The Tuscans had been greatly discontented when the arrangements of the

great powers of Europe, entered into without a moment's thought as to

the wishes of the population of the grand duchy on the subject, had

decided that they were to be ruled over by a German prince of whom

they knew absolutely nothing. It was not that the later Medici had

been popular, or either respected or beloved. The misgovernment of

especially the last two of the Medicean line had reduced the country

to the lowest possible social, moral and economical condition. But yet

the change from the known to the utterly unknown was unwelcome to the

people. They feared they knew not what changes and innovations in

their old easy-going if downward-tending ways. But Providence, in the

shape of the ambitions and intrigues of the great powers, had better

things in store for them than they dreamed of. The princes of the

Lorraine dynasty so ruled as not only quickly to gain the respect and

affection of their subjects, but gradually to render Tuscany by far

the most civilized and prosperous portion of Italy. The first three

princes of the Lorraine line were enlightened men, far in advance not

only of the generality of their own subjects, but of their

contemporaries in general. They were conscientious rulers, earnestly

desirous of ameliorating the condition of the people they were called

on to govern. Of the last of the line the same cannot in its entirety

be said. A portion of the eulogy deserved by his predecessors may be

awarded to him unquestionably. He was, I fully believe, a good and

conscientious man, anxious to do his duty, and desirous of the

happiness and well being of his people. But he was by no means a wise

or enlightened man. It could hardly be said that he was popular or

beloved by his subjects at the time when I first knew Florence. The

Tuscans were very far better off than any other Italians at that time,

and they were fully conscious that they were so. But this superiority

was justly credited to the wise rule of the grand duke's father and

grandfather, rather than to any merit of his own. Yet he was liked in

a sort of way--I am afraid I must say in a contemptuous sort of way.

The general notion was that he was what is generally described by the

expressive term "a poor creature." He probably was so, in truth, from

his birth upward. It was said--and I believe with truth--that he had

been in his childish years reared with the greatest difficulty; and

strange as it may seem, it is, I believe, a fact that a wet-nurse made

an important part of the establishment of the prince at the Pitti

Palace till he was about twenty years old. How far physiologists may

deem that such an abnormal circumstance may have been influential in

producing a diathesis of mind and body deficient in vigor, energy and

"hard grit" of any kind, I do not know. But if that is what such a

bringing-up may be expected to produce, then the expectation was in

the case in question certainly justified. Nevertheless, Italians had

been for so many generations and centuries taught by bitter experience

to consider kings and princes of all sorts as malevolent and

maleficent scourges of humanity that a sovereign who really did no

harm to any one was, after a fashion, as I have said, popular.

Accessibility is always one sure means of making a sovereign

acceptable to large classes of his subjects; and nothing could be

easier than to gain access to the presence of Leopold II., grand duke

of Tuscany. A little anecdote of an occurrence that took place at the

time when Lord Holland, to the regret of everybody in Florence,

English or Italian, ceased to be the representative of England at the

grand ducal court, will show the sort of thing that used to prevail in

the matter of the admission of foreigners to the Pitti Palace.

English travelers on the continent of Europe are, and have been for

many years, as it is hardly necessary to state, a very motley and

heterogeneous crowd. The same thing may be said of American travelers

now, but it was not so much the case at the time of which I am

writing. It is not so with the people of any other nation; and

foreigners are apt to sneer on occasion at the unkempt and queer

specimens of humanity which often come to them from the two

English-speaking nations. We can well afford to let them stare and

smile, well knowing that if a similar amount of prosperity permitted

the people of other countries to travel for their pleasure in similar

numbers, the result would be at the very least an equally--shall I say

undrawing-room-like contribution to cosmopolitan society? When Sir

George Hamilton assumed the duties of British representative at

Florence, the yearly throng of English visitors was becoming more

numerous and more heterogeneous, and all wanted to be invited to the

balls at the Pitti Palace. Those were the most urgent in their

applications, as will be easily understood, whose claims to such

distinction were the most problematic. The practice was for the

minister to present to the grand duke whom he thought fit, and those

so presented went to the balls as a matter of course. The position of

the minister, it will be seen, was an invidious one. Under the

pressure of these circumstances, Sir George Hamilton declared that he

would in no case take upon himself to decide on the fitness or

unfitness of any person, but would act invariably upon the old

recognized rule of etiquette observed at other courts in such

matters--i.e., he would present anybody who had been presented at the

court of St. James, and none who had not been so presented. The result

was soon apparent in a singular thinning of the magnificent suites of

rooms of the Pitti on ball-nights. The general appearance of the rooms

might be something more like what the receiving-rooms of princes are

wont to look like, but all that was gained in _quality_ was attained

by a very marked sacrifice of _quantity_. In a week or two Sir George

received a hint to the effect that the grand duke would be pleased if

the minister would be less strict in the matter of presenting such

English as might desire to come to the Pitti. "Oh!" said Sir George,

"if _that_ is what is desired, there can be no difficulty about it. I

am sure _I_ won't stand in the way of filling the Pitti ball-room. Let

them all come." And accordingly everybody who asked to be presented

_was_ presented without any pretence of an attempt at discrimination.

This was the manner in which the thing was done: All new-comers were

told that if they wished to go to the Pitti balls they must notify to

the English minister their desire to be presented to the grand duke.

In return, they received an intimation that they must be in the

ante-room of the suite of receiving-rooms at eight o'clock on such an

evening--ladies in ball-dress; gentlemen in evening-dress with white

neckcloths. It may be observed here that this matter of the white

neckcloth was the only point insisted on. Both ladies and gentlemen

were allowed to exercise the utmost latitude of private judgment as to

what constituted "ball-dress" and "evening-dress." I have seen a black

stuff gown fitting closely round the throat pass muster for the first,

and a gray frockcoat for the second. But the officials at the door

would refuse to admit a man with a black neckerchief; and I once saw a

man thus rejected retire a few steps into a corridor, whip off the

offending black silk and put it in his pocket, obtain a fragment of

white tape from some portion of a lady's dress, put _that_ round his

shirt-collar, and then again presenting himself be recognized by the

officials as complying with the exigencies of etiquette. The aspirants

to "court society" having assembled, from twenty to fifty, perhaps, in

number, according as it was earlier or later in the season, presently

the minister bustled in, and with a hurried "Now then!" led his motley

flock into the presence-chamber, where they were formed into line.

Much about the same moment (for the grand duke had "the royal

civility" of punctuality, and rarely kept people waiting) His Serene

Imperial and Royal Highness came shambling into the room in the

white-and-gold uniform of an Austrian general officer, and looking

very much as if he had just been roused out of profound slumber, and

had not yet quite collected his senses. Walking as if he had two odd

legs, which had never been put to work together before, he came to a

standstill in front of the row of presentees. If there was any person

of any sort of distinction among them, the minister whispered a word

or two in the grand ducal ear, and motioned the lion to come forward.

His Imperial and Royal Highness, after one glance of helpless

suffering at the stranger, fixed his gaze on his own boots. A long

pause ensued, during which courtly etiquette forbade the stranger to

utter a word. At last His Highness shifted his weight on to his left

foot, hung his head down on his shoulder on the same side, and said

"Ha!" Another pause, the presentee hardly considering himself

justified in replying to this observation. The duke finding he had

made a false start and accomplished nothing, shifted his weight to the

right foot, simultaneously hanging his head on his shoulder on that

side, and said "Hum!" It would often occur that when he had reached

that point he would make a duck forward with his head to signify that

the audience was at an end.

If there was anything that the presenting official thought might be

appropriately remarked to the distinguished presentee, he would

whisper a hint to that effect in the grand ducal ear, of which His

Highness was usually glad to avail himself. I remember one amusing

instance in point, when it needed all the sense of the majesty of the

sovereign presence to preserve in the bystanders the gravity due to

the occasion. It was in the case of an American presentation. The

United States had at that time no recognized representative at the

grand ducal court, and Americans, much fewer in number then than of

late years, were generally presented by a banker who had almost all

the American business. This gentleman, having to present some one--I

forget the name--who was connected by blood or in some other special

manner with Washington, whispered to the grand duke that such was the

case. His Serene Highness bowed his appreciation of the fact. Then,

after going through the usual foot-exercise, and after a longer pause

than usual, he looked up at the expectant visitor standing in front of

him, and said, but with evident effort, "Ah-h-h! Le grand Vaash!"

There was nothing more forthcoming. Having thus delivered himself, he

made his visitor a low bow, and the latter retired. It was evident

that the grand duke of Tuscany heard of "Le grand Vaash" then for the

first time in his life.

After any specialty of this sort had been disposed of, the ruck of

presentees, standing like a lot of school-boys in a long row, were

"presented," which ceremony was deemed to have been effectually

accomplished by one duck of the grand ducal head, to be divided among

all the recipients, and an answering duck from each of them in return.

They were then as free to amuse themselves in any manner it seemed

good to them as if they had been at a public place of entertainment

and had paid for their tickets. And not only that, but they were free

to return and do the same, without any fresh presentation ceremony,

every time there was a ball at the palace, which was at least once a

week from the beginning of the year to the end of Carnival.

