CHAPTER VII.

A post-chaise with two stout horses, and as stout a man to drive them, was

standing before the door of Jackson's Inn, in the then little village of

Fermoy, at the close of a dry and frosty February day. In the parlour of

the inn, two or three gentlemen stood watching or eagerly conversing with

a couple of tall and powerful-looking men, who were engaged with a

beef-steak, which it seemed--from a watch being placed before them on the

table--they had but a limited time to discuss.

"Then you are really determined on it, Mr Skelton?" said one of the

standers-by to the elder and busier of the banqueters.

"Quite," answered the person addressed, speaking as rapidly as he fed.

"What's to be done?--road stopp'd up--business checked--six months

gone--mails cut off--guard killed--alarm increasing"----

"If it continues much longer," interrupted his slower companion, "all

communication with the capital will be at an end, unless a blow be

struck," he said, looking round him loftily, "that will paralyze the

enemy, gentlemen."

"Now for it, Rudd," said Skelton rising; "our time's up--twenty-five

minutes past five," and he pocketed the watch by which he counted.

"I'm your man," answered Rudd, as he swallowed his last glass of sherry,

and jumped up: "have you the blunderbuss?"

"Ay have I."

"I have the dirk and pistols, then: so bolt at once. Good-by, gentlemen;"

and without waiting for the "good-bys" and "successes" that were showered

on them, Messrs Skelton and Rudd hurried into the attendant post-chaise,

and, giving some earnest directions in a whisper to the driver, dashed

rapidly over the bridge which crossed the Blackwater, and took the road

leading north, over Kilworth mountain, to Dublin.

Half an hour's travelling brought them to the foot of the hill, where the

road began to ascend, and from this spot the driver was instructed to

proceed at a slow pace. The night had thoroughly set in, both dark and

foggy, and an hour elapsed tediously in winding up and attaining the vast

level of the Wild. As they had no lamps, though desirous now to advance at

a brisker rate, they were compelled to keep in a slow and cautious trot,

the hearts of the travellers, intrepid as they seemed to be a short time

ago, thumping violently every step they proceeded.

After various short pauses to avoid deep ruts, and several descents by the

driver to free his horses' hoofs from the loose stones that lay

plentifully along the wretched road--during one of which he seemed to hold

colloquy with some benighted traveller--the carriage had nearly crossed

the long summit of the desolate hills, when its occupants perceived it to

stop with a sudden and forcible impulse, that betokened instant danger.

Dropping the glasses at once, they called loudly to the driver to enquire

the cause.

"There's a gentleman here," replied the man in a timid sullen voice,

"houldin' the horses heads, that says I must stop here a spell."[27]

"How many of 'em?" asked Skelton in a low tone.

"Two," was the answer, just as softly; "one a-horseback, t'other a-foot."

"Here we are, then!" said Rudd to his companion in a feverish whisper.

"Yes; I wish 'twas over," was the reply, which was scarcely breathed when

a man appeared at the right-hand carriage-window, and, presenting a

pistol, said in a strong loud voice--

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I must have your money."

"Or your lives," added a man on horseback, blocking up the opposite side

of the chaise.

"This is very hard, sir," answered Rudd hesitatingly--"very--hard--indeed;

however, I suppose it must be so: perhaps you'll be good enough to come

round to the other door of the chaise--my friend here is, I fear,

seriously ill--

"Certainly," said the robber, who was now heard walking round to the door

already occupied by his mounted companion.

"Are you steady?" whispered Rudd.

"As steel!" answered Skelton.

"Then slip the muzzle of the blunderbuss across me, and the moment the

door is well opened, when I raise my arm with the purse, shoot him dead on

the spot."

The click of a trigger was the sole reply:--the highwayman had come round

to the door. He had his grasp on the handle, when he was suddenly struck

in the eyes with some icy liquid, that caused him to swerve violently

aside, dragging open the door at the same moment. There was a terrific

volley from the carriage, and Curly Cahill, receiving the greater portion

of the contents of the blunderbuss intended for his friend, dropped

heavily from his horse.

Rudd and Skelton instantly sprang out. They found Hewitt (for our readers,

no doubt, have anticipated it was he) engaged with their stalwart driver,

who had already grappled with him, having, before he could recover from

his shock, as well as surprise, by a well-directed blow knocked the pistol

from his hand, and closed with him. The man would have been no match for

Hewitt; but before the latter could draw another pistol, he was struck

down by Rudd, and, with the powerful assistance of Skelton, handcuffed,

and secured in the chaise.

The travellers, who had come determined and prepared for this

expedition,[28] now struck a light, and proceeded to raise Cahill, who

continued to groan heavily where he had fallen. He seemed to bleed

inwardly, having been wounded chiefly in the chest and stomach, and was

lifted into the carriage beside his captured companion, and where he

almost instantly expired, having squandered his last breath in a feeble

laugh, and the expression of his conviction, that "the Capting was

cashiered at last."

The travellers now hurried rapidly onwards, conveying with them

Sally-the-tin, whom, having been benighted on her return from some

country-fair, the driver (an old acquaintance) had overtaken and given a

lift to on the bar beside himself, and whose elemental piety, for once not

ill-timed, was the means of saving Hewitt's exit. Leaving Cahill's body at

the very roadside-hut where he had so lately planned his villanous

revenge, they continued their course to Clogheen; and being informed that

the nearest magistrate was the rector of the parish, about nine o'clock at

night they entered Mr Tyrrel's parlour, where, though still suffering

under her father's suspicions, Katey was presiding at the tea-table to

Lysaght and his uncle, and begged to introduce to the Reverend Justice's

notice, the person who accompanied them--the dreaded and notorious

freebooter, Roderick O'Hanlon, who had been so many months the terror of

all who travelled Kilworth mountains--and who, on a previous occasion, had

been ushered, in an imaginary way, to his acquaintance as Major Fergus

Hewitt, commissioner to Mononia from the Provisional Government.

* * * * *

Hewitt (or O'Hanlon) was tried at the ensuing Tipperary Assizes, and,

notwithstanding the extreme severity of the law at that period, there were

so many palliating circumstances pleaded in his favour at the

trial--particularly a popular, and we believe a not altogether unfounded

eulogium, (since grown into an apothegm in that country,) that "He robbed

the rich to give to the poor," and so many persons of distinction, who had

known him at one time as a performer on the Dublin stage, came forward to

interest themselves in his behalf--that he escaped with transportation for

life. He ultimately conducted himself with such propriety at Sydney, that

he obtained a free pardon--and lived to amass some property, and settle in

that colony. Previous to his quitting Ireland, he conveyed to Miss Tyrrel,

by the hands of her father, a few lines explanatory of portions of his

conduct and career, and which concluded with the assurance, that, next to

_one_ nameless and bitter regret, he most deeply lamented the injury he

had, were it only in _her_ estimation, inflicted on the cause of brave and

unfortunate men, by passing himself as an adherent of Robert Emmett's, and

the affair of 1803--with neither of which, he declared, had he had any

connexion.

Katey Tyrrel recovered so rapidly from the shock and illness that

succeeded the appearance of Hewitt as a prisoner in her father's parlour,

that it is more than probable her wounded pride and convicted folly

annihilated at once that affection for a highwayman which she would have

had no scruple of bestowing on a Major of the Republican Brigade. Her

father, grateful that, before it was too late, he was afforded an

opportunity of atoning for past severity, no less than former indulgence,

restored her speedily to favour. Katey profited largely by the lesson her

giddiness and obstinacy had received. She became a steady and domestic

character, and in due time saved herself the trouble of looking out a wife

for Lysaght Osborne among her neighbours, by marrying him herself. They

continued to reside with her father, who survived to such an extreme old

age as to see all feuds between himself and his parishioners extinguished

by the Composition Act.

Sally-the-tin, as often as her vagrant disposition admitted of it, had

always a corner in Katey Osborne's kitchen; and it would be an injustice

to woman's heart not to say, that this protection was afforded her not a

whit the less warmly and permanently, for having been instrumental

(however unconsciously) in saving the life of Hewitt.

A GLANCE AT THE PENINSULA.[29]

In England, where politics are so generally and largely discussed, where

in fact they form the only subject upon which most men appear disposed or

competent to converse, it is not uncommon to meet with persons well

informed concerning the social and political state of the principal

European countries. But we have frequently observed, that even amongst

those who display the most varied knowledge of this kind, there are very

few who either possess or pretend to any thing like a thorough

appreciation of the affairs of the Peninsula. Yet there are obvious

reasons why Englishmen ought to be more conversant with Spanish affairs

than with those of any other European state--our nearest neighbours,

perhaps, excepted. Here is a country about which we have been fighting or

diplomatizing, almost without intermission, since the commencement of the

present century; a country to which, by its intestine broils and frequent

political changes, the attention of the English public has been

continually directed, while that of the monied and commercial classes has

been specially attracted to it by the frequent fluctuations and consequent

speculation in what are facetiously termed Spanish _Securities_, and by

the oft-revived but hitherto fallacious expectation of a commercial

treaty. When these sources of interest are considered, it does seem

singular that so few persons should have thought it worth while to

investigate the real state of Spain in all its various relations; and that

of those who have gone thither with that view, none should have produced a

book fully elucidating Spanish affairs to the numerous classes in England

which are more or less interested in them. The probable cause of this is,

that no country has been so difficult to follow and comprehend through all

its countless changes; an indispensable key to which is a thorough

knowledge of the national character. On the other hand, that knowledge is

doubly difficult to obtain at a period when, as now, the people and the

institutions of Spain are in a state of transition.

