CHAPTER II.

Next morning, at approach of dawn, Clara hastened up to run to the

stove, to awake the sparks in the ashes. Henry soon came to her

assistance, and they laughed like children, as, with all their efforts,

the flame would _not_ come. At last, with much puffing and blowing, the

shavings kindled, and slips of wood were most artistically laid on so as

to heat the little stove without any waste of the precious store. "You

see, Henry dear," said Clara, "there is hardly enough for to-morrow, and

then"----

"A fresh supply must be had," said her husband, in a tone as if this

matter of supply was the simplest thing in the world; whereas he well

knew, that whatever stock of money remained to them, must be reserved

for the still more essential article of food. After breakfast, he again

took up his journal. "How I long to come to that page which records how

you and I, dearest, ran away with one another."

"O Heaven!" cried Clara, "how strange, how unexpected as that eventful

moment! For some days my father had shown a certain ill-humour towards

me, and had spoken in a quite unusual manner. He had before expressed

his surprise at your frequent visits; now he did not name you, but

talked _at_ you, and spoke continually of young men who refused to know

their own position. If I was silent on these occasions he was angry; and

if I spoke it was still worse: he grew more and more bitter. One

morning, just as I was going out in the carriage to pay some visits, my

faithful maid ran down the steps after me, and, under pretence of

adjusting my dress, whispered into my ear that all was discovered--that

my desk had been broken open, and your letters found--and that, in a few

hours, I was to be sent off a prisoner to an aunt in a distant part of

the country. How sudden was my resolution! I had not ridden far before I

alighted from the carriage, under pretence of buying something at a

trinket-shop. I sent the coachman and servant away, bidding them return

for me in at hour, and then"----

"And then," interrupted Henry, "how delighted was I, how almost

terrified with joy, to see you suddenly enter my apartments! I had just

returned from my ambassador, and had by good chance some blank passports

with me; I filled one up with the first name that occurred; and then,

without further preparation, we entered a hired carriage, crossed the

borders, were married, and were happy."

This animated dialogue was interrupted by the entrance of an old woman,

by name Christina, who had formerly been Clara's nurse. In their flight

they had entered into her little cottage as a place where they could

safely stop to rest themselves, and the faithful old dame had entreated

them to take her with them. She now lived in a small room below, in the

same house, and entirely supported herself by going out to work amongst

the neighbors. She entered the room at present to mention that she

should not sleep that night in her own apartment below; but that,

nevertheless, she should return next morning early enough to make their

usual daily purchases for them. Clara followed her out of the room to

speak with her apart. Henry, in her absence, as if relieved from the

necessity of supporting his spirits, or deprived of the power which

sustained them, sunk his head upon the table, and burst into tears.

"Why cannot I," he muttered to himself, "work with my hands as this

poor woman does? I have still health and strength. But no--I dare

not--she would then, for the first time, feel the misery of our

position; she would torture herself to work also; besides, we should be

discovered and separated--and, come what may, while we can yet live, we

are happy."

Clara returned in excellent spirits. They sat down to their frugal and

cheerful meal, to which some additions had been made by the obstinate

kindness of old Christina. "I could not have the heart to refuse her,"

said Clara. "Now, if only wood were not wanting, all would be well."

The next morning Clara slept longer than usual. She was surprised, on

waking, to see that the day had dawned, and still more to find that her

husband had left her side. Her astonishment was further increased when

she heard, in the next room, a crashing and grating noise, as of one

sawing through an obstinate piece of timber. She got up as speedily as

possible, to ascertain the cause of these unusual events.

"Henry," she cried, as she entered the room, "what are you about there?"

"Sawing wood, my dear," he replied, as he looked up panting from his

labours.

"But how in the world did you come by that saw, and this famous piece of

wood?"

"I remembered," answered Henry, "having seen in the loft above us, soon

after we came here, in one of my voyages of discovery, a saw and a

hatchet, belonging, I suppose, to some previous tenant of our apartment,

or perhaps to our old landlord. So much for these brave tools. As to

this noble piece of wood, it was till this morning the banister to our

staircase. Observe what solid, substantial men our ancestors were! What

a broad, magnificent piece of oak! This will make a quite different sort

of fire from your deal shavings and slips of fir."

"But," cried Clara, "the damage to the house!"

"No one comes to see us," said Henry. "We know these steps, and indeed

seldom or never go down them. The old Christina is the only person who

will miss it, and I will say to her very gravely--Look you, old lady, do

you think that a noble oak of the forest is to be hewn down, and then

planed and polished by carpenters and joiners, merely that you may come

up and down these steps a little more easily? No, no, such a magnificent

banister is a most palpable superfluity."

"Since it is done," said Clara, "I will at least take my share in this

new species of woodcraft."

So they laid the beam, which filled the apartment, on two chairs, and

first they sawed with united efforts at the middle to make it the more

manageable. It was hard work, for the oak was tough, and the saw was

old, and the workmen were more willing than skilful; but at length it

came in two with a crash.

"Well," said Clara, as she looked up, and threw her ringlets aside, her

face glowing with the unwonted exercise, "this work has one advantage at

least; we want no fire this morning to warm us."

After sawing off several square blocks, Henry set to work with his

hatchet to cleave them into pieces fit for the stove. It was fortunate

that, during this operation, which made the walls of their little

dwelling re-echo, their landlord was absent. Nor were the neighbours

likely to be much surprised at the noise, as many handicraftsmen

inhabited that locality.

On this eventful day breakfast had been forgotten; dinner and breakfast

were consolidated into one meal. This being dispatched with their usual

cheerfulness, they retired to their seat by the window. To-day there was

no frost upon the glass; and the sky--all that could be seen of it--was

clear as crystal. It was a curiously simple prospect which this window

presented. Underneath them, over the ground-floor of the house, had been

constructed--for what reason it would not be easy to say--a tiled roof,

which projected in such a manner as completely to hide the narrow street

from their view. In front stretched the long low roof of a building,

which seemed to be used as a warehouse; and on both sides they were

hemmed in by the blank projecting walls and the tall chimneys of larger

houses--so that certain masses of brickwork, a long roof, and a fragment

of the open sky, was all that the eye could possibly command. This

complete isolation suited the lovers very well; for, besides that it

effectually concealed them from the discovery of their pursuers, it

permitted them to stand at the window, and talk and caress, without the

restraint occasioned by envious spectators. When they first occupied the

apartment, if they heard an unusual noise out of doors, they naturally

ran to the window to look down into the street; and it was not till

after many fruitless experiments that they learned to sit quiet on such

occasions. It was quite an event if a cat was seen stealthily making its

way over the long sloping roof in front of them. In the summer, when the

sparrows built their nests in the tall chimneys on either side, and were

perpetually flying to and fro, twittering, caressing, quarrelling--this

was quite a society. When a chimney-sweeper once thrust out his black

face from one of these chimneys, and shouted aloud to testify the

accomplishment of his ascent, it was an event that brought a shriek of

surprise from Clara.

Thus passed the days, and the pair were happy as kings, though they were

living very like beggars. Very singular was their power of abstraction

from the future, their entire satisfaction with the present. Clara, it

is true, cast some anxious thoughts after the wood; but Henry brought in

every morning the necessary supply: there was no symptoms of failure.

She thought indeed, of late, that the grain of the wood seemed altered;

but it burned as well as ever.

"Where," said Clara, one morning, "where is our faithful Christina? I

have not seen her for many a day. You rise in the morning before I can

get up--you take in the bread and the water-jug--I never see her. Why

does she not come up? Is she ill?"

"No," said Henry, with a slight embarrassment of manner, which his wife

did not fail to detect.

"Ah! you conceal something from me" she cried. "I will go down directly

and see what is the matter with her."

"It is so long since you descended these steps, and there is no

banister--you will fall."

"No, no, I know the steps--I could find them in the dark."

"Those steps," said Henry, with a mock solemnity of manner--"those steps

will you never tread again!"

"Oh, there is something you conceal from me!" exclaimed Clara. "Say what

you will, I will go down and see Christina."

She turned quickly round and opened the door, but Henry clasped her as

quickly in his arms.

"My dear," cried he, "will you break your neck?"

The secret was at once disclosed. They stepped together to the

landing-place. There were no longer any stairs to be seen. Clara clasped

her little hands as she looked first down into the dark precipice below,

and then at her husband, who maintained the most comical gravity in the

world. She then ran back to the stove, snatched up one of the pieces of

wood, and, looking at it closely, said--"Ah, now I see why the grain was

so different! So, then, we have burned up the stairs?"

"So it seems," answered Henry, quite calmly. "I hardly know why I kept

this secret from you--perhaps that you might not be distressed by any

superfluous scruples. Now that you know it, I am sure you will find it

quite reasonable."

"But Christina?"

"Oh, she is quite well! In the morning I let her down a cord, to which

she fastens her little basket. This I draw up, and afterwards the

water-jug. Our housekeeping proceeds in the most orderly fashion in the

world. When the banister was at an end, it struck me that one half at

least of the steps of our staircase might be dispensed with; it was but

to step a little higher, as one is forced to do in many houses. With the

help of Christina, who entered into this philosophical view of the

matter, I broke off the first, third, fifth, and so forth. When one half

of the steps was consumed, the other half was also condemned as

superfluous--for what do we want with stairs, we who never go out?"

"But the landlord?"

"He will not return till Easter. Meanwhile the weather will be getting

milder, and there are still some old doors and planks up above, which I

shall pronounce altogether superfluous. Therefore warm thee, dearest

Clara, without any care for the future."

Things, however, did not quite fall out as expected. On the afternoon of

that very same day, a carriage was heard to drive up to the little

house. They heard the rattling of the wheels, the stopping of the

vehicle, the descent of the passengers. It was in vain to put their

heads out of window, they could see nothing there. But they heard the

sound of unpacking, then the greeting of neighbours--it was evident,

beyond a doubt, that their dreaded landlord had returned home much

sooner than he ought. The heavy tread of the gouty gentleman now

resounded in the passage--the crisis was at hand. Henry stood at the

half-open door, listening. Clara sat within, regarding him with a

questioning look.

"I must go up," the landlord was now heard to say; "I must go up, and

see after my lodgers. I hope they are as cheerful as ever, and the young

wife as pretty."

