CHAPTER VII.

THE VICARAGE.

Our history began at the Vicarage; there let it end. It is a cheerful

summer's morning, and Margaret sits in the study of her friend Mr.

Middleton, who has learned to look upon his charge as upon a daughter.

She is still attired in widow's weeds, but looks more composed and

happy than when we saw her many months ago there.

"You will not leave us, then," said the good vicar; "we have not tired

you yet?"

"No," answered Margaret, with a sweet contented smile, "here must I

live and die. My duties will not suffer me to depart, even were I so

inclined. What would my children do?"

"Ah, what indeed? The school would certainly go to rack and ruin."

"And my old friends, the Harpers and the Wakefields?"

"Why, the old ladies would very soon die of a broken heart, no doubt

of it; and then, there's our dispensary and little hospital. Why,

where should we look for a new apothecary?"

"These are but the worst days of my life, Mr. Middleton, which I

dedicate to usefulness. How am I to make good the deficiency of

earlier years?"

"By relying, my dear madam, upon the grace and love of Heaven, who in

mercy regards not what we have been, but what we are."

"And is there pardon for so great a sinner?"

"Doubt it not, dear lady. Had you not been loved, you never would have

been chastised--you would never have become an obedient and willing

child. Be sure, dear Mrs Allcraft, that having repented, you are

pardoned and reconciled to your Father. Pray, hold fast to this

conviction. You have reason to believe it; for truly _you have not

despised the chastening of the Lord, nor fainted when you were rebuked

of him_."

* * * * *

KÍEFF.

TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN OF IVÁN KOZLÓFF. BY T.B. SHAW.

O Kiéff! where religion ever seemeth

To light existence in our native land;

Where o'er Petchérskoi's dome the bright cross gleameth,

Like some fair star, that still in heaven doth stand;

Where, like a golden sheet, around thee streameth

Thy plain, and meads that far away expand;

And by thy hoary wall, with ceaseless motion,

Old Dniéper's foaming swell sweeps on to ocean.

How oft to thee in spirit have I panted,

O holy city, country of my heart!

How oft, in vision, have I gazed enchanted

On thy fair towers--a sainted thing thou art!--

By Lávra's walls or Dniéper's wave, nor wanted

A spell to draw me from this life apart;

In thee my country I behold, victorious,

Holy and beautiful, and great and glorious.

The moon her soft ray on Petchérskoi poureth,

Its domes are shining in the river's wave;

The soul the spirit of the past adoreth,

Where sleeps beneath thee many a holy grave:

Vladímir's shade above thee calmly soareth,

Thy towers speak of the sainted and the brave;

Afar I gaze, and all in dreamy splendour

Breathes of the past--a spell sublime and tender.

There fought the warriors in the field of glory,

Strong in the faith, against their country's foe;

And many a royal flower yon palace hoary,

In virgin loveliness, hath seen to blow.

And Báyan sang to them the noble story,

And secret rapture in their breast did glow;

Hark! midnight sounds--that brazen voice is dying--

A day to meet the vanish'd days is flying.

Where are the valiant?--the resistless lances--

The brands that were as lightning when they waved?

Where are the beautiful--whose sunny glances

Our fathers, with such potency, enslaved?

Where is the bard, whose song no more entrances?

Ah! that deep bell hath answer'd what I craved:

And thou alone, by these grey walls, O river!

Murmurest, Dniéper, still, and flow'st for ever.

* * * * *

MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN.

PART VII.

"Have I not in my time heard lions roar?

Have I not heard the sea, puft up with wind,

Rage like an angry boar chafed with sweat?

Have I not heard great ordnance in the field,

And heaven's artillery thunder in the skies?

Have I not in the pitched battle heard

Loud 'larums, neighing steeds, and trumpets clang?"

SHAKSPEARE.

At daybreak, the bustle of the camp awoke me. I rose hastily, mounted

my horse, and spurred to the rendezvous of the general staff. Nothing

could be more animated than the scene before me, and which spread to

the utmost reach of view. The advance of the combined forces had moved

at early dawn, and the columns were seen far away, ascending the sides

of a hilly range by different routes, sometimes penetrating through

the forest, and catching the lights of a brilliant rising sun on their

plumes and arms. The sound of their trumpets and bands was heard from

time to time, enriched by the distance, and coming on the fresh

morning breeze, with something of its freshness, to the ear and the

mind. The troops now passing under the knoll on which the

commander-in-chief and his staff had taken their stand, were the main

body, and were Austrian, fine-looking battalions, superbly uniformed,

and covered with military decorations, the fruits of the late Turkish

campaigns, and the picked troops of an empire of thirty millions of

men. Nothing could be more brilliant, novel, or picturesque, than the

display of this admirable force, as it moved in front of the rising

ground on which our _cortège_ stood.

"You will now see," said Varnhorst, who sat curbing, with no slight

difficulty, his fiery Ukraine charger at my side, "the troops of

countries of which Europe, in general, knows no more than of the

tribes of the new world. The Austrian sceptre brings into the field

all the barbaric arms and costumes of the border land of Christendom

and the Turk."

Varnhorst, familiar with every service of the continent, was a capital

cicerone, and I listened with strong interest as he pronounced the

names, and gave little characteristic anecdotes, of the gallant

regiments that successively wheeled at the foot of the slope--the

Archducal grenadiers--the Eugene battalion, which had won their

horse-tails at the passage of the Danube--the Lichtensteins, who had

stormed Belgrade--the Imperial Guard, a magnificent corps, who had led

the last assault on the Grand Vizier's lines, and finished the war.

The light infantry of Maria Theresa, and the Hungarian grenadiers and

cuirassiers, a mass of steel and gold, closed the march of the main

body. Nothing could be more splendid. And all this was done under the

perpetual peal of trumpets, and the thunder of drums and gongs, that

seemed absolutely to shake the air. It was completely the Miltonic

march and harmony--

"Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds."

But I was now to witness a still more spirit-stirring scene.

The trampling of a multitude of horse, and the tossing of lances and

banners in the distance, suddenly turned all eyes in their direction.

"Now, prepare," said the Count, "for a sight, perhaps not altogether

so soldierlike, but fully as much to my taste, as the buff-belt and

grenadiers'-cap formality of the line. You shall see the Austrian

flankers--every corps equipped after its native fashion. And whatever

our martinets may say, there is nothing that gives such spirits to the

soldier, as dressing according to the style of his own country. My

early service was in Transylvania; and if I were to choose troops for

a desperate service, I say--give me either the man of the hill, or the

man of the forest, exactly in the coat of the chamois-shooter, or the

wolf-hunter."

He had scarcely pointed my attention to the movement, when the whole

body of the rearguard was in full and rapid advance. The plain was

literally covered with those irregulars, who swept on like a surge, or

rather, from the diversity of their colours, and the vast half-circle

which they formed on the ground, a living rainbow. Part were infantry

and part cavalry, but they were so intermingled, and the motion of all

was so rapid, that it was difficult to mark the distinction. From my

recollection of the history of the Seven Years' War, I felt a double

interest in the sight of the different castes and classes of the

service, which I had hitherto known only by name. Thus passed before

me the famous Croatian companies--the Pandours, together forming the

finest outpost troops of the army--the free companies of the Tyrol,

the first marksmen of the empire, a fine athletic race, with the

eagle's feather in their broad hats, and the sinewy step of the

mountaineer--the lancers of the Bannat, first-rate videttes, an

Albanian division, which had taken service with Austria on the close

of the war; and, independently of all name and order, a cloud of wild

cavalry, Turk, Christian, and barbarian, who followed the campaign for

its chances, and galloped, sported, and charged each other like the

Arabs of the desert.

The late triumphs of the Imperial arms in Turkey had even enhanced the

customary display, and the standards of the cavalry and colours of the

battalions, were stiff with the embroidered titles of captured

fortresses and conquered fields. Turkish instruments of music figured

among the troops, and the captive horse-tails were conspicuous in more

than one corps, which had plucked down the pride of the Moslem. The

richness and variety of this extraordinary spectacle struck me as so

perfectly Oriental, that I might have imagined myself suddenly

transferred to Asia, and looked for the pasha and his spahis; or even

for the rajah, his elephants, and his turbaned spearmen. But all this

gay splendour has long since been changed. The Croats are now

regulars, and all the rest have followed their example.

