CHAPTER XII.

"But how on earth did you get into my new Stocks?" asked the Squire,

scratching his head.

"My dear sir, Pliny the elder got into the crater of Mount Etna."

"Did he, and what for?"

"To try what it was like, I suppose," answered Riccabocca.

The Squire burst out a-laughing.

"And so you got into the Stocks to try what it was like. Well, I can't

wonder--it is a very handsome pair of Stocks," continued the Squire,

with a loving look at the object of his praise. "Nobody need be ashamed

of being seen in those Stocks--I should not mind it myself."

"We had better move on," said the Parson drily, "or we shall be having

the whole village here presently, gazing on the lord of the manor in the

same predicament as that from which we have just extricated the Doctor.

Now pray what is the matter with Lenny Fairfield? I can't understand a

word of what has passed. You don't mean to say that good Lenny Fairfield

(who was absent from church by-the-by) can have done any thing to get

into disgrace?"

"Yes, he has though," cried the Squire. "Stirn, I say--Stirn." But Stirn

had forced his way through the hedge and vanished. Thus left to his own

powers of narrative at second-hand, Mr. Hazeldean now told all he had to

communicate: the assault upon Randal Leslie, and the prompt punishment

inflicted by Stirn; his own indignation at the affront to his young

kinsman, and his good-natured merciful desire to save the culprit from

the addition of public humiliation.

The Parson, mollified toward the rude and hasty invention of the

beer-drinking, took the Squire by the hand. "Ah, Mr. Hazeldean, forgive

me," he said repentantly; "I ought to have known at once that it was

only some ebullition of your heart that could stifle your sense of

decorum. But this is a sad story about Lenny, brawling and fighting on

the Sabbath-day. So unlike him, too--I don't know what to make of it."

"Like or unlike," said the Squire, "it has been a gross insult to young

Leslie; and looks all the worse because I and Audley are not just the

best friends in the world. I can't think what it is," continued Mr.

Hazeldean, musingly, "but it seems that there must be always some

association of fighting connected with that prim half-brother of mine.

There was I, son of his own mother--who might have been shot through the

lungs, only the ball lodged in the shoulder--and now his wife's

kinsman--my kinsman, too--grandmother a Hazeldean--a hard-reading sober

lad, as I am given to understand, can't set his foot into the quietest

parish in the three kingdoms, but what the mildest boy that ever was

seen--makes a rush at him like a mad bull. It is FATALITY!" cried the

Squire solemnly.

"Ancient legend records similar instances of totality in certain

houses," observed Riccabocca. "There was the House of Pelops--and

Polynices and Eteocles--the sons of Oedipus!"

"Pshaw," said the Parson; "but what's to be done?"

"Done?" said the Squire; "why, reparation must be made to young Leslie.

And though I wished to spare Lenny, the young ruffian, a public

disgrace--for your sake, Parson Dale, and Mrs. Fairfield's; yet a good

caning in private--"

"Stop, sir!" said Riccabocca mildly, "and hear me." The Italian then,

with much feeling and considerable tact, pleaded the cause of his poor

protégé, and explained how Lenny's error arose only from mistaken zeal

for the Squire's service, and in the execution of the orders received

from Mr. Stirn.

"That alters the matter," said the Squire, softened: "and all that is

necessary now will be for him to make a proper apology to my kinsman."

"Yes, that is just," rejoined the Parson; "but I still don't learn how

he got out of the Stocks."

Riccabocca then resumed his tale; and, after confessing his own

principal share in Lenny's escape, drew a moving picture of the boy's

shame and honest mortification. "Let us march against Philip!" cried the

Athenians when they heard Demosthenes--

"Let us go at once and comfort the child!" cried the Parson, before

Riccabocca could finish.

With that benevolent intention, all three quickened their pace, and soon

arrived at the widow's cottage. But Lenny had caught sight of their

approach through the window; and not doubting that, in spite of

Riccabocca's intercession, the Parson was come to upbraid, and the

Squire to re-imprison, he darted out by the back way, got among the

woods, and lay there _perdu_ all the evening. Nay, it was not till after

dark that his mother--who sate wringing her hands in the little kitchen,

and trying in vain to listen to the Parson and Mrs. Dale, who (after

sending in search of the fugitive) had kindly come to console the

mother--heard a timid knock at the door and a nervous fumble at the

latch. She started up, opened the door, and Lenny sprang to her bosom,

and there buried his face, sobbing loud.

"No harm, my boy," said the Parson, tenderly; "you have nothing to

fear--all is explained and forgiven."

Lenny looked up, and the veins on his forehead were much swollen. "Sir,"

said he, sturdily, "I don't want to be forgiven--I ain't done no wrong.

And--I've been disgraced--and I won't go to school, never no more."

"Hush, Carry!" said the Parson to his wife, who, with the usual

liveliness of her little temper, was about to expostulate. "Good-night,

Mrs. Fairfield. I shall come and talk to you to-morrow, Lenny; by that

time you will think better of it."

The Parson then conducted his wife home, and went up to the Hall to

report Lenny's safe return; for the Squire was very uneasy about him,

and had even in person shared the search. As soon as he heard Lenny was

safe--"Well," said the Squire, "let him go the first thing in the

morning to Rood Hall, to ask Master Leslie's pardon, and all will be

right and smooth again."

"A young villain!" cried Frank, with his cheeks the color of scarlet;

"to strike a gentleman and an Etonian, who had just been to call on

_me_! But I wonder Randal let him off so well--any other boy in the

sixth form would have killed him!"

"Frank," said the Parson, sternly, "if we all had our deserts, what

should be done to him who not only lets the sun go down on his own

wrath, but strives with uncharitable breath to fan the dying embers of

another's?"

The clergyman here turned away from Frank, who bit his lip, and seemed

abashed--while even his mother said not a word in his exculpation; for

when the Parson did reprove in that stern tone, the majesty of the Hall

stood awed before the rebuke of the Church. Catching Riccabocca's

inquisitive eye, Mr. Dale drew aside the philosopher, and whispered to

him his fears that it would be a very hard matter to induce Lenny to beg

Randal Leslie's pardon, and that the proud stomach of the pattern-boy

would not digest the Stocks with as much ease as a long regimen of

philosophy had enabled the sage to do. This conference Miss Jemima soon

interrupted by a direct appeal to the Doctor respecting the number of

years (even without any previous and more violent incident) that the

world could possibly withstand its own wear and tear.

"Ma'am," said the Doctor, reluctantly summoned away, to look at a

passage in some prophetic periodical upon that interesting

subject--"ma'am, it is very hard that you should make one remember the

end of the world, since, in conversing with you, one's natural

temptation is to forget its existence."

Miss Jemima blushed scarlet. Certainly that deceitful, heartless

compliment justified all her contempt for the male sex; and yet, such is

human blindness, it went far to redeem all mankind in her credulous and

too confiding soul.

"He is about to propose," sighed Miss Jemima.

"Giacomo," said Riccabocca, as he drew on his nightcap, and stepped

majestically into the four-posted bed. "I think we shall get that boy

for the garden now!"

Thus each spurred his hobby, or drove her car, round the Hazeldean

whirligig.

(_To be continued._)

ON BIRDS, BALLOONS, AND BOLUSES.

The bird of ÆSCULAPIUS ought, certainly, to have been a goose; for

"Quack, quack, quack," should be the great motto of medicine. One

professor invents an ointment for other people's bad legs, which keeps

him comfortably on his own, while another makes a harvest of every

body's corn, and a third publishes a pill to smooth the pillow of every

invalid, or a bolus to render his bolster bearable. In another phase of

quackery, we find specifics for the hair recommended to those who are

ready to take any nonsense into their heads, and will boldly stand "the

hazard of the dye," in the vain hope that the gray, indicating the

twilight or winter time of life, may be exchanged for the dark, brown

tints of summer, or autumn at the latest; and we are constantly being

invited to "remove our baldness" in advertisements, which we know to be

the very essence of balderdash.

Quackery, however, seems to be successful in some cases, for the public

will swallow any thing from a puff to a pill, from music to medicine,

from a play to a plaster, and there is no doubt that (to paraphrase

MACBETH, when speaking of the possibility that Birnam Wood being come to

Dunsinane:)

"If BARNUM would but come to Drury Lane,"

he would, by his force of quackery, make that pay him which has paid no

one else during the last quarter of a century. Such is the spirit of the

age, that, reading the accounts from America relative to our own

_protégée_, JENNY LIND, we are disposed to think that the nightingale is

being made a goose of in the United States--so vast is the amount of

quackery with which her name is just now identified.

As there is good to be got from every evil, we are justified in

expecting that the puff and quack malady will cure itself, and if things

are likely to mend when they get to the worst, we may congratulate

ourselves upon humbug having reached almost the antipodes of sense and

propriety. The balloon mania has already nearly exhausted the utmost

resources of absurdity; for M. POITEVIN on a donkey--how very like

putting butter upon bacon! has failed to attract, and three or four

women suspended in the air are now necessary to tempt the curiosity of

the Parisian public when a balloon ascends from the Hippodrome. We

expect to hear next that POITEVIN intends going up attached to the

balloon by the hair of his head, for he seems quite silly enough to

become the victim of such a very foolish attachment.--_Punch._

CAROL FOR THE NEW YEAR.

BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

The flying cloud, the frosty light.

The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

"Ring out the old, ring in the new,

Ring, happy bells, across the snow,

The Year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

"Ring out the grief that saps the mind,

For those that here we see no more;

Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

"Ring out a slowly dying cause,

And ancient forms of party strife;

Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

"Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

The faithless coldness of the times;

Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

"Ring out false pride in place and blood,

The civic slander and the spite;

Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of God.

"Ring out the shapes of foul disease,

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace."

THE EDIBLE BIRDS'-NESTS OF CHINA.

Among the various articles exposed for sale to the natives, in the

innumerable streets of Canton, the edible birds'-nests deserve especial

notice. They owe their celebrity only to the whimsical luxury of the

Chinese, and are brought principally from Java and Sumatra, though they

are found on most of the rocky islets of the Indian Archipelago.

The nest is the habitation of a small swallow, named (from the

circumstance of having an edible house) _hirundo esculenta_. They are

composed of a mucilaginous substance, but as yet have never been

analyzed with sufficient accuracy to show the constituents. Externally,

they resemble ill-concocted, fibrous isinglass, and are of a white

color, inclining to red. Their thickness is little more than that of a

silver spoon, and the weight from a quarter to half an ounce.

When dry, they are brittle, and wrinkled; the size is nearly that of a

goose's egg. Those that are dry, white, and clean, are the most

valuable. They are packed in bundles, with split rattans run through

them to preserve the shape. Those procured after the young are fledged

are not salable in China.

The quality of the nests, varies according to the situation and extent

of the caves, and the time at which they are taken. If procured before

the young are fledged, the nests are of the best kind; if they contain

eggs only, they are still valuable; but, if the young are in the nests,

or have left them, the whole are then nearly worthless, being

dark-colored, streaked with blood, and intermixed with feathers and

dirt.

These nests are procurable twice every year; the best are found in deep,

damp caves, which, if not injured, will continue to produce

indefinitely. It was once thought that the caves near the sea-coast were

the most productive; but some of the most profitable yet found, are

situated fifty miles in the interior. This fact seems to be against the

opinion, that the nests are composed of the spawn of fish, or of

_bêche-de-mer_.