Nor were the amusements thus liberally provided by any means to be

despised. There was a magnificent suite of rooms, with a really grand

ball-room, all magnificently lighted; there was a large and very

excellent band; there was a great abundance of card-tables, with all

needed appurtenances, in several of the rooms; ices and sherbets and

bonbons and tea and pastry were served in immense profusion during the

whole evening. At one o'clock the supper-rooms were opened, and there

was a really magnificent supper, with "all the delicacies of the

season," and wine in abundance of every sort. And the old hands, who

would appear knowing, used to say to new-comers, "Never mind the

champagne--you can get that anywhere--but stick to the Rhine wine: it

comes from the old boy's own vineyards." To tell the truth, the scene

at that supper used to be a somewhat discreditable one. The spreading

of such a banquet before such an assemblage of animals as had gone up

into that ark was a leading them into unwonted temptation which was

hardly judicious. Not that the foreigners were by any means the worst

offenders against decent behavior there. If they carried away bushels

of bonbons in their loaded pockets, the Italians would consign to the

same receptacles whole fowls, vast blocks of galantine, and even

platefuls of mayonnaise, packed up in paper brought thither for the

purpose. They were like troops plundering a taken town. Despite the

enormous quantity of loot thus carried off, inexhaustible fresh

supplies refurnished the board again and again till all were

satisfied. I never saw English or Americans pocket aught save

bonbons, which seemed to be considered fair game on all sides, but the

quantity of these that I have seen made prizes of was something

prodigious.

The grand duchess had hardly more to say for herself than the grand

duke, and her manner was less calculated to please her visitors. That

which in the grand duke was evidently shyness and want of ready wit,

took in the grand duchess the appearance of _hauteur_ and the distant

manner due to pride. She was a sister of the king of Naples, and was

liked by no one. The one truly affable member of the court circle,

whose manner and bearing really had something of royal grace and

graciousness, was the dowager grand duchess, the widow of the late

grand duke, who to all outward appearance was as young as, and a far

more elegant-looking woman than, the reigning grand duchess. She had

been a princess of the royal family of Saxony, and was no doubt in all

respects, intellectual and moral as well as social, a far more highly

cultivated woman than the scion of the Bourbon House of Naples. She

was the late grand duke's second wife, and not the mother of the

reigning duke.

Why were all these balls given--at no small cost of money and

trouble--by the grand duke and duchess? Why did his Serene Imperial

and Royal Highness intimate to the English minister his wish that

every traveling Briton from Capel Court or Bloomsbury should be

brought to share his hospitality and the pleasures of his society? The

matter was simply this: His Serene Highness was venturing a small fish

to catch a large one. As a good and provident ruler, anxious for the

prosperity and well-being of his subjects, he was making a bid for the

valuable patronage of the British Cockney. He was acting the part of

land-lord of a gratuitous "free-and-easy," in the hope of making

Florence an attractive place of residence to that large class of nomad

English to whom gratuitous court-balls once a week appeared to be a

near approach to those "Saturnia regna" when the rivers ran champagne

and plum-puddings grew on all the bushes. And it cannot be doubted

that the grand duke's patriotic endeavors were crowned with success,

and that his expenditure in wax-lights, music, ices and suppers was

returned tenfold to the shopkeepers and hotel and lodging-house

keepers of his capital.

One other point may be mentioned with reference to these balls, as a

small contribution to the history of a system of social manners and

usages which has now passed away. The utmost latitudinarianism, as has

been mentioned, was allowed in the matter of costume, but this rule

was subject to one exception. On the night of New Year's Day, on

which there was always a ball at the Pitti, all those who attended it

were expected to appear in proper court-dress. Those who were entitled

to any official costume, military or other, donned that. I have seen a

clergyman of the Church of England make his academical robes do duty

as a court-dress, as indeed they properly do at St. James. But in the

rooms at the Pitti His Reverence became the observed of all observers

to a remarkable degree. Those who could lay claim to no official

costume of any sort had to fall back on the old court-dress of the

period of George I., still worn, oddly enough, at the English court.

It is a sufficiently handsome dress in itself, and had at all events

the advantage of looking extremely unlike the ordinary costume of

nineteenth-century mortals, It was often a question with American

civilians what dress they should wear on these occasions, and I used

to endeavor to persuade my American friends to insist upon their

republican right to ignore in Europe court-tailor mummeries of which

they knew nothing at home; being perfectly sure that they would have

carried the point victoriously, and not unmindful of Talleyrand's

remark when Castlereagh at Vienna appeared in a plain black coat,

without any decoration, among the crowd of continental diplomatists

bedizened with ribbons of every color and stars and crosses of every

form and kind: "_Ma foi! c'est fort distingué_!" But I never could

prevail, having, as I take it, the female influence against me on the

subject; and Americans used to adopt generally a blue cloth coat and

trousers well trimmed with gold lace, and a white waistcoat.

In later days, when popular discontent and the agitation arising from

it were gradually boiling up to a dangerous height in every part of

Italy, and the hatred felt toward the different sovereigns was

reflected in many an audacious squib and satire, the grand duke of

Tuscany never shared to any great degree the odium which pursued his

fellow-monarchs. It was with a scathing vigor of satire that Giuseppe

Giusti characterized each of the Italian crowned heads of that period

in burning verses, which were circulated with cautious secresy in

manuscript from hand to hand, long before a surreptitious edition,

which it was dangerous (anywhere in Italy save in Tuscany) to possess,

appeared, to be followed in after years by many an avowed one. These

have given the name of Giusti a high and peculiar place on the roll of

Italian poets. But the satirist's serpent scourge is changed for a

somewhat contemptuously used foolscap when the Tuscan ruler is

introduced in the following lines:

Il Toscano Morfeo vien' lemme, lemme,

Di pavavero cinto e di lattuga.

Then comes the Tuscan Morpheus, creepy, crawly,

With poppies and with lettuce crowned.

These lines, however, represent pretty accurately about the worst that

his subjects had to say of poor old "Ciuco," as the last of the grand

dukes was irreverently and popularly called: "Ciuco," I am sorry to

state, means "donkey." And it must be owned that the two lines I have

quoted from Giusti's verses, with their untranslatable "lemme,

lemme"--of which I have endeavored, with imperfect success, to give

the meaning--present a very graphic picture of the man and the nature

and characteristics of his government. Everything went "lemme, lemme,"

in the Sleepy Hollow of Tuscany in those days.

Used as he was to be laughed at, Leopold could occasionally be made

sleepily half angry by impertinences which had something of a sting in

them. Here is an amusing instance of that fact, and of the way in

which things used to be done in Tuscany. Most of the Italian

provinces--or larger cities, rather--have been from time immemorial

personated in the popular fancy by certain comic types, supposed to

represent with more or less accuracy the special characteristics of

each district. Venice, as all the world knows, has, and still more

had, her "Pantaloon," Naples her "Pulcinello," etc. The specialties of

the Florentine character are popularly supposed to be embodied in

"Stenterello," who comes on the Florentine stage, in pieces written

for the purpose, every Carnival, to the never-failing delight of the

populace. Stenterello is an absurd figure with a curling pigtail,

large cocked hat, and habiliments meant to represent those of a Tuscan

citizen of some hundred years or so ago. He is a sort of shrewd fool,

doing the most absurd things, lying through thick and thin with a sort

of simple, self-confuting mendacity, yet contriving to cheat

everybody, and always having, amid all his follies, a shrewd eye to

his own interest. He talks with the broadest possible Florentine

accent and idiom, and despite his cunning is continually getting more

kicks than halfpence. Well, there was in those days a famous

Stenterello, really a very clever fellow in his way, who for many

years had been the delight of the Florentines every Carnival. But one

year a rival theatre produced a new and rival Stenterello. Of course

the old and established Stenterello could not stand this without using

the license of the popular stage to overwhelm his rival with ridicule.

"This sort of thing," said he, "will never do! How many Stenterelli

are we to have? Two is the regular established number in Florence.

There are I and my brother over there at the great house on the other

side of the Arno: we are the Florentine Stenterelli by right divine,

as is well known. Who is this pretender who comes to interfere with

us?" etc. Now, this was a little too much, even for Florence. And a

day or two afterward the old original Stenterello was ordered to go to

prison. Nobody was ever _arrested_, as we should call it, or _taken_

to prison. A man who for any cause was to suffer imprisonment used to

be told to _go_ to prison. Stenterello told the officer who announced

his doom that it was out of the question that he should go just then:

he had to appear on the boards that night. This was deemed to be a

just impediment, and he was told to go next day. The next day was a

"festa:" of course a sufficient reason for putting off everything. The

day after, on presenting himself at the prison-door, the actor was

told that the governor of the prison was out of Florence, and he must

"call again" in a few days. When the governor returned, Stenterello

was indisposed for a few days. When he got well the governor was

indisposed, and when _he_ got well there was another "festa;" and when

at last the offending actor did apply to the prison official to be

imprisoned, he was told there was no room for him. Long before that

the higher authorities had totally forgotten all about the matter.

That was the way things were done in Tuscany in the good old time.