My admiration was so loud, that it caught the ear of the duke. He

turned his quick countenance on me, and said--"Tell our friends at

home, M. Marston, what you have seen to-day. I presume you know that

Maria Theresa was a first-rate soldier; or, at least, she had the

happy art of finding them. You may see Laudohn's hand in her

battalions. As for the light troops, Europe can show nothing superior

in their kind. Trenk's Pandours, and Nadasti's hussars were worth an

army to Austria, from the first Silesian war down to the last shot

fired in Germany. But follow me, and you shall see the work of another

great master."

We spurred across the plain to the mouth of a deep, wooded defile,

through which the Prussian grand _corps d'armée_ were advancing. The

brigades which now met our view were evidently of a different

character from the Austrian; their uniforms of the utmost simplicity;

their march utterly silent; the heads of the columns observing their

distances with such accuracy, that, on a signal, they could have been

instantly formed in order of battle; every movement of the main body

simply directed by a flag carried from hill to hill, and even the

battalion movements marked by the mere waving of a sword. Even their

military music was of a peculiarly soft and subdued character. On my

observing this to Varnhorst, his reply was--"That this was one of the

favourite points of the Great Frederick. 'I hate drums in the march,'

said the king, 'they do nothing but confuse the step. Every one knows

that the beat at the head of the column takes time to reach the rear.

Besides, the drum deafens the ear. Keep it, therefore, for the battle,

when the more noise the better.' He also placed the band in the centre

of the column. 'If they are fond of music,' said he, 'why should not

every man have his share?'"

The steady advance, the solid force, and the sweet harmony, almost

realized the noble poetic conception--

"Anon they move

In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood

Of flutes and soft recorders, such as raised

To heights of noblest temper heroes old

Arming to battle; and instead of rage,

Deliberate valour breathed, firm and unmoved

With dread of death to flight or foul retreat."

It is true that they wanted the picturesque splendour of ancient

warfare. The ten thousand banners, with orient colours waving, the

"forest huge of spears," the "thronging helms," and "serried shields,

in thick array of depth immeasurable." But if the bayonet, the lance,

and even the cannon offered less to the eye, the true source of the

grandeur of war was there--the power, the tremendous impulse, the

_materiel_ of those shocks which convulse nations--the marshalled

strength, fierce science, and stern will, before which the works of

man perish like chaff before the wind, and the glory of nations

vanishes like a shade.

While the last of the troops were defiling before the duke and his

staff, a courier brought up despatches.

"Gentlemen," said the duke, after glancing at one of the papers, "the

army of the Prince de Condé is in march to join us. They have already

reached the neighbourhood. We must now lose no time. M. Marston, you

will report to your Government what you have seen to-day. We _are_ in

march for Paris."

Varnhorst and Guiscard were now summoned to the side of the duke; a

spot was found where we might shelter ourselves from the overpowering

blaze of the sun; the successive despatches were opened; a large map

of the routes from Champagne to the capital was laid on the ground;

and we dismounted, and, sitting together, like old comrades, we held

our little council of war.

"I can make nothing of my French correspondents in general," said the

duke, after perusing a long letter, "but M. le Comte writes like

Cagliostro. He has evidently some prodigious secret, which he is

determined to envelope in still deeper secrecy. He tells me that La

Fayette has fled; but when, where, or for what purpose, is all equally

an enigma. In one sentence of his letter he would persuade me that all

France is disorganized, and in the next, that it is more resolved to

resist than ever. Paris is prepared to rise at the first sight of the

white flag, and Paris is sending out six thousand men every three

hours to join the republican force in the field. Paris is in despair.

Paris is in furious exultation. How am I to understand all this? Even

in his postscript he tells me, in one breath, that the whole of the

strong places in our front are filled with national guards, and that

no less than seven corps of troops of the line are prepared to fight

us in the plains of Champagne; and that we have only to push on to

take the towns--charge the troops of the line to see them

disperse--and advance within ten leagues of Paris to extinguish the

rebellion, set the royal family free, and restore the monarchy."

The mysterious letter was handed round our circle in succession, and

seemed equally beyond comprehension to us all. We had yet to learn the

temperament of a capital, where every half-hour produced a total

change of the popular mind. The letter, fantastically expressed as it

was, conveyed the true condition of the hour. The picture was true,

but the countenance changed every moment. He might as well have given

the colours of cloud.

I had now entered on a course of adventure the most exciting of all

others, and at the most exciting time of life. But all the world round

me was in a state of excitement. Every nation of Europe was throwing

open its armoury, and preparing its weapons for the field. The troops

invading France were palpably no more than the advanced guards of

Prussia and Austria. Even with all my inexperience, I foresaw that the

war would differ from all the past; that it would be, not a war of

tactics, but a war of opinion; that not armies, but the people

marshalled into hosts, would be ultimately the deciders of the

victory; and that on whichever side the popular feeling was more

serious, persevering, and intense, there the triumph would be gained.

I must still confess, however, in disparagement to my military

sagacity, that I was totally unprepared for the gallant resistance of

the French recruits. What can they do without officers?--ten thousand

of whom had been noblesse, and were now emigrants? What can they do

without a commissariat, what can they do without pay, and who is to

pay them in a bankrupt nation? Those were the constant topics at

headquarters. We were marching to an assured victory. France was at an

end. We should remodel the Government, and teach the _sans culottes_

the hazard of trying the trade of politicians.

There was but one man in the camp who did not coincide in those

glittering visions. Let me once more do justice to a prince whose

character has been affected by the caprices of fortune. The Duke of

Brunswick's language to me, as we saw the Tricolor waving on the walls

of Longwy, the first fortress which lay in our road, was--"Sir, your

court must not be deceived. We shall probably take the town, and

defeat its wavering army; but up to this moment, we have not been

joined by a single peasant. The population are against us. This is not

a German war; it is more like yours in America. I have but one hundred

and twenty thousand men against twenty-five millions." To my remark,

"that there might be large body of concealed loyalty in France, which

only waited the advance of the Allies to declare itself," his calm and

grave reply was: "That I must not suffer my Government to suppose him

capable of abandoning the royal cause, while there was hope in

military means. That it was his determination to hazard all things

rather than chill the coalition. But this let me impress upon your

Ministry," said he, with his powerful eye turned full on me; "that if

intrigue in the German cabinets, or tardiness on the part of yours,

shall be suffered to impede my progress, all is at an end. I know the

French; if we pause, they will pour on. If we do not reach Paris, we

must prepare to defend Berlin and Vienna. If the war is not ended

within a month, it may last for those twenty years."

The commander-in-chief was true to his word. He lost no time. Before

night our batteries were in full play upon the bastions of Longwy, and

as our tents had not yet overtaken us, I lay down under a vineyard

shed in a circle of the staff, with our cloaks for our pillows,

listening to the roar of our artillery; until it mingled with my

dreams.

We were on horse an hour before daybreak, and the cannonade still

continued heavy. It was actively returned, and the ramparts were a

circuit of fire. As a spectacle, nothing could be more vivid,

striking, and full of interest. To wait for the slow approaches of a

formal siege was out of the question. Intelligence had reached us that

the scattered French armies, having now ascertained the point at which

the burst over the frontier was to be made, had been suddenly

combined, and had taken a strong position directly in our way to the

capital. A protracted siege would raise the country in our rear, and,

thus placed between two fires, the grand army might find itself

paralysed at the first step of the campaign. The place must be

battered until a breach was made, and stormed _à la Turque_. Our

anxiety during the day was indescribable. With our telescopes

constantly in our hands, we watched the effect of every new discharge;

we galloped from hill to hill with the impatience of men in actual

combat, and every eye and tongue was busy in calculating the

distances, the power of guns, and the time which the crumbling works

would take to fill up the ditch. The reports of the engineers, towards

evening, announced that a practicable breach was made, and three

battalions of Austrian grenadiers, and as many of Prussians, were

ordered under arms for the assault. To make this gallant enterprize

more conspicuous, the whole army was formed in columns, and marched to

the heights, which commanded a view of the fortress. The fire from the

batteries now became a continued roar, and the guns of Longwy, whose

fire had slackened during the day, answered them with an equal

thunder; the space between was soon covered with smoke, and when the

battalions of grenadiers moved down the hillside, and plunged into the

valley, they looked like masses of men disappearing into the depths of

ocean. The anxiety now grew intense. I hardly breathed; and yet I had

a mingled sensation of delight, eagerness, and yet of uncertainty, to

which nothing that I had ever felt before was comparable. I longed to

follow those brave men to the assault, and probably would have made

some such extravagant blunder, but for seeing Varnhorst's broad

visage turned on me with a look of that quiet humour which, of all

things on earth, soonest brings a man to his senses. "My good friend,"

said he, "however fine this affair may be, live in hope of seeing

something finer. Never be shot at Longwy, when you may have a chance

of scaling the walls of Paris. I have made a vow never to be hanged in

the beginning of a revolution, nor to be shot in the beginning of a

war. But come, the duke is beckoning to us. Let us follow him."