The method of procuring these nests is not unattended with danger. Some

of the caves are so precipitous, that no one, but those accustomed to

the employment from their youth, can obtain the nests, being only

approachable by a perpendicular descent of many hundred feet, by ladders

of bamboo and rattan, over a sea rolling violently against the rocks.

When the mouth of the cave is attained, the perilous task of taking the

nests must often be performed by torch-light, by penetrating into

recesses of the rock, where the slightest slip would be instantly fatal

to the adventurers, who see nothing below them but the turbulent surf,

making its way into the chasms of the rock--such is the price paid to

gratify luxury.

After the nests are obtained, they are separated from feathers and dirt,

are carefully dried and packed, and are then fit for the market. The

Chinese, who are the only people that purchase them for their own use,

bring them in junks to this market, where they command extravagant

prices; the best, or _white_ kind, often being worth four thousand

dollars per pecul,[19] which is nearly twice their weight in silver. The

middling kind is worth from twelve to eighteen hundred, and the worst,

or those procured after fledging, one hundred and fifty to two hundred

dollars per pecul. The majority of the best kind are sent to Pekin, for

the use of the court.

[Footnote 19: A Chinese weight, equal to 133-1/2 lbs. avoirdupois.]

It appears, therefore, that this curious dish is only an article of

expensive luxury among the Chinese; the Japanese do not use it at all,

and how the former people acquired the habit of indulging in it, is only

less singular than their persevering in it.

They consider the edible bird's-nest as a great stimulent, tonic, and

aphrodisiac, but its best quality, perhaps, is its being perfectly

harmless. The labor bestowed to render it fit for the table is enormous;

every feather, stick, or impurity of any kind, is carefully removed; and

then, after undergoing many washings and preparations, it is made into a

soft, delicious jelly. The sale of birds'-nests is a monopoly with all

the governments in whose dominions they are found. About two hundred and

fifty thousand peculs, at a value of one million four hundred thousand

dollars, are annually brought to Canton. These come from the islands of

Java, Sumatra, Macassar, and those of the Sooloo group. Java alone sends

about thirty thousand pounds, mostly of the first quality, estimated at

seventy thousand dollars.

I am indebted for much information on this curious article of commerce,

to the captain of a Java ship, a very well informed man, trading

regularly to China, who had large quantities on board, and whose wife, a

native of that country, to satisfy my curiosity, prepared a dinner for

me of Chinese dishes, including the bird's-nest and the sea-slug, both

of which I partook of, and found them very palatable.--_Berncastle's

Voyage to China._

THE PASSION FOR COLLECTING BOOKS.

Of all the passions to which the human mind can surrender itself, there

is none more absorbing than the mania of book-collecting. Let those

speak honestly who have indulged in it. It is a species of _bulimia_--an

insatiable appetite, which "grows by what it feeds on." I have purchased

my experience of this matter rather dearly, having at one period

occupied much time, and laid out more money than I like to think of, in

forming a select and curious library. My books formed my chief solace

and amusement during many years of an active and unprofitable

professional life. The pressure of pecuniary difficulties forced me to

part with them, and taught me practically, though not pleasantly, the

vast distinction between buying and selling. It was something to see

placarded in imposing type, "Catalogue of the valuable and select

library of a gentleman, containing many rare and curious editions." But,

alas! the sum produced was scarcely a third of the intrinsic value, and

less than half of the original cost. There have been instances--but they

are "few and far between"--where libraries have been sold at a premium.

Take for an example the collection of Dr. Farmer, of Emmanuel College,

Cambridge, singularly rich in Shakspearian authorities and black-letter

lore, which produced above £2200, and was supposed to have cost the

owner not more than £500. Many were presents. When you get the character

of a collector, a stray gift often drops in, and scarce volumes find

their way to your shelves, which the quondam owners, uninitiated in

bibliomania, know not the worth of. I once purchased an excellent copy

of the quarto "Hamlet," of 1611, of an unsuspecting bibliopolist, for

ten shillings; my conscience smote me, but the temptation was

irresistible.[20] The best copy in existence of the Caxtonian edition of

Gower's "De Confessione Amantis," fol., 1483, one of the rarest among

printed books, when found perfect, was purchased by a Dublin bookseller,

at Cork, with a lot of old rubbish (in 1832), for a mere trifle, and was

sold afterward for more than £300. It is now in the celebrated Spenser

Library, at Althorp. For some time after the sale of my library I was

very miserable. I had parted with old companions, every-day associates,

long-tried friends, who never quarreled with me, and never ruffled my

temper. But I knew the sacrifice was inevitable, and I became reconciled

to what I could not avoid. I thought of Roscoe, and what he must have

suffered in the winter of life, when a similar calamity fell on him, and

he was forced by worldly pressure to sell a library ten times more

valuable. I recollected, too, the affecting lines he penned on the

occasion:

[Footnote 20: This small and dingy volume, originally published at

sixpence, has sold for £12!]

"TO MY BOOKS.

(_By W. Roscoe, on parting from his Library._)

"As one, who, destined from his friends to part,

Regrets his loss, but hopes again erewhile

To share their converse, and enjoy their smile,

And tempers, as he may, affliction's dart;

Thus, loved associates, chiefs of elder art,

Teachers of wisdom, who could once beguile

My tedious hours, and lighten every toil,

I now resign you; nor with fainting heart;

For pass a few short years, or days, or hours,

And happier seasons may their dawn unfold,

And all your sacred fellowship restore;

When, freed from earth, unlimited its powers,

Mind shall with mind direct communion hold,

And kindred spirits meet to part no more."

What time does book-collecting occupy! what anxiety it excites! what

money it requires! The great use of books is to read them; the mere

possession is a fantasy. Your genuine book-collector seldom reads any

thing but catalogues, after the mania has fully possessed him, or such

bibliographical works as facilitate his purchases. If you are too poor

to buy, and want to read, there are public libraries abundantly

accessible. There is a circulating library in every village, and there

are plenty of private collections undisturbed by their owners. Subscribe

or borrow; don't _steal_! a common practice enough, notwithstanding, and

not without authority.[21] If your friends are churlish and won't lend,

and your pockets are empty, and you can't even subscribe, still you can

_think_--you must try to remember what you _have_ read, and live on your

recollections of past enjoyment, as the wife of Bath did, in old

Chaucer's tale. You'll save your eyes, too; and when you get beyond

forty-five that point is worth attending to. After all, what do we

collect for? At most, a few years' possession of what we can very well

do without. When Sir Walter Raleigh was on his way to execution, he

called for a cup of ale, and observed, "That is good drink, if a man

could only stay by it." So are rare and curious libraries good things,

if we could stay by them; but we can't. When the time comes, we must go,

and then our books, and pictures, and prints, and furniture, and China

go, too; and are knocked down by the smirking, callous auctioneer, with

as little remorse as a butcher knocks a bullock on the head, or a

poulterer wrings round the neck of a pullet, or a surgeon slips your arm

out of the socket, chuckling at his own skill, while you are writhing in

unspeakable agony.

[Footnote 21: "This borrow, _steal_, don't buy."--_Vide_ Childe

Harold's Pilgrimage.]

Don't collect books, and don't envy the possessors of costly libraries.

Read and recollect. Of course you have a Bible and Prayer-book. Add to

these the Pilgrim's Progress, Shakspeare, Milton, Pope, Byron (if you

like), a History of England, Greece, and Rome, Boswell's Life of

Johnson, and Napier's Peninsular War. A moderate sum will give you

these; and you possess a cabinet encyclopedia of religious, moral, and

entertaining knowledge, containing more than you want for practical

purposes, and quite as much as your brains can easily carry. Never mind

the old classics; leave them to college libraries, where they look

respectable, and enjoy long slumbers. The monthly periodicals will place

you much more _au courant_ with the conversation and acquirements of the

day. Add, if you can, a _ledger_, with a good sound balance on the right

side, and you will be a happier, and perhaps, a better read man, than

though you were uncontrolled master of the Bodleian, the National

Library of France, and the innumerable tomes of the Vatican into the

bargain.

Don't collect books, I tell you again emphatically. See what in my case

it led to--"one modern instance more." Collect wisdom; collect

experience; above all, collect _money_--not as our friend Horace

recommends, "quocunque modo," but by honest industry alone. And when you

have done this, remember it was my advice, and be grateful.

What I say here applies to private collecting only. Far be it from me to

discourage great public libraries, which, under proper arrangements, are

great public benefits; useful to society, and invaluable to literature.

But as they are regulated at present, fenced round with so many

restrictions, and accessible chiefly to privileged dignitaries, or

well-paid officials, who seldom trouble them, they are little better

than close boroughs, with a very narrow constituency.

A BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS.

A bachelor's life is not without its attractions. Freedom of will and

action are, at least, among a bachelor's joys; but experience has taught

me that, after a certain time, such absence from restraint resolves

itself into that species of liberty which Macaulay touchingly designates

"the desolate freedom of the wild ass."

I came to London about ten years ago to study for the bar. I was entered

at the Inner Temple, and, as far as the dinner-eating went, I can safely

assert that I was an ornament to the Hall. I adorned the margin of my

copy of "Burn's Justice" with caricatures of the benchers; and my

friends appended facetious notes to my "Blackstone." I went to the

masquerade in my gown; and strolled down to my law-tutor's chambers for

the ostensible purpose of reading, about two P.M., daily. In short, I

went through the usual routine of young gentlemen of ardent temperaments

and competent means when they begin life: like most men, also, the pace

of my fast days moderated in due time. About the time of my call to the

bar I began to study. My old companions, finding that I was becoming,

what they were pleased to designate, "slow," dropped off. I entered into

the solitude of lodgings, near Brunswick-square, and read eagerly. Still

I found it necessary to relieve my legal studies with copious draughts

from all the great fountains of inspiration, and I fear, that even when

I was endeavoring to crack the hardest passages of "Blackstone," my

ideas continually reverted either to the grace of Montaigne, the wit of

Congreve and Pope, the sparkle and depth of Shakspeare, or the massive

grandeur of Milton. By degrees my books became my dearest, my only

associates. Though as a companion and friend I had decidedly fallen off,

I improved as a lodger: I kept regular hours, and paid all my bills

punctually.

My landlady grew confidential, in proportion as I grew domestic. She

favored me with her history from the time of her birth. I knew how she

took the measles; the precise effect of her visit to a vaccine

establishment; the origin of a scar over her left eyebrow; the income of

her brother in Somersetshire; the number of kittens which her cat

annually produced; the character she gave her last servant; and the fond

affection she had lavished upon a brute of a husband. These matters,

however, were intrusted to me in confidence; and, to use an original

phrase, they shall be buried with me in my grave! I had no occasion to

repay my landlady's confidence with my own, because she paid herself. I

could keep no secrets from her. She knew the contents of my trunks,

desks, and drawers, as well as I did--better, for, if I lost any little

article, I never, perhaps, missed it. I was seldom allowed to wear a

pair of dress gloves more than once: when a collar was not to be had,

"them washerwomen was," I was told, "always a-losing of something or

other." I am sure the flavor of my tea, the quality of my mutton, and

the excellence of my coals, were no secrets to my landlady: but she had

many good qualities, so I ate what she left me in silence and in peace.

