, had given Mrs. S. 
 enough u mysterious ” matter to talk about 
 for a month, and she made good use of the 
 occasion. 
 
 Allen, who seemed to be reading, easily 
 persuaded himself that the intimacy between 
 Mabel and Sparklesham had increased apace. 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 37 
 
 “ Of all my flatterers,” said Mabel to the 
 latter, “ you surely are the worst. I must 
 positively give you up as incorrigible. Why 
 do you not follow Mr. Allen’s example, who 
 always speaks the truth, let it be ever so 
 unpalatable ? Even now you see he cannot 
 avoid telling us that we are but dull com- 
 pany.” 
 
 “ The Pleasures of Hope,” said Allen, 
 “ allured me. Its penalties would be the 
 truer theme.” 
 
 Sparklesham had been persuading Miss 
 Horton to try a new song which he had 
 brought with him ; in this he was joined by 
 Miss Howard. 
 
 “ Come, Mr. Allen,” exclaimed the visitor, 
 “ add your entreaty to ours. But perhaps 
 you do not acknowledge the charms of 
 music ! 
 
 “ If music have charms,” he replied, “ it 
 has its sorrows too. I seldom listen to an 
 air that brings not with it sad thoughts and 
 
38 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 feelings. Those whom loving, I have listened 
 with, have passed away — or living, have de- 
 ceived me.” 
 
 Mabel went to the piano-forte ; Allen 
 found his hat, and took leave with a heavy 
 heart. 
 
 Love is proverbially blind, or Allen would 
 have seen in Mabel’s free and careless bear- 
 ing towards Sparklesham, which closely ap- 
 proached bantering, encouragement rather 
 than repulse. 
 
 Offended by Allen’s reserve, and some sen- 
 tentious remarks he had expressed, her desire 
 to conceal her annoyance from him, and per- 
 haps in some slight degree to punish, led to 
 the show of more familiarity with Sparkle- 
 sham than would otherwise have been the 
 case. 
 
 If, however, Mabel was vexed by Allen’s 
 conduct, she was more surprised by that of 
 Sparklesham, who seemed about to exemplify 
 in a very magnified manner the practice of 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 39 
 
 taking an ell when an inch is given. In fact, as 
 he proceeded with his conversation, she felt 
 convinced that other circumstances than she 
 was aw T are of must have occurred to induce his 
 behaviour. He spoke of her charming letter, 
 — she had never penned him a line ; vowed 
 that had she not listened to him, he would, 
 “ parole cChonneur ,” have slain himself; and 
 urged her vehemently to give him an imme- 
 diate answ r er to his last request. 
 
 Her impulse was, of course, abruptly to 
 deny all knowledge of what he referred to ; 
 but curiosity, indignation, and an idea which 
 at the moment entered her mind, induced her 
 to remain silent. 
 
 Mabel’s own maid, Matilda Pearce — Miss 
 Pearce, as she was called in the house — had 
 been marvellously struck by the irreproach- 
 able appearance of Sparklesham when first he 
 came to Mr. Fad’s. 
 
 She was the daughter of a very respectable 
 farmer (a tenant of Mabel’s late father), who 
 
40 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 had been unfortunate ; had been brought up 
 at boarding-school, and, so far as superficial 
 acquirements went, was superior to the station 
 in which she found herself. Mabel, however, 
 had little confidence in Miss Pearce; and it 
 occurred to her, from remembrance of several 
 circumstances, that she was in some way con- 
 nected with Mr. Sparklesham’s extraordinary 
 behaviour. 
 
 The truth was soon elicited. Seeking the 
 excitement of a lover, delighted with all she 
 had seen and heard of the gentleman in ques- 
 tion, Pearce had commenced a correspondence 
 with him in her young lady’s name. She 
 hardly knew what end would be answered by 
 it, or how long it might last, nor, indeed, did 
 she seem to care ; and, at the time when Ma- 
 bel interrogated her, was about to send him 
 her consent to a proposed elopement. 
 
 When the enormity of her conduct was 
 pointed out to her, — when it was shewn that 
 the happiness of her mistress’s life might have 
 
MR. FAD S TRIBULATION. 
 
 41 
 
 been wrecked by this proceeding, she burst 
 into tears, and declared her willingness to 
 acknowledge the truth to all, rather than that 
 any injury should result to Miss Horton. 
 
 Mabel was piqued that Sparklesham should 
 believe it possible she could have written 
 such letters as must have been sent by 
 Pearce ; her character was outraged by such 
 a belief, and she determined to punish him 
 for his vanity and ill-appreciation of her. 
 
 The whole matter, therefore, was kept quiet ; 
 the letter then in Miss Pearce’s work-box was 
 sent to its direction, and things were allowed 
 to take their own course. 
 
42 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The tribulation of our hero had increased 
 rather than diminished since we last saw him ; 
 for Mrs. Fad had positively refused to remain 
 longer in the same house with him, unless the 
 circumstances which led to his return home 
 in such disastrous plight after his memorable 
 visit to Mrs. Sparklesham, were explained. 
 
 To do this was impossible ; it involved the 
 whole secret. A separation would have glad- 
 dened rather than pained him ; but, then, un- 
 der present circumstances, what would the 
 world say ? All pity would be given to her, 
 all the blame would attach to him. Mrs. 
 Sparklesham had once more sent for money ; 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 43 
 
 his mind was never at rest, yet always occu- 
 pied on one subject : every person who ap- 
 proached him was an officer of justice; every 
 knock at the street-door shook his system to 
 the centre. He was nearly mad, and entirely 
 miserable. 
 
 A week after the conversation with Sternly, 
 his old friend returned to him with an air of 
 satisfaction. His solicitor had advertised 
 guardedly, as if the inquiry simply concerned 
 property (mentioning the name of the ship 
 and the date of the occurrence), and to Sternly’s 
 own great astonishment, had sent him a letter, 
 which had been received in reply to it. 
 
 Scrupleton was in ecstasies even before the 
 letter was opened ; the slightest ground for 
 hope seeming to him at that moment a re- 
 prieve. 
 
 The communication was a clerkly document, 
 and had an air of respectability. It merely 
 stated that if the writer of the advertisement 
 would visit a certain house in Redriff (which 
 
44 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 was pointed out) that evening, at eight o’clock, 
 alone, he might obtain all the information he 
 desired. It expressly said, that if a second 
 person came, or if any thing were observed to 
 induce the slightest suspicion that other par- 
 ties were aware of the appointment, the infor- 
 mant would not be found. 
 
 “ Victoria ! Victoria !” said Fad. But then 
 arose the thought that it might be a plot to 
 rob him, and the major was induced to per- 
 suade him not to go. Fad, however, soon 
 became resolved. 
 
 “ I don’t value my life, my good friend, in 
 the position I now hold, at a pin’s point. I 
 will go alone too, and run no risk of losing 
 the promised information by any want of cou- 
 rage on my part. I begin to see light, and 
 should it really prove an outlet, shall never be 
 able to express my gratitude to you. I 
 breathe more freely already — I walk on air;” 
 and then, almost dancing, he saw his friend 
 into the drawing-room, and went to prepare 
 
MR. FADS TRIBULATION. 
 
 45 
 
 for his own immediate departure in search of 
 the unknown correspondent. 
 
 Our hero was vastly changed. All his 
 former anticipatory fears and troubles were 
 swallowed by the one great danger which 
 hung over him. Damp feet, night-air, and 
 contingent typhus were mere jokes. The pos- 
 sibility that his banker might one day fail, or 
 government repudiate the three-and-a-half per 
 cents, had ceased to move him. If he could 
 have thought of any thing , he would have re- 
 flected on the folly of his former habits, and 
 wondered how men with no real troubles 
 could contrive for themselves constant sources 
 of annoyance. 
 
 In the drawing-room the major found Mabel 
 and Allen in close conversation. Allen still 
 looked sad, Mabel was full of spirits. All 
 reserve had been removed ; he had declared 
 his impassioned love, and she had left no 
 reason to doubt it was returned. 
 
 The want of fortune on his part gave Mabel 
 no uneasiness, as her own means were ample. 
 
46 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Not so, however, with Allen. He felt himself 
 in some degree guilty of a base part, when, 
 wrung by his fears, he had poured out his soul 
 into her ears ; and he inwardly vowed that he 
 would yet secure his own position in society 
 before he claimed her hand. 
 
 The major, not very much surprised by what 
 he saw, sought to learn more accurately the 
 state of affairs. Mabel, unwilling at once to 
 confess, joked Allen on his rueful looks (al- 
 though, in her heart of hearts, she honoured 
 him for his feelings), and thanked the major 
 for coming to her rescue. 
 
 “ He wishes to persuade me, Major/’ said 
 she laughingly, “ that we two are formed for 
 each other’s sweet society; whereas, never 
 were two poor mortals more entirely dissimilar. 
 I am gay, he is grave ; he is thoughtful, and a 
 philosopher ; I am thoughtless, spirituelle, and 
 a woman.” 
 
 The major sought to put in a word, but she 
 continued : 
 
 “ Then he likes the country, with its purling 
 
MR. FAD S TRIBULATION. 
 
 47 
 
 brooks, flowery meads, and nodding groves, 
 all of which I hate and detest. No ! give me 
 town — glittering town, with its visitings, its 
 crowdings, and its strivings ; its concerts, balls, 
 and plays. Give me the park, the opera, and 
 the race-course ! In here — in there : now 
 talk — now ride — now dance ! Everywhere a 
 crowd, everywhere excitement, everywhere 
 pleasure !” 
 
 The major said something to Allen, which 
 lightened his heart wonderfully ; so leaving 
 them to enjoy a happy half-hour (such only 
 occur now and then in a life — make the 
 most of them when they do come), let us 
 follow our hero in his pilgrimage to the 
 “ Horse and Bottle ” at Redriff. 
 
 A hack-carriage conveyed him as far as 
 Bermondsey, and thence he walked into 
 Redriff. With some difficulty he threaded 
 his way to the house in question, which was 
 situated quite at the outskirts of this incom- 
 prehensible and uncomfortable district. It 
 
48 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 was a public-house of mean description, and 
 seemingly without any occupants but an old 
 woman and a little girl, who were eating 
 their supper. 
 
 When Scrupleton entered, they looked up 
 with undisguised astonishment, but inquired 
 civilly what he wished to have. Uncertain 
 how to proceed, he entered the tap-room, — 
 there was no parlour, — and desired some 
 trifling refreshment to be brought to him ; 
 and while the woman was away, he care- 
 fully scrutinized the apartment. 
 
 The examination was far from satisfactory. 
 The ceiling and walls were black with smoke 
 and dirt ; the floor, which had been paved 
 with bricks, was full of holes. A few pieces 
 of board, roughly nailed together, formed the 
 seats and tables, and were the only fittings 
 the voorn contained ; and even these displayed 
 marks of violent usage, as did the door, the 
 lower panel of which was broken, apparently 
 by a kick, in defiance of the advice which 
 
MR. FAD'S TRIBULATION. 
 
 49 
 
 was written over it “ Come merrily, drink 
 cheerfully, pay willingly, and go home 
 quietly." 
 
 Over the fire-place the same hand had been 
 at work, not the foot, and had produced the 
 following moral and philosophical, not to say 
 economical reflection : — 
 
 “ I once had money and a friend, by whom I set great store ; 
 
 I lent my money to my friend, as I had done before. 
 
 I asked my money of my friend, for which he felt quite 
 sore ; 
 
 I lost my money and my friend, so now I trust no more.” 
 
 While Scrupleton was reading these effu- 
 sions, the little girl brought in his refresh- 
 ment, and waited modestly for payment. She 
 was a pretty child, but looked so wan and 
 pitiful, that Scrupleton was called from his 
 own thoughts by her appearance ; and as he 
 put a trifling gratuity into her hand, he 
 patted her little cheek with more feeling 
 than he generally exhibited. Who shall say 
 
 D 
 
50 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 what prompted the unusual, and for him, 
 most fortunate occurrence ? 
 
 The old woman afterwards came in, and 
 Scrupleton soon found that she was quite 
 ignorant of the object of his visit. The 
 child was an orphan, her grand-daughter ; 
 the only thread which tied her to life. She 
 was struggling hard against poverty when the 
 girl’s parents died, but no fear of lessening 
 her own comforts (it might be, her own sus- 
 tenance), interfered to prevent the performance 
 of what she knew to be her duty ; and she 
 had found a rich reward in the affection of 
 the child. Wonderful are the provisions for 
 universal happiness ! 
 
 I have sometimes watched a poor ill-fed, 
 half-clothed creature pressing her sadly-smil- 
 ing infant ecstatically to her bosom (forgetful 
 for the moment of all around), and “ bless- 
 ing its dear heart,” with a glow of delight 
 and hope upon her pallid features, — until my 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 51 
 
 eyes have filled with tears of gratitude to 
 the all-wise Master, for enduing his creatures 
 with affections and sympathies sufficiently 
 strong to lighten their own hearts with 
 brightest rays of pleasure, even while poverty 
 and care are frowning beside them, and all 
 the external world looks dark and threaten- 
 ing! 
 
 Scrupleton was left alone again. A neigh- 
 bouring clock struck eight, the appointed 
 time, but no one appeared. A quarter of an 
 hour passed — half an hour — still no person 
 came. Our hero’s nervousness increased to a 
 frightful extent ; the notion that it was some 
 scheme to entrap him ; hope that he might be 
 freed from the trouble which harassed him; 
 and then again, fear lest after all, his in- 
 formant should not come; by turns had do- 
 minion, and excited him beyond himself. 
 
 The rhymes had been read a dozen times, 
 the room paced many more ; and nine o’clock 
 was close at hand, when a boy entered the 
 
 d 2 
 
 library 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
52 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 room and inquired if he was u the gen’leman 
 as wanted the Wellington ?” 
 
 ‘The Wellington’ was the name of the 
 missing ship, and Scrupleton at once an- 
 swered in the affirmative. 
 
 “ Then you must come with me,” said the 
 boy; and Scrupleton accordingly followed 
 him. The boy kept the high road towards 
 Deptford, about half a mile, and then turned 
 suddenly off to the left, across the fields 
 which bordered it on either side. 
 
 It was a cold and miserable night ; the fog 
 hung heavily over the grass-land, — it seemed 
 so thick that you could roll it up, and chilled 
 Scrupleton to the bone. Still he followed his 
 guide perseveringly, and gave little thought to 
 the probability of danger. Once he fancied 
 that he heard footsteps behind him, but the 
 circumstance did not attract his attention. 
 
 After walking for a quarter of an hour 
 through the quaggy field, they passed a wind- 
 mill, and approached a house of large size, but 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 53 
 
 much dismantled. How it got there seemed a 
 mystery, unless, indeed, having seen better 
 days, as was evidently the case, one might 
 suppose it had retired from the world, and 
 sought obscurity. 
 
 The boy entered without knocking, and led 
 Scrupleton into a room in the rear. By the aid 
 of a tinder-box he lighted a remnant of candle 
 that was on the table, and then left the room. 
 
 Immediately afterwards a man entered, and 
 commenced some apologies to Scrupleton for 
 the trouble he had given him. “ To tell the 
 truth,” said he, “ I am obliged to be a little 
 particular in my movements just now, and 
 didn’t know T in what other way to see you.” 
 
 As he uttered this, he approached Scru- 
 pleton, and getting a view of his face, suddenly 
 burst into a loud laugh. 
 
 By the dim light of the candle Scrupleton 
 looked at him scrutinizingly, and was satisfied 
 he had seen him before. By degrees the re- 
 membrance came upon him — it was the man 
 
54 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 who had stripped him at Mrs. Sparkle- 
 sham’s. 
 
 Blacker, who still laughed immoderately, 
 was not prepared to see Scrupleton, and at 
 first seemed not to know how to act. Soon, 
 however, he acutely guessed the state of 
 things. 
 
 “ By George !” said he, “ this must be the 
 goose that lays the golden eggs my fine 
 wife spoke of. I must be careful ; for, though 
 l owe her no love, if I stop her supplies, I cut 
 oft my own too.” 
 
 The recognition had not conduced to Scru- 
 pleton’s satisfaction. He inquired if it were 
 Blacker who had written to him. “ Why,” 
 retorted he, “that you must know best.” Being 
 again pressed, he said, “ What if I did ? there 
 was no treason in the letter.” 
 
 “ You offered me information,” said Scru- 
 pleton. 
 
 “Well, perhaps I did, but I have altered 
 my mind ; I have forgotten all about it ; so, 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 55 
 
 good-night, and let me advise you to make 
 the best of your way back again.” 
 
 This, however, did not agree with Scru- 
 pleton’s notions. He had put aside his own 
 fears in coming there ; he had reached the 
 spot with difficulty; he saw before him one 
 who, according to his own statement, pos- 
 sessed information that might be of service to 
 him, and he was not disposed to give up easily 
 the chance of obtaining it. 
 
 At first, he was about to reproach Blacker 
 for thus playing with his feelings, but doubting 
 the efficacy of this course, he adopted a more 
 conciliatory mode of proceeding. 
 
 “ Let us understand one another, my good 
 fellow,” said he; “you have information, 
 which I want ; I have money, which you want. 
 Let us meet each other like men, and ex- 
 change fairly. You may see I have not come 
 unprovided” (and he exposed a well-filled 
 purse), “ and the whole shall be yours, if you 
 answer my questions.” 
 
56 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 The sight of the gold worked a change in 
 his strange companion. He pondered an 
 instant, and then exclaimed, “Well, give it 
 me.” 
 
 “ Not so fast, my friend, ” said Scrupleton; 
 “ I must first hear what you have to say. Do 
 you know any thing of the passengers in the 
 ship Wellington, supposed to have been lost? 
 Were any of them saved ?” 
 
 “ They were,” returned Blacker, advancing 
 towards him, but how many of them, and who 
 they were, I don’t intend to tell you just now. 
 And yet I must have that money.” 
 