We saw the general and his staff galloping from the ground where he

had remained from the beginning of the assault, to a height still more

exposed, and where the guns from the fortress were tearing up the

soil. From this spot a large body of troops were seen rushing from the

gate of the fortress, and plunging into the valley. The result of this

powerful sortie was soon heard, for every thing was invisible under

the thick cloud, which grew thicker every moment, in the volleys of

musketry, and the shouts of the troops on both sides. Varnhorst now

received an order from the chief of the staff, which produced its

effect, in the rush of a squadron of Prussian cavalry on the flank of

the enemy's column. In a few minutes it was broken, and we saw its

wrecks swept along the side of the hill. An universal shout was sent

up from the army, and our next sight was the ascent of the Austrian

and Prussian standards, gradually rising through the smoke, and making

their way towards the glacis. They had reached the foot of the breach,

when the fire of the town suddenly ceased. A white flag waved on the

rampart, and the drums of the garrison beat the _chamade_. Longwy had

surrendered! All now was triumph and congratulation. We flocked round

the duke, and hailed his first conquest as a promise of perpetual

success. He was in high spirits at an achievement which was so

important to the national impression of his talents and resources. The

sortie of the garrison had given the capture an _éclât_ which could

not have been obtained by the mere surrender of a strong place. But

the most important point of all was, the surrender before the assault.

"The sight of our troops is enough," was the universal conclusion. If

the fortified barrier of France cannot resist, what will be done by

troops as raw as peasants, and officers as raw as their troops? The

capitulation was a matter of half an hour, and by nightfall I followed

the duke and his escort into the town. It was illuminated by order of

the conquerors, and, whether _bongrè_ or _malgrè_, it looked showy; we

had gazers in abundance, as the dashing staff caracoled their way

through the streets. I observed, however, that we had no acclamations.

To have hissed us, might be a hazardous experiment, while so many

Hulans were galloping through the Grande Rue; but we got no smiles. In

the midst of the crowd, I met Varnhorst steering his charger with no

small difficulty, and carrying a packet of notes in his hand. "Go to

your quarters, and dress," said my good-humoured friend. "You will

have a busy night of it. The duke has invited the French commandant

and his officers to dine with him, and we are to have a ball and

supper afterwards for the ladies. Lose no time." He left me wondering

at the new world into which I had fallen, and strongly doubting, that

he would be able to fill up his ball-room. But I was mistaken. The

dinner was handsomely attended, and the ball more handsomely still.

"Fortune de la guerre," reconciled the gallant captains of the

garrison to the change; and they fully enjoyed the contrast between a

night on the ramparts, and the hours spent at the Prussian

generalissimo's splendidly furnished table. The ball which followed

exhibited a crowd of the _belles_ of Longwy, all as happy as dress and

dancing could make them. It was a charming episode in the sullen

history of campaigning, and before I flung myself on the embroidered

sofa of the mayor's drawing-room, where my billet had been given for

the night, I was on terms of eternal "friendship" with a whole group

of classic beauties--Aspasias, Psyches and Cleopatras.

But neither love nor luxury, neither the smiles of that fair

_Champagnaises_, nor the delight of treading on the tesselated floors,

and feasting on the richness of municipal tables, could now detain us.

We were in our saddles by daybreak, and with horses that outstripped

the wind, with hearts light as air, and with prospects of endless

victory and orders and honours innumerable before us, we galloped

along, preceded, surrounded, and followed by the most showy squadrons

that ever wore lace and feathers. The delight of this period was

indescribable. It was to me a new birth of faculties that resembled a

new sense of being, a buoyant and elastic lightness of feelings and

frame. The pure air; the perpetual change of scene; the novelty of the

landscape; the restless and vivid variety of events, and those too of

the most powerful and comprehensive nature; the superb display of the

finest army that the Continent had sent to war for the last hundred

years; and all this excitement and enjoyment, with an unrivaled vista

of matchless conquest in the horizon, a triumphal march through the

provinces, to be consummated by the peace of Europe in Paris, filled

even my vexed and wearied spirit with new life. If I am right in my

theory, that the mind reaches stages of its growth with as much

distinctness as the frame, this was one of them. I was conscious from

this time of a more matured view of human being, of a clearer

knowledge of its impulses, of a more vigorous, firm, and enlarged

capacity for dealing with the real concerns of life. I still loved;

and, strange, hopeless, and bewildering as that passion was in the

breast of one who seemed destined to all the diversities of

fortune--it remained without relief, or relaxation through all. It was

the vein of gold, or perhaps the stream of fire, beneath the soil,

inaccessible to the power of change on the surface, but that surface

undergoing every impulse and influence of art and nature.

The army now advanced unopposed. Still we received neither cheers nor

reinforcements from the population. Yet we had now begun to be

careless on the topic. The intelligence from Paris was favourable in

all the leading points. The king was resuming his popularity, though

still a prisoner. The Jacobins were exhibiting signs of terror, though

still masters of every thing. The recruits were running away, though

the decree for the general rising of the country was arming the

people. In short, the news was exactly of that checkered order which

was calculated to put us all in the highest spirits. The submission of

Paris, at least until we were its conquerors, would have deprived us

of a triumph on the spot, and the proclamation of a general peace

would have been received as the command for a general mourning.

The duke was in the highest animation, and he talked to every one

round him, as we marched along, with more than condescension. He was

easy, familiar, and flushed with approaching victory. "We have now,"

said he, "broken through the 'iron barrier,' the pride of Vauban, and

the boast of France for these hundred years. To-morrow Verdun will

fall. The commandant of Thionville, in desperation at the certainty of

our taking the town by assault, has shot himself, and the keys are on

their way to me. Nothing but villages now lie in our road, and once

past those heights," and he pointed to a range of woody hills on the

far horizon, "and we shall send our light troops _en promenade_ to

Paris." We all responded in our various ways of congratulation.

"Apropos," said the duke, applying to me, "M. Marston, you have been

later on the spot than any of us. What can you tell of this M.

Dumourier, who, I see from my letters, is appointed to the forlorn

hope of France--the command of the broken armies of Lafayette and

Luckner?"

My answer was briefly a hope that the new general would be as much

overmatched by the duke's fortunes in the field, as he had been by

party in the capital. "Still, he seemed to me a clever, and even a

remarkable man, however inexperienced as a soldier."

"If he is the officer of that name who served in the last French war,

he is an old acquaintance of mine," observed the duke. "I remember him

perfectly. He was a mere boy, who, in a rash skirmish with some of our

hussars, was wounded severely and taken prisoner. But as I learned

that he was the son of a French _literateur_ of some eminence whom I

had met in Paris, and as I had conceived a favourable opinion of the

young soldier's gallantry, I gave him his parole and sent him back to

his family, who, I think, were Provencals. He was unquestionably

spirited and intelligent, and with experience might make either

minister or general; but as he has begun by failure in the one

capacity, it will be our business to show him that he may find success

equally difficult in another. At all events, we have nothing but this

minister-general between us and Notre-Dame. He has taken up a position

on the Argonne ridge in our front. To force it will be but an affair

of three hours. Adieu, gentlemen." He put spurs to his horse, and

galloped to one of the columns which approached with trumpets

sounding, bearing the captured banner of the church tower of Longwy.

The world was now before us, and we enjoyed it to the full. Varnhorst

and I were inseparable, and feasted on the scene, the gaiety, the

oddity of the various characters, which campaigning developes more

than any mode of existence. The simple meal, the noon-rest under a

tree, the songs of our troopers, the dance in the villages, as soon as

the peasantry had discovered that we did not eat women and

children--even the consciousness of a life wholly without care, formed

a delicious state of being. "If this is the life of the Arab," I often

was ready to exclaim, "what folly would it be in him to leave the

wilderness! If the Esquimaux can sleep through one half of the year

and revel through the other, is he not the true philosopher in the

midst of his frost and snow?" Guiscard, who sometimes joined our

party, was now and then moved to smile at our unripe conceptions of

the nature of things. But we laughed at his gravity, and he returned

to pore over the mysteries of that diplomacy which evidently thickened

on him hour by hour. I recollect, however, one of his expressions--"My

friend, you think that all the battle is to be fought in front: I can

assure you that a much more severe battle is to be fought in the rear.