Despite my but too prying landlady, however, I got on very well by

myself; and, like men who live alone, I became egotistic and lazy. I

thought of the weaver at his loom; the lawyer burning the midnight

composition over his brief; the author, with his throbbing temples, hard

at work; and I rejoiced quietly by my fire and in my books. There was a

selfish pleasure in the conviction that my case was so much better than

that of thousands of the toilers and strugglers of the earth. This I

found a capital philosophy for every day in the year--except one. On

that day my landlady entered my room, and, with a few words, blighted my

happiness, and made me miserable as the veriest outcast.

"Beg pardon for interrupting you," the worthy soul said, "but I wish to

know whether you dine at home on Christmas Day. Though, of course, you

will be with your friends--but I thought I might as well make sure."

The good woman must have noticed my confusion. I stammered out something

in the most awkward manner; but contrived to make her understand, in the

end, that I _should_ dine at home.

"On _Christmas_ Day, sir?" the woman repeated, with particular emphasis.

"I'm talking about Christmas Day, when every gentleman dines with his

friends and relations; leastways, all the gentlemen _I_ ever had, have

done so."

"My friends live in Scotland, where Christmas is no festival," I

replied, rather relieved at the opportunity of explaining my solitary

condition.

"Well, dear a-me!" my landlady went on to say, "that's very awkward,

very awkward, sir, indeed. Dear, dear a-me, what shall I do? My table,

down stairs, won't hold any thing like fifteen!"

Fifteen persons to greet my landlady on Christmas Day, and not a soul to

break bread with me! I saw, at once, the tendency of her observation as

to the size of her table; and willingly offered to vacate my room for

her great annual festivity. This offer was eagerly accepted, and once

more I was left to my solitude. From that moment my fortitude deserted

me. I knew that the weaver would enjoy his Christmas feast; that the

lawyer would throw aside his brief, and, abating his professional

solemnity, would, on Christmas Day, make merry; and that the author

would leave the pen in the ink-stand to be jolly during a great portion

of those twenty-four happy hours. Let me confess that I felt sick at

heart--stupidly and profoundly dejected.

On Christmas eve the maid came into my room, and, with a beaming face,

begged that I would allow her to decorate it with holly: she said

nothing about the misletoe which she carried under her apron, but _I_

saw her dextrously fasten it above the door-way. I was very lonely that

evening. The six square yards of space which I occupied were the only

six square yards in the neighborhood not occupied by laughing human

creatures. The noise of my landlady and her relatives below made me

savage; and when she sent up the servant to ask whether I would like to

step below, and take a stir at the pudding, my "no!" was given in such a

decided tone that the poor girl vanished with miraculous celerity.

The knocks at the street-door were incessant. First it was the turkey,

then the apples, oranges, and chestnuts, for dessert, then the new

dinner-set, then the sirloin. Each separate item of the approaching

feast was hailed with smothered welcomes by the women, who rushed into

the passage to examine and greet it. Presently a knock sounded through

the house, that had to me a solemn and highly unpleasant sound, though

it could not have differed from the preceding knocks. I listened to the

opening of the door, and heard my landlady, in a sympathetic tone of

voice, declare, that "it was only the first-floor's steak; poor fellow!"

My loneliness, then, was a theme of pitiful consideration with the

people below! I was very angry, and paced my room with rapid strides. I

thought I would wear cotton-wool for the next four-and-twenty hours, to

shut out the din of general enjoyment. I tried, after a short time, to

compose myself to my book; but, just as I was about to take it down from

the shelf, the servant, having occasion to enter my room, informed me in

a high state of chuckling excitement, that "missis's friends was a-going

to light up a snap-dragon!" and the shouts that burst upon me a few

minutes afterward confirmed the girl's report. I was now fairly savage,

and, having called for my candle, in a loud, determined voice, went to

bed, with the firm conviction that the revelers below were my sworn

enemies, and with the resolution of giving warning on the following

morning--yes, on Christmas Day.

Brooding over the revenge I promised myself for the following morning, I

went to sleep, and dreamed of the Arctic solitudes and the Sahara

Desert. I was standing at a dry well, surrounded, on all sides, by

endless sand, when a loud rumbling noise broke upon my dream. I awoke,

and heard a heavy footstep passing my chamber. I started from my bed,

flung open my door, and shouted, "Who's there?"

"It's only me, sir, a-going for to put the puddin' in the copper," said

an uncommonly cheerful voice.

Here was a delightful opening scene of my Christmas Day. I believe I

muttered a wish, that my landlady's pudding had been in a locality where

it might boil at any time without disturbing any lodger.

That morning I rang four times for my hot water, three times for my

boots, and was asked to eat cold ham instead of my usual eggs, because

no room could be spared at the fire to boil them. I occupied my

landlady's back parlor, and was intruded upon, every minute, because a

thousand things wanted "for up-stairs" were left in odd nooks and

corners of the room. I had no easy-chair. My books were all "put away,"

save a copy of "Jean Racine," which I had taken down by mistake for a

volume of _the_ "Racine." My breakfast-table could not be cleared for

three hours after I had finished my meal. I was asked to allow a

saucepan to be placed upon my fire. It was suggested to me that I might

dine at two o'clock, in order to have my repast over and cleared away

before the feast up-stairs began. I assented to this proposition with

ill-feigned carelessness--although my blood boiled (like the pudding) at

the impertinence of the request. But I was too proud to allow my

landlady the least insight into the real state of my feelings. Poor

soul! it was not her fault that I had no circle within my reach; yet I

remember that throughout the day I regarded her as the impersonation of

fiendish malice.

After I had dined she came to ask me if there was any thing she could do

for me? I regarded her intrusion only as one prompted by a vulgar wish

to show me her fine ribbons and jaunty cap, and curtly told her that I

did not require her services. To relieve myself of the load of vexation

which oppressed me, I strolled into the streets; but I was soon driven

back to my landlady's little parlor--the gayety that resounded from

every house, and the deserted streets without, were even more annoying

than her marked attention. I sat down once more, and doggedly read the

heavy verse of Jean. I called for my tea; and, in reply, I was informed

that I should have it directly the dinner was over up-stairs. My

patience was giving way rapidly. My tea was produced, however, after a

considerable delay; and I then thought I would make a desperate attempt

to forget the jovial scenes that were going forward in every nook and

corner of the country--save in my desolate, sombre, close back parlor. I

swung my feet upon the fender, leisurely filled the bowl of my

meerschaum, and was about to mix my first fragrant cup, when that

horrible servant again made her appearance, holding a dark steaming lump

of something, on a plate.

"Please, sir, missis's compliments, and p'raps you'd accept this bit of

Christmas puddin'?"

I could have hurled it, plate and all, into the yard below. I saw myself

at once an object of profound pity and charity to the company above.

Although I am extremely fond of that marvelous compound of good things

eaten with brandy-sauce on Christmas Day, I could not have touched my

landlady's proffered plateful for any consideration. I gave a medical

reason for declining the dainty, and once more turned to my pipe and my

tea. As the white smoke curled from my mouth a waking dream stole over

me. I fancied that I was Robinson Crusoe: my parrot dead, and my dog run

away. I cursed fate that had consigned me to a solitude. I recited a few

verses from Keats aloud, and the sound of my voice seemed strange and

harsh. I poked the fire, and whistled, and hummed--to restore myself to

the full enjoyment, or rather to the misery, of my senses. The tea on

that evening only was green tea. I felt its effects. I grew nervous and

irritable.

The servant once more invaded my seclusion--what could she want now?

"Please, sir, have you done with the tea-things? I'm a-going to wash 'em

for up-stairs."

"Take them;" I replied, not very gracefully. The servant thanked me, as

I thought, with impertinent good-nature, and cleared the table.

About this time, sounds of merriment began to resound from the Christmas

party. The shrill laughter of children was mingled with the hoarse

guffaws of their parents; and the house shook at intervals with the

romps of both parties. In the height of my desolate agony it gave me no

little consolation to think that those children who were at their games,

would probably dance to the tune of a tutor's cane at no distant

interval. Such was my envy at the exuberant mirth that reached me in

fitful gusts as the doors were opened or shut, that I felt all sorts of

uncharitableness. Presently there was a lull in the laughter-storm. I

began to hope that the party was about to break up. A gentle footstep

was audible, descending the stairs. There was a smothered call for Mary.

Mary obeyed the summons; and the following dialogue was whispered in the

passage:

"Did he eat the pudding?"

"No, mum--he was afraid of it: and he was _so_ cross!"

"Cross! I was going to ask him to join us: do you think he would, Mary?"

"Bless you, no, mum! _He_ jine! I think I see him a-jining! Nothing

pleases him. He's too high for any body. I never see the likes of him!"

The feet then ascended the stairs, and after another pause of a few

moments, the din of merriment was resumed. I was furious at the sympathy

which my loneliness created. I could bear the laughter and shouting of

the Christmas party no longer, and once, more with a determination of

having my revenge, I went to bed. I lay there for several hours; and did

not close my eyes before I had vowed solemnly that I would not pass

another Christmas Day in solitude, and in lodgings--and I didn't.

In the course of the following year, I married the lovely daughter of

Mr. Sergeant Shuttleface. My angel was a most astonishing piano-forte

performer, and copied high art pictures in Berlin wool with marvelous

skill, but was curiously ignorant of housekeeping; so, we spent the

beginning of our wedded bliss in furnished apartments in order that she

might gain experience gradually.

On one point, however, I was resolute; I would NOT spend a second

Christmas Day in lodgings. I took a house, therefore, toward the close

of the year, and repeatedly urged my wife to vacate our apartments that

we might set up for ourselves. This responsibility she shrunk from with

unremitting reluctance. There were besides innumerable delays. Carpets

wouldn't fit; painters wouldn't work above one day a week: paper-hangers

hung fire; and blacksmiths, charging by the day, did no more than one

day's work in six. Time wore on. December came, advanced, and it seemed

to be my fate to undergo another Christmas torment. However, to my

inexpressible joy, every thing was announced to be in readiness on the

twenty-fourth. My sposa had by this time learned enough of housekeeping

to feel strong enough for its duties, and on Christmas Eve we left our

rooms in Bedford-square, and took our Christmas pudding, in a cab, to my

suburban villa near Fulham. And a merry Christmas we made of it! I don't

think I ever ate a better pudding, though I have eaten a good many since

then.

CRAZED.

BY SYDNEY YENDYS.

"The Spring again hath started on the course

Wherein she seeketh Summer thro' the earth.

I will arise and go upon my way.

It may be that the leaves of Autumn hid

His footsteps from me; it may be the snows.

"He is not dead. There was no funeral;

I wore no weeds. He must be in the Earth,

Oh where is he, that I may come to him

And he may charm the fever of my brain.

"Oh, Spring, I hope that thou wilt be my friend.

Thro' the long weary summer I toiled sore;

Having much sorrow of the envious woods

And groves that burgeoned round me where I came,

And when I would have seen him, shut him in.

"Also the Honeysuckle and wild bine

Being in love did hide him from my sight;

The Ash-tree bent above him; vicious weeds

Withheld me; Willows in the River-wind

Hissed at me, by the twilight, waving wands.

"Also, for I have told thee, oh dear Spring,

Thou knowest after I had sunk outworn

In the late summer gloom till Autumn came,

I looked up in the light of burning Woods

And entered on my wayfare when I saw

Gold on the ground and glory in the trees.

