New-York, indeed, in the way of scenery, has very high claims to

variety, gracefulness, and even grandeur, among the mountains of the

counties bordering on Champlain. By grandeur, however, let there be no

mistake, by receiving the term in any other than a limited sense. Any

well delineated view of a high-class Swiss scene, must at once convince

even the most provincial mind among us that nothing of the sort is to

be found in America, east of the Rocky mountains. Nevertheless, the

Adirondack has claims to a wild grandeur, which, if it do not approach

magnificence, is of a character to impress a region with the seal of

a very noble nature. The lovers of the picturesque sustain a great

loss by means of the numerous lines of railroads that have recently

come into existence. This is true of both Europe and America. In the

course of time, it will be found that every where a country presents

its best face towards its thoroughfares. Every thing that depends on

art, naturally takes this aspect, for men are as likely to put on

their best appearance along a wayside in the country as on the streets

of a town. All that has been done, therefore, in past ages, in these

particulars, is being deranged and in some instances deformed by the

necessity of preserving levels, and avoiding the more valuable portions

of a country, in order to diminish expense. Thus villages and towns

are no longer entered by their finest passages, producing the best

effects; but the traveller is apt to find his view limited by ranges

of sheds, out-houses, and other deformities of that nature. Here and

there, some work of art, compelled by necessity, furnishes a relief to

this deformity. But on the whole, the recent system of railroads has

as yet done very little towards adding much to the picturesque for the

benefit of the traveller. Here and there is to be found an exception,

however, to this rule; portions of the Erie railroad, and the whole

of the Hudson River, as well as that along the Rhine, necessarily

possessing the advantage of sharing in the sublimity and grace through

which they pass. Time will, of course, remedy the defects of the whole

arrangement; and a new front will be presented, as it may be, to the

traveller throughout the civilized world. Whether human ingenuity will

yet succeed in inventing substitutes for the smoke and other unpleasant

appliances of a railroad train, remains to be seen; but we think few

will be disposed to differ from us, when we say that in our view of

the matter this great improvement of modern intercourse has done very

little towards the embellishment of a country in the way of landscapes.

The graceful winding curvatures of the old highways, the acclivities

and declivities, the copses, meadows and woods, the half-hidden church,

nestling among the leaves of its elms and pines, the neat and secluded

hamlet, the farm-house, with all its comforts and sober arrangements,

so disposed as to greet the eye of the passenger, will long be

hopelessly looked for by him who flies through those scenes, which,

like a picture placed in a false light, no longer reflects the genius

and skill of the artist.

The old world enjoys an advantage as regards the picturesque and

pleasing, in connection with its towns, that is wholly unknown, unless

it may be in the way of exception, among ourselves. The necessity, in

the middle ages, of building for defence, and the want of artillery

before the invention of gunpowder, contributed to the construction

of military works for the protection of the towns in Europe, that

still remain, owing to their durable materials, often producing some

of the finest effects that the imagination could invent to embellish

a picture. Nothing of the sort, of course, is to be met with here,

for we have no castles, have never felt the necessity of fortified

towns, and had no existence at the period when works of this nature

came within the ordinary appliances of society. On the contrary,

the utilitarian spirit of the day labors to erase every inequality

from the surface of the American town, substituting convenience for

appearance. It is probable there is no one who, in the end, would not

give a preference to these new improvements for a permanent residence;

but it is not to be denied that so far as the landscape is concerned,

the customs of the middle ages constructed much the most picturesque

and striking collections of human habitations. Indeed, it is scarcely

possible for the mind to conceive of objects of this nature, that are

thrown together with finer effects, than are to be met with among the

mountainous regions, in particular, of Europe. We illustrate one or

two that are to be met with in the Apennines, and the Alps, and even

in Germany, as proofs of what we say. The eye, of itself, will teach

the reader, that Richmond and Boston, and Washington and Baltimore,

and half-a-dozen other American towns that do possess more or less of

an unequal surface, must yield the palm to those gloriously beautiful

objects of the old world. When it is remembered, too, how much time has

multiplied these last, it can be seen that there are large districts

in the mountain regions of the other hemisphere, that enjoy this

superiority over us, if superiority it can be called, to possess the

picturesque, at the expense of the convenient. The imagination can

scarcely equal the pictures of this nature that often meet the eye in

the southern countries of Europe. Villages, with the chiselled outlines

of castles, gray, sombre, but distinct, are often seen, perched on the

summits of rocky heights, or adhering, as it might be, to their sides,

in situations that are frequently even appalling, and which invariably

lend a character of peculiar beauty to the view. There are parts

of Europe in which the traveller encounters these objects in great

numbers, and if an American, they never fail to attract his attention,

as the wigwam and the bark canoe, and the prairie with lines of bisons,

would catch the eye of a wayfarer from the old world. To these humbler

mountain pictures, must be added many a castle and strong-hold, of

royal or semi-royal origin, that are met with on the summits of

abrupt and rocky eminences farther north. Germany has many of these

strong-holds, which are kept up to the present day, and which are found

to be useful as places of security, as they are certainly peculiar and

interesting in the landscape.

It has often been said by scientific writers, that this country affords

many signs of an origin more recent than the surface of Europe. The

proofs cited are the greater depths of the ravines wrought by the

action of the waters following the courses of the torrents, and the

greater and general aspect of antiquity that is impressed on natural

objects in the other hemisphere. This theory, however, has met with a

distinguished opponent in our own time. Without entering at all into

the merits of this controversy, we shall admit that to the ordinary eye

America generally is impressed with an air of freshness, youthfulness,

and in many instances, to use a coarse but expressive term, rawness,

that are seldom, if ever, met with in Europe. It might perhaps be easy

to account for this by the labors of man, alone, though we think that

natural objects contribute their full share towards deepening the

picture. We know of no mountain summits on this side of the Atlantic

that wear the hoary hues of hundreds that are seen on the other side

of the water; and nearly everywhere in this country that the eye rests

on a mountain-top, it encounters a rounded outline of no very decided

tints, unless, indeed, it may actually encounter verdure. To our eye,

this character of youthfulness is very strongly perceptible throughout

those portions of the republic with which we are personally acquainted,

and we say this without reference to the recent settlements, which

necessarily partake of this character, but to the oldest and most

finished of our own landscapes. The banks of the Hudson, for instance,

have not the impress of time as strongly marked on their heights and

headlands, and bays, and even mountains, as the banks of the Rhine; and

we have often even fancied that this distinguishing feature between

the old and new worlds is to be traced on nearly every object of

nature or art. Doubtless the latter has been the principal agent in

producing these effects; but it is undeniable that they form a leading

point of distinction in the general character of the scenery of the

two continents. As for England, it has a shorn and shaven aspect that

reminds one of the husbandman in his Sunday's attire; for we have seen

that island in February, when, owing to the great quantity of its grain

and the prevalent humidity of the atmosphere, it really appeared to us

to possess more verdure than it did in the subsequent July and August.

There is one feature in European scenery, generally, more prevalent,

however, in Catholic than in other countries, to which we must allude

before we close. The bourg, or town, with its gray castellated

outlines, and possibly with walls of the middle ages, is, almost

invariably, clustered around the high, pointed roofs and solemn towers

of the church. With us, how different is the effect! Half a dozen

ill-shaped, and yet pretending cupolas, and other ambitious objects,

half the time in painted wood, just peer above the village, while

the most aspiring roof is almost invariably that of the tavern. It

may be easy enough to account for this difference, and to offer a

sufficient apology for its existence. But to the observant lover of

the picturesque the effect is not only unpleasant but often repulsive.

No one of ordinary liberality would wish to interfere with freedom of

conscience in order to obtain fine landscapes; but this is one of the

hundred instances in which the thoughtful man finds reason to regret

that the church, as it exists among us, is not really more Catholic.

To conclude, we concede to Europe much the noblest scenery, in its

Alps, Pyrenees, and Apennines; in its objects of art, as a matter of

course; in all those effects which depend on time and association, in

its monuments, and in this impress of the past which may be said to be

reflected in its countenance; while we claim for America the freshness

of a most promising youth, and a species of natural radiance that

carries the mind with reverence to the source of all that is glorious

around us.

From the United Service Magazine

A BULL FIGHT AT RONDA.

The ride from Gibraltar to San Roque is familiar to all the inhabitants

of the rock, and notwithstanding that the soil, the natives, and their

costume vary much from similar objects in England, and that the plants

and scenery are totally of a foreign character, yet from the number

of English people on the road, one finds it difficult to believe

one's-self in Spain until on the other side of San Roque.

This last small town is prettily situated on a hill, about five miles

from Gibraltar. On passing the drawbridge which crosses the ditch

at the Landport point, we got on the isthmus which traverses the

inundation, situated at the North Front of this isolated fortress, and

which is the only avenue of access or egress. The approach to this

is also guarded by two strong outposts. The last of these, called

the old North Front, furnishes sentries which guard the intermediate

posts between it and the Spanish lines. On arriving at the end of the

isthmus, we crossed a place which is called the Neutral ground, and

reached a small village garrisoned by a wing of a Spanish regiment,

who are there stationed to intercept smugglers. On leaving the village

there is no regular road, but those wishing to proceed to Spain have

to ride or walk by the shore for a distance of about two miles, until

they reach a plain, which is crossed by a road leading to a small

village called Campo. This place is often resorted to by the gentry of

Gibraltar, who find it much cooler during summer than their residences

in the streets of the town. After passing this village, which had

certainly little of interest about it, we rode by a circuitous road,

generally hedged on each side by plants of the cactus and aloes, and

but little wooded, till we reached San Roque.

Here we saw in miniature what may be called a specimen of a Spanish

town; the windows at the lower story of the houses barred with cages

of iron called _regas_, which completely obstruct all entrance by that

mode, rendering them in fact like jails. The streets paved with large

stones, quite dry, and disposed so irregularly as to make them the most

disagreeable to ride in that I ever witnessed. Then there was the small

alameda, with its walks, and trees quite neat and regular; where the

beauties of the rural town paced with their mantillas and fans: on the

other side was a barrack, which contained a Spanish regiment, who were

drilling and exercising when we arrived. These were swarthy-looking

fellows, mostly young and undersized.

As we rode away from the town we descended by a rugged stony road,

which was very rough, and in some places nearly precipitous. Our party

consisted of four officers besides myself, two mules containing our

clothes and provisions, and a guide and servant on horseback. We got

packed up in panniers all the loose beer and cold meat, tea, coffee,

sugar, biscuit, sausages, hams, and other edibles which we should

require for a week's consumption, and did not find that we had at all

exceeded our computation, for with the exception of eggs, fowls, milk,

butter, chocolate, and indifferent wine, we could get nothing in the

way of eating and drinking at the different villages we stopped at. Our

cavalcade was consequently delayed very much by being obliged to keep

with the mules. We went along this very rough and rugged stony track,

which could scarcely be called a road, for about two miles; we then

crossed some hills. The country for about three miles from San Roque

was quite open.

Here it was that we arrived at a mountain pass, which was very thickly

planted on each side with brushwood, shrubs, and fern. So thick and

impervious was the cover for those who might choose to lie in ambush,

that a band of many men, at least amounting to sixty, might have rested

concealed quite close to the path which we rode on. I am not disposed

to be credulous relative to stories which travellers tell on the

subject of hairbreadth escapes and adventures; but, certainly in this

country, more than any in Europe, there is presented a more continuous

series of scenes which one's fancy might suppose calculated to be the

resort of outlawed marauders or wandering bandits. I had heard numerous

accounts of parties having been waylaid, and of the danger consequent

upon travelling in Spain, and the disposition of the country people is

so prone to exaggerate, that every day adds a fresh instance to the

catalogue of incidents which those who listen to them hear recorded.

The nature of the scenery which we were passing through was such as to

recall to our mind the spirited groups of Salvator Rosa's coloring, or

the sketches so graphically described by Cervantes or Le Sage.

We had not ridden further than a few yards when two men rushed from

the cover with their firelocks to their shoulders, and called out

"Alto, alto." Their action, their dress, the tone which they used

made me conclude that they were bandits, and I rode up to one of our

party, the only one who was armed (who carried a pair of pistols in

his saddlebags), and asked him to lend me one of them. He had not time

to answer before one of the men approached me with his firelock to his

shoulder, and said, in Spanish, "I can hit a sombrero at two hundred

yards distance." Another of our party advised me to answer him civilly,

for, he said, "I see four men from different quarters who have their

firelocks levelled at you." On this I demanded of him if he wanted

money, or wished for something to drink. He seemed more indignant

at this supposition, and informed us that he and his party were

carbineros or revenue officers, who were stationed there to intercept

any smugglers who might be proceeding into Spain. He said that he would

be obliged in any case to detain our mules, and that from what I had

said he should be obliged to keep us prisoners until he heard from

the Governor at Algeciras. Then the rest of his party all made their

appearance, each of them armed with firelock and pistols, and having

with them the mules belonging to one of the parties of officers who had

been going to Ronda. After a deal of altercation, we rode back with

them and decided upon the plan of sending two of our party to Algeciras

to the Governor, to ask him relative to the state of the case. It was

vexatious being delayed, but there was no help for it.