 Scrupleton was not a particularly brave 
 man. Six months before, the prospect of 
 such a meeting would have shaken him like 
 ague ; circumstances, however, had influence 
 over him, and w 7 ith little appearance of trepi- 
 dation, he sought to reason with his assailant, 
 and resolutely refused to give up his money 
 without the promised intelligence. 
 
 “ I am old, it is true,” said he, “ but have 
 
MR. FAD ? S TRIBULATION. 
 
 57 
 
 still vigour to resent an insult, or prevent an 
 outrage.” 
 
 But resistance seemed useless : the ruffian 
 was furious; and opening a pocket-knife, he 
 threw himself on the old man. Scrupleton 
 shouted loudly for help — the sound echoed 
 through the house, but brought no response, 
 and he had given himself up for lost, when the 
 door was forced open, and Allen stood by his 
 side. 
 
 Blacker immediately let go his hold, and 
 looked irresolutely towards the door. All 
 Scrupleton’s resolution left him: tears filled 
 his eyes ; and, after exclaiming once or twice, 
 “ God be praised,” he could only say, u I am 
 glad to see you, Allen, very glad, and that’s 
 the fact.” 
 
 Then observing Blacker’s intention, he con- 
 tinued, “ Do not let that man escape : he has 
 attempted to rob me, and, moreover, possesses 
 information which I must have at any cost.” 
 
 Allen immediately placed himself in the 
 d 3 
 
58 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 door-way. “ Out of my way/' thundered 
 Blacker, “or Fll fell you to the ground/’ 
 
 “ If you attempt to pass,” said Allen calmly, 
 “ I will run you through the body.” And he 
 would certainly have kept his word; for, as 
 Blacker then first observed, he had a stout 
 tuck-stick in his hand, and something about 
 the mouth which looked dangerous. 
 
 With an oath the fellow returned into the 
 room. He was now more reasonable ; and, 
 by the promise of impunity, and a reward pro- 
 portioned to the value of his information, he 
 was led to state all he knew on the subject. 
 
 It was to the effect, that when residing at a 
 foreign port, a lady and child, picked up at 
 sea, were brought ashore, and, by an accident, 
 were placed beneath his roof. They were both 
 resuscitated : his wife nursed them, and heard 
 all the lady’s story. Their name was Scru- 
 pleton. 
 
 Our poor hero groaned long and audibly, 
 and then urged him to proceed with his state- 
 
MR. FAD ? S TRIBULATION. 
 
 59 
 
 ment. “ What became of her?” said he; 
 “ Where is she ?” 
 
 “ The lady never recovered/’ continued 
 Blacker, “ and died within a week.” 
 
 “ God be praised,” again said Scrupleton, 
 this time falling on his knees. 
 
 “ At her request,” pursued Blacker, u a let- 
 ter was sent to a friend in England, in order 
 that he might communicate the circumstances 
 to her husband on his arrival. The child, 
 also, was afterwards sent to him; but what 
 became of him I don’t know, for circum- 
 stances then occurred which made me what 
 you now see me.” 
 
 Our story draws to a close. On their way 
 back to town, Allen related the means which 
 had enabled him to arrive so opportunely to 
 Scrupleton’s rescue. No sooner had Scruple- 
 ton left his house, than the major repented 
 that he had permitted him to depart alone, 
 and was visited by serious fears for his safety. 
 Unable to control them, he told the whole of 
 
60 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 the circumstances to Allen, and begged him 
 to hasten to the place named in the letter. 
 
 This Allen immediately did ; but when he 
 arrived, Scrupleton had left, and Allen would 
 have been at fault. It happened, however, 
 that Scrupleton’s nervous manner, and the ap- 
 pearance of the boy, had roused a suspicion 
 in the mind of the old woman who kept the 
 house that all was not right ; and the little 
 girl, whom Scrupleton had noticed, was sent 
 to watch where they went to. 
 
 Impressed by the urgent manner of Allen, 
 and remembering gratefully the feeling ex- 
 hibited by Scrupleton, the woman told him 
 what she had done, and described the appear- 
 ance of the child, so that he might find her as 
 she returned. This he fortunately succeeded 
 in doing, and the result is known. 
 
 At Scrupleton’s residence great commotion 
 was excited by his absence. Mabel, who loved 
 him much, was seriously alarmed ; and the 
 major had been running in and out during the 
 
MR. FAD’S TRIBULATION. 
 
 61 
 
 whole evening, endeavouring to persuade her 
 and himself that no danger was to be appre- 
 hended. 
 
 The return of the missing party, and that, 
 too, in a very different mood from what he had 
 lately exhibited, restored all to cheerfulness, 
 and elicited hearty congratulations from the 
 major. 
 
 The whole story was told to the ladies ; and 
 Mrs. Scrupleton, finding something compli- 
 mentary to herself in Mr. Fad’s fears, lest his 
 first wife should really be alive to claim him, 
 mollified considerably. 
 
 “ There is still one circumstance to pain 
 me,” said Scrupleton ; “ and that is the fate 
 of my poor boy. It seems clear that he es- 
 caped, and was sent to England. Possibly he 
 may now be a vagrant and an outcast.” 
 
 “ Not so,” said Sternly; “ unless I am 
 much deceived, I have been unconsciously 
 the means of preserving him from such a 
 fate. The date at which Allen, then an in- 
 
62 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 fant, was sent to me, without note or name, 
 accords precisely with the man’s story. Late 
 as it is, I will immediately fetch the trinkets 
 which accompanied him, and which I had 
 often promised to shew you before this.” 
 
 It is unnecessary to describe the agitation 
 which this surmise caused in both Scruple- 
 ton and Allen. Allen’s intrepid conduct had 
 raised a warm feeling towards him in the 
 breast of Scrupleton, who w r as prepared, with 
 or without proof, to fall on his neck and 
 acknowledge him his son. 
 
 During the major’s absence, an incident 
 occurred which served to lessen their suspense 
 by exciting other feelings. This was the 
 night on which Miss Pearce had undertaken, 
 in Miss Horton’s name, to go off with Spar- 
 klesham, and Mabel had no doubt he was 
 then waiting in the immediate neighbour- 
 hood. 
 
 So soon as the circumstance recurred to 
 her (the excitement of the evening had 
 
MR. FAD S TRIBULATION. 
 
 63 
 
 nearly driven it from her mind), she related 
 the adventure, and stated her reasons for 
 thus endeavouring to correct Sparklesham’s 
 vanity. 
 
 Allen, with the magnanimity of a con- 
 queror, was more disposed to laugh than 
 be angry, and he and Scrupleton went out 
 to make Sparklesham’s mortification more 
 complete. 
 
 Sparklesham had not the most remote idea 
 that he had been deceived. His admiration 
 of himself was so perfect, that it seemed to 
 him quite a matter of course that Mabel 
 should accede to his proposal. 
 
 Even when the facts were explained, and 
 Scrupleton expressed a hope, that the lesson 
 he had received might tend to prevent him 
 for the future from imagining, that every 
 woman who looked at him was ready to 
 fall into his arms — his vanity brought him 
 a balm, by assuring him that Mabel had 
 been prevented by force from keeping the 
 
64 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 appointment, and could have had no hand in 
 the discovery. 
 
 He bore himself with the greatest coolness, 
 and, moreover, exhibited a spark of good 
 feeling, which made Allen his friend on 
 another occasion. 
 
 Scrupleton, who was brimful of good- 
 nature at that moment, had offered him his 
 assistance if he would leave his mother, but 
 he replied in his old tone of affectation — 
 
 u I don’t pretend to have more virtue than 
 most men, but I’ll never desert my mother, 
 parole dhonneur ” 
 
 When they again reached the house, the 
 major had returned : the production of the 
 trinkets put the question of relationship 
 beyond a doubt, and made our hero a happy 
 man for the rest of his days. 
 
 His glimpse of real trouble produced a 
 salutary effect on his after-life : and he would 
 often impress on two charming miniature 
 editions of Allen and Mabel, who came now 
 
MR. FAD ? S TRIBULATION. 
 
 65 
 
 and then to see “ grandpa,” and turn his 
 house out of window, two things which he 
 had learnt in what he called his Tribula- 
 tion ; namely, that they should never antici- 
 pate troubles, nor allow trifles to annoy them ; 
 and that the surest way of overcoming a 
 difficulty, was to meet it bravely. 
 
66 
 
 ENOUGH! 
 
 Enough ? How wide a word ! To one, how 
 little ; — to another, how large ; its significa- 
 tion changes with every moon ; its realization 
 becomes more difficult with every step made, 
 apparently, in advance towards it. 
 
 “ A little will content me,” Ardens had said 
 ten years before : “ I want simply enough . 
 Let me own but a score of acres, and I shall 
 have no desire ungratified.” The score is now 
 a hundred, and still Ardens, with reproach 
 and complaint, asks, simply, for enough ; as 
 yet he has not found it. With every gain 
 came self-created wants ; with every conquest, 
 greater aspirings. As in the natural world, 
 
ENOUGH. 
 
 67 
 
 by ascending a mountain, the horizon ex- 
 pands and becomes more distant, so, in the 
 artificial world, the bounds of man’s wants 
 and wishes are enlarged by the very acquire- 
 ment of that which was previously the limit. 
 
 “ If thou wouldst make Pythocles truly 
 rich,” wrote Epicurus to Idomeneus, “thou 
 must not amplify his wealth, but lessen his 
 desires — a sentence which should be written 
 in letters of gold, on tables of marble, and 
 inculcated ever : for, as the same philosopher 
 elsewhere writes, “ to many, the possession of 
 riches is not the end, but the change of their 
 misery.” 
 
 Certain it is, that it is not possessing little, 
 but requiring much, that makes a poor man. 
 He, for example, who gaining eight, can live 
 happily on seven, is surely a richer man than 
 he who, owning eighty, has learnt to think a 
 hundred insufficient for his necessities. Let 
 us, therefore, so school ourselves, that by 
 wanting little of Fortune, we may be inde- 
 
68 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 pendent of her caprices, and careless of her 
 smiles: that we make not our happiness to 
 depend on the possession of superfluities, but 
 rest contented with just what is. 
 
 And yet would we not become apathetic, or 
 remove motive for high desires, — for in this 
 schooling we set up an object for attainment, 
 the enough of which is as distant from the 
 worldly mind as earth’s high places from un- 
 aided poverty. We mean, the purification of 
 the mind, and the possession of wisdom. All 
 feel anxious, even if they do not feel able, to 
 attain to something better — something be- 
 yond — 
 
 “ The high-born soul 
 
 Disdains to rest her heav’n-aspiring wing 
 Beneath its native quarry.” 
 
 We endeavour to ascend, and ascend in the 
 endeavour. Let wisdom, then, become our 
 striving point. Let the mind’s advance, not 
 the body’s welfare, be the object cared for, 
 whereto we need never say, Enough ! 
 
ENOUGH. 
 
 69 
 
 “ For 'tis the mind that makes the body rich : 
 
 And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
 
 So honour peereth in the meanest habit.’ ’ 
 
 ft 
 
 And speaking thus, we mean not learning, 
 (intimate communion with the mighty dead), 
 — we mean not simply knowledge (acquaint- 
 ance with all the mysteries of science, or the 
 events of past times), but wisdom in its high- 
 est sense, and which, although it should result 
 from these, is yet quite different, and not in- 
 compatible with the greatest book-ignorance. 
 
 Wisdom ! who giveth riches to her follower 
 when she sheweth them to be superfluous ; 
 who elevateth her disciple by proving the 
 cares of dominion and the mutability of pow- 
 ers ; and placeth him far above anxiety for the 
 present, and deadeneth the sting of sorrow, by 
 pointing to a radiant and enduring home, 
 iC where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt.” 
 
70 
 
 A PACKET FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 “ Thus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour.” 
 
 You have doubtless left London Bridge 
 for a foreign port in one of the hundred 
 smoking miracles called steam-boats, which 
 flit about there all the day like bees 
 at the hive-door. Were you not amused? 
 Were you not instructed ? You must have 
 been. The arrival of cabs, coaches, and 
 pedestrians in rapid succession ; the ven- 
 dors of newspapers, and of knowledge in 
 the smallest possible quantities ; the part- 
 ing of friends who will not go when the 
 bell rings ; and the variety of character 
 rendered apparent by the many excitements 
 
A PACKET FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 71 
 
 of the moment, including especially the wel- 
 fare of the impedimenta — raise a crowd of 
 feelings in the mind of all who will look 
 on observingly, which it is difficult at the 
 moment to separate and get into place. 
 
 The different degrees of kindness evinced 
 by accompanying friends, the various motives 
 which prompt the voyage, and the dominant 
 feelings of the travellers, are all matters for 
 speculation. The place itself is full of story 
 — full of thought. The old bridge, narrow 
 and inconvenient, with its traitor skulls, has 
 disappeared : but there still rolls the Thames, 
 on which have floated the Dane, the Saxon, 
 and the Roman [with “ no wrinkles written 
 on its brow”]; the church of St. Mary o’ 
 the Ferry is seen on the opposite side ; 
 Wren’s master-piece, crowning the city, points 
 out where “ Olde Paules ” stood ; his column 
 tells of the great fire ; and the White Tower, 
 seen not far off, is the history of England in 
 stone, embellished with numerous head-pieces . 
 
72 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Thump — thump ! we are off. Mark that 
 poor girl standing on the wharf, to which 
 she had not retired until the vessel had left 
 her moorings. See how long and anxiously 
 she seeks the parting recognition of the ques- 
 tionable-looking Frenchman there, who, with 
 utmost coolness, had shaken her hand, and 
 whistled her off to fortune. To the last, you 
 may observe her with eager eye and head out- 
 stretched ; but no kindly glance rewards her 
 regard, no expression of feeling occurs to re- 
 move the air of disappointment and grief 
 which is on her countenance. That large 
 loose coat and round cloth cap point out 
 the object of her attention. Alas ! he is 
 already in jovial converse with a knot of 
 noisy people forward. 
 
 “ O la, pa ! now do come here. There’s 
 a great thingummybob that goes up and 
 down like ”■ — 
 
 “ Keep still, boy, keep still, boy, and don’t 
 be troublesome. Here, take some cake.” 
 
A PACKET FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 73 
 
 “ Thank y’, pa.” 
 
 The girl sitting at the head of the vessel 
 was the merriest of a party of four who came 
 on board together. Her companions left her 
 with a thousand kisses given and taken. Her 
 spirits lasted until they were out of sight — 
 no longer. She has cried ever since. It will 
 not be long, though, before the smiles come 
 again : they are evidently her forte. And 
 yet, poor girl, she is alone ! 
 
 What stern, melancholy-looking man is that 
 who has ascended from the cabin, and now 
 walks incessantly ? I must learn. “ Steward ! 
 at what time shall we get in to-night ? Stew- 
 ard ! when do V?e dine ? Steward ! shall we 
 have a rough journey?” # # # Some people 
 will talk whether they have any thing to say 
 or not. I must ask him by-and-by. 
 
 The party opposite to me consists of a fat, 
 fubsy man, with a little shiny, good-natured- 
 looking head, set rather apoplectically deep 
 between his shoulders, a towering and portly 
 
 E 
 
74 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 dame (his wife), a shrewd little lady playing 
 toady, and last, but evidently first, the small 
 son and heir of the worthy couple, playing 
 oracle . And very well he does it too : he has 
 evidently been brought up to it, and enjoys 
 quite as matter of right, and with no sus- 
 picion that it is at all extraordinary, absolute 
 dominion in his own little admiring circle. 
 They are bound for the Rhine — I heard them 
 say so before they had been on board ten 
 minutes. Young master has already pulled 
 out his maps, and is discoursing about “ left 
 bank 55 and “ right bank,” to his funny, 
 wondering father, who has suggested to him, 
 with a laugh, the probable connection be- 
 tween Rhine and Rhino. 
 
 They will have a pleasant trip, depend 
 on it, for all are nicely in subjection. Mamma, 
 big as she is, bow T s implicitly to her round 
 lord; the friend stoops to her; and all kneel 
 without notion of degradation, to the hope 
 and pride of the family. 
 
A PACKET FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 75 
 
 “ Pa ! pa ! look at that boat.” 
 u Don’t plague me, I’m busy.” 
 
 “ Ease her, stop her,” shouts the captain. 
 Well, that really is curious. A man has 
 come on board without hat or luggage, and 
 reels along the deck as if tipsy. Oh ! he lost 
 his hat getting into the boat, did he? There’s 
 something strange about it, nevertheless. See 
 how he staggers in descending the fore-cabin 
 steps. Well, well, it’s no business of mine. 
 
 If I were inquisitive, though, I would cer- 
 tainly learn something of that individual now 
 leaning against the windward side of the 
 vessel. Wrapped up in his cloak and his 
 pride, he has not yet exchanged a word with 
 any person on board. I hate pride at all times, 
 it makes a man unsociable, and this fellow is 
 evidently eaten up by it; moreover, he is so 
 good-looking, I am sure he is disagreeable. 
 Stop a bit, prejudice, stop a bit. I may be 
 wrong altogether, for timidity sometimes looks 
 
 e 2 
 
76 
 
 FACTS AND FANCflES. 
 
 very much like pride, and perhaps it may be 
 so in this case. 
 
 “ Ease her! stop her !” 
 
 “ What ! another boat ? Oh ! let me go, 
 pa." 
 
 “ Well, get along/’ 
 
 “ Thank y’, pa." 
 
 What do they say ? Officers ? Bank clerk 
 absconded ? Dear me, I feel so alarmed, it 
 might be fancied I was guilty myself. Ah ! 
 their information was correct ; they have found 
 what they sought, and are getting into the 
 boat again. Which is he ? What, the man 
 without a hat ? I told you how it would be. 
 Oh, money ! money ! how you twist and 
 pervert us ! Ye, that stand, take heed lest 
 ye fall. 
 
 And all this time the stern, melancholy man 
 whom I noticed before, has never ceased 
 walking violently. I must learn something of 
 him. “ Stewardess, come here." 
 