It is a truism which, at first sight, looks like a paradox, that

contemporary history is the most difficult to write. Time, which, in its

more extended lapse, destroys and obliterates--previously, by successive

operations, purifies and enlightens; classes men and events; elevates the

important and the true; and gives praise and obloquy to whom they are

severally due. And in the Peninsula, more than in any other country, is

this kind of classification requisite. Amidst the various parties and

factions, the strange contradictions of the national character, the

interminable web of intrigue and political manoeuvre, how arduous the

task to unravel the truth, to throw a clear light upon the state and

prospects of Spain, and explain the hidden and complicated machinery by

which many of the recent events in that country have been brought about!

We have now lying before us a book in which this task has been attempted,

and, we are disposed to think, by no means without success. It is the work

of a man who has evidently passed a considerable time in the Peninsula;

and, after becoming well acquainted with the language and habits of the

people, has studied the peculiarities of their manners, feelings, and

institutions, with a keen and observant eye. The result of his

observations he has committed to paper pretty much as they were made; so

at least we infer from the style of his book, which, without being on any

regular plan, touches upon every subject connected with Spain, nearly, as

it would appear, in the order in which they chanced to come uppermost in

the writer's mood of the moment. The frequent change which this occasions,

from grave subjects to gay, and _vice versa_, serves, perhaps as well as

any more regularly preconceived plan could have done, to carry the general

reader pleasantly through two rather copious volumes; in which, whatever

nay be their deficiencies, there is certainly no lack of variety; while

the style in which they are written has about it a characteristic vigour

and originality, and at times a considerable degree of humour. We are not

informed how long the author has lived in Spain; but we suspect that his

residence there has been of considerable duration, and that he has become

in some degree _Espanolisado_. We infer this from an occasional foreign

idiom; from his intimate knowledge of the habits of various classes, which

only a long residence in the country could have brought in his way; and

from a familiarity with Spanish proverbial language, which now and then

breaks out in an amusing and Sancho-like passage. In short, the whole book

is characteristic both of the man who has written it, and of the people

whom it describes.

Commencing with the fall of Espartero, the first twenty chapters of the

first volume are chiefly political in their nature;--containing

explanations of the various circumstances attending the above event;

details of the state of parties, of the intrigues against Olozaga, and his

final overthrow by the Camarilla of the day; the history of Camarillas

generally, and sketches of several of the most prominent actors upon the

Spanish political stage. The figurative signification of the word

_camarilla_, which, in its literal sense, means a little chamber, is

almost too well known, even out of Spain, for an explanation of it to be

necessary. Since the fourteenth century, the days of Alonzo the Eleventh,

and the beautiful Leonor de Gusman, it has been the wont of Spanish

monarchs, with rare exceptions, to rule, and often to be ruled, by cabals

or coteries composed of an indeterminate number of courtiers. We find men

of all ranks and classes of society taking in turn their share of this

back-stairs influence; priests and soldiers, jesuits, nobles, and lawyers,

and not unfrequently women, composed the courtier-conclaves that governed

the rulers of Spain, sent their own foes to the scaffold or dungeon, and

raised their own friends to the highest dignities of the state. In

conformity with this time-honoured tradition of the Spanish monarchy, no

sooner was Espartero expelled from Spain than Christina hastened to send

creatures of her own to Maddrid, to watch over her interests pending her

own arrival, and to intrigue against those who should appear disposed to

thwart her designs and line of policy; to form, in short, a Camarilla.

This was soon done. "It was composed of Narvaez, the Marchioness of Santa

Cruz, and Valverde, the Duke of Ossuna, Juan Donoso Cortes, and a member

of the Senate named Calvet--all faithful adherents of Christina, Moderados

in their politics, and strongly tinged with absolutist principles,

although most hostile to the claims of Don Carlos." These half-dozen

intriguing spirits soon carved out for themselves abundant and mischievous

employment. The then minister, Lopez, the same whose famous amnesty

project caused the downfall of Espartero, alike averse to encounter their

opposition or to truckle to them in his government, resigned his office

although possessing a strong majority in the Cortes; and Olozaga took his

place, having been himself designated by Lopez as the most fitting man.

The new premier trusted to his energies and talents to make head against

the Camarilla; but he had underrated the ingenuity and cunning of the

latter; and, still more, the hatred borne to him by Queen Christina. This

hatred he had excited to a deadly extent, when ambassador at Paris in the

time of Espartero, by demanding the expulsion of Ferdinand's widow from

the French capital, on the ground of her plottings and attempts to

revolutionize Spain. As will be remembered, no attention was paid to these

demands by Louis Philippe, who was far better affected to Christina than

to Espartero; and the cunning dowager remained snug at the Hotel de

Courcelles, hatching plots against the existing government of Spain--plots

in the carrying out of which she was largely aided by French gold and

French counsels. But she neither forgot nor forgave Olozaga's

interference; and no sooner did he assume the reins of government, than

her adherents opened their batteries upon him with unusual vigour. So

effectual was their fire, that Olozaga, who took office on the

twenty-first of November, was dismissed from it on the twenty-ninth;--one

week's tenure. The absurd history of the violence employed by him to

obtain the Queen's signature to a decree for the dissolution of the Cortes

is well known, as are also the efforts that were made to crush him, even

after his expulsion from the ministry had been obtained by this pitiful

pretext--a pretext at once disgraceful to the artful and unprincipled

framers, and injurious in the highest degree to Queen Isabel, one of whose

first acts, after her majority had been declared, was thus made to be the

attestation of a gross and shameless falsehood. In the long and stormy

debate that ensued in the Cortes, Olozaga amply confirmed all parties of

the absurdity of the charge brought against him, and utterly confounded

his enemies. What they could not accomplish by public means, the latter

now attempted to bring about by underhand ones--namely, Olozaga's

destruction in a literal as well as a political sense; and after one or

two narrow escapes from assassination, the ex-premier was advised by his

friends to withdraw from Spain. "Portugal presented the readiest asylum;

and following very nearly the course of the Tagus, the exile, escorted by

twenty well-armed contrabandists, came by way of Talavera and Coria on the

back of a mule, in the disguise of a trader, with copious saddle-bags, and

crossing the little river Herjas into the Portuguese province of Beira,

was soon in Castello Branco." Olozaga was used to this sort of thing,

having already had to fly for his life in the time of Ferdinand. On that

occasion he drove out of Madrid in the disguise of a Calesero, in company

with his friend Garcia, the then intendant of police, who was also obliged

to fly from the vengeance of the Camarilla of the day. They reached

Corunna in safety, and embarked for England; the facile versatility with

which Olozaga had smoked, joked, and drunk his way, adapting himself to

the humours of all he met, and supporting admirably his assumed character,

having in no small degree contributed to save them from detection.

The account our author gives of Queen Isabel is any thing but a favourable

one; although we have much reason to fear that it is substantially

correct. Wilful and pettish, at times obstinate, deficient in intelligence

as well as temper, and above all, _dissimulada_, a dissembler. Ugly words

these; but if it be true that children inherit their parents' virtues and

vices, what better could be expected from the offspring of a Ferdinand and

a Christina? Indeed it will be fortunate for herself and her people, if,

at a later period of this child-queen's life, there are not a few more

failings to be added to the above list--already sufficiently long. At

present, artfulness and insincerity seem her chief faults--no trifling

ones, certainly; and to these may be added a want of heart, very unusual

in a girl of such tender age, and which is perhaps the worst symptom in

her character. It has been frequently and strongly exemplified in her

conduct to those nearest her person. Previously to the anti-Christina

revolution of 1840, the Marquesa de Santa Cruz was her governess, and to

her the young Queen appeared much attached. But when the Marchioness left

Spain in the suite of the Queen-mother, Isabel never made an enquiry after

her, receiving Madame Mina with just the same degree of apparent affection

that she had shown to her preceding governess. Whilst Espartero was

Regent, she professed unbounded attachment to him, insisted having the

portrait of her "_caro amigo_" hung in her room, and seemed proud of

showing it to all her visitors. The wheel went round; Narvaez was at

Madrid, and the Duke of Victoria a refugee on board the Malabar. The

Senora de Mina was dismissed, and her royal pupil took leave of her with

the same absence of feeling that she had shown when separated from the

Marchioness of Santa Cruz:--

"'Since you are leaving me,' she said, 'I must make you a present.' And

away she ran to take down the portrait of her very 'dear friend'

Espartero, which precious relic she handed over to her outgoing _Aya_,

saying 'Keep this portrait, senora; it will be better in your possession

than mine!'"

Taken to a bull-fight, her youthful majesty of Spain was delighted beyond

measure, enjoying the sufferings of maddened bulls and gored horses with

as much zest as could have been shown by her illustrious and respectable

father. Unfortunately, _auto-da-fes_ are out of date, or they might serve

to vary her pastimes. As it is, she is obliged to fill up her leisure by

the consumption of confectionery, of which she has a constant and abundant

supply on hand. "This pastry-cook museum, which extends over every

apartment of the palace, contains some most interesting specimens--the

_tortas_, or tarts, of Moron, the most celebrated in Spain; the _panes

pintados_, or painted buns, of Salamanca; the _Paschal ojalores_, or

Carnival and Easter dainties; the hard _turrones_ of Alicant, composed of

almonds, nut-kernels, filberts, and roasted chestnuts, intermixed with

honey and sugar; _dulces_ of cocoa-nut frosted with sugar; roasted

almonds; _avellanas_, a peculiarly nice sort of filbert, whole and in

powder; _alfajor_, or spiced bread; the delicious cheese called _jijona_;

pomegranate jelly; _blando de huevos_, or sweetened yolks of eggs," &c.