When the two officers started we were about twelve miles from

Algeciras. We then rode through a wild country much wooded with shrubs,

groves of oleanders, orange groves, hedges of grapes, and other

exotics, which are so rare and so much prized at home, and, crossing

two rivers, we reached the sea beach at some distance from Algeciras.

The mode of crossing the river was by large movable boats which had

pullies attached to their frames on deck, and ropes which were fastened

to the beams on shore at one end, and at the other to some leathern

thongs which the men fastened to their shoulders, and towing them on

board, soon passed the boat over from one bank to the other. When we

were on the beach, the leader of the party of carbineros fired his

piece at a gull which passed and wounded him, but the bird, who was

hit in the wing, rested on the water.

We did not ride far before our two friends returned, and heartily

welcome they were. They produced a paper signed by the Governor, a

Spanish General at Algeciras, which ordered our instant liberation;

they said that he was very indignant when he heard of our capture. The

leader of the party of carbineros on this was satisfied, and gave up

the pistols which he had captured from the officer who carried them,

and bid us farewell. We then had to ride to San Roque, and on our way

back, had much amusement in talking over our adventure. I was certainly

very glad that we had offered no resistance to these people; but had we

left our mules in their charge it would have been most inconvenient,

and in fact I think scarcely safe. The party which preceded us had

reason to be very thankful, for by our means they obtained safe

carriage for their mules, which they would not have seen for some days,

had it not been for our having come up with them. So we were obliged

to take up our quarters for that night at the inn at San Roque, which

was a nice clean place, and kept by an Englishman and his wife. It is

altogether much more like an English house in its accommodation than

a Spanish one, which, it is needless to add, is speaking much in its

praise. In the evening at dinner the principal topic of conversation

was this adventure of ours, and we heard some accounts of the modes of

travelling in Spain, and the direful amount of smuggling which exists

between its confines and Gibraltar, from an old inhabitant of the rock.

He told us a story of his having been stopped, and having his horse

taken from him, and being obliged to walk a number of miles. He never

saw the horse again, and never heard a word of the robbers who stopped

him, and yet he said that it happened at about six miles distance from

San Roque.

The next morning the weather was certainly beautiful, and numerous

parties came in from Gibraltar, to breakfast at San Roque, previous to

their long ride to Gaucin, a distance of thirty miles. The merriment

that prevailed, the novelty of the expected scenes, the beauty of the

wild romantic country they were about to enter, the good spirits and

freedom of manners of all, made every party seem exhilarated and happy.

Some were dressed in the style of the Spanish Majos, and armed with

pistols and daggers. The generality wore light jackets, sashes, and

trousers: also the sombrero was very much in use. The Spanish masta,

that most useful appendage to a traveller's equipment, was over most of

the saddles. We were all enabled to rest confident in the assurance of

not being molested or waylaid upon the road, as, being the regular day

for visitors to proceed to Ronda, the authorities had posted soldiers

in different parts of the road. We came up with and passed many groups

of Spaniards. The men were dressed with short jackets, sometimes laced,

and having a vast number of small buttons, large red sash, leggings

with rows of buttons all the way down on each side, and boltinas or

leathern hose worn open. They all wore the sombrero, and most of them

were armed with firelocks, slung from their shoulders. The colored

mantas, as usual, were strapped on the saddles, in order to render the

riding easy, to serve as a cloak in the event of rain, and to answer

for bed-clothes on their arrival at the Fonda, where they were going to

sleep. The ladies of the Spanish parties were mounted either on mules

or barricos seated on cushions, which were strapped on pads, placed

on the animals with two cross sticks on the shoulder and two on its

crupper. The ladies all wore mantillas, and with the exception of the

number of petticoats which they invariably wear, their dress did not

vary much from that of English country people. We passed through a

broken hilly country until we reached the cork-wood--that forest which

stretches for about ten miles from east to west, a most picturesque

spot, composed principally of cork-trees and some orange groves. At

about ten miles from San Roque we arrived at the Bocea de Leones,

that most dangerous pass, where the country was wild and the scenery

romantic. There were stationed here some Spanish cavalry who guarded

the pass. They were all fine able-bodied men, mounted on strong black

horses; they wore blue double-breasted coats, buff belts, jack-boots,

and large cocked hats. Past the cork-wood the country was broken and

hilly, thickly planted with shrubs and evergreens; reeds and brushwood

were also numerous. After this we got into a valley which was well

cultivated, and the plantations lay thickly studded with oleanders and

wild roses, and we saw frequently a white plant resembling the myrtle.

The grounds had a gay and fresh appearance. When we were passing one of

the fields where the laborers were at work we saw the curious manner in

which the lower order of Spaniards eat--their mess of _gaypacho_ was

in a large bowl, which was placed in the centre of a circle formed by

about sixty men, and each supplied with a spoon; they then dipped the

spoon into this capacious bowl, one after another, in regular routine,

until the food was finished.

We crossed about twelve different streams in going through this valley,

and soon after passing the last, we came to an orange grove, through

which the ride was agreeable. The delicious fruit was in abundance,

loading the trees on each side of the way, when we arrived at the

foot of the hill on which Gaucin is situated, and had an ascent of

nearly three miles, which was winding and rugged before we reached the

road leading into the town. The difficulty of the road, the nearly

impassable ascent of the cliffs, the circuitous track of the route,

made it a matter of surprise to us that a town such as this we were

approaching should have been built on a site where the supply of almost

any articles of merchandise was so inconvenient. Groups of hundreds of

children lined the passes calling out to us incessantly, "Oh tio om

cherito." We entered the town and were long before we could accommodate

ourselves with a night's lodging, which however at last we managed to

procure at the private house of a man who called himself a captain in

the Spanish army. It was very uncomfortable, although perhaps the best

that could be had in the town, and they charged exorbitantly. The town

is most picturesquely situated upon a lofty height. After our long

ride, which was over such a rough and broken country, we did not feel

much disposed to saunter about, but as the evening was far advanced we

stayed within doors. We procured merely the means of cooking, and milk,

eggs, and fowl; but the people made themselves very agreeable, and we

had great amusement and laughter. We set off early the next morning and

commenced by descending the lofty mound upon which the town is built,

by as tortuous and harassing a path as that by which we approached it.

However, after we had proceeded about two miles a vista of as romantic

and pleasing a kind as any I had ever seen in any other country opened

before me. In the continuous range of hills which lined the road, the

vineyards covered both the sides and tops for several miles around, and

the valleys in the distance were thickly planted with chestnut woods:

further on, the vast range of the ronda sierra lined the horizon.

The outline of these mountains was bold and their scenery grand. Their

sides and summits were studded throughout with towns, embosomed in the

vast woods of chestnuts. They loomed beautiful and picturesque in the

different intervals, and it wanted only water to render it an Elysium

upon earth. After keeping this in view for several miles, and through

a narrow and precipitous track, we came to a line of mountain scenery

where the hills were altogether barren, except where, far down their

sides, the corn fields were planted, where the road was much worse.

We saw another town which went by the name of Gaucin also, and had a

large redoubt to defend it, on its right flank; then the route circled

round the mountains towards Attogate. We could not take our horses

out of a foot pace, and very often I dismounted to lead mine down the

craggy rocks. No horses but those shod in the Spanish fashion could

manage to get through these descents. Towards the entrance of Attogate

it was rather more uneven and dangerous, and I heard that one of the

horsemen of the party that preceded us had been thrown. We passed

through the miserable village, which was as wretched as any thing that

I had ever seen even in Ireland, and went on still by a mountain path,

and round by lofty hills, for about three miles. We then got sight of

a very spacious plain, like an immense amphitheatre; to the west and

to the east were the ranges of the Ronda hills, and to the north, as

we approached, was a precipitous cliff of about two thousand feet in

height, upon the summit of which was situated the town of Ronda. This

seemed at the distance like a large perpendicular mass of earth. From

the first place where we viewed it until our entrance to the town, the

road or path was even more rugged than that which we traversed during

most part of the day.

We entered the old town and passed the remains of many Moorish ruins,

through a stony street, with houses built like most of the Spanish

ones, and came to a large bridge which crossed a ravine through which

the river flows. This bridge is at a height of about one thousand feet

from the level of the river. We then passed through the plaza and came

to the street where we found a lodging. As the bull fights were not to

commence until four P.M., the next day, we had a little leisure to look

about us. In the streets all the crowded shops showed that an unusual

influx of strangers had come to visit the place. We saw some splendid

houses; one I particularly remarked, which belonged to the Marquis

de Salvittierra; its lofty gateway of stone covered with devices and

figures in alto-relievo, reminded me, with the motto inscribed over the

summit of its arch, of the entrance to an Eastern palace. My companion,

who was taking a sketch of it, after he had finished his labor was

standing with me admiring this arch, which had evidently been the work

of the Saracen invaders, when we saw two ladies in mantillas, both

daughters of the late Marquis, who were walking towards its entrance.

We told them in Spanish that we were foreigners--Englishmen, who had

come to Ronda to visit it during the time of the fair, and in place

of being annoyed at our seeming forwardness in thus addressing them,

they invited us into the house. We went through corridors, futios, and

up the staircase, which was ornamented with some tolerable paintings,

and entered into one of the salas, or large rooms. When we arrived

the two graceful girls, one of whom was about twenty and the other

about sixteen, stood with their arms folded before them, and their

head slightly bowing. They had each large fans in their hands. Their

dress was stylish; their slippers beautiful and small; their black lace

mantillas waving round their hair; their dress completely of black,

made their figures seem elegant and their countenances interesting.

Their eyes had the deep languor of the southern aspect, more than

the playful loveliness which frequently is seen with those of their

age. Their features were regular, and their teeth, which they showed

in smiling to us when we entered, were of dazzling whiteness. I

recollected the Spanish words used in salutation, viz.: "A los fies di

usted mi senorita," and on hearing it in the foreign accent it was

great amusement to them, as they repeated it from one to the other.

We conversed on various subjects relative to the town, the scenery,

the approaching feasts, the bull fights, and after a little time took

our leave, charmed with their agreeable and pleasing conversation. All

the halls, corridors, and chambers of this palace were adorned with

pictures, but the rooms were furnished rather scantily, as seems the

Spanish custom.

In the evening we went to the Alameda, where we saw numerous groups

of Spanish beauties promenading. Certainly no female figures which I

have ever met with look better than the Spanish women. Their walk has

been often noticed by different writers, and yet I have never read

any description that does it justice. It is not the least like the

affected wriggling gait of the French women or the frigid stride of the

English, but a light, graceful step combining elegance and ease. They

all seem to walk in the same way, and as it forms a great part of their

daily occupation, it is no wonder that they should excel in it. Their

language of the fans is another peculiarity of the country. I was shown

it by a lady; it is a series of signs by which a lady lets the man who

looks at her know what her wishes are, either of disdain, reproof, or

encouragement, and is well known and recognized. I should recommend

every gentleman who wishes to stay in the country to learn it.

We met our two charming friends, the Spanish Marquis's daughters, and

walked with them on the Alameda until it was dark. The grounds are

prettily laid out, and the view from the western height which overlooks

the precipitous descent which I spoke of, viewed from a distance, is

truly superb. There the winding stream and the country which bounds it

embrace the foot of the perpendicular declivity.

The next day we heard nothing but preparations for the grand show,

which was to take place in a circus exactly opposite the lodging we

had got into. The Spanish cavalry, dressed in yellow coats and large

jack-boots, lined the streets and played their band in front of our

windows. All orders and classes, young and old, dressed in their gayest

costume, were seen going about the town. The persons who lived in our

house, who were a Spanish officer and his family, all got tickets of

admission which we paid for. The box or partition which we hired, we

took in common with the officers of another regiment, who had also

ridden over from Gibraltar to witness the bull fights.

The arena when we entered was surrounded by a concourse of about 1,500

people, many of whom were ladies, but the majority of the meaner

orders. The amphitheatre or plaza, as it is called by the Spaniards,

was about the same size as that at Milan. The architecture had,

however, no resemblance to that of the Italian city. The diameter was

about 200 feet. Various writers have noticed the interest which the

Spaniards take in these sights; and the multitude which surrounded the

amphitheatre, seated either in the boxes or standing in the tiers,

which were level with the arena of combat, all seemed eagerly expectant

of the arrival of the different actors in the scene.

