CHAPTER III.

In the meanwhile Mr Nicholas Clam, and the lady leaning on his arm, had

proceeded in silence, for the lady's thoughts were so absorbed that she

paid no attention to the many prefatory coughs with which her companion

was continually clearing his throat. He thought of fifty different ways

of commencing a conversation, and putting an end to the rapid pace they

were going at. But onward still hurried the lady, and breathless, tired,

disconcerted, and very much perplexed, Mr Clam was obliged to continue

at her side.

"This all comes of Mrs Moss writing a book," he muttered, "and being a

philosophical character. What business had she to go publishing all that

wonderful big volume above my mantel-piece--'Woman's Dignity; developed

in Dialogues?' Without that she never would have found out that I could

not be a sympathizing companion without the advantages of travel, and I

never should have left number four, to be quarrelled with by every

whipper-snapper of a soldier, and dragged to death by a woman unknown--a

synonymous personage, as Mrs M. would say, that I encountered in a

coach. 'Pon my word, ma'am," he added aloud, driven to desperation by

fear of apoplexy from the speed they were hurrying on with, "this is

carrying matters a little too far, or a great deal too fast at least.

Will you let me ask you one question, ma'am?"

"Certainly, sir," replied the lady; "but oh, do not delay!"

"But I must delay though, for who do you think can have breath enough

both to speak and run? And now, will you tell me, ma'am, what all this

is about--why that young soldier and I were forced to quarrel--what you

came down from London for, and what you are going to do at the

barracks?"

"You will hear it all, sir; you shall know all when we arrive. But do

not harrow my feelings at present, I beseech you. It may all end well,

if we are in time; but if not"--

The look of the lady, and her tone as she said this, did not by any

means contribute to Mr Clam's satisfaction. However, he perceived at

once that further attempts to penetrate the mystery would be useless,

and he kept musing on the strangeness of the circumstance, as profoundly

puzzled as before. On getting into the barrack-yard, the lady muffled

herself in her veil more closely than ever, and asked one of the

soldiers she met in the archway, if Captain Hope "was in his room?"

"He's not come ashore yet, ma'am," said the soldier, "we expect him

every moment with the last detachment from the transport."

"Not come yet?" exclaimed the lady; "which way will they march in?"

"Up the Main Street, and across the drawbridge," said the soldier,

goodnaturedly.

"I wished to see him--to see him alone. Oh, how unfortunate he is not

arrived!"

"Now, 'pon my word," muttered Mr Clam, "this is by no means a favourable

specimen of woman's dignity developed in dialogues. I wish my infernal

thirst for knowledge and swelling-out the intellect hadn't led me into

an acquaintance with a critter so desperate fond of the soldiers; and

Captain Hope, too! Oh, I see how it is--this here lady, in spite of all

her veils and pretences, is no better than she should be; or rather, a

great deal worse. Think of Mrs M. falling into hysterics about a Captain

Hope! It's a case of a breach of promise. What should we do now, ma'am?"

he said, anxious to disengage himself, and a little piqued at the want

of confidence his advances had hitherto been received with. "If you'll

tell me the whole story, I shall be able to advise"--

"Oh, you will know it all ere long. Soldier," she said to the man who

had answered her former questions, "is there any lady in the

barrack--the wife of one of the officers?"

"There's our colonel, ma'am--at least the colonel's wife, ma'am; she's

inspecting the regiments baggage in the inner court"

"Come, come!" said the lady hurriedly, on hearing this, and again Mr

Clam was forced along. In the inner court a stout lady, dressed in a

man's hat and a green riding-habit without the skirts, was busily

employed in taking the numbers of an amazing quantity of trunks and

boxes, and seeing that all was right, with the skill and quickness of

the guard of a heavy coach. She looked up quickly when she saw Mr Clam

and his companion approach.

"I hope you will pardon me, madam, for addressing you," said the

latter, dropping Mr Clam's arm, and lifting her veil.

"Be quick about it," said the colonel's wife; "I've no time to put off.

Hand down that box, No. 19, H. G.," she continued to a sergeant who was

perched on the top of the luggage.

"I wished to see you on a very interesting subject, madam."

"Love, I'll bet a guinea--who has deserted you now?--that green chest,

Henicky, No. 34."

"There is an officer in this regiment of the name of Chatterton?"

"Yes, he's one of my young men, though I've not seen him yet. What

then?"

"Can I speak to you for a minute alone?"

"If it's on regimental business, I shall listen to you, of course; but

if it's some nonsensical love affair, you must go to Colonel Sword. I

never trouble myself about such matters."

"If I could see Colonel Sword, madam"--

"Why can't you see him? Go into the commandant's room. You'll find him

rocking the cradle of Tippoo Wellington, my youngest son! That other

box, Henicky, L. M. And who is this old man with you?" continued Mrs

Sword. "Your attorney, I suppose? See that you aren't ducked at the pump

before you get out, old man; for I allow no lawyers inside these walls."

"Ma'am?" enquired Mr Clam, bewildered at the sudden address of the

officer in command.

"It's a fact, as you'll find; so, make haste, young woman, and Sword

will settle your business."

"Captain Hope is not come on shore yet, I believe?" said the lady.

"Charlie Hope? No! he's bringing the men and baggage. Has _he_ deserted

you too? Go to Sword, I tell you; and let your legal friend retreat

without beat of drum. How many chests is this, Henicky?"

The Amazonian Mrs Sword proceeded with her work, and Mr Clam stood

stupified with surprise. His companion, in the mean time, proceeded as

directed to the commandant's house, and in a short time found herself in

presence of Colonel Sword.

The colonel was a tall thin man, with a very pale face, and a very

hooked nose. He was not exactly rocking the cradle of Tippoo Wellington,

as supposed by his wife, but he was reposing in an easy attitude, with

his head thrown back, and his feet thrown forward, and his hands deeply

ensconced in his pockets. The apparition of a stranger roused him in a

moment. He was as indefatigable in politeness, as his wife had been in

her regimental duties.

"I was in hopes of finding my brother, Captain Hope, in the barracks,

sir," she began; "but as I am disappointed, I throw myself on your

indulgence, in requesting a few minutes' private conversation."

"A sister of Captain Hope? delighted to see you, my dear--did you see

Mrs Sword as you came in?"

"For a minute, but she was busy, and referred me to you."

"She's very good, I am sure," said the colonel.--"How can I be of use?"

"I have a sister, Colonel Sword, very thoughtless, and very young. She

became acquainted about a year ago with Mr Chatterton of your

regiment--they were engaged--all the friends on both sides approved of

the match, and all of a sudden Mr Chatterton wrote a very insulting

letter, and withdrew from his engagement."

"The devil he did? Is your sister like you, my dear?"

"We are said to be like, but she is much younger--only eighteen."

"Then this Chatterton is an ass. Good God! what chances silly fellows

throw away! And what would you have me do?"

"Prevent a duel, Colonel Sword. My brother is hot and fiery; Mr

Chatterton is rash and headstrong. There will be enquiries,

explanations, quarrels, and bloodshed. Oh, Colonel, help me to guard

against so dreadful a calamity. I was anxious to see Charles, to tell

him that the rupture was on Marion's side--that she had taken a dislike

to Chatterton. We have kept it secret from every body yet. I haven't

even told my husband."

"You're married, then?"

"To Captain Smith, once of this regiment."

"Ah, an old friend. Give me your hand, my dear--we must keep those wild

young fellows in order. If I see them look at each other, I'll put them

both in arrest. But what can be the meaning of Chatterton's behaviour? I

hear such good reports of him from all hands! M'Toddy writes me he is

the finest young man in the corps."

"I can't pretend to guess. He merely returned all my sister's letters,

and wished her happy in her new position."

"What position was that?"

"A very unhappy one. She has been ill and nervous ever since."

"So she liked the rascal. Strange creatures you girls are! Well, I'll do

my best. I'll give my wife a hint of it, and you may depend on it, if

she takes it in hand, there will be no quarrelling under her--I mean

under my command. If you go towards the harbour, you'll most likely

encounter your brother. In the meantime, I will go to Chatterton, and

take all necessary precautions. And Captain Smith knows nothing

of this?"

"Nothing.--He was on a visit at Oakside, my sister's home, and I took

the opportunity of his absence, to run down and explain matters to

Charles. I must return to town immediately; for if I am missed, my

husband will make enquiries, and he will be more difficult to pacify

than my brother." So saying, they parted after a warm shake of the

hand--but great events had occurred in the meantime in the barrack-yard.

"Who is that young woman?" said the Colonel's wife, to our astonished

friend Mr Clam. "Have you lost your tongue, sir?--who is she, I say?"

"If you were to draw me with horses, I could'nt tell you, ma'am--'pon my

solemn davit," said Mr Clam.

"Oh, you won't tell, won't you?" returned the lady, cocking her hat, and

leaving the mountain of baggage to the care of her friend Sergeant

Henicky. "I tell you, sir, I insist on knowing; and if you don't confess

this moment, I shall perhaps find means to make you."

"Me, ma'am? How is it possible for me to confess, when I tell you I know

nothing about her? I travelled with her from London in the coach--am

very likely to get shot by a young soldier on her account--brought her

here at a rate that has taken away all my breath--and know no more about

her than you do."

"A likely story!--but it won't do for me, sir; no, sir--I see you are an

attorney--ready to prosecute some of my poor young men for breach of

promise; but we stand no nonsense of that kind in the gallant Sucking

Pidgeons. So, trot off, old man, and take your decoy-duck with you, or I

think its extremely likely you'll be tost in a blanket. Do you hear?--go

for your broken-hearted Desdemona, and double-quick out of the yard.

I'll teach a set of lawyers to come playing the Jew to my young men.

They shall jilt every girl in England if they think proper, and serve

them right too--and no pitiful green-bag rascal shall trouble them about

such trifles--right about face--march"--

"Madam," said Mr Clam, in the extremity of amazement and fear, "did you

ever happen to read 'Woman's Dignity, developed in Dialogues?' It's

written by my friend, Mrs Moss, No. 5, Waterloo Place, Wellington Road,

Regent's Park--in fact, she's my next door neighbour--a clever woman,

but corpulent, very corpulent--you never met with 'Woman's Dignity,

developed in Dialogues?'"