&c. &c. When in a good humour, she makes presents of these delicacies to

the persons about her; and the degree of favour in which her courtiers

stand, is to be estimated by the amount of cakes and sugar-sticks bestowed

upon them. No place is secure from the invasion of these sweets; even in

the council-chamber, while dispatching business with the ministers, she

is surrounded by them, "and the confection of decrees, and discussion of

dainties, proceed _pari passu_."

The abundance of the comfits and the badness of the counsellors by which

the poor child is environed, menace grievous injury both to mind and body,

heart and stomach. A puppet in the hands of factions, living from her

earliest childhood in an atmosphere of intrigue and falsehood,--the usual

atmosphere of Spanish courts and camarillas, how was she to escape the

contagion? Her education seems also to have been grievously neglected.

When Arguelles was her governor, she was indocile and refractory; under

the care of Olozaga she only remained three months. Her female

instructors, with the exception of the Countess of Mina, have been women

of equivocal reputation, seeking to advance themselves and their friends,

and teaching their pupil few lessons but those of dissimulation. To

aggravate the evil, during the three years of Christina's exile, that

princess was allowed to be in constant correspondence with her daughter,

and of course lost no opportunity of inspiring her with a dislike of her

own political enemies, the Progresistas. These latter, however, being in

power, and about the person of the young Queen, she was obliged at least

to _appear_ friendly with them, and was thus "taught to be false and

artful by the force of circumstances, and trained by events to deceit."

The chapter headed "Narvaez" is extremely interesting, giving graphic

sketches of one of the most remarkable of living Spaniards. In Narvaez we

find the faults and the virtues of the soldier of fortune; prompt

decision, great energy and determination, on the one hand--cruelty,

impolicy, and violence, on the other. His character has made him popular

with a portion of the army, and over the officers, in particular, he

exercises great influence. His severities, however, especially his

shooting eight men the autumn before last, for demanding what had been

solemnly promised them, permission to quit the service, have lost him many

adherents, and made him numerous enemies in the ranks. But his deadly

foes, and those from whom he has the most to fear, are the Ex-National

Guards of Madrid. Their hatred of him is unlimited, and savage beyond

conception, founded upon various causes, any one of which is, with

Spaniards, sufficient to account for it. Their confidence betrayed, their

arms taken from them, themselves recklessly sabred and bayoneted when

assembled for the most peaceable purposes--these and many other injuries

will never be forgotten or forgiven by the Madrilenos. We in England are

now so accustomed to hear of bloodshedding and outrage in the Peninsula,

that we have began to consider it almost as a matter of course, and

scarcely accord a moment's attention to the horrors of to-day, which are

no worse than those of yesterday, and may probably be surpassed by those

of to-morrow. Yet, if we except a portion of the period of Espartero's

rule, there are no three months in the history of Spain for the last ten

years, which would not, if transplanted into the annals of any other

country, form an era of bloodshed. Since the advent of Narvaez to power,

although the vigour of his government has prevented civil war and checked

insurrection, that has only been accomplished by a system of despotic

cruelty worthy of the days of Ferdinand the Well-beloved. Countless

instances may be adduced in support of this assertion. Executions, like

that of Zurbano and his family, have been defended by the argument, that

the sufferers were rebels against the established government of the

country, and as such deserved the fate they met. Rather a flimsy argument,

it appears to us, in a country in which revolution flourishes as an

evergreen plant. How is it to be decided which is the rightful governor,

and which the usurper? who shall say whether those in power are there by

right as well as might; or whether they are merely successful rebels,

banditti on a large scale, who have seized upon place and power with as

much justice, and by the same violent means, as highwaymen of inferior

grade possess themselves of the purses of travellers? But even if we

concede this point, and admit that whoever holds the reins, though but

from yesterday, and with a bloodstained hand, is justified in slaughtering

by wholesale all who show a disposition to drag him down again, it will

still be impossible to palliate the treacherous and tyrannical proceedings

of Narvaez. The inhabitants of Madrid, lured out of their houses by the

bait of some joyous festival, the streets hung with banners and strewed

with flowers, the fountains playing wine and milk--on all sides rejoicings

and festivity; the _insouciant_ light-hearted Castilians forgetting for a

while the misfortunes of their country, and giving themselves up to the

unrestrained enjoyment of the moment. But there are those amongst them who

will soon trouble their pleasures; agents of their rulers, tutored to

excite them to some apparently rebellious demonstration. A shout or two,

interpreted as indicative of disaffection, and caught up by an excitable

mob; and immediately battalions appear upon the _plaza_, dragoons gallop

out of the side streets, bayonets are lowered and sabres bared, and amidst

the clatter of the charge, the screams of women and the oaths of men, the

festal garlands are trodden under foot, and blood reddens the pavement.

"On many a _fiesta_, or day of saints," says our author, "which Spain

regards as of special holiness, plots and snares were thickly strewn

around the people's footsteps; murder lurked beneath the wreath of

festivity, and the day which began in prayer, concluded with mourning."

During the three days' rejoicings on occasion of the Queen's majority,

scenes of this sort occurred. "They invited us to a ball," said the people

in the true Madrileno spirit--"they invited us to a ball, and we had to

assist at a funeral." The object sought to be obtained by such barbarous

means, was the intimidation of the populace, and the deterring of

revolutionists and progresistas. The suppression of the national guard

produced another _alboroto_, or disturbance. A crowd assembled, and moved

through the streets, giving _vivas_ for the constitutional Queen, and

_mueras_ for the ministers and the traitors. Narvaez asked no better

chance than this. Out turned the palace guard, composed of strong bodies

of infantry and cavalry, and, without a moment's delay, charged the mob,

which, although principally composed of national guardsmen, was unarmed,

save with a few bayonets and knives. In all the adjacent streets, people

were running for their lives; and the congregations, which were then just

leaving mass--for this occurred on a Sabbath morning--recoiled for safety

into the churches.

As a politician, Narvaez is unquestionably an obstinate and unscrupulous

dunce, who feels his incompetency to rule by any means but the sword, and

has substituted a tyrannical dictatorship supported by bayonets, for the

legal and constitutional government of Spain. In a military point of view

he is more respectable, although even as a general his exploits have been

few and little heard of. In his brief campaign against the Esparterists,

he had no opportunity of showing more than activity and daring; since at

the very moment when he was on the point of measuring strength and

generalship with Seoane and Zurbano at Torrejon de Ardos, the troops under

those two leaders came over to him. During the War of Succession, he gave

proof of some skill as an organizer of armies of reserve, and even fought

a gallant and successful battle with Gomez at Majaceite in Andalusia, in

which, if one might believe the lying Spanish bulletins, he nearly swept

the Carlists from the face of the earth. There is no doubt he mauled them

a little; but neither that nor the various other decisive overthrows

recorded by gazettes, prevented Gomez from returning to the Basque

provinces with a considerable force at his back, and an immense amount of

booty.

It will be contrary to all precedent in modern Spanish history, if

Narvaez's career terminates otherwise than by a violent death, met, in all

probability, at the hands of the populace, or at those of some disgusted

adherents of his own. The deaths of Carlos de Espana, slain by his own

escort on his way to the French frontier; of Moreno--the butcher of

Torrijos, Lopez Pinto, Florez Calderon, and fifty other martyrs--himself

murdered in the wood of Vera by the bandit followers of the savage priest

Echeverria; these, and fifty similar instances, are events but of

yesterday. It is still fresh in the memory of the Madrilenos how they

pursued the stern Quesada to his place of refuge--Quesada who, alone and

by his single energy, had cleared the streets of an excited populace, and

stopped a revolution for one whole day; how they dragged him forth,

piecemeal it may almost be said, and with his severed fingers stirred the

bowl in which they toasted the downfall of tyrants. Between Quesada and

Narvaez there is more than one point of resemblance. Their deaths, also,

may be alike.

The sketches of Spanish political men, the various party leaders and

conspicuous senators of the day, are done with much spirit and cleverness,

and give an excellent idea of the fickle inconsistency, the showy talent

but want of steadiness of purpose, that characterize most of the notable

Peninsular politicians. One is much accustomed to receive information upon

such subjects with doubt and mistrust, it being so often tinctured with

the violent party spirit which, in Spain, distorts men's views and

opinions; and the book before us being published anonymously, we are

prevented from judging, by circumstances of position or others, to which

side or men, if to any, the author is likely to incline. But we think we

discern in him the wish to be impartial, and are therefore disposed to

place unusual confidence in his statements; the more so as he represents

no character as entirely bad, but, while laying on the lash for their

faults, does not forget to give them credit for their good qualities.

According to his account, Lopez is the most brilliantly eloquent, and, at

the same time, one of the most incorrupt members of the Spanish Chambers;

one of the very few Spaniards who have held office without advantage to

themselves.

"It is a most creditable distinction in Spain, where office is sought

almost exclusively for its emoluments, that Lopez has been at three

different times a minister of the crown, and retired thrice from that

government, of which he was always the most influential member,

without any permanent office, or title, or decoration; without even a

cross or a riband to display upon his breast, in a country where

those favours are most extensively distributed. Even from the

premiership of the provisional government, by which high titles and

orders were lavishly disseminated amongst the leading instruments of

a successful national movement, and from the side of a Queen whose

majority had been just proclaimed, he withdrew into private life in a

strictly private capacity, without a charge upon the pension list for

himself or any of his connexions--without an inscription in the court

list or a _real_ of the public money. Five hundred different

lucrative and permanent offices were at his disposal, but he

preferred a practising lawyer's independence."

This would be rare praise in any country; in Spain it must be almost

without parallel. In striking contrast stands the character of Don Luis

Gonzalez Bravo, or Brabo, as he affects to write himself, who succeeded

Olozaga in the premiership, for which post he united some of the most

singular disqualifications ever possessed by a prime minister.