About a quarter past four in the afternoon, a trumpet sounded, and on

the opening of the side doors, five picadors entered, followed at a few

paces by three mules abreast, drawing a pole like a swingle tree, with

a chain attached to it. They were mounted each on a sorry, miserable

hack-horse. They were dressed in yellow jackets, covered with beads

of silver and all sorts of ornaments; broad white sombreros, decked

all round with ribbons, yellow chamois leather trowsers, stuffed

out with cork and cotton, and coated inside the leather with iron

plates. After the mules with their car, came the three matadors, in

order. Their dress was perfectly superb; it was a close fitting majos

dress, ornamented with silver lacing and beading. The names of these

matadors were Montes, Espesa, and Ximenes. The first wore a beautiful

rose-colored tunic, and his hair tied behind with ribbons, and

crimson-colored leggings, &c. The dress of the second was of the same

form, only varying in color, being all pink. The dress of the third was

also the same in cut, but of a black color. These three, as well as the

chulos, wore silk stockings. The chulos followed next in succession,

and were dressed similar to the matadors, but not so grandly. They,

as well as the matadors, all carried a large cloth, of silk texture,

which was either red, blue, or yellow. The chulos were about five in

number. They all advanced across the arena to where the Alcalde was

seated, whilst the trumpets sounded, and as soon as these ceased to

blow, the mules with their car left the arena by the same door as that

by which they arrived, and the remainder of the procession dispersed

to the different parts of the circus. After a lapse of two or three

minutes, the centre door opened, and a furious black bull rushed in

the most impetuous manner into the circus, and charged the different

picadors. The first was not hurt, but the second and third picador had

their horses ripped open. This was really a most revolting sight, for

even after these cruel inflictions upon the poor horses, and when their

entrails were hanging out, the picadors who rode them goaded them still

onwards. The attendants in the circus joined in this act of cruelty. I

do not think that Byron was far wrong in saying of these sights--

"Such the ungentle sport that oft invites

The Spanish maid and cheers the Spanish swain.

Nurtured in blood, betimes, his heart delights

In vengeance, gloating on another's pain."

The fourth picador broke his spear in meeting the rushing of this bull.

The bull bled much from this, and at the fifth charge he ripped up

another horse. I watched every turn of the "hearty fight," and noted

it in my tablet. Though not quite what I considered in my English ideas

as _sport_, yet it was altogether so novel that I question if I ever

joined in a hunt which gave me greater interest. It would, however, be

extremely unjust to make any comparison between our manly sport and

this cruel spectacle, or even to mention them in the same breath.

The chulos now began at intervals to provoke the bull by advancing

towards him with their colored cloaks spread, and urging him to follow

them. Their activity was most remarkable. Whenever the bull approached

them close, they left their cloaks, and vaulted up the partition. One

of them, whom I saw pressed quite close, jumped clean over the bull's

head, and many such feats of agility we saw, both at this time and

during the whole of the exhibition. After several efforts made to

provoke him, the bull jumped over the wooden partition which separated

the amphitheatre from the arena, a height of about five feet, called

by the Spaniards the barrero. Of course this caused much terror and

sensation, as many were standing quite close, and the rush was quite

awful: however, after running half round, he jumped into the circus

again. He then struck a picador, leaped the inclosure, and stayed a

shorter time than at first, when he again jumped out, after several

attempts on the part of the chulos to provoke him, and when he appeared

wearied and fainter from his exertions and from the loss of blood.

On this the Alcalde caused the trumpets to sound and the banderilleros

came in, each carrying two stakes about a yard long and fringed with

short flags. They ran close to the animal, and plunged these stakes,

called banderillos, into the bull's shoulders. Four of these were let

fly and plunged into his flesh, and the trumpets again sounded for

the matadors to stick him with a sword. Montes undertook this bull,

and drawing a long sword, he stood before him until the bull got near

enough, when he stuck him between the shoulders. The chulos provoked

him a second time, and Montes again wounded him. The attack of the

chulos was repeated, when Montes planted his sword in the animal's

shoulder, but instantly withdrew it. Twice more the chulos came to

the attack, and on each occasion the bull's shoulder was laid open by

Montes, but at the sixth onslaught, the matador plunged his sword up

to the hilt in the mangled flesh, and the bull fell. Then entered a

man dressed like a chulo, with a dagger called a puntilla, and which

gave to its owner the designation of a puntillero, and struck it in the

neck of the prostrate animal, which immediately expired. When this was

ascertained, the mules who had formed part of the opening procession,

and had then withdrawn, reappeared, and the carcase of the bull was

tied to the swingle tree, and dragged out of the arena.

Seven other bulls were brought out in succession, and attacked in the

same manner, with a little variation in the details. The second bull

charged two picadors, and did them no damage, but in a third charge he

lamed a picador's horse, and received himself a serious gash in the

neck. At a fourth charge he ripped open a horse's bowels, and coming

on for the fifth and sixth time, threw the horse of another picador

prostrate, and when he was on the ground, dug his horns into the bowels

of the horse in a most frightful manner. I was never more forcibly

reminded of Homer's description of the wolves, who in their charge

upon the flock, seize with such fiendish fierceness #"kai enkata panta

laphyssei."#

The matador who undertook the third bull had but one eye, and,

to render the combat equal, one of the bull's eyes was blinded,

an expedient worthy of its cruel inventors. I remarked nothing

extraordinary about the baiting or slaughter of this bull, except that

one of the chulos, in flying from him, had his clothes torn off, and

narrowly escaped being gored.

The sixth bull was a very strong one. In his charges he disabled two

picadors, both of whom were obliged to be removed from the arena,

and one was perfectly senseless. The infuriated animal then charged

a horse, which he killed instantaneously. The mules which I spoke of

before, came in, and bore away the horse's carcase. Meanwhile the third

matador, Ximenes, struck the bull with a sword up to the hilt, and

killed him. He got his ear as a trophy, which he held up in triumph,

and was saluted with innumerable vivas from the boxes of the Spanish

Senoritas, some of whom wore black, and some white lace mantillas.

"Lesa lo dey," also was shouted loudly, meaning, let him have the bull

for his courage. As one of the classic writers has it, it turned out

"Vox populi vox Dei," for the hero was awarded the prize.

The seventh bull was considered a slow one by the audience, and they

commenced shouting out "fuego, fuego." So when the banderilleros were

directed to throw their arrows, they fastened squibs and crackers in

various parts of the arrow or banderillo, and, on their exploding, the

frantic animal went racing round the arena, goaded to madness by the

crackers, which continued to go off at every step. This bull was given

over to Montes to kill, as a very difficult subject, and the intrepid

matador made one or two attempts before he succeeded in closing with

him. The last time he plunged his sword between his shoulders, and the

bull dropped dead.

The eighth bull was killed after two thrusts, and then the large

concourse of people flocked into the circus, and shortly afterwards,

it being 7 o'clock, almost every one proceeded on to the Alameda.

Next morning, the bull fights were resumed, and the sport, if I may

call it by so mild a name, was considered superior. The matadors were

differently dressed, and I remarked that all the picadors' horses were

blindfolded. Montes, the first time of their contact, drove his sword

into the neck of the first bull, a remarkably fine and very fierce

animal, and it died in a few seconds afterwards. Four other bulls

followed in order, and were all overcome. But the contest of the day

was with the sixth bull. This savage animal killed a horse at his first

charge. He then flew at another, and gored its sides in a frightful

manner, completely lifting the rider off its back. The unfortunate

picador was carried out, apparently dead. The bull then broke a

horse's forearm, and charging another, ripped it open, though its

rider escaped, and, being mounted afresh, behaved in the most heroic

way, proving, himself, in fact, quite the lion of the day, whose feats

excited the wonder and the applause of the multitude. He approached the

box where we were seated, and threw his hat down. Showers of gold and

dollars, amounting I should think to about 80, rewarded his compliments

"a los Engless." He acknowledged this, by saying that our kindness

should be always remembered. This bull was tormented a long time, and

certainly the cruelty exhibited was most repulsive. The people quite

exulted in the way they drew out the barbed darts from the creature's

back, and thrust them in again, in every way that could torture him

most. He was, however, at last killed by Montes, after a number of

thrusts. After he had been struck the third time by Montes, the blood

gushed out from his mouth in torrents, and in about seven seconds he

died. In the baiting of the eighth bull, the same picador showed his

dexterity. In the third charge which he made, he killed a horse. At

first he brought the horse to the ground, and rolled him over as he

would a cat; then, having dug his horns into his bowels for some time,

at last left him for dead. Two other bulls followed, and with the death

of the last, the spectacle terminated.

The third day was appropriated to the exhibition of the first rudiments

of bull-fighting, and was a regular gala for the more youthful portion

of the community. There is no parallel to this practice at present

existing in any part of Europe. The prize-fighting which till lately

prevailed in England, independent of the heartiness, and emulative

courage of the combatants, was a barbarism of quite another kind, the

excitement of which was enhanced by the scope it allowed for gambling.

But in bull-fighting there is no chance of making money, nor are wagers

ever laid upon the combatants. The spectacle, in fact, is more like

the games that took place in imperial Rome, which argue a brutality of

feeling worthy of those degraded and sensual times.

The third day there were no matadors, picadors, or chulos, but to the

youthful part of the populace, it was one of the most pleasant. The

bulls were allowed to enter, and were chased here and there by the

populace with sticks. There was a good deal of childish folly and

mountebank frivolity in these exhibitions. After the bull had been

tormented for about twenty minutes, he was allowed to leave the circus,

and they brought in a large tame one, with a bell round his neck, who

was followed immediately by the young ones. One of the small bulls

who was baited in this way, jumped over the barrier; but being much

worried, soon jumped back.

The people moved about the circus, laughing and running, and seemed

like schoolboys just allowed out to play, after the hours of study were

finished. It seemed to me that the reputed gravity of the Spaniards did

not at all extend to the lower orders, or to the women, whose mirth,

animation, and playfulness of manner are very striking. The third bull

was killed, and this one was the only sacrifice to the sanguinary

tastes of the people.

Two large, high, basket-like gabions were afterwards brought in, when

two men entered them up to the arms, and it was great diversion to the

people to see the bulls, who were successively led into the arena, and

whose horns were covered with leather, tossing these baskets about. The

men who were inside had got banderillos, which they stuck in the bull's

back when he came up to them. This lasted for some time, but at last

the crowd grew weary of it, and dispersed.

On this day, Charpur (who certainly was the hero of the play),

exhibited his dexterity as a chulos in the scene where the bull killing

took place. One of the novices, who was being educated as a matador,

drove his sword through the bull's neck, up to the hilt, transfixing a

portion of the flesh, and leaving the blade dangling from it. Charpur

went up to the bull, and, partly by his cloak and partly by his

menaces, led him towards the barrera, when he seized hold of his tail,

and holding on by his back, approached his neck, and coolly took the

sword out, which he threw on the ground.

Such is the recreation, and such the feats, which are the theme of

praise and topic of conversation amongst the Spanish people, who

discourse of it as we do of the races at Ascot or Newmarket, or any

other resort of the men on the turf. But I certainly did not see one

English lady there, notwithstanding the numbers of Spanish mantillas

which might have kept them in countenance.

"Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons,

But formed for all the witching arts of love;

In softness and in firmness far above

Remoter females, famed for sickening prate."

This, by what I can learn, is the only remnant of the ancient fights

which the Goths must have learned from the Romans; cruel and barbarous

exhibitions, much "more honored in the breach than in the observance."

The next day we passed in walking about the town. We entered a church,

which was built of soft granite, and the internal structure of which

reminded me of some that I had seen in Florence and Milan. The arches

were Gothic; the columns that supported the cupolas inside, and the

different domes into which the aisle was divided, were massive and

grand. The paintings seemed not to be from the hands of masters; and

the altars, which at a distance seemed so gorgeous, had rather a tinsel

glittering sort of appearance on near approach, such as would be called

familiarly "gingerbread shows"--but it was very lofty and extensive.

We went next to see the old Moorish palace. Here a staircase, very much

dilapidated, led from the interior to the edge of the small river which

runs through the whole of Ronda. The town being divided by a very deep

ravine, at the bottom of which the river flows, and which is crossed

by three bridges. Down this staircase, damp, gloomy, and intricate as

it was, we descended, and a guide preceded us with a candle, which,

however, scarcely gave us light enough to see our way down the dark and

slippery descent. It was constructed, according to the instruction of

our cicerone, in the year 800, by one of the Moorish kings, who had it

built for the purpose of supplying his palace with water. At the foot

of it we came to a sort of window, which going through, we stepped out

by the river's side. I ought to mention that at intervals we passed

the remains of large chambers and other vaulted apartments, which must

evidently have been prisons as dark and loathsome as any which Mrs.

Radcliffe, or any other horror-loving romancer, could draw from a

morbid imagination. We had to return the same way.

Quitting the palace, we passed through the part of the town which leads

by the Marquis of Salvatierras' house, and went on to the fountain,

which springs from the solid rock in the midst of the ravine. We

then returned homewards. In the evening our fair hostess amused us

with singing, dancing, and conversation. One night we had a party of

Gipsies, or, as they are called, Rectanos, to dance. They are a curious

set of beings, and their habits are as strange as their appearance.

They, to me, were very plain, and of a brown color; the men very dark,

with long matted beards. They danced the fandangoe, in which a man and

woman get up, and moving castanets with their hands, performed such

evolutions as, to speak in the mildest way, would greatly astonish

English spectators. I was much disappointed with it, as I saw nothing

graceful in their movements. All the time they were figuring and

lifting their limbs, the party seated kept time with their castanets.

At intervals they sang when they were dancing, which reminded me of the

nautch-girls in India. They would drink nothing except Rosaria, a sort

of stuff distilled from limes, partaking, however, of sweetmeats which

were handed round to them, and which they relished so much, that they

had a scramble for them. The dress of the women was very gaudy, and of

various colors.