There was a pause. The old man was groping about in the dark.

"How is this?" he muttered to himself. "Don't know my own house! Not

here--not there! Ulric! Ulric! help here!"

Ulric, his servant and factotum, came to his assistance.

"Help me up these stairs," said the landlord. "I am blinded--bewitched!

I cannot find the steps, and yet they were broad enough!"

"Herr Emmerich," said the old and somewhat surly domestic, "you are a

little giddy from travelling."

"An hypothesis," whispered Henry, turning to his wife, "which unhappily

will not hold."

"Zounds!" cried Ulric, who had run his head against the wall, "I have

lost my wits too!"

"I am groping right and left," said the landlord, "and all round, and up

above. I think the devil has taken the stairs!"

"Another hypothesis," whispered Henry, "and a very bold one."

Meanwhile the more sensible domestic had at once run for a light. This

he now returned with, and, holding it up in his sturdy fist, he

illuminated the quite empty space.

"Ten thousand devils!" exclaimed the landlord, as he gazed around and

above him with astonishment. "This is the strangest business! Herr

Brand! Herr Brand! Is any one up there?"

It was of no use to deny himself. Henry stepped out, bent over the

landing, and saw, by the uncertain flicker of the light, the portly form

of his landlord.

"Ah, my worthy friend, Herr Emmerich!" he called out in the blandest

manner imaginable, "you are most welcome. It speaks well for the gout

that you have returned so much earlier than your appointed time. I am

delighted to see you looking so well."

"Your obedient servant," answered the other; "but that is not the

question. What has become of my stairs?"

"Stairs! were there any stairs here?" said Henry. "Indeed, my friend, I

go out so seldom, or rather not at all, that I take no notice of any

thing out of my own chamber. I study, I work--I concern myself about

little else."

"Herr Brand," said the landlord, half choking with rage, "we must speak

about this in another tone! You are the only lodger. You shall give an

account before a court of justice"--

"Be not overwroth," replied Henry. "If you really contemplate legal

proceedings, I think I can be of use to you; for, now I think of it, I

perfectly remember that there _were_ stairs here, and have a vivid

recollection of having, in your absence, used them."

"Used them!" cried the old man, stamping with his feet; "and how used

them? You have destroyed them--you have destroyed the house."

"Nay, do not exaggerate, Herr Emmerich. I cannot ask you to walk

up-stairs, or you might see that these rooms we inhabit are in a perfect

state of preservation. As to this ladder, which was but an asses' bridge

for tedious visitors and bad men, I removed it with great difficulty, as

being superfluous."

"But these steps," cried Emmerich, "with their noble banister, these

two-and-twenty broad, strong oaken steps, were an integral part of my

house. Old as I am, I never heard of a lodger who dealt as he pleased

with the stairs of a house."

"Be patient," said Henry, "and you shall hear the real connexion of

events. The post failed in bringing our necessary remittances; the

winter was unusually severe; all ordinary means of procuring fuel were

wanting; I had recourse to this sort of forced loan. At the same time I

did not think, respected sir, that you would return before the warm

summer weather."

"Nonsense!" said the landlord. "Summer weather! Do you think that these

my stairs will sprout out again, like asparagus, when the summer comes?"

"Really," said Henry, "I am not sufficiently acquainted with the growth

and habits of the stair-plant to determine."

"Ulric!" cried the wrathful landlord, "run for the police. You shall

find this no jesting matter."

The police arrived. The inspector was scandalized at the outrage which

had been committed, and summoned the delinquent to surrender.

"Never!" said Henry. "An Englishman says well that his house is his

castle; and mine is a castle with the drawbridge up."

"There is an easy remedy for that," said the officer, who thereupon

called for a ladder, and gave command to his men to mount, to bind the

criminal with cords, and bring him down to his condign punishment.

The house was now filled with the people of the neighbourhood. Men,

women, and children had been attracted to the spot, and a crowd of

curious spectators, assembled in the street, made their comments upon

the business. Clara had seated herself near the window, not a little

embarrassed; but as she saw that her husband still retained his

accustomed cheerfulness, she also kept her self-possession--not,

however, without much wondering how it would all end. Henry came in for

a moment to hearten her, and also to fetch something from the room.

"We are shut up, my dear," said he, "like our famous Goetz in his

Taxthausen. This obstinate trumpeter has summoned me to surrender at

mercy, and I will now answer him in the manner of our great model."

Clara smiled.

"Your fate is my fate," she said, and added to herself in a low voice:

"I think, if my father saw us now, he would forgive all."

Henry again stepped out upon the landing, and seeing they were verily

bringing in a ladder, called to them in a solemn tone--"Gentlemen,

bethink you what you do. I have been prepared, weeks ago, for every

thing--for the very worst that can happen. I will not be taken prisoner,

but intend to defend myself to the last drop of my blood. Here do I

bring two blunderbusses loaded with ball, and this old cannon, a fearful

piece of ordnance, full to the throat with every destructive ingredient.

I have in this chamber powder and ball, cartridges, lead, all things

necessary to sustain the war; whilst my brave wife, who has been

accustomed to fire-arms, will load the pieces as I fire them. Advance,

therefore, if you wish blood to flow."

Henry had laid two sticks and an old boot upon the floor.

The leader of the police, who could distinguish nothing in the dark,

beckoned to his men to stand back.

"Better," said he to Herr Emmerich, "that we starve out this formidable

rebel."

"Starve, indeed!" said Henry: "we are provided for months to come with

all sorts of dried fruits--plums, pears, apples, biscuits. The winter is

nearly passed, but should fuel fail us, there is still in the roof above

much superfluous timber."

"Oh, hear the heathen!" cried Emmerich in agony. "First he breaks to

pieces the bottom of my house, and then he threatens to unroof it."

"It is beyond all example," said the officer.

Many of the spectators, however, were secretly pleased at the distress

of the avaricious landlord. Some suggested the calling in of the

military, with their guns.

"For Heaven's sake, no!" cried Emmerich; "the house will then be utterly

destroyed."

"You are quite right," said Henry. "And have you forgotten what for many

years every newspaper has been repeating to us, that the first

cannon-shot, let it fall where it may, will set all Europe in blaze?"

"He is a demagogue, a carbonaro," said the officer. "Who knows what

confederates he may have even in this crowd which surrounds us?"

The alarm of the officer seemed, for a moment, to be justified, for a

shout was now heard from some of the populace who were collected in the

street. Emmerich and the officer turned round to enquire into the

meaning of this new demonstration. Henry took the opportunity to whisper

a word to his young wife.

"Be of good cheer," he said; "we gain time. We shall be able to

capitulate. Perhaps even a Sickingen may come to our rescue."

The shout of the mob had been occasioned by the appearance of a

brilliant equipage, which made its way slowly through the thronged and

narrow street. The footmen were clad in splendid livery, and a coachman,

covered with lace, drove four prancing steeds. The mob might be excused

for shouting "The king! The king!" The carriage stopped before the door

of the house which was now become the great point of attraction, and a

nobleman descended, elegantly attired and decorated with orders and

crosses.

"Does a certain Herr Brand live here?" enquired the illustrious

stranger; "and what means all this uproar?"

Hereupon fifty different voices made answer with as many different

accounts. The landlord, stepping forward, pointed to the dilapidated

condition of the house, and explained the real state of affairs. The

stranger continued to advance into the hall, and called with a loud

voice, "Does Herr Brand live here?"

"Yes," replied Henry from above; "but who is this that asks?"

"The ladder here!" cried the stranger.

"No one ascends to this place!" said Henry.

"Not if he brings back the Chaucer, the edition of Caxton?"

"O Heaven! the good angel may ascend!" and immediately ran back to Clara

to communicate the joyful news. "Our Sickingen is verily come!" he

exclaimed. Tears of joy were starting to his eyes.

A few words from the stranger, addressed to the landlord and the

officer, produced a sudden calm. The ladder was raised, and Henry, in a

moment, was in the arms of his old friend Andreas Vandelmeer! All was

now joy and congratulation in the little apartment, as Henry introduced

to his friend his dear and beautiful wife. The first greetings passed,

Vandelmeer informed them that the small fortune which Henry had

entrusted to his care had increased and multiplied itself, and that he

might now consider himself a rich man. Vandelmeer, on his return from

India, had landed at the port of London. There it had occurred to him to

procure some antiquarian present for his friend, like that which he had

formerly given him. Entering the bookseller's where his previous

purchase had been made, he saw a Chaucer, which attracted his attention

from its similarity to the one he had procured for his friend. It was,

in fact, the same. It had found its way back to its original owner. On

opening it, he found some melancholy lines written on the fly-leaf, and

signed with his present name and address. He immediately repurchased the

book, and hastened to the discovery, and, as it proved, the rescue of

his friend.

To complete the happiness of all parties, he was able to inform them

that the father of Clara had laid aside his anger, and was desirous of

discovering his daughter only that he might receive and forgive her.

What need to say more? Even the landlord was content, and had reason to

congratulate himself on the devastation committed on his staircase.

THE OVERLAND PASSAGE.

Our intercourse with India has become so important within these few

years, and the rapid transit by the isthmus of Suez has become so

favourite a passage, that the public naturally feel an extreme curiosity

relative to every circumstance of the route. The whole is a splendid

novelty, sufficiently strange to retain some portion of the old wonder

which belongs to all things Arabian; sufficiently wild to supply us with

the scenes and adventures of barbarism; and yet sufficiently brought

within the sphere of European interests, to combine with the romance of

the wilderness, at once Oriental pomp and the powers and utilities of

civilized and Christian society. The contrast is of the most exciting

kind:--we have the Bedouin, with his lance and desert home, hovering

round the European carriage, but now guarding what his fathers would

have plundered; the caravan with all its camels, turbaned merchants, and

dashing cavalry, moving along the river's bank, on whose waters the

steam-boat is rushing; the many-coloured and many-named tribes of the

South, meeting the men of every European nation in the streets where the

haughty Osmanli was once master. The buildings offer scarcely a less

singular contrast:--the lofty, prison-like, close casemented fronts of

the huge Mahometan dwellings, frowning in grim repose upon the spruce

shops and glittering hotels of the French and Italian trader and

tavern-keeper; and though last, most memorable of all--the old Pasha,

the only man in existence who has given a new being to a people; the

true regenerator of his country, or rather the creator of a nation out

of one of the most abject, exhausted, and helpless races of mankind.