Spain, while imitating the fashions of England and France in dress and

suchlike petty particulars, has also thought proper to copy certain

political peculiarities of those two countries. Thus, while La Jeune

France vapours in long-bearded and belligerent splendour, under the

special patronage of a Joinville, and Young England peeps out, gentlemanly

and dignified, from beneath the aegis of a less high-born, but, in other

respects, equally distinguished character, La Joven Espana, emulous of

their bright example, ranges itself under the patronage of the

disreputable editor of a scurrilous journal. It is difficult for us in

England to imagine the state of things existing in a country where such a

person can head any party or section, however insignificant, in the

legislative assembly, and still more difficult to conceive any amount of

satirical and vituperative talent placing within his grasp the portfolio

of prime minister.

Bravo's first introduction to public notice, was as member of the

"_Trueno_," or Thunder Club--a society that amused itself, of evenings, by

molesting peaceable citizens as they returned home to their families,

thrashing the _serenos_ or watchmen, and suchlike intellectual and

dignified diversion. He got seriously wounded by a pistol-shot on one of

these occasions, and we next find him editing the Guirigay or "Slang," a

paper remarkable for its personal and unscrupulous tone. For some time its

attacks were directed against Christina, to whose expulsion from Spain it

is said to have contributed, so great is the influence of newspaper

violence in the Peninsula. During the Queen-Dowager's three years' exile,

however, Bravo wrote himself round from a violent _exaltado progresista_,

or Radical, into a very decided _moderado_, or Conservative, in which

latter character he entered office. Taxed with his renegade conduct, his

defence was a most impudent one, highly characteristic of the man. "_No es

ridiculo_," said he, "_estar para siempre el mismo?_" Is it not ridiculous

to be always the same?

But though he managed to get on while in opposition--and even, by a

certain amount of impassioned energy and satirical _verve_, to place

himself at the head of a party of young members, who, although not

exceeding fifty in number, turned the scale in many parliamentary

contests--his incapacity became glaringly apparent as soon as he took

office.

"The prime minister, when he should have been writing sage decrees,

was scribbling scurrilous paragraphs; from his portfolio peeped forth

old numbers of 'The Slang' and his official robes could not hide his

harlequin's jacket. '_Vistan me, dijo Sancho, como quisieren qui de

cualquier manera que vaya vestido sere Sancho Panza._' Let them dress

me up as they will, quoth Sancho, however I am dressed I shall still

be Sancho Panza."

Bravo, however, did as well as another to be the tool of Narvaez, and

moreover he was found pliant, which doubtless prevented his being kicked

out of office as soon as he got into it. Of course he lost no time in

taking care of himself and his friends. His father, who had been dismissed

from a government employment for malversation, received the appointment of

under-secretary to the Treasury; his wife's brother, a hanger-on at one of

the theatres, was made state-groom to the Queen; while a number of other

equivocal characters were appointed to the diplomatic corps, and half the

political chiefs and public employes in Spain were dismissed to make room

for the new premier's friends, including a considerable number of

newspaper scribblers. The power of the newspaper press in Spain is

enormous, and nearly all the leading politicians in Madrid either are, or

have been, editors or proprietors of some one of the principal journals.

The manners and peculiarities of the lower orders in Spain offer a fertile

theme, differing as they do _in toto_ from those of the corresponding

classes in any other country. They have furnished our author with

materials for some amusing chapters. The description of a roadside

_venta_, or inn, and its frequenters, is capital, and reminds us of some

of Lewis's admirable pencillings of Spanish life and interiors. The

amalgamation of grades of society, which in most countries would be kept

carefully distinct, but in the Peninsula hobnob together in perfect good

fellowship, the mixture of muleteers and alcaldes, priests and banditti,

smugglers and custom-house officers, all sitting in the same smoky room,

dipping in the same dish, exchanging the latest intelligence, local and

political, forms a strange but a characteristic and perfectly true

picture. _Apropos_ of smugglers, here is a small statement worthy the

notice of that sensible party in Spain which opposes the introduction of

foreign manufactures upon payment of a reasonable duty.

"Spain is, of all European countries, the most helplessly exposed to

contrabandist operations. With an ill-paid and sometimes ragged army,

and with revenue officers directly exposed to temptation by

inadequate salaries, she has 500 miles of Portuguese frontier and

nearly 300 of Pyrenean; and with a fleet crumbled into ruins, and no

longer of the slightest efficacy, she has 400 miles of Cantabrian and

700 of Mediterranean coast. Four hundred thousand smugglers are

constantly engaged in demolishing her absurd fiscal laws, and some

1,600,000 pounds weight of cotton goods alone, are every year

illicitly imported."

But things in Spain are now rapidly approaching that happy state when it

will become quite unnecessary for the gentlemen contrabandistas to expose

their valuable health to the Pyrenean fogs, or their lives in contests

with _aduaneros_. The system is becoming each day more beautifully simple;

and, strange as it may seem, the direct road for the importation of

contraband goods is through the custom-house. "Bribery is here reduced to

the old electioneering simplicity; and the tariff of custom-house

corruption is arranged with more uniform regularity, and far more

perfectly understood, than the tariff of customs' duties--the difference

being, that the customs' revenues may not be paid, but the customs'

officers must." The due amount of fee being insinuated into the "itching

palm" of the revenue officers, your goods pass with all imaginable

facility. By the magic of a four, eight, or sixteen dollar bit, as the

case may be, a mist settles over the vision of the complaisant official,

and either prevents his seeing at all, or else transforms in the most

remarkable manner the objects that pass before him. Bales of manufactured

goods assume the appearance of sacks of potatoes and onions--nay, those

useful products of the soil are sometimes even supposed to be contained in

wooden cases and casks, carefully hooped and nailed; "and huge canvass

bales are likewise cleared, and reported to be indubitably filled with the

said potatoes, the softness of the packages to the touch arising probably

from the fact of their being boiled!"

At times, however, by a rare chance, an incorruptible custom-house is

discovered; and for that, or some other reason, it is deemed advisable to

resort to the old, and certainly more sporting plan, of running the

cargoes, which is accomplished in a most systematic and comfortable

manner. The smugglers are usually in sufficient number to deter the

carabineros from meddling; and if, by chance, the latter _should_

interfere, they almost invariably receive a sound thrashing. There are a

large number of small Portuguese craft constantly employed in running

contraband goods; and the quantity of merchandise introduced from

Gibraltar is enormous. The latter town, which, by the census of 1835, had

15,000 inhabitants, contains _only_ 3000 cigar manufacturers. As our

author says, what a frightful deal they must smoke in Gibraltar!

It is all nonsense talking in mincing terms about English smuggling in

Spain. However much our Government might discountenance it, nothing could

be done to prevent it, not even if English guarda costas were stationed

round the whole eleven hundred miles of Spanish coast. The smuggled goods

would then go through Portugal, as many of them do now; or any diminution

in the amount of English merchandise imported, would be made up by a

corresponding increase in the quantity of French. Why, even the Germans,

the respectable, plodding Germans, supply their quota of indifferent

calicoes and dull cutlery to the Spanish consumer. The French, who are

fond of charging England with being the nation "_egoiste par excellence_,"

who consults only her own interests, and is equally ready to poison

antipodean barbarians with opium, or to violate the principles of fair

dealing that ought to exist between friendly countries, by introducing

contraband goods in every possible manner--the French, we say, albeit so

Pecksniffian in their condolences with Spain, and other nations, which

they affect to consider victims to the practices of greedy and treacherous

England, are themselves most reckless and determined in their smuggling

transactions with their southern neighbours; and the sole circumstance

which "rises their dander" is to find English goods obtaining the

preference in the Peninsula, as every where else. The constant aim of the

French is to irritate Spaniards against England; and the ground upon which

they have hitherto gone is, that of representing us, in all our actions,

as thinking only of our own advantage. The activity and skill of French

political agents were long exerted to bring about a reaction against the

friendly feelings which, only a very short time back, were entertained in

the Peninsula towards England; and these exertions were at last

successful, although we may now hope that Spaniards are again opening

their eyes to the deceit that has been practised on them. The friendly

offices of France are probably by this time beginning to be appreciated

at their just value; and doubts must be arising in the minds of the

rational portion of the Spanish people, whether the "_perfides

insulaires_" did not mean and act as honestly by them as the more

smooth-tongued and insinuating allies who have reimposed upon them a

Christina and a Narvaez.

"Exaggeration in all things," says the English resident, "is the leading

vice of Spain. There is not a city in the Peninsula that is not '_muy

noble, muy leal, y muy heroica_;' not a corporate body that is not 'most

excellent,' or 'most illustrious;' not a military corps that is not

renowned, and matchless for its valour; not a ragamuffin in Castile that

does not esteem himself noble, nor a brigand in Andalusia but calls

himself a soldier; not a man but is a Don, nor a woman but is a Dona; not

a dunce of a doctor but is profoundly learned, nor a scribbling poetaster

but is a European celebrity. Where all are first-rate, how shall there be

improvement? Where there is no humility, how shall there be acquisition of

knowledge? Pangloss might here have found his perfect world."

It is, we fear, this Bobadil vein, this unbounded self-approval and

vain-gloriousness, entailing an unwillingness to acknowledge obligations,

and an impatience of feeling that they have received any, which renders a

large proportion of Spaniards less amicably disposed towards England than

we might expect them to be, when we look at the recent history of the two

countries, and recall all the friendly offices Spain has received at the

hands of England. We have ourselves noticed amongst Spaniards--even

amongst men of good average intelligence and education--a fretful sort of

feeling whenever the support for which their country has been indebted to

Great Britain was alluded to. Some of them go so far as to endeavour to

persuade the world, and more especially themselves, that the parts played

by English and Spaniards in the Peninsular War were the converse of what

is usually supposed--that it was Spanish valour, skill, and generalship

that swept Napoleon's armies before them, and drove his best commanders

across the Pyrenees. The English were there, certainly; they were very

useful, but they played second fiddle to their allies on most occasions.