Argonne will be much more easily mastered than the King's closet and

the Aulic Council." We had good reason to remember the oracle.

One morning as, with half a dozen hussars, I was ranging the thickets

on the flank of the advance, with the spirit of an English fox-hunter,

on reaching the summit of a rising ground, I saw, some miles off, a

party of horsemen making their way at full speed across the country.

The perfect level of the plains, particularly in Champagne, makes the

ground as open as a race-course. I called my hussars, and we galloped

forward to intercept. On seeing us, they slackened their speed, and

were evidently in consultation. At length the sight of our uniforms

reassured then, and one of their number came forward to meet us. To

our enquiry, the answer was, that "General Lafayette desired to be led

to the headquarters." I now saw this memorable man for the first time,

and was busy, in my usual style, in looking for the hero or the

revolutionist in his physiognomy. I was disappointed in both. I saw a

quiet visage, and a figure of moderate size, rather _embonpoint_, and

altogether the reverse of that fire-eyed and lean-countenanced

"Cassius" which I had pictured in my imagination. But his manners

perplexed me as much as his features. They were calm, easy, and almost

frank. It was impossible to recognize in him the Frenchman, except by

his language; and he was the last man in whom I could ever have

detected that pride of the theatre, the "French _marquis_." His

manners were English, and I had a fellow-feeling for him even in our

short ride to the camp, and congratulated myself on being thrown into

the intercourse of one who had played so conspicuous a part in the

most conspicuous scene of our day.

But on his introduction to the duke, my ardour received a sudden

chill. I saw instantly, by the utter absence of all cordiality in his

reception, that the French fugitive had taken a dangerous step, and

that his Parisian ill fortune had deprived his retreat of all merit in

the sight of the commander-in-chief. My doubts were soon confirmed by

a message from his tent. I obeyed; and as I passed the lines, saw

Lafayette surrounded by a troop of Hulans of the Guard. I found the

duke pacing uneasily in front of the tent.

"M. Marston," said he, with a vexed manner, "your capture of this

morning has added to our perplexities. You acted zealously, and with

the spirit that distinguishes your nation; but I heartily wish that

M. La Fayette had taken any other direction than towards us. His fall

has been contemplated for some time, and even the possibility of his

being arrested by some of our parties. I have received a communication

from the Allied cabinets on the contingency; and the question now is,

how to execute my order without public weakness or personal severity."

I proposed to accompany him, while we were on the march, and to pledge

myself for his honour when we arrived at quarters.

"Generously offered," was the reply. "But my duty, in the first

instance, prohibits his remaining in the camp; and in the next, my

feelings for himself would spare a man who has commanded the enemy's

troops, the sight of that actual collision which must immediately take

place. We attack the defiles of the Argonne to-morrow."

He entered the tent, wrote a few lines, and returned to me.

"M. Lafayette must consider himself as a prisoner; but as my wish is

to treat him with honour, I must beg of you, M. Marston, to take

charge of him for the time. Your offer has relieved me from an

embarrassment; and I shall take care to make honourable mention of

your conduct in this instance, as in all others, to both the courts of

Berlin and St James's. The marquis must be sent to Berlin, and I must

request that you will be ready to set out with him this evening."

The sound was a thunder-stoke. "This evening!" when the decisive

action of the war was to be fought next morning. "To Berlin!" when all

my gallant friends were to be on the march to Paris. Impossible! I

retracted my offer at once. But the prince, not accustomed to be

resisted, held his purpose firmly; representing that, as the French

general was actually _my_ prisoner, and as _my_ court was equally

interested with those of the Allied powers, in preventing his return

to embroil France, "it was my duty, as her commissioner, to see that

the measure was effectively performed." But the appearance of leaving

the army, on the very eve of important service, was not to be argued,

or even commanded, away. The duke was equally inflexible, though his

sentences were perhaps shorter than mine; and I finally left his

presence, declaring, that if the request were persisted in, I should

throw up my commission at once, volunteer as a common trooper into the

first squadron which would admit me, and then, his highness, might, of

course, order me wherever he pleased."

A stately smile was the answer to this tirade. I bowed, and retired.

Within a hundred yards I met my two friends, Varnhorst and Guiscard,

and poured out my whole catalogue of wrongs at once. Varnhorst shared

my indignation, fiercely pulled his thick mustaches, and muttered some

phrases about oppression, martinetism, and other dangerous topics,

which fortunately were scattered on the air. Guiscard neither raged

nor smiled, but walked into the ducal tent. After a few minutes he

returned, and then his sallow countenance wore a smile. "You have

offended the duke desperately," said he. "And as a sovereign prince, I

dare say that banishment from his territories for life would be the

least reparation; but as a general, we think that we cannot have too

many good troops, and your proposal to take a Hulan's lance and pistol

in your hand, is irresistible. In short, he receives you as a

volunteer into his own hussars, and as you are henceforth at his

disposal, he orders."--My tormentor here made a malicious pause, which

threw me into a fever. I gazed on his countenance, to anticipate his

mission. It wore the same deep and moveless expression. "His highness

orders, that you shall escort, with a squadron, General Lafayette, to

the Chateau, our former headquarters, and where we first met; there

deliver over the Frenchman to an officer of the staff, who will be in

readiness to escort him further; and, in the mean time, if the very

fiery and independent M. Marston should have no objection to travel at

night, he may return, and be in time for whatever is to be done here

to-morrow."

"Bravo, bravo!" exclaimed good-natured Varnhorst. "Guiscard, you are

the first of negotiators!"

"No," was the quiet reply. "I pretend to nothing more than the art of

being a good listener. I merely waited until the duke had spoken his

will, and then interposed my suggestion. It was adopted at once; and

now our young friend has only to ride hard to-night, and come to shade

his brow with a share of any laurels which we may pluck in the forest

of Argonne, in the next twenty-four hours."

I was enraptured--the communication was made in the most courteous

manner to the marquis. He had at once perceived the difficulties of

his position, and was glad to leave them behind as far as possible.

Our escort was mounted within a few minutes, and we were in full

gallop over the fruitful levels of Champagne.

To speed of this order, time and space were of little importance; and

with the rapidity of a flock of falcons, we reached the foot of the

noble hill, on which, embosomed in the most famous vineyards of the

vine country, stood the Chateau. It was blazing with lights, and had

evidently lost nothing of its population by the change of

headquarters. We were soon brought to a stand by a challenge in

French, and found that we were no longer among the jovial Jägers of

Deutchland. We had fallen in with the advanced corps of the Emigrant

army under the command of the Prince of Condé.

Here was a new dilemma. Our prisoner's was perhaps the most startling

name which could have been pronounced among those high-blooded and

headlong men. The army was composed almost wholly of the _noblesse_;

and Lafayette, under all his circumstances of birth, sentiments, and

services, had been the constant theme of noble indignation. The

champion of the American Republic, the leader of the Parisian

movement, the commandant of the National Guard, the chief of the rebel

army in the field--all was terribly against him. Even the knowledge of

his fall could not have appeased their resentment; and the additional

knowledge that he was within their hands, might have only produced

some unfortunate display of what the philosopher calls "wild justice."

In this difficulty, while the officer of the patrol was on his way to

the Chateau to announce our coming, I consulted the captain of my

escort. But, though a capital _sabreur_, he was evidently not made to

solve questions in diplomacy. After various grimaces of thinking, and

even taking the meersham from his mouth, I was thrown on my own

resources. My application to the captive general was equally

fruitless: it was answered with the composure of one prepared for all

consequences, but it amounted simply to--"Do just as you please."

But no time was to be lost, and leaving the escort to wait till my

return, I rode up the hill alone, and desired an interview with the

officer in command of the division. Fortunately I found him to be one

of my gayest Parisian companions, now transformed into a fierce

chevalier, colonel des chasseurs, bronzed like an Arab, and mustached

like a tiger. But his inner man was the same as ever. I communicated

my purpose to him as briefly as possible. His open brow lowered, and

his fingers instinctively began playing with the hilt of his sabre.

