CHAPTER X.

I returned to my lodging full of thought. What with the conversations

I had heard in the coach, what with the strange sayings of Mrs. Figsby

and her husband, I began to have my eyes a little more opened than

they were before. I considered that, notwithstanding the flourishing

exterior of things, and the general appearances of prosperity which

had struck my eyes, there might be truth in the rumours which had been

so current in Persia, that England was declining fast in greatness,

and was on the brink of ruin. I had occasionally seen madmen in my own

country, from whose brain all sense had fled when their minds were bent

upon a particular subject, but who still upon others were rational, and

acted like sane men. "May not that be the case here?" thought I; "and,

if all the nation has run mad by one common consent upon this desire

of change, they may have sapped the foundation of their real happiness

and prosperity, although they still build fine houses and exhibit

resplendent shops."

I determined, in conformity to my instructions from the asylum of

the universe, to present my letters to the English vizier; to have a

conversation with him, and then to settle whether I should deliver

the fortunate letter, of which I was the bearer, from the king of

kings to the King of England. Accordingly, I proceeded to a certain

dark and obscure street, where, on former occasions, I recollected

the sovereign had ordered his vizier to receive the ambassadors and

ministers of foreign powers, and there to transact their business, and,

sure enough, I found things just as I had left them; thus far there had

been no reform. I found no parade of guards, executioners, officers,

or heralds; but one little man seated in a great leather chair, and

through his interference I was introduced into a dark room, without a

single word of welcome being said, not even "Good morning," and "Fine

day;" and there I was left until the vizier could speak to me.

I waited what appeared to me a long time,--quite long enough to

consider, if this was an English palace, what must be an English

prison! At length another infidel invited me to follow him, and, after

having been paraded through a few rooms, I found myself in the presence

of one whom I first took for the vizier, but who I soon found was

only his deputy. He was very kind and civil, and asked my business in

courteous language; upon which I told him that I was just arrived from

the foot of the Persian throne, and was the bearer of a letter to the

English vizier, as well as to his royal master. He seemed pleased at

this information; but he asked me a question which made the wind fly

out of my head.

"Pray, sir," said he, "do you bring us any letter from our minister in

Persia? I do not think that we have been apprised of your mission."

Upon this I stroked down my beard, and, searching in the depths of

my wit for a ready answer, I answered that I was despatched from the

imperial stirrup as a courier, and not as a minister. "I have no letter

but this;" upon which I drew from my breast the grand vizier's letter,

which I delivered into his hand. He was at a loss whilst he unrolled

it, for he evidently did not know the top from the bottom; and all

communication must have ceased between us, had I not possessed the

translation, which I had prudently caused to be made at Tabriz by one

of my own countrymen who had received his education in England.

This, the vizier's deputy read over very attentively; and, as he read,

I observed certain smiles break out on his features, from which I

augured favourably. He then desired me to wait, whilst he took up the

papers, and left the room to lay them before his chief, saying not a

word of his own opinion upon their contents.

He soon returned, and, asking me to follow, he led the way into

an adjacent room, where I found the English vizier in person. The

appearance and manners of this personage were full of charm; and,

although a man in his high office had usually the power of awing me

into fear and diffidence of myself, still I felt no other sensations

than what were agreeable when he addressed me.

"I have been reading strange things in this letter," said the vizier.

"I am informed that my country is on the brink of ruin, and that

his majesty the Shah, apprehending disaster might accrue to my own

sovereign, has been pleased to offer him an asylum at his gate."

"That is, in truth, the object of my mission," said I. "You have spoken

right."

"But how," said the vizier, "has this information travelled to Persia?

It is new to me, as it is, I believe, to every member of his majesty's

government."

"How do I know?" I answered, with some little confusion; for, in truth,

I began to feel that I had come upon a fool's errand, and was about to

swallow much abomination. "Our news in Persia is not printed every day

upon paper as it is here, but comes to us as it may please the will of

Allah! The asylum of the universe, upon whom be blessings! who knows

all, and does all for the good of his subjects, was convinced of the

fact; the same was confirmed by all strangers arriving at his imperial

gate; and it was announced by the English minister himself that a great

change was about to take place in his country; that old counsels, which

had been followed since the recollection of the most ancient greybeards

of the country, were about to be abolished and replaced by new; and

that a certain thing, called People, whether man or beast we never

could discover, was on the point of obtaining supremacy, and despoiling

your reverend monarch, for whom the king of kings entertains the

highest friendship, of his ancient hereditary throne."

"Your news," observed the vizier, "was partly right, and partly false.

That a change has taken place in the government of this country," said

he, "is true; and our minister's words are confirmed. A change has

taken place; but change does not argue total destruction."

Recollecting that I was here at the fountain-head of information, and

that the vizier's words were words to be repeated to the king of kings,

I inquired, "As I am less than the least, may it please you to inform

your slave what is this change?"

"The principal change has been in giving the people a better means

than they had before of making their wishes known through their

representatives. You know, of course," said he, "what our 'parliament'

means?"

"Yes," said I. "I believe I am right in saying that a representative

means a man who is supposed to be a concentrated essence of the

thousands and tens of thousands of those who choose him; and that he

cries out 'black' or 'white' as the fit seizes him. A collection of

such men means a parliament."

"You have a tolerable notion of what I mean," said the vizier, smiling.

"Now, certain of these representatives could only cry out 'black' or

'white' as it choosed to please, not themselves, but certain khans or

omrahs of our country, who sent them instead of the people. That is the

principal change we have made."

"I understand--I understand!" I exclaimed, as if a new light had opened

upon me. "The omrahs, therefore, are displeased, and cry out 'Ruin!'

and the people are overjoyed, and cry out, 'We are sovereigns;' and

both are wrong."

The vizier seemed greatly amused with my great discovery, and then

entered into certain long explanations concerning the various topics

which I had heard discussed between the smooth and rough infidels whom

I had met in the coach, and which only tended to obscure the great

conclusion to which I had come by the light of my own wit. I allowed

him to talk, and he seemed pleased to do so, as if he were defending

himself from imputations, and of which, in truth, I understood not one

word. However, he seemed amazingly struck, when, in rising to go, I

said,

"It is plain, then, that some great mistake has been committed

somewhere; otherwise, why should this great country be so terribly torn

from one end of it to the other by animosities, which seem to have led

it to the brink of anarchy?"

"No great change," said he, "can take place without producing a great

shock of interests and opinions, and consequently animosities."

"And that is just what a good and wise government ought to avoid," said

I. "Our Shah is called _Zil Allah_, the Shadow of the Almighty; and,

according to the saying of one of our ancient sages, the acts of a king

ought to follow the same course perceivable in the dispensations of

Providence, and in the laws by which God, the great and good, directs

the fates of his creatures. All changes in government ought to be

as gradual as changes in the seasons. If a great change takes place

without a previous preparation of the people's minds, and an almost

imperceptible one in their habits, of course the sudden transition will

produce a shock so violent, that the mischief may perhaps be without

remedy. If, during the heats of summer, the Almighty were to give this

globe a sudden accelerated turn, and throw us at once into the snows of

winter, the effects might almost produce sudden death upon one half of

his creatures; but he allows the intervening autumn gradually to blend

the two extremes, and thus produces a healthy action in the operations

of nature."

He did not seem so much struck by the wisdom of this speech as I was,

and I was about leaving him, when I recollected the letter with which I

was charged from the _Shah-en-Shah_, the king of kings, and asked when

I should deliver it. He paused a little in thought, and then said,

"Perhaps it may be as well that we hear something from our minister

in Persia before you deliver your letter." Upon which, seeing that my

countenance was turned upside down, he said, with great kindness of

manner, "There will be no harm done if you deliver it immediately. The

King of England is ready to receive the application of every one, from

the peasant in the field to the greatest potentate."

MY UNCLE.

A FRAGMENT.

He kept a store,

A place of refuge to which all might fly

In the dark hour of bleak adversity,

When sunshine friends, like summer birds, had flown.

He was misfortune's shield,--a goodly man!

In fact, so kind a soul could scarce be found;

For he would lend to any graceless wight

A sum of money, and would never ask

His bond or bill, or even say "Be sure

To pay me this again next week, or so."

_He never craved a debtor in his life!_

* * * * *

Around his house, in many a goodly pile,

All sorts of wares were ranged in order nice,

Shoes, hats, great-coats, and gowns, with many pairs

Of certain parts of dress (not pantaloons),

Which, it is said, some married females wear.

Above his door

Invitingly were hung three golden balls,

As if to say, "Who pennyless would go?"

Here is a banking-house, whence every man

Who has an article to leave behind,

May draw for cash, nor fear his cheque unpaid.

Ah me! full many an ungrateful wight

In this same store, without a sigh or tear,

Parted his _bosom friend_, altho' he knew

That friend must dwell among the _unredeemed_.

WHY THE WIND BLOWS ROUND ST. PAUL'S.

BY JOYCE JOCUND.

Whoever has walked round St. Paul's church-yard must have had good

evidence of the wind being always boisterous there, on the most balmy

day of spring, in summer's more sultry hour, in autumn's bracing time,

or in winter's chilling air; all tides and every season bear strong

testimony that the wind is ever blowing there, not in those gentle

gales that love to play and wanton round other edifices, but in such

rude, boisterous burstings, that the traveller is fain to look to his

footing, and put up with a _blow_ which is neither to be parried nor

returned. I cannot fix the precise date, but it was during the last

century, that a bit of a breeze was kicked up in the higher circles

among the Winds; and, from the strife that ensued, more serious

consequences seemed to threaten than were at first apprehended. Whether

the East was intent on going westward, or the North determined on

veering to the south, is of trifling import. From words the disputants

nearly came to blows, and the weathercocks were sadly put to their

shifts during all the changes that occurred: those who consulted them

found how little attention was paid to the cardinal points, which from

time immemorial had been considered their cardinal virtues; in short,

it was impossible to tell which way the wind lay. Nothing was to be

heard among them but wranglings, wailings, and contentions.

"As for you," roared old Boreas, addressing a mild-looking individual

personifying the South wind, "a poor, soft, effeminate creature, only

fit to breathe o'er a bed of violets, what, in the name of all that's

trifling, can you possibly presume to know?"

"I may not be so bluff as you, nor so excellent a bully," replied the

other; "yet I flatter myself that I am equally esteemed by mankind."

"Doubtless! by old maids, invalids, and anglers."

"And I prefer their welcome to the maledictions so lavishly heaped upon

you, by the aged, the gouty, and the suffering," was the rejoinder.

"Fie! fie!" lisped the West wind, an exquisite of the most exclusive

order. "If you persist, I shall positively arraign you at the bar of

good breeding and fashion."

"Which I believe is not situated on _my_ side Temple-bar," exclaimed

the East, in a tone that reminded one of the equinox.

"Your intimacy with the bar is confined to the Old Bailey," chirruped

his opponent, who commenced,

"Cease rude Boreas, blustering railer:

List ye."

At this personal attack the North looked particularly black, and the

East BLEW with increased violence.

"How the puppy squalls!" said the latter, in reference to the singing.

"Rather more melodious than your howling," replied the tormentor; for

the West wind is occasionally pretty sharp when its powers are exerted.

With this slight specimen you may suppose that the Winds began to get

very high; ill-natured replies followed angry remarks; while the East

wind distributed his usual cutting retorts with unsparing profusion. In

short, the only subject on which they appeared agreed was to perform

"The Storm," _ad libitum_, with hail and rain accompaniments. There

is an old adage, "as busy as the Devil in a high wind:" how busy

that may be, let others determine; but truly his Satanic Majesty was

never more occupied than on this memorable occasion, for he seemed

to have possessed the contending parties with an implacable spirit

of opposition, and contrived to divide his influence so impartially

that each played the very devil with the other. When the uproar had

sufficiently subsided to permit observation, it was clearly apparent

that the North, as was his wont, rather sided with the East, and the

South as plainly inclined to the West; so, after amusing himself with

their differences, the crafty instigator of the feud proposed that

the affair should be permitted to blow over, and, by way of cooling

themselves, that the four Winds should accompany him on a stroll

through London streets, towards the City; where he promised them plenty

of adventures, with many sights worthy their attention. After a few

more gusts of passion exhibited by the North and East, venting their

spite upon their more peaceful opponents, the party set forth on their

ramble, with something like outward decency of demeanour, although

opposition and dissatisfaction were rankling in their hearts. Their

cicerone pointed to a plot of ground in Hyde Park.

