:>:>;v i^KSc rVMXHSE OF THE U N I VERS ITY Of ILLINOIS e>ze> v - l/lA^ * iluny ks* a dtur*** n/ fifo urU£r~ 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. FINIS. Printed by J. & H. COX, BROTHERS, (late COX & SONS,) 74 & 75, Great Queen Street, Lincoln’s-Inn Fields. WORKS PUBLISHED BY G. W. NIC KISS ON, 215 , Regent Street , London . Second Edition, in 1 vol. 12mo., price 10s. 6d. cloth, CARLYLE'S SARTOR RESARTUS; The Life and Opinions of Herr TeufelsdrocJch. By THOMAS CARLYLE. In 1 vol. 12mo., price 10s., uniform with Mr. Thomas Carlyle’s Works, EMERSON'S ESSAYS ; Essays by R. W. Emerson, of Concord, Massachusetts ; With Preface by T. Carlyle. Second Edition, in 8vo., price 10s. 6d. cloth, LIFE OF WALLENSTEIN, DUKE OF FRIEDLAND. By LIEUT.-COLONEL MITCHELL. “ In our judgment, Colonel Mitchell has executed with elo- quence, ability, and good taste, a task for which his studies qualified him, and one congenial to an honourable mind.” — Quarterly Review. “We shall be glad if we can convey to the reader any part of the pleasure which we have received ourselves from the perusal of this work.” — The Times. “ Colonel Mitchell has laid before us, in a nervous and vi- gorous style, and with very considerable power of descriptive narration, the career of Wallenstein.” — Blackwood 1 s Magazine . “ A work written with the feelings of a soldier, the princi- ples of a patriot, and the penetration of a statesman.” — Ali- son’s History of Europe , vol. vii. p. 504. In 1 vol. foolscap 8vo., bound in cloth, price 3s. 6d. THE ART OF CONVERSATION, With accompanying Thoughts on Manners , Fashion , and Address . By CAPT. ORLANDO SABERTASH. “ If anybody could be taught conversation by a book, the book before us is the book to teach it.” — Argus. “ A lively and clever little work,” — Tail’s Magazine . “ The captain is a shrewd, manly, and pleasant authority.” Edinburgh Evening Post. “ We hesitate not to recommend Captain Sabertash’s smart little volume.” — Court Journal. “ Every line will reward perusal.” — Fraser’s Magazine. u The volume overflows with humour, good sense, and good advice.” — United Service Gazette. In 8vo., price 5s. bound in cloth, THE PHILOSOPHER’S STONE, AND OTHER POEMS. By MANLEY HOPKINS. “ This little volume of Mr. Hopkins’s has really pleased us * * * and will, we are quite sure, be well received by all discerners of taste and sensibility.” — Atlas. “ There is sometimes a complaint raised in the periodical literature of the day, that ‘ we have no longer poets or poetry.’ This is a very capital error ; and this very volume before us gives contradiction No. 1 to this popular mistake.” — Church and State Gazette. “ This volume contains a variety of poems, personal, occa- sional, and miscellaneous, including a few imitations of the old ballads. * * * Some of these are very clever — real echoes of the original voice.” — Spectator. In One Volume 18mo., price 4s. cloth, POEMS. By ROBERT A. WILLMOTT. “ Pleasing and delicate, and full of exquisitely beautiful classical allusions.” — Ch. of England Quar. Rev. In One Volume foolscap 8vo., price 7s. cloth. MY LIFE. By an EX-DISSENTER. * ‘ This book will be a rich treat to the clergy and laity of the Church.” — Morning Post. “ We have seldom read so powerful and unanswerable an appeal as this on the side of the Church.” — Morning Herald . “ Since the ‘ Velvet Cushion’ of the Vicar of Harrow, no book has appeared, of this class of publication, so likely to attract attention and lead to controversy.” — Globe. 