Egypt, the slave of the stranger for a thousand years, trampled on by

Saracen, Turk, Mameluke, and Frenchman; but by the enterprise and

intelligence of this extraordinary individual, suddenly raised to an

independent rank, and actually possessing a most influential interest in

the eyes of Europe and Asia.

The route of the travellers begins with Ceylon. Ceylon is a fine

picturesque island, very fertile, strikingly placed for commerce, and

containing a tolerably intelligent population. Yet we do not seem to

have made much of its advantages hitherto; Singapore and even Hong-Kong

are likely to throw it into eclipse; and the chief benefit of its

possession is in keeping away foreign powers from too near an inspection

of our settlements in India. But its shores have the richness of

vegetation which belongs to the tropics, and the variety of aspect which

is so often found in the Asiatic islands. The Major and his wife

embarked on board the steamer "The India," in May 1844. The view from

the Point de Galle is striking. The town is shaded by trees, which give

it the look of richness and freshness that contributes such a charm to

the Oriental landscape. On the left of the bay is a headland clothed

with tropic vegetation. In front are two islands, giving variety to the

bay. Behind is the esplanade, shut in by hills covered with cocoa-nut

trees. At the foot of those hills is the native town and bridge, also

shaded by trees. Crowds of canoes, of various shapes and colours, moored

along the shore, complete the scene.

The passengers were discontented with the India. They never saw any

thing like the dirt of the ship. The coal-dust penetrated into every

thing. It was in vain to sigh for a clean face and hands, for they were

unattainable. This must be true; yet it passes our comprehension. We

cannot understand why coal-dust should make its appearance at all for

the affliction of the passengers. It certainly blackens no one in our

European steamers. Its business is in the engine-room, and we never

heard of its making its _entree_ into either the saloon or the cabin.

The India is complained of as being very ill adapted for the service, as

unwieldy, and inadequate to face the south-west monsoon. Yet the vessel

was handsomely decorated: the saloon was profusely ornamented with

gilding, cornices, and mirrors; the tables were richly veneered, and the

furniture was of morocco leather. All this exhibits no want of

liberality on the part of the proprietors; but a much heavier charge is

laid on the carelessness which allowed this handsome vessel to be

infested with disgusting vermin. "The swarms of cock-roaches," says Mrs

Darby Griffiths, "almost drove me out of my senses. The other day sixty

were killed in our cabin, and we might have killed as many more. They

are very large, about two inches and a half long, and run about my

pillows and sheets in the most disgusting manner. Rats are also very

numerous." Now, all this we can as little comprehend as the coal-dust.

If such things were, they must have arisen from the most extraordinary

negligence; and we hope the proprietors, enlightened by Mrs Darby

Griffith's book, will have the vessel cleansed out before her next

voyage.

The monsoon was now direct against them, and the probability was, that

instead of getting to Aden in its teeth, their coal-dust would fail, and

they would be driven back to Bombay for more. But the commander of one

of the Oriental Company's ships, who was fortunately a passenger,

advised the captain to go south, for the purpose of meeting winds which

would afterwards blow him to the north-west. The advice was as

fortunately taken. They steamed till within two degrees of the line, and

then met with a south wind. This, however, though it drove them on their

course, made them roll terribly. The India was not prepared for this

rough treatment. There was not a swing-table in the ship. The

consequence was, that bottles of wine were rolling in every direction;

geese, turkeys, and curry were precipitated into the laps of the

unfortunate people on the lee-side; while those on the weather-side were

thrown forward with their faces on their plates. This was treatment

which probably John Bull would not like; but being a philosopher, and

besides a native of an island, he would endure it as one of the

necessities of nature. But there were four French passengers on board

who took it in a different way, and probably conceiving that a vessel at

sea was something in the nature of a stage-coach, and the Indian ocean a

high-road, they felt themselves peculiarly ill-used by this tossing; and

at every instance of having a bottle of wine emptied into their drapery,

they regarded it as a national insult, and complained bitterly to the

captain. The French are a belligerent people, and we are surprised that

this series of aggressions by the billows has not been taken up by Mons.

Thiers and his friends, as an additional evidence of the malice of

England to the _grande nation_. Sea-sickness, starvation, and the loss

of their claret, were acts worthy, indeed, of _perfide Albion_. The

captain himself was one of the victims to the "movement." The fair

tourist thus draws his portrait--whether the captain will admire either

the sketch or the limner, is another question. He is described as "an

immensely fat, punchy man, resembling a huge ball, with great fat red

cheeks which almost conceal his eyes, and a small turned-up nose." He

was, of course, always seated at the head of the table, and, she

supposed, considered it beneath his dignity to have his chair tied; but

this world is all made up of compromises and compensations--if the

captain preserved his dignity, he lost his balance. A surge came, "his

fixity of tenure was gone in a moment, and this solid dignitary was shot

forth, chair and all, and rolled against the bulkhead. Every body was in

roars of laughter."

But though all this was toil and trouble for the miserable lords and

ladies of the creation, it was delight for the masters and mistresses of

the mighty element around them. The inhabitants of the ocean were in

full sport; whales were seen rushing through the brine, porpoises were

sporting with their sleek skins in the highest enjoyment through the

billows, and shoals of dolphins filled the waves with their splendid

pea-green and azure. It was an ocean fete, a _bal-pare_ of the finny

tribe, a gala-day of nature; while miserable men and women were

shrinking, and shivering, and sinking in heart, in the midst of the

animation, enjoyment, and magnificence of the world of waters. On the

third night of their sailing, the wind became higher, and the swell from

the south stronger than ever. They pitched about in the most dreadful

manner, and during the night two sails were carried away, and the

fore-topmast. They were now in peril; but they had the steam in reserve,

and steered for their port. On the 9th of June they were in smooth

water, running up between the coasts of Arabia and Africa. The weather

now suddenly changed; the sun became intensely hot, and though forty

miles from the shore, they were visited by numerous butterflies,

dragon-flies, and moths. In two days after, they sailed through an

orange-coloured sea, filled with a shoal of animalculae fifteen miles

long. On the next day they came in sight of the harbour of Aden. This

whole track was the voyage from which the Arabian story-tellers have

fabricated such wonders. One of the voyages of the celebrated Sinbad the

sailor, the most picturesque of all voyagers, was over this very ocean.

The orange-coloured waters, the strong effluvium of the waves

intoxicating the brain, the wild headlands of Africa--each the dwelling

of a necromancer--the Maldives, filled with mermaids and sea-monsters,

the volcanic blaze that guarded the entrance to the Red Sea, the fiery

mountains of Aden, the Hadramant, or region of Death, the Babelmandeb,

or Gate of Tears, the Isle of Perim, and the Cape of Burials, wild,

black, and terrific--fill the Arab imagination with wonders that throw

all modern invention to an immeasurable distance.

The town of Aden is not seen from the sea; it lies behind the mountains,

which are first visible. To look at the coast from this spot, nothing

but a sandy desert presents itself. The peninsula is joined to the

mainland, Arabia Felix, by a narrow sandy isthmus, nearly level with the

ocean. It is only 14,000 feet wide. There are three rocky islands in the

bay, one of which, commanding the isthmus, is fortified. The passengers

of the India were disturbed during the whole day by the yells of the

Arabs who were bringing the coals on board. They look more like demons

than human beings. "The coal-dust, of which we had lost sight for some

time, now began once more to turn every thing into its own colour. The

coolies employed in this service come from the coast of Zanzibar. They

keep up a continual yell during their work, and perform a kind of dance

all the time." They must be very well paid, and this is the true secret

of making men work. The African is no more lazy than other men, when he

can get value for his labour. This is the true secret for abolishing the

slave trade. Those men come hundreds or thousand of miles to cover

themselves with coal-dust, in an atmosphere where the thermometer

sometimes rises to 120 deg. in the shade, and work "day and night until they

have finished their task," roaring and dancing all the time,

besides--and all this for the stimulant of wages. It is to be presumed

that their performance is "piece-work," the only work which brings out

the true effort of the labourer. Their zeal was said to be so great,

that every hundred tons of coal embarked cost the life of a man. But the

Africans have learned to drink grog; an accomplishment which we should

have thought they would not be long in acquiring, and since that period,

they live longer. This, we must acknowledge, is a new merit in grog; it

is the first time that we have heard of it as a promoter of longevity.

The Arabs on the coast form two classes, perfectly distinct, at least in

their conduct to the English. The class of warriors, being robbers by

profession, are extremely anxious to rob us, and still more indignant at

our preventing their robbery of others. Their piracies have suffered

grievously from the vigilance of our gun-boats, and they have once or

twice actually attempted to storm our fortifications. The consequence

is, that they have been soundly beaten, the majority have left their

carcasses behind them, and the survivors have been taught a "moral

lesson," which has kept them at a respectful distance. But the Arab

cultivators are decent and industrious men, and form the servants of the

town. Whether we shall ever make a great southern colony of the country

adjoining the peninsula, must be a question of the future. But it is

said that a very fine and healthy country extends to the north, and that

the mountains visible from Aden enclose valleys of singular

productiveness and beauty.

Taste in personal decoration differs a good deal in the south from that

of the north. The Arab, with a face as black as ink, thinks an enormous

shock of red hair the perfection of taste; he accordingly dyes his hair

with lime, and thus makes himself, unconsciously, the regular demon of

the stage.

The entrance to the new British settlement is through masses of the

boldest and wildest rocks. After passing a defile between two mountains,

we come to the only access on this side, the "lofty mountains forming an

impregnable fortification." This entrance is cut through the solid rock.

A strong guard of sepoys is posted there. The passage is so high and

narrow, that "one might almost compare it to the eye in a darning

needle." This is a female comparison, but an expressive one. Issuing

from the pass, the whole valley of Aden lay like a map beneath, bounded

on three sides by precipitous mountains, rising up straight and barren

like a mighty wall, while on the fourth was the sea; but even there the

view was bounded by the island rock of Sera, thus completing the

fortification of this Eastern Gibraltar.