A PACKET FROM THE BRIDGE. 
 
 77 
 
 Poor man ! his agitation is explained. His 
 only daughter is on a couch below, and he is 
 taking her abroad, by direction of the doctors, 
 to — bury her. The stewardess says she is a 
 beautiful creature, not nineteen, and that to 
 listen to her cough while looking at her almost 
 breaks her heart. What a penalty do we pay 
 for the enjoyment of our affections ! 
 
 “ Are you seeking me, my man ?” 
 
 “Beg pardon, Sir, but your little un has 
 tumbled down the hatchway, and cut his lip.” 
 “ D— n the boy — God forgive me ! I never 
 can speculate, but he gets into some mis- 
 chief.” 
 
78 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Whilst gazing upon the cloudless brilliancy 
 of a summer’s sky, I fell into a reflection upon 
 the futility and insignificance of all earthly 
 pursuits and wishes as compared with the 
 works of nature. The glorious orb of day, 
 which is still dispensing joy and gladness to 
 all, nothing deteriorated or impaired, shone as 
 brightly centuries ago;— but where are those 
 it shone upon ? gone ! passed as a mist, and 
 nought remembered of them. 
 
 Perchance in this spot walked a youth 
 panting for distinction, his young blood rising 
 at the visions of splendour called up by his 
 aspiring imagination. A few years have 
 passed away, and he is dead ; — he had pur- 
 
MORNING. 
 
 79 
 
 sued the paths of ambition pointed out to him 
 in his early dreams, he had succeeded in all he 
 attempted ; yet he had not gained happiness 
 or content ; the accomplishment of his greatest 
 desire served but to point out farther objects 
 to his ambitious views. So it is with man 
 generally ; ever grasping at that he has not, 
 and caring nothing for that which is in his 
 power; always counting upon the future, and 
 discontented with the present ; — as a child he 
 wishes for boyhood — the boy longs to be a 
 man — and the life of the man is but a suc- 
 cession of desires and speculations, ending in 
 death. 
 
80 
 
 STAR-LIGHT. 
 
 A splendid night ! all ether seems alive 
 With stars which glitter as in rivalry ! 
 
 And these perhaps are worlds ! nay ! peopled worlds 
 With each a sun and moon and stars, like ours. 
 Hung up in air ; how wondrous, how sublime ! 
 
 The startling thought is much too vast for man. 
 Vain man ! who struts upon this little star, 
 
 Not half so large as some which give it light, 
 
 And would persuade him Twas the universe ! 
 
 What worms are we who crawl upon this earth. 
 And, all elate with pride and self-conceit, 
 
 Both snarl and fight for Riches ! Power ! and Fame 
 Yes, we, the animalculae who dwell 
 On one which is the nearly smallest speck 
 In this great system ! It is too absurd ! 
 
STAR-LIGHT. 
 
 81 
 
 Let us but for a moment look in space ; 
 
 See there, as I have said, those countless worlds, 
 Aye, myriads upon myriads — and with each. 
 Attendant planets, atmospheres, and seas, 
 Without disorder or collision move 
 Along their mazy, never-ending paths ; — 
 
 And poor, proud man must shrink into himself 
 With awe, astounded, and ashamed, and cured ! 
 
 E 3 
 
82 
 
 MISFORTUNE. 
 
 If one calls to mind the time necessarily 
 spent in the mechanical operations of civilized 
 existence, — in dressing and undressing, eating, 
 sleeping, and repeating common-places, — how 
 short is seen to be the period of man’s real 
 life even in cases of the longest ordinary du- 
 ration ! What weakness, then, do we exhibit, 
 when we allow any portion of this brief span 
 to be occupied with gloomy anticipations of 
 sorrow, which after all may never reach us, or 
 in regretting evils which are past and irreme- 
 diable; and yet how large and important a 
 part of it is by many of us thus spent ! We 
 would almost exclaim with Caesar, “ Melius 
 est pati semel, quam cavere semper.” 
 
MISFORTUNE. 
 
 83 
 
 Were the minds of men to be schooled 
 rigidly in practical philosophy rather than 
 attenuated in abstruse disquisitions on far-off 
 points, or amused in the attainment of trifling 
 accomplishments (although there is time for 
 these too), the world would be gainers by so 
 large an amount of happiness as is hardly to 
 be estimated. Quite true it is, 
 
 “ That not to know at large of things remote 
 From use, obscure or subtle, but to know 
 That which before us lies in daily life, 
 
 Is the prime wisdom ; what is more is fume, 
 
 Or emptiness, or fond impertinence, 
 
 And renders us, in things that most concern, 
 Unpractis’d, unprepared, and still to seek.” 
 
 Happy are those (although, perhaps, not 
 worldly wise, or likely to be overburthened 
 with its miscalled good things) who, through 
 temperament, allow the troubles which are 
 man’s heritage to pass over them, as a 
 bird through the air, tracelessly ; but still 
 more happy they who, despite a natural 
 thoughtfulness and feeling for the future, 
 
84 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 which uncontrolled had produced care and 
 chagrin, and had proved an armour so costly 
 and fatiguing as to make even security a loss, 
 are enabled by discipline to regard what is 
 unchangeable as unworthy of regret; and, 
 feeling that “ present fears are less than hor- 
 rible imaginings/’ can wait patiently the ac- 
 tual presence of misfortune before they allow 
 regret to feed upon their heart, or cloud thick- 
 coming hopes and bright fancies, — to which 
 latter, after all, perhaps, belong as much 
 reality and stability as to any other part of 
 
 i 
 
 the phantasmagoria called life. 
 
 One of the wisest of the Latins has written, 
 “ There is no man miserable alone by present 
 evils and few will attempt to gainsay the 
 remark. Let us then avoid repining in an- 
 ticipation, — unless, indeed, such repining pre- 
 vent the occurrence of the cause of it, as 
 might sometimes be the case, — and refuse to 
 say, “ I shall probably be miserable to-mor- 
 row, and therefore will I be unhappy to-day,” 
 
MISFORTUNE. 
 
 85 
 
 and the length of our life, so far as actual 
 enjoyment of it, and the time and power to 
 develop the mind are concerned, will be im- 
 measurably increased. 
 
 Even when disappointment or deprivation 
 does afford substantial ground for grief, if we 
 remember that nothing is felt as a misfortune 
 if we do not think it such, we at once see the 
 means we possess of lessening the power of 
 accident to oppress us. Time is the great 
 healer— the universal soother. No man feels 
 the loss of fortune, the unmerited abuse of the 
 world, or the death of the dearest friend he 
 knew, with the same acuteness to-day as yes- 
 terday ; and let but a few more days pass, and 
 he feels it not at all. If, then, this be the 
 case — if we may say with certainty , on the 
 occurrence of a misfortune which at the mo- 
 ment were powerful enough, unless combatted, 
 to prostrate all our energies, and make the 
 world a blank, “ To-morrow I shall cease to 
 grieve,” how weak we must be to allow it 
 
86 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 under ordinary circumstances to affect us im- 
 moderately to-day. 
 
 In the search after happiness we are too apt 
 to sacrifice the enjoyment of to-day to the 
 hope of to-morrow — not to be happy, but to 
 intend it: — it is all to-morrow, and to-mor- 
 row, and, lo ! another morrow, and we are 
 dust. Why not, then, reverse our system ? 
 Enjoy and be grateful for every gleam of sun- 
 shine as it passes, but defer repining until the 
 morrow ; by which time, be sure, we shall be 
 a degree nearer than we were to a knowledge 
 of the futility and wickedness of such a course. 
 Man’s life and man’s glory are vain things, 
 but man’s troubles are even vainer still. 
 
87 
 
 NIGHT. 
 
 The night is fittest season for reflection. 
 Fatigued by all the petty cares of life. 
 
 The mind at eve seeks out a resting-place ; 
 Rejects the lures of pomp ; regards not power : 
 Looks scornfully on paths itself had trod 
 E’er time had shewn how futile was their end ; 
 And fain would penetrate the mist, futurity, 
 Gaze e’en, though darkly, on the great beyond. 
 To seek a point on which to rest its hopes. 
 
88 
 
 WEEP NOT. 
 
 The manse was lonely, and no sound was heard 
 From out those walls, which once were joy's domain ; 
 All was neglected — e'en the much-prized bird 
 Pined unregarded, uttered no sweet strain : 
 
 Death — Death — had late been there ! 
 
 Within, a childless widow held commune 
 
 With her drear thoughts — no hope, no fear was left; 
 The whole was blank, except the one short moon, 
 
 In which of all she loved she was bereft. 
 
 Life — Life — thou’rt hard to bear ! 
 
WEEP NOT. 
 
 89 
 
 Nay, weep not, widowed heart, nor yet repine ; 
 
 Thy lost one is in Heaven, throned in love ; 
 And lo ! that peace may once again be thine. 
 Thy former foe thy dearest friend shall prove. 
 
 Death — Death will take thee there. 
 
90 
 
 THE BROTHERS. 
 
 A TALE OF TO-DAY. 
 
 The romance period has not yet passed — 
 the improved administration of the laws, and 
 the increased spread of education, have not 
 quite put an end to deeds of startling daring, 
 and seemingly improbable character ; prompted 
 now, as of old, oftener by man’s evil pas- 
 sions, than by his higher qualities. In earlier 
 times, wdien might made right , through the 
 weakness and uncertainty of the protecting 
 powers, and when the perception of good and 
 evil in the multitude was less clear than now — 
 the brother’s child, who interfered with an 
 uncle’s succession — the timid, patient wife, 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 91 
 
 whose existence prevented the indulgence of 
 her lord’s ambitious or sensual views, or the 
 successful suitor for a fair dame’s favour, to 
 the prejudice of a powerful rival, — were re- 
 moved without difficulty, almost without 
 danger. 
 
 These various motives still occur; and al- 
 though the execution of their promptings (even 
 when unrepressed at once in the mind by in- 
 culcated truth), is less practicable, and, of con- 
 sequence, less frequent, deeds are done, even 
 in the nineteenth century, which the world 
 would hardly credit, if it heard of. What I 
 am about to speak of, which occurred under 
 my own notice, although it is not exactly in- 
 cluded in the above category, has yet in it so 
 strong a spice of the old leaven, that it would 
 seem to belong rather to a preceding age than 
 our own. 
 
 My most intimate friend, whom, as he is 
 still alive, we will designate Stuart, had been 
 long engaged in a distressing lawsuit, to main- 
 
92 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 tain his right to a property bequeathed him by 
 an uncle, but claimed by his twin-brother, 
 Alic, as the first-born. 
 
 The ordinary course of nature seemed to 
 have been changed, with regard to Stuart and 
 his brother. It is hardly possible to conceive 
 two individuals more unlike, both in person 
 and mind, than were these men ; for while one 
 possessed the most confiding and amiable cha- 
 racter it has ever been my fortune to meet 
 with, during a long intercourse with the 
 world, the other exhibited a repulsive and 
 malignant disposition, almost fiendish ; was a 
 slave to coarse passions, and a headstrong 
 temper, and full of scorn for every thing that 
 was good or exalted. 
 
 Towards his brother, Alic’s feelings had ever 
 been those of implacable hatred — a hatred 
 which was strengthened as they advanced in 
 youth, by the superior influence in his own 
 circle, which Stuart necessarily obtained. Ul- 
 timately, it was found necessary to separate 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 93 
 
 these mismatched brothers ; and a clerkship 
 in Barbadoes being offered to the father, Alic 
 was sent out, and remained there twelve or 
 fourteen years in various capacities; at the 
 expiration of which time, both parents dying, 
 he returned to England with little alteration in 
 his feelings or pursuits, save that experience 
 had rendered him more powerful for evil. 
 
 When the circumstance I am about to men- 
 tion occurred — it is not two years ago — Stuart 
 occupied an old house near Amesbury, in 
 Wiltshire ; where, with his young wife, he en- 
 deavoured to forget the earlier part of a life 
 which, although yet brief, had been embittered 
 by trials of no ordinary severity. An uncle, 
 resident abroad, had bequeathed the property 
 in question to the eldest of the brothers, 
 ignorant of the circumstance of their birth. 
 Stuart, first born by a few minutes, preferred 
 his claim. Alic opposed it, and maintained 
 his right to the bequest on the ground that he 
 was senior. A division was at once proposed 
 
94 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 by Stuart, but insultingly refused with me- 
 naces, which none would give credence to, but 
 those who have watched how bitter the hatred 
 of relatives usually is when it does exist. 
 
 Now, it appeared that only one individual 
 lived who could testify to the fact of pri- 
 ority of birth ; and to obtain her evidence, I 
 travelled with Stuart into the north of Scot- 
 land ; for I was then acting not merely as his 
 friend, but his professional adviser. The evi- 
 dence gained was as conclusive as could be 
 desired ; the age of the witness, however, pre- 
 vented her removal to London, and the depo- 
 sition was taken in writing, and properly au- 
 thenticated by the authorities, and resident 
 minister. And well it appeared to be for us 
 that no delay had been allowed to occur ; for 
 during the next day, agitated by the cause of 
 our visit, the woman actually died. When we 
 returned to Amesbury, it yet wanted five days 
 to the time when my presence in London 
 would be necessary ; and this interval it was 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 95 
 
 arranged, should be spent at my friend’s house; 
 the information that the necessary certificate 
 had been obtained, having been first forwarded 
 to the metropolis. 
 
 On the third day after our return, the ser- 
 vants spoke of strangers who had been seen in 
 the village, and whose appearance was not 
 liked by the inhabitants. The residence of 
 Stuart was situated about three-fourths of a 
 mile from Amesbury, and being quite isolated, 
 was regarded by the villagers as likely to offer 
 inducements to depredators, should such be in 
 the neighbourhood. Some hints of this sort 
 were given to him, the more so too, as one of the 
 strangers had been seen in conversation with a 
 farm-servant in his employ, who occupied the 
 out-buildings; but these had no other effect 
 than to lead Stuart to remove the papers ob- 
 tained from Scotland, from a chest in which 
 was deposited what little cash he possessed 
 (not much, poor fellow !) and to place them in 
 his writing-case ; his impression being, that if 
 
96 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 perchance the house were robbed, the papers, 
 which were of so much consequence to him, 
 might also be taken away, or destroyed. 
 
 On the last night of my stay, we sat late, 
 discoursing less of hopes than fears ; and as I 
 was to leave early in the morning, Stuart 
 placed in my hands the case containing the 
 papers. During the whole night circum- 
 stances occurred to disturb me : the weather 
 was boisterous, and being awakened by its 
 fury, I fancied in each after-blast alarms and 
 disturbance. Once indeed I had a distinct 
 impression of the noise of wheels ; but hearing 
 no response from a particularly ferocious dog, 
 which I knew to be in the fore-court, I soon 
 slept again. 
 
 How long I remained so can hardly be said 
 — it could not have been two hours — but when 
 I awoke, it was with a confused feeling of 
 having been disturbed, without any clear 
 notion of the cause. The first glance round 
 the room shewed me that the door was open ; 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 97 
 
 the second, that the writing-case was 
 gone ! 
 
 The truth of the whole matter was at once 
 apparent. Alic had made a desperate effort 
 to obtain the certificate, and had been too 
 successful. On examination, the entrance- 
 door had been opened, evidently without 
 force, and the dog was dead in his kennel. 
 As, however, my aim is not to write a ro- 
 mance, but to recite an actual occurrence, 
 suffice it to say, that in a very few minutes 
 Stuart and myself, although bewildered, had 
 saddled two horses and were on the road. 
 The farm-servant, w T e found, would not be 
 roused, — the case was clear against him, — 
 and we accordingly rode off alone, at the 
 top of our beasts’ speed, in the hope of over- 
 taking the miscreants, as it was certain they 
 could have had but a short start of us. 
 
 The dawn was faintly breaking, and en- 
 abled us to see the traces of a vehicle we 
 then thought a gig, but which, as we after- 
 
 F 
 
 
98 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 wards found, was a light cart, such as is some- 
 times used by country hucksters. 
 
 The tracks led us to the main road that 
 crosses Salisbury Plain, towards Bath ; past 
 the sole mysterious occupier of that dreary 
 expanse, Stonehenge — the masses composing 
 which, when viewed as we then saw them, 
 seemed (as if with a feeling that they had 
 outlived their age) to have cowered together 
 in one spot for mutual support and counte- 
 nance. Not to delay, however, on we passed 
 faster and more fast, till we reached a cross 
 road, branching to the right, which leads to 
 Old Sarum ; and here, to our infinite sorrow 
 and surprise, the marks of wheels ceased to 
 be visible. We searched some time for a 
 satisfactory clue, but fruitlessly; footmarks, 
 both of horses and men, were visible on both 
 roads, but those on the cross-road were 
 apparently the more recent, and this was 
 accordingly pursued ; although we were still 
 lost in amazement at the entire disappearance 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 99 
 
 of the wheel-tracks, and much less sanguine 
 of success than at starting. 
 
 We followed the cross-road for a consi- 
 derable distance — perhaps two miles — when 
 suddenly we espied a small mud hovel, a 
 few hundred yards from the path, erected for 
 the protection of the shepherds of the numer- 
 ous flocks which find pasture on the plain. 
 
 Simultaneously, we dashed over to it; a 
 cart turned on its side lay near to it, and 
 we felt we were upon the right scent. The 
 door was fastened, but forcing it with a 
 bound, we entered the hovel together. On 
 the earthen floor appeared the form of a 
 man in the prime of life, literally steeped in 
 blood. He was alive, but the hand of death 
 was visibly upon him ; his eye, however, 
 turned listlessly towards us as we entered ; 
 when, espying Stuart, he suddenly hissed a 
 curse, which I still hear and shudder at, so 
 awful was its effect ; a fresh torrent of blood 
 
 v 2 
 
100 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 poured from him, he gasped convulsively, 
 endeavoured to rise, and died ! 
 