"Here," said he, "will be erected an imperishable monument to that

greatest of modern heroes, the victor of a hundred fights. In every

land shall his matchless deeds be known, and his fame proclaimed by----"

"The four Winds!" exclaimed they all.

"Yonder will be his town-residence," resumed their guide, "the scarcely

less than princely mansion of the nation's idol; yet, so evanescent is

popularity, and so great is the distinction between civil matters and

military, that coming years will display his windows barricaded against

the assaults of that people whose opinions are as changeable as the----"

"What?" said his hearers in a breath, ready to take offence should he

indulge in any _personal_ allusion.

"As changeable as--as the weather."

"Oh!" exclaimed the East, with a significant whistle, that sounded very

like the blast of a war-trumpet.

They walked some distance without further remark, until reaching

Pall-Mall.

"This," said the Devil, directing their attention to a range of

buildings on the right, "this will ere long disappear. Of yon regal

habitation, the scene of revelry and delight, not a vestige will

remain; vast local improvements will be completed, magnificent

residences erected; and here a lofty column shall be raised, on whose

'tall pillar, pointing to the skies,' will be placed the statue of a

princely commander----"

"Who will doubtless be _highly indebted_ to the people," observed the

North, in his most unpleasant manner.

"And what may be that heavy-looking temple opposite?" inquired the

East, pointing to the Opera-house.

"That is celebrated as the resort of beauty, rank, wealth, and fashion."

Here the West wind nodded his assent, as if perfectly cognisant of

affairs so particularly appertaining to _his_ quarter of the metropolis.

"Where the aristocracy of this kingdom assemble to lavish their wealth

and favours on foreign _artistes_, as they are called, while native

industry and talent are neglected and unrequited. But my sentimentality

outruns my prudence; _I_ patronise the Opera, notwithstanding," said

the Devil.

"And I," said the West.

Continuing their perambulation, they reached the present site of

Waterloo-bridge.

"A splendid structure," observed their conductor, "will here span that

mighty stream, on whose waves float a thousand argosies freighted with

riches from every distant land. Speculation will soon furnish means

sufficient for the enterprise, and----"

"The profits?" inquired old Boreas, too far _north_ to lose sight of

the main chance.

"Will be shared among the subscribers."

"By what rule?"

"_Short_ division," was the answer.

"This building on the right is Somerset House, where the Royal Academy

holds its annual exhibition of British artists, at which persons pay

a shilling to view their own portraits that have cost most exorbitant

sums, if painted by popular professors of the art."

"A noble institution," said the South, in simplicity of soul, "and most

encouraging to rising talent."

"Very," was the devilish dry reply.

"And where young exhibitors have fine opportunities afforded them to

profit by the experience, skill, and fostering care of their superiors."

"Exactly," said the Devil, with a malicious smile. "In the arrangement

and distribution of the pictures the committee show an intimate

knowledge of 'light and shade,' which is particularly instructive

to others. They appropriate all the 'light' to their own pictures,

and the 'shade' to their neighbours'. Yonder dirty-looking gate is

Temple-bar, where in the olden time traitors' heads stood in goodly

row, as plentiful as the portraits in the Exhibition, only that the

'bodies' never came to own them. But"--and here the Devil sighed like

a furnace--"innovation and improvement have destroyed all venerable

customs."

So, venting his regrets, they journeyed down Fleet-street, when the

attention of the gentle South was attracted to the large gloomy edifice

which is so prominent in that locality.

"Ah!" said their guide, "that is the Fleet."

"Where?" said the East, springing up at the idea of stiff breezes and

swelling sails; "I see no ships."

"Yet there is no lack of _craft_, I promise you," replied the Devil.

"One of the considerate laws of this realm declares that a debtor

shall pay in person what he is deficient in pocket: a sapient method to

man his Majesty's _fleet_, and as pretty a piece of legislation as _I_

would propose."

Turning from the prison and its solid-looking brickwork, the first

glimpse of St. Paul's met their astonished gaze. The strangers were

enraptured at that mighty monument of man's power and perseverance.

After surveying the exterior, the Winds expressed an eagerness to view

the inside of the cathedral; but their importunities were negatived

by their companion, who intimated in strong terms his repugnance to

such a proposition. "Besides," he observed, "which of you will pay the

twopences demanded for admission? By-the-bye, do me the favour to wait

here a few moments. Some most intimate and particular friends are now

assembled at the Chapter Coffee-house."

"Do not let us detain you unwillingly," growled the North.

"We are much indebted for your care and guidance," murmured the South.

"I feel more at home in my own quarter of the town," said the East;

"let me prove no hindrance."

"But promise me to remain,--rely upon my speedy return," said the Devil.

"Agreed!" roared the North, who seemed to think the spot a good place

to make himself heard.

"Then I depend upon your awaiting my coming. For the present, farewell!"

"_Au revoir!_" lisped the West, as the arch deceiver disappeared down

one of the narrow avenues which abound in that locality.

Well, the poor Winds went whistling up and down, looking at the shops,

watching the crowd, and amusing themselves as best they could under

such disagreeable circumstances. They made several rounds of the

church, the hands of the clock made several rounds of the dial, yet the

absent one appeared not; and their patience was nearly exhausted, when

the South modestly offered to sing them a song, if indeed such feeble

powers could lighten the time and lessen their suspense, and then

breathed the following words to a soft plaintive _air_:

SONG OF THE SOUTH.

I.

I love to roam where the spice-groves send

Their mingled sweets o'er the fragrant air,

Where orange-blossoms their bright buds lend

To weave a wreath for the blushing fair;

And I waft each shining tress aside

That shades the brow of the blooming bride.

II.

I love to roam at the sunset hour,

To breathe farewell to the parting day,

And kiss the dew from each star-lit flower,

That ever weeps as light fades away.

Oh! I woo them all with my softest sighs,

And gently whisper,--that Love never dies!

"Enough! enough!" grumbled the East; "I cannot waste my time in such

frivolities. Where is the fellow who brought us here?"

"Ay!" said the North, "does he fancy we have nothing better to occupy

us than attending his pleasure, dancing attendance?"

And thereat the watchers became mighty impatient. At length the North

declared that he had business of great importance that night upon the

coast.

"What fools we were to pledge ourselves! My engagements are

imperative,--go I must!" roared he with vehemence.

"And I," added the East, with similar violence.

"I have made an appointment in Bond-street," muttered the West,

mentioning the fashionable lounge of that period; "moreover, the

Countess of B---- expects me at her party. I am irrevocably bound to

the countess, and would not disappoint the sweet creature for worlds."

"I cannot remain alone in this gloomy place," sighed the South.

"Listen!" said the North, puffing himself up to an unusual pomposity,

even for him; "I have a plan to remedy the dilemma. I go,--that is

settled. You three can easily find an excuse for my absence."

"And mine," cried the East. "Two are very good company,--three damp

conversation."

"As I have nothing particular to communicate, I shall follow your

example," said the West, looking significantly at the East.

"I was assured the puppy would oppose me," grunted the latter; "'tis

his constant practice."

Thus affairs appeared in tolerable train for a repetition of the

former bickering, when it was at last decided, but not without much

turbulent and acrimonious feeling, that each should wait in turn,

and give timely notice to the others of the truant's arrival; and

with this understanding they separated, leaving one on guard. It

is hardly necessary to state that the Devil never reappeared. He

always leaves his votaries in the lurch; and on this occasion his

boon companions at the Chapter gave him such good cheer, that he

forgot the poor winds, who have ever since been alternately looking,

but in vain, for his arrival. To their honour be it told, that they

each and every one performed his promise of remaining for a stated

period, neither excepting the boisterous North, the cutting East, the

fashionable West, nor the gentle South. Their various watchings may be

easily distinguished by their respective degrees of violence in the

neighbourhood, and to this very hour is one of them to be heard either

roaring, blowing, moaning, or sighing for their emancipation. And this

accounts for the fact of their constant presence, and shows why "THE

WIND BLOWS ROUND ST. PAUL'S."

The tradition inculcates a moral. Had the four Winds pursued the "path

of duty," this trial had been spared them; but they listened to the

tempter. Let all profit by their example: Men, as well as Winds, should

"KEEP WITHIN COMPASS."

RATHER HARD TO TAKE.

An artist--'tis not fair to tell his name;

But one whom Fortune, in her freakish tricks,

Saluted with less smiles than kicks,

More to the painter's honour, and her shame,--

Was one day deep engaged on his _chef d'œuvre_,

(A painting worthy of the Louvre,)

Dives and Lazarus the theme,--

The subject was his earliest boyish dream!

And, with an eye to colour, breadth, and tone,

He painted, skilfully as he was able,

The good things on the rich man's table,--

Wishing they were, no doubt, upon his own;

When suddenly his hostess--best of creatures!--

Made visible her features,

And to this world our artist did awaken:

"A gentleman," she said, "from the next street,

Had sent a special message in a heat,

Wanting a likeness taken."

The artist, with a calmness oft the effect

Of tidings which we don't expect,

Wip'd all his brushes carefully and clean,

Button'd his coat--a coat which once had been,--

Put on his hat, and with uncommon stress

On the address,

Went forth, revolving in his nob

How his kind hostess, when he'd got the job,--

Even before they paid him for his skill,--

Would let him add a little to the bill.

He found a family of six or seven,

All grown-up people, seated in a row;

There might be seen upon each face a leaven

Of recent, and of decent woe,

But that the artist, whose chief cares

Were fix'd upon his own affairs,

Gazed, with a business eye, to be acquainted

Which of the seven wanted to be painted.

But a young lady soon our artist greeted,

Saying, in words of gentlest music, "Ah!--

Pray, Mr. Thingo'me, be seated,--

We want a likeness of our grandpapa."

Such chances Fortune seldom deigns to bring:

The very thing!

How he should like

To emulate Vandyke!

Or, rather--still more glorious ambition--

To paint the head like Titian,

A fine old head, with silver sprinkled:

A face all seam'd and wrinkled:--

The painter's heart 'gan inwardly rejoice;

But, as he pondered on that "fine old head,"

Another utter'd, in a mournful voice,

"But, sir, he's dead!"

The artist was perplex'd--the case was alter'd:

Distrust, stirr'd up by doubt, his bosom warps;

"God bless my soul!" he falter'd;

"But, surely, you can let me see the corpse?

An artist but requires a hint:

There are the features--give the cheeks a tint--

Paint in the eyes--and, though the task's a hard 'un,

You'll find the thing, I'll swear,

As like as he can,--no, I beg your pardon,--

As like as he _could_ stare!"

"Alas! alas!" the eldest sister sigh'd,

And then she sobb'd and cried,

So that 'twas long ere she again could speak,--

"We buried him last week!"

The painter heaved a groan: "But, surely, madam,

You have a likeness of the dear deceased;

Some youthful face, whose age might be increased?"

"No, no,--we haven't, sir, no more than Adam;

Not in the least!"

This was the strangest thing that e'er occurr'd;--

"You'll pardon me," the baffled painter cried;

"But, really, I must say, upon my word,

You might have sent for me before he died."

And then he turn'd to the surviving tribe,--

"Can you describe

But a few items, features, shape, and hue?

I'll warrant, I'll still paint the likeness true!"

"Why, yes, we could do that," said one: "let's see;

He had a rather longish nose, like me."

"No," said a second; "there you're wrong,

His nose was not so very long."

"Well, well," pursued the first; "his eyes

Were rather smaller than the common size."

"How?" cried a third, "how?--not at all;

Not small--not small!"

"Well, then, an oval face, extremely fine."

"Yes," said the eldest son, "like mine."

The painter gazed upon him in despair,--

The fellow's face was square!

"I have it," cried another, and arose;

"But wait a moment, sir," and out she goes.

With curiosity the artist burn'd--

"What was she gone for?" but she soon return'd.

"I knew from what _they_ said, to expect to gain

A likeness of grandpa was quite in vain;

But, not upon that point to dwell,

I have got something here will do as well

As though alive he for his portrait sat!"

So, saying, with a curtsey low,

She from behind, with much parade and show,

Presented an old hat!

C.W.

NIGHTS AT SEA;

_Or, Sketches of Naval Life during the War_.

BY THE OLD SAILOR.

No. IV.