"Woman's idiocy, enveloped in petticoats! Who the devil cares about

woman, or her dignity either? I never could bear the contemptible

wretches. No--give me a man--a good, stout-hearted, front-rank

man--there's some dignity there--with the eye glaring, nostril widening,

bayonet fixed, and double-quick the word, against the enemies' line. But

woman's dignity!--let her sit and sew--work squares for ottomans, or

borders for chair-bottoms--psha!--beat a retreat, old man, or you'll be

under the pump in two minutes. I'll teach you to talk nonsense about

your women--I will--as sure as my name is Jane Sword and I command the

Sucking Pigeons!"

"Pigeons don't suck, ma'am. Mrs M. lent me book of nat'ral history"--

"You'll find they'll bite, tho'--Henicky, take a corporal's guard,

and"--

"Oh no, for heaven's sake, ma'am!" exclaimed Mr Clam. "Your servant,

ma'am. I'm off this moment."

The unhappy victim of Mrs Moss's advice to travel for the improvement of

his mind, thought it best to follow the orders of the military lady in

the riding-habit, and retired as quickly as he could from the barrack

yard. But, on arriving at the outer archway, shame, or curiosity, or

some other feeling, made him pause. "Am I to go away," he thought,

"after all, without finding out who the lady is or what business brought

her here--what she knows about Chatterton--and what she wants with Hope?

There's a mystery in it all. Mrs M. would never forgive me if I didn't

find it out. I'll wait for the pretty critter--for she is a pretty

critter, in spite of her not telling me her story--I think I never saw

such eyes in my life. Yes--I'll wait." Mr Clam accordingly stopped

short, and looked sharply all round, to watch if his fair companion was

coming. She was still detained in the colonel's room.

"Will you pardon me for addressing a stranger, sir?" said a gentleman,

politely bowing to Mr Clam.

"Oh, if it's to ask what o'clock it is, or when the coach starts, or any

thing like that, I shall be happy to answer you, sir, if I can," replied

Mr Clam, whose liking for new acquaintances had not been much increased

by the events of the day.

"I should certainly not have taken the liberty of applying to you,"

continued the stranger, "if it had not been under very peculiar

circumstances."

"Are they very peculiar, sir?" enquired Mr Clam.

"Yes--as you shall have explained to you some other time."

"Oh, you won't tell them now, won't you? Here's another mystery. 'Pon my

word, sir, so many queer things happen in this town, that I wish I had

never come into it. I came down only to-day per coach"--

"That's fortunate, sir; if you are a stranger here, your service to me

will be greater."

"What is it you want? My neighbour in No. 5--a very talented woman, but

big, uncommonly big--says in her book, never purchase the offspring of

the sty enveloped in canvass--which means, never meddle with any thing

you don't know."

"You shall know all--but I must first ask, if you are satisfied, will

you be my friend in a troublesome matter in which I am a party?"

"Oh, you're in a troublesome matter too, are you?--as for me, I came

down from London with such a critter, so pretty, so gentle, such a

perfect angel to look at!"

"Oh, I don't wish to have your confidence in such affairs. I am pressed

for time," replied the stranger, smiling.

"But I tell you, I am trying to find out what the matter is that you

need my help in."

"I beg pardon. I thought you were telling me an adventure of your own"--

"Well sir, this beautiful critter asked my help, just as you're

doing--dragged me hither and thither, first asking for one soldier,

then another."

"And finally, smiling very sweetly on yourself. I know their ways--said

the stranger.

"Do you, now? Not joking?--Oh lord! the sooner the better, for such lips

to smile with, are not met with every day. Well sir, then there came up

a puppy fellow of the name of Chatterton."

"Oh, Chatterton!" said the stranger; "that is curious."

"And insulted us, either her or me I forget which; but I blew him up,

and he said he would send a friend to me"--here a new thought seemed to

strike Mr Clam--his countenance assumed a very anxious expression--

"you're not his friend, sir?" he asked.

"No sir; far from it. He is the very person with whom I have the

quarrel."

"You've quarrelled with him too? Another breach of promise?--a wild dog

that Chatterton."

"Another breach! I did not know that that was _your_ cause of quarrel."

"Nor I; 'pon my solemn davit, I'm as ignorant as a child of what my

quarrel is about; all that I know is, that my beautiful companion seemed

to hate the sight of him."

"Then I trust you won't refuse me your assistance, since you have

insults of your own to chastise. I expect his message every moment. My

name is Captain Smith."

"And mine, Nicholas Clam, No. 4, Waterloo Place, Welling"--

"Then, gentlemen," said Major M'Toddy, lifting his hat, "I'm a lucky

man--_fortunatus nimium_, as a body may say, to find you both together;

for I am charged with an invitation to you from my friend Mr

Chatterton."

"Oh! he wants to make it up, does he, and asks us to dinner? No. I won't

go," said Mr Clam.

"Then you know the alternative, I suppose!" said the Major.

"To pay for my own dinner at the inn," replied Mr Clam; "of course I

know that."

The Major threw a glance at Mr Clam, which he would probably have taken

the trouble to translate into two or three languages, although it was

sufficiently intelligible without any explanations, but he had no time.

He turned to Captain Smith, and said:--

"I'm very sorry, Captain Smith, to make your acquaintance on such a

disagreeable occasion. I've heard so much of you from mutual friends,

that I feel as if I had known you myself, _quod facit per alium facit

per se_--I'm Major M'Toddy of this regiment."

"I have long wished to know you, Major, and I hope even this matter need

not extend any of its bitterness to us."

The gentlemen here shook hands very cordially--

"Well, that's a rum way," said Mr Clam, "of asking a fellow to go out

and be shot at. But this whole place is a mystery. I'll listen, however,

and find out what this is all about."

"And noo, Captain Smith, let me say a word in your private ear."

"Privateer! that's a sort of ship," said Mr Clam.

"I hate eaves-droppers," continued the Major, with another glance at Mr

Clam--"_odi profanum vulgus_, as a body may say--and a minute's talk

will maybe explain matters."

"I doubt the power of a minute's talk for any such purpose," said

Captain Smith, with a smile; "but," going a few yards further from Mr

Clam at the same time--"I shall listen to you with pleasure."

"Weel, then, I canna deny--_convenio_, as a body may say--that in the

first instance, you played rather a severe trick on Mr Chatterton."

"I play a trick!" exclaimed Captain Smith; "I don't understand you. But

proceed, I beg. I will not interrupt you."

"But then, on the other hand, it's not to be denied that Mr Chatterton's

method of showing his anger was highly reprehensible."

"His anger, Major M'Toddy!"

"'Deed ay, just his anger--_ira furor brevis_--and it's really very

excusable in a proud-spirited young man to resent his being jilted in

such a sudden and barefaced manner."

"_He_ jilted! but again I beg pardon--go on."

"Nae doubt--_sine dubio_, as a body may say--the lassie had a right to

change her mind; and if she thought proper to prefer you to him, I canna

see what law, human or divine"--

"Does the puppy actually try to excuse himself on so base a calumny as

that Marion preferred me? Major M'Toddy, I am here to receive your

message; pray deliver it, and let us settle this matter as soon as

possible."

"Whar's the calumny?" said the major. "You wadna have me to believe,

Captain Smith, that the lady does not prefer you to him?"

"Now perhaps she does, for she has sense enough and pride enough, I

hope, to despise him; but never girl was more attached to a man in the

world than she to Chatterton. Her health is gone--she has lost the

liveliness of youth. No, no--I am much afraid, in spite of all that has

passed, she is fond of the fellow yet."

"How long have you suspected this?" enquired the major.

"For some time; before my marriage, of course, I had not such good

opportunities of judging as I have had since."

"Of course, of course," said the major, in a sympathizing tone; "it's

bad business. But if you had these suspicions before, what for did

you marry?"

"Why? Do you think things of that sort should hinder a man from marrying

the girl he likes? Mrs Smith regrets it as much as I do."

"Then what for did she not tell Chatterton she was going to marry you?"

"What right had he to know, sir?"

"A vera good right, I think; or if he hadna, I wad like to know wha

had?"

"There, sir, we differ in opinion. Will you deliver your message, name

your place and hour, and I shall meet you. I shall easily get a friend

in this town, though I thought it better at one time to apply to a

civilian; but I fear," he added, with a smile, "my friend Mr Clam will

scarcely do."

"I really dinna ken--I positively don't know, as a body may say, how to

proceed in this matter. In the first place, if your wife is over fond of

Chatterton."

"My wife, sir?"

"'Deed ay--_placens uxor_, as a body may say--I say if your wife

continues to like Chatterton, you had better send a message to him, and

not he to you."

"So I would, if she gave me occasion, Major M'Toddy; but if your friend

boasts of any thing of that kind, his conduct is still more infamous and

intolerable than I thought it."

"But your ainsel'--your own self told me so this minute."

"You mistake, sir. I say that Marion Hope, my wife's sister, is still

foolish enough to like him."

"Your wife's sister! You didna marry Chatterton's sweetheart?"

"No, sir--her elder sister."

"Oh, lord, if I had my fingers round the thrapple o' that leein'

scoundrel on the tap of the coach! Gie me your hand, Captain Smith--it's

all a mistake. I'll set it right in two minutes. Come with me to

Chatterton's rooms--ye'll make him the happiest man in England. He's wud

wi' love--mad with affection, as a body may say. He thought you had run

off with his sweetheart, and it was only her sister!"

Captain Smith began to have some glimmerings of the real state of the

case; and Mr Clam was on the point of going up to where they stood to

make further enquiries for the improvement of his mind, when his

travelling companion, again deeply veiled, laid her hand on his arm.

"Move not for your life!" she said.

"I'm not agoing to move, ma'am."

"Let them go," she continued; "we can get down by a side street. If they

see me, I'm lost."

"Lost again! The mystery grows deeper and deeper."

"One of these is my husband."

Mr Clam drops her arm. "A married woman, and running after captains and

colonels! Will you explain a little ma'am, for my head is so puzzled,

that hang me if I know whether I stand on my head or my heels?"

"Not now--sometime or other you will perhaps know all; but come with me

to the beach--all will end well."

"Will it?--then I hope to heaven it will end soon, for an hour or two

more of this will kill me."

The two gentlemen, in the meantime, had disappeared, and Mr Clam was on

the eve of being hurried off to the harbour, when a young officer came

rapidly towards them.

"Charles!" cried the lady, and put her arms round his neck.

"There she goes!" said Mr Clam--"another soldier!--She'll know the whole

army soon."

"Mary!" exclaimed the soldier--"so good, so kind of you to come to

receive me."

"I wished to see you particularly," she said, "alone, for one minute."

The brother and sister retired to one side, leaving Mr Clam once more

out of ear-shot.