Here the travellers were welcomed by a hospitable garrison surgeon and

his wife, found a dinner, an apartment, great civility, and a romantic

view of the Arab landscape by moonlight. They heard the drums and pipes

of one of the regiments, and were "startled by the loud report of a

cannon, which shook the frail tenement, and resounded with a lengthened

echo through the hills. It was the eight o'clock gun, which stood only a

stone's throw from the house, and on the same rock." The lady, as a

soldier's wife, ought to have been less alarmed; but she was in a land

where every thing was strange. "We were literally sleeping out in the

open air; as there were no doors, windows, or venetians to close, and

every breath of wind agitated the frail walls of bamboo and matting, I

was awoke in the night by the musquitto curtains blowing up; the wind

had risen, and came every now and then with sudden gusts; but its breath

was so soft, warm, and dry, that I, who had never ventured to bear a

night-blast in Ceylon, felt that it was harmless."

Aden, in earlier times, formed one of the thirteen states of Yemen; and

prodigious tales are told of its opulence, its mosques and minarets, its

baths of jasper, and its crescents and colonnades. But Arabia is

proverbially a land of fable, and the glories of Aden exhibit Arabian

imagination in its highest stage. Possibly, while it continued a port

for the Indian trade, it may have shared the wealth which India has

always lavished on commerce. But a spot without a tree, without a mine,

and without a manufacture, could never have possessed solid wealth under

the languid industry and wild rapine of an Arab population. When we

recollect, too, how long the Turks were masters of this corner of

Arabia, we may well be sceptical of the opulence of periods when the

sword was the law. No memorials of its prosperity remain; no ruined

temples or broken columns attest the magnificence or the taste of an

earlier generation. Its only hope of opulence must be dated from its

first possession by the British. But the barrenness of the soil forbids

substantial wealth; and though the native merchants, relying on the

honour of British laws and the security of British arms, are flocking

into it by hundreds, and will soon flock into it by thousands, it must

be at best but a warehouse and a fortress, though both will, in all

probability, be of the most magnificent description. The population is

of the miscellaneous order which is to be found in all the Eastern

ports. The Parsees, the handsome and industrious race who are to be seen

every where in India; the Jews, keen and indefatigable, who are to be

seen in every part of the world; and the Arabs, whose glance and gesture

seem to despise both, are already crowding this half camp, half

capital. From eighty to a hundred camels, every morning, supply the

markets of Aden. They bring in baskets of fine fruit, grapes, melons,

dates, and peaches. The greater number bring also poultry, grass, and

straw. Troops of donkeys carry water in skins to every part of the town;

and there is no want of the necessaries of life, though of course they

are dear. Aden is excessively hot, but regarded as healthy. The air is

pure, dry, and elastic. The engineers are building works on the

different commanding positions; and Aden, within a few years, will

probably be the strongest fortification, as it is already one of the

finest ports, east of the Mediterranean. But we look to nobler

prospects; the inland country is perhaps one of the finest regions in

the world. Almost within view of Aden lies a country as picturesque as

Switzerland, and as fertile as the valleys of the tropics. It is

singularly salubrious; and, in point of extent, may be regarded as

unlimited. We see no possible reason why Aden should not, in the course

of a few years, be made the capital of a great Arabian colony. Conquest

must not be the means, but purchase might not be difficult; and

civilization and Christianity might be spread together through immense

territories, formed in the bounty of nature, and only waiting to be

filled with a free and vigorous population. It is only the centre and

north of Arabia that is desert. The coast, and especially the southern

extremity, are fertile. Without the ambition of empire, or the desire of

encroachment, British enterprize might here find a superb field, and the

Arabian peninsula might, for the first time in history, be added to the

civilized world.

The travellers now ran up the Red Sea. The navigation has greatly

improved within these few years, in consequence of the intercourse

between England and India. Surveys have been made, and charts have been

formed, which almost divest the passage of peril. But the navigation is

still intricate, in consequence of the coral rocks and numerous shoals,

which, however, may be escaped by due vigilance, and the experienced

mariner has nothing to fear. The aspect of the coast, of both Africa and

Arabia, is wild and repulsive; but some compensation for the monotony of

the shores is to be found in the sea itself. When calm, the transparency

of the water exhibits the bottom to the depth of thirty fathoms. "And

what a new world is discovered through this vale of waters! what

treasures for the naturalist!" The sands are overspread with forests of

coral plants of every colour, shells of remarkable beauty; and, in the

midst of this sub-aqueous landscape, fish of brilliant hues sporting in

all directions. At length they reached the gulf of Suez, with the blue

peaks of Sinai in the distance, and continued running up the gulf, which

was one hundred and sixty miles long, until Suez came in sight. Here all

is dreary: deserts and sand-banks form the whole landscape. Arab boats

came alongside, and conveyed the passengers from the steamer. The town

looked dismal; its walls and fortifications were in decay; the

landing-place was crowded by sickly-looking creatures, the evident

victims of malaria, and the chief ornament of the place was a large

white-washed tomb. This condition of things was not much improved when

the party found themselves in the hotel of Messrs Hill and Co.

Musquittoes, and every species of frightful insect, made war against

sleep; and when their reign had passed away, and the travellers rose,

crowds of flies continued the persecution. The travellers made a bad

bargain in paying their passage-money at once from Suez to Alexandria;

and it is described as the wiser mode to pay only to Cairo, and then

take the choice of the several conveyances which are sure to be found

there. The Arab drivers and carriers seem to have fully acquired those

arts of extortion, which flourish in such abundance wherever English

money is to be found. They cheat, and lie, and cajole, with

extraordinary assiduity; and the majority of the passengers on this

occasion seem to have been detained unnecessarily on the road, and

treated badly at the station houses. The first part of the desert is

rather rocky than sandy, and the road seems to have been formed chiefly

by the carriage wheels. It is covered with great pieces of stone and

rock, which sorely tried the patience of the travellers. Hundreds of

carcasses of camels lie in the way; the flesh is soon eaten by the

wolves and rats, while the bones bleach in the sun. Little troops of

Arabs were met from time to time, sometimes on camels and sometimes on

horses. They were armed to the teeth, as black as negroes, and looked

ferocious enough to make any party of pacific travellers tremble for

their goods and chattels. But they were the patrols of Mohammed Ali, and

guardians of the goods which in other days they would have delighted to

plunder. There are eight stations on this road through the desert, all

built by that man of wonders, the Pasha. Of these, four are only

stables; but four are houses for the reception of travellers. They are

generally from twelve to sixteen miles apart. The station No. 6, though

by no means possessing the comforts of an English hotel, must be a

miracle to the old travellers of the desert. It consists of two

chambers, a kitchen, and servants' room, with a large public saloon

occupying the whole of one end, and completing a little centre court.

Three sides of the saloon were furnished with divans. There was a long

table in the centre, with several chairs, and a glass window at each end

of the room. But this was unluckily the season of flies, and they were

the torment of the travellers; table, wall, ceiling, and floors swarmed

with them. They flew into the face, the eyes, and the mouth. Thousands

of musquittoes were also buzzing round and biting every thing. The

breakfast was no sooner laid on the table than it was blackened with

flies. The beds were hiving, and intolerable. No. 4, the halfway-house,

was rather better. It is the largest of them all, and has a long row of

bedrooms, and two public saloons. It has a large courtyard, in which

were turkeys, geese, sheep, and goats, for the use of travellers. The

Arab coachman here tried a trick of the road. He sent up a message that

he had observed the lady looked very much tired, and that he therefore

advised them to get to the end of their journey as quickly as possible;

that they had better start in two hours, as the moon was very bright,

and that he would take them into Cairo by breakfast-time in the morning.

But it was suspected that this haste was in order that the passengers

waiting at Cairo to go by the India steamer should be conveyed across

the desert by himself, so they declined his offer, and enjoyed their

night's rest. On rising in the morning, they felt that they had reason

to congratulate themselves on their refusal of the night's journey; for

they found even the morning air bitter, and the atmosphere a wet fog.

The aspect of the country had now changed. Chains of hills disappeared,

and all was level sand. On the way they saw the mirage, sometimes

assuming the appearance of a distant harbour, at others, of an inland

lake reflecting the surrounding objects on its surface; and they met one

of the picturesque displays of Arabia, a wealthy Bey going on a

pilgrimage to Mecca. He had a train of twenty or thirty camels. Those

carrying himself and his harem had superb trappings. The women were

seated in large open boxes, hanging on each side as paniers. There were

red silk embroidered curtains hung round, like those on a bedstead, and

an awning over all. The bey was smoking his splendid pipe, and behind

came a crowd of slaves with provisions. The road on approaching Cairo

grew rougher than ever; it was often over ridges of rock just appearing

above the sand. The Pasha's "commissioners of paving" seem to have

slumbered on their posts as much as if they had been metropolitan. At

last a "silvery stream" was seen winding in the horizon--the "glorious

Nile!" The country now grew picturesque; a forest of domes and minarets

arose in the distance; and the Pyramids became visible. The road then

ran through a sort of suburb, where the Bedouins take up their quarters

on their visits to buy grain, they being not suffered within the walls.

It then passed between walled gardens filled with flowers, shrubs,

orange and olive trees; most of the walls were also surmounted with a

row of pillars, interlaced with vines--a species of ornament new to us,

but which, we should conceive, must add much to the beauty, external

and internal, of a garden. Cairo was entered at last; and its lofty

houses, and the general architecture of this noblest specimen of a

Mahometan capital, delighted the eyes which had so long seen nothing but

the sea, the rocky shore, and the desert. Cairo is, like all the rest of

the world, growing European, and even English. It has its hotels; and

the traveller, except that he hears more Arabic, and inhales more

tobacco smoke, will soon begin to imagine himself in Regent street. The

"Eastern Hotel" is a good house, where Englishmen get beefsteaks, port

wine, and brown stout; read the London papers; have waiters who at least

do their best to entertain them in their own tongue; and want nothing

but operas and omnibuses. But the dress still makes a distinction, and

it is wholly in favour of the Mussulman. All modern European dresses are

mean; the Oriental is the only man whose dress adds dignity to the human

form. When Sultan Mahmoud stripped off the turban, and turned the noble

dress of his people into the caricature of the European costume, he

struck a heavier blow at his sovereignty than ever was inflicted by the

Russian sabre or the Greek dagger. He smote the spirit of his nation.