And if the rencontre could have been arranged on the old terms of man

to man, my gallant friend would have undoubtedly made me the bearer of

a message on the spot. But I had come for other objects, and gradually

brought him round; he allowed that "a prisoner was something entitled

to respect." The "request of his distinguished and valued friend, M.

Marston, dear to him by so many charming recollections of Paris, &c.,

was much more;" and we finally arranged that the general should be

conveyed unseen to an apartment in the Chateau, while I did him and

his "_braves camarades_" the honour of sharing their supper. I gave

the most willing consent; a ride of thirty miles had given me the

appetite of a hunter.

I was now introduced to a new scene. The room was filled with muskets

and knapsacks piled against the walls, and three-fourths of those who

sat down were private soldiers; yet there was scarcely a man who did

not wear some knightly decoration, and I heard the noblest names of

France everywhere round me. Thus extremes meet: the Faubourg St

Germains had taken the equality of the new order of things, and the

very first attempt to retain an exclusive rank had brought all to the

same level. But it was a generous, a graceful, and a gallant level.

All was good-humour under their privations, and the fearful chances

which awaited them were evidently regarded with a feeling which had

all the force of physical courage without its roughness. I was much

struck, too, with the remarkable appearance of the military figures

round me. Contrary to our general notions of the foreign noblesse

those exhibited some of the finest-looking men whom I had ever seen.

This was perhaps, in a considerable degree, owing to the military

life. In countries where the nobility are destitute of public

employment, they naturally degenerate--become the victims of the

diseases of indolence and profligacy, transmit their decrepitude to

their descendants, and bequeath dwarfishness and deformity to their

name. But in France, the young noble was destined for soldiership from

his cradle. His education partook of the manly preparations for the

soldier's career. The discipline of the service, even in peace, taught

him some superiority to the effeminate habits of opulence; and a sense

of the actual claims of talents, integrity, and determination, gave

them all an importance which, whatever might be the follies of an

individual, from time to time, powerfully shaped the general character

of the nobles. In England, the efforts for political power, and the

distinctions of political fame, preserve our nobility from relaxing

into the slavery of indulgence. The continual ascent of accomplished

minds from the humbler ranks, at once reinforces their ability and

excites their emulation; and if England may proudly boast of men of

intellectual vigour, worthy of rising to the highest rank from the

humblest condition, she may, with not less justice, boast of her

favourites of fortune fitted to cope with her favourites of nature.

Among these showy and high-bred soldiers, the hours passed

delightfully. Anecdotes of every court of Europe, where most of them

had been, either as tourists or envoys; the piquant tales of the court

of their unfortunate sovereign; narratives--sufficiently contemptuous

of the present possessors of power; and _chansons_--some gay, and some

touching--made us all forget the flight of time. Among their military

choruses was one which drew tears from many a bold eye. It was a

species of brief elegy to the memory of Turenne, whom the French

soldier still regarded as his tutelar genius. It was said to have been

written on the spot where that great leader fell:--

"Reçois, O Turenne, où tu perdis lavie,

Les transports d'un soldat, qui te plaint et t'envie.

Dans l'Elysee assis, près du cef des Césars,

Ou dans le ciel, peutêtre entre Bellone et Mars.

Fais-moi te suivre en tout, exauce ma prière;

Puis se-je ainsi remplir, et finir ma carrière."

The application to the immediate circumstances of those brave

gentlemen was painfully direct. What to-morrow might bring was

unknown, further than that they would probably soon be engaged with

their countrymen; and whether successful or not, they must be embarked

in war against France. But my intelligence that an action was expected

on the next day awoke the soldier within them again; the wrongs of

their order, the plunders of the ruling faction, their hopeless

expatriation, if some daring effort was not made, and the triumphant

change from exiles to possessors and conquerors, stirred them all into

enthusiasm. The army of the Allies, the enemy's position, the public

feeling of Paris, and the hope of sharing in the honours of an

engagement which was to sweep the revolutionary "canaille" before the

"gentlemen of France," were the rapid and animating topics. All were

ardent, all eloquent; fortune was at their feet, the only crime was to

doubt--the only difficulty was to choose in what shape of splendid

vengeance, of matchless retribution, and of permanent glory, they

should restore the tarnished lustre of the diadem, and raise the

insulted name of France to its ancient rank among the monarchies of

the world. I never heard among men so many brilliancies of speech--so

many expressions of feeling full of the heart--so glowing a display of

what the heart of man may unconsciously retain for the time when some

great emotion rouses all its depths, and opens them to the light of

day. It was to me a new chapter in the history of man.

The news which I had brought of the positions of the armies rendered

me an object of marked interest. I was questioned on every point;

first, and especially, of the intention of the commander-in-chief,

with the most anxious yet most polished minuteness. But, as on this

subject my lips were comparatively sealed, the state of the troops

with whom they were so soon to be brought into contact became the more

manageable topic. On mentioning that Dumourier was placed in command,

I received free and full communications on the subject of his

qualities for being the last hope of revolutionary France. One had

known him in his early career in the engineers, another had served

along with him in Corsica, a third had met him at the court of

Portugal; the concurring report being, that he was a coxcomb of the

first water, showy but superficial, and though personally brave, sure

to be bewildered when he found himself for the first time working the

wheels and springs of that puzzling machine, an army in the field. A

caustic old Provençal marquis, with his breast glittering with the

stars of a whole constellation of knighthood, yet who sat with the

cross-belts and cartouche-box of the rank and file upon him, agreeing

with all the premises, stoutly denied the conclusions. "He is a

coxcomb," said the old Marquis. "Well, he is only the fitter to

command an army of upstarts. He has seen nothing but Corsican service;

well, he is the fitter to command an army of banditti. And he has been

an _espion_ of the Government in Portugal; what better training could

he have for heading an army of traitors? Rely upon it, gentlemen, that

you have mistaken his character; if you think that he is not the very

man whom the mob of Paris ought to have chosen for their general, I

merely recommend, that when you go into action you should leave your

watches in camp, and, if you charge any of their battalions, look well

to your purses."

The old soldier's sally restored our gaiety; but the man best

acquainted with the French commander-in-chief was my friend the

chevalier, at the head of the table. "It has singularly enough

happened to me to have met M. Dumourier in almost every scene of his

life, since his return from his first service in Germany. Our first

meeting was in the military hospital in Toulouse, where he had been

sent, like myself, to recover, in his native air, from the wounds of

our last German campaign. He was then a coxcomb, but a clever one,

full of animal spirits, and intoxicated with the honour of having

survived the German bullets, of being appointed to a company, and

wearing a _croix_. Our next meeting was in Portugal. Our Minister had

adopted some romantic idea of shaking the English influence, and

Dumourier had been sent as an engineer to reconnoitre the defences of

the country. The word _espion_ was not wholly applicable to his

mission, yet there can be no doubt that the memoir published on his

return, was _not_ a volume of travels. His services had now

recommended him to the Government, and he was sent to Corsica. There

again I met him, as my regiment formed part of the force in the

island. He was high on the staff, our intercourse was renewed, and he

was regarded as a very expert diplomatist. A few years after, I found

him in a still higher situation, a favourite of De Choiseul, and

managing the affairs of the Polish confederation. On his return to

Paris, such was the credit in which he stood, that he was placed by

the minister of war at the head of a commission to reform the military

code; thus he has been always distinguished; and has at least had

experience."

Even this slight approach to praise was evidently not popular among

the circle, and I could hear murmurs.

"Distinguished!--yes, more with the pen than the sword."

"Diplomacy!--the business of a clerk. Command is another affair."

"Mon cher Chevalier," said the old Marquis, with a laugh, "pray, after

being in so many places with him, were you with him in the Bastile?"

This was followed with a roar.

I saw my friend's swarthy cheek burn. He started up, and was about to

make some fierce retort, when a fine old man, a general, with as many

orders as the marquis, and a still whiter head, averted the storm, by

saying, "Whether the chevalier was with M. Dumourier in that

predicament, I know not; but I can say that I was. I was sent there

for the high offence of kicking a page of the court down the grande

escalier at Versailles for impertinence, at the time when M. Dumourier

was sent there by the Duc d'Acquillon, for knowing more than the

minister. I assure you that I found him a most agreeable

personage--very gay, very witty, and very much determined to pass his

time in the pleasantest manner imaginable. But our companionship was

too brief for a perfect union of souls," said he laughing; "for I was

liberated within a week, while he was left behind for, I think, the

better part of a year."