"And all my further journey thou dost know

My toils and outcries as the lusty world

Grew thin to winter; and my ceaseless feet

In Vales, and on stark Hills, till the first snow

Fell, and the large rain of the latter leaves.

"I hope that thou wilt be my friend, oh Spring,

And give me service of thy winds and streams.

It needs must be that he will hear thy voice

For thou art much as I was when he woo'd

And won me long ago beside the Dee.

"If he should bend above you, oh ye streams

And any where you look up into eyes

And think the star of love hath found her mate

And know, because of day, they are not stars;

Oh streams, they are the eyes of my beloved!

Oh murmur as I murmured once of old

And he will stay beside you, oh ye streams,

And I shall clasp him when my day is come.

"Likewise I charge thee, west wind, zephyr wind,

If thou shalt hear a voice more sweet than thine

About a sunset rose-tree deep in June,

Sweeter than thine, oh wind, when thou dost leap

Into the tree with passion, putting by

The maiden leaves that ruffle round their dame,

And singest and art silent--having dropt

In pleasure on the bosom of the rose--

Oh wind, it is the voice of my beloved.

Wake, wake, and bear me to the voice, oh wind!

"Moreover I do think that the spring birds

Will be my willing servants. Wheresoe'er

There mourns a hen-bird that hath lost her mate

Her will I tell my sorrow--weeping hers.

"And if it be a Lark whereto I speak

She shall be ware of how my Love went up

Sole singing to the cloud; and evermore

I hear his song, but him I can not see.

"And if it be a female Nightingale

That pineth in the depth of silent woods,

I also will complain to her that night

Is still. And of the creeping of the winds,

And of the sullen trees, and of the lone

Dumb Dark. And of the listening of the Stars.

What have we done, what have we done, oh Night!

"Therefore, oh Love, the summer trees shall be

My watch-towers. Wheresoe'er thou liest bound

I will be there. For ere the Spring be past

I will have preached my dolor through the Land,

And not a bird but shall have all my woe.

--And whatsoever hath my woe hath me.

"I charge you, oh ye flowers fresh from the dead,

Declare if ye have seen him. You pale flowers

Why do you quake and hang the head like me?

"You pallid flowers, why do ye watch the dust

And tremble? Ah, you met him in your caves

And shrank out shuddering on the wintry air.

"Snowdrops, you need not gaze upon the ground,

Fear not. He will not follow ye; for then

I should be happy who am doomed to woe.

"Only I bid ye say that he is there,

That I may know my grief is to be borne

And all my fate is but the common lot."

She sat down on a bank of Primroses

Swayed to and fro, as in a wind of Thought

That moaned about her, murmuring alow,

"The common lot, oh for the common lot."

Thus spoke she, and behold a gust of grief

Smote her. As when at night the dreaming wind

Starts up enraged, and shakes the Trees and sleeps.

"Oh, early Rain, oh passion of strong crying,

Say dost thou weep, oh Rain, for him or me?

Alas, thou also goest to the Earth

And enterest as one brought home by fear.

"Rude with much woe, with expectation wild,

So dashest thou the doors and art not seen.

Whose burial did they speak of in the skies?

"I would that there were any grass-green grave

Where I might stand and say, 'Here lies my Love.'

And sigh, and look down to him, thro' the Earth,

And look up thro' the clearing skies, and smile."

Then the day passed from bearing up the Heavens

The sky descended on the Mountain-tops

Unclouded; and the stars embower'd the Night.

Darkness did flood the Valley; flooding her.

And when the face of her great grief was hid

Her callow heart, that like a nestling bird

Clamored, sank down with plaintive pipe and slow

Her cry was like a strange fowl in the dark;

"Alas, Night," said she; then like a faint ghost,

As tho' the owl did hoot upon the hills,

"Alas, Night." On the murky silence came

Her voice like a white sea-mew on the waste

Of the dark deep a-sudden seen and lost

Upon the barren expanse of mid-seas

Black with the Thunder. "Alas, Night," said she,

"Alas, Night." Then the stagnant season lay

From hill to hill. But when the waning Moon

Rose, she began with hasty step to run

The wintry mead; a wounded bird that seeks

To hide its head when all the trees are bare.

Silent--for all her strength did bear her dread--

Silent, save when with bursting heart she cried,

Like one who wrestles in the dark with fiends.

"Alas, Night." With a dim, wild voice of fear

As tho' she saw her sorrow by the moon.

The morning dawns; and earlier than the Lark

She murmureth, sadder than the Nightingale.

"I would I could believe me in that sleep

When on our bridal morn I thought him dead,

And dreamed and shrieked and woke upon his breast.

"Oh God I can not think that I am blind.

I think I see the beauty of the world.

Perchance but I am blind, and he is near.

"Even as I felt his arm before I woke,

And clinging to his bosom called on him,

And wept, and knew, and knew not it was he.

"I do thank God I think that I am blind.

There is a darkness thick about my heart

And all I seem to see is as a dream.

My lids have closed, and have shut in the world.

"Oh Love, I pray thee take me by the hand;

I stretch my hand, oh Love, and quake with dread

I thrust it, and I know not where. Ah me,

What shall not seize the dark hand of the blind?

"How know I, being blind, I am on Earth?

I am in Hell, in Hell, oh Love! I feel

There is a burning gulf before my feet!

I dare not stir and at my back the fiends!

I wind my arms, my arms that demons scorch,

Round this poor breast and all that thou shouldst save,

From rapine. Husband, I cry out from Hell;

There is a gulf. They seize my flesh. (She shrieked.)

"I will sink down here where I stand. All round

How know I but the burning pit doth yawn?

Here will I shrink and shrink to no more space

Than my feet cover. (She wept.) So much up

My mortal touch makes honest. Oh my Life,

My Lord, my Husband! Fool, that cryest in vain!

Ah, Angel! What hast thou to do with Hell?

"And yet I do not ask thee, oh my Love,

To lead me to thee where thou art in Heaven

Only I would that thou shouldst be my star,

And whatsoever Fate thy beams dispense

I am content. It shall be good to me.

"But tho' I may not see thee, oh my Love,

Yea tho' mine eyes return and miss thee still,

And thou shouldst take another shape than thine,

Have pity on my lot, and lead me hence

Where I may think of thee. To the old fields

And wonted valleys where we once were blest.

Oh Love all day I hear them, out of sight,

This far Home where the Past abideth yet

Beside the stream that prates of other days.

"My punishment is more than I can bear.

My sorrow groweth big unto my time.

Oh Love, I would that I were mad. Oh Love,

I do not ask that thou shouldst change my Fate,

I will endure; but oh my Life, my Lord,

Being as thou art a throned saint in Heaven,

If thou wouldst touch me and enchant my sense,

And daze the anguish of my heart with dreams,

And change the stop of grief; and turn my soul

A little devious from the daily march

Of Reason, and the path of conscious woe

And all the truth of Life! Better, oh Love,

In fond delusion to be twice betrayed,

Than know so well and bitterly as I.

Let me be mad. (She wept upon her knees.)

"I will arise and seek thee. This is Heaven.

I sat upon a cloud. It bore me in.

It is not so, you heavens! I am not dead.

Alas! There have been pangs as strong as Death.

It would be sweet to know that I am dead.

"Even now I feel I am not of this world

Which sayeth day and night, 'For all but thee,'

And poureth its abundance night and day,

And will not feed the hunger in my heart.

"I tread upon a dream, myself a dream,

I can not write my Being on the world,

The moss grows unrespective where I tread.

"I can not lift mine eyes to the sunshine,

Night is not for my slumber. Not for me

Sink down the dark inexorable hours.

"I would not keep or change the weary day;

I have no pleasure in the needless night

And toss and wail that other lids may sleep.

"I am a very Leper in the Earth.

Her functions cast me out; her golden wheels

That harmless roll about unconscious Babes

Do crush me. My place knoweth me no more.

"I think that I have died, oh you sweet Heavens.

I did not see the closing of the eyes.

Perchance there is one death for all of us

Whereof we can not see the eyelids close.

"Dear Love, I do beseech thee answer me.

Dear Love, I think men's eyes behold me not.

The air is heavy on these lips that strain

To cry; I do not warm the thing I touch;

The Lake gives back no image unto me.

"I see the Heavens as one who wakes at noon

From a deep sleep. Now shall we meet again!

The Country of the blest is hid from me

Like Morn behind the Hills. The Angel smiles.

I breathe thy name. He hurleth me from Heaven.

"Now of a truth I know thou art on Earth.

Break, break the chains that hold me back from thee.

I see the race of mortal men pass by;

The great wind of their going waves my hair;

I stretch my hands, I lay my cheek to them,

In love; they stir the down upon my cheek;

I can not touch them, and they know not me.

"Oh God! I ask to live the saddest life!

I care not for it if I may but live!

I would not be among the dead, oh God!

I am not dead! oh God, I will not die!"

So throbbed the trouble of this crazed heart.

So on the broken mirror of her mind

In bright disorder shone the shatter'd World.

So, out of tune, in sympathetic chords,

Her soul is musical to brooks and birds

Winds, seasons, sunshine, flowers, and maundering trees.

Hear gently all the tale of her distress.

The heart that loved her loves not now, yet lives.

What the eye sees and the ear hears--the hand

That wooing led her thro' the rosy paths

Of girlhood, and the lenten lanes of Love,

The brow whereon she trembled her first kiss,

The lips that had sole privilege of hers,

The eyes wherein she saw the Universe,

The bosom where she slept the sleep of joy,

The voice that made it sacred to her sleep

With lustral vows; that which doth walk the World

Man among Men, is near her now. But He

Who wandered with her thro' the ways of Youth,

Who won the tender freedom of the lip,

Who took her to the bosom dedicate

And chaste with vows, who in the perfect whole

Of gracious Manhood, was the god that stood

In her young Heaven, round whom the subject stars

Circled; in whose dear train, where'er he passed

Thronged charmèd powers; at whose advancing feet

Upspringing happy seasons and sweet times

Made fond court caroling; who but moved to stir

All things submissive, which did magnify

And wane as ever with his changing will

She changed the centre of her infinite; He

In whom she worshiped Truth, and did obey

Goodness; in whose sufficient love she felt,

Fond Dreamer! the eternal smile of all

Angels and men; round whom, upon his neck,

Her thoughts did hang; whom lacking they fell down

Distract to the earth; He whom she _loved_ and who

Loved her of old--in the long days before

Chaos, the empyrean days!--(Poor heart

She phrased it so) is no more: and oh, God!

Thorough all Time and that transfigured Time

We call Eternity, will be no more.

[From the Dublin University Magazine.]

ACTORS AND THEIR SALARIES.