I did not think much of these people, but I like what I have seen of

the Spanish ladies very much. Their manners are lively, unaffected,

and pleasing. The night after this, we went to a party which was given

by some officers of another regiment. Here again I had an opportunity

of seeing the manners of the Spanish ladies, which were certainly very

pleasing.

The next day at 11, we once more mounted our horses, and bidding adieu

to our fair hostess, we left the town, the beauties of which have been

amply dilated upon by different writers. We pursued the same route as

that by which we came, and arrived at Gibraltar a few minutes after the

evening gun gave notice of the time to shut the gates of the fortress.

From Chamber's Edinburgh Journal.

VAGARIES OF THE IMAGINATION.

"Fancy it burgundy," said Boniface of his ale--"only fancy it, and

it is worth a guinea a quart!" Boniface was a philosopher: fancy can

do much more than that. Those who fancy themselves laboring under an

affection of the heart are not slow in verifying the apprehension:

the uneasy and constant watching of its pulsations soon disturbs the

circulation, and malady may ensue beyond the power of medicine. Some

physicians believe that inflammation can be induced in any part of

the body by a fearful attention being continually directed towards

it; indeed it has been a question with some whether the stigmata (the

marks of the wounds of our Saviour) may not have been produced on the

devotee by the influences of an excited imagination. The hypochondriac

has been known to expire when forced to pass through a door which he

fancied too narrow to admit his person. The story of the criminal who,

unconscious of the arrival of the reprieve, died under the stroke

of a wet handkerchief, believing it to be the axe, is well known.

Paracelsus held, "that there is in man an imagination which really

affects and brings to pass the things that did not before exist; for a

man by imagination willing to move his body moves it in fact, and by

his imagination and the commerce of invisible powers he may also move

another body." Paracelsus would not have been surprised at the feats

of electro-biology. He exhorts his patients to have "a good faith, a

strong imagination, and they shall find the effects." "All doubt," he

says, "destroys work, and leaves it imperfect in the wise designs of

nature: it is from faith that imagination draws its strength, it is

by faith it becomes complete and realized; he who believeth in nature

will obtain from nature to the extent of his faith, and let the object

of this faith be real or imaginary, he nevertheless reaps similar

results--and hence the cause of superstition."

So early as 1462 Pomponatus of Mantua came to the conclusion, in his

work on incantation, that all the arts of sorcery and witchcraft

were the result of natural operations. He conceived that it was not

improbable that external means, called into action by the soul, might

relieve our sufferings, and that there did, moreover, exist individuals

endowed with salutary properties; so it might, therefore, be easily

conceived that marvellous effects should be produced by the imagination

and by confidence, more especially when these are reciprocal between

the patient and the person who assists his recovery. Two years after,

the same opinion was advanced by Agrippa in Cologne. "The soul," he

said, "if inflamed by a fervent imagination, could dispense health and

disease, not only in the individual himself, but in other bodies."

However absurd these opinions may have been considered, or looked on as

enthusiastic, the time has come when they will be gravely examined.

That medical professors have at all times believed the imagination

to possess a strange and powerful influence over mind and body is

proved by their writings, by some of their prescriptions, and by their

oft-repeated direction in the sick-chamber to divert the patient's

mind from dwelling on his own state and from attending to the symptoms

of his complaint. They consider the reading of medical books which

accurately describe the symptoms of various complaints as likely to

have an injurious effect, not only on the delicate but on persons in

full health; and they are conscious how many died during the time of

the plague and the cholera, not only of these diseases but from the

dread of them, which brought on all the fatal symptoms. So evident was

the effect produced by the detailed accounts of the cholera in the

public papers in the year 1849, that it was found absolutely necessary

to restrain the publications on the subject. The illusions under

which vast numbers acted and suffered have gone, indeed, to the most

extravagant extent; individuals, not merely single but in communities,

have actually believed in their own transformation. A nobleman of the

court of Louis XIV. fancied himself a dog, and would pop his head out

of the window to bark at the passengers; while the barking disease at

the camp-meetings of the Methodists of North America has been described

as "extravagant beyond belief." Rollin and Hecquet have recorded a

malady by which the inmates of an extensive convent near Paris were

attacked simultaneously every day at the same hour, when they believed

themselves transformed into cats, and a universal mewing was kept up

throughout the convent for some hours. But of all dreadful forms which

this strange hallucination took, none was so terrible as that of the

lycanthropy, which at one period spread through Europe; in which the

unhappy sufferers, believing themselves wolves, went prowling round the

forests uttering the most terrific howlings, carrying off lambs from

the flocks, and gnawing dead bodies in their graves.

While every day's experience adds some new proof of the influence

possessed by the imagination over the body, the supposed effect of

contagion has become a question of doubt. Lately, at a meeting in

Edinburgh, Professor Dick gave it as his opinion that there was no

such thing as hydrophobia in the lower animals: "what went properly by

that name was simply an inflammation of the brain; and the disease, in

the case of human beings, was caused by an over-excited imagination,

worked upon by the popular delusion on the effects of a bite by rabid

animals." The following paragraph from the "Curiosities of Medicine"

appears to justify this now common enough opinion:--"Several persons

had been bitten by a rabid dog in the Faubourg St. Antoine, and three

of them had died in our hospital. A report, however, was prevalent

that we kept a mixture which would effectually prevent their fatal

termination; and no less than six applicants who had been bitten were

served with a draught of colored water, and in no one instance did

hydrophobia ensue."

A remarkable cure through a similar aid of the imagination took place

in a patient of Dr. Beddoes, who was at that time very sanguine about

the effect of nitrous acid gas in paralytic cases. Anxious that it

should be imbibed by one of his patients, he sent an invalid to Sir

Humphry Davy, with a request that he would administer the gas. Sir

Humphry put the bulb of the thermometer under the tongue of the

paralytic, to ascertain the temperature of the body, that he might be

sure whether it would be affected at all by the inhalation of the gas.

The patient, full of faith from what the enthusiastic physician had

assured him would be the result, and believing that the thermometer was

what was to effect the cure, exclaimed at once that he felt better. Sir

Humphry, anxious to see what imagination would do in such a case, did

not attempt to undeceive the man, but saying that he had done enough

for him that day, desired him to be with him the next morning. The

thermometer was then applied as it had been the day before, and for

every day during a fortnight--at the end of which time the patient was

perfectly cured.

Perhaps there is nothing on record more curious of this kind than the

cures unwittingly performed by Chief-Justice Holt. It seems that for

a youthful frolic he and his companions had put up at a country inn;

they, however, found themselves without the means of defraying their

expenses, and were at a loss to know what they should do in such an

emergency. Holt, however, perceived that the innkeeper's daughter

looked very ill, and on inquiring what was the matter, learned that she

had the ague; when, passing himself off for a medical student, he said

that he had an infallible cure for the complaint. He then collected a

number of plants, mixed them up with various ceremonies, and inclosed

them in parchment, on which he scrawled divers cabalistic characters.

When all was completed, he suspended the amulet round the neck of the

young woman, and, strange to say, the ague left her and never returned.

The landlord, grateful for the restoration of his daughter, not only

declined receiving any payment from the youths, but pressed them to

remain as long as they pleased. Many years after, when Holt was on the

bench, a woman was brought before him, charged with witchcraft: she was

accused of curing the ague by charms. All she said in defence was, that

she did possess a ball which was a sovereign remedy in the complaint.

The charm was produced and handed to the judge, who recognized the very

ball which he had himself compounded in his boyish days, when out of

mere fun he had assumed the character of a medical practitioner.

Many distinguished physicians have candidly confessed that they

preferred confidence to art. Faith in the remedy is often not only half

the cure, but the whole cure. Madame de Genlis tells of a girl who had

lost the use of her leg for five years, and could only move with the

help of crutches, while her back had to be supported: she was in such

a pitiable state of weakness, the physicians had pronounced her case

incurable. She, however, took it into her head that if she was taken

to Notre Dame de Liesse she would certainly recover. It was fifteen

leagues from Carlepont where she lived. She was placed in the cart

which her father drove, while her sister sat by her supporting her

back. The moment the steeple of Notre Dame de Liesse was in sight she

uttered an exclamation, and said that her leg was getting well. She

alighted from the car without assistance, and no longer requiring the

help of crutches, she ran into the church. When she returned home the

villagers gathered about her, scarcely believing that it was indeed

the girl who had left them in such a wretched state, now they saw her

running and bounding along, no longer a cripple, but as active as any

among them.

Not less extraordinary are the cures which are effected by some sudden

agitation. An alarm of fire has been known to restore a patient

entirely, or for a time, from a tedious illness: it is no uncommon

thing to hear of the victim of a severe fit of the gout, whose feet

have been utterly powerless, running nimbly away from some approaching

danger. Poor Grimaldi in his declining years had almost quite lost the

use of his limbs owing to the most hopeless debility. As he sat one day

by the bedside of his wife, who was ill, word was brought to him that a

friend waited below to see him. He got down to the parlor with extreme

difficulty. His friend was the bearer of heavy news which he dreaded to

communicate: it was the death of Grimaldi's son, who, though reckless

and worthless, was fondly loved by the poor father. The intelligence

was broken as gently as such a sad event could be: but in an instant

Grimaldi sprung from his chair--his lassitude and debility were gone,

his breathing, which had for a long time been difficult, became

perfectly easy--he was hardly a moment in bounding up the stairs which

but a quarter of an hour before he had passed with extreme difficulty

in ten minutes; he reached the bedside, and told his wife that their

son was dead; and as she burst into an agony of grief he flung himself

into a chair, and became instantaneously, as it has been touchingly

described, "an enfeebled and crippled old man."

The imagination, which is remarkable for its ungovernable influence,

comes into action on some occasions periodically with the most precise

regularity. A friend once told us of a young relation who was subject

to nervous attacks: she was spending some time at the seaside for

change of air, but the evening-gun, fired from the vessel in the bay at

eight o'clock, was always the signal for a nervous attack: the instant

the report was heard she fell back insensible, as if she had been

shot. Those about her endeavored if possible to withdraw her thoughts

from the expected moment: at length one evening they succeeded, and

while she was engaged in an interesting conversation the evening-gun

was unnoticed. By and by she asked the hour, and appeared uneasy when

she found the time had passed. The next evening it was evident that

she would not let her attention be withdrawn: the gun fired, and she

swooned away; and when revived, another fainting fit succeeded, as if

it were to make up for the omission of the preceding evening! It is

told of the great tragic actress Clairon, who had been the innocent

cause of the suicide of a man who destroyed himself by a pistol-shot,

that ever after, at the exact moment when the fatal deed had been

perpetrated--one o'clock in the morning--she heard the shot. If asleep,

it awakened her; if engaged in conversation, it interrupted her; in

solitude or in company, at home or travelling, in the midst of revelry

or at her devotions, she was sure to hear it to the very moment.

The same indelible impression has been made in hundreds of cases, and

on persons of every variety of temperament and every pursuit, whether

engaged in business, science or art, or rapt in holy contemplation.

On one occasion Pascal had been thrown down on a bridge which had

no parapet, and his imagination was so haunted for ever after by

the danger, that he always fancied himself on the brink of a steep

precipice overhanging an abyss ready to ingulf him. This illusion

had taken such possession of his mind that the friends who came to

converse with him were obliged to place the chairs on which they seated

themselves between him and the fancied danger. But the effects of

terror are the best known of all the vagaries of the imagination.

A very remarkable case of the influence of imagination occurred between

sixty and seventy years since in Dublin, connected with the celebrated

frolics of Dalkey Island. It is said Curran and his gay companions

delighted to spend a day there, and that with them originated the

frolic of electing "a king of Dalkey and the adjacent islands," and

appointing his chancellor and all the officers of state. A man in the

middle rank of life, universally respected, and remarkable alike for

kindly and generous feelings and a convivial spirit, was unanimously

elected to fill the throne. He entered with his whole heart into all

the humors of the pastime, in which the citizens of Dublin so long

delighted. A journal was kept, called the "Dalkey Gazette," in which

all public proceedings were inserted, and it afforded great amusement

to its conductors. But the mock pageantry, the affected loyalty, and

the pretended homage of his subjects, at length began to excite the

imagination of "King John," as he was called. Fiction at length became

with him reality, and he fancied himself "every inch a king." His

family and friends perceived with dismay and deep sorrow the strange

delusion which nothing could shake: he would speak on no subject save

the kingdom of Dalkey and its government, and he loved to dwell on the

various projects he had in contemplation for the benefit of his people,

and boasted of his high prerogative: he never could conceive himself

divested for one moment of his royal powers, and exacted the most

profound deference to his kingly authority. The last year and a half of

his life were spent in Swift's hospital for lunatics. He felt his last

hours approaching, but no gleam of returning reason marked the parting

scene: to the very last instant he believed himself a king, and all his

cares and anxieties were for his people. He spoke in high terms of his

chancellor, his attorney-general, and all his officers of state, and of

the dignitaries of the church: he recommended them to his kingdom, and

trusted they might all retain the high offices which they now held. He

spoke on the subject with a dignified calmness well becoming the solemn

leave-taking of a monarch; but when he came to speak of the crown he

was about to relinquish for ever, his feelings were quite overcome, and

the tears rolled down his cheeks: "I leave it," said he, "to my people,

and to him whom they may elect as my successor!" This remarkable scene

is recorded in some of the notices of deaths for the year 1788. The

delusion, though most painful to his friends, was far from an unhappy

one to its victim: his feelings were gratified to the last while

thinking he was occupied with the good of his fellow-creatures--an

occupation best suited to his benevolent disposition.

