A new literary field was shortly after this opened to Campbell.

He was engaged to deliver a course of lectures on poetry at the

Royal Institution of London, and the scheme proved not only

successful but lucrative. In after years he lectured repeatedly on

the belles lettres at Liverpool, Birmingham, and other places, and

the celebrity of his name always commanded a crowd of listeners.

We learn from Dr Beattie, that at two periods of his life it was

proposed to bring him forward as a candidate, either for the chair

of Rhetoric or that of History in the University of Edinburgh; but

he seems to have recoiled from the idea of the labour necessary for

the preparation of a thorough academical course, a task which his

extreme natural fastidiousness would doubtless have rendered doubly

irksome. Several more years, a portion of which time was spent on

the Continent, passed over without any remarkable result, until,

at the age of forty-three, Campbell entered upon the duties of the

editorship of the _New Monthly Magazine_.

He held this situation for ten years, and resigned it, according

to his own account, "because it was utterly impossible to continue

the editor without interminable scrapes, together with a law-suit

now and then." In the interim, however, certain important events

had taken place. In the first place, he had published _Theodric_--a

poem which, in spite of a most laudatory critique in the _Edinburgh

Review_, left a painful impression on the public mind, and was

generally considered as a symptom either that the rich mine of poesy

was worked out, or that the genius of the author had been employed

in a wrong direction. In the second place, he took an active share

in the foundation of the London University. He appears, indeed,

to have been the originator of the scheme, and to have managed

the preliminary details with more than common skill and prudence.

It was mainly through his exertions that it did not assume the

aspect of a mere sectarian institution, bigoted in its principles

and circumscribed in its sphere of utility. Shortly after this

academical experiment, he was elected Lord Rector of the Glasgow

University. Whatever abstract value may be attached to such an

honour--and we are aware that very conflicting opinions have been

expressed upon the point--this distinction was one of the most

gratifying of all the tributes which were ever rendered to Campbell.

He found himself preferred, by the students of that university

where his first aspirations after fame had been roused, to one of

the first orators and statesmen of the age; and his warm heart

overflowed with delight at the kindly compliment. He resolved not

to accept the office as a mere sinecure, but strictly to perform

those duties which were prescribed by ancient statute, but which

had fallen into abeyance by the carelessness of nominal Rectors.

He entered as warmly into the feelings, and as cordially supported

the interests of the students, as if the academical red gown of

Glasgow had been still fresh upon his shoulders; and such being the

case, it is not surprising that he was almost adored by his youthful

constituents. This portion of the memoirs is very interesting: it

displays the character of Campbell in a most amiable light; and the

coldest reader cannot fail to peruse with pleasure the records of

an ovation so truly gratifying to the sensibilities of the kind and

affectionate poet. For three years, during which unusual period he

held the office, his correspondence with the students never flagged;

and it may be doubted whether the university ever possessed a better

Rector.

In 1831 he took up the Polish cause, and founded an association

in London, which for many years was the main support of the

unfortunate exiles who sought refuge in Britain. The public sympathy

was at that time largely excited in their favour, not only by the

gallant struggle which they had made for regaining their ancient

independence, but from the subsequent severities perpetrated by the

Russian government. Campbell, from his earliest years, had denounced

the unprincipled partition of Poland; he watched the progress of

the revolution with an anxiety almost amounting to fanaticism; and

when the outbreak was at last put down by the strong hand of power,

his passion exceeded all bounds. Day and night his thoughts were

of Poland only: in his correspondence he hardly touched upon any

other theme; and, carried away by his zeal to serve the exiles, he

neglected his usual avocations. The mind of Campbell was naturally

of an impulsive cast: but the fits were rather violent than

enduring. This psychological tendency was, perhaps, his most serious

misfortune, since it invariably prevented him from maturing the

most important projects he conceived. Unless the scheme was such as

could be executed with rapidity, he was apt to halt in the progress.

He next became engaged in a new magazine speculation--_The

Metropolitan_--which, instead of turning out, as he anticipated,

a mine of wealth, very nearly involved him in serious pecuniary

responsibility. After this, his public career gradually became

less marked. The last poem which he published, _The Pilgrim of

Glencoe_, exhibited few symptoms of the fire and energy conspicuous

in his early efforts. "This work," says Dr Beattie, "in one or

two instances was very favourably reviewed--in others, the tone

of criticism was cold and austere; but neither praise nor censure

could induce the public to judge for themselves; and silence, more

fatal in such cases than censure, took the poem for a time under her

wing. The poet himself expressed little surprise at the apathy with

which his new volume had been received; but whatever indifference

he felt for the influence it might have upon his reputation, he

could not feel indifferent to the more immediate effect which a

tardy or greatly diminished sale must have upon his prospects as a

householder. 'A new poem from the pen of Campbell,' he was told,

'was as good as a bill at sight;' but, from some error in the

drawing, as it turned out, it was not negotiable; and the expenses

into which he had been led, by trusting too much to popular favour,

were now to be defrayed from other sources." It ought, however,

to be remarked, that he had now arrived at his great climacteric.

He was sixty-four years of age, and his constitution, never very

robust, began to exhibit symptoms of decay. Dr Beattie, who had long

watched him with affectionate solicitude, in the double character

of physician and friend, thus notes his observation of the change.

"At the breakfast or dinner table--particularly when surrounded

by old friends--he was generally animated, full of anecdote, and

always projecting new schemes of benevolence. But still there was a

visible change in his conversation: it seemed to flow less freely;

it required an effort to support it; and on topics in which he once

felt a keen interest, he now said but little, or remained silent

and thoughtful. The change in his outward appearance was still more

observable; he walked with a feeble step, complained of constant

chilliness; while his countenance, unless when he entered into

conversation, was strongly marked with an expression of languor

and anxiety. The sparkling intelligence that once animated his

features was greatly obscured; he quoted his favourite authors with

hesitation--because, he told me, he often could not recollect their

names."

The remainder of his life was spent in comparative seclusion. Long

before this period he was left a solitary man. His wife, whom he

loved with deep and enduring affection, was taken away--one of his

sons died in childhood, and the other was stricken with a malady

which proved incurable. But the kind offices of a nephew and niece,

and the attentions of many friends, amongst whom Dr Beattie will

always be remembered as the chief, soothed the last days of the

poet, and supplied those duties which could not be rendered by

dearer hands. He expired at Boulogne, on 15th June 1844, his age

being sixty-seven, and his body was worthily interred in Westminster

Abbey, with the honours of a public funeral.

"Never," says Beattie, "since the death of Addison, it was

remarked, had the obsequies of any literary man been attended by

circumstances more honourable to the national feeling, and more

expressive of cordial respect and homage, than those of Thomas

Campbell.

"Soon after noon, the procession began to move from the

Jerusalem Chamber to Poet's Corner, and in a few minutes passed

slowly down the long lofty aisle--

'Through breathing statues, then unheeded things;

Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings.'

On each side the pillared avenues were lined with spectators,

all watching the solemn pageant in reverential silence, and

mostly in deep mourning. The Rev. Henry Milman, himself an

eminent poet, headed the procession; while the service for the

dead, answered by the deep-toned organ, in sounds like distant

thunder, produced an effect of indescribable solemnity. One only

feeling seemed to pervade the assembled spectators, and was

visible on every face--a desire to express their sympathy in a

manner suitable to the occasion. He who had celebrated the glory

and enjoyed the favour of his country for more than forty years,

had come at last to take his appointed chamber in the Hall of

Death--to mingle ashes with those illustrious predecessors, who,

by steep and difficult paths, had attained a lofty eminence in

her literature, and made a lasting impression on the national

heart."

We observe that Dr Beattie has, very properly, passed over with

little notice certain statements, emanating from persons who

styled themselves the friends of Campbell, regarding his habits of

life during the latter portion of his years. It is a misfortune

incidental to almost all men of genius, that they are surrounded

by a fry of small literary adulators, who, in order to magnify

themselves, make a practice of reporting every circumstance, however

trivial, which falls under their observation, and who are not always

very scrupulous in adhering to the truth. Campbell, who had the

full poetical share of vanity in his composition, was peculiarly

liable to the attacks of such insidious worshippers, and was not

sufficiently careful in the selection of his associates. Hence

imputations, not involving any question of honour or morality, but

implying frailty to a considerable degree, have been openly hazarded

by some who, in their own persons, are no patterns of the cardinal

virtues. Such statements do no honour either to the heart or the

judgment of those who devised them: nor would we have even touched

upon the subject, save to reprobate, in the strongest manner, these

breaches of domestic privacy, and of ill-judged and unmerited

confidence.

A good deal of the correspondence printed in these volumes is of a

trifling nature, and interferes materially with the conciseness of

the biography. We do not mean to say that anything objectionable

has been included, but there are too many notes and epistles upon

familiar topics, which neither illustrate the peculiar tone of

Campbell's mind, nor throw any light whatever upon his poetical

history. But the correspondence with his own family is highly

interesting. Nowhere does Campbell appear in a higher and more

estimable point of view, than in the character of son and brother.

Even in the hours of his darkest adversity, we find him sharing his

small and precarious gains with his mother and sisters; and they

were in an equal degree the participators of his better fortunes.

His fondness and consideration for his wife and children are most

conspicuous; and many of his letters regarding his boy, when "the

dark shadow" had passed across his mind, are extremely affecting.