 I need hardly say it was Alic. After the 
 successful abstraction of the papers, fearing 
 the means of tracing him, which the wheels 
 of the cart afforded, he had, with the assist- 
 ance of his comrade, as it afterwards ap- 
 peared, carried the vehicle the whole distance 
 from the cross-road ; an effort which, although 
 he was a powerful man, nerved too by strong 
 inducements, proved too great, and caused 
 the rupture of a blood-vessel on the lungs, 
 the fatal termination of which we had 
 witnessed. 
 
 The writing-case was never recovered ; the 
 companion of Alic’s daring attempt finding 
 him unable to move when he reached the 
 hovel, mounted the horse, and left him to 
 die. He was ultimately taken ; but, proving 
 to be simply a servant, acting under his 
 master’s orders, was not prosecuted. From 
 
THE BROTHERS. 
 
 101 
 
 him it was learnt that Alic had destroyed 
 the writing-case and its contents, before 
 leaving his brother’s house. This, however, 
 was of no consequence, as by Alic’s death, 
 Stuart came into possession of the disputed 
 property. The scene in the hovel made 
 an impression on my mind, which I am sa- 
 tisfied will not be effaced by years ; and 
 I think it justifies me in saying the days of 
 romance have not yet passed away. 
 
102 
 
 I 
 
 THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 The Rhine, the green and constant Rhine, 
 is still beautiful — still a rife prompter of spi- 
 rit-stirring recollections and pleasant thoughts; 
 notwithstanding the shoals of loud-talking, 
 hock -drinking, money -spending cockneys, 
 whom London launches annually on its wa- 
 ters to invade the solemn quiet, and lessen 
 the romantic and, in some cases, sublime 
 beauty of its shores. 
 
 The seven mountains, the Drachenfels, 
 Nonnenworth, the “ Brothers,” the Pfalz, the 
 mystic Lurlei-Berg — are still there : and the 
 same crags which frowned on Caesar, forbid- 
 ding his invasion, and were the fitting haunts 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 103 
 
 of the gnomes and the goblins of later times, 
 display to us their rugged fronts, and put the 
 judgment at once, and entirely, under the 
 dominion of the imagination. The robber- 
 lords with their retinue of daring dissolutes — 
 themselves but slaves — have passed away, and 
 left no name ; but their embattled holds still 
 remain to attest the story, and mock their 
 master’s impotency, even while they prove his 
 skill. Centuries with these have dealt gently, 
 nay, in some cases, have added new charms 
 to the massive and moss-grown structure : 
 truly — ■ 
 
 u Time, by his gradual touch, 
 
 Has moulder’d into beauty many a tower, 
 
 Which, when it frown’d with all its battlements, 
 
 Was only terrible.” 
 
 Nowhere has Time had more practice in this 
 respect than on the Rhine; what wonder is 
 it, then, that here he has done his best ! 
 
 It was near one of the most picturesque and 
 striking of these memorials of former do- 
 
104 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 minion, these tangible tales of other days and 
 other manners — the Castle of Ehrenfels, which 
 stands on a beetling crag close to the borders 
 of the Rhine, and commands the mouth of 
 the river Nahe — that two students lingered 
 till late in an autumnal evening of last year. 
 They had been walking for some weeks in 
 search of information, with knapsack on their 
 backs, their portfolios and pipes, and were 
 evidently fatigued by the day’s journey. 
 
 One, about twenty, a tall, slight youth, in 
 whose eminently handsome face a degree of 
 energy and power was apparent, sufficiently 
 to enforce attention almost without effort on 
 his part, was attired in a closely-fitting coat 
 of dark velveteen, buttoned to the throat, and 
 quite devoid of ornament. A cloth skull-cap 
 barely confined a most luxuriant head of hair, 
 which, together with the small but clearly 
 defined moustache , was of jetty black, and 
 served to increase an air of seriousness, al- 
 most sadness, visible in his demeanour. 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 105 
 
 His companion, apparently four or live 
 years older, was of an entirely different mould. 
 Short, stout, and jovial ; with whiskers and 
 a beard of sandy hue, sufficient in quantity 
 for a Prussian lancer, and an air which said 
 as plainly as air can say, “ Fighting, laughing, 
 and drinking, are my strong points.’’ He 
 wore a slate-coloured blouse fastened round 
 the waist by a leathern band, and adorned 
 with innumerable pockets opened in all pos- 
 sible positions. A high-crowned straw-hat 
 completed his equipment, and this was en- 
 twined with artificial roses, somewhat the 
 worse for hard travel and bad usage. 
 
 The sun had gone down, and some heavy 
 black clouds were coming up with the wind, 
 betokening a speedy storm. On the river, at 
 all times but those of its periodical disturb- 
 ances by steam, quiet and deserted, not a boat 
 or moving thing was to be seen over its whole 
 expanse, — indeed, but for the song of some 
 peasants, which, far away over the mountains, 
 
 f 3 
 
106 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 came at intervals clearly to the ear, the scene 
 they gazed upon might have recalled the ap- 
 pearance of the earth when the waters were 
 retiring from its face, after the universal de- 
 luge and destruction. The Mausethurm , or 
 Mouse-tower, as it is vulgarly called, seen 
 isolated in the river, looked like the summit of 
 a lofty building, still partially submerged. 
 
 “ Die Teufel , Herman,” said the elder of 
 the travellers, “ see what your love of the 
 sublime, not far from the ridiculous, allow me 
 to say, has led us into. The night is getting 
 dark, and threatens to be foul : the nearest 
 village is at some distance, and difficult of 
 access ; and yet, here we linger without thought 
 of shelter. What would my dainty sister Ami- 
 lie say, did she know of the wanderings of her 
 ‘ bespoken V ” 
 
 “ You are right, Krapz; we have overstayed 
 prudence, and must lose no time in seeking a 
 haven. Surely, however, this splendid scene 
 is cheaply purchased. The intensity of those 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 107 
 
 waters, — the solemn magnificence of the moun- 
 tains which face us. Observe, too, the ruins 
 of the Klopp, illuminated as they are, at this 
 moment, by broad sheets of flame, recurring 
 as fast as ceasing. The thoughts induced by 
 one such view, open a new era in one’s ex- 
 istence, and teach us we own mines of never- 
 failing gratification, that are as yet unex- 
 plored.” 
 
 “ Would that we rather owned a house at 
 this moment,” interrupted his companion, “ if 
 it were ever so small. Donner , here comes the 
 rain, in drops as large as a thaler ; we must 
 enter the castle, or we shall be drowned.” 
 
 “You remind me,” said Herman, “ that the 
 ruins are said to be occupied by one of the 
 vine-dressers. Wrench off yonder branch, 
 and I will arouse him.” 
 
 They had now reached the present rude 
 entrance gate, formed in one side of the keep, 
 but found it close and strongly secured. The 
 remains of some of the old walls jutting out 
 
108 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 from the tower, and on which a roof of reeds 
 had been placed, were sufficient to defend them 
 from the rain, which now came down heavily, 
 and as if with a determination to continue. 
 A long, carved, oaken bench, apparently at one 
 time a portion of the fittings of some ecclesi- 
 astical building, was on one side of the en- 
 closed porch ; and into this Krapz threw him- 
 self, expressing his conviction that no human 
 being could live in such a stone quarry, and 
 uttering many good-tempered abjurations of 
 the picturesque. 
 
 Without heeding his companion, Herman 
 applied the truncheon with which he had pro- 
 vided himself vigorously to the wooden door. 
 His efforts woke up — a dozen echoes, but no- 
 thing more, reverberating within the old walls, 
 until, “ frightened at the noise himself had 
 made,” he was fain to stay his hand. 
 
 Krapz, having thrown himself on the bench, 
 was already dreaming of the last tasted bottle 
 of Rudesheimer, the merits of which he began 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 109 
 
 to praise aloud ; not quite so intolerantly as 
 Coleridge, when he wrote : — 
 
 “ Mr. Mum’s Rudesheimer, and the church of St. Gereon, 
 Are the two things alone, 
 
 That deserve to be known, 
 
 In the body and soul-stinking town of Cologne 
 
 but still with marvellous energy and real gusto . 
 In the intervals of his doze, he bade Herman 
 cease knocking (Herman had ceased ten mi- 
 nutes before), and said it was quite certain 
 that no man could live there. 
 
 The remark had the effect of reminding his 
 companion that some person did certainly live 
 there, although he had not chosen to reply ; 
 and, stimulated by the rain which now began 
 to find entrance through the rude roof, he 
 once more plied his truncheon vigorously — 
 and this time with better success. 
 
 “ What do you want?’* said a thin, queru- 
 lous voice, from a loop-hole somewhere over 
 Herman’s head ; “ Tausend Teufels ! what are 
 you making that noise about?” 
 
110 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 “ Why don’t you open the gate then/’ 
 said Herman, “and let us find shelter from 
 this storm? We are benighted on the moun- 
 tain, and must stay here, if not till the 
 morning, at all events till the weather be 
 fairer.” 
 
 “ Hi — hi — hi ! ” said the voice ; “ I shan’t 
 do any such thing; so go your way and don’t 
 disturb us.” 
 
 Herman replied only by a fresh attack on 
 the gate, which peopled the whole place 
 with voices, and seemed to be replied to from 
 the opposite bank of the river. 
 
 “There, stop your thumping, — stop your 
 thumping. If you will have it opened, — 
 why, there it is ; — but, mind, I didn’t ask you 
 to come in. It is your own seeking, — Hi — 
 hi — hi ! — it’s your own seeking.” 
 
 The figure that emerged from the rude 
 doorway, which he had unbarred while 
 uttering these words, somewhat startled the 
 student. The voice had led him to expect 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 a diminutive and weakly body in extreme old 
 age : whereas the man from whom it pro- 
 ceeded was in stature and bulk a Her- 
 cules. His head was covered with long 
 
 dishevelled red hair, which reached his 
 shoulders, as was also the lower part of 
 his face. His nose, if a small pimple over 
 his mouth might be so called, would not have 
 afforded a handle to the most vindictive of 
 his enemies, and served, with a jaw fright- 
 fully under-hung, to give a sensual and 
 brutal aspect to the man, only slightly re- 
 lieved by a pair of small twinkling grey 
 eyes, in which, though not destitute of fe- 
 rocity, there was an occasional expression of 
 merriment and intelligence. 
 
 His attire was as extraordinary as his 
 person, and consisted chiefly of a large sack 
 opened down the middle, and secured by a 
 cord round his neck. His arms were ex- 
 posed, and shewed a fresh profusion of 
 matted hair, not the most agreeable in its 
 
112 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 appearance. His legs, from the knee down- 
 wards, were cased in strong leathern boots 
 of rude manufacture. He bore a small lan- 
 tern in his hand, and this he at once applied 
 unceremoniously to the faces of the visitants. 
 Apparently the examination of Herman’s was 
 not displeasing to him. 
 
 “ Oh ! it’s you, is it ? — This is better than 
 could have been hoped for. We are waiting 
 for you. Come, rouse up, rouse up, man ! ” 
 he continued, passing the light before the 
 eyes of Krapz, who, first vowing that the 
 lightning was stronger than ever, slowly re- 
 covered his consciousness, and prepared to 
 follow him. 
 
 To Herman the address of the strange 
 being before him was quite incomprehen- 
 sible : — 
 
 “Waiting forme?” said he; “impossible! 
 — you must be mistaken. I am here a tra- 
 veller and solely by chance.” 
 
 “Chance!” replied the man;— “Pooh! 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 113 
 
 what’s chance ? — That’s the way with men 
 of the world. You are all bearing part in 
 an arrangement you don’t understand, and 
 think chance is your guide ! Hi — hi — hi ! 
 Well, — you know the damsel Amilie; — no 
 starting ! — come in.” 
 
 Perfectly, as one thunderstruck, unable to 
 fathom what he had heard, and yet convinced 
 that the man was acquainted with at least 
 a portion of his history, Herman followed 
 his enormous guide into the building, vainly 
 seeking to explore the pitchy darkness on all 
 sides by aid of the lantern’s light. 
 
 61 Now, then !” shrieked the guide; and, to 
 his horror, he found himself precipitated into 
 a yawning chasm, the extent and depth of 
 which he had not time to estimate. 
 
 “ God ! ” said Herman. 
 
 “ The devil ! ” exclaimed Krapz, who, 
 although close behind, yet continued to fall 
 without comino; into contact with him. Down 
 
 O 
 
114 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 they went with inconceivable velocity, the 
 silence broken only by one “ Hi — hi — hi!” 
 from the guide, who had already reached a 
 sort of ledge jutting out into the chasm, 
 whereon they afterwards both alighted, be- 
 wildered and breathless, but unhurt. To re- 
 turn was impossible : above, below, was void 
 and darkness ; they therefore followed their 
 almost unearthly conductor, who, entering 
 a fissure in the rock, proceeded forward on his 
 hands and knees. 
 
 At this moment a faint scream was heard 
 (apparently from the far end of the passage 
 they were threading), which called forth 
 an exclamation from both the friends, and 
 prompted them to further haste. 
 
 “Are we bewitched?” said Krapz, u or 
 was that truly the voice of my delicate sister 
 Amilie ? — Hark ! it is there again ! — Speak, 
 Herman, what say you ?” 
 
 “ Waste no time in speaking,” replied 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 115 
 
 Herman, “but, for God's sake, let us on. 
 What these things mean I am at a loss to 
 guess, but sorely fear some horrible event.” 
 
 “ Endeavour to let me pass over your 
 body," said Krapz (the way was still so 
 small that they were unable to stand up- 
 right), “ and I will rush upon yonder rascal, 
 and force the truth from him : — luckily I have 
 a pistol with me.” 
 
 “ On no account, Krapz," he replied ; 
 “ such a course would entail certain destruc- 
 tion. Even were you able to overcome this 
 fellow, — a thing improbable, — all means of 
 escape from this extraordinary cavern would 
 be cut off." 
 
 The fissure had now enlarged sufficiently 
 for them to raise themselves upright in it, 
 and they had approached close to their con- 
 ductor, when he suddenly moved back a mass 
 of stone, poised accurately on its centre, 
 to serve for a door, and thrust them both 
 forcibly through it. The room they thus 
 
116 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 entered was of the most gorgeous descrip- 
 tion, and was so brilliantly illuminated by a 
 number of torches composed of a wood, which 
 diffused an overpowering though agreeable 
 odour, that for some time they were quite 
 unable to discern what surrounded them. 
 The walls were covered with the most exqui- 
 site creations of the pencil ; the ceiling was 
 a mass of fretted gold, enhanced by slight 
 colourings, and throwing off from its thousand 
 points sparkling reflections : while on the 
 floor were spread shawls of the most luxurious 
 softness and singular beauty. The air, which 
 elsewhere had been cold and damp, was here 
 of a delightful temperature, and served in some 
 degree to revive and reassure the friends. 
 
 The tenants of this glittering chamber 
 (made more so, too, by its powerful contrast 
 with that part of the building they had 
 already seen) were three females of sur- 
 passing mien, who reclined, rather than sat, 
 on a low couch, occupying one side of 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 117 
 
 it. Their attire, of costly and tasteful cha- 
 racter, was but sufficient to heighten their 
 natural charms, not to disguise them, and 
 imparted a voluptuous aspect to the whole 
 scene. 
 
 The entrance of the strangers, followed by 
 their attendant, caused them all to rise from 
 their position with inquiring eyes. Around 
 the latter they first flocked, beseechingly, and 
 addressing him as Grimm, begged he would 
 not again leave them so long alone, and that 
 he would permit the visitants to remain. Then 
 with a childlike fondness, and an apparent 
 ignorance of evil, they lavished their caresses 
 on Herman and his friend, praying them not 
 to depart. 
 
 Krapz, who had more of the epicurean than 
 the stoic in his composition, was nothing 
 loath, although sorely perplexed, and seemed 
 willing to forget, in the present, the peculiarity 
 and difficulty of their position. 
 
 “So, so, damsels,” said Grimm, “you are 
 
118 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 polite enough now. I thought a few hours 
 spent alone would bring you to your senses. 
 If you have nothing else to be fond of, you 
 must be fond of me, — Hi — hi — hi ! — beautiful 
 as I am and the fellow touched, sneeringly, 
 his pimple of a nose. “ To let these fine gal- 
 lants stay though, would throw me back 
 again : no, no, we must away/’ 
 
 “ Nay, go no further, handsome stranger,” 
 said one of the girls, whom her companions 
 had called Agnes, addressing herself to Krapz ; 
 “ go no further, or you perish. See what this 
 elegance covers and, lifting the valance of 
 the couch on which she had been sitting, the 
 student saw with horror the mangled body of 
 a man apparently in the prime of life. 
 
 Although horrified, Krapz was still undis- 
 mayed ; — whispering eagerly in the girl’s ear, 
 to which she replied, “ I can,” he shouted, 
 “ Herman, we are in a trap : be ready, how- 
 ever, and we may foil them yet.” 
 
 With this he rushed towards Grimm, and 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 119 
 
 drawing a pistol from one of his many pock- 
 ets, fired. The bullet missed its mark, but 
 glancing wide, buried itself in the snowy 
 bosom of Agnes, who, not aware of Krapz’ s 
 intention, had passed round to the other side 
 of the apartment. 
 
 The life-blood gushed from the wound and 
 spread around ; and Krapz, horror-struck by 
 the unexpected effect of his hasty attack, and 
 forgetful for the moment of all else, raised the 
 now inanimate form in his arms. Stealthily 
 Grimm moved beside him, and before Her- 
 man, whose attention had been suddenly fixed 
 on a curtain which partly shrouded an open- 
 ing at the end of the chamber, could render 
 any assistance, he passed a short knife, drawn 
 from the top of his boot, twice to the hilt into 
 the small part of his back, and then, with his 
 usual Hi — hi — hi, returned the weapon to its 
 hiding-place. 
 
 Without a groan, and with no other exclama- 
 tion than — “ Herman, see ! my sister !” Krapz 
 
120 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 sprang convulsively from the ground and fell 
 dead. 
 