The more serious faults with which Leopold II. was chargeable were due

to the narrowness of his religious bigotry, and, in the difficult and

trying circumstances of the latter years of his reign, the lack of the

courage needed to enable him to be truthful and to keep faith with his

people. When the frightened and fickle pope ran away from Rome, strong

influences were brought to bear on the grand duke of Tuscany to induce

him to refrain from following the example and to ally himself with

Piedmont. His confessor of course took the opposite side, and strove

with every weapon he could bring to bear on his Serene penitent to

induce him to throw in his lot with the pope. At last the invisible

world had to be appealed to. Saint Philomena, who had been a special

object of the devotion of the grand ducal family, took to appearing to

the confessor, and expressing her earnest hope that her devotee would

not risk the salvation of a soul in which she took so tender an

interest by refusing to follow the path marked out for him by the Holy

Father. The saint became very importunate upon the subject, and each

one of her celestial visitations was duly reported to the grand duke,

and made the occasion of fresh exhortations on the part of the holy

man who had been favored by them. The upshot is well known: Ciuco

followed the advice of Saint Philomena and lost his dukedom.

Sometimes, however, this submission of his mind to his clergy was not

altogether proof against a certain simple shrewdness, aided perhaps by

an inclination to save money, to which he was said not to be

insensible. Of course his grandfather, the enlightened and reforming

Duke Leopold I., had not been at all in the good graces of the Church,

and for a series of years Leopold II. had been in the habit of giving

a sum of money for masses for the repose of the soul of his

grandfather. But upon one occasion it happened that the archbishop of

Lucca (a very special hierarchical big-wig, and the greatest

ecclesiastical authority in those parts, being, by reason of some

ancient and peculiar privileges, a greater man than even the

archbishop of Florence), in the course of an argument with the grand

duke, the object of which was to induce the latter to modify in some

respects some of those anti-ecclesiastical measures by which the elder

Leopold had made the prosperity of Tuscany, was so far carried away by

his zeal as to declare that the author of the obnoxious constitutions

which he wished altered had incurred eternal damnation by the

enactment of them. The grand duke bent his head humbly before the

archiepiscopal denunciation, and said nothing in reply. But when the

time came round for the disbursement of the annual sum for masses for

Leopold I., his pious grandson declared that it was useless to spend

any more money for that purpose, for that the archbishop of Lucca had

informed him that his unhappy predecessor's soul was in hell, and

accordingly past help and past being prayed--or paid--for.

I remember an amusing instance of the same sort of simple shrewdness

on the lookout for the main chance which was exemplified in the above

anecdote showing itself in quite a different sphere. There was in

those days living in Florence an Englishman bearing the name of

Sloane. He had made a large fortune by the intelligent and

well-ordered management of some copper-mines in the neighborhood of

Volterra, which in his hands had turned out to be of exceptional and

unexpected richness. He was a man who did much good with his money,

and was considered a very valuable and important citizen of his

adopted country. He was a Roman Catholic too, which made him all the

more acceptable to the Florentines, and especially to the grand duke,

with whom he was a great favorite. This Mr. Sloane had bought some

years before the date of my anecdote the ancient Medicean villa of

Careggi, with a considerable extent of land surrounding it. One day

the grand duke paid him a visit at his villa of Careggi, and in the

course of it proposed a walk up the slope of the Apennines through

some fine woods that made a part of Mr. Sloane's property. They went

together, enjoying the delightful walk through the woods over a dry

and excellently well-made road, where everything betokened care and

good tending, till all of a sudden, near the top of the hill they were

climbing, they came to a place where the good road suddenly ended, and

the path beyond was all bog and the wood utterly uncared for, so that

their walk evidently had to come to an end there, and they would have

to retrace their steps.

"Why, Sloane, how is this? This is not like your way of doing things.

Why did you stop short in your good work?" said the grand duke, as

they stood at the limit of the good road, looking out at the slough

beyond them.

"In truth, Your Highness, I was sorry that the good road should break

off here, but the circumstance is easily explained. Here ends the

property of your humble servant, and there begins the property of Your

Royal Highness," said Sloane with a low bow.

"Ha! Is it so? Well, then, I'll tell you what you shall do. You shall

_buy_ it, Sloane, and then you can finish your job," returned the

grand duke.

It is very doubtful whether the Tuscans would have approved of the

_liberality_ of the grand duke's expenditure if he had manifested it,

as his neighbor-sovereigns did, by expending his revenues on

multitudes of show-soldiers. The Tuscan forces of those days were not

exactly calculated for brilliant military display. They were about as

likely to be called on to fight as the scullions in the grand ducal

kitchen, and neither in number, appearance nor _tenue_ were they such

as would have obtained the approval of the lowest officer in the

service of a more military-minded sovereign. However, such as they

were, the grand duke used occasionally--generally on the recurrence of

some great Church festival--to review his troops. On such occasions he

was expected to say something to the men. Poor Ciuco's efforts in that

line often produced effects more amusing to bystanders than impressive

to the objects of his oratory. He was one day reviewing the troops who

occupied barracks in the well-known "Fortezza di S. Giovanni,"

popularly called by the Florentines "Fortezza da basso"--the same in

which the celebrated Filippo Strozzi, then the prisoner of the

vindictive Cosmo de' Medici, was found dead one morning, leaving to

the world the still unsolved historical problem whether he died by his

own hand or by that of his jailer hired to do the murder. The scene in

the gloomy old fortress with which we are at present concerned was of

a less tragic nature. His Serene Highness began by exhorting his

"brave army"--which, unlike that of Bombastes in the burlesque,

certainly never "kicked up a row" of any kind--to be attentive to

their religious duties. "It is particularly desirable that you should

show an example to the citizens by your regular observance of the

festivals of the Church; and--and--" (here His Highness shuffled his

feet, and, hanging his head down, chanced to cast his eyes on the line

of feet of the men drawn up before him) "and--and--always keep your

shoes clean." And with that doubtless much-needed exhortation His

Highness concluded his address.

The fact that Leopold was not regarded by his subjects with any

bitterness of hatred--nay, that there was _au fond_ a considerable

feeling of affection for him--is shown by the circumstances of his

deposition from the throne. A little timely concession would have

saved Charles I.: a still less amount of concession would have

preserved his throne to Leopold II. As regarded his own power, he had

no objection to agree to all that was asked of him, but he could not

make up his mind to go against the head of his house and the head of

his religion. The last proposal made to him was to abdicate in favor

of his son, whom, if allied with Piedmont, the Tuscans would have

consented to accept as their sovereign. But the grand duke felt that

this would in fact be doing in an indirect manner that which he had

fully determined not to do; and he refused. And then came the end, and

that memorable April morning (the 27th) when the present writer

witnessed a revolution such as the world had not seen before, and such

as, it may be feared, it is not likely soon to see again. Revolutions,

we have over and over again been told, "cannot be made with

rose-water." The Tuscan revolution may have "proved the rule by the

exception," but it assuredly proved it in no other way. The revolution

by which poor old Ciuco lost this throne was essentially a rose-water

revolution. The history of that day, of the negotiations respecting

the proposed abdication of the duke, of the conduct and bearing of the

people, has already been told by the present writer, when he was fresh

from witnessing the events, in a little volume published in 1859. He

will not therefore repeat them now, but will conclude this paper with

an account of the manner of the last grand duke's farewell to Florence

which is not given in the volume spoken of.

It was at six o'clock in the evening that the carriages containing the

grand duke and his family passed through the Porta San Gallo, from

which proceeds the road to Bologna, and thence to Vienna. The main

preoccupation of the people at that moment was to assure themselves by

the evidence of their own senses that the duke and dukelings were

really gone. An immense crowd of people assembled round the gate and

lined the road immediately outside it. Along the living line thus

formed the cortége of carriages proceeded at a slow pace. There was no

fear of violence. The Tuscan revolution had cost no drop of blood--not

so much as a bloody nose--to any human being thus far, and there was

no danger whatever that any violence would be shown to the departing

and totally unprotected prince. But there might have been danger that

the populace would tarnish their hitherto blameless conduct by some

manifestation of insult or exultation. There was not one word of the

sort spoken in all the crowd, or indeed a word of any sort. The

carriages, carrying away those who were never to see the banks of the

Arno and fair Florence again, passed on in perfect--one might almost

say in mournful--silence. Of course the masses of the crowd were soon

passed, and the grand ducal heart, if it had beat a little quickly

while his unguarded carriage was passing between the lines of those

who declined to be any longer his subjects, resumed that "serenity"

supposed to be the especial property of royal highnesses. But some

half dozen carriages, containing a score or so of those whose

positions had brought them into personal acquaintance with the

sovereign, accompanied the royal cortége as far as the Tuscan frontier

between the grand ducal state and the dominions of the Church. Arrived

at that spot--it is on the top of a high, bleak ridge among the

Apennines--there was a general alighting from the carriages for the

mutual saying of the last words of farewell. Of course an immense

amount of bowing, with backward steps according to true courtly

fashion, went to the due uttering of these adieux on that spot of the

high-road over the Apennines. Unfortunately, there chanced to be a

heap of broken stones for the mending of the road which encroached a

little on the roadway. And it so happened that His Imperial and Royal

Highness, never very dexterous in the use of his limbs or an adept in

the performance of such courtly gymnastics, backed in bowing on this

unlucky heap of stones, and was tripped by it in such sort that the

imperial and royal heels went into the air, and the grand duke made

his last exit from Tuscany in a manner more original than dignified.