"Impute it not a crime

To me, or my swift passage, that I slide

O'er sixteen years." * * *

"There's some ill planet reigns;

I must be patient till the heavens look

With an aspect more favourable."

SHAKSPEARE.

There glides the dashing Spankaway over the smooth surface of the

ocean, whilst, close in her wake, moves the vanquished Hippolito.

The damages have been repaired so as to be scarcely perceptible; the

shot-holes have been well plugged and secured; and the two frigates

appear more like consorts on a cruise than enemies so recently engaged

in deadly strife. The breeze is a royal breeze; and gallantly the

beautiful ships are splitting the yielding waters, whilst the watches

are employed in necessary duties. Near the taffrail of the Spankaway

stand two prominent figures, both remarkably fine-looking men, who

might be taken for brother officers but for the difference in their

uniforms. The one on the larboard hand has his head erect, his chest

thrown forward, his left hand thrust into his waistcoat, and his

right foot in advance planted firmly on the deck; he is indulging in

high-wrought and proud feelings as he silently gazes on the prize; his

voice is not heard, but there is a speaking meaning in his look as he

contemplates the red cross of St. George upon a white field floating

majestically above the tricolour, whilst his own untarnished ensign

waves singly at his peak. The individual on the starboard hand has a

cast of melancholy on his countenance; his head is depressed, his arms

are folded on his breast; and, though sensible that he has done his

duty, and defended his command as long as his crew rendered it tenable,

yet he knows that he was not well supported by his fellow-citizens,

among whom equality is the order of the day; and he is suffering from

a sense of deep humiliation at the degraded condition in which he is

placed. These are the captains of the two frigates,--the victor and the

vanquished.

Upon the quarter-deck of the Hippolito is Mr. Seymour, hurrying to

and fro, issuing his orders, and rendering the prize as effective as

possible. There is a laughing glee upon his features that plainly

evidences the pleasure he cherishes in his heart; he looks around with

exaltation as he anticipates the moment when he himself shall have

such a desirable command. One step he makes sure of; a few hours more

may perform fresh wonders; and his mind, with all the vividness of a

seaman's hope, is making a hop, skip, and a jump progress to certain

conclusions favourable to promotion. The fact is, Seymour had been long

neglected; he was an excellent officer, and a brave man; had fought in

several actions, been severely wounded on more than one occasion; but

the coveted distinction had been withheld because he was not a first

lieutenant. Now, however, he made sure of it; and he already began to

feel the weight of the epaulette on the left shoulder, with an ardent

determination to do something that would transfer it to the right

shoulder.

But whither are the frigates steering? their heads are not on the

compass-point for a friendly port, but directly the reverse. Night

is coming on; they are running into the gulf of Genoa. There are the

Hieres, a little open on the larboard bow, just rising from the sea.

South-west should carry them to Gibraltar, and there are they going

away north-east.

"Your undertaking is rather hazardous, my lord," said Citizen Captain

Begaud; "there are ships of the line in the immediate neighbourhood,

and the English fleet may have again resumed its station."

"If the latter is the case," replied Lord Eustace, "I can run no

hazard; for Lord Nelson will have a bright eye upon the enemy. On

the other hand, the enterprise is worth a little risk; and, though I

despise the fellows who gave me the information, yet it is my duty, as

well as according with my inclination, to make the most of it."

"_Vous avez raison, milord_," rejoined the Frenchman; "_mais_--" he

paused: "_sacré!_ the rascal who told you merits the guillotine; he is

a disgrace to the _grande nation_."

"Well, I'm blow'd if I can make any thing o' this here!" exclaimed

old Savage, the boatswain, to his subordinate, Jack Sheavehole, as

they stood upon the forecastle; "it beats my larning out and out. Here

we captures a French frigate, and has all the prisoners in limbo,

when, instead of seeing her into a place of safety, why here we goes

happy-go-lucky right down into the bight of Ginoar, slap into the

enemy's teeth."

"Is that why you calls it a bite, Mr. Savage?" asked Jemmy Ducks,

touching his hat with all due respect.

"Calls what a bite, you egg-sucker?" responded the boatswain somewhat

roughly, at the presumption of the inquirer in addressing an officer of

his distinction so freely. "Calls what a bite?"

"Going into the enemy's teeth, sir!" answered the humble poulterer,

again touching his straw covering.

"Did you ever hear such an hignoramus, Jack?" said the boatswain to his

veteran mate, in a tone of extreme contempt.

"Why, for the matter o' that, not often, sir," answered the individual

addressed, "thof it is but nat'ral for him;" and, seeing that the

boatswain was twiddling his rattan with his fingers, as a prelude to

castigation, he turned to the poulterer, and, giving him a friendly

shove, exclaimed, "Away out o' that, Jemmy; there's the cow's babby

bleating for you;" and off he went.

"The sarvice is going to ----, Jack!" said Mr. Savage; "the captain

arn't half strict enough with them there 'long-shore lubbers, as pay no

more respect to an officer than they do to a timber-head! and, in the

regard o' that, his lordship himself too often speaks to 'em as if they

had flesh and blood like his own, when, Lord love you! they arn't got

never no such thing. And where his lordship is bound to now, puzzles my

calculations. I say, Muster Blueblazes," to the gunner, who approached

them, "what's all this here about?"

"Flannel cartridges," replied the gunner, passing on in a hurry, and

calling to his several mates to descend to the magazine.

"Flannel devils!" retorted old Savage. "That's all the answer I gets

for my pains! Pray, Muster Nugent, may I presume to ax you if you can

just deligthning my mind as to what cruise we're going on in this

course, seeing as it takes us slap down into the bight of the bay?"

"Gulf, Mr. Savage,--not bay," replied the junior lieutenant, "the gulf

of Genoa, named after a celebrated city that formerly monopolised the

commerce of the world. Christopher Columbus was a Genoese. Did you

never read about Christopher Columbus?"

"Can't say as I have, sir," returned the impatient boatswain; "are we

bound in chase of him, sir?"

"In chase of whom? Columbus?" responded the lieutenant, laughing; "why,

he's been dead nearly two hundred years. No, no, Mr. Savage; we're

going----"

"Mr. Nugent!" shouted Lord Eustace from the quarter-deck; and, to the

great vexation of the boatswain, who was on the _qui-vive_ to ascertain

where they were bound, the young officer instantly responded, and went

aft.

"That's just the way I'm al'ays sarved," said Savage petulantly, and

applying his rattan to the shoulders of a poor unfortunate lad who

passed him without touching the locks that hung clustering on his

forehead,--for hat or cap he had none. "Here's a pretty know-nothing!

Do you forget, sir, that an officer's an officer, sir? and it's

customary, sir, to pay proper respect, sir, to your superiors, sir,

your betters, sir, you scape-grace, lubberly blackguard, sir;" and

down came the stick at every "sir." The boy made the best of his way

across the forecastle; but was again stopped by the boatswain. "Come

back here, you wagabone. Don't you know, sir, that it's a great mark

of disrespect, sir, to run away when an officer's starting you, sir?

There, go along, you useless lumber! pretty regylations we shall have

by and by, when such hard bargains as you fall aboard the King's

biscuit! We're all going to the devil together, Jack!" and he turned to

look over the bows.

"If we are going to the devil," muttered Jack to the captain of the

forecastle, "I hopes he'll sarve out his infarnal favours as the

Lords of the Admiralty shares the prize-money,--three parts among the

officers."

Lovely is a Mediterranean twilight in those balmy months that breathe

the odorous incense of exulting Nature in all its richest perfumes!

then is the hour for contemplation! it is then the mind ranges over

its best affections; and hearts, though oceans divide them, hold a

mysterious communing with each other.

"Deeper, oh twilight, let thy shades increase

Till every feeling, every pulse, is peace."

It is the poet alone that can describe its influences, for the art of

the painter is baffled; he cannot produce the deepening tints as the

web of darkness appears to be progressively weaving over the face of

the heavens.

"I love this season," said Lord Eustace to his captive, as they still

stood side by side abaft; "there is a holy tranquillity about it that

calms every turbulent passion, and soothes the heart in its sorrow."

"_C'est vrai, milord_," returned the Frenchman, mournfully enough for

one of his country; "and yon star there," pointing to Algol in Medusa's

head, "has ever been to me the star of my destiny. Three days since

I quitted Toulon; that orb at night was dim, and a heavy foreboding

rested on my spirit; on the following night its brightness, even its

dimensions, had decreased, and then I knew the doom of my honour was at

hand."

"Whatever presentiment you might have had," said Lord Eustace, "rest

satisfied your honour remains untarnished. You fought your ship well,

and be assured my account of the action shall do you ample justice.

But I should like to know why you consider that particular star as

connected with your fortunes."

"You shall be gratified then," responded the Frenchman, "if you have no

objections to a tale of horror."

"None, none,--not in the least!" answered the noble captain; "the hour,

the quiet, the dubious light, it is just the time for such a thing.

Pray favour me, and I will gaze on the Gorgon, and listen with profound

attention."

"We are both of us young, my lord," commenced the Frenchman; "I am but

six-and-twenty, and you----"

"One year your junior, Monsieur Capitaine," uttered his lordship; "but

I fancy I have seen more active service than you?"

"Afloat, 'tis probable, my lord," rejoined Begaud. "I was not at first

destined for the marine: my early career was in the army of the North,

when your Duke of York, deserted by the allied powers, (who received

your money whilst they negotiated with the Directory,) retreated before

our victorious troops. But I am forestalling my narrative,--heaving

ahead of my reckoning, I think you'd call it. I am by birth a native

of Paris, and the night of my entering the world was one of wailing,

lamentation, and death. It was that on which three thousand persons

were killed and wounded during a grand exhibition of fire-works,

displayed in honour of the marriage of the Dauphin to the Archduchess

Antoinetta Maria. Thus was I ushered into existence amidst shrieks and

groans; and neither of my parents ever beheld their child. My father

perished in the streets; the circumstance was indiscreetly announced to

my mother; it brought on premature labour, and the living infant was

taken from a corpse. What could be expected of such an introduction

into life? I had an uncle residing upon the vine-clad hills that rise

near the banks of the Garonne, a few leagues from Bordeaux, and there

I passed my boyhood; but he was an austere man, and, having a large

family of his own, I was looked upon as an incumbrance, and the only

individual who appeared to commiserate my fate was an aged woman who

lived in a cottage upon the estate, and was looked upon as a sibyl of

no mean pretensions. She it was who first taught me to look upon yon

star, and watch its capricious changes, so as to connect them with the

occurrences of my life; and she it was who read my future fate on the

tablets of inspiration. And who was this female? Twenty years before

she had been the favourite of fortune, enjoying the luxuries of the

capital, yet with an unblemished reputation. She had an only child,--a

daughter, resplendent in her opening beauty of girlhood,--a type of

that loveliness with which we characterise the angels. She was seen in

the garden of the Tuileries by that depraved debauchee, the Fifteenth

Louis; his agents secretly forced her to the Parc aux Cerfs; and the

distracted mother, ascertaining the lost condition of her child, spoke

publicly and loudly of the cruel grievance. But there was a Bastile

then, monsieur," added he, with bitter emphasis, "engines of torture

and iron cages to silence babblers; and thither was the parent sent by

order of that monarch, who held the daughter in his unchaste embraces.

That fellow was a wretch, my lord. It was he, and such as he, that

deluged France with blood. The measure of their iniquity ran over. But

the Bourbons were ever an accursed race. The property of the mother

was seized upon by the emissaries of the police; and when a few years

afterwards, she was released from her imprisonment, it was to find

herself a homeless outcast, and her daughter,--the beauteous child

of her soul's affections,--the inmate of a madhouse. Kings should be

the protectors, the benefactors of their subjects; not their bane,

their curse, the agents of their torture. Monsieur, that woman was my

relative, and early did she stamp upon my young heart that hatred to

royalty which remains unconquerably the same to this very hour. Yes,

here it is," and he pressed his hand with energetic firmness over the

seat of life; "here,--here it is, and, like a memorial carved on the

bark of a sapling, it has become enlarged with my growth, and deeper

indented with my years. It is my fate, monsieur,--it is my fate.