In short, to hear many of the present generation of Spaniards talk, one

might suppose that it was their ill-disciplined, badly-officered troops

which won the numerous hard-fought fields of the War of Independence.

Another subject of difference, and a far more serious one than these petty

ranklings of offended pride and ill-borne obligation, is the slave-trade,

and the right of search. Persuade Spaniards, or Frenchmen, or any nation

in the world, if you can, that Great Britain added twenty millions to her

debt, impoverished her own colonial proprietors, and still goes to a heavy

annual expense for the suppression of the slave traffic, with any other

view than a very decided one to her own benefit. To Spain, thanks to the

wretched administration of her internal resources, the revenue derived

from her few remaining colonies is a great object; and in our hostility to

the slave-trade, she beholds a direct attack on that source of income.

Again, in the present depressed state of Spanish commerce, a large portion

of the commercial capital of the country is invested in the slave-trade;

and a constant bitter feeling towards the English is consequently kept up

amongst the class whose money is thus employed. If they bring one cargo

out of three to the Havannah, they have, it is said, a profit on the

transaction; but at the same time it is not likely to put the

slave-dealing Dons in particularly good humour to hear of the other two

having been walked off by British cruisers. On the contrary, they curse

the meddling Ingleses, who having, they say, cut off their own tail by

emancipating their negroes, now, like the fox in the fable, wish to

persuade, or, if necessary, to compel all their neighbours to follow their

example.

The English resident is enthusiastic on the subject of slave emancipation,

and gives us a lively account of some arguments he maintained on the

subject with sundry Gaditano slave-dealers, the result of which was, of

course, that each party remained precisely of the same opinion as before.

The abstract philanthropy of English legislation on that question cannot

be doubted; and it is to be hoped that the course adopted may eventually

prove beneficial to humanity, although it seems very doubtful whether such

has as yet been the case. Meanwhile, there is small credit given to us for

disinterestedness by foreigners, who, in our resolute opposition to the

slave-traffic, are determined to see nothing but a wish to harass their

commerce, injure their colonies, and insure our dominion of the seas.

Under the favouring auspices of that poor creature, Leopold O'Donnel, who

distinguished himself during the War of Succession by the skill with which

he managed to get beaten by the Carlists on nearly every possible

occasion, and who now occupies the important post of Governor of

Cuba--under his auspices the slave-trade is flourishing with renewed

vigour. Slaves, we are told, can now be legally imported into Cuba upon

payment of the governor's fee of twenty-five dollars per head, and "_la

traite_ has seldom, of late years, been more successful than under the

rule of this governor." One of the most striking chapters of the book

before us is the one on colonial slavery, in which some curious details

are given concerning the recent conspiracy of Matanzas. This outbreak,

like all others that occur in the Spanish West Indies, was most falsely

laid at the door of the English by the whole Spanish press. "It was

directed," said they, "by a committee of five members. Placido was

president, two of the other four were mulattoes, _and two Englishmen_.

This latter circumstance is worthy of note." "As being an utter

falsehood," observes our author.

Placido, the mulatto leader of the insurrection, seems to have been a

remarkable man, of commanding appearance, great energy of character, and

superior intelligence. One of the means he adopted to rouse the coloured

population of Cuba against their oppressors, was the writing of

revolutionary songs and verses. During the whole of 1843 he was busy

laying the foundations of his scheme, and, although his designs were known

to thousands, no one was found to betray them. The plot was finally

discovered by the conversation of some of the conspirators being

overheard. An obscure warning of it, given by a young negress to her

master, with whom she was in love, also led to enquiry. The project was

for nothing less than the total extermination of the white race, and the

formation of a republic after the example of Hayti The leading posts and

commands were assigned to the mulattoes, as well during the revolt as in

the organized government that was subsequently to be formed. The Thursday

in Passion Week was the day fixed for the outbreak; the signal to be given

by the simultaneous burning of the sugar-canes; the watchword, "_La Muerte

y la Destruccion_." The domestic servants were in the plot, and were to

aid in various ways. "The cooks were to poison their masters, and the

caleseros, with their coach-horses, to form a corps of cavalry."

The alarm was not given till the morning of the day on which the

conspiracy was to have broken out. Then the arrests began. Five hundred of

the conspirators were thrown into the prison of Matanzas, which town was

the headquarters of the conspiracy, and gave its name to it. But the

negroes finding themselves discovered, and expecting no mercy, resolved at

least to glut their vengeance as far as the time would allow them.

Overseers were flung into their sugar-boilers, two entire families at

Matanzas were poisoned, and other excesses took place. The reprisals

exercised were most horrible; two hundred prisoners were immediately

butchered, and numerous straggling parties shot down like dogs; some

wretched victims were flogged to death to induce them to betray their

accomplices. Further outbreaks were the result of these severities. The

planters who fell into the hands of the negroes were mercilessly

massacred; numerous plantations were burned. The insurrectionary movements

were, however, isolated and without organization; the Spaniards succeeded

in repressing them, and then, furious and alarmed at the imminence of the

peril they had so narrowly escaped, inflicted the most terrible punishment

on the unsuccessful mutineers. Eight hundred prisoners had been secured in

the Matanzas Jail; of these two hundred were shot without trial, the

remainder, for the most part, strangled in their dungeons. The meaning of

the Spanish word _Matanzas_ is "a place of slaughter," and such, indeed,

the town became. Placido, the chief of the conspiracy, made a tremendous

resistance before he was taken. "He fired three pistols, killing or

wounding a man at each discharge, and then hacked and hewed away with his

sword, speedily making for himself a ring of more than its span, and

clearing a space around him as rapidly as an Utreran bull when he rushes

into the circus. But a soldier's musket soon brought him to the ground,

and bleeding and faint he was flung into the Matanzas carcel."

As the prisoners refused to a man to make disclosures, torture was

resorted to. The lash was applied till they confessed or fainted. Most of

them yielded, the plot was acknowledged to be of ancient date, and to have

Placido at its head.

Placido bore, with the resolution of a stoic, the rude and unsparing

stripes with which his broad shoulders and back were speedily covered. Not

a groan nor a sigh escaped him; but he fainted away at last from loss of

blood, and with such little apparent change, that the executioners

continued to flog for some time after he was senseless. He was loosed from

the triangles, and tied to a neighbouring stake, after the mummery of a

five minutes' court-martial. He was still senseless when bound to the

stake--lifeless, for all that his _verdugos_ knew to the contrary. Ere he

received the fusillade, he recovered from his fainting fit sufficiently to

exclaim, in an audible tone. "_Los dias de la esclavitud son contados!_"

"The days of slavery are numbered."

A horrible account, but doubtless a correct one. Our author seems to have

been in the south of Spain at the time of the Matanzas insurrection, and

consequently in the right place to get at the true particulars of the

affair.

In the chapters on the Spanish Army, &c., although amusing enough, we do

not consider the English resident to have been so successful as in most

other parts of his work. We would caution him against believing, or at any

rate expecting others to believe, the marvels recorded by Spanish gazettes

of Spanish armies and generals--marvels which usually get repeated and

magnified to most preposterous dimensions by the _embustero_ retailers of

such intelligence. We would also warn him against indulging in such

enthusiasm as he displays in speaking of General Leon--a very fine fellow

undoubtedly, a good soldier and dashing officer, but yet a little

overrated in these lines. "In his unexaggerated feats of war, he eclipsed

the Homeric heroes, and rivalled the incredible exploits of Charlemagne

and his peers. His tremendous lance spread terror and dismay among the

enemies of his queen and country, and the glorious inequalities of Crecy

and Azincour were revived in the deeds of Leon, witnessed by living men."

Revived and considerably eclipsed, we should say, judging from the list of

exploits that follows. If our friend the English resident be in any degree

acquainted with military matters, he must be aware that the dispersal of

an army of eleven thousand infantry, and one thousand horse, by a hundred

and fifty hussars, a feat which he attributes to Leon, is an absurdity;

and that if such a thing, or any thing like it, did occur, it must have

been when the hundred and fifty dragoons were closely backed by some much

more numerous force.

The Spanish army, as it existed at the close of the Carlist war, was

perhaps in a higher state of discipline and practical usefulness than it

had been at any previous period of the present century. Rendered hardy and

martial by six years' unremitting warfare; officered, too, for the most

part, by men who had something besides title or family interest to

recommend them, it only required greater regularity of pay and supplies to

prove highly efficient. Gradually reduced by Espartero to about fifty

thousand men, its numbers were doubled by a decree of Narvaez, who felt

that so small a force was insufficient to support him in his tyrannical

rule. At the same time an unprecedented system of conciliation, or of

adulation it should rather be said, was adopted by the dictator towards

his legions. Espartero had done all in his power, and that the disordered

state of Spanish finances allowed him to do, for the comfort and

well-being of his army; but he had not thought fit to sacrifice to it all

or any other classes of the state. It had not been necessary for him to

do so; _his_ government was not based upon fear, nor dependent on

bayonets. With Narvaez it was very different. His sole tenure of power was

in the fidelity of the army, and this he sought to ensure by every

possible means. "The priest may starve and the exclaustrado perish; the

last rotten planks of the navy may go to pieces; public monuments may

totter for want of conservation or repairs; the civil employe may be

pinched, and the very palace pine for its arrears; but money must be found

to clothe and feed the army, and maintain it like a prancing charger." The

extent to which this courting and propitiation of the soldiery is carried,

is almost incredible, and often ridiculous. Allowances of cigars, extra

rations of wine upon holidays, boxes and stalls at the theatre provided

gratis for the officers upon the Queen's birth-day--these and similar

indulgences are the sops thrown by Narvaez to his capricious cohorts. But,

with all his pains, he obtains no feeling of security. He is well aware

that no man in Spain has so many enemies, not mere ill-wishers, but deadly

foes thirsting for his blood; he knows that the National Guards of Madrid

have sworn his destruction; and he cannot even tell how soon he may be

turned upon or betrayed by the very army which he takes such trouble to

conciliate. They may sell Narvaez, as they sold Espartero, to the highest

bidder.