From Household Words.

THE FRENCH FLOWER GIRL.

I was lingering listlessly over a cup of coffee on the Boulevard des

Italiens, in June. At that moment I had neither profound nor useful

resources of thought. I sat simply conscious of the cool air, the blue

sky, the white houses, the lights, and the lions, which combine to

render that universally pleasant period known as "after dinner," so

peculiarly agreeable in Paris.

In this mood my eyes fell upon a pair of orbs fixed intently upon

me. Whether the process was effected by the eyes, or by some pretty

little fingers, simply, I cannot say; but, at the same moment, a rose

was insinuated into my button-hole, a gentle voice addressed me, and

I beheld, in connection with the eyes, the fingers, and the voice, a

girl. She carried on her arm a basket of flowers, and was, literally,

nothing more nor less than one of the _Bouquetières_ who fly along the

Boulevards like butterflies, with the difference that they turn their

favorite flowers to a more practical account.

Following the example of some other distracted _décorés_, who I found

were sharing my honors, I placed a piece of money--I believe, in my

case, it was silver--in the hand of the girl; and, receiving about five

hundred times its value, in the shape of a smile and a "_Merci bien

Monsieur!_" was again left alone--("desolate," a Frenchman would have

said)--in the crowded and carousing Boulevard.

To meet a perambulating and persuasive _Bouquetière_ who places a

flower in your coat and waits for a pecuniary acknowledgment, is

scarcely a rare adventure in Paris; but I was interested--unaccountably

so--in this young girl: her whole manner and bearing was so different

and distinct from all others of her calling. Without any of that

appearance which, in England, we are accustomed to call "theatrical,"

she was such a being as we can scarcely believe in out of a ballet.

Not, however, that her attire departed--except, perhaps, in a certain

coquettish simplicity--from the conventional mode: its only decorations

seemed to be ribbons, which also gave a character to the little cap

that perched itself with such apparent insecurity upon her head. Living

a life that seemed one long summer's day--one floral _fête_--with a

means of existence that seemed so frail and immaterial--she conveyed an

impression of _unreality_. She might be likened to a Nymph, or a Naiad,

but for the certain something that brought you back to the theatre,

intoxicating the senses, at once, with the strange, indescribable

fascinations of hot chandeliers--close and perfumed air--footlights,

and fiddlers.

Evening after evening I saw the same girl--generally at the same

place--and, it may be readily imagined, became one of the most constant

of her _clientelle_. I learned, too, as many facts relating to her as

could be learned where most was mystery. Her peculiar and persuasive

mode of disposing of her flowers (a mode which has since become worse

than vulgarized by bad imitators) was originally her own graceful

instinct--or whim, if you will. It was something new and natural, and

amused many, while it displeased none. The sternest of stockbrokers,

even, could not choose but be decorated. Accordingly, this new Nydia

of Thessaly went out with her basket one day, awoke next morning, and

found herself famous.

Meantime there was much discussion, and more mystification, as to who

this Queen of Flowers could be--where she lived--and so forth. Nothing

was known of her except her name--Hermance. More than one adventurous

student--you may guess I am stating the number within bounds--traced

her steps for hour after hour, till night set in--in vain. Her flowers

disposed of, she was generally joined by an old man, respectably clad,

whose arm she took with a certain confidence, that sufficiently marked

him as a parent or protector; and the two always contrived sooner or

later, in some mysterious manner, to disappear.

After all stratagems have failed, it generally occurs to people to

ask a direct question. But this in the present case was impossible.

Hermance was never seen except in very public places--often in

crowds--and to exchange twenty consecutive words with her, was

considered a most fortunate feat. Notwithstanding, too, her strange,

wild way of gaining her livelihood, there was a certain dignity in her

manner which sufficed to cool the too curious.

As for the directors of the theatres, they exhibited a most appropriate

amount of madness on her account; and I believe that at several of the

theatres, Hermance might have commanded her own terms. But only one of

these miserable men succeeded in making a tangible proposal, and he

was treated with most glorious contempt. There was, indeed, something

doubly dramatic in the _Bouquetière's_ disdain of the drama. She who

_lived_ a romance could never descend to act one. She would rather be

Rosalind than Rachel. She refused the part of Cerito, and chose to be

an Alma on her own account.

It may be supposed that where there was so much mystery, imagination

would not be idle. To have believed all the conflicting stories

about Hermance, would be to come to the conclusion that she was

the stolen child of noble parents, brought up by an _ouvrier_; but

that somehow her father was a tailor of dissolute habits, who lived

a contented life of continual drunkenness, on the profits of his

daughter's industry;--that her mother was a deceased duchess--but,

on the other hand, as alive, and carried on the flourishing business

of a _blanchisseuse_. As for the private life of the young lady

herself, it was reflected in such a magic mirror of such contradictory

impossibilities, in the delicate discussion held upon the subject, that

one had no choice but disbelieve every thing.

One day a new impulse was given to this gossip by the appearance of

the _Bouquetière_ in a startling hat of some expensive straw, and of a

make bordering on the ostentatious. It could not be doubted that the

profits of her light labors were sufficient to enable her to multiply

such finery to almost any extent, had she chosen; but in Paris the

adoption of a bonnet or a hat, in contradistinction to the little cap

of the _grisette_, is considered an assumption of a superior grade,

and unless warranted by the "position" of the wearer, is resented

as an impertinence. In Paris, indeed, there are only two classes of

women--those with bonnets and those without; and these stand in the

same relation to one another, as the two great classes into which the

world may be divided--the powers that be, and the powers that want to

be. Under these circumstances, it may be supposed that the surmises

were many and marvellous. The little _Bouquetière_ was becoming

proud--becoming a lady;--but how? why? and above all--where? Curiosity

was never more rampant, and scandal never more inventive.

For my part, I saw nothing in any of these appearances worthy, in

themselves, of a second thought; nothing could have destroyed the

strong and strange interest which I had taken in the girl; and it

would have required something more potent than a straw hat--however

coquettish in crown, and audacious in brim--to have shaken my belief in

her truth and goodness. Her presence, for the accustomed few minutes,

in the afternoon or evening, became to me--I will not say a necessity,

but certainly a habit; and a habit is sufficiently despotic when

"A fair face and a tender voice have made me"--

I will not say "mad and blind," as the remainder of the line would

insinuate--but most deliciously in my senses, and most luxuriously wide

awake! But to come to the catastrophe--

"One morn we missed _her_ in the accustomed spot"--

Not only, indeed, from "accustomed" and probable spots, but from

unaccustomed, improbable, and even impossible spots--all of which

were duly searched--was she missed. In short, she was not to be found

at all. All was amazement on the Boulevards. Hardened old _flaneurs_

turned pale under their rouge, and some of the younger ones went about

with drooping moustaches, which, for want of the _cire_, had fallen

into the "yellow leaf."

A few days sufficed, however, for the cure of these sentimentalists.

A clever little monkey at the Hippodrome, and a gentleman who stood

on his head while he ate his dinner, became the immediate objects of

interest, and Hermance seemed to be forgotten. I was one of the few who

retained any hope of finding her, and my wanderings for that purpose,

without any guide, clue, information, or indication, seem to me now

something absurd. In the course of my walks, I met an old man, who

was pointed out to me as her father--met him frequently, alone. The

expression of his face was quite sufficient to assure me that he was on

the same mission--and with about as much chance of success as myself.

Once I tried to speak to him; but he turned aside, and avoided me with

a manner that there could be no mistaking. This surprised me, for I had

no reason to suppose that he had ever seen my face before.

A paragraph in one of the newspapers at last threw some light on the

matter. The _Bouquetière_ had never been so friendless or unprotected

as people had supposed. In all her wanderings she was accompanied, or

rather followed, by her father; whenever she stopped, then he stopped

also; and never was he distant more than a dozen yards. I wonder that

he was not recognised by hundreds, but I conclude he made some change

in his attire or appearance, from time to time. One morning this

strange pair were proceeding on their ramble as usual, when passing

through a rather secluded street, the _Bouquetière_ made a sudden bound

from the pavement, sprung into a post-chaise, the door of which stood

open, and was immediately whirled away, as fast as four horses could

tear--leaving the old man alone with his despair, and the basket of

flowers.

Three months have passed away since the disappearance of the

_Bouquetière_; but only a few days since I found myself one evening

very dull at one of those "brilliant receptions," for which Paris is so

famous. I was making for the door, with a view to an early departure,

when my hostess detained me, for the purpose of presenting to me a

lady who was monopolizing all the admiration of the evening--she was

the newly-married bride of a young German Baron of great wealth,

and noted for a certain wild kind of genius, and utter scorn of

conventionalities. The next instant I found myself introduced to a pair

of eyes that could never be mistaken. I dropped into a vacant chair by

their side, and entered into conversation. The Baronne observed that

she had met me before, but could not remember where, and in the same

breath asked me if I was a lover of flowers.

I muttered something about loving beauty in any shape, and admired a

bouquet which she held in her hand.

The Baronne selected a flower, and asked me if it was not a peculiarly

fine specimen. I assented; and the flower, not being redemanded, I did

not return it. The conversation changed to other subjects, and shortly

afterwards the Baronne took her leave with her husband. They left Paris

next day for the Baron's family estate, and I have never seen them

since.

I learned subsequently that some strange stories had obtained

circulation respecting the previous life of the Baronne. Whatever they

were, it is very certain that this or some other reason has made the

profession of _Bouquetière_ most inconveniently popular in Paris. Young

ladies of all ages that can, with any degree of courtesy, be included

in that category, and of all degrees of beauty short of the hunch-back,

may be seen in all directions intruding their flowers with fatal

pertinacity upon inoffensive loungers, and making war upon button-holes

that never did them any harm. The youngest of young girls, I find, are

being trained to the calling, who are all destined, I suppose, to marry

distinguished foreigners from some distant and facetious country.

I should have mentioned before, that a friend calling upon me the

morning after my meeting with the Baronne, saw the flower which she had

placed in my hand standing in a glass of water on the table. An idea

struck me: "Do you know anything of the language of flowers?" I asked.

"Something," was the reply.

"What, then, is the meaning of this?"

"SECRECY."

From the Antheneum

THE THREE ERAS OF OTTOMAN HISTORY[6]

So much has been said and written of late respecting the decline and

decrepitude of the Ottoman Empire, that most persons believe that

there is nothing to prevent a Russian army from marching up to the

gates of Constantinople, and taking possession of the city, except

the resistance which might be offered by the other powers of Europe

to such an extension of the Russian dominions. Many of our readers

will therefore be surprised to learn that the army of the Sultan is at

present in a more efficient state than it has been for the last two

centuries; and that in the event of a war breaking out between Russia

and Turkey, the latter would probably be able to resist, single-handed,

the attacks of her formidable and ambitions neighbor. This is the

view which Mr. Skene endeavors to establish in the pamphlet before

us; and from information which we have ourselves received from other

quarters, we entirely agree with the conclusion to which Mr. Skene

has come,--that "the power of conquest, possessed by the only state

with which there appears the slightest possibility of a rupture taking

place, is in general as notoriously exaggerated as that of defence on

the part of Turkey is commonly undervalued." To enable the reader to

obtain an accurate idea of the present condition of the Ottoman army,

Mr. Skene gives a brief but able review of its history. He divides

his narrative into three eras: the first contains an account of the

military history of Turkey till the destruction of the Janissaries in

1825; the second comprises the period of transition, which followed the

destruction of the Janissaries; and the third comprehends the formation

of the Nizam, or the regular army of the present day. The annals of the

first of these eras are, in fact, the history of the Turkish conquests,

and of the decline of the empire.

[6] _The Three Eras of Ottoman History; a Political Essay on the late

Reforms of Turkey, considered principally as affecting her Position in

the event of a War taking place._ By J. H. SKENE, Esq. Chapman & Hall.

"Through the Janissaries Turkey rose--by them she was about to fall;

and without the Nizam, or regular army of Sultan Abdul Medjid, which

exists as a consequence of the destruction of the Janissaries, she

would never have had any chance of rising again, or even of saving her

political independence."

The Janissaries were organized by Sultan Orkhan in the fourteenth

century. They bore the title of _Yenitsheri_, or New Troops, in

contradistinction to the previous armies, which had been raised

by levies of irregular troops, as occasion required. They were a

well-disciplined body of troops, and they constituted the principal

force of the empire. It was to their valor and efficiency that the

Turkish empire owed its existence; and they were almost uniformly

successful in all the great battles which they fought till their defeat

by Montecuculi at St. Gothard, in 1664. This defeat was the forerunner

of a long series of disasters.