In all ages successful actors have been an uncommonly well paid

community. This is a substantial fact, which no one will deny, however

opinions may differ as to the comparative value of the histrionic art,

when ranked with poetry, painting, and sculpture. The actor complains of

the peculiar condition attached to his most brilliant triumphs--that

they fade with the decay of his own physical powers, and are only

perpetuated for a doubtful interval through the medium of imperfect

imitation--very often a bad copy of an original which no longer exists

to disprove the libel. In the actor's case, then, something must

certainly be deducted from posthumous renown; but this is amply balanced

by living estimation and a realized fortune. There are many instances of

great painters, poets, and sculptors (ay, and philosophers, too), who

could scarcely gain a livelihood; but we should be puzzled to name a

great actor without an enormous salary. I don't include managers in this

category. They are unlucky exceptions, and very frequently lose in

sovereignty what they had gained by service. An income of three or four

thousand per annum, _argent comptant_, carries along with it many solid

enjoyments. The actor who can command this, by laboring in his vocation,

and whose ears are continually tingling with the nightly applause of his

admirers, has no reason to consider his lot a hard one, because

posterity may assign to him in the Temple of Fame a less prominent niche

than is occupied by Milton, who, when alive, sold "Paradise Lost" for

fifteen pounds, or by Rembrandt, who was obliged to feign his own death,

before his pictures would provide him a dinner. If these instances fail

to content him, he should recollect what is recorded of "Blind Mæonides:

"Seven Grecian cities claim'd great Homer dead,

Through which the living Homer begg'd his bread."

No doubt it is a grand affair to figure in the page of history, and be

recorded among the "shining lights" of our generation. But there is good

practical philosophy in the homely proverb which says, "Solid pudding is

better than empty praise:" the reputation which wins current value

during life is more useful to the possessor than the honor which comes

after death; and which comes, as David says, in the _Rivals_, "exactly

where we can make a shift to do without it." To have our merits

appreciated two or three centuries hence, by generations yet unborn, and

to have our works, whether with the pen or pencil, admired long after

what was once our mortal substance is "stopping a beer-barrel," are very

pleasing, poetical hallucinations for all who like to indulge in them;

but the chances are, we shall know nothing of the matter, while it is

quite certain that if we do, we shall set no value on it. Posterity,

then, will be the chief gainers, and of all concerned the only party to

whom we owe no obligations. The posterity, too, which emanates from the

nineteenth century is much more likely to partake of the commercial than

the romantic character, and to hold in higher reverence the memory of an

ancestor who has left behind him £30,000 in bank stock or consols, than

of one who has only bequeathed a marble monument in "Westminster's Old

Abbey," a flourishing memoir in the "Lives of Illustrious Englishmen,"

or an epic poem in twenty-four cantos. I would not have it supposed that

I depreciate the love of posthumous fame, or those "longings after

immortality," which are powerful incentives to much that is good and

great; but I am led into this train of reasoning, by hearing it so

constantly objected as a misfortune to the actor, that his best efforts

are but fleeting shadows, and can not survive him. This, being

interpreted fairly, means that he can not gain _all_ that genius toils

for, but he has won the lion's share, and ought to be satisfied.

Formerly the actor had to contend with prejudices which stripped him of

his place in society, and degraded his profession. This was assuredly a

worse evil than perishable fame; but all this has happily passed away.

The _taboo_ is removed, and he takes his legitimate place with kindred

artists according to his pretension. His large salary excites much

wonder and more jealousy, but he is no longer exposed to the insult

which Le Kain, the Roscius of France, once received, and was obliged to

swallow as he might. Dining one day at a restaurateur's, he was accosted

by an old general officer near him. "Ah! Monsieur Le Kain, is that you!

Where have you been for some weeks--we have lost you from Paris?" "I

have been acting in the south, may it please your excellency," replied

Le Kain! "Eh bien! and how much have you earned?" "In six weeks, sir, I

have received 4000 crowns." "Diable!" exclaimed the general, twirling

his mustache with a truculent frown, "What's this I hear? A miserable

mimic, such as thou, can gain in six weeks double the sum that I, a

nobleman of twenty descents, and a Knight of St. Louis, am paid in

twelve months. _Voila une vraie infamie!_" "And at what sum, sir,"

replied Le Kain, placidly, "do you estimate the privilege of thus

addressing me?" In those days, in France, an actor was denied Christian

burial, and would have been _roué vif_ if he had presumed to put himself

on an equality with a gentleman, or dared to resent an unprovoked

outrage.

The large salaries of recent days were even surpassed among the

ancients. In Rome, Roscius, and Æsopus, his contemporary, amassed

prodigious fortunes by their professional labors. Roscius was paid at

the rate of £45 a day, amounting to more than £15,000 per annum of our

currency. He became so rich that at last he declined receiving any

salary, and acted gratuitously for several years. A modern manager would

give something to stumble on such a Roscius. No wonder he was fond of

his art, and unwilling to relinquish its exercise. Æsopus at an

entertainment produced a single dish, stuffed with singing birds, which,

according to Dr. Arbuthnot's computation, must have cost about £4883

sterling. He left his son a fortune amounting to £200,000 British money.

It did not remain long in the family, as, by the evidence of Horace and

Pliny, he was a notorious spendthrift, and rapidly dissipated the honest

earnings of his father.

Decimus Laberius, a Roman knight, was induced, or, as some say,

compelled, by Julius Cæsar, to appear in one of his own mimes, an

inferior kind of dramatic composition, very popular among the Romans,

and in which he was unrivaled, until supplanted by Publius Syrus. The

said Laberius was consoled for the degradation by a good round sum, as

Cæsar gave him 20,000 crowns and a gold ring, for this his first and

only appearance on any stage. Neither was he "alone in his glory," being

countenanced by Furius Leptinus and Quintus Calpenus, men of senatorial

rank, who, on the authority of Suetonius, fought in the ring for a

prize. I can't help thinking the money had its due weight with Laberius.

He was evidently vain, and in his prologue, preserved by Macrobius, and

translated by Goldsmith, he laments his age and unfitness quite as

pathetically as the disgrace he was subjected to. "Why did you not ask

me to do this," says he, "when I was young and supple, and could have

acquitted myself with credit?" But, according to Macrobius, the whole

business was a regular contract, with the terms settled beforehand.

"Laberium asperæ libertatis equitem Romanum, Cæsar _quingentis millibus

invitavit_, ut prodiret in scenam." Good encouragement for a single

amateur performance!

Garrick retired at the age of 60, having been 35 years connected with

the stage. He left behind him above £100,000 in money, besides

considerable property in houses, furniture, and articles of vertû. He

lived in the best society, and entertained liberally. But he had no

family to bring up or provide for, and was systematically prudent in

expenditure, although charitable, to the extreme of liberality, when

occasion required. Edmund Kean might have realized a larger fortune than

Garrick, had his habits been equally regular. George Frederick Cooke, in

many respects a kindred genius to Kean, threw away a golden harvest in

vulgar dissipation. The sums he received in America alone would have

made him independent. John Kemble and Mrs. Siddons both retired rich,

though less so than might have been expected. She had through life heavy

demands on her earnings, and he, in evil hour, invested much of his

property in Covent-garden Theatre. Young left the stage in the full

zenith of his reputation, with undiminished powers and a handsome

independence. Macready is about doing the same, under similar

circumstances. Liston and Munden were always accounted two of the

richest actors of their day, and William Farren, almost "the last of the

Romans," is generally reputed to be "a warm man." Long may he continue

so! Miss Stephens, both the Keans, father and son, Macready, Braham, and

others, have frequently received £50 a night for a long series of

performances. Tyrone Power would probably have gone beyond them all,

such was his increasing popularity and attraction, when the untimely

catastrophe occurred which ended his career, and produced a vacancy _we_

are not likely to see filled up.

John Bull has ever been remarkable for his admiration of foreign

artists. The largest sums bestowed on native talent bear no comparison

with the salaries given to French and Italian singers, dancers, and

musicians. An importation from "beyond seas" will command its weight in

gold. This love of exotic prodigies is no recent passion, but older than

the days of Shakspeare. Trinculo, in the _Tempest_, thus apostrophizes

the recumbent monster, Caliban, whom he takes for a fish: "Were I in

England now (as I was once), and had but this fish painted, not a

holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this

monster make a man--any strange beast there makes a man."

Catalani, Pasta, Sontag, Malibran, Grisi, Taglioni, Rubini, Mario,

Tamburini, Lablache, _cum multis aliis_, have received their thousands,

and tens of thousands; but, until the Jenny Lind mania left every thing

else at an immeasurable distance, Paganini obtained larger sums than had

ever before been received in modern times. He came with a prodigious

flourish of trumpets, a vast continental reputation, and a few personal

legends of the most exciting character. It was said that he had killed

his wife in a fit of jealousy, and made fiddle-strings of her

intestines; and that the devil had composed a sonata for him in a dream,

as he formerly did for Tartini. When you looked at him, you thought all

this, and more, very likely to be true. His talent was almost

supernatural; while his "get up" and "mise en scene" were original and

unearthly, such as those who saw him will never forget, and those who

did not can with difficulty conceive. The individual and his performance

were equally unlike any thing that had ever been exhibited before. No

picture or description can convey an adequate idea of his entrance and

his exit. To walk simply on and off the stage appears a commonplace

operation enough, but Paganini did this in a manner peculiar to himself,

which baffled all imitation. While I am writing of it, his first

appearance in Dublin, at the great Musical Festival of 1830, presents

itself to "my mind's eye," as an event of yesterday. When he placed

himself in position to commence, the crowded audience were hushed into a

death-like silence. His black habiliments, his pale, attenuated visage,

powerfully expressive; his long, silky, raven tresses, and the flash of

his dark eye, as he shook them back over his shoulders; his thin,

transparent fingers, unusually long, the mode in which he grasped his

bow, and the tremendous length to which he drew it; and, climax of all,

his sudden manner of placing both bow and instrument under his arm,

while he threw his hands behind him, elevated his head, his features

almost distorted with a smile of ecstasy, and his very hair instinct

with life, at the conclusion of an unparalleled fantasia! And there he

stood immovable and triumphant, while the theatre rang again with peals

on peals of applause, and shouts of the wildest enthusiasm! None who

witnessed this will ever forget it, nor are they likely again to see the

same effect produced by mere mortal agency.

In Dublin, in 1830, Paganini saved the Musical Festival, which would

have failed but for his individual attraction, although supported by an

army of talent in every department. All was done in first rate style,

not to be surpassed. There were Braham, Madame Stockhausen, H. Phillips,

De Begnis, &c., &c.; Sir G. Smart for conductor, Cramer, Mori, and T.

Cooke for leaders, Lindley, Nicholson, Anfossi, Lidel Herrmann, Pigott,

and above ninety musicians in the orchestra, and more than one hundred

and twenty singers in the chorus. The festival was held in the

Theatre-Royal, then, as now, the only building in Dublin capable of

accommodating the vast number which alone could render such a

speculation remunerative. The theatre can hold two thousand six hundred

persons, all of whom may see and hear, whether in the boxes, pit, or

galleries. The arrangement was, to have oratorios kept distinct on

certain mornings, and miscellaneous concerts on the evenings of other

days. The concerts were crushers, but the first oratorio was decidedly a

break down. The committee became alarmed; the expenses were enormous,

and heavy liabilities stared them in the face. There was no time to be

lost, and at the second oratorio, duly announced, there stood Paganini,

in front of the orchestra, violin in hand, on an advanced platform,

overhanging the pit, not unlike orator Henley's tub, as immortalized by

the poet. Between the acts of the Messiah and the Creation, he fiddled

"the Witches at the Great Walnut Tree of Benevento," with other equally

appropriate interpolations, to the ecstatic delight of applauding

thousands, who cared not a pin for Haydn or Handel, but came to hear

Paganini alone; and to the no small scandal of the select few, who

thought the episode a little on the north side of consistency. But the

money was thereby forthcoming, every body was paid, the committee

escaped without damage, and a hazardous speculation, undertaken by a few

spirited individuals, was wound up with deserved success.