 Herman, shudderingly, had beheld his friend 
 fall, but was unable to make any endeavour 
 to protect or avenge him ; for, at the moment 
 of the catastrophe, the drapery we have spoken 
 of was violently put on one side, and the face 
 of a maiden, long and ardently beloved by 
 him, mentioned before as Amilie, was pro- 
 truded. Apparently she did not recognize 
 him, and with a faint shriek, instantly re- 
 treated ; nor was the dying exclamation of 
 Krapz, which had been caused by her sud- 
 den appearance, sufficiently loud to reach 
 her. 
 
 Herman wavered for an instant — but only 
 
 / 
 
 an instant. Love conquered Friendship, as he 
 had often done before, and Herman darted 
 through the opening in pursuit of Amilie. He 
 found himself in a long, arched passage-way, 
 excavated in the solid rock, the profound ob- 
 scurity of which was increased, rather than 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 121 
 
 lessened, by a small lamp which the maiden 
 bore, already at some distance before him. 
 
 To the right and left the gallery branched, 
 off; and down the former of these turnings, 
 winged by fear, she flew, rather than ran, 
 closely followed by Herman, with an anxious 
 and beating heart. To utter her name aloud 
 he was afraid ; and the pursuit might have 
 been one of length and difficulty, had not a 
 projecting crystal in the rocky floor of the 
 passage-way arrested her progress, by precipi- 
 tating her violently to the ground. 
 
 The lamp was extinguished ; and Herman 
 was now compelled to proceed cautiously, 
 groping his way almost on all-fours, lest he 
 should stumble over her prostrate body. 
 When he had reached the spot where she lay, 
 he raised her in his arms, and sought by every 
 means in his power to restore her — but ineffec- 
 tually. He chafed her hands, pressed her to 
 his bosom, and uttered the most passionate 
 expressions of endearment, upbraiding himself 
 
 G 
 
122 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 the while for what had occurred. Passing his 
 hands over her cold face, he found that blood 
 was trickling down it, and losing now all 
 thought but for her present recovery, he 
 shouted madly for assistance. 
 
 His voice, which was echoed on all sides, 
 was answered sooner than he could have an- 
 ticipated ; and from a cleft in the rock close to 
 where they stood, Grimm appeared, bearing a 
 torch, and followed by a man of handsome 
 exterior, who seemed to be not unknown to 
 Herman. 
 
 “ So, so, my cherub/’ said the former, “ you 
 must be flying, must you ? A pretty journey 
 you have made of it too. Blood, eh ! well, 
 well, we’ve all our weaknesses — Hi — hi — hi ! 
 but I can’t say pity was ever one of mine. 
 There, open your eyes minnekin — the sight of 
 me will restore you.” 
 
 The light had recalled the poor girl to con- 
 sciousness — she gazed anxiously about her — 
 then recognizing Herman, clasped him hysteri- 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 123 
 
 cally in her arms, beseeching him not to leave 
 her. The stranger now bade Grimm raise her, 
 and follow him; but this, Herman (whose 
 horror of this extraordinary being had been in- 
 creased tenfold by his late murder of Krapz) 
 interfered to prevent. Taking her in his arms, 
 he offered to follow them where they would ; 
 to which Grimm persuaded his companion, 
 with some difficulty, to assent. 
 
 The stranger, whom Grimm called Herr 
 Beowulf, led ; Herman followed, and, while on 
 the way, was able to gather hastily from 
 Amilie, that when walking on the banks of the 
 Rhine, more than a week before, she had been 
 forcibly conveyed into a boat by three men — 
 one of whom was Beowulf, a fellow-student 
 with Herman, and her rejected lover — and 
 carried down the stream to the Mausethurm, 
 the small, isolated tower already mentioned as 
 standing in the river, where she had been daily 
 subjected to his importunities. Becoming more 
 
 g 2 
 
124 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 impatient, he threatened violent means to com- 
 pel her to accept his hand ; and it was after 
 his last interview, that she had endeavoured to 
 escape by means of a private passage-way, ac- 
 cidentally discovered to her, and which, as it 
 seemed, led under the bed of the Rhine to the 
 castle on its banks. Beowulf had speedily fol- 
 lowed her, and it was her scream which Her- 
 man had heard on first entering the ruins. 
 
 They had now reached a door-way, whose 
 pointed arch and sculptured adornments indi- 
 cated the workmanship of a period less remote 
 than any they had yet seen. Herman, still 
 bearing Amilie, passed in, and, greatly aston- 
 ished, found himself in a small, but exquisitely 
 enriched chapel, where “ saints stood sanctified 
 in stone/’ and art had paid her greatest ho- 
 mage to the living God. 
 
 The place was apparently prepared for a ce- 
 remony. Before the altar burnt three golden 
 lamps : a priest and two boys, in their sacer- 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 125 
 
 dotal attire, were waiting near ; as were also 
 several men, who seemed to be retainers or 
 friends of Beowulf. 
 
 Amilie now stood by the side of Herman, 
 clasping his arm with both her hands, and 
 dumb with dread of what might follow. Beo- 
 wulf approached, and seizing her by the waist, 
 desired Herman in an insolent tone of voice to 
 leave her. 
 
 “ Never,” replied he, “with my own will. 
 I appeal to the holy Church, who permits no 
 violence in this her sacred temple, and call 
 upon her minister to afford protection to a de- 
 fenceless female.” 
 
 “Remove him !” shouted Beowulf. 
 
 A lengthened scream from Amilie — a short 
 struggle — and Herman found himself again in 
 the narrow passage-way by which they had 
 approached ; the heavy door was violently 
 closed, and he was alone. 
 
 “ Good God !” was his exclamation, “ am I 
 
 to lose her thus !” 
 
126 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Never had she seemed to him so precious 
 as then, when, deprived of all other worldly 
 aid, she had placed in him her sole trust. The 
 thought brought madness ; he battered against 
 the door, but the door was immovable ; he 
 shouted, but his shouts had no reply. What 
 was to be done ? Suddenly he fancied the air 
 in the vaulting was more keen,— he must be 
 near some outlet ; assistance was possible. 
 Hope inspired him with fresh vigour. He tore 
 wildly along, now stopped by the solid rock — 
 then taking a wrong course ; but, after a toil- 
 some effort, at last found himself in the open air, 
 within ruined walls. Around him on all sides 
 ran the swift Rhine ; above him was a dark 
 and threatening sky ; he was in the Mause- 
 thurm, and Amilie’s impression was correct. 
 
 At the foot of the tower tossed a small boat, 
 guarded only by one man, who dozed in a rude 
 door-way above where it was moored. The 
 boat must be had, and he would then probably 
 be able to obtain aid from the neighbouring 
 
THE CASTLE OF EHRENFELS. 
 
 127 
 
 village. Precipitating himself, therefore, upon 
 the man, a struggle ensued, brief but desperate. 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances, Herman would 
 have been no match for his present adversary. 
 The man, however, being suddenly awakened, 
 and ignorant of the number of his assailants, was 
 at a disadvantage. Herman had stunned him 
 by a succession of rapid blows, and was about 
 to cast him into the river, when a third person 
 appeared on the scene, and seizing Herman 
 roughly by the neck, exclaimed, “ JDonner und 
 Blitzen ! what are you struggling here for in 
 the rain ? you’ll have rheumatism before your 
 time. There, come in — come in — and dry 
 yourself.” Herman raised himself on one arm ; 
 he was beneath the old porch at the castle of 
 Ehrenfels. The rain had wetted him through ; 
 he was stiff with cold and his bones ached with 
 pain : but Amilie was not married — Krapz was 
 not murdered — for there lay the latter on the 
 old oaken bench, opposite to him, still snor- 
 ing soundly. 
 
128 
 
 POMPEII. 
 
 And this is Pompeii? Magnificent deso- 
 lation ! Before me, in solemn majesty, stands 
 the Temple of the Goddess Fortune ; behind 
 me lies that which was once a city, life- 
 less and motionless — a body without a soul. 
 The noonday sun blazes fiercely in the hea- 
 vens ; the world is up and stirring, but here 
 it is still as night; not a bird, not a thing 
 of life is there to break the melancholy, 
 sepulchral silence. 
 
 Two thousand years ago, a countless multi- 
 tude occupied this place, full of life, hope, 
 and joy, — possessing the same powers, pre- 
 judices, and passions which now rule us ; 
 
 7 
 
POMPEII. 
 
 129 
 
 nay, on this very step may Cicero have 
 stood, surrounded by listening crowds; who 
 have all perished, leaving little save these 
 stones to tell of the things that were. I feel 
 awe-stricken and heart-sick ; and dare not to 
 move, lest my own footfall should make 
 more dreadful the stillness which exists. 
 Whence comes this sickness, this involun- 
 tary yearning of the heart ? It is from 
 sympathy with those who are as I must be : 
 it is from innate knowledge of mine own 
 evanescent nothingness. 
 
 On a heap of rubbish at my feet lies a 
 small ring, which once perhaps bedecked the 
 finger of some proud Pompeian dame ! that 
 little worthless bauble has here lain buried, 
 while twenty generations of the rich and the 
 miserable, the virtuous and the bad, have pass- 
 ed from off the earth. That is unimpaired ; 
 of them there is no trace ; the elements which 
 composed their bodies have entered into other 
 combinations and their original form is lost. 
 
 g 3 
 
130 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Stay ! Ill nature, nothing is or can be de- 
 stroyed; it may be changed by commixture 
 in proportion and in appearance ; it may be 
 now as air and then as water; still the 
 same particles are in being, and ever will be 
 until the end. Here then I see consolation; 
 their minds (whether in heaven, whether in 
 paradise with the houri, or whether ani- 
 mating some other form upon the earth), must 
 also still exist; and those whom I have de- 
 plored are not dead ; they have merely 
 changed their dwelling-place. 
 
131 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR IN 1841. 
 
 “ Heu ! quam difficilis glorise custodia est ! ” 
 
 Oh ! St. Bartlemy, St. Bartlemy, how has 
 thy greatness fallen, thy strength wasted 
 away ! Where now are the high priests of 
 thy temples ( Luperci , or rather, perhaps, 
 Salii, who “ about the streets a mad proces- 
 sion led ”), the vestals, the sacrificial fires, 
 and holy noises? Lucretius his description 
 of other orgies once did for thine — alas ! that 
 things have changed. 
 
 “ Amidst the pomp fierce drums and cymbals beat, 
 
 And the hoarse horns with rattling notes do threat. 
 
 The pipe with Phrygian airs disturbs their souls, 
 
 Till, reason overthrown, mad passion rules. 
 
 By dancing quick they make a greater sound, 
 
 And beat their kettles as they skip around.’’ 
 
132 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 The cothurnus and the soccus were donned 
 in thy honour, though “ rude were the actors 
 and a cart the scene ” — fire was eaten, parch- 
 ment beaten — dwarfs rang tiny bells from their 
 miniature domiciles — and Northumberland 
 giants, twelve feet high, stood comfortably in 
 caravans little more than seven. Men and 
 women, to propitiate thee, suffered themselves 
 gladly to be swung violently into the air for 
 the hour together, or, astride a wooden image, 
 to be whirled wildly round till the brain swam 
 and they knew not “ where was the world ; ” 
 while others poured poison into their frames 
 in utter fury of devotion to thy cause ! “ The 
 
 victim ox,” described by Virgil, 
 
 11 That was for altars pressed, 
 
 Trimm’d with white ribbons and with garlands dress’d,’ ’ 
 
 no longer streams from out a thousand pans, 
 enclosed in skins of shape oblong and round, 
 fit holocaust for thee. The very savour has 
 departed, and is now but a memory. 
 
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR IN 1841. 133 
 
 “ To seek for Rome, vain stranger, art thou come, 
 
 And find’st no mark, within Rome’s walls, of Rome.” 
 
 How would that good man rejoice could 
 he now look into thy empty halls, who 
 several hundred years ago, wrote a tract 
 for Richard Harper, at the “ Bible and 
 Harp,” Smithfield, entitled “ Bartholomew 
 Faire ; or varieties of fancies, where you 
 may find a faire of wares, and all to please 
 your mind, with the several enormityes and 
 misdemeanours, which are there seen and 
 heard.” Verily he would say, the evil has 
 come home unto you. Malcolm writes of the 
 fair in 1802: “The visitor will here find all 
 uproar. Shouts, drums, trumpets, organs, the 
 roaring of beasts, assailing the ear ! While 
 the blaze of torches and glare of candles 
 confuse the sight, and present as well the 
 horror of executions and burning of martyrs, 
 as the humours of a fair.” Later still, Hone, 
 in one of his miscellanies, gives a detailed 
 description of all he found there, including 
 
134 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 numerous shows, fun, vice, and phenomena. 
 Its end was even then visible; it may now be 
 said to be come. A menagerie of wild 
 beasts; a caravan containing two “real live 
 boa-constrictor serpents, a learned pig, and an 
 ourang-outang what understands nearly every 
 word that’s spoken ; ” two travelling auc- 
 tioneers selling knives, scissors, brushes, and 
 such like, at the rate of about three for six- 
 pence ; a score of booths for gingerbread 
 nuts, a mechanical exhibition and a conjuror 
 in Hosier-lane, form at this present writing 
 the “ sum tottle of the whole.” 
 
 Richardson’s booth — birth-place of heroes 
 — he himself the real descendant of Thespis , 
 “ who taught men how to speak and how 
 to act,” no longer takes its place, or money 
 from the people. The last time we entered 
 the age-honoured tent, redolent of size, saw- 
 dust, and soft soap, a storm of rain led to 
 percolations from the “ flapping canvas,” 
 and a cry arose of “ umbrellas down in 
 
BARTHOLOMEW FAIR IN 1841. 135 
 
 front/’ put up to defend their fortunate 
 owners. Loud roared the unfortunate actors 
 to be heard above the hubbub ; and all 
 was going wrong, when a u cool hand,” in- 
 quiring quietly of the chief villain (who was 
 at the moment straining every nerve, distend- 
 ing every vein, with shouting) whether he 
 could not speak a little louder, — raised a 
 unanimous laugh, and turned the tragedy into 
 a farce. The play was got through in ten 
 minutes, and then the manager announced that 
 the performances “ would be repeated again 
 (aye ! and again) in two minutes and a half.” 
 Truly, as the owner of the “ boa-constrictor 
 serpents” before mentioned, said every time 
 his caravan disgorged its occupants, “ I can 
 confidently appeal to every hindiwidual pos- 
 sessing humane intellects, to say whether this 
 was not a sight at once hinteresting and 
 amusing, destructive and delightful.” But let 
 that pass ; and return for one instant to the 
 fair as it is. The keepers of neighbouring 
 
136 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 hostels willing, of course, to preserve so in- 
 teresting a remnant of antiquity, endeavour 
 by balls and harmonic meetings to revive 
 defunct joviality. Strive however, never so 
 hardly, Bartholomew fair cannot be revived; 
 recreation is now sought in other ways. St. 
 Bartlemy, to make the fair personal, has had 
 his day, and must speedily say farewell ! 
 “ I have touched the highest point of all 
 my greatness ; and, from that full meridian 
 of my glory, I haste now to my setting. I 
 shall fall like a bright exhalation in the 
 evening, and no man see me more.” 
 
137 
 
 ROMANTIC” 
 
 According to the dictionary-mongers, to 
 be romantic is to be “ mad, phrensical, silly, 
 idle, and given to lying but, for my own 
 part, I am quite unable to connect any one 
 of these euphonious, confidence-giving adjec- 
 tives with that term. Certes, some mad and 
 silly people are romantic, — and let them thank 
 their good angels that they are so ; for thence, 
 when “ to imagine conquers to repine,” come 
 the solace of many of earth’s sorrows, and 
 bright gleams of sunshine on the soul, when 
 clouds would otherwise envelop it. But, to 
 say that, is to say nothing : for insomuch as, 
 although a thief is sometimes a man, still man 
 
138 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 is not necessarily a thief ; so to be romantic 
 does not, perforce, imply madness, although 
 madness may be, nay, often is, romantic. 
 
 Whence came the word ? The “ langue Ro- 
 mane ” grew out of the endeavours which the 
 people of the west of Europe made, after the 
 fall of Rome, to give consistency to the va- 
 rious dialects which had been formed by the 
 mixture of Latin with the northern languages. 
 The dialect thus formed in France spread in 
 the most extraordinary manner, and appeared 
 about to supersede the Latin which preceded. 
 A multitude of poets arose in all quarters, who 
 gave to it a proper character, and originated 
 in it a literature which owed little to the la- 
 bours of previous people. Normandy and her 
 troubadours spread it over Europe; and al- 
 though its duration was comparatively brief, 
 it gave its impress to the future, and became 
 the synonyme of poetry ! 
 
 Blessed, thrice blessed, is he, who, possess- 
 ing a poetical, in other words, a romantic spi- 
 
“romantic.” 139 
 
 rit, hath within him an ever-springing well of 
 pleasant fancies and ennobling aspirations ; 
 who can shut his eyes to the clayey world 
 immediately around him, and call on the ideal 
 to minister to his happiness ; or, looking over 
 the world's edge, to the great beyond, see 
 there the realization of his imaginings, and 
 the goal of his hopes. Who could contented 
 dwell, “ cabined, cribbed, confined,” with- 
 in the bounds of the dull plot measured out 
 to him for action here, trammelled by con- 
 ventialisms, depressed by the leaden humani- 
 ties to which, perchance, without his will, he 
 may be linked, were it not for the world 
 within — misty, but mighty — and the glorious 
 idealities which he has raised up unto himself, 
 though never to be embodied ? 
 
 Romance can people a desert, take the sting 
 from every sorrow, and carry into old age the 
 fresh bright feelings of bounding youth. Can 
 this belong to folly ? 
 