In a recent number of this Magazine, we took occasion to animadvert on the

conceit and presumption of certain tourists who imagine themselves

qualified by a flying visit to write their opinions concerning a country

and people, thus doing grievous injustice to those they write about, and

sadly misleading any credulous portion of the public which may be beguiled

into reading and placing confidence in their lucubrations. It has been

seen that no such reproach can be addressed to the author of the book we

are now noticing, who has moreover performed his labour, which was no

light one, in a conscientious and creditable manner, without prejudice,

favour, or affection. We scarcely think he does full justice to Espartero,

whom we must still persist in considering the most estimable and

respectable of the Spanish public men of the day. He may not possess the

glowing and fascinating eloquence of an Olozaga, nor the fierce energy of

a Narvaez; but neither has he the versatile insincerity of the former, nor

the unscrupulous and brutal recklessness of the latter. He has not, like

Olozaga, according to the uncontradicted testimony of Roca de Togores in

the Cortes, "broken faith with all parties;" nor did he ever, like

Narvaez, cause his dragoons to charge inoffensive crowds, assembled by

invitation of their rulers to celebrate saint-days or national festivals.

Our author's general remarks on the state of Spain, of its people and

prospects, are acute and sensible; and they also coincide in great measure

with as much as has been said on those subjects by one or two recent and

intelligent travellers in the Peninsula. In short, setting aside a slight

occasional tendency to high colouring, more calculated, however, to amuse

than mislead, the principal fault we have to find with the book is its

title. After the deluges of Mysteries and Revelations that has been poured

upon the shoulders of the reading public during the last two or three

years, commencing with the rhapsodies of Sue and company, and continued

through countless varieties by writers of every degree on both sides the

Channel, we really cannot think that such a title as "Revelations" of any

thing will tend to prepossess the public in favour of the work it

designates. One frequently sees books of very small merit, or of none at

all, ushered into the world under some highly enticing name, conveying the

idea that the author has expended at his bantling's christening the whole

of his diminutive modicum of talent. Here, however, is an example of the

opposite mode of proceeding; a title that we must decidedly condemn, given

to a book of much interest and utility--a book which, from its liveliness,

and the amount of anecdote and light matter it contains, will be read by

many who would shrink from the perusal of a mere dry statistical work.

AESTHETICS OF DRESS.

NO. III.

THE CUT OF A COAT AND THE GOOD OF A GOWN.

So you have got a decent coat on your back, gentle reader! Well, we

congratulate you upon this fortunate circumstance, this honourable badge

of aesthetic distinction; but do not be too proud of it--there are coats,

and coats--_non ex quovis ligno fit Mercurius_, you know. Wait a bit till

we turn you round, and trot you out to see the cut of the thing, ere we

admit you to be a well-dressed, or even a sensibly-dressed man. But before

we enter into controversy on the superficial appearance of man in the

nineteenth century, let us hasten to recall attention to our definition of

good taste in all matters of dress--utility first and ornament afterwards,

but ornament always subservient to utility--and let us also appease the

indignation of the tailoring world by affirming, that in one grand class

of coats--we will specify which by and by--the public seem to have arrived

at a tolerably reasonable result. There certainly are some men, many men

indeed, in the world who may be said to be sensibly dressed. 'Tis a

phenomenon when you come to think about it; but the fluctuations of taste

in this matter have, for the time being, arrived at a normal state. After

the variations of centuries, the vagaries of taste in male attire, (which

may be measured, for their ups and downs, by curves, with quite as much

reason as the rise and fall in prices of corn, and various other things

that the members of statistical societies delight in portraying)--these

variations, in their endless wrigglings and windings, have come back in

more cases than one to their points of departure, and there form _nodi_,

points of reflection, contrary flexure, &c. At all these points the curve

of taste may be assumed to be stationary. Pray, excuse us, good reader,

for being scientific--do not call it obscure--on so luminous a point. But

is not the mystery of tailoring become a science? Is not the ninth part of

a man now called an _artiste_? Have we not regular treatises published,

with no end of diagrams, on the art of self-measurement? Just look at the

advertisements at the back of your Sunday newspaper, or in the fly-leaves

of your last Maga. And, after all, where is the harm? "The noblest study

of mankind is man!" However, it is a learned point, on which a world of

talk may be got up; so we will waive it for the moment, to be resumed in

the due course of our ruminations.

Now, there is no man in his sober senses who will not admit that a

European, but especially a Briton, requires one or more coats to protect

him from the varying influences of climate. Whether we suppose him muffled

up in the skins of the _urus_ and the wolf of the old Hercynian forest, or

sporting in the soft fabrics woven from the fleeces of Spain and Saxony,

no one but a sheer madman, in any parallel north of the 40th, ever thought

of dispensing altogether with a stout upper garment. It has been a

necessary thing, rammed into every man's head by Jack Frost, Dan Sol, and

other atmospheric genii, that he should provide himself with suitable

upper toggery; and hence we infer that public and private attention has

been directed as much to coats and cloaks as to any other two things that

can be mentioned, next after meat and drink. No wonder, then, that men

have differed in their tastes as to the manner in which they should best

adorn their beloved persons. No wonder that caprice and dandyism have

prevailed in all ages of the modern world. There is plenty of room, and

even of occasion, for such fickleness. Man is an imitative animal, and the

clothing propensities of any one European people have always run the round

of the rest of the family. On the whole, we think that men have been more

reasonable about their coats than they have about their hats. They have

been absurd enough, it is true, but their are grades of absurdity; and,

we fancy, the comfort of the wearer has been of more direct influence in

keeping up some degree of good sense concerning the covering of his

corporeal trunk, than it has in protecting and adorning his head. Not that

we intend going into a long history about coats--excuse the pun, we are

not fond of long _tales_--we will rather be quick in giving our opinion as

to the best manner of settling the _vexata quaestio_ of the clothing

system.

Our modern coats, those _chefs-d'oeuvre_ of Stulz and Co., are to be

traced back by their pedigree to about the middle of the seventeenth

century; while our paletots, wrappers, or whatever else you like to call

them, may lay claim to a higher antiquity by three hundred years. In the

brilliant courts of Louis XIII., Philip IV., and Charles I., the costume

had changed from the tight jacket or vest of the sixteenth century, to the

open and somewhat _neglige_, though picturesque jerkin, so familiar to the

lovers of Rubens and Vandyke. Over the linen integuments of his body, a

gentleman in those days wore only one upper permanent garment, the jerkin

or vest in question: the sleeves were loose and rather short; the waist

was not pinched in; the cut was rather straight; the length extended only

to the loins, and abundance of fine linen and lace was displayed. Over

this garment, which was very plain, was worn a small cloak, more or less

ornamented, in the hall or the hunting field; but in the tented camp, the

cuirass was buckled on, and the jerkin appeared below, covering the tops

of the cuissards or thigh-pieces. There is many a charming Vandyke

portraying our ancestors in this elegant dress; and even the furious

fanaticism of the Cromwellian times allowed the fashion to remain in

England, till the taste of the French court underwent a change, and

modified the habiliments of nearly all civilized Europe. To what cause we

do not know, but probably to some degree of additional comfort required by

Louis XIV. and his courtiers in their earlier campaigns--is to be ascribed

the lengthening of the skirts of the jerkin, and the corresponding

increase in the dimensions of the cloak, which we find to have taken place

soon after 1660. The portraits of Mignard, and the battle-pieces of

Vandermeulen, all show us the change that was then going on at the court

of Versailles: we find the form of the dress stiffening, the sleeves

lengthening, pockets either yawning wide, or covered under deep lapels,

the cuffs turned up halfway to the elbow, and a glorious display of gold

lace and ribands, that must have made a fine gentleman of those palmy days

glitter with the colours of the rainbow. To the easy and languid elegance

of the Spanish costume, had succeeded a certain degree of military

stiffness and precision among the French beaux: all Europe was at that

time lost in admiration of the Grand Monarque and his brilliant court; and

their fashions were adopted as the universal rule of taste. It was this

stiff coat of Louis XIV. that was the direct progenitor of two degenerate,

yet widely differing, sons--the _habit_ or coat, and the frock or

_surtout_ of the present day. Degenerate descendants truly! Who that ever

saw the rustling, heavy, and almost self-supporting coat of Charles II.,

could have imagined that the plain, close-fitting, and supple frock, or

the be-clipped and almost evanescent _habit pare_ of the nineteenth

century, were to spring from them as types? Scarcely less wide is the

difference between the plate armour of an old English baron, and the

simple cuirass of a covenanter!