Those who have a taste for the modern style of maundering about

children, and the perverted pictures of infancy so common in our

social literature, may not, perhaps, see much to admire in the

following extract from a letter by Campbell, announcing the birth of

his eldest child: to us it appears a pure and exquisite picture:--

"This little gentleman all this while looked to be so proud of

his new station in society, that he held up his blue eyes and

placid little face with perfect indifference to what people

about him felt or thought. Our first interview was when he lay

in his little crib, in the midst of white muslin and dainty

lace, prepared by Matilda's hands, long before the stranger's

arrival. I verily believe, in spite of my partiality, that

lovelier babe was never smiled upon by the light of heaven. He

was breathing sweetly in his first sleep. I durst not waken him,

but ventured to give him one kiss. He gave a faint murmur, and

opened his little azure lights. Since that time he has continued

to grow in grace and stature. I can take him in my arms; but

still his good nature and his beauty are but provocatives to

the affection which one must not indulge: he cannot bear to

be hugged, he cannot yet stand a worrying. Oh! that I were

sure he would live to the days when I could take him on my

knee, and feel the strong plumpness of childhood waxing into

vigorous youth. My poor boy! shall I have the ecstasy to teach

him thoughts and knowledge, and reciprocity of love to me? It

is bold to venture into futurity so far! at present his lovely

little face is a comfort to me; his lips breathe that fragrance

which it is one of the loveliest kindnesses of Nature that she

has given to infants--a sweetness of smell more delightful than

all the treasures of Arabia. What adorable beauties of God and

Nature's bounty we live in without knowing! How few have ever

seemed to think an infant beautiful! But to me there seems to be

a beauty in the earliest dawn of infancy which is not inferior

to the attractions of childhood, especially when they sleep.

Their looks excite a more tender train of emotions. It is like

the tremulous anxiety which we feel for a candle new lighted,

which we dread going out."

The sensibility, too, which he uniformly exhibited towards those

who had shown him kindness, especially his older and earlier

friends, is exceedingly pleasing. In writing to or speaking of

the Rev. Archibald Alison and Dugald Stewart, his tone is one of

heartfelt, and almost filial, affection and reverence; and amongst

all the benevolent actions performed by those great and good men,

there were few to which they could revert with more pleasure than

to their seasonable patronage of the young and sanguine poet. With

his literary contemporaries, also, he lived upon good terms,--a

circumstance rather remarkable, for Campbell, notwithstanding his

good-nature, was sufficiently touchy, and keenly alive to satire or

hostile criticism. Excepting an early quarrel with John Leyden, on

the score of some reported misrepresentation, a temporary feud with

Moore, which was speedily reconciled, and a short and unacrimonious

disruption from Bowles, we are not aware that he ever differed with

any of his gifted brethren. He was upon the best terms with Scott;

and Dr Beattie has given us several valuable specimens of their

mutual correspondence. With Rogers he was intimate to the last: and

even the sarcastic and dangerous Byron always mentioned him with

expressions of regard. Let us add, moreover, that, whenever he had

the power, he was ready, even in instances where his own interest

might have counselled otherwise, to lend a helping hand to others

who were struggling for literary reputation. This generous impulse

was sometimes carried so far as to injure him in his editorial

capacity; for, although fastidious to a degree as to the quality of

his own writings, it was always with a sore heart that he shut the

door in the face of a needy contributor.

The querulousness with which Campbell complains throughout, of the

cruel treatment which he met with at the hands of the publishers,

would be amusing if it were not at the same time most unjust. He

acknowledges, in a letter written to Mr Richardson, so late as

1812, that the sale of his poems, for a series of years before, had

yielded him, on an average, £500 per annum: not a bad annuity, we

think, as the proceeds of a couple of volumes! We happen to know,

moreover, that by the first publication of _Gertrude_ Campbell

made upwards of a thousand pounds; and, unless we are grievously

misinformed, he received from Mr Murray, for the copyright of the

_Specimens_, a similar sum, being double the amount contracted for.

We have already mentioned the publication of a subscription edition

of the _Pleasures of Hope_, "which," says Dr Beattie, "with great

liberality on the part of the publishers, was to be brought out for

his own exclusive benefit." We should not have alluded to these

matters, which, however, we believe, are no secrets, but for the

publication by Dr Beattie of some very absurd expressions used and

reiterated by Campbell. Such phrases as the following constantly

occur: "They are the greatest ravens on earth with whom we have to

deal--liberal enough as booksellers go--but still, you know, ravens,

croakers, suckers of innocent blood, and living men's brains." Nor,

in the opinion of Campbell, were these outrages confined merely to

the living subjects, for he says, in reference to the older tenants

of Parnassus, "Poor Bards! you are all ill used, even after death,

by those who have lived upon your brains. And now, having scooped

out those brains, they drink out of them, like Vandals out of the

skulls of the severed and slain, served up by a Gothic Ganymede!"

Further, in speaking of Napoleon, he says, " Perhaps in my feelings

towards the Gallic usurper there may be some personal bias; for I

must confess that, ever since he shot the bookseller in Germany,

I have had a warm side to him. It was sacrificing an offering, by

the hand of genius, to the manes of the victims immolated by the

trade; and I only wish we had Nap here for a short time, to cut out

a few of our own cormorants." The fact is, that so far from Campbell

being ill-used by the trade, they behaved towards him with uncommon

liberality. It is true that, in several instances, they hesitated

in making high terms for work not yet commenced, with a man who was

notoriously deficient in punctuality and perseverance; nor are they

to be blamed, when we consider the number of his schemes, and the

very few instances in which these were brought to maturity.

On the whole, then, though we cannot bestow unqualified praise upon

Dr Beattie, for the manner in which he has compiled these volumes,

we shall state that we have passed no unprofitable hours in their

perusal. We rise from them with full appreciation of the many

excellent points in the poet's character, with an augmented regard

for his memory on account of the virtues so eminently displayed,

and with no lessened reverence for the man in consequence of the

admitted foibles from which none of the human family are exempt.

The book may be practically useful to those who aspire to literary

eminence, and who are apt to rely too confidently and implicitly on

the powers with which they are naturally gifted. So long as Campbell

was under restraint--so long as he was subjected to the wholesome

discipline of the University, and forced into the race of emulation,

we find that his genius was largely and rapidly developed. He was

not a mere philological scholar, though his attainments in Greek

might have put many a pedant to the blush; but he improved his sense

of beauty and his taste by the contemplation of the Attic flowers;

and, without injuring his style by any affectation of antiquity

unsuited to the tone of his age, he adorned it by many of the graces

which are presented by the ancient models. At Glasgow he worked hard

and won merited honours. But afterwards, by abandoning himself to a

desultory course of study and of composition, by never acting upon

the wise and sure plan of keeping one object only steadily in view,

and persevering in spite of all difficulties until that point was

attained,--he failed in realising the high expectations which were

justified by his early promise. As it is, Campbell's name is ranked

high in the roll of the British poets; but assuredly he would have

occupied a still more exalted place, and also have avoided much

of that anxiety which at times clouded his existence, if he had

used his fine natural gifts with but a portion of the energy and

determination of his great compatriot, Scott.

In conclusion let us remark, that however Dr Beattie may have

erred on the side of prolixity, by including in the compass of the

memoirs some trifling and irrelevant matter, he is more than concise

whenever it is necessary to allude to his own relationship with

Campbell. He has made no parade whatever of his intimacy with the

poet; and no stranger, in perusing these volumes, could discover

that to Beattie Campbell was substantially indebted for many

disinterested acts of friendship, which contributed largely to the

comfort of his declining years. This modesty is a rare feature in

modern biography; and, when it does occur so remarkably as here, we

are bound to mention it with special honour.

THE ENGLISH UNIVERSITIES AND THEIR REFORMS.

All over Europe, of late, we have been hearing a great deal of

universities and students. The trencher-cap has claimed a right to

take its part in the movements which make or mar the destinies of

nations, by the side of plumed casque and priestly tiara. Whether it

was the beer of the German burschen that "decocted their cold blood

to such valiant heat," or whether their practice in make-believe

duels had imparted a savage appetite for foeman's blood in some

more genuine combat, or whether Fichte's metaphysics had fairly

muddled their brains into delirium, certain it is that they have,

wheresoever they could find an opportunity, been foremost in the

cause of demolition and disorder, vied with and encouraged the

lowest of the rabble in lawless aggressions, exulted in the glow of

blazing houses, and cried havoc to rapine and murder.

It is curious that, while all this has been going on in Europe, the

attention of the public should have been so much occupied by the

condition of our English universities. Still more curious is it,

perhaps, that so large a portion of the attention thus directed

should have assumed an objurgatory tone, as if Oxford and Cambridge

were not duly performing their functions, as if they were of a

character suited only to bygone ages, as if, in short, they were

doing nothing. True enough, in one sense, they were "doing nothing."

There was no academical legion formed--none, at least, that we

heard of--in Christchurch Meadows or Trinity Walks; no body of

sympathising students marched to London, with the view of taking

part in the democratic exhibitions of the 10th of April. If Cuffey

is to be President of the British Republic, he must search for the

body-guard of democracy elsewhere than on the banks of the Cam and

the Isis. No doubt this excellent result is attributable, in a great

measure, to the loyalty of the professional and middle classes, from

which our university students principally spring. Their feelings

will naturally be akin to those of their relations and friends. But

when, in so many other instances, we see the academic population

taking the lead in the work of revolution, beyond any spirit which

exists among their kindred, and urged on by a democratic madness of

purely academic growth, we cannot help holding that some credit on

behalf of the loyalty of English students is due to the institutions

by the influence of which they are surrounded.