When the festival was over, the town empty, and a cannon-ball might have

been fired down Sackville-street without doing much injury, Paganini was

engaged by himself for a series of five performances in the theatre. For

this he received £1143. His dividend on the first night's receipts

amounted to £333 (_horresco referens!_) without a shilling of outlay

incurred on his part. He had the lion's share with a vengeance, as the

manager cleared with difficulty £200.

ENCOUNTER WITH AN ICEBERG.

For ten days we had fine weather and light winds, but a southerly gale

sprung up, and drove us to the northward, and I then found out what it

was to be at sea. After the gale had lasted a week, the wind came round

from the northward, and bitter cold it was. We then stood on rather

further to the north than the usual track, I believe.

It was night and blowing fresh. The sky was overcast, and there was no

moon, so that darkness was on the face of the deep--not total darkness,

it must be understood, for that is seldom known at sea. I was in

the middle watch from midnight to four o'clock, and had been on

deck about half an hour when the look-out forward sung out "ship

ahead--starboard--hard a starboard."

These words made the second mate, who had the watch, jump into the

weather rigging. "A ship," he exclaimed. "An iceberg it is rather,

and--. All hands wear ship," he shouted in a tone which showed there was

not a moment to lose.

The watch sprung to the braces and bowlines while the rest of the crew

tumbled up from below, and the captain and other officers rushed out of

their cabins; the helm was kept up, and the yards swung round, and the

ship's head turned toward the direction whence we had come. The captain

glanced his eye round, and then ordered the courses to be brailed up,

and the main topsail to be backed, so as to lay the ship to. I soon

discovered the cause of these manoeuvres; for before the ship had quite

wore round, I perceived close to us a towering mass with a refulgent

appearance, which the look-out man had taken for the white sails of a

ship, but which proved in reality to be a vast iceberg, and attached to

it, and extending a considerable distance to leeward, was a field or

very extensive floe of ice, against which the ship would have run, had

it not been discovered in time, and would in all probability instantly

have gone down with every one on board.

In consequence of the extreme darkness, it was dangerous to sail either

way; for it was impossible to say what other floes or smaller cakes of

ice might be in the neighborhood, and we might probably be on them,

before they could be seen. We, therefore, remained hove to. As it was, I

could not see the floe till it was pointed out to me by one of the crew.

When daylight broke the next morning, the dangerous position in which

the ship was placed was seen. On every side of us appeared large floes

of ice, with several icebergs floating, like mountains on a plain, among

them; while the only opening through which we could escape was a narrow

passage to the northeast, through which we must have come. What made our

position the more perilous was, that the vast masses of ice were

approaching nearer and nearer to each other, so that we had not a moment

to lose, if we would effect our escape.

As the light increased, we saw, at the distance of three miles to the

westward, another ship in a far worse predicament than we were, inasmuch

that she was completely surrounded by ice, though she still floated in a

sort of basin. The wind held to the northward, so that we could stand

clear out of the passage, should it remain open long enough. She by this

time had discovered her own perilous condition, as we perceived that she

had hoisted a signal of distress, and we heard the guns she was firing

to call our attention to her; but regard to our own safety compelled us

to disregard them till we had ourselves got clear of the ice.

It was very dreadful to watch the stranger, and to feel that we could

render her no assistance. All hands were at the braces, ready to trim

the sails should the wind head us; for, in that case, we should have to

beat out of the channel, which was every instant growing narrower and

narrower. The captain stood at the weather gangway, conning the ship.

When he saw the ice closing in on us, he ordered every stitch of canvas

the ship could carry to be set on her, in hopes of carrying her out

before this should occur. It was a chance, whether or not we should be

nipped. However, I was not so much occupied with our own danger as not

to keep an eye on the stranger, and to feel deep interest in her fate.

I was in the mizen-top, and as I possessed a spy-glass, I could see

clearly all that occurred. The water on which she floated was nearly

smooth, though covered with foam, caused by the masses of ice as they

approached each other. I looked; she had but a few fathoms of water on

either side of her. As yet she floated unharmed. The peril was great;

but the direction of the ice might change, and she might yet be free.

Still, on it came with terrific force; and I fancied that I could hear

the edges grinding and crushing together.

The ice closed on the ill-fated ship. She was probably as totally

unprepared to resist its pressure as we were. At first I thought that it

lifted her bodily up, but it was not so, I suspect. She was too deep in

the water for that. Her sides were crushed in--her stout timbers were

rent into a thousand fragments--her tall masts tottered and fell, though

still attached to the hull. For an instant I concluded that the ice must

have separated, or perhaps the edges broke with the force of the

concussion; for, as I gazed, the wrecked mass of hull, and spars, and

canvas, seemed drawn suddenly downward with irresistible force, and a

few fragments which had been hurled by the force of the concussion to a

distance, were all that remained of the hapless vessel. Not a soul of

her crew could have had time to escape to the ice.

I looked anxiously; not a speck could be seen stirring near the spot.

Such, thought I, may be the fate of the four hundred and forty human

beings on board this ship, ere many minutes are over.

I believe that I was the only person on board who witnessed the

catastrophe. Most of the emigrants were below, and the few who were on

deck were with the crew watching our own progress.

Still narrower grew the passage. Some of the parts we had passed through

were already closed. The wind, fortunately, held fair, and though it

contributed to drive the ice faster in on us, it yet favored our escape.

The ship flew through the water at a great rate, heeling over to her

ports, but though at times it seemed as if the masts would go over the

sides, still the captain held on. A minute's delay might prove our

destruction.

Every one held their breaths, as the width of the passage decreased,

though we had but a short distance more to make good before we should be

free.

I must confess that all the time I did not myself feel any sense of

fear. I thought it was a danger more to be apprehended for others than

for myself. At length a shout from the deck reached my ears, and looking

round, I saw that we were on the outside of the floe. We were just in

time, for, the instant after, the ice met, and the passage through which

we had come, was completely closed up. The order was now given, to keep

the helm up, and to square away the yards, and with a flowing sheet we

ran down the edge of the ice for upward of three miles, before we were

clear of it.

Only then did people begin to inquire what had become of the ship we had

lately seen. I gave my account, but few expressed any great

commiseration for the fate of those who were lost. Our captain had had

enough of ice, so he steered a course to get as fast as possible into

more southern latitudes.

THE DOG AND DEER OF THE ARMY.

Many of the citizens of Edinburgh will remember a beautiful deer which,

many years ago, accompanied the Forty-second Highlanders, and how

thousands in Princes-street were wont to admire the stately step, the

proud and haughty toss of the antlers, and the mild, and we may almost

say benignant eye of this singularly-placed animal. Few persons,

however, thought of inquiring into the history of this denizen of the

hills, or how it came to pass that an animal naturally shy to an

extraordinary degree, should have been so tamed as to take evident

delight in military array, and the martial music of a Highland regiment.

Still fewer, immersed in their city life, were acquainted with the

amazing swiftness, the keen scent, and the daring bravery of the stag;

whose qualities, indeed, might be taken as a type of those of the

distinguished regiment to which it became attached. The French could

abide the charge of British cavalry; they had some sort of understanding

of such a mode of warfare; indeed, to do them justice, they were both

skillful and brave in the use and knowledge of arms. But the deadly

charge of the Highlanders was a puzzler both to their science and

courage, and they could by no effort face the forests of cold steel--the

bristling bayonets of the kilted clans. Among these regiments none

suffered more--excepting, perhaps, the Ninety-Second--than the regiment

which afterward adopted the deer as a living memorial of their mountain

fastnesses; and a dog likewise, which became attached to, and for years

accompanied the same regiment, may be supposed to symbol the fidelity so

strikingly characteristic of the Highlanders.

Both the animals adopted by the regiment made their appearance in the

ranks about the year 1832, at St. Ema, in Malta. The deer was presented

by a friend of one of the officers, and the dog belonged originally to

an officer of the navy, who happened to dine at the mess. The latter

animal, from that very night, formed a strong attachment for the

officers and men of the Forty-second; no commands or enticements could

induce him to quit the corporate object of his affection, and his master

at length, yielding to a determination he could not conquer, presented

the animal, which was of the noble Newfoundland breed, to the regiment.

The attachment very soon became mutual, and thereafter the dog would

follow no one who did not wear the uniform and belong to the corps. The

men subscribed a trifle each, with which a handsome collar was provided

for their friend, inscribed "Regimental Dog, Forty-second Royal

Highlanders." They gave him the name of "Peter," and it was a strange

and notable day in the calendar of the soldiers when Peter and the deer,

who were strongly attached to each other, did not appear on parade.

Peter, it may be supposed, was a great frequenter of the cook-house,

where a luxurious bone, together with a pat on the head, and a word or

two of recognition, was his daily dole from the cooks--with one

exception. When this churlish person officiated, Peter was frequently

obliged to retire minus his rations, and sometimes even with blows

instead--a kind of treatment which he could by no means reconcile with

the respect due to him as the faithful adherent of so distinguished a

corps. At any time when Peter happened to meet the delinquent, he was

seen just to give a look over his head and a wag with his tail, and walk

off, as much as to say, "I have a crow to pluck with _you_."

By-and-by the season of bathing parades came round, and he used to

accompany the soldiers in the mornings in such recreations, and was

generally the first to take the water, and the last to leave it; he

wished to see all safe. He knew his own power in this element, as well

as his enemy's power out of it; and it was with a savage joy he saw one

day the churlish cook trust himself to the waves. Peter instantly swam

toward him, and pulled him down under the water, and would doubtless

have drowned him, had not some of the soldiers come to the rescue. A

still more curious exercise of his instinct is related of his residence

at Fort Neuf in Malta, which is situated to the north of Corfu, and the

entrance to which is a subterranean passage of considerable length.

Beyond the mouth of this cavern Peter was in the habit of ranging to the

distance of thirty-two feet, and as the hour of recall approached, would

there sit with eyes intent and ears erect waiting the return of the

soldiers. When the trumpet sounded, he showed evidences of some

excitement and anxiety; and at the last note went at once to the

right-about, and, as fast as his legs could carry him, made for the

entrance, and was in a few seconds in the interior of the fort. The

reason he went no farther than the thirty-two feet was apparently a

consciousness that he had _no pass_, without which the men, he observed,

were not permitted to exceed the boundary! That Peter actually

understood this regulation was firmly believed both by the

non-commissioned officers and soldiers.

The police at Malta, especially at Corfu, are very particular with

respect to dogs in warm weather. They may be seen almost daily going

about with carts, on which are set up wooden screens garnished with

hooks, such as butchers use for suspending meat; and it is no uncommon

thing to see from nine to a dozen canine corpses suspended from these

hooks. Peter, it may be imagined, had a great horror of this ghastly

show; and indeed he made many narrow escapes from the dog-hangman. The

regimental collar, however, was put on him, and every precaution used by

the men to prevent his being destroyed. He was still allowed to go at

large, but was always observed to look with a suspicious and uneasy eye

at the death-cart.

Both the dog and the deer preferred to abide by the head of the

regiment, in and out of quarters. They always remained with the band.