Hitherto a man of fashion had worn only one coat; but, towards the end of

Louis XIV.'s reign, was introduced the superfluous luxury of a second and

thinner under-covering, universally known in France as a _veste_, but in

England corrupted into a waistcoat, or rather, from its general inutility,

a _waste_-coat. This kind of garment grew in importance throughout the

eighteenth century; and, like its neighbours the coats-proper, indulged in

enormous lapels, and revelled in all the luxury of lace and brocade. The

beaux of the First and Second George's times, knew right well how to

stiffen out the skirts of their coats; how to dispense with the comfort of

a collar; how to have buttons more than they would ever be patient enough

to fasten; and how to have button-holes, or rather button-slits, six

inches long, cut into the rich velvets and silks of their garments. They

were grand, solemn times those! There was no such thing as a man taking

liberties with his toilet; it was a serious piece of business to dress

properly; and it must have been a matter of no small difficulty to keep a

coat clean and decent. We strongly suspect, notwithstanding those

flattering rogues the limners, that our great-great-grandfathers had to

put up with a vast lot of dirt and discomfort; and that their coats, so

expensive to purchase, must have been in no very enviable condition by the

time they were left off. Fine days those for a valet-de-chambre! An honest

fellow had then some chance of getting a penny out of the Israelitish

dealers; and my lord's gentleman might entertain a reasonable prospect of

retiring upon his means, long before reaching his grand climacteric. But

events marched onwards. The coat, originally intended to be buttoned all

the way down--and Louis XIV. actually did wear it buttoned below the

ventricular curve--was gradually allowed to flaunt away in an open,

dissolute manner, and to display the radiant glories of the vest. Men then

came to ask themselves that momentous question, What is the use of such

large skirts to our coats, if we do not employ them? And so they took the

liberty, some of buttoning them back, others of cutting off a good large

corner. The tailors found their account in this. Coats kept up at a

proportionally equivalent price; but the profits of the drapers were much

diminished, and by and by dwindled to a mere nothing. It was from that

fatal period when the waistcoat wheedled itself into fashion, that the

glory of the coat began to set; and, when once the skirt came to be

retrenched, the majesty of the coat was gone for ever. Dear old Sir Roger

de Coverley! gentle Will Honeycombe! ye were the last that knew how to

unite the graces and the dignity of these two discordant garments: from

your times, down to those of poor Beau Brummell, coats and waistcoats have

degenerated through all degrees of folly, even to the verge of stark

staring madness!

The noble mantle, and the solemn cloak, its successor, and the comfortable

roquelaire, its grandson, and the old, farmer-like great-coat, its

_arriere-petit-fils_, and the pilot-coat, the great-coat's brother that

ran away from home and went to sea, and the paletot, a foreign bastard

that could not prove who its father was, nor even tell how it came by its

name, and the wrapper, the paletot's cousin, a regular commercial

gent--such is the genealogy of that other family of garments which we

cherish as our household gods. But, as we hinted above, we can hunt up the

descent of some of these articles to times far removed--(the mantle, we

know, came to us from the Romans)--we allude to the upper coat, or

wrapper; for we find that a two-sleeved cloak, with enormously long

sleeves, by the way, and a most surprisingly scanty allowance of body, was

worn by the dandies in the days of the rival Roses; and, to go still

further back, we have seen a contemporary portrait of that glorious old

fellow Chaucer, clad in a grey wrapper that might have been made in St

James's Street, A.D. 1845. If the paletot and the wrapper wish to prove

any claims to gentle birth, they cannot do better than refer their wearers

to the father of English poets. He was a man of first-rate taste, you may

depend upon it.

With all these changes--and we do not intend to blacken our fathers'

memories for having made them--what have we arrived at in this point of

dress? What are the conveniences of our present garments? in what are they

useful? in what are they beautiful? in what do they need to be improved?

To begin at the top of the tree--the modern _habit-de-cour_: coat for coat

of the dress kind, (military coats are, for the present, out of the

question,) this is the most useful, and the most becoming, of any now

worn. People are inclined to ridicule this coat, not so much on its own

account as for the foolish trappings with which it is commonly

accompanied; but we assert that, in its form, its dimensions, and in its

suitableness of purpose, it is far superior to what is vulgarly called a

dress-coat. The curve of the fronts, and the still somewhat ample sweep of

the skirt, the plainness of the collar, and the absence of all pretension

in its composition--above all, the total absence of any useless,

unmeaning ornament, such as sham pocket-flaps, &c.--all these qualities

give it a claim to superiority. If the opinions of the extremes of mankind

be sometimes right, as opposed to those of the majority, then the form of

that coat, which is worn alike by the courtier and the Quaker, must have

some large share of innate merit.

Nothing of this kind can be said of the common short, or dress coat. This

most silly and unmeaning habiliment possesses neither dignity nor beauty

to entitle it to public favour. It is useless on the person of a youth,

and undignified when worn by a man--an elderly person looks absurd in it,

and to nobody is it in reality becoming. What is the good of the scanty

skirts, that barely admit of a pocket being made in their folds? They add

no symmetry nor grace to the person--they furnish little accommodation to

the wearer. What is the good of the rolling lapel in the front, and of the

collar never intended to be turned up? This coat is only a debased and

withered skeleton of the original garment of the seventeenth century,

deprived of all the qualities that recommended its type for general

adoption; it has neither warmth nor comfort on its side, and it cannot

stand the scrutiny of elegance for a moment. It may be a difficult thing

for a tailor to make, but that is all; and the sooner that men emancipate

themselves from the thraldom of its sway the better. If an open coat is to

be adhered to, the old _habit-de-cour_ is the thing; utility and ornament

there make a much nearer approach to each other, and for comfort there is

no doubt about the matter. We object, however, to the idea of an open coat

on the score of ornament, though we admit some of its claims to utility.

Two surfaces of decoration on the human body are absurd; they distract the

attention, and often, by the incongruous opposition of colour and

substance, produce a most disagreeable effect. Without wishing to hurt the

feelings of Young England--or, as some facetious wag or other has called

him, Little Britain--we declare our dissent, _in toto_, from the dangerous

heresy of the white waistcoat with the black coat. 'Tis a most unnatural

conjunction. If the colour of the under-garment were only red instead of

white, we should suspect some secret connexion with the old woman in

scarlet, _ou vous savez_; as it is, we set it down to the account of her

friend in black, and we launch against it our aesthetic anathema. True, it

makes a man look clean; but cannot a gentleman enjoy the reputation of

cleanliness without turning himself into a magpie? Carry the point out a

little further--to its ultimate results, in fact--and picture to yourself

Albion junior, in a black coat lined with white silk, a white waistcoat,

white cravat, black unmentionables, and white silk stockings--each good

and legitimate articles of dress in their way--what a figure! No! turn

rather to one of those splendid old canvasses of Velasquez. Look at the

great Duque de Olivarez, the finest gentleman in Europe; behold him in

black velvet and black silk from the chin to the toe--no white but his

lace collar--all black except this and his face and hands! There is no

effort at display in his person, no attempt to attract attention by a

glaring contrast; he knew that his looks proclaimed him a gentleman, and

there he stands in quiet dignity, a model of good taste. Philip IV. the

same; Charles I. of England, at times, the same. Even the Dutch

burgomasters knew how to consult unity of dress, and to harmonize the

colours of their vestments. We are not speaking of state-robes, but of the

dress worn in society among men of fashion; and we would recommend any one

sceptical on the point to compare the evening suits of the middle of the

last century with those of the beginning, still more with those of the

close of the seventeenth. He will find an immense falling off in good

taste. Lord Chesterfield was not half so well-dressed a man as Lord

Warwick, nor Lord Warwick as Lord Rochester.

To return, however, to waistcoats. They constitute a class of garments

that have fallen into vulgar hands, and are applied to vulgar purposes.

Your gents in the city, and your Margate-steamer men, know how to display

a yard of velvet or silk to infinite advantage; see how ostentatiously

they throw open their coats, and show you half-a-mile of mosaic gold chain

meandering over a _champ fleuri_. They are regular tailors'

advertisements, and disgust one by their abuse of cheap decoration. We

never see a man in a smart waistcoat but we think of what lies at the back

of it--a yard of silk or calico--all the glory of the front negatived, and

the garment so mean behind that he dares not show it. Not so the good old

sailor who spent his prize-money with honesty of purpose, and, let us add,

with real good taste also; he decorated his shattered timbers stem and

stern alike--there was no make-believe finery about him, and he was not

ashamed to take off his coat before any body! Away, then, with the petty

vanity of a waistcoat; away with all false idea of its giving decoration

to the _ensemble_ of the toilet. We know of nothing in its favour except

one single claim on the score of some small utility. To any one living in

a variable climate it is of value, as enabling the wearer to modify the

temperature of the body. Is the day unusually warm? he can throw open his

coat, and preserve that prim neatness of appearance which is required in

the present age, but is at variance with the display of fine linen of the

Caroline epoch. Or is there a sudden blast of wind from the east,

searching his rheumatic limbs to the very bone? he may button his coat

over his waistcoat, and he has then a double protection for the tenderest

chest. But if thus anxious for the chest, why not for the back also? Why

should there be two thicknesses of cloth or stuff over the one, and only a

single thickness, with some flimsy calico, over the other? In all this

there is an inconsistency. Our ancestors, who wore only one coat at a

time, had always a small mantle ready against any change of temperature;

and they wore it either appended to the neck, as in the days of James I.,

or more constantly on the shoulders, as in the time of Cromwell. The main

advantage of the waistcoat consists in its being light and permanently

worn,--but it should be made of the same stuff throughout, and we think it

might well be dispensed with altogether. If Kneller, Lely, Vandyke, and

Rubens could visit the earth again for a moment--and they were good judges

of what was, or what was not becoming--we have no doubt but they would be

unanimous against waistcoats.