We are inclined to think that the public have not been sufficiently

alive to this not unimportant difference between Oxford and

Heidelberg--Cambridge and Vienna. Certes, but little account was

taken of the peaceful bearing of our academic population. On the

contrary, much supercilious wordiness has been lavished, more or

less to the discredit of cap and gown, by portions of the London

press in the lead, and, as a necessary consequence, by provincial

journalists _ad libitum_. This talk, current now for some years,

was all concentrated and endued with new vigour by a movement of

the University of Cambridge itself. The people who stop your way

by talking of "progress," and deal out dark rhodomontade on the

subject of "enlightenment," were all set agog by what they thought

a symptom of capitulation in the strongholds of the Ancient. All

our old imbecile friends, the cant phrases of twenty and thirty

years ago, started up as fresh as paint, ready to go through all

the handling they had before endured. We heard of, "keeping alive

ancient prejudices," "cleaving pertinaciously to obsolete forms,"

"following a monastic rule," "forgetting the world outside their

college walls," and multifarious twaddle of this sort, till the

Pope fled from Rome, or some other little revolution occurred to

withdraw the attention of the public from this set of phrases to

another, no doubt not less forcible and original. Others, again,

took a friendly tone and spoke apologetically: it was a great thing

to get any move at all from the university: those who took the lead

in her management were not men who mixed with the world at large,

and allowance must be made if they did not altogether march with

the times. "The world at large" is an expression of very doubtful

import: "all think their little set mankind:" but when the resident

fellows of colleges are charged with not duly mixing with the world

at large, we cannot help thinking that those who use the phrase are

ignoring the existence of the Didcot Junction and Eastern Counties

Railway, and borrowing their ideas of academic life from the time

when Hobson travelled "betwixt Cambridge and the Bull." As far

as our observation goes, we should say that there is no class of

persons who have better opportunities of taking an extended view

of different phases of social being, or who are more disposed to

take advantage of those opportunities. A fellow of a college is not

engaged much more than half the year in university business; for

four months, at the very least, he generally has it in his power

to expatiate where he will, from May Fair to Mesopotamia; he has

no household ties to detain him, and if he does not rub off the

lexicographic rust, and the mathematical mouldiness, which he may

have contracted during his labours of the term, he must be possessed

of a local attachment almost vegetable: some few instances of

which secluded existence still linger in quiet nooks of our halls

and colleges, but which are no more the types of their class than

Parson Trulliber is a representative of the country clergy, or the

stage Diggory of the English yeoman. But the self-complacency of

Cockneyism is the most unshaken thing in this revolutionary age.

It is perfectly ready to lecture the parson on the teaching of

Greek, or the Yorkshire farmer on the fattening of bullocks. All

the distributive machinery in the world does not diminish, it would

seem, the absorption of intelligence by the Ward of Cheap.

We are not, however, surprised that the conclusions, on which we

have remarked, should be those arrived at by the large class of

small observers whose phraseology we have quoted. The bustling man

of business, who takes his day-ticket to Oxford or Cambridge, is

of course struck by seeing a number of usages, for the original

of which, if he inquire, he is referred back to hoar mediæval

times--times which his Cockney guides dispose of by some such phrase

as crass ignorance, or feudal barbarism. He is naturally surprised

at such things; he never saw anything like it before; they don't

do so in Mincing Lane, or even in Gower Street. He can hardly be

expected to view these matters in their relation to the system of

which they form a part; he can hardly be expected to realise in

them the symbols through which the _genius loci_ finds an utterance

and exerts an agency; and so he goes smiling home in his railway

carriage, and perhaps buys a number of _Punch_ by the way, and

thinks that there is more practical wisdom in that periodical than

is embodied in the great monuments of William of Wykeham or Lady

Margaret.

Nevertheless, while we rebut these vague general charges of a blind

impassibility to the influences of the time, we are far from denying

that a tendency to cling to ancient ideas and observances is a

characteristic of the universities. This tendency is a property of

all corporate institutions, and is commonly the reason of their

foundation. They are to perpetuate to a future time a feeling or

design of the present; to form a nucleus, round which the thoughts

and principles of one age congregate, and are thus handed down to

another in a preserved and crystallised form. Changes of ideas pass

upon them of necessity, through the individual liability of their

constituent members to be affected by the current of the passing

time; but these changes take place rather by a gradual fusion of

the old into the new, than by those sudden transitions to which the

popular and prevailing opinions are so often subjected. And it may

fairly be supposed that, by means of this property, corporations are

more likely to adopt and amalgamate into their framework that which

is most permanent and genuine, out of all that the ever-changing

tide of time casts upon the shore.

Perhaps, too, this tenacity of the bygone will more naturally be

found to be a characteristic of the universities, than of other

corporations. The spots which they occupy are holy ground, fraught

with historic memories of the great and wise of former days. The

_genius loci_ is a mighty advocate in behalf of antiquity:--

"As the ghost of Homer clings

Round Scamander's wasting springs;

As divinest Shakspeare's might

Fills Avon and the world with light;"

--so we may not well pass unaffected by the congregation of priest,

and poet, and sage, whose recollections consecrate the banks of

our academic rivers. As we go beneath "Bacon's mansion," or about

Milton's mulberry tree; as we kneel where Newton knelt, or dine in

halls where the portraits of Erasmus, and Fisher, and Taylor, look

down upon us,--these are not times and places for the dogmatism and

arrogance of "the nineteenth century"--for bragging of our advance

and illumination, or sneering at "the good old times." This is in

accordance with the law of our nature; but these recollections, and

the lessons which they teach, are not, if rightly laid hold of,

such as to induce a mere blind attachment to the skeletons of dead

notions and practices. And although it may, perhaps must, happen

that, at any given time, there may be found relics adhering to the

system, whose vitality and meaning have been withdrawn by time,

and left them dry and sapless, yet we will venture to assert that,

if a dogged adherence to antiquated forms could fairly be charged

on the universities, they could never have maintained their ground

amidst the mighty historical transmutations that have passed over

their heads. Civil wars and popular tumults have raged around them;

the throne has yielded to violence and to intrigue; the Church has

admitted modifications, both of her doctrine and her discipline;

and, more than all, the still more important, though silent and

gradual changes--changes to which the striking and salient events of

history are but the indexes and visible signs--changes of thought

and rule of action--have risen and sunk, and ebbed and flowed, and

still these stable monuments of the piety and munificence of men

whose names are almost unknown, remain unshorn of their ancient

vigour, and intimately entwined with our social system.

But it is time that we should come to particulars, and make known

to our readers, as briefly as we can, the nature of the alterations

recently introduced at Cambridge, which have called forth so

much objurgatory commendation from quarters, which were commonly

considered to entertain tolerably destructive views in regard to the

universities. We say objurgatory commendation, because the faint

praise of a "move in the right direction" was generally more or

less coupled with vigorous denunciation of the antiquated obstinacy

which had so long kept in the wrong. And here we must premise the

statement of certain qualities of the age in which we live, which

will have fallen under the notice of all observers. Perhaps the most

distinguishing feature of our time is the principle which forms the

life and soul of retail trade--the principle which sets men to busy

themselves about small and immediate returns for outlay; which looks

more to the gains across the counter, than to the advantage which

is general, or distant, or future. In a word, _practicality_ is the

ruling passion of our day. As might have been expected, education,

among other things, has been subjected to this huckstering test.

People have asked, what is the market value of this or that branch

of learning? Will it get a boy on in the world? Will it enable him

to provide for himself soon? Will the returns for the expenditure

I am going to make be quick and certain? Cowper represents the

father of a son intended for the church as speculating on his young

hopeful's prospects after the following fashion:--

"Let reverend churls his ignorance rebuke,

Who starve upon a dog's-eared Pentateuch,

The parson knows enough who knows a duke."

In these days the acquaintance of a duke is not of the same relative

value as it was when Cowper wrote; but this sort of worldly-wise

calculation is more prevalent than ever, and the cry of the largest

class of the public is--give us such knowledge as will _pay_.

Those who took this commercial view of education derived no small

encouragement from the circumstance that Prince Albert, the learned

field-marshal, and warlike chancellor of Cambridge University,

had interfered to promote the culture of modern languages in

these venerable precincts of Eton, where for many a year Henry's

holy shade had watched the growth of an education of less obvious

utility. How was young Thomas or William "the better off" for being

able to con "the tale of Troy divine?" But teach him to mince a

little French, simper a little Italian, snarl a little German, and

there he is at once accomplished for an _attaché_, a correspondent,

or a bagman--profitable walks of life all of them. And the same

notions mounted still higher in the ascendant, when the senate of

the University of Cambridge apparently evinced a desire to examine

the requirements of that body by the same standard.

The first step of this kind was taken about three years ago. Most

of our readers are aware that, at Cambridge, those candidates

for a degree who do not aspire to honours are said to go out in

the _poll_; this being the abbreviated term to denote those who

were classically designated ὁι πολλοι. Now the qualifications

required for attaining this poll degree consisted of an acquaintance

with a part of Homer, a part of Virgil, a part of the Greek

Testament, and Paley's _Evidences of Christianity_, over and

above the mathematics, of which we shall speak presently. By

what curious infelicity the recondite, and, in many particulars,

inexplicable language of Homer has been so commonly selected for

beginners in Greek at school, and, as in this case, for those who

were not expected to appear as accomplished scholars--we need not

here stop to inquire. Suffice it to say that the university, in

this initial reform, ousted Homer and Virgil from the course, and

supplied their places with a Latin and Greek author, to be varied

in each successive year. This was decidedly an improvement, at

least as regards Homer, for the reason we have alluded to above.

Perhaps a better innovation would have been to have followed the

Oxford system, and allowed to the student a choice of his author.

But it is a great misfortune that the university, in recasting

this course, did not substitute a work of some one of the logical

or philosophical authors current in the English language, for the

shallow and plausible book of Paley's above mentioned--with regard

to which it would be difficult to say whether it is worse chosen as

a model of reasoning, or as a proof of Christian facts.