The men composing the band have generally quarters apart from the other

soldiers, this being more convenient for their musical studies and

practice. Peter, although he would follow any of the soldiers in their

Highland dress out of doors, generally preferred the quarters of the

band; and should one-half or a part of the regiment be stationed at one

place, and the other at another, whenever they separated on the road to

their respective quarters, Peter would give a wistful look from one to

the other, but invariably follow the party which was accompanied by the

band. The same was the case with the stag. He likewise took up his

quarters with the band, and followed closely behind them on their march.

This individual was in the habit of going into the rooms of his friends

for a biscuit, of which he was very fond; but if the article had

received the contamination of the men's breath, he would at once reject

it. Experiments were tried by concealing the biscuit that had been

breathed upon, and then presenting it as a fresh one; but the instinct

of the deer was not to be deceived. Latterly, this animal became

extremely irritable, and if a stranger attempted to pass between the

band and the main body of the regiment, he attacked the offender with

his antlers. The combativeness of Peter was mingled in a remarkable

manner with prudence. Being once attacked by a mastiff of greatly

superior size and strength, he fled for upward of a mile before his

enemy, till he came to his own ground at the entrance of the fort; he

then turned to bay, and gave his adversary effectual battle.

One day in 1834, while the deer was grazing and eating herbs on the top

of Fort Neuf, situated to the north of Corfu, a cat in the vicinity,

startled perhaps by the appearance of the animal, bristled up as puss

does to a dog. On this slight alarm the deer was seized with a sudden

panic, and with one bound sprung over the precipice--a height of two

hundred feet--and was killed on the spot. It was remarkable that its

friend the dog, although not immediately on the spot, rushed to the

battlements instantly, and barked and yelled most piteously. The death

of Peter, which occurred in 1837, was also of a tragical kind. He

chanced to snarl at an officer (who had ill-used him previously) on his

entrance into Edinburgh Castle, of which the two-legged creature took

advantage, and ordered him to be shot. This was accordingly done; and so

poor Peter, in the inexorable course of military law, fell by the arms

of the men who had so long been his kind comrades, and who continue to

lament him to this hour.

Monthly Record of Current Events.

POLITICAL AND GENERAL NEWS.

THE UNITED STATES.

The Political Intelligence of the past month is of less than usual

interest. In our last number we gave a very full analysis of the various

documents transmitted to Congress at the opening of the session. The

proceedings of that body have been comparatively unimportant. One or two

motions have been made in the House of Representatives for the purpose

of inducing action on the law of the last session concerning fugitives

from labor, but they have been rejected by large majorities. All the

indications, thus far, clearly show that Congress is disposed to leave

the several measures of the last session, relating to slavery, entirely

untouched. There have been discussions in both branches upon the

construction of a railroad to the Pacific, upon the land titles of

California, and upon other projects of more or less importance: but as

no decisive action has been had upon them, it is not necessary to make

further reference to them here.

While the issue of the Hungarian contest was yet doubtful, President

TAYLOR dispatched Mr. A. DUDLEY MANN to Vienna as special agent, with

instructions to watch the progress of the movement, and in case of its

success to recognize the Hungarian Republic. Any such action was

prevented by the overthrow of the Hungarian cause; but the Austrian

Chargé at Washington, Chevalier HULSEMANN, took occasion of the

communication to the Senate of the instructions given to Mr. Mann, to

enter, in the name of his government, a formal protest against the

procedure of the United States, as an unwarrantable interference in the

affairs of a friendly power; and as a breach of propriety in national

intercourse, jeopardizing the amity between the two countries. He took

special exceptions to the epithet _iron rule_, said to be applied to the

government of Austria, to the designation of KOSSUTH as an illustrious

man, and to "improper expressions" in regard to Russia, "the intimate

and faithful ally of Austria." He said that Mr. Mann had been placed in

a position which rendered him liable to the treatment of a spy; and

concluded by hinting that the United States were not free from the

danger of civil war, and were liable to acts of retaliation. To this

protest a most masterly and conclusive reply was furnished by Mr.

WEBSTER. Seizing upon the fatal admission of Mr. Hulsemann, that his

government would not have felt itself constrained to notice the matter,

but for the Message of the President to the Senate, he showed that in

taking exception to any communication from one department of our

government to another, Austria was guilty of that very interference in

the affairs of a foreign power, of which she complained. But waiving

this decisive advantage, Mr. Webster went on to show that the conduct of

the United States was in perfect accordance with the practice of all

civilized governments, and Austria in particular; that the epithet "iron

rule," applied to the Austrian government, did not occur in the

instructions, that the designation of Kossuth as illustrious was

precisely parallel to the favorable notice--no where more favorable than

in Austria--accorded to Washington and Franklin, while they were

technically rebels against Great Britain; and that as Russia had taken

no exception to any mention of her, all such exception on the part of

Austria was officious and uncalled for. He says that had the Austrian

government subjected Mr. Mann to the treatment of a spy, it would have

placed itself beyond the pale of civilized nations, and the spirit of

the people of this country would have demanded immediate hostilities to

be waged by the utmost exertion of the power of the Republic. In respect

to the hypothetical retaliation hinted at, he says that the United

States were quite willing to take their chance, and abide their destiny;

but that any discussion of the matter now, would be idle; but in the

meanwhile, the United States would exercise their own discretion in the

expression of opinions upon political events. The reply concludes, with

the most exquisite irony, by assuring Mr. Hulsemann that, believing the

principles of civil liberty upon which our government is founded, to be

the only ones which can meet the demands of the present age, "the

President has perceived with great satisfaction that, in the

Constitution recently introduced into the Austrian empire, many of these

great principles are recognized and applied, and he cherishes a sincere

wish that they may produce the same happy effect throughout his Austrian

Majesty's extensive dominions that they have done in the United States."

The Legislature of the State of New York met at Albany on the 7th of

January. Lieutenant-Governor CHURCH presides in the Senate, which

consists of seventeen Whigs and fifteen Democrats. H.J. RAYMOND, of New

York City, was elected Speaker of the Assembly, which consists of

eighty-two Whigs and forty-six Democrats, and R.U. SHERMAN, of Oneida

County, was elected Clerk. The Message of Governor HUNT was sent in on

the first day of the session. It presents an able and explicit

exposition of the affairs of the State. The financial condition of the

State is very satisfactory. The General Fund has met all the current

expenses of the year, and has a surplus of $54,520. The aggregate debt

of the State is $22,530,802, of which $16,171,109 is on account of the

canals. The amount received for canal tolls during the year was

$3,486,172. The Governor recommends an amendment of the Constitution, so

as to allow the State to contract a debt for the more speedy enlargement

of the Erie Canal, and submits considerations growing out of the

increasing business and wants of the State, sustaining this suggestion.

The Governor recommends a thorough revision of the Free School Law, the

establishment of an Agricultural School, an amendment of the laws, so as

to insure a more equal assessment of property, and an exploration of the

wild lands in the northern part of the State. In regard to the

difficulties that have hitherto prevailed in the Anti-Rent districts,

the Message suggests that they may be obviated by the purchase of the

lands in question by the State, and their sale to the tenants on

equitable terms. Upon national topics the Message says but little. It

urges the importance of faithfully fulfilling the provisions of all

existing laws, and deprecates very warmly all discussions or suggestions

looking toward a dissolution of the Union. The provision of the Federal

Constitution for the surrender of fugitives from labor, it says, is of

paramount importance, and must be observed in good faith. But "while the

claim of the Southern slaveholder to re-capture his slave is fully

admitted," the Governor says, "the right of the Northern freeman to

prove and defend his freedom is equally sacred." The existing law upon

this subject, he says, must be obeyed, though he thinks it contains

defects which men of the South and of the North will, at the proper

time, unite to remedy. "In the mean time," he adds, "our people must be

left free to examine its provisions and practical operation. Their vital

and fundamental right to discuss the merits of this or any other law

passed by their representatives, constitutes the very basis of our

republican system, and can never be surrendered. Any attempt to restrain

it would prove far more dangerous than its freest exercise. But in all

such discussions we should divest ourselves of sectional or partisan

prejudice, and exercise a spirit of comprehensive patriotism, respecting

alike the rights of every portion of our common country." The Message

closes by urging the necessity of amending the present Tariff, so as to

make it more protective, and of making more effectual provision for

improving the rivers and harbors of the country.

Gov. WRIGHT of Indiana transmitted his Message to the Legislature of

that State on the first day of its session. The expenses of the State

Government, for the past year, were $83,615.10. The whole amount of

revenue paid into the State Treasury was $450,481.65. The total value of

taxable property, as returned for 1850, is $137,443,565, which is an

increase over the previous year of $4,014,504. The entire population of

the State is about 988,000, being an increase since 1840 of upward of

300,000. The total valuation of real estate and live stock, exclusive of

other personal property, is about $200,000,000--being $63,000,000 over

the entire assessment for taxation. If to this be added other

descriptions of personal property, the entire State valuation can not be

less than $250,000,000. The Governor estimates that by the year 1852 the

State will be able to appropriate the sum of $100,000 to the payment of

the principal of the public debt. It is believed entirely practicable to

liquidate the entire debt in seventeen years from the first payment.

Works of public improvement are progressing rapidly; there are 400 miles

of plank road, costing from $12,000 to $25,000 per mile, and 1200 miles

additional are surveyed and in progress. There are 212 miles of railroad

in successful operation, of which 120 were completed the past year; and

more than 1000 miles of railroad are surveyed and in a state of

progress. The Message strongly recommends a scrupulous fulfillment of

all the obligations of the Federal Constitution connected with slavery.

In the FLORIDA Legislature resolutions have been passed, declaring that

the perpetuity of the Union depends on the faithful execution of the

Fugitive Slave law--that in case of its repeal or essential

modification, it will become the duty of the State authorities to

assemble the people in convention, with a view to the defense of their

violated rights; and that Florida, in acquiescing in the Compromise

measures, has gone to a point beyond which she could not go with honor.

The ILLINOIS Legislature met on the 7th. The Message of Governor FRENCH

represents the accruing revenue as more than sufficient to meet current

demands on the Treasury. The entire debt of the State is $16,627,509.

Unsold canal lands are expected to realize $4,000,000. The Governor is

in favor of homestead exemption--declares against all bank

charters--recommends the acceptance of Holbrook & Co.'s conditional

surrender of their charter to build the Central Railroad, and its

disposal to the company that offers the best terms. He speaks favorably

of the "Compromise Measures," and says that they will be faithfully

observed and obeyed by the people of Illinois, as the only means of

restoring and preserving harmony.

From CALIFORNIA our intelligence is to the 1st of December. Nothing of

interest has occurred there since our last advices. The cholera was

still prevailing at San Francisco. There had been a battle between the

force under the command of Gen. Morehead and the Youma Indians near

Colorado City, on the Gila, in which the general, after one hour and a

half fighting, was glad to retreat beneath the guns of the little fort,

the Indians having lost ten men. The American force under Morehead was

104; their loss is not stated. Subsequently they had completely

vanquished the Indians, none being found within fifty miles of the old

planting grounds. A fight is also reported between the Indians and

Americans, in the vicinity of Mokelumne Hill, in which fifteen of the

latter were killed, and probably as many of the Indians. No particulars

are given.