"The days of my boyhood passed on in mental misery. I felt for the

injuries that had been heaped upon my only friend; I yielded to her

instructions to be prepared against the hour of vengeance, when

retributive justice should sweep tyranny from the throne; I nursed the

hope in the secret recesses of my breast; I cherished it in my heart's

core; it was the subject of my nightly dreams and waking thoughts; and,

whilst other lads sought amusement in boyish pastimes, the demon of

revenge led me into solitary nooks, where I hoarded up my ardent desire

to redress the wrongs of Madame T----. Such, monsieur, was Jacques

Begaud in his thirteenth year, when, tired of a vegetative life, I

quitted my uncle's house, which, though it had been a place of shelter,

had never been a home to me, and travelled on foot to Toulon. My small

stock of money was soon expended; but yet I wanted for nothing. A piece

of bread and a little fruit, with some wine, no one denied me; and,

monsieur, I felt the sweets of liberty. Why I went to Toulon I do not

know, for Paris was my aim; and Madame T---- had prophesied,--there was

something terrible in her denunciations,--she had prophesied desolation

and destruction to the house of the Bourbons; and as rumours were

spreading of disunion at court, so did she eagerly feed upon them,

and urge me to redress her wrongs. It is true the debauchee was in

his grave; but then there was his grandson, the celebration of whose

marriage had made me an orphan even before my birth; and, boy as I was,

with a mind care-worn and cankered, I even looked upon _that_ event as

a legitimate cause of hatred."

"But the star, the star!" exclaimed Lord Eustace; "I am anxious to

learn in what manner you considered yourself influenced by the star."

"Madame T---- made it the source of her divination," returned Citizen

Begaud. "She would sit and silently gaze upon it for hours; and at my

departure she bade me observe it on the first day of every month. If in

full splendour, my career for the time would be prosperous; if shorn

of its glory, I was then to expect adversity. I strictly followed her

directions, and my fortunes were as varied as the brightness of yon

orb. At Toulon I was much struck with the naval yard and arsenal; and

in the former I laboured for several months in the humble occupation

of an oakum-picker, gaining not only sufficient to keep life within

me, but even with my scanty pittance I contrived to save a small

sum, with which I traversed Corsica, and from thence embarked for

Sicily, where I narrowly escaped one of those dreadful visitations

which swallowed up so many thousands in its vortex. At Messina, where

I obtained temporary employ, one great source of delight to me was

standing on the rocky shore and viewing the fearful commotion of the

waters, as they rushed through the straits. To witness this spectacle I

have walked miles; and the roaring and tumbling of the billows excited

in my heart feelings of joyous pleasure. I had frequently observed a

youth of my own age similarly engaged. He stood with his arms behind

him looking down upon the troubled ocean, as if he wished to penetrate

its hidden depths, and search for undiscovered mysteries; he seemed

to view it as a monster with which he longed to cope, but was coolly

calculating the most appropriate method of effecting his purpose. His

dress was rather superior to mine, and he affected a dignity which

did not suit my companionable qualities. We never spoke; but whilst I

hurled the largest stones that I could lift into the boiling foam, and

saw them, heavy as they were, thrown floating on the surface by the

bubbling fury of the swelling billows, he looked calmly on, disdaining

to move a muscle of his countenance, though his brilliant eyes were

lighted up, and seemed to flash with intense delight. Sometimes I made

approaches to familiarity, but he cautiously repulsed all attempts at

acquaintance; and at length I forbore. Monsieur has been to Messina?"

Lord Eustace bowed acquiescence.

"It is a beautiful place, and I loved to look at the white buildings

thrown out in strong relief by the dark green forests behind them. My

evenings, when my occupation would admit, were passed upon the Marina,

watching the setting sun. One day I had walked to my usual spot for

witnessing the contest of the currents; and, as I had frequently done

before, I stripped, and plunged into the wave at a place where the

eddies had hollowed out an artificial bay. I loved to breast the surge,

to dash aside the threatening breaker, or dive beneath its power. My

limbs were strong and pliant; I was fearless in an element that is

seldom, if ever, conquered. The afternoon was sultry; there was an

oppressive heat, that seemed to steam from both land and water, for the

atmosphere above was clear and shining. My star had shone but dimly

the night before, portending danger; yet I knew not from what quarter

to expect it. After bathing, I dressed, and seated myself upon a rock,

enjoying the scene, when, on turning my head, I beheld the youth I

have mentioned at no great distance from me, standing on the extreme

angle of low rock that jutted into the sea. He looked more serious and

sedate than ever; there was a cast of melancholy on his features, and

he seemed to be involved in intensity of thought. Suddenly a darkness

overspread us, a heavy gloom arose; it was the work of a moment; I

felt my earth-embedded seat lifted up, and oscillating to and fro. I

saw huge pieces of solid rock rent from their mountain fastnesses,

and hurled, crashing and thundering, into the torrent that roared and

raged with unusual fury below. I beheld a wall of water rushing through

the strait, and, calling to mind the dimness of my star, I knew the

hour of trial was come: but I was too elevated to fear that mass of

liquid element that swept every thing before it, though the strife

that was apparently going on within the very bowels of the earth

left me but small prospect of escape. The awful phenomenon at first

paralysed my faculties, and I forgot the pale youth for the moment;

but, on looking again towards him, there he stood, still gazing on the

deep, whilst the heavy shocks of the earthquake were opening graves

for his fellow-creatures. Onward rushed the perpendicular wave, and in

an instant he was swept from his position into the maddened vortex of

the hissing foam. I saw the catastrophe, monsieur, and for a second or

two my spirit exulted in his overthrow; 'But he has parents,' thought

I, 'they will moan his loss; and yet I cannot save him if I would.'

The youth had disappeared beneath the mighty swell that inundated all

the adjacent shore; but again he arose upon the surface, and was borne

rapidly along past the spot where I was stationed. I had no home, no

parents, no one who cared for the destitute outcast, not a creature in

existence whose heart beat with affection for the child of misery; if I

perished, I perished, and there would be none to weep for me. Without

hesitation I sprang into that hissing foam, and was instantly thrown

half body out again by the turbulence of the underset, as it forced

itself to the surface. I struck out steadily and strongly with my arms

and feet, but could preserve very little command as the impetuous

waters rolled me over and over; but still I neared the object of my

solicitude, who kept afloat, and at length I was by his side. Yet what

could I do to aid him in his peril? 'Lift your head well up!' exclaimed

I; 'strike out boldly with the current. I will not leave you.' He

gave me one look; it was full of calm pride. I saw he was getting

weak and required help, yet he disdained to ask for it. _Mon Dieu!_

but that was a struggle for existence! and momentarily was strength

failing in that youth, whilst I felt my own gradually grow less.

'Dive!--dive!' shouted I, as I beheld that gigantic wave returning, in

all its terrible vengeance, to meet us; 'dive for your life!' But he

was nearly insensible to my call. I seized him by the shoulder, forced

him under as far as possible, and the enormous billow passed above our

heads. Once more the light of Heaven was on us,--once more we could

see the blue expanse as if resting like a canopy on the summits of the

mountains, and the eddy had whirled us to the entrance of an inlet,

where the water was comparatively tranquil. 'Save yourself,' said my

companion, 'I will do my best to follow. Save yourself, my friend.' I

know not how it was, but the appellation, 'my friend,' seemed to instil

fresh vigour into me. 'I will not abandon you,' shouted I; 'and, if you

can fetch the cove, we are both saved.'--'It is impossible,' answered

he; 'run no further hazard on my account.' His head was drooping,

nature was nearly exhausted; he swam deep, and I became sensible that,

unless by some desperate impulse, I could not save him. I swam close

to him, gave him one end of my neckerchief, and told him to grip it

tight; the other end I fixed between my teeth, and boldly tried for the

inlet. A wave assisted my endeavours; the swell bore me onward, but

it was towards a point where the sea was breaking fearfully high, and

the passage to the inlet was extremely narrow. My companion complied

with my injunctions; yet I could not forbear shuddering when I looked

at the craggy barrier that seemed to foretell our fate. We neared the

rocks, and, had the swell been rolling in, must have been dashed to

pieces; but, just as we approached, the wave was receding; it carried

us into the inlet stream. Hope cheered me on a few strokes more: the

water was undulating, but smooth; but that youth, that pale youth, had

disappeared. Still he could not be far distant. I turned, and dived;

long practice had rendered me perfectly familiar with the art. I saw

him sinking,--almost helpless; he was near the bottom. I went down

after him even lower, and, taking renewed impetus from striking my feet

against the ground, I bore him once more to the surface. The land was

only a few yards distant, but his weight overpowered me. I struggled

hard to gain the shore. Despair began to take possession of my mind; it

rendered me desperate. A few feet was all that divided us from safety,

when a dizziness came over me, my brain whirled, the waters were over

my mouth; I thought of the dimness of my star, and believed my minutes

were numbered. Another rally from the heart produced another effort;

my hands were on the rocks. I grappled them, but my fingers could not

retain their clutch; I slipped away: the water was deep even there,

and death seemed certain. Oh, God! how dreadful was that moment of

suspense! The burthen, which I still sustained, was inanimate, and I

was about to loose my hold of him, when another gigantic wave swept in;

it lifted me on to the flat that I had been striving for; it receded,

and left us on hard ground: the ocean had lost its prey. I stripped my

young companion, chafed his limbs; his heart still beat, and in about

half an hour he evinced signs of returning consciousness. That moment

was to me one of the happiest of my existence. In another hour he was

perfectly restored, though weak; and, leaning on my arm, we proceeded

towards the town. But where was Messina? that beautiful Messina that

we had quitted so recently? A mass of ruins! A scene of indescribable

confusion and dismay! The inhabitants had thronged to the mountains

for a place of refuge; and, as we entered the deserted streets, a

death-like stillness prevailed, broken only by the deep groan or the

shrill shriek of those who yet remained alive with shattered frames and

broken limbs, unable to escape. Houses were levelled with the ground.

Here yawned a hideous chasm that had buried its living victims; there

lay huge masses of stone with crushed and mutilated bodies beneath

them,--the dead and the dying. Oh! my lord, it was a fearful spectacle,

and my spirit drank in all its horrors. We sought the humble residence

in which I had found an asylum; no vestige of it remained. We looked

for the more noble mansion in which my companion had taken up his

abode; it was a chaos. Food there was plenty, Faro wine in abundance;

and we amply refreshed ourselves, whilst I own my heart swelled with

pride at the thought that we were the masters in this once noble city.

My companion expressed his gratitude for the services I had rendered

him; but he did it proudly. He said he was going to France; and my

heart yearned to revisit my native land. I remembered Madame T----, and

the solemn pledge I had given her: I longed to see Paris,--that Paris

of which I had heard so much; and I earnestly brooded on the schemes

which were to level royalty to the dust. You will say I was but a boy.

True! But what instruction was to others, deadly revenge was to me; it

had been my lesson conned at every season, my sole education,--and my

teacher fully competent to superintend her pupil.

"But Messina!--there it lay prostrate with the dust; churches thrown

down, and the sacred vestments scattered; public buildings in wreck,

hotels and palazzos as if they had never been. We were standing in the

square, when another shock tumbled the fragments hither and thither,

mingling them in greater confusion. My companion was for hastening

up the eminences to see who had escaped: I preferred remaining, as

all places were alike to me; besides, I was poor, wretchedly poor,

and there was the prospect of gold to be obtained. The pale youth did

not tell me his name, nor did I think to ask it: he gave me a small

silver medal that he had worn round his neck by way of remembrance,

and I presented him with a flat piece of whalebone on which in my idle

hours I had rudely carved my name. We parted, and in a short time my

hazardous enterprise was richly recompensed. I found what I coveted,

gold! I filled my slender pockets, and yet there was gold; I dug a

hole and buried my treasure, but still wealth almost unbounded lay

scattered in the streets. I hastened to the harbour; wrecks and dead

bodies were everywhere floating. A boat was drifting near the quay,

and, having secured her, I hastened back to the place where my riches

were concealed. But the marauders had entered the town, and I feared

that they would plunder me; so I returned to the boat and shoved off

from the shore, and there I lay in her bottom as she drove into the

bay, dreading detection, and fearing to lose my ill-acquired wealth.

I had been contented with a little when only a few copper coins had

been my fortune; but, now I was possessed of gold, I coveted that

which I had left behind. A brigantine that was making her escape from

the devastation picked me up. I offered the captain gold to give me a

passage to whatever place he might be going. My dress and appearance

bespoke poverty,--the glittering coin betrayed me: I was stripped

of every ducat, thrust into the boat again, and cast adrift upon a

tempestuous night. The only valuable I retained was the medal which I

slung round my neck next to my skin.