"More whispering!" muttered that disappointed gentleman. "This can never

enlarge the intellect or improve the mind. Mrs M. is a humbug--not a

drop of information can I get for love or money. Nothing but whisperings

here, closetings there--all that comes to my share is threats of

shootings and duckings under pumps. I'll go back to Waterloo Place this

blessed night, and burn 'Woman's Dignity' the moment I get home."

"Then let us go to Chatterton's rooms," said the young officer, giving

his arm to his sister; "I have no doubt he will explain it all, and I

shall be delighted to see your husband."

"She's going to see her husband! She's the wickedest woman in England,"

said Mr Clam, who caught the last sentence.

"Still here'" said a voice at his ear--"lurking about the barracks!"

He looked round and saw the irate features of the tremendous Mrs Sword.

He made a rapid bolt and disappeared, as if he had a pulk of Cossacks in

full chase at his heels.

The conversation of the good-natured Colonel Sword with Chatterton had

opened that young hero's eye so entirely to the folly of his conduct,

that it needed many encouraging speeches from his superior to keep him

from sinking into despair.--"That I should have been such a fool," he

said, "as to think that Marion would prefer any body to me!" Such was

the style of his soliloquy, from which it will be perceived, that in

spite of his discovery of his stupidity, he had not entirely lost his

good opinion of himself--"to think that she would marry an old fellow of

thirty-six! What will she think of me! How lucky I did not write to my

father that I had broken matters off. Do you think she'll ever forgive

me, colonel?"

"Forgive you, my, dear fellow?" said the colonel; "girls, as Mrs Sword

says, are such fools, they'll forgive any thing."

"And Captain Smith!--a fine gentlemanly fellow--the husband of Marion's

sister--I have insulted him--I must fight him, of course."

"No fighting here, young man; you must apologize if you've done wrong;

if not, he must apologize to you; Mrs Sword would never look over a duel

between two Sucking Pigeons."

"Then _I_ must apologize."

"Ye canna have a better chance--you can't have a better opportunity, as

a body may say," said the bilingual major, entering the room, "for

here's Captain Smith ready to accept it."

"With all his heart, I assure you," said that gentleman, shaking

Chatterton's hand; "so I beg you'll say no more about it."

"This is all right--just as it should be," said the Colonel. "Captain

Smith, you'll plead poor Chatterton's cause with the offended lady."

"Perhaps the culprit had better be his own advocate--he will find the

court very favourably disposed; and as the judge is herself at the

Waterloo hotel"--

"Marion here!" exclaimed Chatterton; "good heavens, what an atrocious

ass I have been!"

"She is indeed," replied the Captain. "I knew she would be anxious to

receive her brother Charles on his landing, and as I had wormed out from

her the circumstances of this lover's quarrel"--

"_Amantium ira amoris redintegratio est_--as a body may say," interposed

Major M'Toddy.

"And was determined to enquire into it, I thought that the pretence of

welcoming Captain Hope would allay any suspicion of my intention; and

so, with her good mother's permission, I brought her down, leaving my

wife in Henley Street"--

"Where she didn't long remain," said no other than Captain Charles Hope,

himself leading in Mrs Smith, the mysterious travelling acquaintance

of Mr Clam.

"Do you forgive me," she said to her husband, "for coming down without

your knowledge?"

"I suppose I must," said Captain Smith, laughing, "on condition that you

pardon me for the same offence?"

"And noo, then," said Major M'Toddy, "I propose that we all, together

and singly, _conjunctim ac separatim_--as a body may say--go down

instanter to the Waterloo Hotel. We can arrange every thing there better

than here, for we must hear the other side--_audi alteram partem_, as a

body may say."

"This will be a regular _jour de noce_, as you would say, Major,"

remarked Colonel Sword, giving his arm to Mrs Smith.

"It's a _nos non nobis_, poor auld bachelors--as a body may say,"

replied the Major, and the whole party proceeded to the hotel.

Mr Clan, on making his escape from the fulminations of Mrs Sword, had

been rejoiced to see his carpet-bag still resting against the wall under

the archway of the inn, as he had left it when he first arrived.

"Waiter!" he cried; and the same long-haired individual in the blue

coat, with the napkin over his arm, came to his call.

"Is there any coach to London this evening?"

"Yes, sir--at half-past six."

"Thank heaven!" exclaimed Mr Clam, "I shall get out of this infernal

town. Waiter!"

"Yes, sir."

"I came from London to-day with a lady--close veiled, all muffled up.

She is a married woman, too--more shame for her."

"Yes, sir. Do you dine before you go, sir." said the waiter, not

attending to Mr Clan's observations.

"No. Her husband doesn't know she's here; but, waiter, Mr Chatterton

does." Mr Clam accompanied this piece of information with a significant

wink, which, however, made no sensible impression on the waiter's mind.

"Yes, Chatterton does; for you may depend on it, by this time he's found

out who she is."

"Yes, sir. Have you secured a place, sir?"

"Now, she wouldn't have her husband know she is here for the world."

"Outside or in, sir? The office is next door"--continued the waiter.

"Then, there's a tall gentleman, who speaks with a curious accent. I

wonder who the deuce _he_ can be."

"No luggage but this, sir? Porter will take it to the office, sir."

"Nor that dreadful he-woman in the hat--who the mischief can _she_ be?

What had Chatterton done?--who is the husband?--who is the lady? Waiter,

is there a lunatic asylum here?"

"No, sir. We've a penitentiary."

"Then, 'pon my davit, the young woman"--

But Mr Clam's observation, whatever it was--and it was evidently not

very complimentary to his travelling companion--was interrupted by the

entrance of the happy party from Chatterton's rooms.

Mr Clam looked first at the colonel and Captain Hope, and Mrs Smith--but

they were so busy in their own conversation, that they did not observe

him. Then followed Major M'Toddy, Captain Smith, and Mr Chatterton.

"Here's our civil friend," said the Major--"_amicas noster_, as a body

may say."

"Oh, by Jove!" said Mr Chatterton, "I ought to teach this fellow a

lesson in natural history."

"He's the scientific naturalist that called you popinjay," continued the

major--"_ludit convivia miles_, as a body may say."

"He's the fellow that refused to be my friend, and told me some foolish

story of his flirtations with a lady he met in the coach," added

Captain Smith.

"Gentlemen," said Mr Clam, "I'm here in search of information; will you

have the kindness to tell me what we have all been fighting, and

quarrelling, and whispering and threatening about for the last two

hours? My esteemed and talented neighbour, the author of 'Women's

Dignity developed in Dialogues'"--

"May gang to the deevil," interposed Major M'Toddy--_abeat in malam

crucem_, as a body may say--We've no time for havers, _i prae, sequar_,

as a body may say. What's the number of her room?"

"No. 14," said the Captain, and the three gentlemen passed on.

"_Her_ room!" said Mr Clam, "another lady! Waiter!"

"Yes sir."

"I'll send you a post-office order for five shillings, if you'll find

out all this, and let me know the particulars--address to me, No. 4,

Waterloo Place, Wellington Road, Regent's Park, London. I've done every

thing in my power to gain information according to the advice of Mrs M.,

but it's of no use. Let me know as soon as you discover any thing, and

I'll send you the order by return of post."

"Coach is coming, sir," said the waiter.

"And I'm going; and very glad I am to get out of the town alive. And as

to the female banditti in the riding habit, with all the trunks and

boxes; if you'll let me know"--

"The coach can't wait a moment, sir."

Mr Clam cast a despairing look as he saw his last hope of finding out

the mystery disappear. He stept into the inside of the coach--

"Coachman," he said, with his foot on the step--"There's no lady inside,

is there?"

"No, sir."

"Then drive on; if there had been, I wouldn't have travelled a mile with

her." The roll of the coach drowned the remainder of Mr Clam's

eloquence; and it is much feared that his enquiries have been

unsuccessful to the present day.

* * * * *

THE EAST AND SOUTH OF EUROPE.

A Steam-voyage to Constantinople, by the Rhine and Danube, in

1840-41, and to Portugal, Spain, &c. By the Marquis of

Londonderry. In 2 vols. 8vo.

We have a very considerable respect for the writer of the Tour of which

we are about to give extracts in the following pages. The Marquis of

Londonderry is certainly no common person. We are perfectly aware that

he has been uncommonly abused by the Whigs--which we regard as almost a

necessary tribute to his name; that he has received an ultra share of

libel from the Radicals--which we regard as equally to his honour; and

that he is looked on by all the neutrals, of whatever colour, as a

personage too straightforward to be managed by a bow and a smile. Yet,

for all these things, we like him the better, and wish, as says the

old song--

"We had within the realm

Five hundred good as he."

He is a straightforward, manly, and high-spirited noble, making up his

mind without fee or reward, and speaking it with as little fear as he

made it up; managing a large and turbulent population with that

authority which derives its force from good intention; constant in his

attendance on his parliamentary duty; plainspoken there, as he is every

where; and possessing the influence which sincerity gives in every part

of the world, however abounding in polish and place-hunting.

His early career, too, has been manly. He was a soldier, and a gallant

one. His mission to the Allied armies, in the greatest campaign ever

made in Europe, showed that he had the talents of council as well as of

the field; and his appointment as ambassador to Vienna, gave a character

of spirit, and even of splendour, to British diplomacy which it had

seldom exhibited before, and which, it is to be hoped, it may recover

with as little delay as possible.

We even like his employment of his superfluous time. Instead of giving

way to the fooleries of fashionable life, the absurdities of galloping

after hares and foxes, for months together, at Melton, or the patronage

of those scenes of perpetual knavery which belong to the race-course,

the Marquis has spent his vacations in making tours to the most

remarkable parts of Europe. It is true that Englishmen are great

travellers, and that our nobility are in the habit of wandering over the

Continent. But the world knows no more of their discoveries, if they

make such, or of their views of society and opinions of governments, if

they ever take the trouble to form any upon the subject, than of their

notions of the fixed stars. That there are many accomplished among them,

many learned, and many even desirous to acquaint themselves with what

Burke called "the mighty modifications of the human race," beginning

with a land within fifteen miles of our shores, and spreading to the

extremities of the earth, we have no doubt. But in the countless

majority of instances, the nation reaps no more benefit from their

travels than if they had been limited from Bond Street to Berkeley

Square. This cannot be said of the Marquis of Londonderry. He travels

with his eyes open, looking for objects of interest, and recording them.