11 There is no flinching here. Names, dates, facts, are all published without fear ; and the very words of the enemies of our Protestant constitution in church and state at once cited and condemned.” — John Bull. In One Volume foolscap 8vo., price 7s. cloth, YOUR LI FE. By the Author of “ My Life.” “ We have now before us the life of a clergyman. It is even more instructive than the volume which preceded it, in- asmuch as it gives information on subjects less generally under- stood.” — Church of England Quarterly Review. In 1 vol. 8vo., price 5s. cloth, THE RIGHTS OF LAY MEN, Their Privilege and Duty to receive Blessings equally in every Orthodox Church. The chapter on Confession is particularly recommended to the readers of Sir G. H. Smyth’s “ Justification of the term ‘ Beastly,’ as applied to the instruction at Maynooth College.” In 1 vol. 12mo. bds., price 5s. THE HISTORY OF THE SPANISH SCHOOL OF PAINTING. To which is appended an Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the Art of Miniature Illumination. BY THE AUTHOR OF “ Travels through Sicily and the Lipari Islands Sfc. 8fc. In fcp. 8 vo., bound in cloth, price 2s. THE CRIPPLE OF ROTTENSTEIN; A NARRATIVE OF FACTS. Translated from the German of G. H. Von Schubert, With a Preface by the Rev. G. R. Gleig. In One Volume, 12mo., cloth, price 7s. LOVE AND LITERATURE. By ROBERT STORY. Author of “ Songs and Lyrical Poems,’ ’ “ The Outlaw : a Drama,” &c. u His name, by this time, needs no praise from us.” — Fraser's Magazine . “ Mr. Story is an able and elegant writer, and uses the quill of the swan as well as the feather of the lark .” — New Monthly Magazine. In 8vo., price Four Shillings, HONESTY: A DRAMA, IN FIVE ACTS. By Henry Spicer, Esq., Author of “ Lost and Won,” &c. Also by the same Author, price 4s., a New Edition of THE LORDS OF ELLINGHAM, AS ALTERED FOR REPRESENTATION. In 1 vol. 8vo., bound in cloth, THE NIGHT-VOICES, AND OTHER POEMS ; AND THE STEWARD, A Drama in Five Acts. By Henry Spicer, Esq., Author of “ The Lords of Ellingham,” ** Lost and Won,” “ Honesty,” &c. In 1 vol. post 8vo., bound in cloth, FACTS AND FANCIES: A COLLECTION OF TALES AND SKETCHES. By GEORGE GODWIN, Jun., Esq. In 8vo., price 4s. THE ROBBER'S CAVE; OR, FOUR-HORNED MOON. A Drama in imitation and after the manner of Shakspeare. IN FIVE ACTS. FRASER'S PANORAMIC PLAN OF LONDON, WITH ALL THE IMPROVEMENTS TO CHRISTMAS, 1843. For the Pocket. — In a French Case, cloth, 5s.; embossed roan, the whole Map fully coloured, 6s. For the Library , Drawing-room , &fc. — On black roller, 7s. 6d. ; on mahogany roller, 9s. “ For neatness, convenience, and general merit, we have no- where seen a plan of our immense capital so worthy of public favour as this.” — Literary Gazette. In 8vo., 3s. 6d., continued Monthly, COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS Of British Birds and their Eggs . By H. L. MEYER. Each Number consists of Four coloured Plates, with Letter- Press Description. “ This work will be a boon of no little value to the ornitho- logist, illustrated as it is by plates, of which the exquisite co- louring and execution must be seen, to be appreciated.” — Liverpool Journal. “ This work is a gem of art. It is splendidly got up, the engravings being carefully and skilfully coloured. To the naturalist these illustrations will be invaluable.” — Cambridge Advertiser. In royal 8vo., price 2s. 6d. each Part, ORIENTAL CYLINDERS. Impressions of ancient Oriental Cylinders, or Rolling- Seals of the Babylonians, Assyrians, and Medo- Persians. Lithographed by A. Cullimore. In octavo, price Is. THOUGHTS ON DUELLING, And its ABOLITION. In octavo, price Is. REMARKS ON A REMONSTRANCE ADDRESSED TO THE BRITISH PUBLIC By Twenty-Nine M. P.’s connected with Ireland, shortly after the late Session of Parliament. By WILLIAM JOHNSON CAMPBELL, Esq. In octavo, price Is. 6d. WHIG AND TORY REMEDIES FOR IRISH EVILS, And the Effect a Repeal of the Corn Laws would have on the Legislative Union ; considered in a Letter to the Right Honourable Lord Eliot, M. P. By PHILIP READE, Esq., a Resident Landlord. In octavo, price 2s. A LETTER TO THE RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M. P., President of the Board of Trade, ON RAILWAY LEGISLATION. In octavo, price Is. LETTER TO AN ENGLISH MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT UPON THE SUBJECT OF THE PRESENT STATE OF IRELAND. By AN IRISH COUNTRY GENTLEMAN.