The mathematical portion of this course consisted of Euclid,

algebra, and trigonometry, the student being thus trained in the

model processes of pure mathematical reasoning left us by the

first, and also brought acquainted with the elementary operations

of analysis. As a matter of mental training, the most valuable

portion of this curriculum was the knowledge acquired of the

geometrical processes employed by Euclid, as familiarising the mind

of the student with the severest forms of reasoning, and the steps

whereby indubitable verity is attained. This portion, however, was

most especially selected for curtailment by the reforms to which

we are alluding. In the stead of the requirements thus displaced,

a motley amount of elementary propositions in statics, dynamics,

and hydrostatics, were substituted--useful information enough as

instances of the simpler applications of the analytical machinery

of mathematics, but comparatively worthless as an exercise of

the mind. Country clergymen, whose forgotten mathematics loomed

grandly on their minds through the mist of years, were confounded

with disappointment at beholding their sons, in whom they expected

to find philosophers, return to them with an examination paper,

apparently rather calculated to unfold the mysteries of engineering,

well-sinking, and carpentering.

This object--the practicability and immediate utility of the studies

pursued, in preference to the superiority of mental training

derivable from them--seems to be simply that which has dictated

the recent innovations of 1848. The principle which entered into

both measures may easily be traced in the prevalent phases of

literature and science throughout the public at large. A few years

ago, every one fancied himself a philosopher. Little volumes,

cabinet cyclopædias and the like, swarmed on the booksellers'

shelves, containing a string of disjointed and bald scientific

facts, involving no truth and expressive of no law, but more or less

adroitly arranged under several heads, with a _savant_ air. The

man of business--the apprentice--the boarding-school miss--took it

into their heads that a royal road was thus opened to all branches

of useful and entertaining knowledge,--that the acquirements of

Bacon were "in this wonderful age" brought within the reach of

every one who had an occasional hour or two in the day to spare

from more mechanical employments; and that the progress from

ignorance to philosophy was as much facilitated by these little-book

contrivances, as the journey from London to Birmingham, by the

rushing railway-train, was an advance upon the week's toil of our

forefathers in accomplishing the same space. Much of this mania for

desultory knowledge has evaporated, but its influences are still

distinctly to be traced among us. It is not surprising that those

influences should in some measure have affected the universities.

In accordance with the popular notions afloat, the Cambridge

legislators followed up the alteration which we have been describing

by the adoption of their recent measures, by which they effected an

extension of their field of "honours" similar to that which they

had already accomplished in the qualifications for the ordinary

degree. To the old "triposes," or classes of honours in mathematics

and classics, they have now added two more--namely, one in moral

sciences and one in natural sciences.

Before, however, we offer any conjectures as to the probable

effect of these yet untried changes, we must remind our readers

of a certain characteristic of the Cambridge system, which is

important in estimating the internal relations of the late reforms.

The academic life of Cambridge circulates through two concurrent

systems, which we may term the university and the collegiate system.

The university is one corporation, and each individual college is

altogether another. The union between the two systems might be

dissolved without difficulty. If the university were to abandon

her ancient seat, and take up some new abode, as she did for a

time at Northampton some centuries ago, the colleges might still

remain as places of education, with but little modification of their

present character. The older system--the university--has had its

functions gradually absorbed in a great measure by the collegiate.

The earliest form in which Cambridge appears, dimly seen in hoar

antiquity, is that of a congregation of students, commonly living

together for mutual convenience in hostels, governed by a code

of statutes, and endowed with the privilege of granting degrees.

Then came the founders of colleges, with their noble endowments,

and reared edifices, in which societies of these students should

live together under a common rule, and form distinct corporations

by themselves, for purposes connected with, and auxiliary to,

those of the university. The latter body has from time immemorial

matriculated only those who were already members of some one or

other of the colleges; but there probably was a time at which a

student in the university was not necessarily a member of any

college, until by degrees these foundations absorbed into their

composition the whole of the academic population. By-and-by, the

principal part of the functions of teaching also lapsed into the

hands of the colleges. In the old times, the university discharged

this duty by means of the public readings or lectures by the newly

admitted masters of arts, (termed _regents_,) and by the keeping of

acts and opponencies--being certain _vivâ voce_ disputations--by

the students. To this system, comprehending the main studies of the

place, was superadded, by individual endowment or royal beneficence,

the collateral information on special subjects given by the

professors. The colleges were altogether subsidiary to this mode

of instruction--the practice being that every student who enrolled

himself in the ranks of a particular college, must do so under the

charge of some one of the fellows of the college, who became a kind

of private tutor to him. Hence arose college tutors; and as their

lectures, given in each separate college, were found to be the most

efficient aids in prosecuting the university studies, the readings

of the masters of arts gradually fell altogether into disuse, and

the _vivâ voce_ exercises of the students have nearly done so.

Possibly, along with the transfer of the functions of lecturing

from the university regents to the college tutors, the professorial

chairs may also have declined in importance as an element of

the academic education. But, as we have before seen, these were

never the main vehicle for the dispensation of knowledge on the

part of the university. Nevertheless, we suspect that one object

of the recently erected triposes is to revive the importance of

the professors' lectures in the university course. For it is now

required that every one who presents himself as a candidate for the

ordinary or _poll_ degree, shall have attended the lectures of some

one of the professors at his individual choice; and these lectures

will, moreover, be necessary guides in the studies required of

those who aim at the honours of the new triposes. It seems clear,

therefore, that the devisers of the scheme had it in contemplation,

through the medium of their changes, to fill the class-rooms of

the professors, and so far to assimilate the modern system to the

ancient, by bringing the university instruction into more active

play. We are disposed to question the wisdom of these proceedings.

Until now, the university and the colleges had apportioned their

several functions, by assigning to the latter the duty of imparting

proficiency in the studies cultivated; to the former, that of

testing proficiency attained. The two systems had thus harmonised,

as we believe, in conformity with the requirements of the age by

lapse of time; and if it was deemed desirable to disturb this

arrangement, and restore the faculty of teaching to the university,

this should rather have been done, we think, by reviving the system

of _vivâ voce_ disputations, now altogether disused except in the

progress to a degree in law, physic, or divinity; but which would

form, under proper regulations, an important adjunct to the ordinary

course, by cultivating a decision, a readiness, and an ingenuity

in reasoning, which are comparatively left dormant by a written

examination. Again, it is, as we consider, altogether a mistake

to suppose that the primary end of a professorial existence is to

deliver lectures. The endowment of a professorship is rather, as

we take it, to enable the holder of it to give up his time to the

particular science to which he is devoted; and it is by no means

necessary, especially in these days, when words are so easily winged

by the printer's devil, that the results of his labours should be

given forth by oral lectures. At the same time, when his subject,

and his manner of treating it, were such as to command interest,

he was at no loss for an audience. The professorships, however,

being mostly established for the purpose of aiding the pursuit of

the inductive sciences, side by side with the severer studies of

the university, fell under the patronage of the spirit of the age.

Whether the sciences, for the promotion of which they were founded,

will be materially advanced by this sort of "protection," remains to

be seen.

It is likely enough, we think, that some confusion may arise from

this revival of the lecturing powers of the university. This,

however, will be easily obviated in practice, as the two systems

have never, so far as we are aware, manifested anything like a

mutual antagonism or jealousy of each other. A greater practical

difficulty is one which appears to be left untouched by the new

regime. We allude to the growing plan of instruction by private

tutors--a calling which has sprang up, in the strictest principles

of demand and supply, to meet the eagerness for external aid which

has been induced by the great competition for university honours.

The existence and increasing importance of the class of private

tutors has been decried as an evil; and it, no doubt, enhances

considerably the expenses attendant on a college education. But,

after all, this is only part and parcel of the lot which has fallen

to us in these latter days of merry England. There are so many of

us, and we keep so constantly adding to our numbers, that we must

not be surprised at more pushing and contrivance being required to

realise a livelihood than heretofore; and as the end to be attained

increases in its relative importance, the outlay attendant on its

attainment will, in the ordinary course of things, be augmented

also. It is not our intention, however, to discuss at this time

the merits or demerits of the private-tutor system; it suffices

for our purpose to notice it as the reappearance, in another form,

of the old functions of instruction, as lodged in the hands of the

university regents. As the collegiate system gradually supplanted

that pristine form, so the office of the private tutors is, to a

certain extent, supplanting the collegiate system. These instructors

are likely, as we before said, to occupy, under the new rules, much

the same place as they held under the old; and indeed it appears

that, whether desirable or not, it would be extremely difficult to

get rid of them; at all events the colleges, being now trenched upon

by the university professors on the one hand, and by the private

tutors on the other, must exert themselves to ascertain their proper

functions, and to fulfil them with zeal and energy.