We are not now about to give him any idle panegyric on the occasion. We

regret that his tours are so rapid, and his journals so brief. He passes

by many objects which we should wish to see illustrated, and turns off

from many topics on which we should desire to hear the opinions of a

witness on the spot. But we thank him for what he has given; hope that

he will spend his next autumn and many others as he has spent the

former; and wish him only to write more at large, to give us more

characters of the rank with which he naturally associates, draw more

contrasts between the growing civilization of the European kingdoms and

our own; and, adhering to his own straightforward conceptions, and

telling them in his own sincere style, give us an annual volume as long

as he lives.

Steam-boats and railways have produced one curious effect, which no one

anticipated. Of all _levellers_ they are the greatest. Their superiority

to all other modes of travelling crowds them with the peer as well as

the peasant. Cabinets, and even queens, now abandon their easy, but

lazy, equipages for the bird-like flight of iron and fire, and though

the "special train" still sounds exclusive, the principle of commixture

is already there, and all ranks will sweep on together.

The Marquis, wisely adopting the bourgeois mode of travelling, set forth

from the Tower Stairs, on a lovely morning at the close of August 1840.

Fifty years ago, the idea of a general, an ambassador, and a peer, with

his marchioness and suite, embarking on board the common conveyance of

the common race of mankind, would have been regarded as an absolute

impossibility; but the common sense of the world has now decided

otherwise. Speed and safety are wisely judged to be valuable

compensations for state and seclusion; and when we see majesty itself,

after making the experiment of yachts and frigates, quietly and

comfortably return to its palace on board a steamer, we may be the less

surprised at finding the Marquis of Londonderry and his family making

their way across the Channel in the steamer Giraffe. Yet it is to be

remarked, that though nothing can be more miscellaneous than the

passengers, consisting of Englishmen, Frenchmen, Germans, and Yankee; of

Jews, Turks, and heretics; of tourists, physicians, smugglers, and all

the other diversities of idling, business, and knavery; yet families who

choose to pay for them, may have separate cabins, and enjoy as much

privacy as is possible with specimens of all the world within

half-an-inch of their abode.

The voyage was without incident; and after a thirty hours' passage, the

Giraffe brought them to the Brill and Rotterdam. It has been an old

observation that the Dutch clean every thing but themselves; and nothing

can be more matter of fact than that the dirtiest thing in a house in

Holland is generally the woman under whose direction all this scrubbing

has been accomplished. The first aspect of Rotterdam is strongly in

favour of the people. It exhibits very considerable neatness for a

seaport--the Wapping of the kingdom; paint and even gilding is common on

the outsides of the shops. The shipping, which here form a part of the

town furniture, and are to be seen every where in the midst of the

streets, are painted with every colour of the rainbow, and carved and

ornamented according to such ideas of taste in sculpture as are

prevalent among Dutchmen; and the whole exhibits a good specimen of a

people who have as much to struggle with mud as if they had been born so

many eels, and whose conceptions of the real colour of the sky are even

a shade darker than our own.

The steam-boats also form a striking feature, which utterly eluded the

wisdom of our ancestors. There are here, bearing all colours, from all

the Rhenish towns, smoking and suffocating the Dutch, flying past their

hard-working, slow-moving craft; and bringing down, and carrying away,

cargoes of every species of mankind. The increase of Holland in wealth

and activity since the separation from Belgium, the Marquis regards as

remarkable; and evidently having no _penchant_ for our cousin Leopold,

he declares that Rotterdam is at this moment worth more solid money than

Antwerp, Brussels, and, he believes, "all Leopold's kingdom together."

At Antwerp, he happened to arrive at the celebration of the fête in

honour of Rubens. "To commemorate the painter may be all very well," he

observes; "but it is not very well to see a large plaster-of-Paris

statue erected on a lofty pedestal, and crowned with laurels, while the

whole population of the town is called out for fourteen days together,

to indulge in idleness and dissipation, merely to announce that Rubens

was a famed _Dutch_ painter in times long past." We think it lucky for

the Marquis that he had left Antwerp before he called Rubens a Dutch

painter. We are afraid that he would have hazarded a summary application

of the Lynch law of the Flemish avengers of their country.

"If such celebrations," says the Marquis, "are proper, why not do equal

honour to a Shakspeare, a Pitt, a Newton, or any of those illustrious

men by whose superior intelligence society has so greatly profited?" The

obvious truth is, that such "celebrations" are not to our taste, that

there is something burlesque, to our ideas, in this useless honour; and

that we think a bonfire, a discharge of squibs, or even a discharge of

rhetoric, and a display of tinsel banners and buffoonery, does not

supply the most natural way of reviving the memory of departed genius.

At the same time, they have their use, where they do not create their

ridicule. On the Continent, life is idle; and the idlers are more

harmlessly employed going to those pageants, than in the gin-shop. The

finery and the foolery together also attract strangers, the idlers of

other towns; it makes money, it makes conversation, it makes amusement,

and it kills time. Can it have better recommendations to ninety-nine

hundredths of mankind?

In 1840, when this tour was written, all the politicians of the earth

were deciding, in their various coffee-houses, what all the monarchs

were to do with the Eastern question. Stopford and Napier were better

employed, in battering down the fortifications of Acre, and the

politicians were soon relieved from their care of the general concerns

of Europe. England settled this matter as she had often done before, and

by the means which she has always found more natural than protocols. But

a curious question is raised by the Marquis, as to the side on which

Belgium might be inclined to stand in case of an European struggle; his

opinion being altogether _for_ the English alliance.

"France could undoubtedly _at first_ seize possession of a country so

close to her empire as to be in fact a province. But still, with Antwerp

and other fortresses, Holland in the rear, and Hanover and Germany at

hand, and, above all, England, aiding perhaps with a British army, the

independence of King Leopold's throne and kingdom might be more

permanently secured by adhering to the Allies, than if he linked himself

to Louis Philippe, in whose power alone, in case of non-resistance to

France, he would ever afterwards remain; and far better would it be, in

my opinion, for this founder of a Belgian monarchy, if he would achieve

for his dynasty an honourable duration, to throw himself into the arms

of the many, and reap advantages from all, than to place his destiny at

the mercy of the future rulers of France."

No doubt this is sound advice; and if the decision were to depend on

himself, there can be as little doubt that he would be wiser in

accepting the honest aid of England, than throwing his crown at the feet

of France. But he reigns over a priest-ridden kingdom, and Popery will

settle the point for him on the first shock. His situation certainly is

a singular one; as the uncle of the Queen of England, and the son-in-law

of the King of France, he seems to have two anchors dropped out, either

of which might secure a throne in ordinary times. But times that are

_not_ ordinary may soon arise, and then he must cut both cables and

trust to his own steerage. If coldness is prudence, and neutrality

strength, he may weather the storm; but it would require other qualities

to preserve Belgium.

Brussels was full of English. The Marquis naturally talks in the style

of one accustomed to large expenditure. The chief part of the English

residents in Brussels, are families "who live there on three or four

thousand a-year--far better as to luxuries and education than they could

in England for half as much more." He evidently thinks of three or four

thousand a-year, as others might think of as many hundreds. But if any

families, possessed of thousands a-year, are living abroad for the mere

sake of _cheaper_ luxuries and _cheaper_ education, we say, more shame

for them. We even can conceive nothing more selfish and more

contemptible. Every rational luxury is to be procured in England by such

an income. Every advantage of education is to be procured by the same

means. We can perfectly comprehend the advantages offered by the

cheapness of the Continent to large families with narrow incomes; but

that the opulent should abandon their country, their natural station,

and their duties, simply to drink champagne at a lower rate, and have

cheaper dancing-masters, we must always regard as a scandalous

dereliction of the services which every man of wealth and rank owes to

his tenantry, his neighbours, and his nation. Of course, we except the

traveller for curiosity; the man of science, whose object is to enlarge

his knowledge; and even the man of rank, who desires to improve the

minds of his children by a view of continental wonders. Our reprobation

is, of the habit of living abroad, and living there for the vulgar and

unmanly purpose of self-indulgence or paltry avarice. Those absentees

have their reward in profligate sons, and foreignized daughters, in

giving them manners ridiculous to the people of the Continent, and

disgusting to their countrymen--morals adopting the grossness of

continental life, and general habits rendered utterly unfit for a return

to their country, and, of course, for any rational and meritorious

conduct, until they sink into the grave.

The Marquis, who in every instance submitted to the rough work of the

road, took the common conveyance by railroad to Liege. It has been a

good deal the custom of our late tourists to applaud the superior

excellence of the continental railroads. Our noble traveller gives all

this praise the strongest contradiction. He found their inferiority

quite remarkable. The materials, all of an inadequate nature, commencing

with their uncouth engine, and ending with their ill-contrived double

seats and carriages for passengers. The attempts made at order and

regularity in the arrangements altogether failed. Every body seemed in

confusion. The carriages are of two sorts--the first class, and the

_char-à-banc_. The latter are all open; the people sit back to back, and

face to face, as they like, and get at their places by scrambling,

squeezing, and altercation. Even the Marquis had a hard fight to

preserve the seats which he had taken for his family. At Malines, the

train changes carriages. Here a curious scene occurred. An inundation of

priests poured into all the carriages. They came so thick that they were

literally thrown back by their attempt to squeeze themselves in; "and

their cocked hats and black flowing robes gave them the appearance of

ravens with their wide-spreading wings, hovering over their prey in the

vehicles."

Travelling, like poverty, brings one acquainted with strange companions;

and, accustomed as the Marquis was to foreign life, one railway

traveller evidently much amused him. This was a personage who stretched

himself at full length on a seat opposite the ladies, "his two huge legs

and thighs clothed in light blue, with long Spanish boots, and heavy

silver spurs, formed the foreground of his extended body. A black satin

waistcoat, overlaid with gold chains, a black velvet Spanish cloak and

hat, red beard and whiskers, and a face resembling the Saracen's on

Snow-Hill, completed his _ensemble_." He was probably some travelling

mountebank apeing the Spanish grandee.

Aix-la-Chapelle exhibited a decided improvement on the City of the

Congress five-and-twenty years ago. The principal streets were now

paved, with fine _trottoirs_, the buildings had become large and

handsome, and the hotels had undergone the same advantageous change.

From Liege to Cologne the country exhibited one boundless harvest. The

vast cathedral of Cologne at last came in sight, still unfinished,

though the process of building has gone on for some hundred years. The

extraordinary attempt which has been made, within the last few months,

to unite Protestantism with Popery, in the completion of this gigantic

building, will give it a new and unfortunate character in history. The

union is impossible, though the confusion is easy, and the very attempt

to reconcile them only shows to what absurdities men may be betrayed by

political theories, and to what trivial and temporary objects the

highest interests of our nature may be sacrificed. Cologne, too, is

rapidly improving. The free navigation of the Rhine has done something

of this, but the free passage of the English has done a great deal more.