"But his talents?" was the question down the table.

"Gentlemen," said the old man, "my experience in life has always made

me judge of talents by circumstances. If, for example, I find that a

man has the talent exactly fitted for his position, I give him credit

for all--he had the talent for making the Bastile endurable, and I

required no other. But there were times when graver topics varied our

pleasantry, and he exhibited very various intelligence, a practical

experience of the chief European courts, and, I am sorry to say, a

very striking contempt for their politics and their politicians alike.

He was especially indignant at the selfish perfidy with which the late

king had given him up to the ignorant jealousy of the minister, and

looked forward to the new reign with a resolute, and sometimes a

gloomy determination to be revenged. If that man is a republican, it

is the Bastile that has made him one; and if he ever shall have a fair

opportunity of displaying his genius, unless a cannonball stops his

career I should conceive him capable of producing a powerful

impression on Europe."

The conversation might again have become stormy but for the entrance

of a patrol, for whom a vacant space at the table had been left. Forty

or fifty fine tall fellows now came rushing into the room, flinging

down shakos, knapsacks, and sabres, and fully prepared to enjoy the

good cheer provided for them. I heard the names of the first families

of France among those privates--the Montmorencies, the Lamaignons, the

Nivernois, the Rochefoucaults, the De Noailles, "familiar as household

words." All was good-humour again. They had a little adventure in

scaring away a corps of the rustic national guards who, to expedite

their escape, had flung away their arms, which were brought in as good

prize. The festivity and frolic of youth, engaged in a cause which

conferred a certain dignity even on their _tours de page_, renewed the

pleasantry of the night. We again had the _chansons_; and I recollect

one, sung with delicious taste by a handsome Italian-faced youth, a

nephew of the writer, the Duc de Nivernois.

The duke had requested a ringlet from a beautiful woman. She answered,

that she had just found a grey hair among her locks, and could now

give then away no more. The gallant reply was--

"Quoi! vous parlez de cheveux blancs!

Laissez, laissez courir le temps;

Que vous importe son ravage?

Les tendres coeurs en sont exempts;

_Les Amours sont toujours enfants,

Et les Graces sont de tout age._

Pour moi, Thémire, je le sens.

Je suis toujours dans mon printemps,

Quand je vous offre mon hommage.

Si je n'avais que dixhuit ans,

Je pourrais aimer plus longtemps,

Mais, non pas aimer davantage."[10]

[10]

Lovely and loved! shall one slight hair

Touch thy delicious lip with care?

A heart like thine may laugh at Time--

The Soul is ever in its prime.

All Loves, you know, have infant faces,

A thousand years can't chill the Graces!

While thou art in my soul enshrined,

I give all sorrows to the wind.

Were I this hour but gay eighteen,

Thou couldst be but my bosom's queen;

I might for longer years adore,

But could not, could not love thee more.

On returning to look for my distinguished prisoner, I found a packet

lying on the table of my apartment; it had arrived in my absence with

the troops in advance; and I must acknowledge that I opened it with a

trembling hand, when I saw that it came from London and Mordecai.

It was written in evident anxiety, and the chief subject was the

illness of his daughter. She had some secret on her mind, which

utterly baffled even the Jew's paternal sagacity. No letters had

reached either of them from France, and he almost implored me to

return, or, if that were impossible, to write without delay. Mariamne

had grown more fantastic, and capricious, and wayward than ever. Her

eyes had lost their brightness, and her cheek its colour. Yet she

complained of nothing, beyond a general distaste to existence. She had

seen the Comtesse de Tourville, and they had many a long conference

together, from which, however, Mariamne always returned more

melancholy than ever. She had refused the match which he had provided

for her, and declared her determination to live, like the daughter of

Jephthah, single to her grave.

The letter then turned to my own circumstances, and entered into them

with the singular mixture of ardour and sneering which formed this

extraordinary character.

"I am doing your business here as indefatigably as if I were

robbing nabobs in India, or setting up republics at home. The

tardiness of the Horse-Guards is to be moved by nothing but an

invasion; and it would be almost as rational to wait the

growth of an oak, as to wait the signing of your commission;

but it shall be done in my own way. I have means which can

make the tardy quick, and open the eyes of the blind. You

_shall_ be a subaltern in the Guards, unless you are in too

much haste to be a general, and get yourself shot by some

Parisian cobbler in the purloined uniform of a rifleman. But,

let me tell you one fact, and I might indorse this piece of

intelligence, 'Secret and Confidential,' to the English

cabinet, for even our great minister has yet to learn it--_the

Allies will never reach Paris_. Rely, and _act_ upon this.

They might now enter the capital, if, instead of bayonets,

they carried only trusses of straw. The road is open before

them, but they will look only behind. The war was almost a

feint from the beginning. The invasion was the second act of

the farce--the retreat will be the third. Poland has been the

_true object_; and, to cover the substantial seizures there,

has been the trick of the French invasion. I predict that, in

one month from the date of this letter, there will not be an

Austrian or Prussian cartridge found in France. Potsdam and

Schoenbrunn know more on the subject at this moment than the

duke. I write to you as a friend, and by Mariamne's especial

order, to take care of yourself. I have seen the retreats of

continental armies in my time; they are always a scene of

horrors. Follow the army so long as it advances; then all is

well, and even the experience of service may be of use to you.

But, in this instance, the moment that you find it come to a

stop, turn your horse's head to any point of the compass but

the front, and ride to the nearest seaport. The duke is a

brave man, and his army is a brave army; but both will be

instantly covered with all the obloquy of all the libelers on

earth. If you have met him as man with man, you have doubtless

been captivated with his manners, his wit, his animation, and

his accomplishments. I have known him long and well. But

Europe, within a month, will decry him, as a fugitive, a fool,

and a dastard. Such is popular wisdom, justice, and knowledge.

A pupil of the first warrior of Prussia and of modern ages,

and wanting only experience to do honour to the lessons of

Frederick, he will be laughed at by the loose loungers of the

Palais Royal, as ignorant of the art of war, and branded by

the graver loungers of courts and councils, as ignorant of the

art of government. Once more, I say, take care of yourself.

The first step in retreat will raise all France against the

Allies. Ten victories would not cost as much as the first

week's march towards the frontier. Every thicket will have its

troop; every finger, for a hundred leagues round, will be on

the trigger. Robbery and murder, famine and fatigue; disease

and death, will be upon the troops; the retreat will become a

flight, and happy is the man who will ever see the Rhine

again. Be wise in time."

Enclosed within this long epistle was a brief note from Mariamne.

"You must not think me dying, because I importune you no

longer. But, _can_ you give me any tidings of Lafontaine? I

know that he is rash, and even enthusiastic; but I equally

know that he is faithful and true. _Yet_, if he _has_

forgotten me, or is married, or is any thing that, as a preux

chevalier, he ought not to be, tell me at once, and you shall

see how grateful I can be, before I cease to be any thing. But

if he has fallen--if, in the dreadful scenes now acting in

Paris, Lafontaine is no more--_tell me not_. Write some

deluding thing to me--conceal your terrible knowledge. I

should not wish to drop down dead before my father's face. He

is looking at me while I write this, and I am trying to laugh,

with a heart as heavy as lead, and eyes that can scarcely see

the paper. No--for mercy's sake, do not tell me _that he is

dead_. Give me gentle words, give me hope, deceive me--as they

give laudanum, not to prolong life, but to lull agony. Do

this, and with my last pulse I shall be grateful--with my last

breath I shall bless you."

Poor Mariamne! I had, at least, better hopes than those for her. But

within this billet was a third. It was but a few lines; yet at the

foot of those lines was the signature--"Clotilde de Tourville." The

light almost forsook my eyes; my head swam; if the paper had been a

talisman, and every letter written with the pen of magic, it could not

have produced a more powerful effect upon me. My hands trembled, and

my ears thrilled; and yet it contained but a few unimportant words--an

enquiry addressed to Mariamne, whether she could forward a letter to

the Chateau Montauban in Champagne, or whether her father had any

correspondent in the vicinity who could send her the picture of a

beloved relative, which, in the haste of their flight to England, they

had most reluctantly left behind.

The note at once threw every thing else into the background. What were

invasions and armies--what were kings and kingdoms--to the slightest

wish of the being who had written this billet? All this I admit to be

the fever of the mind--a waking dream--an illusion to which mesmerism

or magic is but a frivolity. Like all fevers, it is destined to pass

away, or to kill the patient; yet for the time, what on earth is so

strange, or so powerful--so dangerous to the reason--so delicious to

the soul!