As for the new triposes themselves, it may be doubted whether the

name given to them is not the most unfortunate part of them. The

common name of Tripos looks like a confusion of ideas on the part

of the university itself, and a want of discrimination between its

old studies and its new. At first, probably, the recent triposes

will be comparatively neglected, and on that ground alone it is both

misjudging and unfair to include in the same category of "honours"

and "tripos," classes which are respectively the subject of ardent

competition and of none at all. But supposing that the new classes

attracted their fair share of competitors, it would still be a

grievous fault in the university to hold out to the world so false

an estimate of the vehicle of mental training, as it would appear

to do by placing on a par the new studies and the old--by assuming,

or seeming to assume, that ratiocinative thought may be as well

employed about the fallacies of Mr Ricardo, as the exact reasoning

and indubitable verities of Euclid and Newton; or that the faculties

of discrimination and speculation may be unfolded by the "getting

up" of botanical or chemical nomenclature, not less than by the new

world of thought opened through the authors of Greece and Rome. We

must, however, confess that we are now taking the most unfavourable

view of the matter. With respect, indeed, to the natural sciences'

tripos, we cannot help being fully of opinion, that it should have

been distinctly recognised as subsidiary to the main vehicles of

education adopted at Cambridge. But the moral sciences' tripos

furnishes, if properly constructed, an excellent means for training

thought. It is a great misfortune that the study of Aristotle has

been suffered at Cambridge to fall almost into desuetude: we speak

of the philosophical study of his works in contradistinction to

the philological. The former is maintained at Oxford with great

success; thus combining, with Oxford scholarship, a training of the

reasoning powers which is almost an equivalent for the mathematical

studies of her sister university. Moreover, the literature of Great

Britain boasts of a band of moral philosophers far greater than any

other modern nation can produce. The works of Butler, Cudworth,

Berkeley, Hume, Reid, and Stewart, with many others, form a group

of authorities worthy of the groves of Academus. The metaphysics

of Locke--we should rather say, the wall which Locke has built

up between the English mind and the science of metaphysics--has

too long prevented the moral reasoners of this country from duly

availing themselves of the treasures at their command. Under the

guidance of such lights as those we have enumerated, we may hope

to see a school of metaphysical thinkers arise in England, whose

exertions may dissipate the mist of half-thought in which Teutonic

speculation has involved the science of its choice. If, however, the

tap-root of our metaphysical thought is to be cut through by the

study of the plausibilities of Locke and Paley, (no very unlikely

issue, we should fear, at least under present circumstances,) then

this moral sciences' tripos also is one of those things which had

better never have been.

We repeat that Cambridge has incurred great blame, if she has

allowed herself to mislead, or to seem to mislead, the popular

mind on these matters. The more talkative portion of the public,

and the newspapers which commonly represent that more talkative

portion, have evidently been inclined to interpret this movement of

Cambridge as an indication of a most utilitarian system of education

coming to supplant the old rules. They anticipate all sorts of

civil engineering, butterfly-dissecting, light geology, and a whole

Babel of modern languages, to be victoriously let loose on the home

where for many a century Wisdom has sat with the scroll of Plato

on her knee, and Science has unravelled the wizard lore of fluxion

and equation. The senate of Cambridge is egregiously mistaken if it

supposes that it will win over to its body the students of these

popular branches of knowledge, by following the dictation of the

popular taste. Those who want to be civil engineers will not come

to a university to learn their art. They will follow Brunel and

Stephenson, and see how the work is actually done in practice; and

those who do so will soon prove themselves far superior, _quoad_

civil engineering, to the Cambridge-bred theorist. In like manner,

a month's flirtation in Paris, or a few games at _écarté_ with a

German baron, will teach the student of modern languages more French

or German than all the philologists of Oxford, Cambridge, or Eton

can impart in a year.

"Quam quisque nôrit artem, in hâc se exerceat."

If the public have mistaken the functions of the university, it

is the more incumbent on her to assert them correctly. Nor is

the outcry less groundless, that the universities have failed to

furnish the best men in law and medicine. With regard to the law,

certain gentlemen were even cited by name, in leading articles of

newspapers, as types of the class of men who were now taking the

lead at the bar, and representing an altogether different school

from that trained at the universities. The fact of the university

men being supplanted, or being likely to be supplanted, at the bar,

may admit of considerable question. But it is not, after all, the

question by which the universities are to be judged. They do not

undertake to make men great lawyers or skilful physicians; this,

where it does belong to their functions, is a collateral duty, and

not the main object of their training. That object is distinctly

avowed in their own formularies. That noble clause in the "bidding

prayer" will attach itself to the memories of most of those who have

heard it:

"_And that there never may be wanting a supply of persons duly

qualified to serve God, both in Church and State_, let us pray

for a blessing on all seminaries of sound learning and religious

education, particularly the universities of this realm."

A higher end to be attained, perhaps, than that of merely qualifying

the student to "get on in the world." His university education is

not so much to enable him to attain those eminent stations which

are the prizes of ability and industry, as to fit him to adorn and

fill worthily those stations when he has attained them. In truth,

we think it is not desirable, any more than necessary, that a

degree should be an essential opening to the bar, the profession of

medicine, or even the Church. The university is injured by being too

much regarded as a step to be got over with the view of reaching

some ulterior end.

We dwell on this point with the more interest, because we are

satisfied that a still greater responsibility rests with the

universities, to guard the fountains of knowledge pure and

unsullied, in those days of professed knowledge, than in the

so-called dark ages. Our day is rich in the knowledge of _facts_;

there were many _truths_ influencing those men of the times we

please to call dark, which we have ignored or forgotten. The general

demand for information--for this knowledge of facts--has made

it a marketable commodity, a subject of commercial speculation;

consequently, a vast deal that is shallow and desultory, a vast

deal, too, that is counterfeit and fraudulent, is abroad, made up

for the market, and circulates among multitudes who are incapable

of separating the grain from the chaff. It is therefore, we repeat,

even more important that the sources of learning should be guarded

from contamination, now that the antagonistic principles are the

knowledge of truth and the subserviency to falsehood, than when, at

the revival of literature, the struggle was between knowledge and

ignorance.

We would have the universities remember that it is their best policy

as corporations, as well as a duty they owe to those great medieval

spirits who planted them where they stand, to own a better principle

than that which would lead them to succumb to what is called popular

opinion--in other words, the floating fallacy of the day--and aim

at producing the shallow party leaders and favourite writers of

the passing moment. They cannot control the frothy surface and the

deep under-current at the same time. It would be a sacrifice to

expediency which, after all, would not serve their turn. There are

institutions which will do that work, and which will beat them in

the race. Let all such take their own course.

"Let Gryll be Gryll, and have his hoggish kinde:" let Stinkomalee

train the statesmen for the League and the jokers for _Punch_,--but

Oxford and Cambridge have other rôles.

It is true, we are told there is a new aristocracy rising in

England, and that the English universities are gaining no hold

upon the coming generation of "chiefs of industry." It would be

far better for our social condition that these same chiefs of

industry should be educated men, and should pass through a training

which might tend to neutralise the power of the mercantile iron in

entering into their soul. But at present the race to be rich is

so strong and hardly contested, that this class is hardly likely,

in general, to devote their scions to academical studies of any

description; and the merchant or manufacturer who came from the

banks of Isis or Cam, at the age of twenty-one, to the Exchange

or the Cloth-hall, would find himself starting under a most heavy

disadvantage as compared with his neighbour of the same age, who had

spent the last three or four years in a counting-house. The reason

that this class is not commonly trained in the national seminaries,

is to be sought in the habit and requirements of the class, and not

in the nature of the education afforded them.

We have spoken chiefly of Cambridge, because Cambridge has put

herself forward as the representative of a system of so-called

university reform--of a certain movement in the direction of that

principle which would accommodate the education of our higher

classes to the caprice of a popular cry or cant phrase. We care

not so much whether that movement in itself be advantageous or the

reverse: it is against the principles supposed to be involved in it

that we protest. The report goes, that changes of some kind or other

are contemplated at Oxford also. If these changes be made, we trust

that they will not be devised in deference to the noisier portion of

the public, or to that fondness for short-cuts to knowledge, which

fritters away the energies of the rising man in the collection of

desultory facts, and the dependence upon shallow plausibilities.

The Scottish universities, too, are likely to be put to the test in

the same manner as their sisters of the Southern kingdom; and the

questions raised cannot be uninteresting to them.

Nor, indeed, can the whole nation be otherwise than deeply concerned

in this matter; and we are not surprised, at the interest which

has been excited by the recent alterations at Cambridge, though

not measures in themselves of any great importance. While we have

contended for a higher ground on the part of the universities

than that of merely finding such knowledge as is required by the

popular taste, and happens to be most current in the market, and

have called upon them to lead the public mind in these matters,

we need hardly say that we must not be understood as failing to

see the necessity of those institutions closely observing the

shifting relations of our social equilibrium, and adapting their

policy by judicious change, if need be, to the circumstances in

which they find themselves. We might perhaps adduce the altered

position of the Church with respect to the nation at large, as

an instance of these changes. We have before hinted that the

universities have, as we think, in some degree aimed at being

too exclusively the training-schools of the clergy; and this

circumstance, in our judgment, so far as England is concerned, has

both narrowed the operations of the Church and the influence of the

universities. The Church and European civilisation--the latter

having grown up under the tutelage of the former--stand no longer

in the relation of nurse and bantling, though Heaven forbid that

they should ever be other than firm friends and allies! But the

Church is no longer the exclusive teacher of the world: mankind

are in a great measure taught by books. Viewing the clergy not in

respect of their sacerdotal functions, but as the instructors of

mankind, we find their office shared by a motley crowd of authors,

pamphleteers, newspaper editors, magazine contributors, _quales

nos vel Cluvienus_. It is incumbent, then, on the universities to

consider how they may bring within the sphere of that control which

they exercised in old times over the clergy, this mixed multitude

of public instructors; how they may become not merely the schools

of the clerical order, but also the nurseries of a future caste of

literary men, who are to bear their part with that order in the

coming development of human thought.

THE COVENANTERS' NIGHT-HYMN.

BY DELTA.

[Making all allowances for the many over-coloured pictures, nay,

often onesided statements of such apologetic chroniclers as Knox,

Melville, Calderwood, and Row, it is yet difficult to divest the

mind of a strong leaning towards the old Presbyterians and champions

of the Covenant--probably because we believe them to have been

sincere, and know them to have been persecuted and oppressed.