140 
 
 A PREFACE FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 An album, hacknied and perverted as the 
 term is, still brings with it a host of pleasant 
 thoughts and feelings to the well-constituted 
 mind, and makes captive unresistingly our 
 kindliest sympathies. The very import of the 
 term is purity , — its intention is goodness. It 
 is a registry of friendships, a storehouse of 
 bright memories, — an unchanging record of 
 past time and former associations. Every leaf 
 will serve to recal a portion of its owner’s 
 early life, the remembrance of which, even 
 though it may be tinged with sadness (and 
 with whom is it not?), is ever peculiarly 
 grateful to the heart. What friendly inter- 
 
A PREFACE FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 141 
 
 change of offices, what pleasant meetings, 
 what sweet partings, — flit through the mind 
 as you turn its well-filled pages; and how 
 often in the contemplation of them do you 
 enjoy again moments which are past : — 
 
 “ No after friendships e’er can raise 
 Th’ endearments of our early days.” 
 
 Have your friends become old ? — Here they 
 are still young ; — to you they are in years and 
 feelings enduringly the same. Have they left 
 this, our momentary habitation, for a brighter 
 realm ? In the pages before you, as in your 
 own heart, they remain enthroned ; the visible 
 impress of their hand is there ; they have left 
 you a part of themselves in forms that breathe 
 or words that burn, and in your mind's 
 eye you recognize anew the beaming face and 
 kindly smile, although they shall be seen no 
 more bodily on earth. 
 
 Again : such a book is a volume of life — 
 an epitome of the world : the grave is mingled 
 
142 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 with the gay, the brilliant with the dull, the 
 ridiculous with the sublime ; all play their 
 part, and aid in giving value to the whole. 
 
 A new album suggests a somewhat different 
 train of thought. It is a young mind waiting 
 to receive impressions, — it is an experiment on 
 the kindness of friends, — it is a tablet opened 
 for love to write itself upon ! And will it be 
 opened in vain ? Surely not. Who that may, 
 will deny themselves the privilege of forming 
 part of the pleasant chain for memory this book 
 will doubtless weave, or refrain from connect- 
 ing themselves by even so slight a thread with 
 the “ hereafter ” of its fair mistress ? 
 
 Iftwirer, atrtr gour Itttfc, 
 
143 
 
 RHODA: 
 
 A TALE OF POLAND. 
 
 Oh, Woman ! Woman ! how truly do I 
 reverence thy attributes; thou admirable ad- 
 mixture of mildness and of dignity ; of yielding 
 modesty and noble firmness : thou compound 
 of Heaven and Earth ! It was thy influence 
 which civilized the world, and from a barren 
 wilderness, transformed it to a beauteous para- 
 dise : but for thee, our solace and our joy, how 
 tedious and wearisome the journey in this vale of 
 sorrows ; but for thee, and we were all desolate, 
 all isolated beings, with none to love, nought 
 to live for ; thou art the poetry, the essence of 
 our lives, and debased are those feelings, and 
 degraded is that mind which shall deny thy 
 influence ! 
 
144 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Rhoda, the heroine of my tale, was the only 
 child of Stanislaus Kettler, a worthy Pole, of 
 good family, residing in Warsaw. In 1793, 
 when the Polish nation, maddened by the un- 
 principled aggressions of Russia, rose simulta- 
 neously, with Kosciusko at their head, and 
 threw off for a brief space of time its galling 
 yoke, Kettler, his father, and two brothers 
 were among the first who marshalled their re- 
 tainers, and hastened from their small estate in 
 Lithuania to aid the general cause. In the 
 last fatal battle, at Praga, when the Poles 
 were overwhelmed by superior numbers led on 
 by the bloodthirsty Suwaroff, and the Republic 
 was erased from among the nations, Kettler 
 saw his father and brothers inhumanly mas- 
 sacred, with hundreds of others, long after 
 resistance had ceased ; and but for the timely 
 gratitude of a Russian soldier, to whom some 
 years before he had rendered an important 
 service, must himself have shared their fate. 
 Assisted by this man, he was enabled to cross 
 the Vistula, and enter Warsaw, then in the 
 
RHODA. 
 
 145 
 
 possession of the enemy ; where, after a series 
 of the most dreadful privations and distresses, 
 he succeeded in evading suspicion, and ulti- 
 mately married the orphan daughter of a Polish 
 officer, the mother of Rhoda. Six months 
 after the birth of Rhoda, her mother fell a victim 
 to a violent disorder then raging in the capital, 
 and she thus became the sole and idolized 
 companion of her broken-hearted father. She 
 was by nature patient, affectionate, and for- 
 giving, finding her chief happiness in affording 
 it to others ,* she had known no other precep- 
 tor than her father, needed no other friend — 
 he was her world : and the natural tenderness, 
 the confidingness of her disposition, which, 
 unrestrained, might have been the parent of 
 many weaknesses, the source of many and sad 
 misfortunes, was curbed and strengthened by 
 her constant intercourse with his masculine in- 
 tellect. It need not be said that Kettler was 
 a patriot — his hopes, his fears, centred in his 
 native land ; and as dearly as he loved that, so 
 
 H 
 
146 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 bitterly did he hate its oppressors. The little 
 Rhoda was for long, as I have said, his sole 
 companion, and to her he was wont to pour 
 forth his aspirations for its ultimate regenera- 
 tion ; for hours she would listen by his side to 
 the events of his past life, and the wrongs sus- 
 tained by his beloved country ; and when he 
 spoke of Sobieski, Kosciusko, and other of 
 Poland’s bravest sons, her little eyes would 
 sparkle through the tears which filled them, and 
 her breast heave with pride that they were her 
 compatriots. The love of country, strong in 
 every Pole, thus became with her a ruling 
 passion, a part of her religion ; and if the sa- 
 crifice of her life could have conduced to its 
 prosperity, could have saved it from one hour 
 of degradation, she would have seen no hero- 
 ism in the devotion, but as a paramount duty 
 entailing everlasting disgrace in the neglect, 
 would have yielded it gladly. 
 
 At the period when my sketch commences, 
 Rhoda had attained the age of nineteen, 
 
RHODA. 
 
 147 
 
 Poland was still under the dominion of Russia, 
 and Constantine, the brother of the Emperor 
 Nicholas, was Commander-in-Chief of the 
 Polish army ; the charter granted by the Em- 
 peror to the Poles immediately after the cele- 
 brated treaty of Vienna, had been transgressed 
 in every possible manner ; the freedom of the 
 press was interfered with; the Diet was in- 
 sulted, and many of its most talented and ex- 
 cellent members had been forcibly removed 
 from Warsaw, when their opposition interfered 
 with the designs of Russia. The Poles gene- 
 rally, to say nothing of individual outrages, 
 were thus humiliated in every way, and their 
 murmurs were gradually becoming louder and 
 more distinct ; secret societies were every- 
 where forming, the students of the various 
 universities taking active part in this pro- 
 cedure; and it must have been clear to all 
 that Poland was on the eve of some moment- 
 ous struggle. The Russian government, in 
 some degree aware of this state of things, em- 
 ir 2 
 
148 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 ployed vast numbers of spies, through whose 
 means many of the most zealous of the mal- 
 contents, more especially among the students, 
 were privately arrested and transported none 
 knew where ; this, however, but added fuel to 
 flame — and at the time I speak of, every Pole, 
 man, woman, or child, was on the qui vive, 
 expecting something, but hardly knowing 
 what. 
 
 Among the students of Warsaw who were 
 most actively engaged in the organization of 
 their fellows, and through them of a large 
 body of the inhabitants, were two brothers, 
 named Drowski ; they were twins, and resem- 
 bled each other as much in person as they 
 were dissimilar in mind. Grodno, the elder 
 by some minutes, was a selfish, calculating 
 being, feared and disliked by all, although 
 they knew not why; in his conduct he was 
 rigidly particular, seldom offending his equal, 
 never his superior ; was usually willing to 
 confer a favour — provided always a corre- 
 
RHODA. 
 
 149 
 
 sponding advantage to himself might result* — 
 and had never been convicted of a fault ; so 
 that, as I have said, although none esteemed 
 him, none could distinctly tell the reason. 
 Ladislaus, on the contrary, bold, ardent, and 
 generous, was ever engaged in difficulties, ever 
 in the wrong; but there was a nobleness of bear- 
 ing, a frankness in his manners, which shewed 
 that his failings were of the head, and not the 
 heart — the boiling over of a too impetuous 
 spirit, which was purified in the very process, 
 — and caused him to be beloved even when 
 most in fault. Whether affection had at any 
 time existed between the brothers, it were hard 
 to say; but at this time it is certain, that 
 where love should have been, hatred, most 
 bitter hatred was. When a boy Ladislaus, 
 without intention, had ever crossed, ever 
 thwarted his brother’s dearest wishes ; it was 
 he who gained the prize the other would have 
 won ; who was courted while he was shunned ; 
 he hated him however not for this, not that he 
 
150 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 was the favoured of his father, or his superior 
 in the schools, but that he was beloved by one, 
 for whom, spite of nature, Grodno would have 
 been kind and generous ; any thing — nothing 
 —he was beloved by Rhoda ! 
 
 The house of Kettler had been for some 
 time the rendezvous of a certain number of 
 Poles, who sighed over the sad state of their 
 country, but were forced to content themselves 
 with a mere recital of their wishes and their 
 views ; as, however, the opinions and murmurs 
 of the people became more distinct, and each 
 gathered courage as he found himself supported 
 by others, these meetings assumed a different 
 form ; many of the principal inhabitants were 
 induced to join them, and organization was 
 commenced among themselves. Correspond- 
 ence was then effected with a multitude of 
 other similar societies, and in a short time, so 
 short as to be almost incredible, fifteen thou- 
 sand men found themselves combined under 
 one arrangement, and w T ith one end in view. 
 
RHODA. 
 
 151 
 
 It was at these meetings held at Kettler’s 
 house, that Grodno and Ladislaus had seen our 
 heroine ; it was here that Rhoda had modestly 
 listened to the vows of Ladislaus, and with a 
 pure and willing heart, had promised, if her 
 father’s consent could be obtained, to be his, 
 and his only; and it was here that Grodno, 
 maddened by jealousy and rage, had sworn 
 eternal hatred to his brother, and had deter- 
 mined to prevent the union, even, were it ne- 
 cessary, by his destruction. 
 
 On the evening of November 28th, a large 
 number of the most zealous among the Poles 
 met at Kettler s house ; the popular rage 
 against their rulers was increasing with each 
 day, and the younger and more impetuous of 
 those assembled were anxious instantly to 
 throw off the yoke and erect the standard of 
 independence. “ Why,” said one, “ should we 
 longer remain satisfied with vaunting our in- 
 tentions ? all Poland is in agitation, and at 
 the first sounding of the war-cry, will hasten 
 
152 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 to join our fortunes; at present it is but sus- 
 pected that discontent exists ; but should the 
 extent of the combination, and the distinct 
 features of our plans, reach the ears of Con- 
 stantine, and there be one false heart amongst 
 us, we are irretrievably lost, and the chains 
 around our unhappy country will be drawn 
 still tighter than before.” Their arrange- 
 ments, however, were not yet complete, nor 
 had they received those promises of co-ope- 
 ration from Lithuania and other provinces 
 which they had every reason to expect; the 
 elder of the leaders, therefore, were not dis- 
 posed to assent to the immediate mouvement , 
 and the discussion was one of more than ordi- 
 nary vehemence and anger. Grodno, who ap- 
 peared more ardent in the cause, more indig- 
 nant at the aggressions of Russia, even than 
 he was wont to be, strongly urged immediate 
 measures; he had received promises of sup- 
 port from France ; the people, he reiterated, 
 were sufficiently prepared, the Russian cabinet 
 
RHODA. 
 
 153 
 
 in ignorance ; and above all, he urged, that 
 should the report be true, that the Polish 
 army were to be removed from Warsaw, and 
 their place supplied by Russians, their schemes 
 would be entirely frustrated. 
 
 Where, however, was Ladislaus on this mo- 
 mentous evening, when most his counsel was 
 needed ? eagerly Rhoda awaited his expected 
 appearance to communicate intelligence which 
 had made her happy, would make him so, — 
 intelligence which affected their union : never 
 before had he absented himself on such an 
 occasion, and, as the great bell of the cathe- 
 dral pealed forth ? twas midnight, and the 
 meeting broke up, the first doubts of his ar- 
 dour in the cause of Poland crossed her mind ; 
 doubts which in their intensity swallowed up 
 the fears that he was faithless to herself. 
 None had seen him since the morning, when 
 he was observed in company with two Russian 
 officers, known to be in the confidence of Con- 
 stantine, and that at a time when all were 
 
 h 3 
 
154 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 agitated, all prepared to suspect even their 
 friends. Grodno had spoken that evening 
 with doubt of his brother’s principles; rumours 
 were abroad of traitors amongst the patriots ; 
 and once Rhoda asked herself if Ladislaus 
 had betrayed them ? but her heart quickly and 
 assuredly answered for her — No ! Still the 
 circumstances were strange, sadly strange, 
 and the morrow’s sun rose upon the sleepless 
 Rhoda, fevered and sick at heart. The day 
 brought no satisfactory tidings, but the ge- 
 neral impression, among the numbers who 
 thronged Kettler’s house during the morning, 
 was, that Ladislaus had deserted the cause of 
 P oland ; it was, however, of paramount im- 
 portance that this should be known, and every 
 means were used to ascertain with certainty the 
 fact. Now, among the Poles resident in the 
 city was one Ludwig, an aged Jew, who was 
 known to be acquainted with the proceedings 
 of the Russians, and to have free ingress to 
 the citadel. There are in Warsaw no less 
 
RHODA. 
 
 155 
 
 than thirty-five thousand Jews, and amongst 
 these, who, as a body, bear there the most 
 despicable character, the Russians mostly 
 found their spies ; where, however, it was 
 more to their advantage, the Jews scrupled not 
 to betray them in their turn ; so that, although 
 both parties used them, both despised and 
 feared them. This Ludwig, however, of whom 
 I speak, differed in a degree from this de- 
 scription; he was born in Warsaw, had grown 
 rich there ; and knew that in few other coun- 
 tries he would have been allowed such privi- 
 leges ; he had, therefore, become attached to 
 the land, and was little disposed to assist her 
 enemies, even though it gained him gold. To 
 him, however, as known to be more respected 
 by the citizens than others of his tribe, the 
 Russian emissaries had applied ; the bribe they 
 tendered was large, and Ludwig, unable to 
 resist, accepted their offer, but at the same 
 time resolved that he alone should benefit by 
 the compact. At the time we speak of, he 
 
156 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 had been exerting the power, thus obviously 
 gained, to their annoyance ; and to him at 
 this moment the Poles went for information 
 concerning Ladislaus. 
 
 In two hours he brought them information ; 
 Ladislaus, he heard, was then in the citadel, 
 for the purpose of communicating to Constan- 
 tine important information ; Constantine, for- 
 tunately, was not at this moment in the capital, 
 but was lying at a small province ten leagues 
 from Warsaw, with a large Russian force; and, 
 as Ladislaus insisted upon seeing the general 
 himself, it was supposed, either that Constan- 
 tine would instantly be sent for, or that 
 Ladislaus would be despatched to him ; it ap- 
 peared, however, clear from all that Ludwig 
 had gathered, that no interview had yet taken 
 place. 
 
 The alarm that this information created 
 among those assembled baffles description ; 
 few of the principal leaders were present, 
 or could be found ; Kettler had departed to 
 
RHODA. 
 
 157 
 
 the provinces immediately after the last 
 meeting, for the purpose of inducing assist- 
 ance ; and the energies of all present seemed 
 paralyzed by the approach of that fate which 
 was inevitable should Constantine receive the 
 details of the plot, and reach the city before 
 the blow was struck ; each man looked at his 
 fellow with suspicion ; none knew what step to 
 advise, but, as if deprived of reason, they all 
 gradually departed to their homes, quietly to 
 await coming events. 
 
 It was long before Rhoda could persuade 
 herself that the information thus gained was 
 correct ; that he, so good, so brave, who had 
 so often sworn to assist the regeneration of 
 his country, though it should cost his life, that 
 he should have proved false, appeared for a 
 time almost beyond conviction ; and then 
 again it seemed so clear that she could no 
 longer dare even to doubt its truth. She 
 thought not of herself or of her blighted hopes ; 
 not of his vows to her , but that he was a rene- 
 
158 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 gade to his country ; and although her heart 
 yet beat warmly for him, and she felt that hap- 
 piness had departed, and was no more for her, 
 she stilled it by the remembrance of his de- 
 sertion ; and would have spurned him, if, 
 laden with Russian gold, he had returned to 
 lay it at her feet. Whilst, however, she thus 
 deliberated, her country, her beloved country 
 might be lost ; inspired with courage by the 
 event rather than depressed, she saw the 
 necessity of immediate measures, and hastened 
 to the apartments of Ludwig to beseech farther 
 intelligence. 
 
 Ludwig was a lone old man, he had no 
 children, and his wife had died two years 
 before ; Rhoda, with her characteristic good- 
 ness of heart, had visited the dying wo- 
 man ; gold was not wanted, but she had 
 ministered by kindness to her comfort ; and 
 Ludwig ever loved and reverenced her for the 
 act. When she had found him, she urged him 
 earnestly to seek information of Ladislaus, 
 
RHODA. 
 
 159 
 
 pressing upon him its importance, not only to 
 the public cause, but to her individual happi- 
 ness : once more, therefore, the old man set 
 out ; and with the promise that on the instant 
 of his return he would seek or send to her, 
 Rhoda departed for her home. 
 
 It was a long, long night to Rhoda ; and, 
 as hour after hour passed away, and still he 
 came not, her heart, to this moment bold 
 and resolute, failed her, and for some time 
 she cried bitterly. Ludwig, however, did 
 not deceive her, but, wearied and out of 
 breath, tapped at the door on the eve of 
 midnight, and was admitted. All his former 
 story was confirmed, and he had farther 
 learned, with much difficulty, that Ladislaus 
 would leave Warsaw at four that morning for 
 the province occupied by Constantine : how 
 it was to be prevented he knew not; had 
 he been less old, less infirm, or could have 
 roused a single friend without suspicion, it 
 might have been effected ; but the whole city 
 
160 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 was sunk in sleep, Kettler was from home — 
 and Poland must be lost. 
 