"Dark and dreary was the tumultuous ocean as my little vessel floated

at the mercy of the wind and sea; the gale howled fearfully over me,

the waves rolled angrily beneath me; no star illumined the vault of

heaven; but there was a glowing brilliancy of sparkling lustres on the

waters, as if the caverns of the deep had sent forth their gems to

supply the defection of the starry host. The billows threw up their

haughty heads crested with feathery foam, and the spray saturated

my clothes through and through: but the weather was warm to a child

of the North; and thus I continued for many long lonely hours, till

daylight once again appeared. And such a daylight! The storm had passed

away,--the gorgeous splendour of the sun as he arose from the horizon

was worth all the pain I had endured only to witness; but his cheering

rays came as kindly to my heart as they were welcome to my person.

It was like the smiling face of a friend to gladden the spirit in

adversity. I was at no great distance from the shore; yet so beautiful

was the scene, that, but for hunger, I should have been contented to

have remained gazing on the spectacle. The cravings of nature, however,

were powerful; I paddled to the rocks, landed, and hurried back to that

remnant of a town I had been so eager to quit. I found no difficulty

in appeasing my appetite: the inhabitants were returning in groups to

weep over their shattered dwellings, and, as they looked mournfully on

each other, most of them were uttering lamentations for a relative

or a friend. Piece by piece I was enabled to change my dress, and

make a more creditable appearance; and this, too, without being over

scrupulous as to the appropriation. I was unknown to every one, for

nobody remembered the poor child of labour. I made inquiry after my

companion of the former day, but could gain no intelligence of him;

and thus I wandered amongst the dust and ashes of ruins, an observer

unheeded and uncared for.

"But I well remembered the spot where I had hidden my treasure, and,

when the shades of evening shrouded the surrounding objects in their

gloom, I went stealthily towards it. No language can adequately

describe the perturbation of my mind; hope and fear, anticipations of

good and evil, the pleasures of anxious expectation, and the dread of

bitter disappointment, alternately held their influence over me. I

had not a marvedi in the world; but, if the place of concealment was

untouched, I was the possessor of wealth beyond my most sanguine wants

for years. I beheld the stone which I had rolled over the excavation,

at once to hide and to direct; its position was unchanged. I gazed

earnestly around,--I listened for a sound; but all was solitary and

silent. In ecstasy I rolled away the obstruction, thrust in my arm,

and, whilst my fingers clutched the golden heaps, my breast was on the

earth, and I could hear the beatings of my heart. Thus I lay for some

time indulging in delicious dreams of future enjoyment, not unmingled,

however, with those contemplations which had become harmonised with

every action of my existence. At various intervals I removed my gold

to a place of greater security, and soon after availed myself of an

opportunity of returning to Toulon with the captain who had first of

all landed me in Corsica. Oh, what anxious moments did I pass lest

another discovery should deprive me of my store! I did not dare to

close my eyes in sleep, lest my person or my small matter of luggage

should be searched. I no longer threw myself heedlessly down in any

spot to court repose. Suspicion and distrust poisoned the very source

of pleasure; I looked upon all men as my enemies, because I could

confide in none. But I reached Toulon unmolested, and without loss of

time I hastened to the cottage of Madame T----, vain-glorious of my

achievement----"

"Which, to my mind, looks most d----ly like thieving, monsieur," said

Lord Eustace warmly.

"My lord, I am sensible of the wrong I perpetrated," responded Citizen

Begaud; "but you seem to forget I was a boy, steeped in poverty to

the very lips, bound by a solemn pledge to a certain purpose, through

influences that had actuated me from my earliest remembrances. I looked

upon the gold as a means to further my views. I had no guide for my

youth, and my star----"

"Was, it seems, anything but an honourable one," added Lord Eustace,

interrupting him. "Yet, monsieur, I own your narrative has interested

me; and, under the hope that there is something of a redeeming quality

yet to come, I earnestly request the favour of its continuation."

The Frenchman bowed, and darkness hid both the frown on his brow and

the flush of anger on his cheek.

"Madame T---- had left the neighbourhood of Bordeaux, and gone to

Paris. Thither I followed; but all my efforts were unavailing to

discover her habitation. The internal state of the city was that of

dissatisfaction with the ruling powers; plots and conspiracies were

hatched, quarrels fomented, and the seeds of discord were rapidly

swelling to burst the earth that covered them, and spread into a tree

of monstrous growth. The _intriguantes_ industriously circulated

reports of the queen and the nobility, that were eagerly swallowed

by the lower orders, to increase and justify their hostility to the

great. At first I kept aloof from any decided course, and for two

years was a silent observer of all that was passing around me. I lived

frugally, so as neither to excite envy nor create suspicion; and I

saw with inexpressible satisfaction that the machinery was putting

together that would, when brought into full operation, decide the fate

of the Bourbons. I was almost daily in the vicinity of the palaces, and

frequently, whilst gazing on the beauty of the queen, my purposes were

shaken. Numerous opportunities offered to deprive the sovereign of his

life; but I disdained to become an assassin. Besides, it was not Louis

alone whose downfall I had been taught to consider an act of justice.

It was the whole of the privileged orders, of which he was the head and

chief; and a blow at him would have aroused the aristocrats to a sense

of impending danger.

"Such was the position of my own and public affairs when I had

attained my seventeenth year. But I had not passed the intermediate

time in indolence. I went to school, I studied hard, became an expert

swordsman, and tolerably proficient in the branches of general

education: I perused the works of authors both dead and living; I

tested their writings by a careful examination of men and manners.

But I had yet much to learn. One day I made an excursion on horseback

to Fontainbleau; the royal family were at the palace, and there was a

young female in the suite of her majesty--Why should I withhold the

fact? Monsieur, my soul was captivated by that angelic girl. I was not

aware that she had ever noticed or even seen me so as to recall my

features to remembrance; I had made no show of my attachment beyond

that silent adoration of the heart which the countenance is but too apt

to reveal. She it was who drew me towards Fontainbleau, under the hope

of obtaining a casual glance. I was wandering in the forest, nursing

the secret thoughts of her who controlled my actions: evening came

on, and darkness surprised me in one of the most retired parts. I was

too well inured to privations to heed the occurrence. The night was

serene and warm, and I prepared to pass it beneath the branches of some

venerable tree; in fact, I was sitting down for the purpose of repose,

when a shouting and the report of fire-arms at no great distance

aroused me to energy. The direction of the parties was well defined:

they might be friends or foes, honest men or thieves; to me it was a

matter of indifference, for in either case I should find a guide out of

the wood. Without a moment's hesitation I dashed through the tangled

briers, and on a nearer approach ascertained that a deadly conflict was

going on. A few minutes brought me to the scene of action; it was upon

the main road which I had missed, and the opening between the trees

admitted sufficient light to show two of the combatants stretched upon

the ground. There were still two to two engaged with swords; but one

of them fell soon after my arrival, and the survivor turned to assist

his fellow against the only opponent left. Whilst they were upon an

equality I did not care to interfere, especially as I knew not which

was the injured party; but the odds decided me at once, and, snatching

up a sword, I placed myself in attitude by the side of the solitary.

My antagonist was a skilful swordsman; but I had time to observe that

the individual whom I befriended was richly dressed, and by no means a

master of his weapon, whilst the person opposed to him was greatly his

inferior. I got close to him, parried a thrust from my own immediate

_engagé_, and returned by a side sleight upon his comrade, who received

it in his breast, and, staggering backwards with great violence, pulled

the sword from my hand and left me at the mercy of the other. His pass

was sure; but, dexterously evading it, the weapon only went through the

fleshy part of my arm, and the force with which it was given brought

it up to the hilt. We grappled together. I was young and vigorous, but

he possessed all the muscular strength and power of manhood. I felt

his grip upon my throat; we fell heavily together upon the earth. He

retained his superiority above me; and strangulation was rapidly going

on, when suddenly his hold relaxed, he sprang from me, rolled over

and over, and then stretched himself stiffly out a lifeless corpse.

The sword of the disengaged had passed through his heart. I was not

long in recovering sensibility, and on raising my head saw that we

were all down, wounded and bleeding. The gentleman in rich attire was

seated with his back against a tree, wiping the perspiration from his

forehead, and, on seeing me move, he exclaimed, 'Whoever you are, take

my best thanks. If you live, I will prove my sense of the obligation by

more than words; if you die, carry the gratitude of a nation with you

before your maker. But how is it? are you seriously or mortally hurt?

_Mon Dieu!_ this has been no boy's pastime, anyhow.' I assured him my

injuries were not severe; and, to prove the truth of my assertion, I

got up, went towards him, and tendered my assistance. '_Grace à Dieu!_'

said he, 'I have only a few scratches. But we must not remain here:

the rascals have driven off with the carriage to plunder it; they will

return directly to help their comrades. Are all my fellows dead?'

I felt the breasts of each to ascertain if there was any throbbing

of the heart. One of the servants and two of the robbers were yet

living, though desperately wounded, and I reported to that effect.

'We can expect nothing from them,' said he, 'and therefore must trust

to our own resources. You know the passages of the forest?' '_Non,

monsieur_,' returned I. 'My acquaintance with the forest has been only

that of a few hours. I am a stranger here, and was about to pass the

night between the trees when I heard the report of fire-arms.'--'Ah!

they shot my coachman,' said he, 'the villains; and my carriage has

the edicts in it for the royal sign-manual, with other matters. Bah!

there would be a pretty prize for the robbers did the rogues know

their worth.' This was uttered to himself, and apparently not designed

for me to hear. 'May I inquire the name and rank of the noble who so

opportunely saved my life?' asked I.--'All in good time, young man;

you should never listen to state secrets. Saved your life, eh? You

have been to court and have learned to flatter. Abandon it, young man:

flattery is bad enough in old age, but detestable from youth. I need no

such incitements to remembrance. Help me rise.' I obeyed. 'And now,'

continued he, 'we must find our way to the palace.'

"My heart leaped with joy at the thought: I should see, I should be

near the young Countess de M----. Ever prone to extravagance, the most

preposterous hopes and prospects filled my mind: I laughed outright.

'Are you mad?' inquired my companion. 'In what can you find cause for

mirth?'--'The heart knoweth its own bitterness,' returned I, 'and a

stranger intermeddleth not with its joy,'--'True, true,' responded

he. 'But come, let us strive to find our way.' He put his arm within

mine, and silently we traced the road for about two miles, when we

came to one of the lodges that formed a residence for a keeper, and

here we obtained horses and a guide, and in less than half an hour

we were within the walls of that venerable building the palace of

Fontainbleau. My companion had gained a ready admittance; his word of

command was almost electric, and at first I thought it was the Duke

of Orleans, but that his visit to the royal family would be deemed an

insult. At all events I was consigned to the care of an officer of the

household, and I had no cause to complain of my treatment. After the

lapse of an hour, an attendant summoned me to wait upon the individual

I had so timely rescued. My dress, from being torn by the brambles,

certainly was not much suited for the ostentatious gaiety of a court

at a period when extravagant profusion was considered as essential to

the prosperity of the nation; nor had it lost anything by the struggle

on the ground with the bandit. Still I obeyed without hesitation; and,

after passing through several gorgeous apartments, an officer with

a white wand arrested our further progress. He then tapped gently

at an inner door; there was the tinkling of a bell, the portal flew

back, and within was a resplendent blaze of light that dazzled and

confounded me. I was reassured, however, by the voice of my companion,

who uttered in a low voice, 'Enter, young man;' and obeying, I found

myself in the presence of the king and queen. Louis was seated at a

table covered with toys, and the young prince was on his knee. Marie

Antoinette was watching with the eye of maternal affection the playful

delight of her child; and, much as I had imbibed an undeviating hatred

to royalty, I could not behold the spectacle unmoved. Near her majesty

stood the young Countess de M----, and the fascination of her beauteous

eye enchained my faculties. In a few minutes the queen and her suite

retired, and my companion questioned me in the presence of the monarch

relative to my station in life, the cause of my being in the forest,

and on several other topics, all which I answered as best suited my own

purposes. Louis spake kindly to me, but his very kindness filled my

heart with bitter feelings; and when, turning to my companion of the

forest, he said, 'Monsieur Calonne, we must find some fitting service

for this youth,' I could have stabbed him through and through. This,

then, was Monsieur Calonne, the head of the ministry,--he who had

dared to propose a tax upon the privileged orders, and had assembled

the Notables to shame them into compliance with his scheme; this was

the man who had plunged the finances of the country into confusion

and ruin, for the purpose of bringing down the pride of the nobles

and the clergy, who had raised him to his elevated exaltation. His

place was one of danger and distrust: he aimed a severe blow at the

privileged orders, without conciliating the people; for, though the

latter applauded the equalizing system, yet they despised the minister

who, by his reckless profusion, was involving them in ruin. That night

I retired----"

"Sail, ho!" was shouted from the forecastle, and Lord Eustace

immediately started from his attitude of deep attention.