We come, therefore, to our last remaining class of coats, and here we halt

with a hum of approbation: it would be hard indeed were we to pull the

modern dandy to pieces, and leave him no protection against the wintry

blast. Yes! the frock or surtout is good! we have little or nothing to say

against it,--much in its favour. Utility and elegance are at once seen

combined in this garment; it is warm, easy to wear, and comfortable it is

of graceful and dignified appearance, and it is becoming, to man at all

periods of his life. The frock-coat is nothing more than the ancient tunic

opened in front, and made to sit tight upon the upper part of the body:

the superior half of it shows the form of the wearer to advantage, and

imparts to it a due degree of manly rigidity, while the inferior half

partakes of the flowing folds of drapery, and gives warmth and covering

down to the very knees. Of all garments that are to have any degree of

freedom and looseness about them, the frock-coat is the best: it is good

for a man in almost any avocation, and may be made suitable for the common

business of life, as well as for the refinements of society. But then it

should not be worn open: it should be buttoned upon the breast. Place an

officer in his plain closely-buttoned undress coat by the side of a

civilian, with his loose and open frock, and the contrast is so decidedly

in favour of the former, that the point, as a matter of taste and effect,

will not admit of a dispute. The one is a regular sloven compared with the

other. If any thing can be said against this buttoning, it is on the score

of inconvenience in civil life:--is a man at his library-table or his

office-desk always to be fastened up in buckram? where are we to stow away

our watches, our knives, our toothpicks, our loose cash (when we have

any--_par parenthese_)? There is some weight in these objections; for

these little articles of comfort cannot be dispensed with; and we have no

better answer than to propose small external pockets with lapels, which

would not spoil the symmetry of the figure; or else, if you are

obstinate, good reader, and are determined on throwing away your money

upon waistcoats--then keep your frock-coat open; but have a waistcoat

either of the same colour, or of some respectable hue, and have it made

jacket-fashion, as good behind as before. For ourselves, however, we

confess we shall prefer

"That you, my friend, whatever wind should blow,

Might traverse England safely to and fro,

An honest man, close-button'd to the chin,--

Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within."

Any quantity of ornament that might be deemed requisite, could easily be

applied to this kind of coat--so as to make it a fit habiliment for

occasions of ceremony: in its present state, it retains the stiffness of

its military origin, (for it may be called an invention of the Great

Duke's, of him who wore it on the glorious fields of Salamanca and

Waterloo, and it came into fashion at the close of the Peninsular war:)

but it may be embroidered as much as you please, or its stuff may be

varied _ad infinitum_, from Manchester fustian to the finest Genoa velvet.

Not that embroidery is always consonant with good taste, when applied to

male attire. A plain, dark, close-buttoned coat, whether of cloth or

velvet, fastened with a single row of diamond or steel buttons in front,

would be far more effective, as an object of good taste, than if its seams

were all covered with gold lace.

As for the colour of coats, we do not intend to speak of this till we come

to the subject of military costume. We leave it awhile to the taste of the

nation,--colours have always served as marks of national differences. We

beg leave to subjoin a few words in behalf of a poor little garment that

has hardly any grown-up friends to say any thing for it; and which, when

it left school, either went into a manufactory, or was sent to sea--we

mean the jacket. In warm weather, for a country walk, for a ride, for a

game at billiards or cricket, even for shooting, (_experto crede_)--a

jacket is a capital contrivance; while for a sail, whether down the Thames

or up the Mediterranean, it is indispensable. We do not appreciate the

jacket as we ought, or rather we do not remember the good service it did

us at Eton and Harrow--when the limbs were free and supple, and when their

full activity was called into constant play, who would have thought of a

coat? It was only when we began to fancy ourselves men, and to think that

our claims to virility lay in the skirts of our coats, that we discarded

the jacket. 'Twas an ungrateful proceeding:--school friendships ought not

to be broken--and we recommend you, courteous reader, some day or other to

lay your dignity aside for a while, and indulge in the innocent freedom of

a jacket: you will get through any work you have on hand twice as quickly.

The beaux of Queen Elizabeth's and King Jamie's courts wore nothing else

but jackets, you know, with their short mantles hanging in the most

_degage_ manner from the shoulders:--and truly we do not see why a man in

a well-cut jacket, properly decorated, should not be entitled to as much

admiration in his civil capacity, as when he has the honour to hold her

Majesty's commission in the Tenth, and avails himself of that privilege to

disturb the equanimity of the beauty and fashion of England. Much may be

said upon all sides in this matter: the jacket would now be deemed too

familiar without a sword and sabretache; the frock might be considered as

slovenly; about the _habit-de-cour_ there can be no dispute; as for the

dress-coat, it ought to be sent to Monmouth Street; waistcoats should be

given to your valet. Speedily judge for yourself, tasty reader; but let us

have a garment calculated for real use, and real ornament; no pretence, no

sham; a fine manly figure, and a covering worthy of it, _voila la chose

essentielle!_

To criticize a gown is always a more pleasing task than to waste one's

patience upon a coat; and, independently of this, the aesthetician has to

lay aside nearly all terms of reprobation, in alluding to the habiliments

of ladies of the present day. Women have never wandered into so many

absurdities of form with regard to this main article of dress, as men

have; they have been volatile enough in the material, and colour, and

ornament of their gowns; but in shape and cut they have kept much nearer

to the golden rule of comfort and utility than the lords of the creation.

The period of greatest aberration in this matter may be taken as extending

from the latter quarter of the seventeenth century to the end of the

eighteenth. During those long years, absurdity and inconvenience seemed to

hold paramount sway in the wardrobes of the fair; and to apply the word

"taste," in its good sense, to any portion of the female dress, at least

in England, is hardly allowable within the limits mentioned. Look at your

grandmothers' pictures, or turn over the leaves of any edition of

Hogarth's works, and the broadness of the caricature cannot fail to strike

you. That women should ever have consented so greatly to travestie the

beautiful proportions of their fair frames; that they should ever have so

completely lost sight of the main principles of decoration and comeliness,

is inconceivable. The mischief all originated in France; and it must have

come, in the first instance, from the deformity, either of body or mind,

of some crabbed old dowager at Versailles; no young unsophisticated girl

would ever of herself have invented the hoop or the _neglige_. But those

times have happily gone by; and after passing through a transition state

of minor absurdity--(look to the prints of the _Belle Assemblee_ from 1800

to 1815)--we have thrown away all unnatural short waists; we have

discarded scanty skirts; stomachers have been sent nearly to the right

about; and with the exception of a single opisthodomic folly--to which we

do not care to allude more particularly--our better halves, and our fair

friends, seem to have entered upon an age of good taste and good sense.

The happy change has been brought about partly by some women of good sense

consulting their own ideas of utility and simplicity--partly by a return

of public taste to the dresses of the middle ages, and also of the times

of Charles the First. Ladies have at length become aware, that novelty of

form is not essential to beauty of effect--and they have opened their eyes

to the truth, that the less they disfigure the proportions of their

persons, the more becomingly and the more comfortably will they be clad.

The main divisions of lady's gown--every milliner understands what we

mean--are the _corsage_ or body, and the _jupe_ or skirt. They are as

independent of each other as the upper and lower divisions of a

wasp--(indeed, some giddy girls have carried the similitude too far, and

have been seen to approximate in their lacing contractions to that

wonderfully small animal passage)--and these two divisions of the garment

are to be formed and ornamented on totally different principles. By the

common practice and consent of all womankind, it appears that the lower

portion should be loose and flowing; and that the upper should be so

conformable to the contour of the body, as to show that contour to the

best advantage; these must be taken as the fundamental definitions upon

which all laws of female dress are to be tried. And, first of all, of the

skirt; if its form is to be loose and flowing, it should be made to derive

its beauty from the curves and breaks and folds which drapery, partly

suspended, partly at rest on the ground, will afford. It must be ample and

symmetrically proportioned; and its material must have sufficient

stiffness as well as pliability--drapery always requires a certain volume

of material to be effective. The extreme limit of a scanty skirt, and its

poor effect, as well as its great inconvenience, may be judged of from the

figures and pictures of the old Egyptian priestesses--they look very

_statuesque_, and make capital _caryatides_ for temples--but they will not

bear a comparison with those lovely Athenian virgins, winding round the

Parthenon, in their sacred pilgrimage to the shrine of their tutelar

goddess. Drapery, then, must be ample, if it is to fall in graceful folds.

But drapery, only suspended, will not produce the entire effect desired;

it will hang in merely longitudinal lines, whereas one of the most

pleasing effects produced by it is caused by those abrupt breaks in a

fold, those sudden cuttings off of volutes, which are only to be seen when

part of the drapery is in horizontal repose, or rests partially on the

ground. Hence short gowns are not so graceful as long ones; they are

beautiful at any time, it is true, and when the wearer is seated, produce

somewhat of the effect alluded to; but for a woman to be robed with all

the combined influences of grace and dignity, she must allow her dress to

trail partially around her. Think upon the short garments of many classes

of peasantry, and think of the train of a lady when dressed for court--we

speak of their form, not of their substance--it will easily be seen how

much dignity is conferred by length. The utility of long skirts is not so

easy to be proved as their beauty; but this is only on the score of the

difficulty in keeping them clean; as for warmth and comfort, the advantage

is quite on their side. Our fair contemporaries, however, seem to have

arrived at a reasonable and happy medium upon that point; they never wore

better-formed skirts than at the present day. A gown, if properly made,

and without any stinting of stuff, and if that stuff have any thing like

substance, needs no adventitious aids to give it sufficient amplitude of

contour; let our gentle readers take the hint; they will otherwise

militate against one of the main laws of good taste. Let them only look at

the portraits of their ancestors in the middle of the last century but

one--let them look at Hollar's prints, and if they are open to conviction

they will agree in what we say.