The Egyptian officials wear the fez, or red nightcap--the fitting emblem

of an empire gone to sleep. But the general population of Egypt wear the

ancient turban, the finest ornament of the head ever invented by man;

that of the Egyptian Mahometan is white muslin; that of the Shereefs, or

line of Mahomet, is green; that of the Jews and Copts is black. The

remaining portions of the costume are such as, perhaps, we shall soon

see only upon the stage. The embroidered caftan, the flowing gown, the

full trouser of scarlet or violet-coloured cloth, the yellow morocco

boot, the jewelled dagger, and velvet-sheathed cimeter--all the

perfection of magnificence and taste in costume. The ample beard gives

completeness to the majesty of the countenance, and finishes the true

character of the "lord of the creation."

The citadel of Cairo has a melancholy and memorable name, from the

horrid massacre of the Mamelukes in 1811, when four hundred and seventy

of those showy soldiers were murdered, and but one escaped by leaping

his horse from the battlements. The horse was killed; the man is now a

bey in the Pasha's service. The citadel stands on a hill, and contains

the Pasha's palace, a harem, a council-hall, police-offices, and a large

square, where the massacre was perpetrated. The view from the windows of

the palace is superb. Cairo is seen immediately beneath, skirted by

gardens on the right. Beyond those the mosques of the caliphs, and as

far as the eye can reach, the Arabian desert. In front is the Nile, a

silver stream, covered with sails of every description, till it is lost

in the groves of the Delta. The ports of Boulac and old Cairo, with

numerous villages, stud its banks, and from its bosom rise verdant

islands. To the left, the Nile is still visible, and beyond are seen the

Pyramids, which, though twelve miles off, appear quite close, from the

transparency of the air. In the citadel is also a mosque, now building

by the order of the Pasha. It is constructed of Oriental alabaster, is

of great size, already exhibits fine taste, and promises to be one of

the most beautiful structures in Egypt. But the Pasha has not yet

attained the European improvement of lamps in the streets. After

nightfall, the only light is from the shops, which, when they close,

leave the street in utter darkness. However, most of the pedestrians

carry lamps with them. How does it happen that no gas company has taken

pity upon this Egyptian darkness, and saved the Cairans from the chance

of having their throats cut, or at least their bones broken; for during

the summer a considerable portion of the poorer population sleep in the

streets? Still the Pasha is a man of taste, fond of living in gardens,

and sensible enough to have the garden of his favourite palace at

Shoobra laid out by a Scotch gardener. He used to reside a great deal

there, but now chiefly lives, when at Cairo, in the house of his

daughter, a widow, where his apartments are in the European style.

Nothing surprises a European traveller more than the people themselves;

and no problem can seem more mysterious than the means by which they are

enabled to supply so much expensive costume. The Egyptian gentleman

seems to want for nothing, wherever they find the money to pay for it.

Fine houses, fine furniture, fine horses, and fine clothes, seem to be

constantly at the command of a crowd who have nothing to do, who produce

nothing, and yet seem to have every thing. The Egyptian or Turkish lady

is an absolute bale of costly clothing--the more breadths of silk they

carry about them the better. Before leaving her home, she puts over her

house costume a large loose robe called a _tob_, made of silk or satin,

and always of some gay colour, pink, yellow, red, or violet. She next

puts on her face veil, a long strip of the finest white muslin, often

exquisitely embroidered. It is fastened just between the eyes, conceals

all the other features, and reaches to the feet. She next envelopes

herself in large cloak of rich black silk, tied round the head by a

piece of narrow riband. Her costume is completed by trousers of silk

gauze, and yellow morocco boots, which reach a considerable way up the

legs. How any human being can bear such a heap of clothing, especially

under the fiery sun and hot winds of Egypt, is to us inconceivable. It

must melt all vigour out of the body, and all life out of the soul; but

it is the fashion, and fashion works its wonders in Egypt as well as

elsewhere. The veil across the mouth, in a climate where every breath of

fresh air is precious, must be but a slower kind of strangulation. But

the preparative for a public appearance is not yet complete. Women of

condition never walk. They ride upon a donkey handsomely caparisoned,

sitting astride upon a high and broad saddle, covered with a rich Turkey

carpet. They ride with stirrups, but they never hold the reins; their

hands are busy in keeping down their cloaks. A servant leads the donkey

by the bridle. Their figures, when thus in motion, are the most

preposterous things imaginable. Huge as they are, the wind, which has no

respect for persons, gets under their cloaks, and blows them up to three

times their natural size. Those are the ladies of Egypt; the lower

orders imitate this absurdity and extravagance as far as they can, and

with their face veils, the most frightful things possible, shuffle

through the streets like strings of spectres. Poverty and labour may by

possibility keep the lower ranks in health; but how the higher among the

females can retain health, between their want of exercise, their full

feeding, their hot baths, and this perpetual hot bath of clothing,

defies all rational conjecture. The Egyptians of all ranks are terribly

afraid of what they call the evil eye, and stifle themselves and

children in all kinds of rags to avoid being bewitched. The peasants are

a fine-looking, strong-bodied race of men; but many of them are met

blind of an eye. This is attributed to the reluctance to be soldiers for

the glory of the Pasha. But Mohammed Ali was not to be thus tricked, and

he raised a regiment of one-eyed men. In other instances they are said

to have knocked out the fore-teeth to avoid biting a cartridge, or to

have cut off a joint of the first finger to prevent their drawing a

trigger. Even thus they are not able to escape the cunning Pasha. But

this shows the natural horror of the conscription; and we are not

surprised that men should adopt any expedient to escape so great a curse

and scandal to society. It is extraordinary that in this 19th century,

even of the Christian world, such an abomination should be suffered to

exist in Europe. It is equally extraordinary that it exists in every

country but England, and she can have no prouder distinction. The

habeas-corpus and her free enlistment, are two privileges without which

no real liberty can ever exist, and which, in any country, it would be

well worth a revolution, or ten revolutions, to obtain. Hers is the only

army into which no man can be forced, and in which every man is a

volunteer. And yet she has never wanted soldiers, and her soldiers have

never fought the worse. It is true, that when she has a militia they are

drawn by ballot from the population; but no militiaman is ever sent out

of the country; and as to those who are drawn, if they feel disinclined

to serve in this force, which acts merely as a national guard, ten

shillings will find a substitute at any time. It is also true that

England has impressment for the navy; but the man who makes the sea his

livelihood, adopts his profession voluntarily, and with the knowledge

that at some time or other he may be called upon to serve in the royal

navy. And even impressment is never adopted but on those extreme

emergencies which can seldom happen, and which may never happen again in

the life of man. But on the Continent, every man except the clergy, and

those in the employment of the state, is liable to be dragged to the

field, let his prospects or his propensities be what they may. In every

instance of war, parents look to their children with terror as they grow

up to the military age. The army is a national curse, and parental

feelings are a perpetual source of affliction. If the great body of the

people in Europe, instead of clamouring for imaginary rights, and

talking nonsense about constitutions, which they have neither the skill

to construct, nor would find worth the possession if they had them,

would concentrate their claims in a demand for the habeas-corpus, and

the abolition of the conscription, they would relieve themselves from

the two heaviest burdens of despotism, and obtain for themselves the two

highest advantages of genuine liberty.

One of the curiosities of Cairo is the hair-oil bazar. The Egyptian

women are prodigious hairdressers and the variety of perfumes which they

lavish upon their hair and persons, exceed all European custom and

calculation. This bazar is all scents, oil, and gold braids for the

hair. It is nearly half a mile long. The odour, or the mixture of

odours, may well be presumed to be overpowering, when every other shop

is devoted to scented bottles--the intervening ones, containing perfumed

head-dresses, formed of braids of ribands and gold lace, which descend

to the ground. A warehouse of Turkish tables exhibited the luxurious

ingenuity of the workers in mother-of-pearl. They were richly wrought in

gold and silver ornaments. Within seven miles of Cairo, there still

exists a wonder of the old time, which must have made a great figure in

the Arab legends--a petrified forest lying in the desert, and which, to

complete the wonder, it is evident must have been petrified while still

standing. The trees are now lying on the ground, many of the trunks

forty feet long, with their branches beside them, all of stone, and

evidently shattered by the fall. Cairo, too, has its hospital for

lunatics; but this is a terrible scene. The unfortunate inmates are

chained and caged, and look like wild beasts, with just enough of the

human aspect left to make the scene terrible. A reform here would be

well worth the interference of European humanity. We wish that the

Hanwell Asylum would send a deputation with Dr Connolly at its head to

the Pasha. No man is more open to reason than Mohammed Ali, and the

European treatment of lunatics, transferred to an Egyptian dungeon,

would be one of the best triumphs of active humanity.

The travellers at length left Cairo, and embarked on board Mills and

Company's steam-boat, named the Jack o' Lantern. It seemed to be merely

one of the common boats that ply on the river, with the addition of a

boiler and paddles, and is probably the smallest steamer extant.

However, when they entered the cabin upon the deck, they found every

thing nicely arranged and began to think better of their little vessel.