T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE.

OUR MONTHLY GOSSIP.

OLD ENGLISH CHARITIES.

The local charities connected with the family history of great

landowners in England form one of the most interesting classes of

public relief. They date chiefly from ante-Reformation times, and

often embody a hidden symbolism into which none save the antiquary now

cares to inquire. It is a mistake to suppose that _all_ the dying

bequests of pious folk in the Middle Ages were devoted to the "Church"

proper: the larger part certainly were, although the spirit that

prompted even the making of such bequests was symbolical of the belief

in the dispensing (rather than the appropriating) powers of churchmen:

but many were also the sums left to be yearly spent in the relief of

the poor and starving. Thus originated the alms-(or bede-) houses so

frequently met with in the retired villages of England. _Bede_ (from

the German _beten_, to "pray") meant prayer, hinting at the pious duty

of those benefiting by the founder's legacy to pray for his eternal

welfare. When the Reformation, among many abuses, also obliterated

many beautiful and poetical customs, the meaning of these "houses of

prayer" was forgotten, and their chapels were often ruthlessly

whitewashed. The material part of the foundation, however, still

remained, and the bedesmen, twelve or thirteen (in commemoration of

the number of the apostles, or the apostles and their Master),

continued to be chosen by the clergyman of the parish and the lord of

the manor. In other places, instead of this more costly mode of

relief, a custom prevailed of distributing a "dole" at stated times

to a large number of poor people, the number corresponding to the age

of the giver: if alive, of course the number increased every year; if

dead, it was fixed at the age at which he or she had died. Many of

these local customs continue to this day: some have even been

instituted lately, since the revived taste for medievalism has

beautified and refined English homesteads and village churches. The

queen, a faithful upholder of ancient national manners, has given the

example by adhering to the time-honored custom called the Royal

Maundy. This word is from _mandatum_, or commandment, and refers to

the "new commandment" given by Christ to his apostles at the Last

Supper. In Catholic countries it is still the custom for the sovereign

to wash the feet of twelve poor men (his wife performing the same

office for twelve poor and aged women) in public on the Thursday

before Easter, and to serve them at table afterward: in Vienna this is

done in a very solemn and public manner. The chosen ones are brought

to the palace in court-coaches, and after the ceremony is over are

carried home in the same way, loaded with presents of clothing, money,

and all the dishes, spoons, forks, etc., used at their dinner. In

England the same charity, or its equivalent, is dispensed, not by the

sovereign in person, but by her chaplains and almoners, in the midst

of beautiful formalities. The dignity with which the ceremony is

performed is a striking evidence of the national character, and a

contrast to the sometimes slovenly manner in which great public

religious functions are got through abroad. The charities are

distributed in the chapel of Whitehall, the palace made tragically

famous by the disgrace of Wolsey and the death of King Charles I.

Fifty-five old men, and as many women, the number corresponding to the

age of the sovereign, were thus relieved last year. On an earlier

occasion witnessed by the writer a procession consisting of a

detachment of the yeomen of the guard, under the command of a

sergeant-major (one of the yeomen carrying the royal alms on a gold

salver of the reign of William and Mary), several chaplains, almoners,

secretaries and a few national schoolchildren (allowed to take part in

the ceremony as a signal reward for good behavior), left the Royal

Almonry Office for the chapel of Whitehall. It was met at the door by

the lord high almoner and the subdeans of the Chapel Royal, who joined

the ranks and passed up to the altar. The surpliced boys of the Chapel

Royal, and the clergy and gentlemen belonging officially to it, took

their appointed places right and left, and the gold salver was

deposited in front of the royal pew, generally tenanted by one or more

members of the royal family. Evening prayer, slightly varied and

adapted for the occasion, as custom has decreed for several centuries,

was then gone through; the forty-first Psalm was chanted; and after

the First Lesson an anthem by Goss was sung. Then followed the

distribution of £1 15s. to each woman, and a pair of shoes and

stockings to each man. The two next anthems were by Mendelssohn, and

in the intervals woolen and linen clothes were first distributed to

each man, and money-purses to each man and woman. The Second Lesson

was then read, and the fourth and concluding anthem, by Greene,

chanted, after which the usual Thanksgiving and Prayer of St.

Chrysostom were read. The musical part of the service, being

especially prominent, was correctly and artistically performed by

skillful musicians (some of them composers), styled officially

"gentlemen of the Chapel Royal:" the solo in the first anthem was sung

by one of the boys.

In addition to this special ceremony, other Easter bounties, styled

"Minor Bounty," "Discretionary Bounty," and the "Royal Gate Alms,"

were, according to old custom, distributed at the Almonry Office on

Good Friday and Saturday, while Easter Monday and Tuesday were devoted

to the distribution of other supplementary relief to old and infirm

people previously chosen by the clergy of the various London parishes.

The recipients included over a thousand persons. Among the private

local charities none is on so large a scale as the famous "Tichborne

Dole." The idea we now attach to the word _dole_ is ludicrously

inappropriate in this case, where the gift is in the proportion of one

gallon of the best wheaten flour to each adult and half a gallon to

each child, and where the number of the recipients is generally

between five and six hundred, including the inhabitants of two

parishes. This custom is seven hundred years old, and was first

instituted on the Tichborne estate by Dame Mabel, the wife of Sir

Roger de Tichborne, knight, in the beginning of the twelfth century.

The foundress was renowned for her piety and charity, and by her own

people was looked upon as a saint. The family record says that she was

so charitable to the poor that, not content to exercise that virtue

all her lifetime, she instituted the "dole" as a perpetual memorial of

her goodness, and entailed it to her posterity. It is distributed

yearly on the 25th of March. A large oil-painting, now hanging in the

dining-room of Tichborne House, and representing the distribution of

the "dole," was painted in 1670, and is considered as one of the most

valuable family relics. The costumes of the period are faithfully

represented, most of the prominent figures are portraits, and the

scene is laid within the courtyard of the old manor, with its

sculptured gables and picturesque mullioned windows. The present

house, roomy and comfortable as it is, is a plain, unpretending

building, with no architectural features to recommend it, but the park

and grounds are very beautiful, the old trees disposed in deep glades

and avenues, and the situation altogether very picturesque. Since the

famous trial has made everything bearing the name of Tichborne a

target for curiosity, the occupants have been sadly annoyed, and

access to the house was at last, in self-defence, denied to strangers

who came simply as gaping sight-seers. The "dole" distribution, as we

have said, takes place every year. Last spring it was attended with

less show than usual, owing to the illness of the little boy who now

represents the old name (the nephew of the lost Roger Tichborne), in

consequence of which none of the ladies of the family were present.

But despite the absence of the festal arrangements by which it is

usually accompanied, the main business was the same as it has always

been since Dame Mabel's time. About nine o'clock the fine old park

became thronged with men, women and children, all carrying bags and

baskets in which to stow away the "bounty." The distribution was made

at the back of the house. The people gathered in groups, dressed in

all sorts of plain, dilapidated country garments--old men in worn-out

smock-frocks (a sight seldom seen even in conservative England),

gaiters such as they wear at work in the fields, and slouched,

unrecognizable hats that had evidently seen better times; others stood

in their "Sunday clothes," stiff and uncomfortable as a laborer looks

in that unusual and unartistic guise; some were old and toothless, yet

upright and almost martial-looking; while some, again, had that

pathetic look--sunken eyes, bent limbs and general air of having given

in to the attacks of time and sorrow--which invariably speaks the same

language and stirs the same sympathy all over the world. The women

were in the majority, most of them hale and hearty, the wives and

daughters of laborers who were too busy to come in person. Nine sacks,

each containing fifty gallons of flour, were emptied by two sturdy

miller's men into an immense tub. The family being an old Roman

Catholic one, a religious ceremony was the prelude of the

distribution. The domestic chaplain offered up a short prayer, and

after invoking the blessing of Heaven on the gift, sprinkled the flour

with holy water in the form of a cross. It was no uncommon thing for

one person to carry away three or four gallons of flour: the largest

award was in the case of a family consisting of man, wife and seven

children, the wife carrying away with her five and a half gallons.

Many of those whose names appeared as witnesses for the defence during

the memorable trial were present--John Etheridge, the blacksmith, and

Kennett, coachman to the dowager Lady Tichborne, among the number. The

latter lives in a small freehold cottage, his own property, at

Cheriton, the next parish to Tichborne. Persons of all denominations

were relieved--Church people, Dissenters and Roman Catholics

alike--without the slightest favoritism being shown to any.

The same kind of charity, though on a smaller scale, and by the custom

of living patrons instead of the will of deceased ones, is dispensed

at various times in the year through the whole country by both large

and small landed proprietors.