Nevertheless, the liking is as often allied to sympathy as to

approbation; for a sifting of motives exhibits, in but too many

instances, a sad commixture of the chaff of selfishness with the

grain of principle--an exhibition of the over and over again played

game, by which the gullible many are made the tools of the crafty

and designing few. Be it allowed that, both in their preachings

from the pulpit and their teachings by example, the Covenanters

frequently proceeded more in the spirit of fanaticism than of sober

religious feeling; and that, in their antagonistic ardour, they did

not hesitate to carry the persecutions of which they themselves

so justly complained into the camp of the adversary--sacrificing

in their mistaken zeal even the ennobling arts of architecture,

sculpture, and painting, as adjuncts of idol-worship--still it is to

be remembered, that the aggression emanated not from them; and that

the rights they contended for were the most sacred and invaluable

that man can possess--the freedom of worshipping God according

to the dictates of conscience. They sincerely believed that the

principles which they maintained were right: and their adherence to

these with unalterable constancy, through good report and through

bad report; in the hour of privation and suffering, of danger and

death; in the silence of the prison-cell, not less than in the

excitement of the battle-field; by the blood-stained hearth, on the

scaffold, and at the stake,--forms a noble chapter in the history of

the human mind--of man as an accountable creature.

Be it remembered, also, that these religious persecutions were not

mere things of a day, but were continued through at least three

entire generations. They extended from the accession of James VI. to

the English throne, (_testibus_ the rhymes of Sir David Lyndsay,

and the classic prose of Buchanan,) down to the Revolution of

1688--almost a century, during which many thousands tyrannically

perished, without in the least degree loosening that tenacity of

purpose, or subduing that _perfervidum ingenium_, which, according

to Thuanus, have been national characteristics.

As in almost all similar cases, the cause of the Covenanters, so

strenuously and unflinchingly maintained, ultimately resulted in

the victory of Protestantism--that victory, the fruits of which we

have seemed of late years so readily inclined to throw away; and, in

its rural districts more especially, of nothing are the people more

justly proud than

----"the tales

Of persecution and the Covenant,

Whose echo rings through Scotland to this hour."

So says Wordsworth. These traditions have been emblazoned by the

pens of Scott, M'Crie, Galt, Hogg, Wilson, Grahame, and Pollok, and

by the pencils of Wilkie, Harvey, and Duncan,--each regarding them

with the eye of his peculiar genius.

In reference to the following stanzas, it should be remembered that,

during the holding of their conventicles,--which frequently, in the

more troublous times, took place amid mountain solitudes, and during

the night,--a sentinel was stationed on some commanding height in

the neighbourhood, to give warning of the approach of danger.]

I.

Ho! plaided watcher of the hill,

What of the night?--what of the night?

The winds are lown, the woods are still,

The countless stars are sparkling bright;

From out this heathery moorland glen,

By the shy wild-fowl only trod,

We raise our hymn, unheard of men,

To Thee--an omnipresent God!

II.

Jehovah! though no sign appear,

Through earth our aimless path to lead,

We know, we feel Thee ever near,

A present help in time of need--

Near, as when, pointing out the way,

For ever in thy people's sight,

A pillared wreath of smoke by day,

Which turned to fiery flame at night!

III.

Whence came the summons forth to go?--

From Thee awoke the warning sound!

"Out to your tents, O Israel! Lo!

The heathen's warfare girds thee round.

Sons of the faithful! up--away!

The lamb must of the wolf beware;

The falcon seeks the dove for prey;

The fowler spreads his cunning snare!"

IV.

Day set in gold; 'twas peace around--

'Twas seeming peace by field and flood:

We woke, and on our lintels found

The cross of wrath--the mark of blood.

Lord! in thy cause we mocked at fears,

We scorned the ungodly's threatening words--

Beat out our pruning-hooks to spears,

And turned our ploughshares into swords!

V.

Degenerate Scotland! days have been

Thy soil when only freemen trod--

When mountain-crag and valley green

Poured forth the loud acclaim to God!--

The fire which liberty imparts,

Refulgent in each patriot eye,

And, graven on a nation's hearts,

_The Word_--for which we stand or die!

VI.

Unholy change! The scorner's chair

Is now the seat of those who rule;

Tortures, and bonds, and death, the share

Of all except the tyrant's tool.

That faith in which our fathers breathed,

And had their life, for which they died--

That priceless heirloom they bequeathed

Their sons--our impious foes deride!

VII.

So We have left our homes behind,

And We have belted on the sword,

And We in solemn league have joined,

Yea! covenanted with the Lord,

Never to seek those homes again,

Never to give the sword its sheath,

Until our rights of faith remain

Unfettered as the air we breathe!

VIII.

O Thou, who rulest above the sky,

Begirt about with starry thrones,

Cast from the Heaven of Heavens thine eye

Down on our wives and little ones--

From Hallelujahs surging round,

Oh! for a moment turn thine ear,

The widow prostrate on the ground,

The famished orphan's cries to hear!

IX.

And Thou wilt hear! it cannot be,

That Thou wilt list the raven's brood,

When from their nest they scream to Thee,

And in due season send them food;

It cannot be that Thou wilt weave

The lily such superb array,

And yet unfed, unsheltered, leave

Thy children--as if less than they!

X.

We have no hearths--the ashes lie

In blackness where they brightly shone;

We have no homes--the desert sky

Our covering, earth our couch alone:

We have no heritage--depriven

Of these, we ask not such on earth;

Our hearts are sealed; we seek in heaven,

For heritage, and home, and hearth!

XI.

O Salem, city of the saint,

And holy men made perfect! We

Pant for thy gates, our spirits faint

Thy glorious golden streets to see;--

To mark the rapture that inspires

The ransomed, and redeemed by grace;

To listen to the seraphs' lyres,

And meet the angels face to face!

XII.

Father in Heaven! we turn not back,

Though briers and thorns choke up the path;

Rather the tortures of the rack,

Than tread the winepress of Thy wrath.

Let thunders crash, let torrents shower,

Let whirlwinds churn the howling sea,

What is the turmoil of an hour,

To an eternal calm with Thee?

THE CARLISTS IN CATALONIA.

The debates in the Cortes, and the increasing development of the

civil war in Catalonia, have again called attention to the affairs

of Spain. Three months ago we glanced at the state of that country,

briefly and broadly sketching its political history since the royal

marriages. The quarter of a year that has since elapsed has been a

busy one in Spain. Two things have been clearly proved: first, that

the Carlist insurrection is a very different affair from the paltry

gathering of banditti, as which the Moderados and their newspapers

so long persisted in depicting it; and, secondly, that the Madrid

government are heartily repentant of their unceremonious dismissal

of a British ambassador. Christina and her Camarilla scarcely know

which most deeply to deplore--the intrusion of Cabrera or the

expulsion of Bulwer.

In Catalonia, we have a striking example of what may be

accomplished, under most unfavourable circumstances, by one man's

energy and talent. Nine months ago there was not a single company of

Carlist soldiers in the field. A few irregular bands, insignificant

in numbers, without uniform and imperfectly armed, roamed in the

mountains, fearing to enter the plain, hunted down like wolves,

and punished as malefactors when captured. To persons ignorant

how great was the difference made by the fall of Louis Philippe

in the chances of the Spanish Carlists, the cause of these never

appeared more hopeless than in the spring of 1848. Suddenly a man,

who for seven years had basked in the orange groves of Hyères, and

listlessly lingered in the mountain solitudes of Auvergne,--reposing

his body, scarred and weary from many a desperate combat, and

recruiting his health, impaired by exertion and hardship--crossed

the Pyrenees, and appeared upon the scene of his former exploits.

The news of his arrival spread fast, but for a time found few

believers. Cabrera, said the incredulous, who evacuated Spain at

the head of ten thousand hardy and well-armed soldiers, because

he would not condescend to a guerilla warfare, after having held

towns and fortresses, and won pitched battles in the field--Cabrera

would never re-enter the country to take command of a few hundred

scattered adventurers. Others denied his presence, because he had

not immediately signalised it by some dashing feat, worthy the

conqueror of Morella and Maella. Various reports were circulated by

those interested to discredit the arrival of the redoubted chief.

He was ill, they said; he had never entered Spain or dreamed of

so doing; he had come to Catalonia, others admitted, but was so

disgusted at the scanty resources of his party, at the few men in

the field, at the lack of arms, money, organisation,--of everything,

in short, necessary for the prosecution of a war,--that he cursed

the lying representations which had lured him from retirement, and

was again upon the wing for France. The truth was in none of these

statements. If Cabrera sounded a retreat in 1840, when ten thousand

warlike and devoted followers were still at his orders, it was

because the Carlist _prestige_ was gone for a time, the country was

exhausted by war, anarchy reigned in the camp, and he himself was

prostrated by sickness. In seven years, circumstances had entirely

changed; the country, galled by misgovernment and oppression, was

ripe for insurrection; the intermeddling of foreign powers was no

longer to be apprehended; and Cabrera emerged from his retirement,

not expecting to find an army, or money, or organisation, but

prepared to create all three. In various ingenious and impenetrable

disguises he moved rapidly about eastern Spain; fearlessly

entering the towns, visiting his old partisans, and reviving their

dormant zeal by ardent and confident speech; giving fresh spirit

to the timid, shaming the apathetic, and enlisting recruits. His

unremitting efforts were crowned with success. Numbers of his

former followers rallied round him; secret adherents of the cause

contributed funds; arms and equipments, purchased in France and

England, safely arrived; officers of rank and talent, distinguished

in former wars, raised their banners and mustered companies and even

battalions; and soon Cabrera was strong enough to traverse Catalonia

in all directions, and to collect from the inhabitants regular

contributions, in almost every instance willingly paid, and gathered

often within cannon-shot of the enemy's forts. He seemed ubiquitous.