They had another advantage in its smallness, as the Nile was now so low

that numbers of vessels lay aground, and a large steamer would probably

have been unable to make the passage. The river seemed quite alive with

many-formed and many-coloured boats. Their picturesque sails, crossing

each other, made them at a distance look almost like butterflies

skimming over the water. The little steamer drew only two feet and a

half of water. She is jestingly described as of two and a half Cairo

donkey power. About six miles from Boulac, they passed under the walls

of Shoobra palace and gardens. Its groves form a striking object, and

its interior, cultivated by Greek gardeners, is an earthly Mahometan

paradise. It has bower-covered walks, gardens carpeted with flowers,

ever-flowing fountains, and a lake on which the luxurious Pasha is rowed

by the ladies of his harem. The Nile winds in the most extraordinary

manner across the tongues of land; boats and sails are seen close,

which are in reality a mile further down the stream. The banks were high

above the boat, through the present shallowness of the river. They were

chiefly of brown clay, and were frequently cut into chasms for the

purposes of irrigation. As they shot along, they saw large tracts

covered with cotton, wheat, Indian corn, and other crops. Date-trees in

abundance, the leaves large and like those of the cocoa, the fruit

hanging in large clusters, when ripe of a bright red. Water-melons

cultivated every where, often on the sandy banks of the river itself,

three or four times the size of a man's head, and absolutely loading the

beds. Numbers of the Egyptian villages were seen in the navigation of

the river. The houses are huddled together, are of unbaked clay, and

look like so many bee-hives. Every village has its date-trees, and every

hut has pigeons. The peasants in general seem intolerably indolent, and

groups of them are every where lying under the trees. Herds of fine

buffaloes, twice the size of those in Ceylon, were seen along the shore,

and sometimes swimming the river. Groups of magnificent cattle, larger

and finer than even our best English breed, were driven occasionally to

water at the river side. The Egyptian boats come to an anchor every

night; but the Jack o' Lantern dashed on, and by daybreak reached the

entrance of the Mahoudiah Canal, on which a track-boat carries

passengers to Alexandria. A high mound of earth here separates the canal

from the Nile, which flows on towards Rosetta. This embankment is about

forty feet wide. Some of Mrs Griffith's observations are at least

sufficiently expressive; for example:--"All the children, and some past

the age of what are usually styled little children, were running about

entirely devoid of clothing. We observed a great deal of this in Egypt.

_Men_ are often seen in the same condition; and the women of the lower

orders, having concealed their heads and faces, appear to think they

have done _all that is necessary_." This is certainly telling a good

deal; nothing more explicit could be required. The track-boats are

odious conveyances, long and narrow, and the present one very dirty, and

swarming with cockroaches. They were towed by three horses, ridden by

three men. In England one would have answered the purpose. The Canal

itself is an extraordinary work, worthy of the country of the Pyramids,

and one of the prodigies which despotism sometimes exhibits when the

iron sceptre is combined with a vigorous intellect. It is ninety feet

wide and forty-eight miles long, and yet was completed in six weeks. But

it took the labour of 250,000 men, who worked, if the story be true,

night and day. Along the canal were seen several large encampments of

troops, rather rough instruments, it is true, for polishing African

savagery into usefulness, but perhaps the only means by which great

things could have been done in so short a period as the reign of

Mohammed Ali. An Italian fellow-passenger, who had resided in Egypt

twenty-five years, gave it as the result of his experience, that without

the strong hand of power, the population would do nothing. Bread and

onions being their food, when those were obtained they had got all that

they asked for. They would leave their fruitful land to barrenness, and

would prefer sleeping under their trees, to the simplest operation of

agriculture in a soil that never requires the plough. Yet they are

singularly tenacious of their money, and often bury it, keeping their

secret to the last. The Italian told them that he was once witness to a

scene exactly in point. He accompanied the tax-gatherer to a miserable

village, where they entered one of the most miserable huts. The

tax-gatherer demanded his due, the Egyptian fell at his feet, protesting

that his family were starving, and that he had not a single coin to buy

bread. The tax-gatherer, finding him impracticable, ordered some of his

followers to give him a certain number of stripes. The peasant writhed

under the stripes, but continued his tale. The beating was renewed on

two days more, when the Italian interfered and implored mercy. But the

officer said that he must continue to flog, as he was certain that the

money would come forth at last. After six days' castigation, the

peasant's patience could hold out no longer. He dug a hole in the floor

of his hut, and exhibited gold and silver to a large amount.

All this may be true; but it would be an injustice to human nature to

suppose that man, in any country, would prefer dirt, poverty, and

idleness, to comfort, activity, and employment, where he could be sure

of possessing the fruits of his labours. But where the unfortunate

peasant is liable to see his whole crop carried off the land at the

pleasure of one of the public officers, or the land itself torn from

him, or himself or his son carried off by the conscription, how can we

be surprised if he should think it not worth the while to trouble his

head or his hands about any thing? Give him security, and he will work;

give him property, and he will keep it; and give him the power of

enjoying his gains in defiance of the tax-gatherer, and he will exhibit

the manliness and perseverance which Providence has given to all.

Whether even the famous Pasha is not still too much of a Turk to venture

on an experiment which was never heard of in the land of a Mahometan

before, must be a matter more for the prophet than the politician; but

Egypt, so long the most abject of nations, and the perpetual slave of a

stranger, seems rapidly approaching to European civilization, and by her

association with Englishmen, and her English alliance, may yet be

prepared to take a high place among the regenerated governments of the

world.

The road from the termination of the canal to Alexandria, about two

miles long, leads through a desert track. At last the Mediterranean

bursts upon the eye. In front rise Pompey's stately and well-known

pillar, and Cleopatra's needle. High sand-banks still intercept the view

of Alexandria. At length the gates are passed, a dusty avenue is

traversed, the great square is reached, and the English hotel receives

the travellers. Mahometanism is now left behind, for Alexandria is

comparatively an European capital. All the houses surrounding the great

square, including the dwellings of the consuls, have been built within

the last ten years by Ibrahim Pasha, who, prince and heir to the throne

as he is, here performs the part of a speculative builder, and lets out

his houses to Europeans. These houses are built as regularly as those in

Park Crescent, and are two stories high above the Porte Cochere. They

all have French windows with green Venetian shutters, and the whole

appearance is completely European. The likeness is sustained by

carriages of every description, filled with smartly dressed women,

driving through all the streets--a sight never seen at Cairo, for the

generality of the streets are scarcely wide enough for the passage of

donkeys. But the population is still motley and Asiatic. Turbans, caps,

and the scarlet fez, loose gowns, and embroidered trousers, make the

streets picturesque. On the other hand, crowds of Europeans, tourists,

merchants, and tailors, are to be seen mingling with the Asiatics; and

the effect is singularly varied and animated.

The pageant of the French consul-general going to pay his respects to

the Viceroy, exhibited one of the shows of the place. First came a

number of officers of state, in embroidered jackets of black cachmere,

ornamented gaiters, and red morocco shoes. Each wore a cimeter, an

essential part of official costume. Next followed a fine brass band;

after them came a large body of infantry in three divisions, the whole

in heavy marching order. Their discipline and general appearance were

striking; they wore the summer dress, consisting of a white cotton

jacket and trousers, with red cloth skull-caps, and carried their

cartouche-boxes, cross-belts, and fire-locks in the European manner. The

next feature, and the prettiest, consisted of the Pasha's led horses, in

number about eighteen, all beautiful little Arabs, caparisoned with

crimson and black velvet, and cloth of gold. We repeat the description

of one, for the sake of tantalizing our European readers with the

Egyptian taste in housings. "The animal was a chestnut horse, of perfect

form and action. His saddle was of crimson velvet, thickly ribbed by

gold embroidery. His saddle-cloth was entirely of cloth of gold,

embossed with bullion, and studded with large gems; jewelled pistols

were seen in the holsters; the head-piece was variegated red, green,

and blue; embroidered and golden tassels hung from every part." But the

European portion of the scene by no means corresponded to the Oriental

display. The French consul followed in a barouche and pair, with his

_attaches_ and attendants in carriages; but the whole were mean-looking.

The French court-dress, or any court-dress, must appear contemptible in

its contrast with the stateliness of this people of silks and shawls,

jewelled weapons, and cloth of gold.

Mohammed Ali is, after all, the true wonder of Egypt. A Turk without a

single prejudice of the Turk--an Oriental eager for the adoption of all

the knowledge, the arts, and the comforts of Europe--a Mahometan

allowing perfect religious toleration, and a despot moderating his

despotism by the manliest zeal for the prosperity of his country; he has

already raised himself to a reputation far beyond the rank of his

sovereignty, and will live in the memories of men, whenever they quote

the names of those who, rising above all the difficulties of their

original position, have proved their title to the mastery of nations.

The Pasha affected nothing of the usual privacy, or even of the usual

pomp, of rajahs and sultans. He was constantly seen driving through

Alexandria, in a low berlin with four horses. The berlin was lined with

crimson silk, and there, squatting on one of the low broad seats, sat

the Viceroy. Two of his officers generally sat opposite to him, and by

his side his grandson--a handsome child between eight and nine years

old, of whom he seems remarkably fond. Like so many other eminent men,

his stature is below the middle size. His countenance is singularly

intelligent, his nose aquiline, and his eye quick and penetrating. He

does not take the trouble to dye his beard, as is the custom among

Orientalists. He wears it long and thick, and in all its snows. Years

have so little affected him, that he is regarded as a better life than

his son Ibrahim--his general, and confessedly a man of ability. But his

second son, Said Pasha, the half brother of Ibrahim, is regarded as

especially inheriting the talents of his father. He is an accomplished

man, speaks English and French fluently, seems to enter into his

father's views with great intelligence, and exhibits a manliness and

ardour of character which augur well for his country. But the appearance

of the Pasha is not without its attendant state. In front of his berlin

ride a number of attendants, caracoling in all directions. Behind the

carriage rides his express, mounted on a dromedary, in readiness to

start with despatches. The express is followed by his pipe-bearer; the

pipe-bearer followed by a servant mounted on a mule, and carrying the

light for the Pasha's pipe. The cavalcade is closed by a troop of the

officers in waiting, mounted on showy horses.

At length the day of parting arrived, and the travellers embarked on

board the Tagus steamer. The view of Alexandria from the sea is stately.

A forest of masts, a quay of handsome houses, and the viceroyal palace

forming one side of the harbour, tell the stranger that he is

approaching the seat of sovereignty. The sea was rough, but of the

bright blue of the Mediterranean, and the steamer cut swiftly through

the waves. The vessel was clean and well arranged, the weather was fine,

and the travellers began to feel the freshness and elasticity of

European air. At length they arrived at Malta, and heard for the first

time for years, the striking of clocks and the ringing of church-bells.

They were at length in Europe. But there is one penalty on the return

from the East, which always puts the stranger in ill-humour. They were

compelled to perform quarantine. This was intolerably tedious,

expensive, and wearisome; yet all things come to an end at last, and,

after about a fortnight, they were set at liberty.