A perpetual stream of British travellers, flowing through Germany,

benefits it, not merely by their expenditure, but by their habits. Where

they reside for any length of time, they naturally introduce the

improvements and conveniences of English life. Even where they but pass

along, they demand comforts, without which the native would have plodded

on for ever. The hotels are gradually provided with carpets,

fire-places, and a multitude of other matters essential to the civilized

life of England; for if civilization depends on bringing the highest

quantity of rational enjoyment within the reach of general society,

England is wholly superior in civilization to the shivering splendours

of the Continent. Foreigners are beginning to learn this; and those who

are most disposed to scoff at our taste, are the readiest to follow

our example.

The streets of Cologne, formerly dirty and narrow, and the houses, old

and tumbling down, have given way to wide spaces, handsome edifices, and

attractive shops. The railway, which we have lent to the Continent, will

shortly unite Brussels, Liege, and Cologne, and the three cities will be

thereby rapidly augmented in wealth, numbers, and civilization.

The steam-boats on the Rhine are in general of a good description. The

arrangements are convenient, considering that at times there are two

hundred passengers, and that among foreigners the filthy habit of

smoking, with all its filthy consequences, is universal; but, below

decks, the party, especially if they take the _pavillion_ to themselves,

may escape this abomination. The Rhine has been too often described to

require a record here; but the rapturous nonsense which the Germans pour

forth whenever they write about the national river, offends truth as

much as it does taste. The larger extent of this famous stream is

absolutely as dull as a Dutch pond. The whole run from the sea to

Cologne is flat and fenny. As it approaches the hill country it becomes

picturesque, and its wanderings among the fine declivities of the

Rheingate exhibit beautiful scenery. The hills, occasionally topped with

ruins, all of which have some original (or invented) legend of love or

murder attached to them, indulge the romance of which there is a

fragment or a fibre in every bosom; and the general aspect of the

country, as the steam-boat breasts the upward stream, is various and

luxuriant. But the German architecture is fatal to beauty. Nothing can

be more _barbarian_ (with one or two exceptions) than the whole range of

buildings, public and private, along the Rhine; gloomy, huge, and

heavy--whether palace, convent, or chateau, they have all a prison-look;

and if some English philanthropist, in pity to the Teutonic taste, would

erect one or two "English villas" on the banks of the Rhine, to give

the Germans some idea of what architecture ought to be, he would render

them a national service, scarcely inferior to the introduction of

carpets and coal-fires.

Johannisberg naturally attracts the eye of the English traveller, whose

cellar has contributed so largely to its cultivation. This

mountain-vineyard had been given by Napoleon to Kellerman; but

Napoleon's gifts were as precarious as himself, and the Johannisberg

fell into hands that better deserved it. At the peace of 1814 it was

presented by the Emperor Francis to the great statesman who had taught

his sovereign to set his foot on the neck of the conqueror of Vienna.

The mountain is terraced, clothed with vineyards, and forms a very gay

object to those who look up to it from the river. The view from the

summit of the hill is commanding and beautiful, but its grape is

_unique_. The chief portion of the produce goes amongst the

principalities and powers of the Continent; yet as the Englishman must

have his share of all the good things of the earth, the Johannisberg

wine finds its way across the Channel, and John Bull satisfies himself

that he shares the luxury of Emperors.

The next _lion_ is Ehrenbreitstein, lying on the right bank of the

Rhine, the most famous fortress of Germany, and more frequently

battered, bruised, and demolished, than any other work of nature or man

on the face of the globe. It has been always the first object of attack

in the French invasions, and, with all its fortifications, has always

been taken. The Prussians are now laying out immense sums upon it, and

evidently intend to make it an indigestible morsel to the all-swallowing

ambition of their neighbours; but it is to be hoped that nations are

growing wiser--a consummation to which they are daily arriving by

growing poorer. Happily for Europe, there is not a nation on the

Continent which would not be bankrupt in a single campaign, provided

England closed her purse. In the last war she was the general paymaster:

but that system is at an end; and if she is wise, she will never suffer

another shilling of hers to drop into the pocket of the foreigner.

The Prussians have formed an entrenched camp under cover of this great

fortress, capable of containing 120,000 men. They are obviously right in

keeping the French as far from Berlin as they can; but those enormous

fortresses and entrenched camps are out of date. They belonged to the

times when 30,000 men were an army, and when campaigns were spent in

sieges. Napoleon changed all this, yet it was only in imitation of

Marlborough, a hundred years before. The great duke's march to Bavaria,

leaving all the fortresses behind him, was the true tactic for conquest.

He beat the army in the field, and then let the fortresses drop one by

one into his hands. The change of things has helped this bold system.

Formerly there was but one road through a province--it led through the

principal fortress--all the rest was mire and desolation. Thus the

fortress must be taken before a gun or a waggon could move. Now, there

are a dozen roads through every province--the fortress may be passed out

of gun-shot in all quarters--and the "grand army" of a hundred and fifty

thousand men marches direct on the capital. The _têtes-du-pont_ on the

Niemen, and the entrenched camp which it had cost Russia two years to

fortify, were turned in the first march of the French; and the futility

of the whole costly and rather timorous system was exhibited in the

fact, that the crowning battle was fought within hearing of Moscow.

Beyond Mayence the Rhine reverts to its former flatness, the hills

vanish, the shores are level, but the southern influence is felt, and

the landscape is rich.

Wisbaden is the next stage of the English--a stage at which too many

stop, and from which not a few are glad to escape on any terms. The Duke

of Nassau has done all in his power to make his watering-place handsome

and popular, and he has succeeded in both. The Great Square, containing

the assembly-room, is a very showy specimen of ducal taste. Its

colonnades and shops are striking, and its baths are in the highest

order. Music, dancing, and promenading form the enjoyment of the crowd,

and the gardens and surrounding country give ample indulgence for the

lovers of air and exercise. _The_ vice of the place, as of all

continental scenes of amusement, is gambling. Both sexes, and all ages,

are busy at all times in the mysteries of the gaming-table. Dollars and

florins are constantly changing hands. The bloated German, the meagre

Frenchman, the sallow Russian, and even the placid Dutchman, hurry to

those tables, and continue at them from morning till night, and often

from night till morning. The fair sex are often as eager and miserable

as the rest. It is impossible to doubt that this passion is fatal to

more than the purse. Money becomes the price of every thing; and,

without meaning to go into discussion on such topics, nothing can be

clearer than that the female gambler, in this frenzy of avarice,

inevitably forfeits the self-respect which forms at least the outwork of

female virtue. Though the ancient architecture of Germany is altogether

dungeon-like, yet they can make pretty imitations. The summer palace of

the duke at Biberach might be adopted in lieu of the enormous fabrics

which have cost such inordinate sums in our island. "The circular room

in the centre of the building is ornamented with magnificent marble

pillars. The floor is also of marble. The galleries are stuccoed, with

gold ornaments encrusted upon them. From the middle compartment of the

great hall there are varied prospects of the Rhine, which becomes

studded here with small islands: and the multitudinous orange, myrtle,

cedar, and cypress trees on all sides render Biberach a most

enchanting abode."

The Marquis makes some shrewd remarks on the evident attention of the

Great Powers to establish an interest among the little sovereignties of

Germany. Thus, Russia has married "her eldest daughter to an adopted

Bavarian. The Cesarowitch is married to a princess of Darmstadt," &c. He

might have added Louis Philippe, who is an indefatigable advocate of

marrying and giving in marriage. Austria is extending her olive branches

as far as she can; and all princes, now having nothing better to do, are

following her example.

Yet, we altogether doubt that family alliances have much weight in times

of trouble. Of course, in times of peace, they may facilitate the common

business of politics. But, when powerful interests appear on the stage,

the matrimonial tie is of slender importance; kindred put on their

coats-of-mail, and, like Francis of Austria and his son-in-law Napoleon,

they throw shot and shell at each other without any ceremony. It is only

in poetry that Cupid is more powerful than either Mammon or Mars.

The next _lion_ is Frankfort--a very old lion, 'tis true, but one of the

noblest cities of Germany, connected with high recollections, and doing

honour, by its fame, to the spirit of commerce. Frankfort has been

always a striking object to the traveller; but it has shared, or rather

led the way to the general improvement. Its shops, streets, and public

buildings all exhibit that march, which is so much superior to the

"march of mind," panegyrised by our rabble orators--the march of

industry, activity, and invention; Frankfort is one of the liveliest and

pleasantest of continental residences.

But the Marquis is discontented with the inns; which, undoubtedly, are

places of importance to the sojourner--perhaps of much more importance

than the palaces. He reckons them by a "sliding scale;" which, however,

is a descending one--Holland bad, Belgium worse, Germany the third

degree of comparison. Some of the inns in the great towns are stately;

but it unluckily happens that the masters and mistresses of those inns

are to the full as stately, and that, after a bow or curtsey at the door

to their arriving guests, all their part is at an end. The master and

mistress thenceforth transact their affairs by deputy. They are

sovereigns, and responsible for nothing. The _garçons_ are the cabinet,

and responsible for every thing; but they, like superior personages,

shift their responsibility upon any one inclined to take it up; and all

is naturally discontent, disturbance, and discomfort. We wonder that the

Marquis has not mentioned the German _table-d'hôte_ among his

annoyances; for he dined at it. Nothing, in general, can be more adverse

to the quiet, the ease, or the good-sense of English manners. The

_table-d'hôte_ is essentially vulgar; and no excellence of _cuisine_, or

completeness of equipment, can prevent it from exhibiting proof of its

original purpose, namely--to give a cheap dinner to a miscellaneous

rabble.

German posting is on a par with German inns, which is as much as to say

that it is detestable, even if the roads were good. The roughness, mire,

and continual ascents and descents of the roads, try the traveller's

patience. The only resource is sleep; but even that is denied by the

continual groanings of a miserable French horn, with which the postilion

announces his approach to every village.

"Silence, ye wolves, while tipsy Mein-Herr howls,

Making night hideous; answer him, ye owls."

The best chance of getting a tolerable meal in the majority of these

roadside houses, is, to take one's own provisions, carry a cook, if we

can, and, if not, turn cooks ourselves; but the grand hotels are too

"grand" for this, and they insist on supplying the dinner, for which the

general name is _cochonerrie_, and with perfect justice.