 “True,” said Rhoda, convulsively, “true, 
 this dreaded meeting might have been pre- 
 vented — nay, may — shall be : clearly, dread- 
 fully clearly do I see the means you hint 
 at to avoid it ; you would slay him ? Is it not 
 so? You would slay him before he reached 
 the General ? — Ludwig, it shall be done : nay, 
 seek not to interrupt me, ask me no ques- 
 tions ; the fate of Poland hangs upon a hair, 
 and this is no time for idle parley : remain 
 you here ; if I return not by to-morrow’s 
 noon, despatch a messenger to my father and 
 bid him fly, for Poland will be lost !” 
 
 The enfeebled Ludwig, astounded by her 
 sudden resolution, could offer no resistance 
 to her determination, and having furnished 
 her with his signature, which would pass 
 the city gates, in a few moments she was 
 enveloped in a cloak, and with her father’s 
 heavy rifle slung* at her back, and a rosary 
 
RHODA. 
 
 161 
 
 upon her neck, she departed upon her ad- 
 venturous mission. 
 
 The night was dark, cold, and rainy, but 
 Rhoda saw it not, felt it not ; all thought, 
 all feeling, was centred in her immediate 
 purpose, and to aught else she was insen- 
 sible. For an hour she had thus wandered 
 on, her mind a chaos of conflicting emotions, 
 when suddenly she remembered there were 
 two roads which led from Warsaw to the 
 destination of Ladislaus. At two leagues’ dis- 
 tance, however, she had often heard her 
 father say, these roads crossed, and to this 
 point, to prevent the possibility of failure, 
 she determined to proceed. Her cloak was 
 wetted through, the weight she bore nearly 
 pressed her to the ground, and her feet were 
 blistered by excessive walking ; still poor 
 Rhoda toiled onwards with a resolute and 
 unbroken spirit ; she saw, in imagination, her 
 beloved country released from slavery, and 
 again a free and happy land ; she called to 
 
162 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 mind the continued injustice and oppression 
 under which it had so long existed, and which 
 would be increased rather than diminished, 
 should she now fail in her duty. Once or twice 
 the form of Ladislaus crossed her memory ; 
 she remembered his love, his devotion, and 
 dwelt with sad delight for a passing moment 
 upon the schemes of happiness they had 
 together contemplated when Poland should 
 be free ; to encourage these recollections, 
 however, would be madness,- she tore his 
 image from her heart, and banished all 
 memory of her former love by the remem- 
 brance of his base treachery. 
 
 The spot where the two roads, before 
 spoken of, joined, was wild and desolate in 
 the extreme; on one side was a vast forest, 
 inhabited by uri and buffaloes, through part 
 of which, spite of all its dangers, Rhoda had 
 that night journeyed; on all other sides of her 
 was a wide extended plain, but dimly illumi- 
 nated by the dawning light, and here, screened 
 
RHODA. 
 
 ] 63 
 
 by some tangled underwood, which extended 
 from the forest to the track — it could hardly 
 be called a roadway — by which she had 
 arrived, Rhoda, faint and exhausted, awaited 
 Ladislaus. She had little time to reflect upon 
 her situation, for hardly had she reached the 
 spot, before the sound of horses’ feet was 
 borne upon the air. Her heart beat wildly, 
 the blood grew cold in her veins, and breath- 
 ing almost choked her ; she had, nevertheless, 
 sufficient firmness to renew the priming of 
 the rifle, and dropping upon her knees-, com- 
 mended herself to the Virgin, and besought 
 her mediation for the act she was about 
 to commit. Distinctly, and more distinctly 
 came the sounds upon the wind, and with 
 the rapidity of lightning, a single horseman, 
 covered with foam and mud, dashed by her 
 — he, however, was going towards Warsaw. 
 
 Again all was still, and Rhoda alone : the un- 
 natural tension to which her feelings had been 
 wrought was gradually giving way, a deadly 
 
164 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 faintness stole over her, and but for the 
 support of a neighbouring trunk, she must 
 have fallen to the ground. Again, however, 
 she raised her drooping spirits by thoughts 
 of Poland ; again she recalled the importance 
 of her position ; and once more, pale and 
 heart-broken, but with a steady hand, she 
 examined the priming of her piece. This 
 time she was not deceived, the increasing 
 light shews her a mounted traveller rapidly 
 approaching by the road nearest to her ; 
 suddenly he stops his steed — will he return? 
 No; it was but to rest him — again he urges 
 him forward — he approaches— it is the form 
 of Ladislaus, and the extended rifle drops from 
 her nerveless arms — he is near her, he goes 
 to Constantine, and her country is lost; the 
 thought summoned back her resolution, and, 
 whispering Poland , she fired, and fell fainting 
 to the earth. 
 
 The shot was fatal ; the rider lost his seat, 
 and, his foot catching in the stirrup, the 
 
RHODA. 
 
 165 
 
 terrified horse dragged him along the ground, 
 with frightful rapidity, deep into the recesses 
 of the forest # # # # # 
 
 In the evening of the day after the last- 
 mentioned event, the revolution commenced 
 in Warsaw : the news, brought by the tra- 
 veller seen by Rhoda, of certain intentions of 
 the Emperor as regarded the Poles, rendered 
 the necessity of the step immediate; infor- 
 mation was sent to the rendezvous of the 
 various societies, arms were # privately pro- 
 cured, and every exertion made, consistent 
 with time, to ensure success. The first blow 
 was struck by the students ; while a portion 
 of them paraded the streets, calling on the 
 people to arm for Poland, others distributed 
 themselves throughout the various theatres, 
 shouting “ To arms ! To arms ! ” and were 
 quickly joined by thousands of their fellow- 
 citizens. A Russian regiment, attempting at 
 the commencement to quell the tumult, was 
 
166 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES.. 
 
 cut to pieces ; and, encouraged by this success, 
 the numbers of the patriots increased with each 
 minute. The native troops now joined them, and 
 the arsenals having been broken open and arms 
 distributed to all the citizens, the fortifications 
 were attacked and carried. Others besieged 
 the prisons, with the intention of liberating 
 the prisoners with whom they were crammed, 
 and many dreadful struggles took place in 
 these quarters. At the state prison, in the 
 street Leszno-Ulice, formerly a Carmelite 
 monastery, two battalions of Russian soldiers 
 were posted, and a horrible carnage was the 
 result of an attack made upon them by the 
 populace for the purpose of freeing the many 
 prisoners, mostly for political offences, with 
 whom it was filled. The fight had continued 
 for some time, but the people having few 
 of the military amongst them, and no osten- 
 sible leader, were beginning to give ground; 
 at this moment, however, a female armed 
 
RHODA. 
 
 167 
 
 with a sabre, her habiliments torn and dis- 
 figured by previous contest, dashed into the 
 thickest of the fight, and cheered on the 
 drooping spirits of the people ; the effect was 
 electrical; they returned to the charge, the 
 soldiers were defeated, the place carried, and 
 Rlioda — for it was indeed our heroine- — was 
 the first who entered the doors of the prison. 
 Cell after cell was emptied of its tenants, and 
 they had reached the lowest and most dread- 
 ful range of the dungeons, when Rhoda 
 found she could proceed no farther. So soon 
 as she had succeeded in regaining her home 
 after the dreadful sacrifice she had made at 
 the altar of her country, the revolution 
 commenced ; the spirit of enthusiasm gave 
 strength to her exhausted form, she cared no 
 longer for life, save that it might benefit her 
 country ; that country again demanded her 
 exertions, again she was ready to afford 
 them ; and at the commencement of the 
 
168 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 fighting she had joined the ranks of the 
 people. But nature was now exhausted ; 
 the scene swam before her eyes, and, be- 
 coming insensible, she was sinking to the 
 ground, when one of the prisoners whom 
 they had just released sprang forward, uttered 
 a cry of joy, and received her in his arms : it 
 was — Ladislaus; and his eager endeavours, 
 assisted by a little nourishment, quickly suc- 
 ceeded in recalling her to life. 
 
 My story is nearly done. From the infor- 
 mation given by his unnatural brother, La- 
 dislaus had been arrested and thrown into 
 prison ; while Grodno, assuming his name in 
 the citadel, which the similarity of their fea- 
 tures assisted him to maintain, had met the 
 reward of his purposed treachery from the 
 hands of Rhoda ; who, prepared to see Ladis- 
 laus, had been easily deceived by the resem- 
 blance. 
 
 We will not speak of Rhoda’s feelings when 
 
RHODA. 
 
 169 
 
 all was explained ; Ladislaus was not a traitor 
 — she, not his murderer; he was still alive 
 —still devoted to his country ; and that 
 country was free. Would that it had re- 
 mained so. — A week afterwards they were 
 married. 
 
 i 
 
170 
 
 A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 Throughout the world a singular disparity 
 may often be observed between the powers 
 possessed by individuals and their influence 
 in society, — between the means which men 
 have at their disposal, and the use they make 
 of them for their own or others’ advantage. 
 
 To obtain a knowledge of languages is but 
 to forge the keys of vast repositories of learn- 
 ing and wisdom, over which, however, simply 
 having the keys, without using them, gives no 
 
A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 171 
 
 control. Learning itself is but a means to an 
 end, that end being wisdom, which, after all, 
 is sometimes more fully attained to by men of 
 little learning than by those possessing much. 
 To amass facts, and master sciences (which 
 are systematic arrangements of great bodies of 
 facts), are praiseworthy occupations, and ad- 
 vantageous to the individual, as they tend to 
 enlarge the mind, to repress the passions, and 
 purify the feelings. But, stopping here, our 
 fellows are not benefited, excepting so far as 
 the example of the individual in conduct may 
 have weight. Solely to acquire, without efforts 
 to dispense, is selfishness. And yet look to 
 our halls of learning : watch the toiling of the 
 student for periods longer than nature can 
 support ; and see the successful attainment of 
 his aim, — the honours of a first class, — the 
 emolument of a fellowship, beyond which, 
 when achieved (and which should be regarded 
 but as the stamp of fitness for the commence- 
 ment of a greater undertaking — the improve- 
 
 i 2 
 
172 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 ment of society), in nine cases out of twelve 
 no advance is attempted. 
 
 The same degree of zeal, the same ability 
 and opportunities, may produce very different 
 results in two individuals, according to the 
 varying amount of method and order observed 
 in their course of study. One man may be 
 overladen with information on every subject, 
 yet hardly know where to put his hand upon 
 it when required ; while a second, even of less 
 power, may have all his little stock of know- 
 ledge so methodically arranged, that he is 
 able at all times, and under all circumstances, 
 to avail himself of it to the best advantage. 
 In the mind of this latter, all that he has 
 gathered has been analysed, classed, and put 
 away under the proper heads, so that he can 
 at any time bring the whole of his previous 
 reading and reflection to bear upon the subject 
 in hand. As a noted Irish wit once said, if 
 
A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 173 
 
 some men now living would only “ buy a little 
 red tape and tie up their papers/’ they would 
 become lights of their age. 
 
 In many respects there is little real differ- 
 ence between men who, by a chain of circum- 
 stances, or the development of some particular 
 power, have made themselves famous, and 
 others of no note or even likelihood. Both 
 have their prejudices, their failings, and, too 
 often, their vices; — are affected by the cold of 
 winter and the heat of summer, are hungry 
 and thirsty, require rest, and will one day die. 
 How little have the most eminent men ap- 
 peared at some moments ; how great may the 
 most obscure individual become, should par- 
 ticular events concur to bring forward those 
 special qualities of the mind which he pos- 
 sesses, or to exhibit those affections or powers 
 of endurance which may, and do, lie dormant 
 in many men — never discovered. 
 
174 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 I am not certain but that every man pos- 
 sesses some striking peculiarity of mind, depth 
 of affection, or power of endurance, sufficient, 
 if placed in a proper position, to render him 
 an object of regard to his fellow men. 
 
 A man must travel if he wish to discover 
 his own relative value. If he observe rightly, 
 he then will speedily learn, or I am much 
 mistaken, to pay respect to every one, how- 
 ever humble or forbidding in appearance. He 
 will find there is hardly a person living, who 
 is not, in some one particular or another, his 
 superior in knowledge, or wisdom, or worth. 
 We talk coolly of the “ masses,” — we should 
 never cease to remember they consist of indi- 
 viduals. 
 
 In reading the lives of celebrated men, one 
 cannot avoid remarking how large a number 
 of their most valuable works were produced 
 
A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 175 
 
 by accidental collision in the world, even with 
 lesser minds, or through chance suggestions 
 by others inducing thought, and leading their 
 efforts into particular channels. It would seem 
 clear, that to make the study produce fruit, 
 the study should occasionally be left. 
 
 It would be curious to trace the different 
 effects which the same constitution of mind 
 (regulated by accident) has had on the fortunes 
 of individuals. To note that which in one 
 man was recognized as noble daring for a 
 country’s good, and obtained for him the title 
 of patriot, termed in another impertinent busy- 
 bodyism ; to mark the energy, which in stirring 
 times would have placed the individual pos- 
 sessing it at the head of an army, leading him, 
 in the rusting days of peace, into the strangest 
 outbreaks, if not outrages of the public quiet. 
 To hear one man designated a canting hypo- 
 crite for the same display of sanctity and de- 
 
176 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 votion, which had enabled another to reform a 
 nation, and had obtained for him undying re- 
 nown ! 
 
 The chief good, according to the lawyers, is 
 in all cases, what Demosthenes thought was so 
 in one — Action ! action ! action ! 
 
 In the midst of the loveliest scenes of 
 Nature — whether amongst the crags and 
 castles of the Rhine, the olive groves of the 
 hot south, or the cultivated and wide-spreading 
 hills and dales of our own leafy England — how 
 dull and uninteresting does all appear, when 
 the heart is empty, or the cherished motive 
 destroyed ! 
 
 To many, accustomed to the bustle and 
 excitement of the world, the contemplation of 
 an extended landscape, wrapped in quiet, 
 brings none but the most melancholy and de- 
 pressing feelings, shewing the heart forcibly 
 
A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 177 
 
 its own barrenness. Is it, that under such 
 circumstances, some faint notion of the vast- 
 ness of creation comes on the mind — the 
 greatness of the Creator, and the littleness of 
 the creature ; the folly of the smugglings in 
 which he is engaged, and yet a feeling, that 
 without these strivings, existence would be to 
 him tame and unprofitable ? 
 
 Gazer, neglect not the warning ! Hasten to 
 wean the heart from the delusive world, with 
 its glitter and false excitements. Turn the 
 soul inward, and seek there applause, and 
 there only. Then will the same view bring a 
 quiet happiness, before undreamt of ; and 
 serve to foreshadow to the mind the angelic 
 calm and perfect peace, which hereafter it may 
 hope to attain. 
 
 Railways have a tendency, in common with 
 other extensively- organised arrangements, to 
 
178 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 lessen the number of objects for sympathy. 
 Railway guides and guards, as such, are not 
 individuals with hearts and feelings as our 
 own, but parts of a grand piece of mechanism, 
 acting by rule, and we are no more brought 
 into contact with them than with the wheels 
 and pins of the machine which they govern. 
 
 The grave old coachman, with his portly 
 person and countless coats, with whom we 
 have for years chatted on the box — the hearty 
 guard (one, who when asked, “ Do we dine on 
 the road?” would answer, “ Dine ! Lord bless 
 you ! no, Sir ; this is one of the fast coaches ”) 
 whom in by-gone times we reverentially re- 
 garded, from his air of indisputable authority 
 on the way, his wit, vigour, and vigilance — 
 are fast disappearing ; more is the pity. 
 
 The affections and kindnesses have as much 
 need of development as the mind and body, 
 and are much too precious to be disregarded, 
 in the present efforts to advance. Heart - 
 
A PAPER OF PARAGRAPHS. 
 
 179 
 
 culture is even more important to happiness 
 (the end and aim of all things) than head- 
 culture. 
 
 Some eminent men having peculiarities, 
 lesser minds are apt to fancy that by becoming 
 peculiar (an easy task), they are rendering 
 themselves eminent. 
 
 I know nothing more depressing, or which 
 requires to be more carefully treated, than a 
 desire to effect, greater than power to achieve ; 
 where exist the nervous irritability, the ex- 
 treme sensitiveness, the “ longings after im- 
 mortality/’ of genius, and not the ability to set 
 himself above his fellows, and turn the day- 
 dreams into influencing realities. To feel each 
 hour a desire to do something, he knows not 
 what — to compass great ends, he knows not 
 how : — to experience a swelling of the heart 
 with thoughts that burn, which will not 
 take the shape of words that breathe, strive he 
 never so hardly. 
 
180 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 It is absurd to expect that events will fall 
 out in all cases precisely, or even in any degree, 
 as we would wish them, insomuch as we are 
 not complete in ourselves, or made for our- 
 selves, but form merely a very small part of a 
 very large whole, the extent and relative 
 working of which, only One can see. 
 
181 
 
 IN RETURN FOR A BIBLE. 
 
 I thank thee much, sweet sister dear ; 
 
 Yet doing so, I feel a tear. 
 
 Half pride, half sadness, force its way 
 Adown my cheek, — it will not stay. 
 
 Thou art so good, so kind, so true, 
 
 It glads me e’en to think of you, 
 
 And were my heart in gayer mood. 
 
 No sickening fear would dare intrude : 
 Hope gaily smiles, and round thee stand. 
 To ward off ill, affection’s band. 
 
 Still, when I see how few there are 
 Who find the happiness they seek, 
 
 I dread lest aught thy peace should mar. 
 And quench the brightness of thy cheek. 
 
182 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 Great Heaven forefend ! may peaceful joy 
 Be ever thine without alloy. 
 
 Nor will I doubt it, — heart, be gay. 
 