"Their career of conquest was over, and it was a career altogether

without a parallel in history. Generation after generation had advanced

without ever retrograding a single step. A vast empire had arisen out

of the hereditary valor and systematic discipline of a portion of the

army. It was not the creation of the military genius of an individual

like that of Alexander the Great or Napoleon Buonaparte, but it was

the result of a successful organization, assisted by the inherent

bravery of the Turkish race, which enabled their sultans to follow up

from father to son the ambitious scheme of the founder of the dynasty.

But, at the close of that era of conquest, the organization of the

Janissaries had become corrupt, the prestige of almost invariable good

fortune had disappeared, and their internal discipline was declining

fast, while their indomitable valor had degenerated into overweening

pride, seditious turbulence towards the government, and cruel tyranny

over the population."

Towards the end of last century the insubordination and tyranny of the

Janissaries had reached their highest point. The dispersion of this

formidable body had become absolutely necessary for the salvation of

the Ottoman empire; and it was at length effected by Sultan Mahmoud II..

"The value of the Janissaries as a regular army had been sufficiently

tested, and the time had now arrived when Sultan Mahmoud II. judged it

expedient to cut the Gordian knot. He issued a proclamation, obliging

all his troops to submit anew to the discipline which they had cast off

for more than a century and a half. The Janissaries refused obedience.

The Sultan unfolded the Sacred Standard of the Empire, and placing

himself, with his only son and heir, beside it, he appealed to the

patriotism of those around him. He drew his dagger, and said, in a loud

voice,

"'Do my subjects wish to save the Empire from the humiliation of

yielding to a band of seditious miscreants, or do they prefer that I

should put an end to that Empire by here stabbing my son and myself

in order to rescue it from the disgrace of being trampled upon by

traitors?'

"He then ordered that the standard should be planted on the Atmeidan,

or Hippodrome; crowds of people, from the highest to the lowest class

of society, headed by the _Ullema_, or magistrates, and the _Softa_,

or students, assembled round the standard, and, having heard what the

Sultan had said from those whom he had addressed, the mob, excited by

enthusiasm, hurried away to carry the alarm through the town. All who

possessed or could procure arms prepared them, and rushed to attack

the barracks of the Janissaries. The corps of artillery, having torn

off the badges, which were also worn by those abhorred regiments, that

all appearance of fellowship with them might at once be destroyed,

commenced the onslaught. Three hours, with 4000 artillerymen and

students, incited by that resolute will, which had foreseen and

provided for every possible casualty during eighteen years of apparent

submission to the tyranny of a _caste_, sufficed to annihilate the

military ascendancy which had once made the sovereigns of Europe

tremble abroad, as it had the sultans at home. The attack, however,

was directed against only one side of the square, and the other three,

as well as the neighboring gate of the town, were purposely left open,

with the view that those of the Janissaries who did not wish to resist

the Sultan's order might escape unharmed; and quarter was given to all

who chose to submit. Similar orders having been simultaneously sent to

every part of the empire where Janissaries were stationed, the same

conditions were offered to 150,000 individuals affiliated to the corps.

Of these only 3600 refused them, and they were the most incorrigible

of the chiefs. Having been made prisoners they were tried by a regular

court of justice, and it was only necessary to prove their identity

in order to condemn them, as the Sultan had carefully compiled the

proofs of their respective crimes during many years. Eighteen hundred

of them were executed, of whom 600 at Constantinople, 1200 being put

to death in the provinces; and the remainder were exiled. Although it

must have been an appalling sight to behold those 600 corpses lying on

the Atmeidan, one cannot help admiring the patriotism elicited on that

occasion; when the Janissaries perceived it, they were stupified by the

unexpected excitement of the people; and many fled, fully convinced

of the impossibility of resisting those over whom they had hitherto

domineered with impunity."

The Sultan now set himself to replace the Janissaries by other regular

troops; but Russian ambition did not give him time to organize a new

army, and he was obliged to fight with his young and undisciplined

recruits against the "veteran warrior-slaves of the Czar." The Ottoman

army was accordingly defeated; and the war was brought to a close by

the disastrous treaty of Adrianople. His successor, the present sultan,

Abdul Medjid, has been more fortunate. He has enjoyed several years of

peace, which have enabled him to form a powerful and well-disciplined

army, of which Mr. Skene gives us a valuable and interesting account.

It was established at the beginning of the year 1842:

"It is divided into six separate armies, called _Ordu_ in Turkish. Each

of these consists of two services, the Active, or _Nizamia_, and the

Reserve, or _Rédiff_. The former contains two corps, under the command

of their respective lieutenant-generals (_Férik_); and the latter, also

two corps, commanded in time of peace by a brigadier (_Liva_); the

whole _Ordu_ being under the orders of a field-marshal (_Mushir_). The

general staff of each army is composed of a commander-in-chief, two

lieutenant-generals, three brigadiers of infantry, one of whom commands

the reserve, two brigadiers of cavalry, and one brigadier of artillery.

In each corps there are three regiments of infantry, two of cavalry,

and one of artillery, with thirty-three guns. The total strength of

these twelve regiments of the active force is 30,000 men, but it is

diminished in time of peace by furlough to an effective strength of

about 25,000 men in three of the six armies, and of 15,000 in the other

three, in consequence of the recruiting system being as yet incomplete

in its application all over the Turkish Empire. The whole establishment

of this branch amounts, therefore, to 180,000 men, belonging to the

active service, but its effective strength is at present 123,000. The

reserve of four of the six armies consists in eleven regiments--six

of infantry, four of cavalry, and one of artillery; composing a force

of 212,000 effective soldiers, while the other two armies have not

yet their reserve of soldiers who have served five years. In time of

war, however, the reserve would form two corps of 25,000 men in each

army; giving a total of 300,000 when this establishment shall have

been completed. The two services, therefore, as they now stand, form

an effective force of 335,000 men; and when their full strength shall

have been filled up it will amount to 480,000. Besides these six armies

there are four detached corps; one in the Island of Crete, consisting

of three regiments of infantry and one of cavalry, in all 11,000 men;

another in the pashalik of Tripoli in Africa, composed of one regiment

of infantry and one of cavalry, about 5,000 strong; a third at Tunis of

the same strength; and a fourth, which is the central artillery corps,

formed of a brigade of sappers and miners with engineer officers,

the veteran artillery brigade, and the permanent artillery garrisons

of the fortresses on the Hellespont, the Bosphorus, the Danube, in

Serbia, on the Adriatic, the coast of Asia Minor, in the islands of the

Archipelago, and on the southern shores of the Black Sea; in all 9,000

men. These four corps raise the effective strength of the standing

army to 365,000 men. Besides this addition, another augmentation of

32,000 men will be realized by the submission of Bosnia and Northern

Albania to the new system; and a further increase of 40,000 men, whom

Serbia has engaged to furnish, may be calculated, as well as 18,000

men serving in Egypt, who are destined to reinforce the reserve of the

fifth army. The marines, sailors, and workmen, enrolled in brigades,

amount to 34,000 men; and the police force, picketed all over the

Empire, is nearly 30,000 strong. The grand total of armed men at the

disposal of Turkey, in the event of her existing resources being called

into play, may, therefore, be quoted at no less than 664,000 men,

without having recourse to occasional levies, which are more easily and

efficiently realized in Turkey than in any other country."

The service is popular; the troops are well paid, and their material

comforts are well provided for:

"The rations consist of meat, bread, rice, and vegetables in abundance

every day, besides butter or oil to cook them with.... The military

hospitals might serve as a pattern of cleanliness to the first armies

of the world, and the medical officers are now perfectly efficient,

some of them having studied at European universities, others

having become proficients in their art at the medical college of

Constantinople, and a few being foreigners. The health of the troops

is consequently excellent; so much so, that on one occasion when 50

men out of 3450 were in hospital, it appeared so alarming to the staff

of the garrison that a general consultation was held to decide on what

steps should be taken to oppose the progress of the sickness. One man

in every seventy is no unusual occurrence in the hospitals of the

British army; and as for the Russians, they thought little of 12,000

who died at Bucharest in 1829, 10,000 at Varna, and 6000 at Adrianople.

The Turkish clothing is excellent; it is strong and warm."

Respecting their probable efficiency in the field, Mr. Skene remarks:

"In their evolutions the Turkish soldiers are rapid, especially the

cavalry and artillery, whose horses are excellent; but there may

perhaps be some room for improvement in their steadiness. It has been

remarked of late at Bucharest, where the Turkish and Russian armies

of occupations have their head-quarters, and are consequently often

reviewed, that the latter were infinitely slower than the former,

and that their light infantry drill was far inferior to that of the

Turks, but when moving in line or open column, the Russians, stiff

as planks and dreading the lash, kept their distances and dressing

somewhat better than the Turks. It may be added in illustration of the

respective solicitude of the two armies for the health of the men,

that, after one of these field days, three hundred Russians went to the

hospital in consequence of exposure to the sun, and one hundred and

sixty of them died, while there has not been a single instance of the

kind amongst the Turkish troops.

"With such an army as this, formed by a nation whose inherent bravery

has never been impugned even by its most prejudiced detractors, it will

readily be allowed that, were the campaign of 1829 against the Russians

to be fought over again now, the result would be very different,

considering how many years the regular troops of the Sultan have been

in training, and also how undeniably the Russian army has been falling

off, for it was not then to be compared with what it had been in 1815,

and it is not now equal to what it was in 1829."

The reserve of the army is organized in the following manner:

"The reserve of the Turkish army is organized in a peculiar manner.

It is composed of soldiers who have already served five years in the

active force, and who are allowed to remain in their native provinces

on furlough, and without pay, for seven years more, during which they

assemble for one month of each year at the local head-quarters of their

regiment, for the purpose of being drilled; and they then receive their

pay, as well as when they are called into active service in time of

war. This measure, which was dictated by a spirit of economy, has been

eminently successful, inasmuch as a considerable additional force is

thus placed at the Sultan's command, without its being a continual

burden to the State; and the efficiency of that force has been fully

demonstrated of late, when an army of 62,000 men was assembled by

Turkey in the space of six weeks, on the occasion of the interruption

of her amicable relations with Russia and Austria on account of the

Hungarian refugees. In another month, 200,000 men of the _Rédiff_

might have been collected at Constantinople had they been required;

and it furnished matter for astonishment to the many foreigners in

that capital to behold a thoroughly drilled and disciplined army

thus extemporized in a camp, to which a number of mere peasants in

appearance had been seen flocking from their villages.

"This system is rendered still more complete by the practice of

recruiting regiments from the same districts, in order that, when

their five years of active service shall have elapsed, the soldiers

may remain together: and the confusion occasioned by embodying

pensioners in other countries is avoided in Turkey, where the officers,

non-commissioned officers, staff, and rank and file of a regiment

continue united, whether on active service or as forming a part of the

reserve. They are engaged in agricultural pursuits, or in trade, during

their seven years of furlough, being periodically mustered for military

exercise, and always ready to move in a body on any point where

reinforcements may be necessary, while a salutary feeling of _esprit de

corps_ is maintained by making such regiment a separate and distinct

body of men, raised in the same locality, and most of its members being

personally known to each other."

Mr. Skene does not give us any information respecting the skill and

ability of the superior officers. On this point we must confess we are

not without apprehensions; for however excellent and efficient the

troops of the line may be, their valor and discipline will be thrown

away, if the higher officers--which we suspect to be the case--are

inferior to those in the Russian service.

The threats of Austria give all this subject importance. Honest

Christendom for the first time cries, God for the Turk!

From "The Adventures of a Soldier in Mexico," in the

United Service Magazine.

THE CAPTAIN AND THE NEGRO.