On the 12th of September, the Marquis and his family arrived at

Nuremberg, where the Bavarian court were assembled, in order to be

present at a Camp of Exercise. To the eye of an officer who had been in

the habit of seeing the armies of the late war, the military spectacle

could not be a matter of much importance, for the camp consisted of but

1800 men. But he had been a comrade of the king, when prince-royal,

during the campaigns of 1814 and 1815; and, as such, had helped (and not

slightly) to keep the tottering crown on the brow of Bavaria. He now

sent to request the opportunity of paying his respects; but Germany,

absurd in many things, is especially so in point of etiquette. Those

miraculous productions of Providence, the little German sovereigns, live

on etiquette, never abate an atom of their opportunities of convincing

inferior mortals that they are of a super-eminent breed; and, in part,

seem to have strangely forgotten that salutary lesson which Napoleon and

his captains taught them, in the days when a republican brigadier, or an

imperial aid-de-camp, though the son of a tailor, treated their "Serene

Highnesses" and "High Mightinesses" with as little ceremony as the

thoroughly beaten deserved from the conquerors. In the present instance,

the little king did _not_ choose to receive the gallant soldier, whom,

in days of difficulty, he had been rejoiced to find at his side; and the

ground assigned was, that the monarch received none but in uniform; the

Marquis having mentioned, that he must appear in plain clothes, in

consequence of dispatching his uniform to Munich, doubtless under the

idea of attending the court there in his proper rank of a

general officer.

The Marquis was angry, and the fragment of his reply which we give, was

probably as unpalatable a missive as the little king had received since

the days of Napoleon.

"My intention was, to express my respect for his majesty, in taking this

opportunity to pay my court to him, in the interesting recollection of

the kindly feelings which he deigned to exhibit to me and my _brother_

at Vienna, when Prince Royal of Bavaria.

"I had flattered myself, that as the companion-in-arms of the excellent

Marshal Wrede in the campaigns of 1814 and 1815, his majesty would have

granted this much of remembrance to an individual, without regard to

uniform; or, at least, would have done me the honour of a private

audience. I find, however, that I have been mistaken, and I have now

only to offer my apologies to his majesty.

"The flattering reception which I have enjoyed in other courts, and the

idea that this was connected with the name and services of the

individual, and not dependent on the uniform, was the cause of my

indiscretion. As my profound respect for his majesty was the sole

feeling which led me towards Munich, I shall not _delay a moment_ in

quitting his majesty's territory."

If his majesty had been aware that this Parthian arrow would have been

shot at him, he would have been well advised in relaxing his etiquette.

In the vicinity where this trifling transaction occurred, is the

_locale_ of an undertaking which will probably outlast all the little

diadems of all the little kings. This is the canal by which it is

proposed to unite the Rhine, the Mayne, and the Danube; in other words,

to make the longest water communication in the world, through the heart

of Europe; by which the Englishman embarking at London-bridge, may

arrive at Constantinople in a travelling palace, with all the

comforts--nay, all the luxuries of life, round him; his books, pictures,

furniture, music, and society; and all this, while sweeping through some

of the most magnificent scenery of the earth, safe from surge or storm,

sheltered from winter's cold and summer's sun, rushing along at the rate

of a couple of hundred miles a-day, until he finds himself in the

Bosphorus, with all the glories of the City of the Sultans glittering

before him.

This is the finest speculation that was ever born of this generation of

wonders, steam; and if once realized, must be a most prolific source of

good to mankind. But the Germans are an intolerably tardy race in every

thing, but the use of the tongue. They harangue, and mystify, and

magnify, but they will not act; and this incomparable design, which, in

England, would join the whole power of the nation in one unanimous

effort, languishes among the philosophists and prognosticators of

Germany, finds no favour in the eyes of its formal courts, and threatens

to be lost in the smoke of a tobacco-saturated and slumber-loving

people.

But the chief monument of Bavaria is the Val Halla, a modern temple

designed to receive memorials of all the great names of Germany. The

idea is kingly, and so is the temple; but it is built on the model of

the Parthenon--evidently a formidable blunder in a land whose history,

habits, and genius, are of the north. A Gothic temple or palace would

have been a much more suitable, and therefore a finer conception. The

combination of the palatial, the cathedral, and the fortress style,

would have given scope to superb invention, if invention was to be found

in the land; and in such an edifice, for such a purpose, Germany would

have found a truer point of union, than it will ever find in the absurd

attempt to mix opposing faiths, or in the nonsense of a rebel Gazette,

and clamorous Gazetteers.

Still the Bavarian monarch deserves the credit of an unrivalled zeal to

decorate his country. He is a great builder, he has filled Munich with

fine edifices, and called in the aid of talents from every part of

Europe, to stir up the flame, if it is to be found among his

drowsy nation.

The Val Halla is on a pinnacle of rising ground, about a hundred yards

from the Danube, from whose bank the ascent is by a stupendous marble

staircase, to the grand portico. The columns are of the finest white

stone, and the interior is completely lined with German marbles. Busts

of the distinguished warriors, poets, statesmen, and scholars, are to be

placed in niches round the walls, but _not_ till they are dead. A

curious arrangement is adopted with respect to the living: Persons of

any public note may send their busts, while living, to the Val Halla,

where they are deposited in a certain chamber, a kind of marble

purgatory or limbo. When they die, a jury is to sit upon them, and if

they are fortunate enough to have a verdict in their favour, they take

their place amongst these marble immortals. As the process does not

occur until the parties are beyond the reach of human disappointment,

they cannot feel the worse in case of failure; but the vanity which

tempts a man thus to declare himself deserving of perpetual renown, by

the act of sending his bust as a candidate, is perfectly _foreign_, and

must be continually ridiculous.

The temple has been inaugurated or consecrated by the king in person,

within the last month. He has made a speech, and dedicated it to German

fame for ever. He certainly has had the merit of doing what ought to

have been long since done in every kingdom of Europe; what a slight

retrenchment in every royal expenditure would have enabled every

sovereign to set on foot; and what could be done most magnificently,

would be most deserved, and ought to be done without delay, in England.

At Ratisbon, the steam navigation on the Danube begins, taking

passengers and carriages to Linz, where the Austrian steam navigation

commences, completing the course down the mighty river. The former

land-journey from Ratisbon to Vienna generally occupied six days. By the

steam-boat, it is now accomplished in forty-eight hours, a prodigious

saving of space and time. The Bavarian boats are smaller than those on

the Rhine, owing to the shallows on the upper part of the river, but

they are well managed and comfortable. The steamer is, in fact, a

floating hotel, where every thing is provided on board, and the general

arrangements are exact and convenient. The scenery in this portion of

the river is highly exciting.--"The Rhine, with its hanging woods and

multitudinous inhabited castles, affords a more cultivated picture; but

in the steep and craggy mountains of the Danube, in its wild outlines

and dilapidated castles, the imagination embraces a bolder range. At one

time the river is confined within its narrowest limits, and proceeds

through a defile of considerable altitude, with overhanging rocks

menacing destruction. At another it offers an open, wild archipelago of

islands. The mountains have disappeared, and a long plain bounds on each

side of the river its barren banks."

The steam-boats stop at Neudorf, a German mile from Vienna. On his

arrival, the Marquis found the servants and carriages of Prince

Esterhazy waiting for him, and quarters provided at the Swan Hotel,

until one of the prince's palaces could be prepared for his reception.

The importance of getting private quarters on arriving at Vienna is

great, the inns being all indifferent and noisy. They have another

disqualification not less important--they seem to be intolerably dear.

The Marquis's accommodations, though on a _third_ story of the Swan,

cost him eight pounds sterling a-day. This he justly characterizes as

extravagant, and says he was glad to remove on the third day, there

being an additional annoyance, in a club of the young nobles at the

Swan, which prevented a moment's quiet. The _cuisine_, however, was

particularly good, and the house, though a formidable affair for a

family, is represented as desirable for a "bachelor"--we presume, a

rich one.

Vienna has had her share in the general improvement of the Continent.

She has become commercial, and her streets exhibit shops with gilding,

plate-glass, and showy sign-boards, in place of the very old, very

barbarous, and very squalid, displays of the last century. War is a

rough teacher, but it is evidently the only one for the Continent. The

foreigner is as bigoted to his original dinginess and discomfort, as the

Turk to the Koran. Nothing but fear or force ever changes him. The

French invasions were desperate things, but they swept away a prodigious

quantity of the cobwebs which grow over the heads of nations who will

not use the broom for themselves. Feudalities and follies a thousand

years old were trampled down by the foot of the conscript; and the only

glimpses of common-sense which have visited three-fourths of Europe in

our day, were let in through chinks made by the French bayonet. The

French were the grand improvers of every thing, though only for their

own objects. They made high roads for their own troops, and left them to

the Germans; they cleared the cities of streets loaded with nuisances of

all kinds, and taught the natives to live without the constant dread of

pestilence; they compelled, for example the Portuguese to wash their

clothes, and the Spaniards to wash their hands. They proved to the

German that his ponderous fortifications only brought bombardments on

his cities, and thus induced him to throw down his crumbling walls, fill

up his muddy ditches, turn his barren glacis into a public walk, and

open his wretched streets to the light and air of heaven. Thus Hamburgh,

and a hundred other towns, have put on a new face, and almost begun a

new existence. Thus Vienna is now thrown open to its suburbs, and its

suburbs are spread into the country.

The first days were given up to dinner at the British ambassador's,

(Lord Beauvale's,) at the Prussian ambassador's, and at Prince

Metternich's. Lord Beauvale's was "nearly private He lived on a second

floor, in a fine house, of which, however, the lower part was understood

to be still unfurnished. His lordship sees but few people, and seldom

gives any grand receptions, his indifferent health being the reason for

living privately." However, on this point the Marquis has his own

conceptions, which he gives with a plainness perfectly characteristic,

and very well worth being remembered.

"I think," says he, "that an ambassador of England, at an imperial

court, with _eleven thousand pounds_ per annum! should _not_ live as a

private gentleman, nor consult solely his own ease, unmindful of the

sovereign he represents. A habit has stolen in among them of adopting a

spare _menage_, to augment _private fortune when recalled_! This is

wrong. And when France and Russia, and even Prussia, entertain

constantly and very handsomely; our embassies and legations, generally

speaking, are niggardly and shut up."