He was heard of everywhere, but more rarely seen, at least in

his own character. In various assumed ones, not unfrequently in

the garb of a priest, he accompanied small detachments sent to

collect imposts; doing subaltern's rather than general's duty,

ascertaining by personal observation the temper and disposition

of the peasantry, and making himself known when a point was to be

gained by the influence of his name and presence. His prodigious

activity and perseverance wrought miracles in a country where those

qualities by no means abound. Doubtless he has been well seconded,

but his has been the master-spirit. The result of his exertions

is best shown by a statement of the present Carlist strength in

Catalonia. We have already mentioned what it was eight or nine

months ago--a few hundred men, half-armed and ill disciplined,

wandering amongst ravines and precipices. At the close of 1848, the

Moderado papers, without means of obtaining correct information,

estimated the Carlist army in Catalonia at 8000 men. The Carlists

themselves, whose present policy is rather to under-state their

strength, admitted 10,000. Their real numbers--and the accuracy of

these statistics may be relied upon--are 12,000 bayonets and sabres,

exclusive of small guerilla parties, known as _volantes_, and other

irregulars. A large proportion of the 12,000 are old soldiers,

who served in the last war; and all are well armed, equipped, and

disciplined, and superior to their opponents in power of endurance,

and of effecting those tremendous marches for which Spanish troops

are celebrated. Regularly rationed and supplied with tobacco, they

wait cheerfully till the military chest is in condition to disburse

arrears. The curious in costume may like to hear something of their

appearance. The brigade under the immediate orders of Cabrera

wears a green uniform with black facings: Ramonet's men have dark

blue jackets; there is a corps clothed _à l'Anglaise_, in scarlet

coats and blue continuations, which is known as Count Montemolin's

own regiment. The old _boina_ or flat cap, and a sort of light,

low-crowned shako, such as is worn by the French in Africa, compose

the convenient and appropriate head-dress. With the important arms

of artillery and cavalry, in which armies raised as this one has

been are apt to be deficient, Cabrera is well provided. A number

of guns were buried and otherwise concealed in Spain ever since

the last war, and others have been procured from France. As to

cavalry, the want of which was so frequently and severely felt by

the Carlists during the former struggle, the Christinos will be

surprised, one of these days, to find how formidable a body of

dragoons their opponents can bring into the field, although at

the present moment they have but few squadrons under arms. Nearly

four thousand horses are distributed in various country districts,

comfortably housed in farm and convent stables, and divided amongst

the inhabitants by twos and threes. They are well cared for, and

kept in good condition, ready to muster and march whenever required.

What the Catalonian Carlists are now most in want of, is a centre

of operations, a strong fortress--a Morella or a Berga--whither to

retreat and recruit when necessary. That Cabrera feels this want is

evident from the various attempts he has made to surprise fortified

towns, with a view to hold them against the Christinos. Hitherto

these attempts have been unsuccessful, but we may be prepared to

hear any day of his having made one with a different result.

When the general tranquillity of Europe brought Spanish dissensions

into relief, a vast deal of romance was written in France, Spain,

and England, in the guise of memoirs of Cabrera, and of other

distinguished leaders of the civil war, and not a little was

swallowed by the simple as historical fact. We remember to have

seen the Convention of Bergara accounted for in print by a game at

cards between Espartero and Maroto, who, both being represented as

desperate gamblers, met at night at a lone farm-house between their

respective lines, and played for the crown of Spain. Espartero won;

and Maroto, more loyal as a gamester than to his king, brought

over his army to the queen. This marvellous tale, although not

exactly vouched for in the original English, was gravely translated

in French periodicals; and the chances are that a portion of the

French nation believe to the present hour that Isabella owes her

crown to a lucky hit at _monté_. Fables equally preposterous

have been circulated about Cabrera. Of his personal appearance,

especially, the most absurd accounts have been published; and

type and graver have furnished so many fantastical and imaginary

portraits of him, that one from the life may have its interest.

Ramon Cabrera is about five feet eight inches in height, square

built, muscular, and active. He is rather round-shouldered; his

hair is abundant and very black; his grayish-brown eyes must be

admitted, even by his admirers, to have a cruel expression. His

complexion is tawny, his nose aquiline; he has nothing remarkable

or striking in his appearance, and is neither ugly nor handsome,

but of the two may be accounted rather good-looking than otherwise.

He has neither an assassin-scowl nor an expression like a bilious

hyena, nor any other of the little physiognomical _agrémens_ with

which imaginative painters have so frequently embellished his

countenance. His character, as well as his face, has suffered

from misrepresentation. He has been depicted as a Nero on a small

scale, dividing his time between fiddling and massacre. There is

some exaggeration in the statement. Unquestionably he is neither

mild nor merciful; he has shed much blood, and has been guilty of

divers acts of cruelty, but more of these have been attributed

to him than he ever committed. His mother's death by Christino

bullets inspired him with a burning desire of revenge. The system of

reprisals, so largely adopted by both sides, during the late civil

war in Spain, will account for many of his atrocities, although it

may hardly be held to justify them. But in the present contest he

has hitherto gone upon a totally different plan. Mercy and humanity

seem to be his device, as they are undoubtedly his best policy.

His aim is to win followers, by clemency and conciliation, instead

of compelling them by intimidation and cruelty. There is as yet no

authenticated account of an execution occurring by his order. One

man was shot at Vich by the troops blockading the place; but he

was known as a spy, and was twice warned not to enter the town. He

pretended to retire, made a circuit, tried another entrance, and

met his death. As to Cabrera's having shot four or five officers

for a plot against his life, as was recently reported in Spanish

papers, and repeated by English ones, the tale is unconfirmed, and

has every appearance of a fabrication. There is no doubt he finds

it necessary to keep a tight hand over his subordinates, especially

in presence of the recent defection of some of their number, whose

treachery, however, is not likely to be very advantageous to the

Christinos. The troops whom Pozas, Pons, Monserrat, and the other

renegade chiefs induced to accompany them, have for the most part

returned to their banners, and the queen has gained nothing but a

few very untrustworthy officers. These, by one of the conditions

of their desertion, her generals are compelled to employ, thus

creating much discontent among those officers of the Christino army

over whose heads the traitors are placed. The principal traitor,

General Miguel Pons, better known as Bep-al-Oli, has been known

as a Carlist ever since the rising in Catalonia in 1827, when he

was captured by the famous Count d'Espagne, and was condemned to

the galleys, as was his brother Antonio Pons, one of those whom

Cabrera was lately falsely reported to have shot. After the death

of Ferdinand, both brothers served under their former persecutor,

who thought to extinguish their resentment by good treatment and

promotion, in spite of which precaution a share in his assassination

is pretty generally attributed to Antonio Pons. Bep-al-Oli is

Catalan for Joseph-in-oil, or Oily Joe, a slippery cognomen, which

his recent change of sides seems to justify. Still he is a model

of consistency compared to many Spanish officers, who have changed

sides half-a-dozen times in the last fifteen years. And, indeed,

after one-and-twenty years' stanch and active Carlism, the sincerity

of Bep's conversion may perhaps be considered dubious. It would be

no way surprising if he were to return to his first love, carrying

with him, of course, the large sum for which he was bought. Another

chief, Monserrat, passed over to the Christinos with two or three

companions, and the very next week he had the misfortune to fall

asleep, whereupon the better half of his band took advantage of

his slumbers to go back to their colours, much comforted by the

gratuities they had received for changing sides. When Monserrat

awoke, he was furious at this defection, and instantly pursued his

stray sheep. Not having been heard of since, it is not unlikely he

may ultimately have followed their example. Of course, money is

the means employed to seduce these fickle partisans. They are all

bought at their own price, which rate is generally so high as to

preclude profit. The cash-keepers at Madrid will soon get tired

of such purchases. The regular expenses of the war are enormous,

without squandering thousands for a few days' use of men who cannot

be depended upon. It is notorious that immense offers were made to

Cabrera to induce him to abandon the cause of Charles VI., of which

he is the life and soul. Gold, titles, rank, governorships, have

been in turn and together paraded before him, but in vain. _He_

would indeed be worth buying, at almost any price; for he could

not be replaced, and his loss would be a death-blow to the Carlist

cause. Knowing this, and finding him incorruptible, it were not

surprising if certain unscrupulous persons at Madrid sought other

means of removing him from the scene. Cabrera, aware of the great

importance of his life, very prudently takes his precautions. He

has done so, to some extent, at various periods of his career.

During the early portion of his exile in France, when that country,

especially its southern provinces, swarmed with Spanish emigrants,

many of whom had deep motives for hating him--whilst others, needy

and starving, and inured to crime and bloodshed, might have been

tempted to knife him for the contents of his pockets--the refugee

chief wore a shirt of mail beneath his sheepskin jacket. He had

also a celebrated pair of leathern trousers, which were generally

believed to have a metallic lining. And, at the present time, report

says that his head is the only vulnerable part of his person.

In presence of their Catalonian anxieties, of Cabrera's rapidly

increasing strength, and of the impotence of Christino generals, who

start for the insurgent districts with premature vaunts of their

triumphs, and return to Madrid, baffled and crestfallen, to wrangle

in the senate and divulge state secrets--the Narvaez government

is secretly most anxious to make up its differences with England.