The 11th of November (St. Martin's Day) is the one generally chosen

for the distribution of winter clothing to the poor of the parish, and

this in commemoration of the mediaeval legend of the holy Bishop

Martin, who gave half his ample cloak to a shivering leper who begged

of him in the street. Next night, says the legend, he saw in a dream

Christ himself clothed in that cloak, and remembered the promise that

"inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these, ye have done it unto

Me." The writer has often assisted at such distribution of warm

clothing, both made and unmade. In every county squire's house there

is a bi-or tri-weekly distribution of soup to the village poor, and in

most two or three sets of fine bed-linen and soft baby-clothes, to be

lent out on occasions requiring greater comforts than the poor and too

often thriftless women of agricultural villages can afford. Private

charity is all-reaching: the "hall" is the dispensary and the general

ark of refuge for all county ills, moral, physical and pecuniary, and

its help is never thought degrading, like that of the "parish." Most

families pay a doctor and a nurse by the year to attend the poor free

of expense, and an order from the doctor for jellies, soup or wine, as

well as for the ordinary sorts of medicine, is always sure of being

filled from the ample stores of the "housekeeper's room." If the city

poor were half as well provided for as are the agricultural poor by

their "lords of the manor," there would be far less destitution. Some

affect to sneer at a system which savors of what they call

"feudalism," and which, they wisely suggest, encourages pauperism, but

warm-hearted and charitable people will probably disagree with these

searchers after new methods, and will be glad to find in the ready

sympathy of English landowners for their poor neighbors a ray of the

old-fashioned unquestioning charity which distinguished biblical

times.

B.M.

* * * * *

LANDORIANA.

I wish to supplement the "Recollections of Landor," published in a

former number of the Magazine, by an anecdote and two or three

characteristic letters which by accident escaped me when I was writing

on the subject before. Here is the story: Schlegel and Niebuhr had

been for some time on unpleasant terms. The historical skepticism of

the latter was altogether distasteful to Schlegel; and he was wont to

deny Niebuhr's claim to the title of historian. Well, Landor was

dining at Bonn, and among the company immediately opposite to him at

table was Schlegel. Hardly had the soup been despatched before Landor,

with that stentorian voice of his which always filled every corner of

every room he spoke in, began: "Are not you the man, Mr. Schlegel, who

has recently discovered, at the end of two hundred and fifty years,

that Shakespeare is a poet? Well, perhaps if you live two hundred and

fifty years longer, you may discover that Niebuhr is an historian."

"Schlegel did not like it," added Landor when telling the story

himself--very much as who should say, "I knocked him down with an

unexpected blow of my fist, and he did not _like_ it!"

And now for my letters. Here is one dated "Florence, June, 1861,"

written to my wife when he was past eighty and within a year or two of

his death. The latter portion of the letter is especially interesting,

and will be none the less so to those who may be disposed to dispute

the correctness of the judgments expressed in it.

"Do not be alarmed," he writes, "at a letter which 'like a wounded

snake drags its slow length along.' Such, I suspect, mine will be,

though it ought to contain only thanks for the admirable ones you have

sent to me on the late affairs of Tuscany. Yesterday Mr. Trollope gave

them to me as your present. I then exprest a hope that he or you would

undertake a history of Italian affairs from the Treaty of Campo Formio

down to the present day. Indeed, I hope and trust that it may be

continued a year or two farther, until the recovery of Rome from the

most perfidious enemy she and Italy were ever opprest by. And this

under the title of deliverer! Lay your two heads together, and let me

have to boast that the best and truest of our historians were my

personal friends. Southey and Napier were most intimately so. Hallam

is a dull proser--no discovery or illustration, no profound thought,

no vivid description, not even a harmonious period. Macaulay is a

smart reviewer, indifferent to truth, a hanger-on of party. Lingard is

more honest, and writes better. He does not tag together loose

epigrams with a crooked pin. Now put the empty chairs of these people

against the wall, and sit down to your table with a long piece of work

before you. And now you must be tired, as I foretold you would be. So

hail the farewell of your affectionate old friend,

"W. LANDOR."

* * * * *

Here is another, undated, but shown by the Bath postmark to have been

written in 1857. The whole letter is strongly characteristic of the

writer, as indeed was everything that Landor wrote, said or did, so

thoroughly and in every sense of the word was he _original_; but, as

in the preceding letter, the most interesting portion is that toward

the end, where he gives some amusing indications of his peculiar

political opinions and feelings. This letter also was written to the

same correspondent:

"My dear friend: It is now three years since I have been in London,

except in passing through it to the Crystal Palace, without

dismounting." [How curiously the phrase indicates the habits of the

writer's youth, when gentlemen's journeys were for the most part

performed on horseback!] "At Sydenham I remained three weeks, almost;

but the air of London always disagreed with me, added to which, the

necessity of visiting was always intolerable to me, and I have lost

many friends by refusing to undergo it. If Mr. Trollope should find a

few days' leisure for Bath, I can promise him a hearty reception and a

comfortable bedroom. Is it not singular that on your letter being

brought to me I laid down for it _Town and Country_ [a novel by

Frances Trollope], which interests me as much on a second reading as

on the first? To-morrow I must run--imagine a man of eighty-one

running!--for the Athenaeum. I myself have not thrown away the pen,

which sadly wants mending. They have published _Scenes from the

Shades,_ and _Alfieri and Metastasio_, and _Codrus and Polio_. These

last three are in _Fraser_. If they bring a few pounds or shillings,

the money will be given to Capera, a laboring man who has written some

noble poetry." [The writer in question produced some very tolerable

verses, remarkable as coming from a man in his position, but in our

friend's enthusiastic language they become "noble poetry" directly he

makes the man his protegé--a truly Landorian touch!] "I could have

collected three hundred pounds for Kossuth from friends who wrote to

me about it, and probably ten or a dozen times as much from others,

for no man ever had so few friends or acquaintances as I have. Nearly

all are dead, and I have no leisure or inclination for new ones. It

gave me much pleasure to hear that the fine and pleasant Lord Normanby

is in part recovered from his paralysis. I parted from him at Bath

with few hopes. Never have I spent a winter in England so free from

every kind of malady as this last. A disastrous war ends with a

disgraceful peace. We are to have an illumination and ringing of

bells. Sir Claude Scott and myself will not illuminate, but I have

promised the ringers twenty shillings if they will muffle the bells.

Rejoice! The best generals and best soldiers in the Crymea [sic] were

Italians.

"W.S.L."

Landor had many queer crotchets about spelling, and always absolutely

declined to follow any rule but his own. It seems to have been one of

these crotchets to spell Crimea as he spells it in the above-quoted

letter--on what grounds I do not pretend to be able to guess: With

regard to the seemingly unpatriotic sentiment contained in the last

lines, it must be remembered that the writer was addressing a person

long resident in Italy, and eagerly anxious for the well-doing of the

Italian troops in their struggle with the different despotisms which

oppressed the Peninsula. The bribing the ringers to _muffle_ the bells

is a highly characteristic trait.

Of a third letter I will print only a part, because the remainder

concerns the unfortunate affair which compelled the writer finally to

leave England--the result, as is well known, of a trial for libel in

which Landor was cast in heavy damages which were far beyond his

diminished means to pay. He acted very wrongly, and still more

imprudently, in attempting to expose what he honestly deemed

misconduct of a nature that outraged all the generous feelings of his

nature, by the publication of a very gross libel. The passages in the

letter in question which refer to this business, then in the stage

preceding his conviction, abundantly testify to the fact that the

sentiments which had impelled him to act as he did were wholly and

solely those of generous indignation at wrong done, in no-wise against

himself, but against another, whom he deemed to be oppressed and

unprotected. But I think, on the whole, that no good purpose would be

served by raking up the matter afresh. And (for Landor in his wrath

was at no time a Chrysostom) the letter bristles with assertions and

accusations couched in language which might, for aught I know, make

the publication of it a repetition of the offence for which he

suffered. The other matters touched on are not uninteresting

manifestations of opinion:

"My DEAR FRIEND," he writes: "Whether I am ill or well it is always

with equal pleasure that I see the trace of your hand. Surely, I must

have written to you since I sent the scenes of _Anthony and Octavius_.

But I am too apt to believe that what I _ought_ to have done I _have_

done. You ask me what I think of the Neapolitan abominations." [The

allusion is to some one or other of the many acts of grievous tyranny

which were at that time perpetrated by the Neapolitan Bourbon

government in its terrified attempts to protect itself against the

rising indignation of the people.] "We countenance them. The despots

are in _Holy Alliance_ against constitutions." [Surely, Landor's old

antagonism to former English governments led him into error and

injustice when he accuses England of "countenancing" the tyrannies of

the Neapolitan government. How much Gladstone's celebrated letter and

English sentiment in all quarters contributed toward the overthrow of

that tyranny was not then known as well as it is now.] "On the other

side of this," he continues, "you will find a few verses I wrote on

Agesiloa Milano, the finest and bravest patriot on record." [Agesilao

Milano, whose name was just then in every mouth in Italy, was one of

the numerous victims of Austrian severity, who had met his fate with

admirable courage, and who willingly gave his life for his country.

But there was nothing to distinguish him specially from hundreds of

other Italians who in those evil days did as much, and nothing save

chance to distinguish him from the tens of hundreds who were ready to

do as much had the lot fallen to them. But the mention of this poor

fellow in the letter is very specially Landorian. No superlatives were

with him strong enough to express his sentiments on aught that

immediately moved his feelings either of admiration or indignation.]