However the Lord Beauvale and his class may relish this honesty of

opinion, we are satisfied that the British public will perfectly agree

with the Marquis. A man who receives L. 11,000 a-year to show hospitality

and exhibit state, ought to do both. But there is another and a much

more important point for the nation to consider. Why should eleven

thousand pounds a-year be given to any ambassador at Vienna, or at any

other court of the earth? Cannot his actual diplomatic functions be

amply served for a tenth of the money? Or what is the actual result, but

to furnish, in nine instances out of ten, a splendid sinecure to some

man of powerful interest, without any, or but slight, reference to his

faculties? Or is there any necessity for endowing an embassy with an

enormous income of this order, to provide dinners, and balls, and a

central spot for the crowd of loungers who visit their residences; or to

do actual mischief by alluring those idlers to remain absentees from

their own country? We see no possible reason why the whole ambassadorial

establishment might not be cut down to salaries of fifteen hundred

a-year. Thus, men of business would be employed, instead of the

relatives of our cabinets; dinner-giving would not be an essential of

diplomacy; the ambassador's house would not be a centre for all the

ramblers and triflers who preferred a silly and lavish life abroad to

doing their duty at home; and a sum of much more than a hundred thousand

pounds a-year would be saved to the country. Jonathan acts the only

rational part on the subject. He gives his ambassador a sum on which a

private gentleman can live, and no more. He has not the slightest sense

of giving superb feasts, furnishing huge palaces, supplying all the

rambling Jonathans with balls and suppers, or astonishing John Bull by

the tinsel of his appointments. Yet he is at least as well served as

others. His man is a man of business; his embassy is no showy sinecure;

his ambassador is no showy sinecurist. The office is an understood step

to distinction at home; and the man who exhibits ability here, is sure

of eminence on his return. We have not found that the American diplomacy

is consigned to mean hands, or inefficient, or despised in any country.

The relative value of money, too, makes the folly still more

extravagant. In Vienna, L. 11,000 a-year is equal to twice the sum in

England. We thus virtually pay L. 22,000 a-year for Austrian diplomacy.

In France about the same proportion exists. But in Spain, the dollar

goes as far as the pound in England. There L. 10,000 sterling would be

equivalent to L. 40,000 here. How long is this waste to go on? We

remember a strong and true _exposé_, made by Sir James Graham, on the

subject, a few years ago; and we are convinced that, if he were to take

up the topic again, he would render the country a service of remarkable

value; and, moreover, that if he does not, it will be taken up by more

strenuous, but more dangerous hands. The whole system is one of lavish

absurdity.

The Russian ambassador's dinner "was of a different description.

Perfection in _cuisine_, wine, and attendance. Sumptuousness in liveries

and lights; the company, about thirty, the _élite_ of Vienna."

But the most interesting of those banquets, from the character of the

distinguished giver, was Prince Meternich's. The prince was residing at

his "Garten," (villa) two miles out of town. He had enlarged his house

of late years, and it now consisted of three, one for his children,

another for his own residence, and a third for his guests. This last was

"really a fairy edifice, so contrived with reflecting mirrors, as to

give the idea of being transparent." It was ornamented with rare

malachite, prophyry, jasper, and other vases, presents from the

sovereigns of Europe, besides statues, and copies of the most celebrated

works of Italy.

The Marquis had not seen this eminent person since 1823, and time had

played its part with his countenance; the smile was more languid, the

eye less illumined, the person more slight than formerly, the hair of a

more silvery hue, the features of his expressive face more distinctly

marked; the erect posture was still maintained, but the gait had become

more solemn; and when he rose from his chair, he had no longer his

wonted elasticity.

But this inevitable change of the exterior seems to have no effect on

the "inner man." "In the Prince's conversation I found the same talent,

the unrivalled _esprit_. The fluency and elocution, so entirely his own,

were as graceful, and the memory was as perfect, as at any

former period."

This memorable man is fond of matrimony; his present wife, a daughter of

Count Zichy Ferraris, being his third. A son of the second marriage is

his heir, and he has by his present princess two boys and a girl. The

Princess seems to have alarmed her guest by her vivacity; for he

describes her in the awful language with which the world speaks of a

confirmed _blue_:--"Though not so handsome as her predecessor, she

combines a _very spirited_ expression of countenance, with a clever

conversation, a versatility of genius, and a wit rather satirical than

humorous, which makes her _somewhat formidable_ to her acquaintance." We

dare say that she is a very showy tigress.

The Marquis found Vienna less gay than it was on his former visit. It is

true that he then saw it in the height of the Congress, flushed with

conquest, glittering with all kinds of festivity; and not an individual

in bad spirits in Europe, but Napoleon himself. Yet in later times the

court has changed; "the Emperor keeps singularly aloof from society; the

splendid court-days are no more; the families are withdrawing into

coteries; the beauties of former years have lost much of their

brilliancy, and a new generation equal to them has not yet appeared."

This is certainly not the language of a young marquis; but it is

probably not far from the estimate which every admirer of the sex makes,

_after_ a five-and-twenty years' absence. But he gallantly defends them

against the sneer of the cleverest of her sex, Lady Wortley Montagu, a

hundred years ago; her verdict being, "That their costume disfigured the

natural ugliness with which Heaven had been pleased to endow them." He

contends, however, that speaking within the last twenty (he probably

means _five-and-twenty_) years, "Vienna has produced some of the

handsomest women in the world: and in frequenting the public walks, the

Prater, and places of amusement, you meet as many bewitching

countenances, especially as to eyes, hair, and _tournure_, as in any

other capital whatever."

We think the Marquis fortunate; for we must acknowledge, that in our

occasional rambles on the Continent, we _never_ saw beauty in a German

visage. The rotundity of the countenance, the coarse colours, the

stunted nose, and the thick lip, which constitute the general mould of

the native physiognomy, are to us the very antipodes of beauty. Dress,

diamonds, rouge, and lively manners, may go far, and the ball-room may

help the deception; but we strongly suspect that where beauty casually

appears in society, we must look for its existence only among foreigners

to Teutchland. The general state of intercourse, even among the highest

circles, is dull. There are few houses of rank where strangers are

received; the animation of former times is gone. The ambassadors live

retired. The monarch's state of health makes him averse to society.

Prince Metternich's house is the only one constantly open; "but while he

remains at his Garten, to trudge there for a couple of hours' general

conversation, is not very alluring." Still, for a family which can go so

far to look for cheap playhouses and cheap living, Vienna is a

convenient capital.

But Austria has one quality, which shows her common sense in a striking

point of view. She abhors change. She has not a radical in her whole

dominions, except in jail--the only place fit for him. The agitations

and vexations of other governments stop at the Austrian frontier. The

people have not made the grand discovery, that universal suffrage is

meat and drink, and annual parliaments lodging and clothing. They

labour, and live by their labour; yet they have as much dancing as the

French, and better music. They are probably the richest and most

comfortable population of Europe at this hour. Their country has risen

to be the protector of Southern Europe; and they are making admirable

highways, laying down railroads, and building steam-boats, ten times as

fast as the French, with all their regicide plots, and a revolution

threatened once-a-month by the calendar of patriotism. "Like the great

Danube, which rolls through the centre of her dominions, the course of

her ministry and its tributary branches continue, without any deviation

from its accustomed channel." The comparison is a good one, and what can

be more fortunate than such tranquillity?

The two leading ministers, the government in effect, are Metternich and

Kollowrath; the former the Foreign Minister, the latter the Minister of

the Interior. They are understood to be of different principles; the

latter leaning to the "Movement," or, more probably, allowing himself to

be thought to do so, for the sake of popularity. But Metternich is the

true head. A Conservative from the beginning, sagacious enough to see

through the dupery of the pretended friends of the human race, and firm

enough to crush their hypocrisy--Metternich is one of those statesmen,

of whom men of sense never could have had two opinions--a mind which

stamped itself from the beginning as a leader, compelled by

circumstances often to yield, but never suffering even the most

desperate circumstances to make it despair. He saw where the strength of

Europe lay, from the commencement of the Revolutionary war; and, guided

by the example of Pitt, he laboured for a general European alliance.

When he failed there, he husbanded the strength of Austria for the day

of struggle, which he knew would come; and when it came, his genius

raised his country at once from a defeated dependency of France, into

the arbiter of Europe. While this great man lives, he ought to be

supreme in the affairs of his country. But in case of his death, General

Fiquelmont, the late ambassador to Russia, has been regarded as his

probable successor. He is a man of ability and experience, and his

appointment to the court of St Petersburg was probably intended to

complete that experience, in the quarter to which Austria, by her new

relations, and especially by her new navigation of the Danube, must look

with the most vigilant anxiety.

The Austrian army is kept up in very fine condition; but nearly all the

officers distinguished in the war are dead, and its present leaders have

to acquire a name. It is only to be hoped that they will never have the

opportunity. The regimental officers are generally from a higher class

than those of the other German armies.

After remaining for a fortnight at Vienna, the Marquis paid a visit to

his friend Prince Esterhazy.

This nobleman, long known and much-esteemed in England, is equally well

known to be a kind of monarch in Hungary. Whatever novelist shall write

the "Troubles of rank and riches," should take the prince for his hero.

He has eight or nine princely mansions scattered over the empire, and in

each of them it is expected, by his subjects of the soil, that his

highness should reside.

The Marquis made a round of the principal of those mansions. The first

visit was to a castle in the neighbourhood of Vienna, which the prince

has modernized into a magnificent villa. Here all is constructed to the

taste of a statesman only eager to escape the tumult of the capital, and

pining to refresh himself with cooling shades and crystal streams. All

is verdure, trout streams, leafy walks, water blue as the sky above it,

and the most profound privacy and seclusion.

After a "most exquisite entertainment" here, the Marquis and his family

set out early next morning to visit Falkenstein. Every castle in this

part of the world is historical, and derives its honours from a Turkish

siege. Falkenstein, crowning the summit of a mountain of granite, up

which no carriage can be dragged but by the stout Hungarian horses

trained to the work, has been handsomely bruised by the Turkish balls in

its day; but it is now converted into a superb mansion; very grand, and

still more curious than grand; for it is full of relics of the olden

time, portraits of the old warriors of Hungary, armour and arms, and all

the other odd and pompous things which turn an age of barbarism into an

age of romance. The prince and princess are hailed and received at the

castle as king and queen. A guard of soldiers of the family, which the

Esterhazy have the sovereign right to maintain, form the garrison of

this palatial fortress, and it has a whole establishment of salaried

officials within. The next expedition was to two more of those

mansions--Esterhazy, built by one of the richest princes of the house,

and Eisenstadt. The former resembles the imperial palace at Schonbrun,

but smaller. The prince is fitting it up gorgeously in the Louis XIV.th

style. Here he has his principal studs for breeding horses; but

Eisenstadt outshone all the chateaus of this superb possessor. The

splendours here were regal: Two hundred chambers for guests--a saloon

capable of dining a thousand people--a battalion of the "Esterhazy

Guard" at the principal entrances; all paid from the estate. To this all

the ornamental part was proportioned--conservatory and greenhouses on

the most unrivalled scale--three or four hundred orange-trees alone,

throwing the Duke of Northumberland's gardens into eclipse, and

stimulating his Grace of Devonshire even to add new greens and glories

to Chatsworth.