But, after the long reverie into which I sank, with the writing of

Clotilde in my hand, I recollected that fortune had for once given me

the power of meeting the wishes of this noble and beautiful creature.

The resemblance of the picture that had so much perplexed and

attracted me, was now explained. I _was_ in the Chateau de Montauban,

and I now blessed the chance which had sent me to its honoured walls.

To hasten to the chamber where I was again to look upon the exquisite

resemblance of features which, till then, I had thought without a

similar in the world, was a matter of instinct; and, winding my way

through the intricacies of galleries and corridors, loaded with the

baggage of the emigrant army, and strewed with many a gallant noble

who had exchanged the down bed of his ancestral mansion for the bare

floor, or the open bivouac, I at length reached the apartment to which

the captive general had been consigned. To my utter astonishment,

instead of the silence which I expected under the circumstances, I

heard the jingling of glasses and roars of laughter. Was this the

abode of solitude and misfortune? I entered, and found M. Lafayette,

indeed, conducting himself with the composure of a personage of his

rank; but the other performers exhibiting a totally different

temperament. A group of Polish officers, who had formerly borne

commissions in the royal service, and now followed the Emigrant

troops, had recognized Lafayette, and insisted on paying due honours

to the "noble comrade" with whom they had served beyond the Atlantic.

Hamlet's menace to his friend, that he would "teach him to drink deep

ere he depart," had been adopted in the amplest sense by those jovial

sons of the north, and "healths bottle-deep" were sent round the board

with rapid circulation.

My entrance but slightly deranged the symposium, and I was soon

furnished with all the freemasonry of the feast, by being called on to

do honour to the toast of "His Majesty the King of Great Britain." My

duty was now done, my initiation was complete, and while my eyes were

fixed on the portrait which, still in its unharmed beauty, looked

beaming on the wild revel below, I heard, in the broken queries, and

interjectional panegyrics of these hyperborean heroes, more of the

history of Lafayette than I had ever expected to reach my ears.

His life had been the strangest contrast to the calm countenance which

I saw so tranquilly listen to its own tale. It was Quixotic, and two

hundred years ago could scarcely have escaped the pen of some French

Cervantes. He had begun life as an officer in the French household

troops in absolute boyhood. At sixteen he had married! at eighteen he

had formed his political principles, and begun his military career by

crossing the Atlantic, and offering his sword to the Republic. To meet

the thousand wonderings at his conduct, he exchanged the ancient motto

of the Lafayettes for a new one of his own. The words, "Why not?" were

his answer to all, and they were sufficient. On reaching America, he

asked but two favours, to be suffered to serve, and to serve without

pay.

In America he was more republican than the Republicans. He toiled,

traveled, and bled, with an indefatigable zeal for the independence of

the colonists; his zeal was a passion, his love of liberty a romance,

his hostility to the dominion of England an universal scorn of

established power. But if fantastic, he was bold; and if too hot for

the frigidity of America, he was but preparing to touch France with

kindred fire. He refused rank in the French army coupled with the

condition of leaving the service of the Republic; and it was only on

the French alliance in 1788 that he returned to Paris, to be received

with feigned displeasure by the King, and even put under arrest by the

minister, but to be welcomed by the praises of the true sovereign, the

Queen, feted by the court, the sovereign of that sovereign, and

huzzaed by the mob of Paris, already the sovereign of them all; from

his military prison he emerged, colonel of the King's regiment of

dragoons.

While this narrative was going on, mingled with bumpers, and bursts of

Slavonic good-fellowship, I could not help asking myself whether

Lavater was not quack and physiognomy a folly? Could this be the

dashing Revolutionist? No plodder over the desk ever wore a more

broadcloth countenance; an occasional smile was the only indication of

his interest in what was passing around him. He evidently avoided

taking a share in the discussion of his Transatlantic career, probably

from delicacy to his English auditor. But when the conversation turned

upon France, the man came forth, and he vindicated his conduct with a

spirit and fulness that told me what he might have been when the blood

of youth was added to the glow of the imagination. He was now

evidently exhausted by toil, and dispirited by disappointment. No man

could be more thoroughly ruined; baffled in theory, undone in

practice--an exile from his country, a fugitive from his

troops--overwhelmed by the hopelessness of giving a constitution to

France, and with nothing but the dungeon before him, and the crash of

the guillotine behind.

"What was to be done?" said Lafayette. "France was bankrupt--the

treasury was empty--the profligate reign of Louis XV. had at once

wasted the wealth, dried up the revenues, and corrupted the energies

of France. Ministers wrung their hands, the king sent for his

confessor, the queen wept--but the nation groaned. There was but one

expedient, to call on the people. In 1787 the Assembly of the Notables

was summoned. It was the first time since the reign of Henry IV.

France had been a direct and formal despotism for almost two hundred

years. She had seen England spread from an island into an empire; she

had seen America spread from a colony into an empire. What had been

the worker of the miracle?--Liberty. While all the despotisms remained

within the boundaries fixed centuries ago, like vast dungeons, never

extending, and never opening to the light and air, except through the

dilapidations of time, I saw England and America expanding like

fertile fields, open to every breath of heaven and every beam of day,

expanding from year to year by the cheerful labour of man, and every

year covered with new productiveness for the use of universal mankind.

I own that there may have been rashness in urging the great

experiment--there may have been a dangerous disregard of the actual

circumstances of the people, the time, and the world--the daring hand

of the philosopher may have drawn down the lightning too suddenly to

be safe; the patriot may have flashed the blaze of his torch too

strongly on eyes so long trained to the twilight of the dungeon. The

leader of this enterprise himself, like the first discoverer of fire,

may have brought wrath upon his own head, and be condemned to have his

vitals gnawed in loneliness and chains; but nothing shall convince

Lafayette that a great work has not been begun for the living race,

for all nations, and for all posterity."

I could not suppress the question--"But when will the experiment be

complete? When will the tree, planted thus in storms, take hold of the

soil? When will the tremendous tillage which begins by clearing with

the conflagration, and ploughing with the earthquake, bring forth the

harvest of peace to the people?"

"These must be the legacy to our children," was the reply, in a grave

and almost contrite tone. "The works of man are rapid only when they

are meant for decay. The American savage builds his wigwam in a week,

to last for a year. The Parthenon took half an age and the treasures

of a people, to last for ever."

We parted for the night--and for thirty years. My impression of this

remarkable man was, that he had more heart than head; that a single

idea had engrossed his faculties, to the exclusion of all others; that

he was following a phantom, with the belief that it was a substantial

form, and that, like the idolaters of old, who offered their children

to their frowning deity, he imagined that the costlier the sacrifice,

the surer it was of propitiation. Few men have been more misunderstood

in his own day or in ours. Lifted to the skies for an hour by popular

adulation, he has been sunk into obscurity ever since by historic

contempt. Both were mistaken. He was the man made for the

time--precisely the middle term between the reign of the nobility and

the reign of the populace. Certainly not the man to "ride on the

whirlwind and direct the storm;" but as certainly altogether superior

to the indolent luxury of the class among whom he was born. Glory and

liberty, the two highest impulses of our common nature, sent him at

two and twenty from the most splendid court of Europe, to the swamps

and snows, the desperate service and dubious battles of America. Eight

years of voyages, negotiations, travels, and exposure to the chances

of the field, proved his energy, and at the age of thirty he had drawn

upon himself the eyes of the world. Here he ought to have rested, or

have died. But the Revolution swept him off his feet. It was an

untried region--a conflict of elements unknown to the calculation of

man; he was whirled along by a force which whirled the monarchy, the

church, and the nation with him, and sank only when France plunged

after him.

I have no honour for a similar career, and no homage for a similar

memory; but it is from those mingled characters that history derives

her deepest lesson, her warnings for the weak, her cautions for the

ambitious, and her wisdom for the wise.

On the retiring of the party for the night, my first act was to summon

the old Swiss and his wife who had been left in charge of the mansion,

and collect from them all their feeble memories could tell Clotilde.