This anxiety has been made sufficiently manifest by the recent

discussions in the Cortes. Notwithstanding his assumed indifference

and vain-glorious self-gratulation, the Duke of Valencia would

gladly give a year's salary, perquisites, and plunder, to recall

the impolitic act by which a British envoy was expelled the Spanish

capital. Señor Cortina, the Progresista deputy, after denying that

there were sufficient grounds for Sir Henry Bulwer's dismissal,

and lamenting the rupture that has been its consequence, politely

advised Narvaez to resign office, as almost the only means of

repairing the dangerous breach. The recommendation, of course,

was purely ironical. General Narvaez is the last man to play the

Curtius, and plunge, for his country's sake, into the gulf of

political extinction. In his scale of patriotism, the good of Spain

is secondary to the advantage of Ramon Narvaez. We can imagine the

broad grins of the Opposition, and the suppressed titter of his own

friends, upon his having the face to declare, that, when the French

Revolution broke out, he was actually planning a transfer of the

reins of government into the hands of the Progresistas. The bad

example of democratic France frustrated his disinterested designs,

changed his benevolent intentions, and compelled him to transport

and imprison, by wholesale, the very men towards whom, a few weeks

previously, he was so magnanimously disposed. Returns of more than

fifteen hundred persons, thus arbitrarily torn from their homes and

families, were moved for early in the session; but only the names

were granted, the charges against them being kept secret, in order

not to give the lie to the ministerial assertion that but a small

minority were condemned for political offences. As to the dispute

with England, although Narvaez' pride will not suffer him to admit

his blunder and his regrets, many of his party make no secret of

their desire for a reconciliation at any price; fondly believing,

perhaps, that it would be followed, upon the _amantium iræ_

principle, by warmer love and closer union than before. The slumbers

of these _ojalatero_ politicians are haunted by sweet visions of a

British steam-flotilla cruising off the Catalonian coast, of Carlist

supplies intercepted, of British batteries mounted on the shores of

Spain, and manned by British marines--the sight of whose red jackets

might serve, at a pinch, to bolster up the wavering courage of a

Christino division--and of English commodores and artillery-colonels

supplying such deficient gentlemen as Messrs Cordova and Concha with

the military skill which, in Spain, is by no means an indispensable

qualification for a lieutenant-general's commission. Doubtless,

if the alliance between Lord Palmerston and Queen Christina had

continued, we should have had something of this sort, some more

petty intermeddling and minute military operations, consumptive of

English stores, and discreditable to English reputation. As it is,

there seems a chance of the quarrel being fairly fought out; of the

Spaniards being permitted to settle amongst themselves a question

which concerns themselves alone. If the Carlists get the better of

the struggle, (and it were unsafe to give long odds against them,)

it is undeniable that they began with small resources, and that

their triumph will have been achieved by their own unaided pluck and

perseverance.

Puzzled how to make his peace with England, without too great

mortification to his vanity and too great sacrifice of what he

calls his dignity, Narvaez falls back upon France, and does his

best to curry favour there by a fulsome acknowledgment of the evils

averted from Spain by the friendly offices of Messrs Lamartine

and Bastide, and of "the illustrious General Cavaignac." The fact

is, that during the first six months of the republic, nobody in

France had leisure to give a thought to Spain, and Carlists and

Progresistas were allowed to concert plans and make purchases

in France without the slightest molestation. At last, General

Cavaignac, worried by Sotomayor--and partly, perhaps, through

sympathy with his brother-dictator, Narvaez--sent to the frontier

one Lebrière, a sort of thieftaker or political Vidocq, who already

had been similarly employed by Louis Philippe. This man was to

stir up the authorities and thwart the Carlists, and at first he

did hamper the latter a little; but whether it was that he was

worse paid than on his former mission--Cavaignac's interest in the

affair being less personal than that of the King of the French--or

that some other reason relaxed his activity, he did not long prove

efficient. Then came the elections, and the success of Louis

Napoleon was unwelcome intelligence to the Madrid government--it

being feared that old friendship might dispose him to favour Count

Montemolin as far as lay in his power: whereupon--the influence of

woman being a lever not unnaturally resorted to by a party which

owes its rise mainly to bedchamber intrigue and to the patronage of

Madame Muñoz--the notable discovery was made that the Duchess of

Valencia (a Frenchwoman by birth) is a connexion of the Buonaparte

family, and her Grace was forthwith despatched to Paris to exercise

her coquetries and fascinations upon her far-off cousin, and to

intrigue, in concert with the Duke of Sotomayor, for the benefit

of her husband's government. The result of her mission is not yet

apparent. Putting all direct intervention completely out of the

question, France has still a vast deal in her power in all cases

of insurrection in the northern and eastern provinces of Spain. A

sharp look-out on the frontier, seizure of arms destined for the

insurgents, and the removal of Spanish refugees to remote parts of

France, are measures that would greatly harass and impede Carlist

operations; much less so now, however, than three or four months

ago. Most of the emigrants have now entered Spain; and horses and

arms--the latter in large numbers--have crossed the frontier.

Up to the middle of January, the Montemolinist insurrection was

confined to Catalonia, where alone the insurgents were numerous

and organised. This apparent inactivity in other districts, where

a rising might be expected, was to be attributed to the season.

The quantity of snow that had fallen in the northern provinces was

a clog upon military operations. About the middle of the month, a

thousand men, including three hundred cavalry, made their appearance

in Navarre, headed by Colonel Montero, an old and experienced

officer of the peninsular war, who served on the staff so far back

as the battle of Baylen. This force is to serve as a nucleus. The

conscription for 1849 has been anticipated; that is to say, the

young soldiers who should have joined their colours at the end of

the year, are called for at its commencement; and it is expected

that many of these conscripts, discontented at the premature

summons, will prefer joining the Carlists. When the weather clears,

it is confidently anticipated that two or three thousand hardy

recruits will make the valleys of Biscay and Navarre ring once

more with their Basque war-cries, headed by men whose names will

astonish those who still discredit the virtual union of Carlists and

Progresistas.

The masses of troops sent into Catalonia have as yet effected

literally nothing, not having been able to prevent the enemy even

from recruiting and organising. General Cordova made a military

promenade, lost a few hundred men--slain or taken prisoners with

their brigadier at their head--and resigned the command. He has been

succeeded by Concha, a somewhat better soldier than Cordova, who

was never anything but a parade butterfly of the very shallowest

capacity. Concha has as yet done little more than his predecessor,

(his reported victory over Cabrera between Vich and St Hippolito was

a barefaced invention, without a shadow of foundation,) although

his force is larger than Cordova's was, and his promises of what

he _would_ do have been all along most magnificent. Already there

has been talk of his resignation, which doubtless will soon occur,

and Villalonga is spoken of to succeed him. This general, lately

created Marquis of the Maestrazgo for his cruelty and oppression

of the peasantry in that district, will hardly win his dukedom in

Catalonia, although dukedoms in Spain are now to be had almost for

the asking. Indeed, they have become so common that, the other day,

General Narvaez, Duke of Valencia, anxious for distinction from

the vulgar herd, was about to create himself prince; but having

unfortunately selected Concord for his intended title, and the

accounts from Catalonia being just then anything but peaceable,

he was fain to postpone his promotion till it should be more _de

circonstance_. The Prince of Concord would be a worthy successor to

the Prince of the Peace. Spain was once proud of her nobility and

choice of her titles. Alas! how changed are the times! What a pretty

list of grandees and _titulos de Castilla_ the Spanish peerage now

exhibits! Mr Sotomayor, the other day a bookseller's clerk, then

sub-secretary in a ministry, then understrapper to Gonzales Bravo,

now duke and ambassador at Paris! What a successor to the princely

and magnificent envoys of a Philip and a Charles! And Mr Sartorius,

lately a petty jobber on the Madrid Bolsa, is now Count of St Louis,

secretary of state, &c.! When the Legion of Honour was prostituted

in France by lavish and indiscriminate distribution, and by

conversion into an electioneering bribe and a means of corruption,

many old soldiers, who had won their cross upon the battle-fields of

the Empire, had the date of its bestowal affixed in silver figures

to their red ribbon. The old nobility of Spain must soon resort to

a similar plan, and sign their date of creation after their names,

if they would be distinguished from the horde of disreputable

adventurers on whom titles have of late years been infamously

squandered.

When the Madrid government has performed its promise, so often

repeated during the last six months, of extinguishing the Carlists

and restoring peace to Spain, we hope those ill-treated gentlemen

in the city of London, who, from time to time, draw up a respectful

representation to General Narvaez on the subject of Spanish

debts--a representation which that officer blandly receives, and

takes an early opportunity of forgetting--will pluck up courage

and sternly urge the Duke of Valencia and the finance minister

of the day to apply to the liquidation of Spanish bondholders'

claims a part, at least, of the resources now expended on military

operations. Forty-five millions of reals, about half-a-million of

pounds sterling, are now, we are credibly informed, the monthly

expenditure of the war department of Spain. That this is squeezed

out of the country, by some means or other, is manifest, since

nobody now lends money to Spain. A very large part of this very

considerable sum being expended in Catalonia, goes into the pockets

of the inhabitants of that province, who pay it over to the Carlists

in the shape of contributions, and still make a profit by the

transaction--so that they are in no hurry to finish the war; and

Catalonia presents at this moment the singular spectacle of two

contending armies paid out of the same military chest. But Spain is

the country of anomalies; and nothing in the conduct of Spaniards

will ever surprise us, until we find them, by some extraordinary

chance, conducting their affairs according to the rules of common

sense and the dictates of ordinary prudence.

_Printed by William Blackwood and Sons, Edinburgh._

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.

Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as

printed.

Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where

the missing quote should be placed.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the

transcriber and is placed in the public domain.