"The concessions in Lombardy," he goes on, "are fabulous. Thieves and

assassins are turned out of prison with quiet literary men and brave

patriots.... With kindest regards to your circle, ever your affec.

"W. LANDOR."

The verses on Agesilao Milano announced as being "on the

other side" are there preceded by two epigrams on the object of his

indignation above alluded to, which I suppress for the same reason

that I have suppressed that portion of the letter referring to the

same subject. The verses on the young Italian patriot and martyr run

as follows:

Sometimes the brave have bent the head

To lick the dust that despots tread.

Not so Milano; he alone

Would bow to Justice on the throne.

To win a crown of thorns he trod

A flinty path, and rests with God.

T.A.T.

* * * * *

THE DEATH OF DOCTORS' COMMONS.

On the 20th of last October a venerable London institution changed its

quarters. Doctors' Commons may almost be said to be no more. Its heart

is gone. The Principal Registry of the Court of Probate--the successor

to the Prerogative Court of Canterbury--is no longer to be found

there, and those who seek their fortunes in wills have now to

prosecute their researches in that hub of British departmental

records, Somerset House. The knell of "the Commons" was rung about

twenty years ago, when a campaign against the abuses prevailing in the

ecclesiastical courts was begun in the London _Times_. It

unquestionably had been the home _par excellence_ of sinecures and

monopolies, which culminated in the office of registrar of the

Prerogative Court of the archbishop of Canterbury. This office was in

the gift of the archbishop, and was at the time these attacks began

held by the Rev. Mr. Moore. Mr. Moore was a member of a family which

had certainly good cause to stand steadfast in the faith of the Church

of England, and not to waver one inch in attachment thereto. It may be

doubted whether since its foundation any family--we except, of course,

those to whom grants were made from abbey-lands--during the whole

history of the Church has drawn such vast sums from it. His father, a

singularly fortunate man, set the ball rolling. Having gone up to

Christ Church, Oxford, as a sizar, or poor scholar, he happened about

the time of taking his degree to cross the quadrangle at the moment

when a nobleman of great position was asking the dean to recommend a

tutor for his son. Young Moore at that moment caught the very reverend

functionary's eye. There is the very man, thought he. He called him

up, presented him to the peer, and an engagement was made. In those

days the patronage of a powerful peer was a ready road to preferment.

Young Moore gave satisfaction to his noble patron, and was pushed up

the ecclesiastical tree until he reached its topmost branch, being

created in 1783 archbishop of Canterbury. In 1770 he formed a very

judicious marriage with Miss Eden. This lady was sister of Sir Robert

Eden, governor of Maryland in 1776 (who married the sister and co-heir

of the last Lord Baltimore), and of the first Lord Auckland, whom

George III. very justly stigmatized as "that eternal intriguer." To

the "eternal intriguer" the elevation of Moore to the archbishopric

was probably mainly due. Lord Auckland was for many years as intimate

a friend as Pitt ever had, and his daughter (afterward countess of

Buckinghamshire) is the great minister's only recorded love. For

twenty-three years Dr. Moore filled the archbishopric, and in those

days it was a far better thing pecuniarily than it is now. He made hay

whilst the sun shone, and then and for long after did his relatives

bask in the sun. Registrarships, canonries and livings fell upon them

in rich profusion, and the great prize of all, the registrarship of

the Prerogative Court of the archbishop of Canterbury, fell to the

luckiest of the lot.

Of course the registrar never came near his registry: his duties were

discharged by three deputies. Not one penny, moreover, beyond what was

absolutely necessary did he expend on the registry itself. Such a hole

as it was! Cribbed, cabined and confined were the clerks who ran the

reverend sinecurist's business in one of the most extraordinary

rabbit-warrens, to use the epithet Bethell, Lord (Chancellor)

Westbury, applied to it in the writer's hearing. In Great Knight Rider

street--a name derived from the days of the Knights Templar--was a

dingy passage-way leading into a yet dingier little court. Passing up

a short flight of steps, you found yourself in a large room, with deep

alcoves furnished with shelves, on which, above and on all sides, were

ranged huge volumes with massive clasps. "What are all these books?"

inquired a youthful visitor--"old Bibles?" "No, sir; they're

testaments," was a waggish official's reply. They are, in fact, copies

of wills. The originals are deemed too precious for exhibition except

on special application, and the stranger who pays his shilling only

sees a copy. Formerly, unless a searcher knew exactly when a will was

proved, the process of finding it was very troublesome, because he had

to search down indexes in Old English character arranged in order of

date only; but now the registers have been put into alphabetical form.

The great change in Doctors' Commons took place in 1858, when the

Probate Act came into operation. This was a very sweeping measure,

which at a blow superseded the whole system of ecclesiastical courts,

so far at least as wills were concerned. For them it substituted a

Court of Probate, with jurisdiction over the whole of England.

Attached to this court are about forty registries for wills. That in

London is called the Principal Registry. A will must either be proved

in the district in which a man dies or in the Principal Registry. The

Principal Registry is a very large office, at the head of which are

four registrars, who are also registrars of the Divorce Court, over

which the judge of the Court of Probate presides, being styled "judge

ordinary" of this latter. There are about forty registries scattered

about the country, in most cases in places where formerly

ecclesiastical courts existed for the proving of wills. The value of

these registrarships ranges from three hundred to fifteen hundred

pounds. They are all in the gift of the judge of the court, whose

patronage is worth about sixty thousand pounds a year, and may be

reckoned the best in England, inasmuch as he holds it continuously,

whilst the lord chancellor and other political officers merely hold

their patronage for the few years they may chance to continue in

office. Moreover, the judge of the Court of Probate, not being a

political officer, has no political pressure brought to bear upon him

in the distribution of his patronage, and can dispense it precisely as

he pleases. The registrars must, by the terms of the act of

Parliament, be barristers, solicitors, or clerks who have served five

years in the Principal Registry.

Doctors' Commons twenty years ago was a unique corner of the world. It

lay so hid away that you might live for years in London, and be within

a stone's throw of it, and yet never have its existence brought to

your mind; and it had a life all its own. The ecclesiastical lawyers

were called doctors and proctors, instead of barristers and attorneys;

and although the former did not arrogate to themselves a higher rank

socially and professionally than that of barrister, a proctor

considered himself a great many cuts above an attorney, and indeed

was, for the most part, the equal of the best class of attorneys.

Proctors, it will be borne in mind, are sketched by Charles Dickens in

the opening pages of _David Copperfield_, for Dora's papa, Mr.

Spenlow, was in proctorial partnership with the reputably inexorable

Jawkins. When the Probate Act came into force it was a frightful blow

to the tribe of Spenlows. Not so much on account of the pecuniary

loss. In that respect the blow was considerably tempered to the shorn

lambs by a compensation all too liberal--for John Bull is unsurpassed

as a respecter of vested interests--and the proctors were compensated

on the basis of their incomes for the last five years, their returns

proving in some instances curiously at variance with the amounts on

which they had paid income-tax. But they regarded themselves as

terrible losers in prestige and position by this rude invasion of the

classic and aristocratic ground of the Doctores Commensales, and above

all by being leveled down to the rank of attorneys. The clerks in the

Prerogative Court--of which the registrars and head-clerks were all

proctors, who, taking the cue from Chief Registrar Moore, executed

their work by deputy, the deputies being clerks working long hours for

small salaries--had kotooed to them with the most servile

subserviency; but the Probate Office clerk was a government official,

who could not be removed, even by the judge of the court, without the

consent of the lord chancellor. What cared he, then, for Spenlow and

Jawkins? "I am astonished, Mr. Spenlow," said a young clerk of the new

_régime_, "that you should have made such a mistake!" Mr. Spenlow, in

turn, was too much astonished to utter a word. Speechless with

amazement and indignation, he left the "seat," as the different

departments were called, to weep bitter tears in regret for the past

in the solitude of his dingy sanctum in Bell Yard, leaving an

emancipated clerk, who had served under the thraldom of the old

_régime_, exclaiming, "Good Heavens! Only imagine any of us daring to

use such language to a proctor two years ago!"

R.W.

* * * * *

THE LAY OF THE LEVELER.

Among the less known writings of Francis Quarles, author of the once

famous _Emblems_, is a volume, now become very scarce, entitled _The

Shepheards Oracles, delivered in certain Eglogues_. The copy of it to

which I have access was published in 1646, or two years after

Quarles's death. This spirited poem must have been perused with

intense interest by Quarles's contemporaries. But history is

constantly repeating itself with more or less of modification, and

_The Shepheards Oracles_, at least here and there, and with reference

to England, reads, but for its quaintness of manner and idiom, like a

production of the nineteenth century. In the course of it there occur

some verses, put into the mouth of Anarchus, which are well worth

resuscitating. These verses, to which I have supplied a title as

above, are, in a sufficiently exact transcription, as follows:

Know, then, my brethren, heav'n is cleare,

And all the Clouds are gone;

The Righteous now shall flourish, and

Good dais are coming on.

Come, then, my Brethren, and be glad,

And eke rejoyce with me:

Lawn Sleeves and Rochets shall goe down:

And, hey! then up goe we.

Wee'l break the windows which the Whore

Of Babylon hath painted;

And, when the Popish Saints are down,

Then Barow shall be Sainted.