The rainy season had commenced. Many new veins of auriferous stone have

been discovered, and various companies have embarked and are engaged in

mining operations with good prospects of success. Among these

operations, in addition to those on the Mariposa, Merced, and in the

northern mines, great hopes and expectations are entertained from those

further south, generally known as the Los Angelos Company mines, several

companies being engaged in that section, either in mining or in

exploring that great and almost unknown region for its treasures.

The result of the State election has been such that doubt prevails as to

the political complexion of the next Legislature, both parties claiming

it by small majorities. A United States Senator having to be chosen,

makes it rather an interesting question, as the election for that office

will probably turn upon party politics.

The PENNSYLVANIA Legislature is now in session. The message of Gov.

JOHNSTON states the amount of the Public Debt at $40,775,485. The

Governor recommends that all the elections be hereafter held in October.

The project of erecting an Agricultural Department is commended to

favorable consideration. An appropriate arrangement of the geological

specimens belonging to the State is also urged. The large body of

original papers in the State Department connected with the Colonial and

Revolutionary History of the State are in an exposed and perishing

condition, and are recommended for better preservation. In the early

spring the buildings of the Insane Asylum will be ready for the

reception of patients. The school system, although still imperfect, is

rapidly improving in its general condition, and promises the beneficial

results it was designed to accomplish. The full repair of the canals and

railroads of the State is urged as an important measure. A system of

banking, based upon State stocks, under proper restrictions, is

recommended to the attention of the Legislature. It is thought that the

present banking facilities are unequal to the wants of the business

community. On national questions, Gov. JOHNSTON takes ground in favor

of a revision and alteration of the revenue laws, so as to give adequate

and permanent protection to the industry of the country, the reduction

of postage, and the construction of railway communications to the

Pacific--and in regard to the question of slavery and the Fugitive Law,

counsels obedience to the laws and respect to national legislation; but

excepts to that part of the law which authorizes the creation of a new

and irresponsible tribunal under the name of Commissioners.

MEXICO.

Intelligence from the city of Mexico is to the 30th of November.

Congress was still engaged in discussing various propositions concerning

the public debt, and a bill had passed both houses for regulating the

interior debt, the original amount of which was about seventy-five

millions of dollars, the new law, however, reduces it about one-third.

It is believed that the new steps taken upon this subject will prove

highly advantageous to the country.

The magnetic telegraph is in operation in the city of Mexico merely as

an experiment, and gives general satisfaction. Efforts are being made to

form a company for placing it from Mexico to Vera Cruz.

Accounts from the MEXICAN BOUNDARY COMMISSION to the 24th November have

reached St. Louis. Mr. BARTLETT arrived at El Paso on the 18th November,

in advance of the main body, in thirty-three days from San Antonio. He

was detained seven days to recruit the animals, and ten days by a severe

snow storm. He had agreed to meet the Mexican Commissioner on the 1st

November. He was accompanied by a party of young engineers as an escort,

well mounted and armed, together with spies and hunters, and seven

wagons with provisions, equipments, &c., forming a party of forty. On

the way Mr. BARTLETT was visited by five of the principal chiefs of the

Lipan Indians, accompanied by warriors. The interview was friendly, but

great care was taken to show them that the party was well armed.

GENERAL VIEW OF THE STATES OF EUROPE.

We take advantage of a moment of apparent pause in the current of

European affairs to present a concise view of the political, financial,

and civil condition in which the close of the first half of the

nineteenth century leaves the leading states of Europe. We do this in

order to furnish a standpoint from which, in the future numbers of our

Monthly Record, the changes which are apparently about to take place may

be observed. The present population of Europe may be estimated at

262,000,000, upon an area of 3,816,936 square miles, showing an average

of 70 inhabitants to a square mile. If, however, we exclude Russia,

together with Sweden and Norway, which with almost two-thirds of the

area have but one fourth of the population, and are therefore altogether

exceptional, the remaining portion will have 138 inhabitants to a square

mile; while Asia has but 32, Africa 13, North and South America 3, and

Australia and Polynesia only 1. Of this population about 250,000,000,

are Christians, of whom there are 133,000,000 Catholics, 58,000,000

Protestants, and 59,000,000 belonging to the Greek Church; of the

remainder there are seven or eight millions of Mohammedans, and two or

three millions of Jews. Europe is now politically divided into 55

independent states, of which 33 belong wholly to Germany, and are

included in the Germanic Confederation; 7 to Italy; and two to the

Netherlands. Of these states 47 have an essentially monarchical form of

government, and 8 are republics. Of the monarchical governments 3 are

technically called Empires, 15 Kingdoms, 7 Grand-duchies, 9 Duchies, 10

Principalities, 1 Electorate, 1 Landgraviate, and 1 Ecclesiastical

State.

The UNITED KINGDOM of GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND, as it is officially

denominated, contains an area of 117,921 square miles, with a population

at the last census of 26,861,000 (1841), which is now increased to about

28,500,000. The Colonies and Possessions of the Crown contained in 1842

5,224,447 inhabitants. The possessions of the East India Company have a

population of somewhat more than 100,000,000; and the countries over

which that Company has assumed the right of protection, which is rapidly

changing to sovereignty, about 35,000,000 more. The political authority

of the Kingdom is vested in the three Estates, sovereign, lords, and

commons. The House of Peers consists at present of 457 members of whom

30 are clerical; 28 Irish and 16 Scotch representative peers, elected,

the former for life, the latter annually; the remainder being hereditary

peers. The privileges of the peerage consist in membership of the Upper

House of Parliament; freedom from arrest for debt, and from outlawry or

personal attachment in civil actions; the right of trial, in criminal

cases by their own body, whose verdict is rendered, not upon oath, but

upon their honor; in the law of _scandalum magnatum_, by which any

person convicted of circulating a scandalous report against a peer,

though it be shown to be true, is punishable by an arbitrary fine, and

by imprisonment till it be paid; and in the right of sitting covered in

any court of justice, except in the presence of the sovereign. The House

of Commons, which, by gradual encroachments upon the other Estates, and

especially by the prerogative which it has acquired of originating all

money-bills, has become the paramount power of the state, consists of

656 members, of whom 469 are for England, 29 for Wales, 53 for Scotland,

and 105 for Ireland. The revenues for the current year, according to the

estimate of the Chancellor of the Exchequer, amount to £52,285,000, and

the expenditures to £50,763,582, leaving a surplus of £1,521,418. The

national debt of Great Britain and Ireland, funded and unfunded,

amounted, Jan. 5, 1850, to £798,037,277, involving an annual expenditure

of more than £28,000,000, absorbing considerably more than one half of

the public revenues. The military force of the Kingdom is as follows:

Household Troops 6,568

Soldiers of the Line, in pay of the Crown 91,956

" " " East India Company 31,100

Colonial Corps 6,272

Making in all 129,625. The whole number of troops stationed in the

United Kingdom is about 61,000, of whom 24,000 are in Ireland. The force

of the British navy in Dec. 1848 is thus given in the Royal Calendar for

1849:

Ships of 100 or more guns; 750 or more men 26

" 80-100 " 700-750 " 42

" 70-80 " 600-700 " 45

" 50-70 " 400-600 " 39

" 36-50 " 250-400 " 68

" 24-36 " 250 or less " 184

Making a total of 404 armed vessels, with 17,023 guns. To these, the

Calendar adds the names of 74 yachts, hulks, quarter-service vessels,

etc.; 125 steamers, and 21 steam-packets, making 614 vessels of every

description. The British Almanac for 1851, probably a more reliable

authority, gives the whole number, on July 30, 1849, as 339 sailing

vessels, 161 steamers of all classes, besides 47 steamers employed under

contract as packets, and capable of being converted, in case of need,

into vessels of war.

The REPUBLIC OF FRANCE covers an area of 204,825 square miles, and its

population, as given in the _Moniteur_, February, 1847, was 35,400,486;

besides which, the French colonies have about 1,000,000 inhabitants. The

Constitution of the Republic was voted by the National Assembly at its

sitting, November 4, 1848. The Introduction recites that France

constitutes herself a Republic, and that her object in so doing is a

more free advance in progress and civilization. The Constitution

consists of twelve chapters, containing 116 articles, as follows: I. The

sovereignty is in the body of citizens. II. The rights of citizens are

guaranteed by the Constitution. III. Of public powers. IV. Of the

Legislative power. The representatives of the people to be 750 (since

increased to 900), elected for three years, by direct and universal

suffrage, by secret ballot. All Frenchmen of the age of 21 years to be

electors, and to be eligible to office at 25 years. This article is, in

effect, modified by a subsequent law, passed May 31, 1850, by which the

electoral lists are to comprehend all Frenchmen who have completed their

21st year, enjoy civil and political rights, and have resided in the

commune, or canton, for a period of not less than three years; the law

embraces, moreover, many further restrictions, which greatly limit the

right of suffrage. V. The executive power is vested in the President,

elected for four years, by an absolute majority, by secret ballot; he is

not eligible for re-election until after an interval of four years. VI.

The Council of State consists of 40 members, elected for six years, by

the National Assembly, who are to be consulted in certain prescribed

cases; but government is not obliged to consult the Council respecting

the budget, the state of the army, or the ratification of treaties. The

Vice-President of the Republic is the President of the Council; he is

chosen by the National Assembly from three candidates proposed by the

President. VII. Of the domestic administration. VIII. Of judicial

powers. IX. Of the public forces. X. Of the Legion of Honor, Algiers,

and the colonies. XI. Of the revision of the Constitution, in case the

National Assembly in the last year of its term shall vote any

modification to be advisable. XII. Contains various temporary

dispositions. The finances of France have long been in an extremely

unsatisfactory condition. The immediate cause of the revolution of 1789

was the enormous and increasing deficiency of the revenue. Upon the

accession of Louis Philippe, in 1830, the expenditures of government

began again to exceed the receipts, until 1846, when the expenditures

amounted to 2,793,000,000 francs, exceeding the revenues by

421,462,000f. The budget presented by the Minister of Finance for the

financial year 1851, estimates the receipts at 1,292,633,639f.,

exceeding the expenditures by 10,370,390f., being the first year when

there has been a surplus since the revolution of 1830. The consolidated

public debt of France amounts to 4,509,648,000f., to which is to be

added a floating debt of 515,727,294f., making in all more than 5000

millions of francs, the interest upon which amounts to above

327,000,000f., absorbing about one-fourth of the revenue. The French

army now on foot amounts to 396,000 men; by the law of June 19, the

number was fixed at 106,893, to which, according to the late Message of

the President, it will be speedily reduced, should political affairs

warrant the reduction. The navy according to an ordinance of 1846, was

to consist of 226 sailing vessels, and 102 steamers, of all classes,

which number, however, was never reached. The present force is 125

vessels (a reduction of 100 vessels during the year), and 22,561 men.

Since the election of Louis Bonaparte as President of the Republic, his

whole policy has been directed to the effort of perpetuating his

authority, either as President for life, or Emperor. The Duke of Nemours

and Count of Chambord, the respective representatives of the lines of

Orleans and Bourbon, have each a large number of partisans; while

opposed to all of these are the Democrats and Socialists, of every

shade, who are utterly averse to any form of monarchical government.

We gave in our last Number a view of the general state of the German

Confederation. It is needless to present the statistics of the minor

German States, as they do not possess sufficient weight to act except in

subservience to either Austria or Prussia.