On his return to Vienna, the Marquis was honoured with a private

interview by the emperor--a remarkable distinction, as the ambassador

was informed "that the emperor was too well acquainted with the

Marquis's services to require any presentation, and desired that he

might come alone." He was received with great politeness and

condescension. Next day he had an interview with Prince Metternich, who,

with graceful familiarity, took him over his house in Vienna, to show

him its improvements since the days of Congress. He remarks it as a

strange point in the character of this celebrated statesman, how

minutely he sometimes interests himself in mere trifles, especially

where art and mechanism are concerned. He had seen him one evening

remain for half an hour studiously examining the construction of a

musical clock. The Prince then showed his _cabinet de travail_, which he

had retained unchanged. "Here," said he, "is a spot which is exactly as

it was the last day you saw it." Its identity had been rigidly

preserved, down to the placing of its paper and pencils. All was in the

same order. The Prince evidently, and justly, looked on those days as

the glory of his life.

We regret that the conversation of so eminent a person could not be more

largely given; for Metternich is less a statesman than statemanship

itself. But one remark was at once singularly philosophical and

practical. In evident allusion to the miserable tergiversations of our

Whig policy a couple of years since, he said, "that throughout life, he

had always acted on the plan of adopting the _best determination on all

important subjects_. That to this point of view he had steadfastly

adhered; and that, in the indescribable workings of time and

circumstances, it had _always happened to him_ that matters were

brought round to the very spot, from which, owing to the folly of

misguided notions or inexperienced men, they had for a time taken their

departure." This was in 1840, when the Whigs ruled us; it must be an

admirable maxim for honest men, but it must be perpetually thwarting the

oblique. To form a view on principle, and to adhere to it under all

difficulties, is the palpable way to attain great ultimate success; but

the paltry and the selfish, the hollow and the intriguing, have neither

power nor will to look beyond the moment; they are not steering the

vessel to a harbour; they have no other object than to keep possession

of the ship as long as they can, and let her roll wherever the gale may

carry her.

After all, one grows weary of every thing that is to be had for the mere

act of wishing. Difficulty is essential to enjoyment. High life is as

likely to tire on one's hands as any other. The Marquis, giving all the

praise of manners and agreeability to Vienna, sums up all in one

prodigious yawn. "The _same_ evenings at Metternich's, the _same_

lounges for making purchases and visits on a morning, the _same_

idleness and fatigue at night, the searching and arid climate, and the

clouds of execrable fine dust"--all conspiring to tell the great of the

earth that they can escape _ennui_ no more than the little.

On leaving Vienna, he wrote a note of farewell to the Prince, who

returned an answer, of remarkable elegance--a mixture of the pathetic

and the playful. His note says that he has no chance of going to see any

body, for he is like a coral fixed to a rock--both must move together.

He touches lightly on their share in the great war, "which is now

becoming a part of those times which history itself names heroic;" and

concludes by recommending him on his journey to the care of an officer

of rank, on a mission to Turkey--"Car il sçait le Turc, aussi bien que

nous deux ne le sçavons pas." With this Voltairism he finishes, and

gives his "Dieu protège."

We now come to the Austrian steam passage. This is the boldest effort

which Austria has ever made, and its effects will be felt through every

generation of her mighty empire. The honour of originating this great

design is due to Count Etienne Zecheny, a Hungarian nobleman,

distinguished for every quality which can make a man a benefactor to his

country. The plan of this steam-navigation is now about ten years old.

The Marquis justly observes, that nothing more patriotic was ever

projected; and it is mainly owing to this high-spirited nobleman that

the great advantage is now enjoyed of performing, in ten or twelve days,

the journey to the capital of Turkey, which some years ago could be

achieved only by riding the whole way, and occupying, by couriers, two

or three weeks. The chief direction of the company is at Vienna. It had,

at the time of the tour, eighteen boats, varying from sixty to one

hundred horse-power, and twenty-four more were to be added within the

year. Some of these were to be of iron.

But the poverty of all foreign countries is a formidable obstacle to the

progress of magnificent speculations like those. The shares have

continued low, the company has had financial difficulties to encounter,

and the popular purse is tardy. However, the prospect is improving, the

profits have increased; and the Austrian archdukes and many of the great

nobles having lately taken shares, the steam-boats will probably become

as favourite as they are necessary. But all this takes time; and as by

degrees the "disagreeables" of the voyage down the Danube will be

changed into agreeables, we shall allude no more to the noble

traveller's voyage, than to say, that on the 4th of November, a day of

more than autumnal beauty, his steamer anchored in the Bosphorus.

Here we were prepared for a burst of description. But the present

describer is a matter-of-fact personage; and though he makes no attempt

at poetic fame, has the faculty of telling what he saw, with very

sufficient distinctness. "I never experienced more disappointment," is

his phrase, "than in my first view of the Ottoman capital. I was bold

enough at once to come to the conclusion, that what I had heard or read

was overcharged. The most eminent of the describers, I think, could

never have been on the spot." Such is the plain language of the last

authority.

"The entrance of the Tagus, the Bay of Naples, the splendid approach to

the grand quays of St Petersburg, the Kremlin, and view of Moscow, all

struck me as far preferable to the scene at the entrance of the

Bosphorus."

He admits, that in the advance to the city up this famous channel, there

are many pretty views, that there is a line of handsome residences in

some parts, and that the whole has a good deal the look of a "drop-scene

in a theatre;" still he thinks it poor in comparison of its

descriptions, the outline low, feeble, and rugged, and that the less it

is examined, probably the more it may be admired. Even the famous

capital fares not much better. "In point of fine architectural features,

monuments of art, and magnificent structures, (excepting only the great

Mosques,) the chisel of the mason, the marble, the granite,

Constantinople is more destitute than any other great capital. But then,

you are told that these objects are not in the style and taste of the

people. Be it so; but then do not let the minds of those who cannot see

for themselves be led away by high-wrought and fallacious descriptions

of things which do not exist." The maxim is a valuable one, and we hope

that the rebuke will save the reading public from a heap of those

"picturesque" labours, which really much more resemble the heaviest

brush of the scene-painter, than the truth of nature.

But if art has done little, nature has done wonders for Constantinople.

The site contains some of the noblest elements of beauty and grandeur;

mountain, plain, forest, waters; its position is obviously the key of

Europe and Asia Minor--even of more, it is the point at which the north

and south meet; by the Bosphorus it commands the communication of the

Black Sea, and with it, of all the boundless region, once Scythia, and

now Russia and Tartary; by the Dardanelles, it has the most immediate

command over the Mediterranean, the most important sea in the world.

Russia, doubtless, may be the paramount power of the Black Sea; the

European nations may divide the power of the Mediterranean; but

Constantinople, once under the authority of a monarch, or a government,

adequate to its natural faculties, would be more directly the sovereign

of both seas, than Russia, with its state machinery in St Petersburg, a

thousand miles off, or France a thousand miles, or England more nearly

two thousand miles. This dominion will never be exercised by the

ignorant, profligate, and unprincipled Turk; but if an independent

Christian power should be established there, in that spot lie the

materials of empire. In the fullest sense, Constantinople, uniting all

the high-roads between east and west, north and south, is the centre of

the living world. We are by no means to be reckoned among the theorists

who calculate day by day on the fall of Turkey. In ancient times the

fall of guilty empires was sudden, and connected with marked evidences

of guilt. But those events were so nearly connected with the fortunes of

the Jewish people, that the suddenness of the catastrophe was essential

to the lesson. The same necessity exists no longer, the Chosen People

are now beyond the lesson, and nations undergo suffering, and approach

dissolution, by laws not unlike those of the decadence of the human

frame; the disease makes progress, but the evidence scarcely strikes the

eye, and the seat of the distemper is almost beyond human investigation.

The jealousy of the European powers, too, protects the Turk. But he must

go down--Mahometanism is already decaying. Stamboul, its headquarters,

will not survive its fall; and a future generation will inevitably see

Constantinople the seat of a Christian empire, and that empire, not

improbably, only the forerunner of an empire of Palestine.

The general view of Constantinople is superb. A bridge has been thrown

across the "Golden Horn," connecting its shores; and from this the city,

or rather the four cities, spread out in lengthened stateliness before

the eye. From this point are seen, to the most striking advantage, the

two mountainous elevations on which Constantinople and Pera are built,

and other heights surrounding. A communication subsists across the

"Golden Horn," not only by water and the bridge, but also by the road,

which by the land is a distance of five or six miles. Viewing

Constantinople as a whole, it strikes one as larger by far than Paris or

London, but they are both larger. The reason of the deception being,

that here the eye embraces a larger space.

The Turks never improve anything. The distinction between them and the

Europeans is, that the latter think of conveniences, the former only of

luxuries. The Turks, for example, build handsome pavilions, plant showy

gardens, and erect marble fountains to cool them in marble halls. But

they never mend a high-road--they never even make one. Now and then a

bridge is forced on them by the necessity of having one, or being

drowned; but they never repair that bridge, nor sweep away the

accumulated abomination of their streets, nor do any thing that it is

possible to leave undone.

Pera is the quarter in which all the Christians even of the highest rank

live; the intercourse between it and Constantinople is, of course,

perpetual, yet perhaps a stone has not been smoothed in the road since

the siege of the city. From Pera were the most harassing trips down

rugged declivities on horseback, besides the awkwardness of the

passage in boats.

One extraordinary circumstance strikes the stranger, that but one sex

seems to exist. The dress of the women gives no idea of the female form,

and the whole population seems to be male.

The masses of people are dense, and among them the utmost silence in

general prevails. About seven or eight at night the streets are cleared,

and their only tenants are whole hosts of growling, hideous dogs; or a

few Turks gliding about with paper lanterns; these, too, being the only

lights in the streets, if streets they are to be called, which are only

narrow passes, through which the vehicles can scarcely move.