There's neither Crosse nor Crucifixe

Shall stand for man to see:

Romes trash and trump'ries shall goe downe;

And, hey! then up goe we.

What ere [sic] the Popish hands have built,

Our Hammers shall undoe;

Wee'l breake their Pipes, and burn their Copes,

And pull downe Churches, too:

Wee'l exercise within the Groves,

And teach beneath a Tree;

Wee'l make a Pulpit of a Cart;

And, hey! then up goe we.

Wee'l down with all the Varsities,

Where Learning is profest,

Because they practise and maintain

The language of the Beast:

Wee'l drive the Doctors out of doores,

And Arts, what ere [sic] they be;

Wee'l cry both Arts and Learning down;

And, hey! then up goe we.

Wee'l down with Deans and Prebends, too;

But I rejoyce to tell ye

How then we will eat Pig our fill,

And Capon by the belly:

Wee'l burn the Fathers witty Tomes,

And make the Schoolmen flee;

Wee'l down with all that smels of wit;

And, hey! then up goe we.

If once that Antichristian crew

Be crusht and overthrown,

Wee'l teach the Nobles how to crouch,

And keep the Gentry down:

Good manners have an evil report,

And turn to pride we see:

Wee'l, therefore, cry good manners down;

And, hey! then up goe we.

The name of Lord shall be abhor'd;

For every man's a brother:

No reason why, in Church or State,

One man should rule another.

But, when the change of Government

Shall set our fingers free,

Wee'l make the wanton Sisters stoop:

And, hey! then up goe we.

Our Coblers shall translate their soules

From Caves obscure and shady;

Wee' make Tom T---- as good as my Lord,

And Joan as good as my Lady.

Wee'l crush and fling the marriage Ring

Into the Romane See;

Wee'l ask no bans, but even clap hands;

And, hey! then up goe we.

By "Barow," named in the second stanza, is intended, no doubt, Henry

Barrow, the Nonconformist enthusiast who was executed at Tyburn in

1592. A follower of Robert Browne, founder of the Brownists, whence

sprang the sect of Independents, he brought upon himself, by his zeal

and imprudence, a vengeance which his wary leader contrived to evade.

Browne himself is alluded to punningly in _The Shepheards Oracles_,

where Philorthus, at sight of Anarchus approaching, asks whether he is

"in a Browne study." Anarchus replies:

"Man, if thou be'st a Babe of Grace,

And of an holy Seed,

I will reply incontinent,

And in my words proceed;

But, if thou art a child of wrath,

And lewd in conversation,

I will not, then, converse with thee,

Nor hold communication."

Philorthus rejoins, referring by his "we all three" to Philarchus,

with whom he had just been conversing:

"I trust, Anarchus, we all three inherit

The selfe same gifts, and share the selfe same Spirit."

Then follow the stanzas which I have first quoted. There is certainly

ground to surmise that Lord Macaulay had in mind what I have called

"The Lay of the Leveler" when in 1820 he wrote "A Radical War-song."

In support of this opinion, I subjoin, for comparison, its last stanza

but one:

Down with your sheriffs and your mayors,

Your registrars and proctors!

We'll live without the lawyer's cares,

And die without the doctor's.

No discontented fair shall pout

To see her spouse so stupid:

We'll tread the torch of Hymen out,

And live content with Cupid.

F.H.

* * * * *

THE PHILOSOPHER STRAUSS AS A POET.

The writer of a sketch in a late number of a Leipsic journal presents

the famous author of the _Life of Jesus_, David Friederich Strauss, in

a new character. He mentions, first, that in the _Unterhaltungen am

häuslichen Heerde_ ("Conversations around the Homehearth"), published

by Strauss in 1856, the latter makes, in the introduction, the

following graceful reference to the deceased friend of his youth, E.F.

Kauffmann: "If I were a philosophical emperor and wrote

self-confessions, I would thank the gods for giving me, among other

blessings, a poet and musician for an early friend. He is dead now,

alas! the noble man whom alone I have to thank that my ear, though

still unskillful, has been opened to the world of harmony. He was not

a professional musician, but he had a thoroughly musical nature. The

laws of composition he had studied theoretically, and he followed them

practically. His position, in reality, was that of a professor of

mathematics. But music was his secret love. He not only knew the great

masters, but he lived in them. He thought little of playing on the

piano the whole of one of Mozart's operas, note for note, without any

written music before him. I have often seen him do this. How much I

have owed to those hours! How he could draw his hearers into the right

mood! How he could illuminate the groping mind with the lightning

flash of thought!"

To this friend Strauss sent from Munich in 1851 ten sonnets. They were

accompanied by a versified dedication to Kauffmann himself, and they

constitute his claim to be considered a poet as well as a philosophic

theologian. The sonnets are all on musical subjects, and may be taken

as the natural outgrowth of that cultivation of his musical taste

which he owed to his intimate association with Professor Kauffmann.

The metrical dedication and the first five sonnets are given in the

sketch before referred to. The writer of that article looks upon the

tendency, thus displayed by Strauss, to "drop into poetry," as Mr.

Wegg was accustomed to say, as another strong proof of the

affinity--elsewhere noticed--between the genius of Strauss and that of

Gotthold Ephraim Lessing; who, it will be remembered, sometimes

diverted himself with the composition of light poetical pieces, such

as his famous song, beginning "Gestern, Brüder, könnt ihr's glauben?"

The first sonnet is on Händel, the second on Glück, the third on

Haydn, the fourth on _Don Juan_, and the fifth on _Figaro_.

The following attempt at a translation of the fourth sonnet may serve

to give some idea of how far the world-renowned philosopher and

skeptic has succeeded in his effort to assume the anomalous _rôle_ of

a sonneteer:

DON JUAN.

How joyously life's fountains here are flowing!

In crystal cups the purple flood is foaming;

Through dusky myrtle-groves are lovers roaming,

The dance begins in halls all bright and glowing.

Be watchful, though! Here treachery is hiding.

Wild passion naught for truth or ruth is caring:

As hawks do doves, mild innocence 'tis tearing,

And human vengeance lightly is deriding.

But now, once more alive, the slain appear!

They speak, with awful voice, the words of doom:

Death his cold hand is silently extending.

Now sinks the daring mood in ghastly fear.

The golden dream of life dissolves in gloom;

The silent grave brings on the bright joy's ending.

It is very hard, if not impossible, to render into any other language

the true spirit of a German poem. But in the original this sonnet is

far above mediocrity. It idealizes the opera of _Don Juan_ very

artistically, and displays a combination of force with harmony and

grace which gives the impression, in connection with the other

sonnets, that if Strauss had devoted his mental energy to poetry

alone, he would not have taken a low rank among the poets of Germany.

W.W.C.

LITERATURE OF THE DAY.

The Life of Thomas Fuller, D.D., with Notices of his Books,

his Kinsmen and his Friends. By John Eglinton Bailey. London:

Pickering.

By no means to the credit of the nineteenth century, it is hardly

prudent, as yet, to speak to the general public about Thomas Fuller

without formally introducing him. Coleridge and Southey and Lamb were,

to be sure, familiar with his writings, and prized them extremely. But

they did the same by the writings of many another old worthy now

undeservedly slighted; and, for all their eulogies on him, the great

bulk of readers were still content to continue in ignorance of the

treasures he has bequeathed to us. The neglect of him which at present

prevails is, however, in large measure, a delinquency of long

standing. His chief work is undoubtedly his _Church History_; and

Heylin's elaborate impugnment of its accuracy appears to have had

great weight, as with Fuller's contemporaries, so with the generation

which immediately followed, and onward almost to our own time. To

Heylin succeeded Bishop Nicolson in exerting himself to discredit that

valuable work, and it is only within a few years that its character

has been substantially rehabilitated. Together with the reputation of

Fuller as an historian, his reputation in other respects for a long

while underwent eclipse; for, as it is reviving again, we may not say

that it passed away. His matter quite apart--and it is always

interesting--and abstractedly from his pervasive pleasantry, which is

always original, it is a wonder that he is not more esteemed than he

is in an age which professes to set store by style. Mr. John Nichols,

an editor of his _Worthies_, timidly hazarded the observation that, as

against the strictures of Bishop Nicolson, there might be much said in

"vindication of the language of Dr. Fuller"--a comment which excited

Coleridge to a high pitch of exasperation. "Fuller's language!" he

ejaculates. "Grant me patience, Heaven! A tithe of his beauties would

be sold cheap for a whole library of our classical writers, from

Addison to Johnson and Junius inclusive. And Bishop Nicolson!--a

painstaking old charwoman of the Antiquarian and Rubbish Concern! The

venerable rust and dust of the whole firm are not worth an ounce of

Fuller's earth."

Of Fuller's ancestry nothing is known, on the paternal side, beyond

his father, a college-bred clergyman, who died in 1632. His mother was

a Davenant, of an ancient and respectable family. Fuller was born in

June, 1608, at Aldwinkle, in Northamptonshire, at his father's

rectory. When only about twelve years of age he was entered at Queen's

College, Cambridge, his progress in his studies having been such as to

authorize this unusually early transfer from school to the university.