"Whereabouts is she?" demanded the officer of the watch, his voice

reverberating amongst the sails, and the most profound stillness

reigning fore and aft.

"Broad away on the starboard bow, sir," replied the look-out; and

Lord Eustace, being furnished with his night-glass, walked forward to

examine the stranger, leaving the recital of Citizen Captain Begaud to

be finished at another opportunity.

SONG OF THE OLD BELL.

In an old village, amid older hills,

That close around their verdant walls to guard

Its tottering age from wintry winds, I dwell

Lonely, and still, save when the clamorous rooks

Or my own fickle changes wound the ear

Of Silence in my tower!

ANON.

For full five hundred years I've swung

In my old grey turret high,

And many a different theme I've sung

As the time went stealing by!

I've peal'd the chaunt of a wedding morn;

Ere night I have sadly toll'd,

To say that the bride was coming, love-lorn,

To sleep in the church-yard mould!

Ding-dong,

My careless song;

Merry and sad,

But neither long!

For full five hundred years I've swung

In my ancient turret high,

And many a different theme I've sung

As the time went stealing by!

I've swell'd the joy of a country's pride

For a victory far off won,

Then changed to grief for the brave that died

Ere my mirth had well begun!

Ding-dong,

My careless song;

Merry or sad,

But neither long!

For full five hundred years I've swung

In my breezy turret high,

And many a different theme I've sung

As the time went stealing by!

I have chimed the dirge of a nation's grief

On the death of a dear-loved king,

Then merrily rung for the next young chief;

As _told_, I can weep or sing!

Ding-dong,

My careless song;

Merry or sad,

But neither long!

For full five hundred years I've swung

In my crumbling turret high;

'Tis time my own death-song were sung,

And with truth before I die!

I never could love the themes they gave

My tyrannized tongue to tell:

One moment for cradle, the next for grave--

They've worn out the old church bell!

Ding-dong,

My changeful song;

Farewell now,

And farewell long!

W.

[Illustration: Midnight Mishaps]

MIDNIGHT MISHAPS.

BY EDWARD MAYHEW.

WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK.

Oh the rural suburbs of London!--the filthy suburbs!--where nothing is

green but the water, nothing natural but the dirt,--where the trees

are clipt into poles, and the hedges grow behind palings,--where "no

thoroughfare" forbids you to walk in one place, and the dust prevents

you from walking in another,--the filthy suburbs!

It was these delightful precincts of peace and "_caution_," retirement

and "_handsome rewards_," that Mr. Jacob Tweasle honoured with his

decided preference. This gentleman had inhabited a small shop at the

foot of Snow-hill for more than forty years, retailing tobacco to the

tradesmen, and cigars to the apprentices; and, having by supplying

other people's boxes gradually filled his own, he, how in his sixtieth

year, declined the manufacture of weeds for the cultivation of exotics.

An "Italian villa," beautifully situated in a back lane near Hornsey,

was pointed out to the tobacconist by a house-agent as particularly

"snug and retired." Before the ostentatious white front of this

"enviable residence" were exactly twenty square yards of lawn,

"delightfully wooded" by a solitary laburnum, which was approached over

a highly "ornamental Chinese bridge," crossing "a convenient stream

of water." The interior of the building it was "impossible for the

most fastidious to object to;" the rooms were so low, and the windows

so small, that the happy occupant always imagined himself a hundred

miles from the metropolis; the prospect, too, from the upper stories

"revelled in all the luxuries of the picturesque;" the dome of St.

Paul's lent magnificence to the distance, while the foreground was

enlivened by a brick-field.

Mr. Tweasle saw, approved, yet doubted. He did not know what to say

to it. There was, he acknowledged, everything that heart of man could

desire; the garden was walled in, and the steel-traps and cabbages

might be taken as fixtures; nevertheless he reached the bridge without

having made up his mind. There he paused, and gazed in anxious

meditation upon the black and heavy liquid that stagnated beneath.

"Can one fish here?" suddenly asked the tobacconist, at the same time

leaning over and disturbing the "convenient stream of water" with his

cane.

"_I_ never do myself," replied the agent, in such a manner as to imply

that other people frequently did; for Tweasle instantly inquired,

"What do they catch?"

The agent was puzzled. Was the Londoner really ignorant, or was this

a design to test the truth of all his former assertions? It was a

case which required extreme caution. "I am no angler myself,--I have

no time for that delightful recreation; but--I should think--that

eels--eels--probably--eels--might----"

"Stewed eels make a nice supper," interrupted Tweasle with gluttonous

simplicity. "Fish arn't to be got fresh in London."

"Fish ought to be eaten the moment it is taken from the water," cried

the agent with decision.

"My boy's got a fishing-rod," said Tweasle; and he took the Italian

villa on a repairing lease.

The announcement of this event created a "sensation" at the foot of

Snow-hill; the Rubicon was past; the business _was_ to be disposed of;

and, that no time might be lost, Mr. Tweasle, without taking off his

gloves, began to scribble an advertisement, while Mrs. Tweasle waddled

into the shop and insulted a customer.

All was confusion. To fly from the paternal protection of the Lord

Mayor, and emigrate off the stones, was no casual event to him who had

hitherto proudly exulted in the freedom of the city. Much was necessary

to reconcile the mind to so bold a measure. The lady undertook to pack

up everything that could be got in London, and purchase everything that

could not be got in the country. The gentleman, acting as a man should,

wholly neglected the domestic. He gave his attention to the noble arts

of agriculture and self-defence, botanical theories, treatises, and

directories. Horticultural implements, instruments, and improvements,

swords and pistols, guns and blunderbusses, detonating crackers for the

shutters, and alarums for the bedrooms, he spared neither trouble nor

expense to procure.

"Now, Hanney, dear," said Tweasle to his wife, surveying the weapons

which had just been sent home, "I thinks here's everything a contented

mind could desire: the thieves will know better than to come where we

are."

But the timid woman's ideas of defence were concentrated in a flannel

gown and a rattle; she looked more terrified than assured:--fire-arms

and accidents were, in her mind, synonymous; and her only answer was an

urgent entreaty that "those nasty things might be always so locked up

that _nobody could_ get at them."

In due time everything that the family thought they could possibly want

was procured; and when, to render the whole complete, Master Charles,

only son and heir, was commissioned to procure live stock from St.

Giles's, the boy returned with almond tumblers for pigeon-pies, and

bantam-cocks for poultry.

"New-laid eggs for breakfast!" chuckled his papa.

All being at length ready for starting on the following day, and as

the house was dismantled even to the junction of the bed-posts, the

family determined to pass their last evening in London, whispering soft

adieus to their more intimate acquaintance. At first Tweasle conducted

himself with becoming hypocrisy. He lamented his separation from the

"friends of his youth," and ate cake and drank wine with imposing

solemnity; but, as the ceremony was repeated, he committed himself by

an occasional smile, and at last slipped out something about "poor

devils, who were smoked to death like red herrings." Mrs. Tweasle was

shocked, and hurried her husband away; who, however, warmed into truth,

would not acknowledge his error or go to bed, but insisted on saying

good-b'ye to his old friend Gingham. They found the Ginghams preparing

for supper; and, on company arriving, the servant was whispered "to

bring up the beef," which Tweasle overhearing, he turned to the

hostess, and exultingly cried,

"Come and see us in the country, and I'll give you stewed eels and

chicken for supper."

"I'm very sorry _we've_ nothing _better_ than cold beef to offer _you_,

sir," replied the lady with a look; "but I can send out."

"Not for the world!" shouted Mrs. Tweasle, who was rejoiced when a

request to be seated relieved her from reiterating her conciliatory

wishes that no one would mind her good man, who during supper would

converse on no other subject than the pleasures of new-laid eggs and

the country, till, having finished one glass of gin and water, he

undertook to explain to his friend how it was that _he_ also could

leave off business like a squire. Nor was this personal investigation

of private family affairs rendered less unpleasant by the indelicate

egotism which induced the exhibitor to illustrate his friend's faults

by his own virtues; till, though repeatedly requested to "drop it,"

Tweasle wound up his harangue by calling his host a fool.

"You're a fool, Gingham. You might ha' been as well off as I am at the

present moment, if you hadn't lived at such a rate, like a fool."

The lady of the house instantly arose, and left the room in company

with her daughters, telling Mr. Tweasle "_they_ were going to bed;" and

Mr. Gingham leant over the table to inform his guest, "he had no wish

to quarrel."

Of the rest of that evening Tweasle the next day retained a very

confused recollection. He thought some one pushed him about in a

passage, and remembered his wife's assisting him to put on his

great-coat in the middle of the street.

At the appointed hour, the glass-coach which was to convey the family

from London stopped at the foot of Snow-hill. Mr. Tweasle was the first

to jump in; the person to whom the business had been advantageously

disposed of, gave his hand to Mrs. Tweasle, and then turned to say

farewell to her husband.

"All I've got in this blessed world I made in that shop," said Tweasle,

anxious to give his successor a high opinion of the bargain, and leave

a good name behind him. "The many--many--happy--peaceful days I've

seen in it!--I can't expect to see them again!--On a Saturday and on a

Monday I've often been fit to drop behind my own counter, quite worn

out with customers. I'm afraid I've done a rash thing; but I've this

consolation, I've left the business in good hands."

"Come, don't look dull, Tweasle," cried his wife, who was imposed on by

her husband's pathetics: "cheer up! You know trade ain't what it was,

and I'm sure the two last years must have been a 'losing game.'"

It is impossible to say whether he who had bought or he who had

sold the business looked most appalled by this untimely truth.

However, Tweasle was the first to recover himself: he took his victim

affectionately by the hand, and, leaning forward, whispered in

propitiatory confidential accents, "Always put a little white pepper in

Alderman Heavyside's Welsh, or he'll think you've adulterated it."

But the successor was hurt past such slender consolation. With lofty

integrity he spurned the advice of his deceiver; for, jerking his hand

away, and looking Tweasle sternly in the face, he said, "Sir, I shall

do my duty!" and he strutted into the shop; whereupon the coach began

to move.

Disposed by this little incident to sadness, its late occupant looked

at the house till his eyes watered. He was no longer a "public

man;" his opinion of the weather was now of no importance; he might

henceforth loiter over his dinner undisturbed by any thought of the

shop! Feelings such as these could not be suppressed, and Tweasle

was about to apostrophise, when his gentle partner startled him by

exclaiming,

"Thank our stars, we're off at last!" and, catching a glimpse of the

house as the coach turned into Hatton-garden, she added, "there's the

last of it, I hope; I never wish to set eyes on the hole again!"

"Don't be ungrateful," said Tweasle, chidingly. "That roof has

sheltered me near forty years."

"Well, it was a nuisance to live in it,--no place to dry a rag in but

the servant's bed-room."

"And Martha made you give her rum and water, mother, or else she

_would_ catch cold," added the son.

"Stop there!--stop there!--stop!" a voice was heard to cry.

"That can't be for us," observed Mrs. Tweasle.

As if in the spirit of matrimonial contradiction, her husband the next

moment exclaimed, "By George! it is though!"

It proved to be a debtor, who had journeyed to London in consequence

of some information which had been afforded him by an attorney. Three

hundred and odd pounds were in his pocket ready for disbursement, if

Mr. Tweasle would accompany him to an inn in the Borough, and there go

through the account This was vexatious. The _fear_ of losing the money

had long disturbed the late tobacconist's mental monotony, and now the

_certainty_ of its payment absolutely angered him. He turned to his

lady, and said to her in a voice of positive wrath,

"Hanney, I shall go. Don't you wait for me, do you hear? I shall walk

probably in the evening down to Hornsey,--when I've given a receipt for

the money. Now, sir, I'm at your service. Will you show the way?"