A rather ludicrous circumstance, which occurred while we lay at

Newport, helped to enliven the usual monotony of a ship's deck while in

harbor. A comical sort of a fellow, of the name of Morris, belonging to

one of the companies on board, who used to sing Nigger songs, and who,

being a very good mimic, could act the Nigger admirably, resolved to

turn his talents to account by assuming the character while in harbor,

and passing himself off among his comrades, except a few who were in

his confidence, as a black cook belonging to the ship--his twofold

motive for thus "working the dodge," as he styled it, being partly the

fun he expected from the mystification of the men and officers, and

partly that he might be allowed to bring whisky into the ship, there

being no hindrance to the ship's crew bringing goods on board, as our

sentries could not interfere with them. Borrowing, therefore, an old

pair of canvas trousers, a Guernsey shirt, and tarpaulin hat from a

sailor, and thoroughly engraining his face and hands with the sooty

composition requisite to give him the true Ethiopian complexion, he

became quite invulnerable to detection by his coat of darkness. In

this disguise, he rolled about the deck during the whole forenoon in a

partial state of intoxication, and came and went between the vessel

and shore, carrying baskets and parcels of suspicious import with the

most perfect impunity. Towards evening, he began to sing snatches of

Nigger songs, varying the exhibition with a "flare-up" jawing match

with some of the soldiers, in the sort of gibberish and broken English

so peculiar to the woolly-headed sons of Ham. This comedy afforded

considerable amusement, especially to those of his comrades in the

secret of his disguise. As he was dexterous in the tongue fence of

those encounters of rude wit, and knowing the chinks in the armor of

his opponents, he was sometimes able, by a seemingly careless though

cunning thrust, to administer a sickener to their vanity, which was

the more galling as seeming to come from a dirty and half-drunken

Nigger. "Ah, soger," he would say to some poor fellow whom he saw

casting a longing eye towards the busy thoroughfares of the city;

"captain not let you go ashore, eh? Too bad, eh? much sooner be black

ship's cook than soger." "What's that you say, you Nigger?" would most

probably be the reply of the soldier, not being in the best temper, and

rather indignant at the idea of being an object of commiseration to a

Nigger. "Who you call Nigger, eh? Nigger yourself, sar, more Nigger,

a good sight, than ship's cook, sar; ship's cook go shore when he

please, and get drunk like gentleman, sar; you a white soger Nigger,

me black ship's cook Nigger--dat all de difference." Then, as if in

soliloquy, in a deprecatory tone, "Eh! by Jorze, boff poor Niggers;

soger mos' as 'specable as colored Nigger when he keep heself sober

and behave 'screetly, like color gemman." Stung and irritated by the

mock sympathy of the Nigger, the soldier would now be for taking a

summary revenge out of his ignoble carcase, when some of the darkey's

friends would interpose, declaring that he was a good fellow, and they

would not see him ill-used. In the mean time, Morris was supposed

by the orderly-sergeant of his company to be absent in town, and as

such reported to the captain. Thus far, all had gone on swimmingly;

but there was a bit of a rather unpleasant surprise preparing for

him as the _denouement_ to this farce, which he had acted with so

much success, which had probably not entered into his conception of

the character, but mightily increased the dramatic effect of the

representation as a whole.

The captain of his company, who was a bit of a humorist, either having

detected the masquerader himself, or having been informed by some

busy person of the strange metamorphosis which one of his men had

undergone, it occurred to him that he had an opportunity of giving him

a taste of Nigger discipline, that might make him feel more vividly the

character he had been representing with so much applause. Sauntering,

accordingly, along the deck, with his hands behind him, until he

arrived opposite the circle where Morris was exhibiting his antics,

he deliberately stepped forward and seized him by the collar, and,

pulling out a raw cowhide from behind his back, he began to vigorously

belabor poor darkey's shoulders. "O Lor, massa! O Golly! What you trike

poor debil for? What hell dis?" shouted Morris, who had no idea that

he was discovered, and was willing to submit to a moderate degree of

chastisement rather than drop his disguise at that particular juncture.

"You infernal grinning scoundrel," cries the captain, still vigorously

applying the cowhide, "I have been watching you quarrelling with and

aggravating my men all this afternoon; what do you mean, you black

rascal, eh? Curse your ugly black countenance, I'll beat you to a

jelly, you scoundrel." As he still continued his discipline with the

cowhide, showing no symptoms of speedily leaving off, Morris, who was

smarting with pain, at last began to think more of preserving his skin

than his incognito, and called out lustily, "Captain! I say--stop! I

am no Nigger--I am a soldier!" At this there was a general burst of

laughter from the soldiers, who crowded round, and seemed to enjoy

the scene amazingly; those who did not know that Morris was actually

a soldier laughing still more obstreperously at the seeming absurdity

of the Nigger's assertion. The captain, though evidently tickled,

seemed in no hurry to let him go. "Do you hear the impudence of the

black rascal? he says he is a soldier!" said the captain, addressing

the men who were standing round. "There, does he look like a soldier!"

he continued, as he turned him round for inspection. "Go along, you

black rascal, and don't let me catch you among my men again, or I will

certainly serve you out with a few more of the same sort." So saying,

and administering a few parting salutations of the cowhide as he

released him, the captain walked off, chuckling to himself at the joke,

which I saw him relating afterwards to some of his brother officers,

to their infinite mirth, if one might judge from the peals of laughter

which his story elicited. In the mean time, Morris was fain to get

rid of his Nigger character as quickly as possible: and having, with

the aid of warm water and soap, effected this, he made his appearance

on deck, and reported himself as having been asleep in the hold when

the roll was called. This the sergeant reported to the captain, who,

satisfied, it is probable, with the punishment he had administered with

the cowhide, affected to believe his statement, and sent him word by

the sergeant to take better care in future.

* * * * *

When Lord Holland was on his death-bed, his friend, George Selwyn,

calling to inquire how his lordship was, left his card. This was taken

to Lord Holland, who said, "If Mr. Selwyn calls again, show him into my

room. If I am alive I shall be glad to see him: if I am dead, I am sure

he will be delighted to see me."

From the New Monthly Magazine.

THE VEILED PICTURE. A TRAVELLER'S STORY.

I.

The dawn of a fine October morning, in 1817, was just breaking when

the Paris diligence of Messrs. Lafitte and Co. took the opportunity of

breaking also. That of the former, however, was as glorious as that

of the latter was disastrous. I had been rambling during the summer

months through that most interesting country; the volcanic district of

Auvergne had laved both my inward and my outward man in most of the

celebrated waters which abound in that neighborhood, and was on my

return to Paris, where I expected to find the friends with whom I had

travelled from England, and hoped to travel back again. It was then

with a light heart that I had, on the preceding evening, jumped into

the _coupée_ of the luckless vehicle at the little town of Gannât,

congratulating myself, firstly, on my good luck in finding a vacant

place at all, and secondly, on that place being in the _coupée_, and

lastly, and most especially, on there being only one other passenger

therein, whereby, as all travellers by diligence are aware, I was

spared the uncomfortable task of performing bodkin all the way to

Paris, and could take mine ease in mine own corner. When all prudential

arrangements for the night, such as air cushion disposed at back, and

cloak drawn over knees, were duly made, I began to take a survey of my

fellow-traveller, who had greeted me on my entrance with much civility,

but the light did not enable me to do more than perceive that he was a

venerable-looking old gentleman, whose white locks escaped from under

his travelling cap, and descended on his shoulders in great profusion.

His manners, however, were so courteous and dignified, that I, at once,

recognized in him a specimen of that now well-nigh obsolete race the

_ancienne noblesse_. After sundry inquiries and observations on the

country through which we were travelling, and divers speculations as to

the period at which our journey might possibly end, my fellow-traveller

turned to the topic of the battle of Waterloo, then a recent event.

"Now," thought I, "for a quarrel." But no; though he felt for the

tarnished glory of the French arms, he felt yet more for the old

family, and bore me no ill-will for being one of that nation by whose

efforts they had been restored, and the Corsican usurper expelled.

From these he reverted to the "good old days" of Louis XV., to whose

body of Gardes du Corps he had formerly, it seemed, had the honor of

belonging, he related many anecdotes of that period, and was especially

prosy about the ceremonies observed at the court of that dissolute and

_bien-aimé_ monarch. It was during a long story of this sort that I

fell into a sound sleep, from which I was awakened by a loud crash, a

pretty considerable thump on the head, and a heavy weight pressing on

my chest, for all which phenomena, though startling at first, I was

quickly able satisfactorily to account. The crash was caused by the

ponderous diligence coming into sudden and violent collision with the

ground; the thump by the same sort of rude contact between my head and

the roof thereof; whilst the weight which I felt so oppressive was

the body of my fellow-traveller, lying upon me in a state of complete

insensibility, and bleeding profusely. Freeing myself as gently as I

could from the apparently lifeless mass, I managed to get the window

down, and creep through the somewhat-narrow aperture, when the cause

and full extent of the accident was intelligible enough. The iron arm

of the axle of the near hind wheel had broken off short, and such

was the weight of luggage and packages of all kinds and descriptions

stowed away on the roof, that, going, as I understand we were, at, for

a French diligence in those days, a rapid pace, the shock had been

sufficient to completely capsize us. Sudden and severe, however, as

the shock had been, the lives and limbs of the passengers had escaped

without loss or material damage; those in the interior being too

closely packed for any very violent collision with each other, and the

three individuals in the cabriolet, of whom the _conducteur_ was one,

being pitched clean, I do not mean any reference to their persons, but

to their mode of projection, into a ploughed field by the roadside,

where they lay sprawling, and _sacréing_ and _mondieuing_, in the most

piteous and guttural tones imaginable, though none appeared to have

sufficient excuse for the unearthly noises he made from any actual hurt

he had sustained. I was, however, too anxious to afford help to my

companion in the _coupée_, to ascertain very minutely their condition,

even had I been able to obtain an answer to my inquiries, where all

insisted on talking at once and at the top of their voices, and in

a tone and with a vehemence which, in any other country, would have

seemed a prelude to nothing short of a battle royal. Seeing, however,

a peasant, _en blouse_, standing hard by, leaning on his spade, and

looking quietly on, I concluded he was not one of the passengers,

and might consequently be of some use. Accordingly I hailed him, and

after some irresolute gestures, he came up to me, when I explained,

rather by dragging him to the door of the carriage than by any verbal

communications, which would probably have failed, for what purpose I

wanted his assistance. Having opened the door of the carriage, I looked

in. There lay my unfortunate companion, "his silver skin laced with his

golden blood," still insensible and somewhat cramped, it is true, but

not in so uncomfortable a position as might, under the circumstances,

have been expected, seeing that I had propped him up as well as I

could, before I made my own exit, with my air cushion, and that of the

seat he had occupied. Being a tall and heavy man, to get him righted

and out was a work of no small difficulty; however, our united efforts

were at last successful, and the poor sufferer was laid on the turf by

the roadside, on a couch formed of cushions, great-coats, &c., &c.

My assistant, who, I must say, now exhibited all the alacrity I could

wish, and more handiness than I had expected from him, ran for water,

whilst I proceeded to examine my unlucky friend's wounds. He exhibited

an ugly gash on the head, from which had flowed the stream of blood

which had so disfigured his venerable locks. His left shoulder, too,

I found was dislocated. By the plentiful application of cold water to

his head and temples, and of some hartshorn, which I happened to have

about me, to his nostrils, I at length succeeded in restoring him to

consciousness, of which the first symptoms he gave was to glare upon me

with an expression of terror and alarm, and exclaiming, in accents of

deep despair, "Hah! blood!--more blood!" He uttered a piercing shriek,

and again relapsed into syncope. Thus assured, however, that he still

lived, the present moment seemed so favorable for the reduction of the

dislocated limb, that I set to work forthwith, and, with the assistance

of my friendly _paysan_, quickly divested him of his coat, and having

placed him in a proper position, instantly slipped the joint into

the socket, and bound it with my neckcloth. The snap recalled him to

sense, and by the help of a little brandy from my travelling flask,

he was completely restored. Still he surveyed me with a terrified

look, for which I could not well account, until I discovered that my

face and dress were stained with the blood which had flowed from his

wound whilst he lay upon me in the carriage. I hastened to remove what

I conceived to be the cause of his anxious looks, by assuring him I

had received no injury whatever except a slight contusion not worth

mentioning, and that the blood, which I washed off in his presence,

was his own. The next consideration was--what was to be done? To stay

where we were was out of the question; no sort of public conveyance

would pass that way _en route_ to Paris until the second morning at

the same hour. My companion's wound required dressing, and I wanted

my breakfast, for the sharp air of the morning had so quickened my

appetite, that the thoughts of my disaster were fast fading away

before the vision of _café au lait_ and a _biftek_. The realization of

this pleasing prospect became the more probable when I learnt that we

were not more than a short league from the town of Moulins, whither I

instantly dispatched my trusty _paysan_, whose faculties and movements

were much quickened by the promise of a five-franc piece when he

returned with some sort of vehicle to convey us into the town. During

his absence, which lasted two mortal hours, I had abundant time to

consider and contemplate the person and demeanor of the individuals

whom chance had thus thrown in my way, and, as it were, upon my

charity. The former still exhibited sufficient traces of manly beauty

to show that, in his youth, he had been strikingly handsome, whilst the

latter spoke the accomplished and high-bred gentleman in the truest and

least hackneyed acceptation of the word. Being now perfectly himself

again, he listened with much interest to such account of our accident

as I was able to give, and, ascertaining from his bandaged head and

shoulder the nature and extent of my services to him, his gratitude was

expressed in the warmest terms.

"I am the last of an ancient house," said he, "and but for you should

have died on the road like a dog. I am the Marquis de Marigny, pray

tell me to whom I am under so much obligation."

"Why, sir," said I, "my name is D----, by profession a physician, and,

at a pinch, a tolerable surgeon, and I never so congratulated myself

on my slender knowledge of this branch of the healing art as on the

present occasion."

Further conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the _paysan_

with a sort of rickety cabriolet, drawn by so small a horse, decorated

with so large a collar, and covered with such a profusion of trappings,

that, until he drew up beside us, and I could clearly distinguish the

animal's four legs, I was not quite sure that the vehicle did not

progress by some locomotive power of its own.

Having roused the _conducteur_, whom we found fast asleep amidst a

pile of disorganized packages, we selected our respective baggage,

and, having secured it as well as we could on and about the cabriolet,

I took an affectionate leave of the good _paysan_, and, mounting by

the side of my venerable companion, handled the ribbons and started.