In 1628 he exchanged Queen's College for Sydney-Sussex College, and in

the following year he was presented by the master and fellows of

Corpus Christi College to the curacy of St. Benet's, Cambridge.

Within a twelvemonth after--namely, in 1631--HE made his first

appearance as an author. His _Davia's Heinous Sin, Hearty Repentance,

Heavy Punishment_, which came out in that year, was his sole adventure

of noteworthy compass as a versifier; and he certainly testified his

discretion in choosing thenceforward to be satisfied with writing

prose. A valuable prebend attached to the Salisbury Cathedral was

bestowed on him at this time, near about which he is supposed to have

delivered, in discourses, his so-called _Comment on Ruth_. Next we

hear of him as rector of Broadwindsor, where, probably, he composed

his _History of the Holy War_, published in 1639. His _Holy State_ was

given to the world in 1642. Having just before this removed to London

under circumstances which are involved in some obscurity, he was there

appointed lecturer to the Inns of Court and to the Savoy Chapel. But

trouble awaited him, as it then awaited all other loyalists whom it

had not overtaken already, and 1643 found him a refugee at Oxford.

There he was warmly welcomed by the king and his adherents, but on his

imprudently daring to urge lenient counsels, his moderation gave as

much dissatisfaction to the court party as it had previously given to

the Parliamentarians, and he fell into temporary disgrace.

Nevertheless, he suffered, at the hands of the anti-royalists, the

same spoliation which would have been visited on a malignant of the

extremest stamp. To fill up the measure of his misfortune--as if it

were not enough that he should be deprived of his stated means of

livelihood--he was despoiled of his library. For a while, also, his

loyalty was held, though without the slightest grounds, in

considerable suspicion. On coming to be better known, however, he was

restored to favor, and was enrolled among the royal chaplains. If the

doubts as to the sincerity of his adhesion to Charles were ever

actually thought to have good foundation, they must have been

dissipated by his voluntarily exposing himself to danger, as he did at

one of the sieges of Basing House. Like Isaac Barrow, he would at need

have done duty militant just as effectually with carnal weapons as

with spiritual. No longer required at Basing House, he repaired to

Oxford again, and then to Exeter, where he was nominated chaplain to

the princess Henrietta Anne. But he held his new post for only a short

period. Leaving Exeter, he once more sought Oxford, and thence went to

London. Forbidden to preach there, he retired to Northamptonshire, and

then reappeared at the metropolis, where he was sojourning in the

memorable year 1649. Becoming in that year curate of Waltham Abbey, he

enjoyed an interval of quietude while all around him was turbulence.

Yet he was soon in London afresh, lecturer at various churches from

1651 till near the end of his life. In 1658 he was appointed rector of

St. Dunstan's, Cranford, but we read of him as subsequently journeying

to The Hague and to Salisbury, and as preaching at the Savoy Chapel.

It must have solaced his latter days to reflect that he had survived

to welcome the Restoration. He died, from what is reasonably surmised

to have been typhus fever, on the 16th of August, 1661, and lies

buried in the chancel of the church to which he last ministered, at

Cranford, Surrey.

Considering the unsettled and wandering life which Fuller led for many

years, it may seem almost a marvel that in those very years he should

have accomplished such laborious--nay, all but gigantic--enterprises

as are to be referred to them; for it was then that he composed his

voluminous _Pisgah-sight of Palestine, Church History_ and _Worthies_,

not to speak of many minor writings. But the secret of his

prolificness amidst surroundings which would have paralyzed most men

into stark sterility admits of ready elucidation. Besides being

endowed with great physical vigor and enjoying uninterrupted health.

Fuller never wasted a moment, was an unweariable student at odd hours,

and moreover supplemented the advantage of a matchless memory by the

strictest observance of method. Taken for all in all, he was without

question one of the most remarkable of Englishmen--not of his own age

merely, but of all bygone ages. "Next to Shakespeare," says Coleridge,

"I am not certain whether Thomas Fuller, beyond all other writers,

does not excite in me the sense and emotion of the marvelous....

Fuller was incomparably the most sensible, the least prejudiced, great

man of an age that boasted a galaxy of great men." Others among his

countrymen have been more learned, and others have surpassed him in

this or that special faculty, but the whole that we have in him it

would be hard to find a parallel to. Culeridge emphasizes the equity

of his judgment; and this point is one regarding which there can be no

diversity of opinion. As to his wit, granting that its quality may

here and there be somewhat inferior, still, it has probably never been

surpassed in quantity by any one man. It has the laudable character,

too, of being nearly always impersonal, and while it amuses it almost

in equal measure instructs. Had Fuller, with his mental agility and

his mastery of incisive diction, been poisoned with the bile of Swift,

it is terrible to think what a repertory of biting sarcasms and

envenomed repartees he might have transmitted for the study and

imitation of cynics and sneerers. Bitterer enemies no man ever had to

contend against; and unenviable indeed must have been their

disappointment at finding themselves wholly impotent to discompose his

sage and large-hearted serenity. So impressive, withal, is his spirit

of toleration and benevolence that a diligent reader of his pages is,

as it were, perforce imbued by it. Indeed, we know of few writers whom

we can point to with more confidence as calculated, in antidote to the

fret and chafe inseparable from existence in our day, to induce a tone

of repose and resignation in ourselves, and a disposition to take

charity as our watchword in our dealings with others.

From Fuller we pass to Fuller's new biographer, the only biographer he

has hitherto had that at all deserves the appellation. A completer

life-history than that which Mr. Bailey has produced is of rare

occurrence in English literature. There was no motive for his keeping

back anything that is known of Fuller; and he has really enabled us to

form wellnigh as distinct an idea of the portly and cheery old divine

as if we had known him in the flesh. Faithful to rigid justice while

reproducing the warmly eulogistic judgments which have been passed on

Fuller, especially in this century, he has given us a circumstantial

account of the censures which were denounced on him by microscopic and

malevolent criticasters and Dryasdusts among his contemporaries. Some

of the censures referred to were grounded on the multitudinous

dedications in which Fuller indulged; and, in truth, it strikes one as

rather singular to find, as in his _Church History_, not only every

book, but every section of a book, prefaced by a long string of

compliments addressed to a separate dedicatee. But these dedications

meant money, and Fuller was poor. Furthermore, if in his necessity he

flattered, his flattery was, for the most part, of a kind not

irreconcilable with due self-respect on the part of the flatterer. It

is a very different thing from the nauseous adulation to which

Dryden--to name but one out of numerous kindred offenders--consented

to abase himself. As auxiliary to a full understanding of Fuller in

his social relations, his dedications are now of prime value. Though

many of them are inscribed to persons else quite unknown to fame, with

a good number of them it is otherwise; and they serve, by the

information which they embody, to show that Fuller was on terms of

familiar intimacy with a whole host of notabilities in Church and

State. Of these personages, and so of many others with whom Fuller

associated, Mr. Bailey, heedful of the adage _noscitur a sociis_, has

compiled very satisfactory sketches, derived in all cases from the

most trustworthy authorities. In addition to a Life of Fuller, he has

thus gone far to give us a sort of biographical dictionary of the

leading men, political and ecclesiastical, who rallied round the

unfortunate First Charles, and who used their most strenuous diligence

to save his desperate cause from shipwreck.

One who has already made acquaintance with Fuller's writings must feel

animated, under the guidance of the new light now thrown upon them, to

renew that acquaintance; and he to whom the wise and witty old worthy

is as yet a stranger must, unless obdurately insensible, be moved to a

suspicion that he ought to remain a stranger no longer. To Mr. Bailey

we are beholden alike for a biography of the first excellence, and for

a sterling contribution to the history of an era which possesses

undying interest for every Englishman, be he conservative, liberal or

republican; and for every intelligent American as well. We are given

to understand that the author has now in contemplation the publishing

of Fuller's sermons, of which there has never been a collective

edition, and of which several are among the rarest books in our

language. The design is one which challenges the furtherance of every

lover of good literature; and the _Life_, which, in parting, we

emphatically commend to our readers, should avail to secure for it the

encouragement it unquestionably merits.

* * * * *

The Greville Memoirs: A Journal of the Reigns of King George

IV. and King William IV. By Charles C.F. Greville.

Bric-à-Brac Series. New York: Scribner, Armstrong & Co.

Books Received.

The Bhagavad Gitá. Translated from the Sanskrit by J. Cockburn

Thompson. Chicago: Religio--Philosophical Publishing House. S.S.

Jones.

A Practical and Critical Grammar of the English Language. By Noble

Butler. Louisville, Ky.: J.P. Morton & Co.

The Puddleford Papers; or, Humors of the West. By H.H. Riley. Boston:

Lee & Shepard.

Critical and Historical Essays. Contributed by Lord Macaulay. New

York: Albert Mason.

For Better or Worse. By Jennie Cunningham Croley. Boston: Lee &

Shepard.

Three Essays on Religion. By John Stuart Mill. New York: Henry Holt &

Co.

The Babes in the Wood. By James De Mille. Boston: W.F. Gill & Co.

School of Singing. By F.W. Root. Chicago: George F. Root & Sons.

Treasure-Trove. Central Falls, R.I.: E.L. Freeman & Co.

Our Helen. By Sophie May. Boston; Lee & Shepard.