"Please to remember a poor fellow who wants works," said a florid

muscular mendicant, thrusting his huge hand close to the late

tobacconist's face.--"The fellow must have overheard the arrangement,"

thought Tweasle; and an undefined feeling of alarm took the roses from

his cheeks. As he hastily threw the man a few pence, he delivered some

very profound remarks upon the Vagrant Act.

"Hanney, dear," cried he in a loud voice, while the beggar was stooping

for the money, "don't make yourself uneasy, but set the steel-traps.

I have pistols,--mind that, love,--I have pistols!" for, afraid to

acknowledge his own terror, he found relief in supposing that others

were more timid than himself.

Leaving his wife, Tweasle walked to the inn, where he remained till all

the items of a long bill had been discussed, when the clock announced

the hour of nine, and then the debtor insisted on being asked to

supper, so that it was fairly half-past ten before Tweasle left the

Borough.

So long as the lights of London illumined his way, he proceeded in

comparative composure, only occasionally feeling at his coat-pockets

to assure himself that the pistols were safe; but when the unaided

darkness announced that he had quitted the extremest outskirts of the

metropolis, Mr. Tweasle paused, and audibly informed himself that "he

was not afraid:" on receiving which information, he buttoned his coat

closer, slapped his hat firmer on his cranium, frowned, and shook his

head; and, endeavouring to act bravery, took a pistol in either hand as

he marched onward with every symptom of excessive alarm.

He had not more than two miles farther to proceed, when the distant

notes of St. Paul's cathedral announced the hour of midnight. At

this time Tweasle was creeping along a lane rendered gloomy by high

and parallel hedges, which inclosed fruitful pastures, and prevented

grazing cattle from being impounded; at a little distance from him,

behind one of these "leafy screens," stood a "pensive brother,"--a fine

he-ass, which had retired thither to nibble the tender shoots of the

mellifluous hawthorn.

As the last vibration died away, he stumbled into a cart-rut. On

recovering his perpendicular, panting from the unnecessary exertion

he had used, the poor traveller stared around him, and endeavoured to

survey the place whereon he was standing. It was a gloomy spot,--one

unrelieved mass of shade, in which the clouded heavens seemed to

harmonize; everything was in awful repose,--the night was cold, but

not a zephyr was abroad. Painfully oppressed by the utter loneliness

of his position, a sense of extreme lassitude gradually crept over

Tweasle,--he closed his eyes, and shuddered violently; he could have

wept, but the fear of being afraid made him suppress the desire.

"This is a dreadful place!" he said aloud, with much gravity; "just

such a spot as a murder might be committed in. I'm very glad I'm armed."

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the donkey thrust forward his

"pensive nose," and shook the hedge by pulling at a switch of more than

common luxuriance. "I'll sell my life dearly!" was Tweasle's first

sensation,--it could hardly be called idea, it was too confused,--as,

preparing for attack, he instinctively clapped one hand upon his money,

while with the other he presented a pistol towards the spot whence the

noise proceeded. Not being, as he expected, immediately assaulted, he

by a violent exertion of his mental powers so far mastered his bodily

alarm as to gulp first and then breathe. He listened,--all was still.

"They didn't know I was armed," thought Tweasle; "it was lucky I showed

them my determination:" and, in something bordering upon confidence in

the effects of his own courage, he ventured to whisper "Who's there?"

when, receiving no answer, he increased his demand to "Who's there, _I

say_?" in a somewhat louder voice. He was anxiously waiting the result

of this boldness on his part when the animal, probably attracted by

the sound, slowly moved towards the spot where Tweasle was standing.

"Ah! come--d--n--don't--now--I--I'm armed, you know!" screamed the

traveller, running about and wildly striking right and left with the

pistol, confident that the action this time had positively commenced;

but after some interval, becoming gradually convinced that he remained

unhurt, he was quite satisfied that nothing but the extraordinary

courage he had displayed could have saved him from this second

desperate attempt upon his life; and, somewhat anxious to support

the first dawn of his heroism, he said, or rather stammered, in a

voice not always distinct, "Now--now,--whoever you are,--don't go too

far, because it's no pleasure to me to shoot you;--but I will, if you

do:--so, in the King's name, who are you?--I _must_ fire if you won't

speak!"

The last appeal was made more in the tone of entreaty than command,

for Tweasle beheld a black mass thrust itself against the hedge,

evidently inspecting him. A rush of confused ideas, a tumult of strange

suspicions and surmises, a "_regular row_" of contending emotions,

deprived him of all self-control; and, if the pistol had not just

at that moment accidentally exploded, he had probably fallen to the

ground. As it was, the noise revived him; and, taking advantage of

the circumstance, with a ready conceit he cried out "_There!_" for

he had seen the object disappear, and heard a faint cry as of one in

agony,--whereon he walked from the place with every appearance of

impertinent composure.

But this simulation did not long continue. As he became more conscious,

he grew more agitated: he had probably shot a robber. For this he felt

no remorse, and was persuading himself he would repeat the act, when

he discovered that he had lost his pistols. This discovery gave him

a fearful shock,--he was unarmed! Now came another dread.--Was the

miscreant he had killed alone? or had he companions? Did not robbers

usually congregate in bands; and might he not be pursued? But Tweasle

was adopting the very best mode of avoiding such a danger, as, long

before he asked himself the question, his walk had quickened into a

sort of hand-gallop, which this fresh terror increased to the wild

speed of utter despair. Without slackening his pace, the affrighted man

had nearly reached his home, when a sharp blow across the shins brought

him to the ground, and, looking up, Tweasle perceived the mendicant of

the afternoon, and two other suspicious-looking fellows standing over

him. He could not speak; but, turning his face downwards, stretched

himself upon the earth.

"_Are you going to sleep there?_" inquired the beggar with a kick

that was violently anti-soporific; and, seeing that Tweasle naturally

writhed under the infliction, the fellow vociferated, "Come, that

didn't hurt you. It's no use shamming here."

"I shan't wait about, all night for him," cried a diminutive gentleman

disguised in a coalheaver's hat worn jockey-fashion, who, seizing

Tweasle by the collar, lifted him from the ground, and giving him a

shake that was sufficient to render any human nerves unsteady for

eternity, asked the tottering man in a voice of angry expostulation,

"Why the devil he couldn't stand still?"

Too terrified to offer the slightest opposition, the unhappy Tweasle

endeavoured to obey, which spirit of accommodation was repaid by the

most scrupulous attentions. With a delicate dexterity that scarcely

acquainted the owner of the abstraction, everything that his pockets

contained was removed without unnecessary delay; and Tweasle was

beginning to hope that the robbers would be content with their booty,

when one of the fellows, anxious to have his clothes also, told him in

the slang phraseology to undress, by shouting,

"Come, skin yourself."

"Skin _myself_!" cried Tweasle, understanding the words literally, and

bounding from the place in horror of what appeared to him a refinement

on even fictitious barbarity. "Skin _myself_!--You can't mean it. I

couldn't do it, if you'd give me the world.--It's impossible!--Oh,

heavens!"

"No flash,--it won't do,--you'll undress," said the taller of the three

with a calmness that thrilled his auditor.

"Oh! good gentlemen," continued Tweasle, wishing to touch their hearts

by saying something pathetic, "do consider I'm a married man!--think of

my poor wife!--think of my poor wife!"

"Carry her that 'ere with my compliments," cried the beggar, dashing

his fist into Tweasle's face; an act which was received by the rest as

an excellent joke.

"It will do you no good to ill-use a fellow-creature," replied Tweasle

distinctly, as though the blow had refreshed him. "Don't think I shall

resist; take what you please; only, as you are a man--in human form--in

this world and in the next----"

"Sugar me! You're just agoing it nicely!" interrupted the mendicant.

"I'm blowed if we pads don't teach more vartey than a bench of bishops.

Never in all my born life _borrowed on a friend_ that the beggar didn't

funk pious and grunt gospel."

"But it is a natural impossibility for any man to skin himself."

"We'll do it for you, if you don't begin."

"Oh my heart! No!--Think of something else;--I'm willing to do anything

but that."

"Stow that! Skin yourself,--shake them rags off your ugly pig of a

body;--undress, and be d--d to you!"

Mr. Tweasle, who from this last speech gathered enough to remove his

more horrible misgivings, delicately hinted at the inappropriateness of

the place for such a purpose, the coolness of the night, the dislike he

had to spectators at his toilet, and other things objectionable, but

without effect: his opposition only confirmed the robbers' resolution,

till a smart blow on the left cheek showed that they were inclined to

silence, if they could not convince him.

Reluctantly the old man began to unrobe, parting with his garments

one by one, and begging as a favour he might be allowed to retain

only his waistcoat, on the worthlessness of which he expatiated till

he convinced the plunderers it was of more value than its outside

promised, as proved to be the case, notes to the amount of several

hundreds being found pinned to the lining. They made many mock

apologies for depriving him of this; sarcastically complimenting him

for his modesty, which easily parted with other coverings, but blushed

to expose his bosom: then, kicking him till he fell to the earth, there

they left him.

Mrs. Tweasle reached the Italian villa as it was getting dusk, and

the family sat up till midnight expecting Mr. Tweasle's arrival. As

the hours advanced, the lady became alarmed, and sent Charles with

a tumbler of rum and water into the kitchen, who, on his return,

announced that Martha had declined the kitchen chair in favour of

John's knee. "Never mind," cried the lady, made considerate by her

fears; "such things are thought nothing of in the country." Whereupon

she proceeded, with a strange concatenation of ideas, to state her

opinion of second marriages; lamented that widows' caps were so

difficult to get up; drank a little more rum and water; endeavoured to

divert her mind with the Newgate Calendar, but could not enjoy it for

thinking how cruel it was of Mr. Tweasle not to come home earlier,

and openly protested against sleeping alone in a strange house; then

took upon herself, in Mr. Tweasle's absence, to read prayers and lock

up for the night. The signal for retiring being given, each took a

candlestick; but, before they separated, the mistress entreated all of

them to be very watchful in their sleep for fear of robbers, as she was

certain Mr. Tweasle would not be home that night, and did not know what

his absence might bring about.

The subject being once started, every one tarried to relate some

tale of midnight assassination; and all of them selected a strange

uninhabited dwelling as the scene of their agitating incidents. The

straw and half-opened packages which strewed the apartment gave the

place where they were congregated a cheerless aspect; and they were

excited to a degree of listening silence, and staring inquisitively at

one another, while John recounted how a lady of high respectability

chanced to be sitting by herself in the kitchen of a dilapidated

mansion about two hours after midnight, and looking thoughtfully, not

knowing what ailed her, at a round hole where a knot in the wainscot

had been thrust out, when she saw the large dark sparkling eye of a

most ferocious assassin peeping at her through the opening.

Just as John had reached this point of painful interest, the heavy foot

of a man was heard to pass hastily over the bridge, and the next moment

the front-door was violently shaken. The two females instantly pinioned

John by clinging round him with all the tenacity of terror, while at

the same time they were loud in their demands for that protection

which, had they needed it, he was by them effectually disabled from

affording; while Master Tweasle, seizing the rattle, and aiding

its noise with his voice, in no small degree increased the family

distraction; above which, however, was plainly heard some one without,

using his best endeavours to force the entrance. Whoever that some one

was, he appeared wholly unmindful of secrecy; which palpable contempt

of caution, and open disregard of whatever resistance the inhabitants

might be able to make, greatly increased their fear of the villain's

intentions. At each shock the door sustained, shrieks were uttered by

the women, accompanied by a very spirited movement by the boy upon

the rattle; and the interval between these assaults Mrs. Tweasle

employed in murmuring prayers and complaints to Heaven and John for the

protection of her life and property.

At last the assailant appeared to get exhausted; his attempts gradually

became weaker and less frequent. Emboldened by this, the family

ventured to the first-floor window, whence they could plainly see

what all agreed was a countryman in a white smock-frock pacing to

and fro in front of the house in all the bitterest rage of excessive

disappointment.

"Oh, the wretch!" cried Mrs. Tweasle. "What a good door that is! I make

no doubt he knew the furniture was not unpacked; and, if he could only

have got in, he would have carried it all off before morning: he must

have known Mr. Tweasle was not at home. Oh dear me!"