Malta, in its soil and climate, belongs to Africa--in its population,

perhaps to Italy--in its garrison and commerce, to Europe--and in its

manners and habits, to the East. It is a medley of the three quarters of

the Old World; and, for the time, a medley of the most curious

description. The native carriages, peasant dresses, shops, furniture of

the houses, and even the houses themselves, are wholly unlike any thing

that has before met the English eye. Malta, in point of religious

observances, is like what St Paul said of Athens--it is overwhelmingly

pious. The church-bells are tolling all day long. Wherever it is

possible, the cultivation of the ground exhibits the industry of the

people. Every spot where earth can be found, is covered with some

species of produce. Large tracts are employed in the cultivation of the

cotton plant--fruit-trees fill the soil--the fig-tree is

luxuriant--pomegranate, peach, apple, and plum, are singularly

productive. Vines cover the walls, and the Maltese oranges have a

European reputation. The British possession of Malta originated in one

of those singular events by which short-sightedness and rapine are often

made their own punishers. The importance of Malta, as a naval station,

had long been obvious to England; and when, in the revolutionary war,

the chief hostilities of the war were transferred to the Mediterranean,

its value as a harbour for the English fleets became incalculable. Yet

it was still in possession of the knights; and, so far as England was

concerned, it might have remained in their hands for ever. A national

sense of justice would have prevented the seizure of the island, however

inadequate to defend itself against the navy of England. But Napoleon

had no such scruples. In his expedition to Egypt, he threw a body of

troops on shore at Malta; and, having either frightened or bribed its

masters, or perhaps both, plundered the churches of their plate, turned

out the knights, and left the island in possession of a French garrison.

Nothing could be less sagacious and less statesmanlike than this act;

for, by extinguishing the neutrality of the island, he exposed it to an

immediate blockade by the English. The result was exactly what he ought

to have foreseen. An English squadron was immediately dispatched to

summon the island; it eventually fell into the hands of the English, and

now seems destined to remain in English hands so long as we have a ship

in the Mediterranean. Malta is a prodigiously pious place, according to

the Maltese conception of piety. Masses are going on without

intermission--they fast twice a-week--religious processions are

constantly passing--priests are continually seen in the streets,

carrying the Host to the sick or dying. When the ceremonial is performed

within the house, some of the choristers generally remain kneeling

outside, and are joined by the passers-by. Thus crowds of people are

often to be seen kneeling in the streets. The Virgin, of course, is the

chief object of worship; for, nothing can be more true than the

expression, that for one prayer to the Deity there are ten to the

Virgin; and confession, at once the most childish and the most perilous

of all practices, is regarded as so essential, that those who cannot

produce a certificate from the priest of their having confessed, at

least once in the year, are excluded from the sacrament by an act of the

severest spiritual tyranny; and, if they should die thus excluded, their

funeral service will not be performed by the priest--an act which

implies a punishment beyond the grave. And yet the morals of the Maltese

certainly derive no superiority from either the priestly influence or

the personal mortification.

The travellers now embarked on board the Neapolitan steamer,

Ercolano--bade adieu to Malta, and swept along the shore of Sicily.

Syracuse still exhibits, in the beauty of its landscape, and the

commanding nature of its situation, the taste of the Greeks in selecting

the sites of their cities. The land is still covered with noble ruins,

and the antiquarian might find a boundless field of interest and

knowledge. Catania, which was destroyed about two centuries ago, at once

by an earthquake and an eruption, is seated in a country of still more

striking beauty. The appearance of the city from the sea is of the most

picturesque order. It looks almost encircled by the lava which once

wrought such formidable devastation. But the plain is bounded by verdant

mountains, looking down on a lovely extent of orange and olive groves,

vineyards, and cornfields. But the grand feature of the landscape, and

the world has nothing nobler, is the colossal Etna; its lower circle

covered with vegetation--its centre belted with forests--its summit

covered with snow--and, above all, a crown of cloud, which so often

turns into a cloud of flame. The travellers were fortunate in seeing

this showy city under its most showy aspect. It was a gala-day in

Catania; flags were flying on all sides--fireworks and illuminations

were preparing--an altar was erected on the Cave, and all the world were

in their holiday costume. As the evening approached the scene became

still more brilliant, for the fireworks and illuminations then began to

have their effect. The evening was soft and Italian, the air pure, and

the sky without a cloud. From the water, the scene was fantastically

beautiful; the huge altar erected on the shore, was now a blaze of

light; the range of buildings, as they ascended from the shore,

glittered like diamonds in the distance. Fireworks, in great abundance

and variety, flashed about; and instrumental bands filled the night air

with harmony. The equipages which filled the streets were in general

elegant, and lined with silk; the dresses of the principal inhabitants

were in the highest fashion, and all looked perfectly at their ease, and

some looked even splendid. A remark is made, that this display of wealth

is surprising in what must be regarded as a provincial town. But this

remark may be extended to the whole south of Italy. It is a matter of

real difficulty to conceive how the Italians contrive to keep up any

thing approaching to the appearance which they make, in their Corsos,

and on their feast-days. Without mines to support them, as the Spaniards

were once supported; without colonies to bring them wealth; without

manufactures, and without commerce, how they contrive to sustain a life

of utter indolence, yet, at the same time, of considerable display, is a

curious problem. It is true, that many of them have places at court, and

flourish on sinecures; it is equally true, that their manner of living

at home is generally penurious in the extreme; it is also true that

gaming, and other arts not an atom more respectable, are customary to

supply this yawning life. Yet still, how the majority can exist at all,

is a natural question which it must require a deep insight into the

mysteries of Italian existence to solve. Whatever may be the secret, the

less Englishmen know on these subjects the better; communion with

foreign habits only deteriorates the integrity and purity of our own. On

the Continent, vice is systematized--virtue is scarcely more than a

name; and no worse intelligence has long reached us than the calculation

just published in the foreign newspapers, that there were 40,000 English

now residing in France, and 4000 English families in that especial sink

of superstition and profligacy, Italy.

The sail from the Sicilian straits to Naples is picturesque. The

Liparis, with their volcanic summits, on one side--the Calabrian

highlands, on the other--a succession of rich mountains, clothed with

all kinds of verdure, and of the finest forms; and around, the perpetual

beauty of the Mediterranean. The travellers hove to at Pizza, in the

gulf of Euphania, the shore memorable for the gallant engagement in

which the English troops under Stuart, utterly routed the French under

Regnier--a battle which made the name of Maida immortal. Pizza has

obtained a melancholy notoriety by the death of Murat, who was shot by

order of a court-martial, as an invader and rebel, in October 1815.

Murat's personal intrepidity, and even his _fanfaronade_, excited an

interest for him in Europe. But he was a wild, rash, and reckless

instrument of Napoleon's furious and remorseless policy; the commandant

of the French army in Spain in 1808 could not complain of military

vengeance; and his death by the hands of the royal troops only relieved

Europe of the boldest disturber among the fallen followers of the great

usurper.

The finest view of Naples is the one which the mob of tourists see the

last. Its approaches by land are all imperfect--the city is to be seen

only from the bay. Floating on the waters which form the most lovely of

all foregrounds, a vast sheet of crystal, a boundless mirror, a tissue

of purple, or any other of the fanciful names which the various hues and

aspects of the hour give to this renowned bay, the view comprehends the

city, the surrounding country, Posilipo on the left, Vesuvius on the

right, and between them a region of vineyards and vegetation, as poetic

and luxuriant as poet or painter could desire.

The wonders of Pompeii are no longer wonders, and people go to see them

with something of the same spirit in which the citizens of London

saunter to Primrose hill. It was a beggarly little place from the

beginning; and the true wonder is, how it could ever have found

inhabitants, or how the inhabitants could ever have found room to eat,

drink, and sleep in. But Herculaneum is of a higher rank. If the

Neapolitan Government had any spirit, it would demolish the miserable

villages above it, and lay open this fine old monument of the cleverest,

though the most corrupt people of the earth, to the light of day. In all

probability we should learn from it more of the real state of the arts,

the manners, and the feelings of the Greek, partially modified by his

Italian colonization, than by any other record or memorial in existence.

In those vaults which still remain closed, owing to the indolence or

stupidity of the existing generation, eaten up as it is by monkery, and

spending more upon a _fete_ to the Madonna, or the liquifying of St

Januarius's blood, than would lay open half the city, there is every

probability that some of the most important literature of antiquity

still lies buried. Why will not some English company, tired of railroad

speculations and American stock, turn its discharge on Herculaneum, pour

its gold over the ground, exfoliate the city of the dead, recover its

statues, bronzes, frescoes, and mosaics, transplant them to Tower

Stairs, and sell them by the hands of George Robins, for the benefit of

the rising generation? This seems their only chance of revisiting the

light of day; for the money of all foreign sovereigns goes in fetes and

fireworks, new patterns of soldiers' caps, and new costumes for the

maids of honour.

We have now glanced over the general features of these volumes. They are

light and lively, and do credit to the writer's powers of observation.

The result of his details, however, is to impress on our minds, that the

"overland passage" is not yet fit for any female who is not inclined to

"rough it" in an extraordinary degree. To any woman it offers great

hardships; but to a woman of delicacy, the whole must be singularly

repulsive. Something is said of the decorations of the work proceeding

from the pencil of the lady's husband. Whether the lithographer has done

injustice to them, we know not; but they seem to us the very reverse of

decoration. The adoption, too, of new modes of spelling the Oriental

names, is wholly unnecessary. Harem, turned into Hhareem--Dervish into

Derweesh--Mameluke into Memlook, give no new ideas, and only add

perplexity to our knowledge of the name. These words, with a crowd of

others, have already been fixed in English orthography by their natural

pronunciation; and the attempt to change them always renders their

pronunciation--which is, after all, the only important point--less true

to the original. On the whole, the "overland passage" seems to require

immense improvements. But we live in hope; English sagacity and English

perseverance will do much any where; and in Egypt they have for their

field one of the most important regions of the world.

MESMERISM.