Our diminutive steed however required no great skill in coachmanship,

nor any persuasion to get home again as quickly as the weight behind

him would permit, so that we soon arrived at the town where, our

arrival being expected, we found mine host of the Hôtel d'Allier and

his _domestiques_ on the alert; and, by the time I had made a hasty

toilette, a good breakfast, to which I did ample justice, was on the

table. Our meal being ended, and my companion complaining of a good

deal of pain, I set forth in search of an apothecary's shop, where I

procured the necessary materials; and his hurts having been properly

dressed and bandaged, I advised him to go to bed and seek the repose he

so much needed till dinner time. In the mean time I amused myself by

writing some letters and in strolling through and about the environs

of this neat and lively town, which the pen of Sterne has rendered

classic ground. The evening was spent in my friend's bedroom, as he

was not well enough to join the party in the _salon_. Nevertheless he

was in good spirits, and very communicative; informed me that he was

the younger son of a noble family in Dauphiny, but that by the death

of his elder brother, many years since, he had succeeded to the title

and family estate, to which he had been paying a farewell visit when

I joined him at Gannât. These family histories and sundry interesting

anecdotes of the days of Louis XV. and XVI. so animated the old man,

that I, fearing the excitement in his present condition, thought it

prudent to plead fatigue and retire to rest.

Before we parted, however, for the night, he made me promise that I

would not desert him on the morrow if he should not be able to travel,

but that I would accompany him to Paris, and take up my quarters with

him during my stay in that capital. The next morning I found him,

though much better, yet still unfit for a continuous journey of any

length. With the assistance, therefore, of our host, we engaged a

_voiturier_ who, for a certain sum, agreed to take us to Paris by such

easy stages as we might direct and find agreeable. To describe the road

from Moulins to Paris would be to write a guide-book; suffice it to

say, that the weather was delightful, and my companion, who not only

bore the journey well, but seemed to derive both health and spirits

from this easy mode of travelling, was altogether the must amusing

companion I had ever happened to meet with; insomuch, that I almost

regretted, when we pulled up at the Barrière d'Italie on entering the

gay capital of France, that our journey was at an end. We arrived

about four o'clock P. M., and drove straight to the Place Beauveau,

where, without his order to the driver to stop, I should not have

failed to pitch upon his residence, so perfectly was it in keeping with

the appearance and character of its venerable owner. There prevailed

throughout the same air of antiquity; we were admitted by an ancient

porter and received by another elderly domestic, well-nigh as venerable

and aristocratic in his appearance as the master, who expressed in

affectionate, yet respectful terms, the lively satisfaction he felt on

again beholding his _cher marquis_, whose arrival he had been expecting

for some days, and manifested the most touching anxiety when he saw the

traces, and heard a brief account of the accident which had befallen

him. My friend, having most courteously and cordially welcomed me to

his house, consigned me to the care of Antoine, as this ancient serving

man was called, and by whom I was conducted to a suite of apartments,

_au seconde_ it is true, but most comfortably and tastefully furnished

in the Louis-Quatorze style of decoration. The walls were hung with

tapestry, relieved at intervals by splendid mirrors and tables of

rare marbles, whilst a bed, with green silk hangings, worthy of, and

apparently coeval with, Anne of Austria herself, promised me a night of

luxurious repose.

Having, with Antoine's assistance, unpacked and arranged my wardrobe,

I proceeded to dress for dinner, and my operations were scarcely

concluded ere he knocked at my door and announced that it was served.

I immediately followed him down stairs to a spacious and well-lighted

_salon_, where my friend awaited me. The repast to which we sat down

gave me a very exalted opinion of the _savoir faire_ of my friend's

_chef_. There was no _rosbif_, no _plomboudin_, no clumsy attempt

at imitation of the English _cuisine_, out of compliment to me; all

was French, and all was perfect--the soup pure and restoring--the

_côtellettes magnifiques_, and the _vol au vent superbe_. The Champagne

was _frappé_ to the minute, the Chambertin shed its _bouquet_, and the

Bordeaux of rare quality. Mine host ate and drank sparingly, but he did

the honors of his table in a manner so courteous, yet so jovial withal,

that our dinner was a protracted one, and it was late ere we retired

to coffee in his library, an oblong room of noble dimensions, and so

furnished that it would have been called comfortable even in England,

and elegant every where. The sides were covered with bookcases, whose

shelves contained the best German, French, and Italian authors, and

a much larger assortment of English works than is usually found in a

foreigner's collection. The ends were hung with some choice specimens

of the old masters, and one or two of the modern French school, whilst

here and there on marble tables, or pedestals, stood some exquisite

pieces of sculpture, which showed to the greatest advantage under

the soft light of three lamps of the purest alabaster, which hung

suspended from the ceiling; in short, the aspect of the whole apartment

proclaimed the owner to be a man of wealth, taste and literature.

Amongst the pictures, I observed that a large one, which hung alone

over the mantlepiece, was covered by a black crape veil or curtain.

This, of course, excited my curiosity; but as my friend, in describing

the others, never in any way alluded to it, I felt that inquiry was

impossible. In fact, he always contrived, or appeared to contrive, to

divert my attention when he perceived me looking in that direction.

"You see, sir," said he, "that I do in some measure cultivate English

literature. I have read the works of most of your best writers, and

flatter myself that I can almost taste and appreciate the beauties

of your great poet Shakspeare. I have seen, too, your Siddons give

vitality and form to the sublime conceptions of his genius. Her _Queen

Katharine_ was noble, her _Constance_ touching, and her _Lady Macbeth_

terrible. I shall _never_," continued he, in a low tone, and as if

talking to himself, "_never_ forget it; it recalled too _vividly_," and

here, methought, his eye glanced at the veiled picture, when, suddenly

starting up, he fetched from one of the shelves the volume containing

that play, and read aloud some passages with a power and effect that

quite surprised me. I was about to compliment him on the correctness

of his conception and the force of his elocution, but he waived his

hand, as if pained by the images produced on his mind by the scene

he had just read, hastily restored the book to its shelf, and turned

the conversation to some topic of the day, which, with other trivial

matter, occupied us till I proposed to retire. Shaking my hand warmly,

my friend jocularly expressed his hope that, "as I had less on my

conscience than Lady Macbeth, so I should rest better," and we parted

for the night.

Sleep, however, I could not, though my body was weary and my couch

soft. My mind had been strongly and strangely excited, as well by my

host's impassioned recital of Macbeth, as by the crape-clad picture,

and I could not help fancying that there was some mysterious connection

between it and the play. Thus I lay watching the flickering light

emitted by the embers of my wood-fire, which was now fast dying away on

the hearth, until the pendule on the chimney-piece announced in silver

tones that it was _three_ o'clock.

"I can endure this no longer," exclaimed I, "see that picture I must

and will. Every soul in the house is now buried in sleep; why should I

not steal down to the library and gratify my indomitable curiosity? If

it be a breach of hospitality, it is surely a venial one? What can the

old gentleman expect, if he will thus tantalize his guests?"

Whilst I thus reasoned with myself, I was busily employed in wrapping

my _robe de chambre_ about my person and in lighting my candle, and

in one minute, I stood before the object of my waking dreams, and in

another the light was raised to its proper level and the crape thrown

back; when, instead of some scene of blood, which my heated imagination

had conjured up, there stood revealed before my wondering eyes the

portrait of one of the loveliest women I ever beheld. The head, set

gracefully on exquisitely turned shoulders, exhibited a countenance in

which sweetness and intelligence were intimately blended. The features,

though not what is termed regular, were most harmonious, and gave me

a clearer idea of Lord Byron's "the mind, the music breathing from

her face," than I had ever had before. Her dark chestnut hair, parted

Madonnawise on her pale and thoughtful brow, fell in rich clusters down

an ivory neck, and finally rested on a bosom "firm as a maiden's, as

a matron's full." But it was the eyes that chiefly riveted my gaze.

Deep and clear as one of Ruysdael's lakes, they seemed to reflect in

their limpid mirror every surrounding object. At the first glance

their expression was that of softness; but on fixing mine upon them as

I did, in all the intensity of admiration, they seemed gradually to

assume so stern an aspect, as if reproving my impertinent curiosity,

that I fairly quailed beneath their glance. Whilst I thus stood, rooted

as it were to the spot, and lost in mingled feelings of admiration

and wonder, not unmixed with a certain sensation of awe, a hand laid

gently on my shoulder caused me to start round, and I beheld my friend

standing beside me. I was about to mutter some apology, but he stopped

me, saying, "It was my fault, I do not blame you. I ought to have known

that that veiled picture would excite your curiosity, and I ought not

to have brought you here unless I was prepared to gratify it. But

return to bed, and to-morrow you shall know my history and that of the

picture now before you. I never yet imparted it to mortal ear, but as

it will interest, and may possibly be useful to you in afterlife, you

shall have it, as some return for the services you have rendered me.

Good night." So saying he waived his hand in a friendly but somewhat

authoritative manner, and I betook myself to my apartment, a good deal

abashed and ashamed of my adventure.

It was late the next morning when Antoine, presenting himself at my

bedside, broke my slumbers, and with them the current of a dream of

which the picture and the occurrences of the past night formed the

basis. He informed me he had just dressed his master, and tendered me

the like service, which, however, I declined, and proceeded, unaided

and alone, to dress with all expedition. My friend received me in the

_salon_, where we had dined the preceding day, with his usual benignant

smile; but it was easy to perceive that his night had not been passed

in sleep. He looked languid and out of spirits, and our breakfast was

a somewhat silent one. When it was over, he sat awhile lost in deep

thought, but at length, as if by sudden effort, he arose and took me by

the arm, saying, "Allons, M.D., let us adjourn to the library, where I

will unburden my mind, and perform the promise of last night."

The picture was still uncovered, and we were no sooner seated than, as

if fearing his resolution might give way, he immediately began thus:

In the year 1770 I had, as I have already informed you, the honor

of belonging to that distinguished body the Gardes du Corps, and

though my duty required my almost constant presence at Versailles, I,

nevertheless, had a lodging in this house, which is now mine. I had at

that time but little prospect of ever possessing a house of my own, and

could not always pay my rent for the room I then occupied therein. My

family, of which I was the youngest, was rich, but I was poor, and have

often gone without a dinner, because I had not wherewithal to pay for

one. I fell into debt, which my brother promised, some day or other,

to pay; or I might, perhaps, get a rich wife, for we men of fashion,

whilst youth and good looks lasted, thought ourselves fairly entitled

to use the folly of wealthy old dowagers as an instrument placed in

our hands by Providence to enable us to revenge ourselves on Fortune

for her cruelty in making us younger sons. "Remember," my father used

to say to me, "that there is nothing on which our good or ill-fate in

life so much depends as on women; we are in their hands; they manage

us as they please; and it is the gentlest and the meekest who rule us

the most effectually." I, however, led a gay and thoughtless life, and

never troubled myself to inquire what influence, good or evil, women

might have on my future life. I had three occupations which took up all

my time--the ordinary routine of duty at Versailles; to pay assiduous

court to the Prince de Beauveau, who honored me with his patronage, and

for which reason I chose my lodgings as near as I could to his hotel;

and last, though not least, there was Mademoiselle Zephirine, _première

dansuese_ at the Theatre Audinet. You smile, Mr. D., but recollect that

I am now speaking of more than forty years ago. Ah! it was then no

slight affair to keep a mistress, I assure you; for, though not allowed

to hear one's name, she was to be openly acknowledged and as openly

fought for when there was occasion. I had, for instance, to call out an

officer in the Swiss Guards, for presuming to say that Zephirine had

failed in one of her favorite and most admired _pas_. The Princess de

Beauveau knew of the connection, and did not disapprove; so I practiced

all the fashionable dances of the day, that I might qualify myself to

appear as the partner of Zephirine at the public balls in Paris and at

the _fêtes champêtres_ at Versailles, where we danced on the verdant

carpet of the mossy turf. Zephirine had all the accomplishments and

tastes that take the fancy of a sprig of fashion of that period; she

fenced and rode beautifully; loved champagne suppers, and doted on all

the costly fineries of Madame Bertia's splendid show-room. In short,

I ruined myself with so little thought and so much pleasure that I

believed myself to be in love, and was quite sure that Mademoiselle

was as warmly attached to me; when, one evening, she came into my room

here,--this very room, my dear Mr. D., where we are now sitting, still

attired in her theatrical costume, and with the stage paint not yet

rubbed off her pretty face.

"Chevalier," said she, "take care of yourself, your creditors are about

to pounce upon you--yes, to arrest you. I learnt the fact not five

minutes ago from an attorney's clerk, who makes love to my maid, and I

came in to--"

"How can I sufficiently thank you, dearest," said I; "and so for me you

brave even a prison, and--"

"Why, not exactly," replied she. "You see, Chevalier, you have no

longer either cash or credit, and I should be a burden to you."

"Well?"

"Well, at first I had thoughts of sharing your fallen fortunes, but a

Monsieur Edmond, the son of an East India Director, has advised me to

abandon my intention and accompany him to England; 'twill be a saving

to you, and we are going to start immediately; our travelling-carriage

waits. Goodby, my dear chevalier,--_au revoir_!"