Soon after she had spoken, the man seemed to have conquered his

vexation, and, approaching the door, he gave a very decent double

knock; but, not receiving an answer, he knocked again somewhat louder,

and then with all his former violence frequently returned, making

actions as if he were vowing vengeance against the family, or calling

imprecations down upon their heads for their resistance: but of what

he said nothing could be heard, for this conduct so terrified the

women that they screamed and shrieked, and Master Tweasle, as before,

accompanied them on the rattle.

At length the robber, as if despairing of entrance, was seen to

retire, but it was only to change the point of assault; they watched

the villain move towards the back of the house; saw him, with a lofty

courage that disdained at broken bottles, scale the garden-wall; and to

their extreme delight, just as they were certain the _back_-door would

not hold out, beheld him approach the jessamine bower where John had on

the previous evening set one of the man-traps--and there he stayed.

A council of war was now held, which would have lasted till morning

had it not been interrupted by Master Charles's firing a blunderbuss

out of the window, thus bravely endeavouring to bring down the robber

at a long shot; and he would have repeated his aim till he had hit his

object, who might be distinctly seen making various strange contortions

near the jessamine bower, had not his mother forbidden him. The boy,

vexed by the check he received, mistook his ill-humour for bravery, and

pettishly volunteered to advance to the thief, if John would accompany

him on the expedition; but Mrs. Tweasle asked in surprise, "Was she to

be left alone at the mercy of Heaven, without protection?" and John,

with strong moral courage preferring duty to honour, rejected the

proposal.

"Well, then," said the lad, "come along, Martha."

"Oh!--_me?_" cried the girl: "oh, Master Charles!" for the boy, when he

requested her company, only thought that the exchange of a woman for a

man was a vast sacrifice on his part; he never once considered how the

substitution might affect the party it principally concerned.

Thus abandoned, he had stayed within, had not his mother insisted

that he should not stir out: filial obedience supplied the place of

resolution; he unbolted the back-door, and in a state of obstinate

alarm issued into the garden.

Advancing cautiously, and by a most circuitous way, the boy approached

the jessamine bower, and there discovered _his father_ writhing and

moaning, with one leg fast in a trap, which, according to his own

orders, had been set for the protection of the cabbages.

"Oh! my dear boy, don't fire any more. It's me, Charles! let me out of

this--I'm dying!"

"Why, if it isn't you, father!--only wait a bit----"

"_Wait!_--don't talk nonsense!" cried Tweasle, looking at his

unfortunate leg, which was held in the trap, and feeling his condition

aggravated by the supposition that it was one of choice.

"Yes, I'll fetch mother,"

"Hang your mother!--let me out of this!" ejaculated the poor man, who

was no ways desirous of continuing his agony that it might be made a

kind of domestic exhibition of; but, deaf to his parent's entreaties,

the boy ran away, quite full of his discovery. On the steps he met

the maid-servant, whom he rebuked with much coarseness for appearing

alarmed, and presently returned, marching like a conqueror at the head

of a triumph.

All were much surprised at beholding Mr. Tweasle in such a situation,

unrobed and wounded, shivering from cold and terror, and deprived

of all self-command by exhaustion and a man-trap. Mrs. Tweasle was

quite overpowered by the sight: her feelings rather claimed pity than

bestowed it; for while John was removing the steel trap from his

master's legs, she kept moaning, and entreating her husband _only_

to consider how his conduct had pained _her_. The poor maid-servant

displayed great goodness of heart; she tenderly bound her master's

naked legs, gently lifted him into the chair that was brought to convey

him into the house, and appeared quite to overcome the natural delicacy

of her sex in the praiseworthy endeavour to render a fellow-creature

every possible assistance; while John and Master Tweasle seemed more

inclined to converse on what had happened than to mingle in what was

taking place, repeatedly putting questions which the sufferer was

incapable of answering, as to wherefore he did that, or why he did not

do this.

Tweasle's injuries were rather painful than dangerous: in a few days he

was convalescent, and was beginning to grow valiant in his descriptions

of his midnight mishaps, when the following hand-bill was submitted to

his notice.

"Whereas a valuable male donkey, the property of Stephen Hedges, was on

the night of the 6th of May last maliciously shot at and killed by some

person or persons unknown; this is to give notice, that whoever will

render such information as shall lead to the conviction of the offender

or offenders, shall receive Five Pounds reward."

For some time after reading this, Tweasle appeared full of thought,

when he surprised his family by a sudden resolution to send Stephen

Hedges five pounds; nor could any remonstrance on the part of his

wife change his charitable purpose. No one could account for this: in

pence the late tobacconist had always been a pattern of benevolence;

but to give _pounds_ was not in the ordinary scale of his charity.

None could assign a reason for so boundless a beneficence, more than

they could comprehend why Tweasle should, whenever the subject was

mentioned, expatiate with so much feeling on "What the poor ass must

have suffered!"

TRANSLATION FROM UHLAND.

THE DREAM.

In a garden fair were roaming

Two lovers hand in hand;

Two pale and shadowy creatures,

They sat in that flowery land.

On the lips they kiss'd each other,

On the cheeks so full and smooth;

They were lock'd in close embracings,

They were blithe with the flush of youth.

Two bells were tolling sadly,--

The dream has pass'd away;

She in the narrow cloister,

He in a dungeon lay.

FAMILY STORIES, No. VII.

PATTY MORGAN THE MILKMAID'S STORY.

"LOOK AT THE CLOCK!"

FYTTE I.

"Look at the Clock!" quoth Winifred Pryce,

As she open'd the door to her husband's knock,

Then paus'd to give him a piece of advice,

"You nasty Warmint, look at the Clock!

Is this the way, you

Wretch, every day you

Treat her who vow'd to love and obey you?

Out all night!

Me in a fright;

Staggering home as it's just getting light!

You intoxified brute! you insensible block!

Look at the Clock!--Do.--Look at the Clock!"

Winifred Pryce was tidy and clean,

Her gown was a flower'd one, her petticoat green,

Her buckles were bright as her milking cans,

And her hat was a beaver, and made like a man's;

Her little red eyes were deep set in their socket-holes,

Her gown-tail was turn'd up, and tuck'd through the pocket-holes:

A face like a ferret

Betoken'd her spirit:

To conclude, Mrs. Pryce was not over young,

Had very short legs, and a very long tongue.

Now David Pryce

Had one darling vice;

Remarkably partial to anything nice,

Nought that was good to him came amiss,

Whether to eat, or to drink, or to kiss!

Especially ale--

If it was not too stale

I really believe he'd have emptied a pail;

Not that in Wales

They talk of their Ales;

To pronounce the word they make use of might trouble you,

Being spelt with a C, two Rs, and a W.

That particular day,

As I've heard people say,

Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay,

And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots,

The whole afternoon at the Goat in Boots,

With a couple more soakers,

Thoroughbred smokers,

Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers;

And, long after day had drawn to a close,

And the rest of the world was wrapp'd in repose,

They were roaring out "Shenkin!" and "Ar hydd y nos;"

While David himself, to a Sassenach tune,

Sang, "We've drunk down the Sun, boys! let's drink down the Moon!

What have we with day to do?

Mrs. Winifred Pryce, 'twas made for you!"

At length, when they couldn't well drink any more,

Old "Goat-in-Boots" shew'd them the door;

And then came that knock,

And the sensible shock

David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock

For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be,

The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three!

This self-same Clock had long been a bone

Of contention between this Darby and Joan;

And often among their pother and rout,

When this otherwise amiable couple fell out,

Pryce would drop a cool hint,

With an ominous squint

At its case, of an "Uncle" of his, who'd a "Spout."

That horrid word "Spout"

No sooner came out,

Than Winifred Pryce would turn her about,

And with scorn on her lip,

And a hand on each hip,

"Spout" herself till her nose grew red at the tip,

"You thundering willain,

I know you'd be killing

Your wife,--ay, a dozen of wives,--for a shilling!

You may do what you please,

You may sell my chemise,

(Mrs. P. was too well-bred to mention her stock,)

But I never will part with my Grandmother's Clock!"

Mrs. Pryce's tongue ran long and ran fast;

But patience is apt to wear out at last,

And David Pryce in temper was quick,

So he stretch'd out his hand, and caught hold of a stick;

Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient,

But walking just then wasn't very convenient,

So he threw it, instead,

Direct at her head.

It knock'd off her hat;

Down she fell flat;

Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by that;

But, whatever it was,--whether rage and pain

Produc'd apoplexy, or burst a vein,

Or her tumble induc'd a concussion of brain,

I can't say for certain,--but this I can,

When, sobered by fright, to assist her he ran,

Mrs. Winifred Pryce was as dead as Queen Anne!

The fearful catastrophe

Named in my last strophe

As adding to grim Death's exploits such a vast trophy,

Soon made a great noise; and the shocking fatality

Like wild-fire ran over the whole Principality.

And then came Mr. Ap Thomas, the Coroner,

With his jury to sit, some dozen or more, on her.

Mr. Pryce, to commence

His "ingenious defence,"

Made a "pow'rful appeal" to the jury's "good sense,"

"The world he must defy

Ever to justify

Any presumption of "Malice Prepense;"

The unlucky lick

From the end of the stick

He "deplored," he was "apt to be rather too quick;"

But, really, her prating

Was so aggravating:

Some trifling correction was just what he meant; all

The rest, he assured them, was "quite accidental!"

Then he called Mr. Jones,

Who deposed to her tones,

And her gestures, and hints about "breaking his bones."

While Mr. Ap Morgan, and Mr. Ap Rhys

Declared the Deceased

Had styled him "a Beast,"

And swore they had witness'd, with grief and surprise,

The allusions she made to his limbs and his eyes.

The jury, in fine, having sat on the body

The whole day, discussing the case, and gin-toddy,

Return'd about half-past eleven at night

The following verdict, "We find, _Sarve her right!_"

FYTTE II.

Mr. Pryce, Mrs. Winifred Pryce being dead,

Felt lonely, and moped; and one evening he said

He would marry Miss Davis at once in her stead.

Not far from his dwelling,

From the vale proudly swelling,

Rose a mountain; its name you'll excuse me from telling,

For the vowels made use of in Welsh are so few

That the A and the E, the I, O, and the U,

Have really but little or nothing to do;

And the duty, of course, falls the heavier by far

On the L, and the H, and the N, and the R.

Its first syllable, "PEN,"

Is pronounceable;--then

Come two L Ls, and two H Hs, two F Fs, and an N;

About half a score Rs, and some Ws follow,

Beating all my best efforts at euphony hollow:

But we shan't have to mention it often, so when

We do, with your leave, we'll curtail it to "PEN."

Well,--the moon shone bright

Upon "PEN" that night,

When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright,

Was scaling its side

With that sort of stride

A man puts out when walking in search of a bride.

Mounting higher and higher,

He began to perspire,

Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire,

And feeling opprest

By a pain in his chest,

He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest;

A walk all up hill is apt, as we know,

To make one, however robust, puff and blow,

So he stopped, and look'd down on the valley below.

O'er fell, and o'er fen,

Over mountain and glen,

All bright in the moonshine, his eye rov'd, and then

All the Patriot rose in his soul, and he thought

Of Wales, and her glories, and all he'd been taught

Of her Heroes of old,

So brave and so bold,--

Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted in gold;

Of King Edward the First,

Of mem'ry accurst;

And the scandalous manner in which he behaved,

Killing Poets by dozens,

With their uncles and cousins,

Of whom not one in fifty had ever been shaved.

Of the Court Ball, at which, by a lucky mishap,

Owen Tudor fell into Queen Katherine's lap;

And how Mr. Tudor

Successfully woo'd her,

Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring,

And so made him Father-in-law to the King.

He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore,

On Gryffyth ap Conan, and Owen Glendour;

On Pendragon, and Heaven knows how many more.

He thought of all this, as he gazed, in a trice,

And on all things, in short, but the late Mrs. Pryce;

When a lumbering noise from behind made him start,

And sent the blood back in full tide to his heart,

Which went pit-a-pat

As he cried out, "What's that?--

That very queer sound?

Does it come from the ground?

Or the air,--from above, or below, or around?

It is not like Talking,

It is not like Walking,

It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan,

Or the tramp of a horse,--or the tread of a man,--

Or the hum of a crowd,--or the shouting of boys,--

It's really a deuced odd sort of a noise!

Not unlike a Cart's,--but that can't be; for when

Could "all the King's horses and all the King's men,"

With Old Nick for a waggoner, drive one up "PEN?"