"They say miracles are past, and we have our philosophical persons

to make modern and familiar, things supernatural and

causeless."--_All's Well that Ends Well, Act II., Scene 3._

From the many crude, illiterate, and unphilosophical speculations on the

subject of mesmerism which the present unwholesome activity of the

printing-press has ushered into the world, there is one book which

stands out in prominent and ornamental relief--a book written by a

member of the Church of England, a scholar and a gentleman; and the

influence of which, either for good or for harm, is not likely to be

ephemeral. Few, even of the most incredulous, can read with attention

the first half of "Facts in Mesmerism, by the Rev. Chauncy Hare

Townshend," of which a second edition has recently appeared, without

being staggered. The author leads the reader up a gentle slope, from

facts abnormal, it is true, but not contradictory to received notions,

to others deviating a little more from ordinary experience; and thence,

by a course of calm narrative, to still more anomalous incidents; until

at length, almost unconsciously, the incredible seems credible,

impossibilities and possibilities are confounded, and miracles are no

longer miraculous.

There is much difficulty in dealing with such a book; gentlemanly

courtesy, which should grant what it would demand, and an unavoidable

faith in the purity of the author's intentions, entirely prevent our

treating it as the work of an empiric. It is evident that the author

believes what he writes, that the facts in mesmerism are facts to him;

to those unprepared by previous experience for the fallacies which the

enthusiastic temperament is led into, the book would be irresistible; to

those, however, accustomed to physical or phsycological investigation,

the last half of the work does much to unravel the web which the first

half has been engaged in weaving. When the author departs from the

narrative of facts, and endeavours to render those facts consistent with

reason and experience, we see the one-sided bias of his mind--we see

that he is not a judge but an advocate; and the faith which we should

repose on the circumstantial narrative of a gentleman, becomes changed

into the courtesy with which we listen to an honourable but deceived

enthusiast.

If the utilitarian school has done harm by its hasty attempts to reduce

every thing to rule and to the dominion of human reason, no stronger

proof than this book need be given of the evils to which the opposite

extreme of transcendental philosophy has given rise. As an instance of

the fallacies to which one-sided philosophic views may lead, Mr

Townshend says, that if asked of what use is the eye if we can see

without it, he might answer, "To show us how to make a camera obscura."

The case is put illustratively, and we are far from wishing to take it

literally to the author's disadvantage; but, in setting at nought the

ordinary and sufficient reasoning on this subject, the author himself is

obliged to adopt a similar but weaker line of argument. Unfortunate it

is, that even in philosophy the judicial character is so rare; it is

vainly imagined that error may be counteracted by antagonist error; and

because neutrality is too often the companion of impotence, impartiality

is supposed to be synonymous with neutrality.

It will be seen from the above, that Mr Townshend has failed to convince

us that all the "facts in mesmerism" are facts; and certainly if he has

failed, the herd of peripatetic lecturers[3] on the so-called science

are not likely to have succeeded; but, although unconvinced of the

marvellous, we are by no means indisposed to believe some of the

abnormal phenomena of mesmerism. We have witnessed several mesmeric

exhibitions--we have never seen any effect produced which was

contradictory to the possible of human experience, in which collusion or

delusion was fairly negatived. We insist on our right to doubt, to

disbelieve. The more startling the proposition, the more rigorous should

be the proof; we have never seen the tests which are applied to the most

trifling novelty in physical science applied to mesmeric _clairvoyance_,

and withstood. The advocates of it challenge enquiry in print, but they

shrink from, or sink under, experiment.

In endeavouring to analyse the work before us, and to examine generally

the phenomena of mesmerism, we shall do our utmost to avoid the vices of

partial advocacy which we censure; we moreover agree with Mr Townshend,

that ridicule is not the weapon to be used. Satire, when on the side of

the majority, is persecution; it is striking from a vantage

ground--fair, perhaps, when the individual contends with the mass, as

when an author writes to expose the fallacies of social fashion; but

unfair, and very frequently unsuccessful, when directed against

partially developed truths, or even against such phenomena as we believe

mesmerism presents, viz. novel and curious psychical truths, o'erclouded

with the dense errors of sometimes enthusiasm, sometimes knavery. We

shall soberly examine the subject, because we think that much good may

be done by its investigation. The really skilful and judicious steer

clear of it from a fear of compromising their credit for commonsense;

and while the caution necessarily attendant upon habitual scientific

studies, dissuades the best men from meddling with that which may blight

their hardly-earned laurels, the public is left to be swayed to and fro

by an under-current of fallacious half-truths, far more seductive and

dangerous than absolute falsehoods. We cannot undertake to say, thus far

is true, and thus far false;--to mark out the actual limits of true

mesmeric phenomena, demands the very difficult and detailed enquiries

which, for the reasons just mentioned, have been hitherto withheld;--but

we think we shall be able to succeed in showing, that, though there be

much error, there is some truth, and truth of sufficient importance to

merit a calm and careful investigation.

We may class the phenomena of mesmerism, as asserted by its professors,

as follows:--

1st. Sleep, or coma, induced by external agency, (partly mental,

partly physical.)

2d. Somnambulism, or, as called by Mr Townshend, sleep-waking;

_i.e._ certain faculties rendered torpid while others are

sensitive.

3d. Insensibility to pain and other external _stimuli_.

4th. Physical attraction to the mesmeriser, and repulsion from

others; community of sensation with the mesmeriser.

5th. Clairvoyance, or the power of perception without the use of

the usual organs; and second-sight, or the power of prediction

respecting the mesmeric state and remedial agencies.

6th. Phreno-mesmerism, or the connexion between phrenology and

mesmerism.

7th. Curative effects.

We believe these categories will include all the leading phenomena of

mesmerism. We purpose to give instances of these, partly derived from

our own experience, and partly from the book of Mr Townshend, or other

the best sources to which we can have recourse; to state fearlessly what

we believe may be true, and what we entirely disbelieve; and then to

examine the arguments by which the reason of the public has been

assailed, and in many cases rendered captive.

First, then, as to the power of induced coma, we will relate an instance

which came under our own observation, and which serves to demonstrate

that a power may be exercised by one human being over another which will

produce a comatose or cataleptic state. In the Christmas week of the

year 1842, we dined at a friend's house with a party of eight, (numeric

perfection for a dinner-party, according to the ingenious author of the

_Original_.) In the evening, Mackay's book on popular delusions being on

the drawing-room table, some one asked if the author had treated of

mesmerism. Upon this, one of the party who had recently returned from

London--a man who had led a studious life, and of a highly nervous

temperament--said he had recently witnessed a mesmeric exhibition, and

would undertake to mesmerise any one present. Upon this, two or three

ladies volunteered as patients; and he commenced experimenting upon a

lady of some twenty-five years old, whom he had known intimately from

childhood, clever, and well read, but rather imaginative. To make the

thing more ridiculous, he knelt on both knees, and commenced making

passes with both hands slowly before her eyes, telling her, whenever she

took her eyes off, to look fixedly at him, and keeping a perfectly grave

face when every body around was laughing unreservedly. After this had

endured for some three minutes, the lady's eyes gradually closed, she

fell forwards, and was only prevented from farther falling by being

caught by the mesmeriser. He shook her, and, in rather a rough manner,

brought her to her senses; then, suspicious lest she had been purposely

deceiving him, questioned her seriously as to whether her sleep were

feigned or real. She assured him that it was not simulated, that the

sensation was irresistible, different from that of ordinary sleep, and

by no means unpleasant; but that the only disagreeable part was the

being roused. Upon this, the gentleman declared that he knew nothing of

mesmerism, and that, had he believed there was any thing in it, he would

not have attempted the joke. Another lady present, married, and having a

family, was now most anxious to have the experiment repeated upon her.

She said she had before sat to an experienced mesmeriser, who had

failed, and she was still incredulous, and believed that M---- had merely

given way to an imaginative temperament. It required considerable

persuasion to induce the gentleman who had before operated to try any

more experiments. He protested that he knew nothing about it, that he

had once seen a person said to be in the mesmeric state; but that, if he

succeeded again in inducing coma, he knew not at all how to awake the

patient. Curiously enough, he was instructed in the manipulation by the

sceptical patient, who had previously seen public mesmeric exhibitions.

After some further persuasion, and with the permission of the lady's

husband, who was present, he commenced again the same passes as with the

former patient, the only difference being, that he was in this case

sitting instead of kneeling. The patient kept constantly bursting into

fits of laughter, and as constantly apologising, telling him that his

gravity of face was irresistible. Of the other persons present, some

laughed, others were too much terrified to laugh, but they kept up a

constant running fire of comment, satirical and serious, upon the

mesmeriser and mesmerisee. In four or five minutes, the fits of laughter

of the latter assumed a rather unnatural character. It was evident she

forced herself to laugh in spite of the strongest disinclination, and in

a minute or two more she fixed into a state of ghastly catalepsy, the

eyes wide open, but the lids fixed, the features all rigid, (except the

lower lip, which was convulsed,) and pale as a corpse. The bystanders,

now much frightened, interfered, and laid hold of the mesmeriser. After

some time, water being given her to drink, she came to herself, and

appeared not to have suffered from the experiment.

Notwithstanding the external difference of the case from the first, she

described her sensations as the same; viz. a sleep differing from

ordinary sleep, pleasing and irresistible, but the rousing very

disagreeable. The lady's husband now insisted on being operated on

himself. This was done, and entirely without success. Another lady was

also experimented on with no success; at least she said she felt sleepy,

but nothing more, which was not extraordinary, as it was now getting

late. When questioned as to what means he had used, the mesmeriser said

he had done nothing but stare steadily at the patients, making them also

look fixedly at him, and move his hands slowly and in uniform

directions, his instructor in these manoeuvres having been Tyrone

Power in the farce of _His Last Legs_. He stated that soon after the

commencement of the experiment, he felt an almost irresistible tendency

to go on with it; but whether this resulted from a conviction that he

was exercising some unknown influence, or from mere experimental

curiosity, he would not undertake to say--"this only was the witchcraft

he had used."

The result was to all present conclusive as to the production of some

effect inexplicable upon received theories. The second case defied

simulation, and we believe it was equally removed from hysteria. The

patient was a strong-minded person, of a temperament neither nervous nor

hysterical, to all appearance perfectly calm, except when overcome by a

sense of the ridiculous, and before the experiment obstinately

incredulous. It was certainly a strong case. Any hypothesis to account

for it would be hasty; but one point suggests itself to us as arising

from the remark made by the mesmeriser, viz. that the only influence he

was conscious of using was that of a fixed determined stare. This may

possibly afford some key to a more philosophical examination of these

curious phenomena.