 And chase these darkling thoughts away : 
 The certain path to all is free, 
 
 ’Tis shewn, love, in your gift to me . 
 
 And so, no longer with a tear, 
 
 I thank thee much, sweet sister dear. 
 
183 
 
 A CHAT ABOUT WESTMINSTER ABBEY 
 
 AND 
 
 GREAT MEN’S MONUMENTS. 
 
 ‘ ‘ They dreamt not of a perishable home 
 Who thus could build. Be mine in hours of fear, 
 Or grovelling thought, to seek a refuge here ; 
 
 Or through the ailes of Westminster to roam, 
 Where bubbles burst, and folly’s dancing foam 
 Melts, if it cross the threshold.” 
 
 Our metropolitan minster ( west of St. Paul’s) 
 is perhaps, without exception, the most beauti- 
 ful and instructive sight in London ; and yet 
 how many inhabitants of this great city there 
 are who, but for the accidental visit of a coun- 
 try cousin, which led them to seek the lions, 
 
184 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 had never seen it? and how many more to 
 whom it is still unknown ground ? They have 
 travelled, perhaps, to York, to see the minster 
 there ; they have sought objects of interest 
 at Cologne ; they have thrown their eyes 
 round the Cathedral of Strasburgh — but West- 
 minster Abbey, close at home, has escaped 
 their investigating gaze. Let them lose no 
 time in seeking it out. We feel persuaded 
 that few can visit this wonderful museum of 
 skill, genius, noble thoughts, and memories 
 of good deeds, without an elevation of mind, 
 an improvement in taste, and a chastening in 
 feeling, which must tend, in a greater or less 
 degree, to good. Walk through it, examine it, 
 study it, as often and carefully as you may, 
 you will ever find some fresh claim on your 
 attention ; some beauty before overlooked ; or 
 some evidence of unpretending piety, which 
 makes you prouder of humanity, and more de- 
 termined to do nothing derogatory in your 
 own person. It is, indeed, a spot u where 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 185 
 
 folly’s dancing foam melts if it cross the 
 threshold where thoughts that are unholy 
 die ; where the past great ones of six centuries 
 speak powerfully to you — it is to be hoped, 
 not uselessly. 
 
 “ Thinke how many royall bones 
 Sleep within these heap of stones. 
 
 Here they lie, had realmes and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to lift their hands. 
 
 Where, from their pulpits, seal’d with dust, 
 
 They preach, ‘ In greatnesse is no trust !’ 
 
 Here’s an acre, sown indeed 
 With the richest, royall’ st seed 
 That the earth did e’er suck in, 
 
 Since the first man dy’d for sin.” 
 
 The multitude of monuments which it con- 
 tains, from that of King Henry III. upwards 
 (omitting, for the present, any remarks on the 
 destructive effect produced by those erected 
 in modern times), render it an index to English 
 history, and a commentary; while the speci- 
 mens of the workmanship of different epochs 
 in wood and stone, and glass and metal, which 
 these and other portions of the building pre- 
 
186 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 sent, make it a lecturer on British art, and a 
 record of its progress. Edward the Confes- 
 sor’s chapel, at the east end of the choir, is 
 alone a sufficient reward for a pilgrimage of 
 a hundred miles. Here, where old Time seems 
 to have secluded himself from the garish pre- 
 sent, and reigns over remnants of the past, are 
 ranged memorials of our early sovereigns — 
 the pious Edward, Queen Eleanor, Edward I., 
 Henry III., Queen Philippa, Richard II. and 
 his queen, and the gallant Henry V. It has 
 nothing in common with the present time ; it 
 stands alone, and cannot be realized in the 
 mind of any one of the thronging thousands, 
 who are passing at so short a distance from 
 the spot, if they have not visited it. Examine 
 the pavement, examine the shrines — the chan- 
 try of Henry V., the screen next the choir, 
 covered with minutest sculpturing — and see 
 how the powers of art have been lavished in 
 honour of God. Our forefathers were not sa- 
 tisfied with the decoration of the mere face of 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 187 
 
 the part in human sight — the highest exercise 
 of their powers was deemed hardly worthy of 
 the temple ; and so long as any portion, how- 
 ever remote or hidden, remained capable of 
 improvement, so long was it deemed incom- 
 plete and requiring alteration. 
 
 Strange changes have occurred since a sa- 
 cred edifice first occupied this site ! What if 
 it be not true that the Romans had a temple 
 to Apollo here, or that Peter the Apostle 
 raised the first chapel in the “ Thorney Island,” 
 as the place was once called ? There is good 
 reason to believe that old Sebert, king of the 
 East Saxons, did, quite at the commencement 
 of the 7th century, and this would give us a 
 good twelve hundred years to talk about. 
 
 It was at first but a small building ; Ed- 
 ward the Confessor, perhaps, made it larger. 
 “ Without the walles of London,” says an 
 ancient scribe, “ uppon the river of Thames, 
 there was in times passed a little monasterie, 
 budded to the honour of God and St. Peter, 
 
188 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 with a few Benedict monks in it, under an 
 abbote, serving Christ ; very poore they were, 
 and little was given them for their reliefe. 
 Here the king (Edward) intended (for that it 
 was neare to the famous cittie of London, 
 and the river Thames, that brought in all kind 
 of merchandizes from all partes of the worlde) 
 to make his sepulchre, and so commanded that 
 the tenth of all his possessions should be ap- 
 plied to its re-construction.” This was pro- 
 bably about 1050. Hardly two hundred years 
 afterwards, Henry III. went to work upon it, 
 and erected much of what we now see, and at 
 his own cost, be it remarked, if the chroniclers 
 speak truly. By the eighth Henry the monas- 
 tery was suppressed, and Thorney Island be- 
 came a city, the abbey church its cathedral. 
 
 Of the elegance of the Abbey as a structure 
 it is almost needless to speak ; it may be 
 termed the finest example of the pointed style 
 of architecture in England, and remains the 
 most complete, with the exception of the 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 189 
 
 cathedral at Salisbury. The combinations 
 which its various parts form, especially at the 
 eastern end, are as numerous as they are strik- 
 ing ; and serve to impress a strong conviction 
 on the mind, of the skill of the old builders, 
 and the power they possessed of so arranging 
 their structures as to excite pleasurable and 
 lofty emotions. Amongst the most beautiful of 
 these combinations is that presented when 
 standing beneath the porch of Henry VII. ’s 
 chapel, the gloom in which, most artistically 
 devised, serves to render the full flood of light 
 to be found in the chapel itself imposing and 
 effective in the highest degree. Burke re- 
 marks, in his essay on the sublime, “ I think 
 that all edifices, calculated to produce an idea 
 of the sublime, ought rather to be dark and 
 gloomy, and this for two reasons; the first is, 
 that darkness itself, on other occasions, is 
 known, by experience, to have a greater effect 
 on the passions than light. The second is, 
 that to make an object very striking, we should 
 
190 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 make it as different as possible from the ob- 
 jects with which we have been immediately 
 conversant ; when, therefore, you enter a 
 building, you cannot pass into a greater light 
 than you had in the open air ; to go into one 
 some few degrees less luminous, can make 
 only a trifling change ; but to make the tran- 
 sition thoroughly striking, you ought to pass 
 from the greatest light to as much darkness as 
 is consistent with the uses of architecture/’ 
 This the architects of the middle ages well 
 understood; they appreciated the “dim, reli- 
 gious light,” and accordingly built their eccle- 
 siastical edifices, for the most part, with com- 
 paratively few openings. When, however, as 
 in the case before us, the style adopted ren- 
 dered larger windows necessary, they reversed 
 the arrangement, and so still obtained the 
 required effect. In a Gothic edifice little was 
 done without intention — every thing is mean- 
 ing-full, design is every where apparent. 
 
 Many of the striking combinations to which 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 191 
 
 we have referred are now sadly interfered with 
 by the modern monuments, with which the 
 Abbey is lumbered up — monuments for the 
 most part so absurd, that they would make 
 us laugh, if they did not make us sad. 
 Mouldings, pillars, and adornments of all de- 
 scriptions, have been ruthlessly cut away for 
 them, openings have been interfered with, and 
 even several of the spaces between the large 
 clustered columns in the side aisles and 
 chapels are blocked up to the top with taste- 
 less and incongruous masses of stone and 
 marble, alike unsuitable and discordant in 
 colour and design. 
 
 The sculpture of the best periods of the 
 middle ages has an entirely distinct and 
 original character, prompted by the spirit of 
 the time and carried out by genius. It is 
 in no way imitated from the master-pieces of 
 Pagan art, which might have been used as 
 models ; but is nevertheless full of feeling, 
 
192 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 and appeals to the sympathies rather than 
 to the eye. In the ancient tombs at West- 
 minster, as elsewhere, the sculpture is seen 
 to be a portion of the building, conceived in 
 the same spirit, and displaying the same 
 feeling of reverence. All the figures are in 
 repose, all are devotional — there is no flutter, 
 no action even, certainly no worldly action ; 
 they do not seek to record, in vain self-glory, 
 any moment of the past, but carry us for- 
 ward to the great hereafter, and inculcate 
 humility. Alas ! how sadly this contrasts 
 with those of more recent date, where every 
 man “ for his own hand,” has worked in his 
 own way, careless of the general effect, and 
 has not worked well. Mountains of most 
 material clouds, urns, flames, figures in ill- 
 conceived and violent momentary action, ac- 
 curate models of periwigs and whiskers, the 
 evanescent fashions of a period of universal 
 bad taste, form the staple — but why endea- 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 193 
 
 vour to prove what nearly all seem to ac- 
 knowledge ? # 
 
 As the writer has elsewhere remarked, in 
 reference to the tasteless tombs and monu- 
 ments with which all our cathedrals and 
 churches have been gradually encumbered 
 and overladen : — “ Like some frightful fungus, 
 they have spread insidiously over all parts 
 of these structures, destroying alike their 
 propriety, beauty, and stability.” No more 
 lamentable example of this evil is to be found 
 than in Westminster Abbey; and it is to be 
 hoped that efforts will be made, not simply 
 to prevent the increase of this abomination, 
 but, as opportunities occur from time to time, 
 to remove the excrescences now deforming 
 
 * One of Churchill’s earliest effusions (before 1750) was 
 prompted by these incongruous monuments. It commences — 
 
 “ In famed cathedral who’d expect 
 Pallas, a heathen goddess, 
 
 To lift her shield, come to protect 
 Lord Stanhope ? — this most odd is.” 
 
 See Mr. W. TooJce’s edition of his poems , 1844. 
 
 K 
 
194 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 this fine pile, and so restore its harmonious 
 proportions and original integrity. The tri- 
 forium might be made to contain many of 
 the monuments, as has been done at the 
 Temple Church. Perhaps, too, the Chapter 
 House, which is about to be cleared of its 
 present contents (dirty shelves and presses), 
 could receive some without injury to itself, 
 so as gradually to restore to our venerable 
 Abbey its former appearance.* 
 
 In spite, however, of the contemptible 
 character of the records, who can look around 
 the south transept, — the poet’s corner, — with- 
 out emotion? Dryden, Cowley, Chaucer, Ben 
 Jonson, Spenser, Butler, Gay, Thompson, 
 Goldsmith, Gray, Dr. Johnson, Shakspeare, 
 and a score of other heroes (heart-teachers, 
 peaceful conquerors) marshal themselves be- 
 fore us, although not all buried here, and 
 people the quiet aisles. 
 
 * This suggestion was originally published by the writer in 
 April, 1843. It has been since urged by others* 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 195 
 
 Nothing tends more strongly to elevate 
 and refine the mind, to incite to virtue, or 
 to deter from vice, than the contemplation of 
 the burial-place of one who has rendered 
 himself in either of these particulars an ob- 
 ject of regard. The power of association is 
 great: and the merest memento of a wise, 
 enterprising, or virtuous man, — of one who 
 has advanced the cause of civilization, or de- 
 solated countries to gratify a restless ambition, 
 — is often sufficient to induce long trains of 
 wholesome thought. When, however, we see 
 his burial-place, his last and narrow home, 
 the man himself passes before the mind's 
 eye ; and the impression made, the lesson 
 inculcated, is much more powerful. If a 
 conqueror, we see him bereft of his pomp 
 and power, to obtain which the blood of his 
 dependants had been lavishly shed, and com- 
 prehend more fully than before, the folly of 
 risking enduring happiness for that which 
 hardly is before it is not ; while, at the same 
 
 k 2 
 
196 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 time, the mind is rendered more contented 
 with its sphere ; reminded, that whether 
 powerful or weak, rich or poor, all will find 
 the same earthly goal, — the grave ; and that 
 the time which intervenes is so short, as 
 hardly to be worth consideration : — 
 
 “ A little rule, a little sway, 
 
 A sunbeam in a winter day, 
 
 Is all the proud and mighty have 
 Between the cradle and the grave.” 
 
 Do we contemplate the remains of a good 
 man ? All his noble sacrifices, all the fine 
 results of his exertions ; the family saved from 
 ruin, the generation advanced in knowledge, 
 — pass vividly before our eyes. The heart 
 involuntarily acknowledges the example, and 
 good seed is sown. If these reflections be 
 correct, it is important to a state that the 
 mouldering remains of all men who have dis- 
 tinguished themselves above their fellows, 
 should be preserved and pointed out : and 
 when party-feeling or prejudices lead to their 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 197 
 
 disregard in one generation, it should be the 
 business of the next to repair the omission. 
 
 If this were done, we should have statues, 
 obelisks, busts, and temples, at the corner of 
 every street, in the centre of every square, and 
 on the parapets of all the bridges. Rivals to 
 Phidias and Praxiteles might arise amongst 
 us ; love of the beautiful and the good would 
 be encouraged in the masses, and great 
 changes in society would be effected. The 
 time for it is approaching. 
 
 This, however, is rambling beyond the 
 Abbey walls. The present state of the ancient 
 monuments there is deplorable. Those who 
 are in authority say they consider these monu- 
 ments very sacred things, not to be touched 
 without great care and consideration, as more 
 harm than good might be done in attempting 
 to improve their appearance. This is quite 
 true, but there is nevertheless a limit to that 
 forbearance, and this limit has been reached ; 
 if steps are not taken in several cases forth- 
 
J 98 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 with, nothing will be left to guide the restorer. 
 We should be right glad to see a perfect resto- 
 ration of the Abbey commenced, including the 
 completion of the centre tower or spire, and 
 the removal of the ugly western towers put up 
 by Wren, who knew little of Gothic architec- 
 ture, and liked it less. Relative to the erec- 
 tion of these towers he wrote to the Bishop of 
 Rochester ; — “ I shall speedily prepare perfect 
 draughts and models, such as I conceive proper 
 to agree with the original scheme of the archi- 
 tect, without any modern mixtures to shew my 
 own inventions ” Unfortunately, to do, is not 
 so easy as to know what ought to be done. 
 
 Amongst the earliest improvements to be 
 made in the Abbey, is the introduction of 
 stained glass in the rose-window and twelve 
 lower openings of the south transept. The 
 impulse which has been given lately to glass- 
 painting in England is a pleasant sign, and 
 cannot be too strongly aided. So firm was 
 the belief that English artists in this depart- 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 199 
 
 ment were inferior to foreigners, that the 
 Chapter, it is said, had nearly determined on 
 sending to Germany for the work in question ; 
 luckily, however, one or two members of it 
 were staunch friends to English art, and suc- 
 ceeded in appointing an English artist; the 
 result of which it is to be hoped will fully 
 justify them for so doing. 
 
 We have not yet looked into the chapel oi 
 Henry VII., orhis miraculum , as Leland calls 
 it — one of the most beautiful specimens of the 
 last period of Gothic architecture which Eng- 
 land or any other country can boast. # From 
 its roof, “ pendent by subtle magic,” to the 
 floor, the whole presents a rich lace- work of 
 decoration. Of the roof, indeed, description 
 can give no adequate notion. It is literally — 
 
 “ Self-poised, and scooped into ten thousand cells, 
 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 Lingering — and wandering on, as loth to die, 
 
 Like thoughts, whose very sweetness yieldeth proof, 
 
 That they were born for immortality.” 
 
 * Commenced 1503. 
 
200 
 
 FACTS AND FANCIES. 
 
 The lover of architecture, after studying the 
 perfect development of the pointed style in 
 the minster itself, # with its acutely-pointed 
 arches, its lofty attenuated columns, its infinite 
 divisions, finds here the style which succeeded 
 it when the arch was becoming more horizon- 
 tal, and when a love of decoration threatened, 
 as indeed did soon afterwards happen, to 
 overwhelm good taste, and lead to the aban- 
 donment, for a time, of pointed architecture 
 altogether. 
 
 As relates to sculpture, Henry VII/s chapel 
 presents one of the finest illustrations of early 
 art, in England, in the series of figures which 
 fill the countless recesses in the walls. It 
 is said they were once three thousand in 
 number, but this is perhaps doubtful. They 
 display admirable feeling for art, and deserve 
 attentive examination. The carving, too, in 
 the stalls here, is good, and leads us to ex- 
 press regret that so little encouragement is 
 now given to this branch of art in England. 
 
 * Commenced A. D. 1220. 
 
A CHAT ABOUT THE ABBEY. 
 
 201 
 
 There are a considerable number of artists 
 employed in it at this time, but unfortunately 
 — such is the dominion of fashion (another 
 word for caprice) — it is chiefly, if not wholly, 
 in the imitation of old work, to be afterwards 
 stained and sold as such. The upholsterer is 
 the arbiter elegantiarum, and the result is, 
 exactly what might be expected under such 
 circumstances. The remedy for this, and many 
 like evils, is, to make artistical knowledge 
 more general, and to induce the multitudes to 
 talk and think on the subject. With an in- 
 creased public — an extended circle of admirers 
 and employers — the powers of the artist will 
 be more fully called into play ; and the more 
 critical that public is, the more strenuous will 
 the efforts of the artist be to maintain himself 
 superior to his judges. 
 
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