But Madame la Maréchale was a much more important personage in their

old eyes, than the "charmante enfant" whom they had dandled on their

knees, and who was likely to remain a "charmante enfant" to them

during their lives. The chateau had been the retreat of the Maréchale

after the death of her husband; and it was in its stately solitudes,

and in the woods and wilds which surrounded it for many a league, that

Clotilde had acquired those accomplished tastes, and that

characteristic dignity and force of mind, which distinguished her from

the frivolity of her country-women, however elegant and attractive,

who had been trained in the _salons_ of the court. The green glades

and fresh air of the forest had given beauty to her cheek and grace

to her form; and scarcely conceiving how the rouged and jewelled

Maréchale could have endured such an absence from the circles of the

young queen, and the "_beaux restes_" of the wits and beauties of the

court of Louis the 15th, I thanked in soul the fortunate necessity

which had driven her from the atmosphere of the Du Barris to the

shades thus sacred to innocence and knowledge.

But the grand business of the thing was still to be done. The picture

was taken down at last, to the great sorrow of the old servants, who

seemed to regard it as a patron saint, and who declared that its

presence, and its presence alone, could have saved the mansion, in the

first instance, from being burned by the "patriots," who generally

began their reforms of the nobility by laying their chateaux in ashes,

and in the next, from being plundered by the multitudes of whiskered

savages speaking unknown tongues, and came to leave France without

"_ni pain ni vin_" for her legitimate sons. But the will of Madame la

Maréchale was to them as the laws of the Medes and Persians,

irresistible and unchangeable; and with heavy hearts they dismounted

the portrait, and assisted in enfolding and encasing it, with much the

same feeling that might have been shown in paying the last honours to

a rightful branch of the beloved line.

But, in the wall which the picture had covered, I found a small

recess, closed by an iron door, and evidently unknown to the Swiss and

his old wife. I might have hesitated about extending my enquiry

further, but Time, the great discoverer of all things, saved my

conscience: with a slight pressure against the lock it gave way; the

door flew open, and dropped off the hinges, a mass of rust and decay.

Within was a casket of a larger size than that generally used for

jewels; but my curiosity durst not go beyond the superscription, which

was a consignment of the casket, in the name of the Maréchale, to her

banker in London. Whatever might be the contents, it was clear that,

like the picture, it had been left behind in the hurry of flight, and

that to transmit it to England was fairly within my commission. Before

our busy work was done, day was glancing in through the coloured panes

of the fine old chamber. I hurried off the Swiss, with my precious

possessions, to the next town, in one of the baggage carts, with a

trooper in front to prevent his search by hands still more hazardous

than those of a custom-house officer; and then, mounting my horse, and

bidding a brief farewell to the brave and noble fellows who were

already mustering for the march, and envying me with all their souls,

I set off at full speed to rejoin the army.

With all my speed, the action had begun for some hours before I came

in sight of the field. With what pangs of heart I heard the roar of

the cannon, for league on league, while I was threading my bewildered

way, and spurring my tired horse through the miry paths of a country

alternately marsh and forest; with what pantings I looked from every

successive height, to see even to what quarter the smoke of the firing

might direct me; with what eager vexation I questioned every hurrying

peasant, who either shook his moody head and refused to answer, or who

answered with the fright of one who expected to have his head swept

off his shoulders by some of my fierce-looking troop, I shall not now

venture to tell; but it was as genuine a torture as could be felt by

man. At length, exhausted by mortal fatigue, and ready to lie down and

die, I made a last effort, would listen no more to the remonstrances

of the troop, whose horses were sinking under them. I ordered them to

halt where they were, pushed on alone, and, winding my way through a

forest covering the side of a low but abrupt hill, or rather

succession of hills, I suddenly burst out into the light, and saw the

whole battle beneath, around, and before me. It was magnificent.

* * * * *

LETTER FROM LEMUEL GULLIVER.

TO THE EDITOR.

Sir--At the request of my four-footed friends, I forward to you a free

translation of the proceedings of a meeting of Houynhyms, recently

held for the protection of their interests in corn. As the language

appears more temperate, and the propositions quite as rational, as

those which are ordinarily brought forward in the other Corn-law

meetings which still continue to agitate the county, I have no

difficulty in complying with their wishes; and if you can afford space

for the insertion of the report in your valuable Magazine, you will

greatly oblige the Houynhym race, and confer a favour upon, sir, your

obedient servant,

LEMUEL GULLIVER.

_Stable-Yard, Nov. 10th, 1843._

* * * * *

ADVERTISEMENT.

A meeting of delegates from the different classes of consumers of oats

was held on Friday last, at the Nag's Head in the Borough, pursuant to

public advertisement in the _Hors-Lham Gazette_. The object of the

meeting was to take into consideration the present consumption of the

article, and to devise means for its increase. The celebrated horse

Comrade, of Drury-Lane Theatre, presided on the occasion.

The business of the meeting was opened by a young Racer of great

promise, who said it was his anxious desire to protect the interests

of the horse community, and to promote any measure which might

contribute to the increase of the consumption of oats, and improve the

condition of his fellow-quadrupeds. He was not versed in political

economy, nor, indeed, economy of any kind. He had heard much of demand

and supply, and the difficulty of regulating them properly; but, for

his own part, he found the latter always equalled the former, though

he understood such was not the case with his less fortunate brethren.

He warmly advocated the practice of sowing wild oats, and considered

that much of the decrease of consumption complained of arose from the

undue encouragement given to the growth of other grain; and that the

horse interest would be best promoted by imposing a maximum as to the

growth of wheat and barley, according to the acreage of each

particular farm.

A HACKNEY-COACH HORSE declared himself in favour of the sliding-scale,

which he understood from Sir Peter Lawrie to mean the wooden pavement.

He admitted it was not well adapted for rainy seasons, but it was

impossible to doubt that things went much more smoothly wherever it

was established; and that he, and the working classes whom he

represented, found in it a considerable relief from the heavy duties

daily imposed upon them. He wished that some measure could be devised

for superseding the use of nosebags, which he designated as an

intolerable nuisance, especially during the summer months; but he

principally relied for an improvement in condition on the prohibition

of the mixture of chaff with oats; which latter article, he contended,

was unfit for the use of able-bodied horses, who earned their daily

food, and ought to be limited to those cattle who spent an idle

existence in straw-yards.

A BRIGHT CHESTNUT HORSE, of great power, and well-known in the parks,

warmly replied to the last neigher. He denounced the sliding-scale as

a slippery measure, unworthy of a horse of spirit, and adding greatly

to the burdens with which horses like himself were saddled. He daily

saw steeds of the noblest blood and most undaunted action humbled to

the dust by its operation; and if Sir Peter Lawrie was to be believed,

it was more dreaded by the household troops than Napoleon's army on

the field of Waterloo. He yielded to no horse in an anxious desire to

promote the true interests of the horse community; but he could not

give his support to measures so unsafe, merely because they enabled a

small and inferior section of their community to move more smoothly.

He reprobated, in strong terms, the unfeeling allusion of the last

neigher to the unfortunate inmates of union straw-yards, whom, for his

own part, he looked upon as nowise inferior to the hackney-coach

horse himself, of whose right to be present at a meeting of consumers

of oats he entertained serious doubts. (Loud neighs of "Order!

Order!")

A SCOTCH HORSE feared that, strictly speaking, he was included in the

same category with the hackney-coach horse, and had no right to be

heard, having no personal interest in the question; but he trusted he

might be permitted to speak as the delegate of the horses of Scotland,

who were ignorant of the Houynhym language, and not entitled to

attend. Permission being granted, to the surprise of the assembly he

descanted with much asperity upon the gross oppression to which horses

in Scotland were subject, as their rough coats and ragged appearance

plainly manifested; and stated, in conclusion, that no hope or

expectation of bettering the condition of the Scotch horse could be

entertained until their lawful food was restored to them, and

Scotchmen were compelled, by act of Parliament, to abstain from the

use of oatmeal, and live like the rest of the civilized world.

Several worn-out horses belonging to members of the Whig

administration then endeavoured to address the meeting, with an

evident intention of converting the proceedings into a party question;

but they were informed by the president, in the midst of loud snorting

and neighing, that they had not the slightest right to be present, as

they were all undoubtedly turned out for life. This decision appeared

to give universal satisfaction.

AN IRISH HORSE was of opinion that the great cause of the present

difficulties arose from deficiency in the quality and not the quantity

of the article, and strongly recommended the growth of Irish oats in

England. To the surprise of the English delegates, he warmly eulogized

the superiority of the Irish oat; but it afterwards appeared, upon the

production of a sample, that he had mistaken the potatoe oat for the

Irish oat.

AN OLD ENGLISH HUNTER next addressed the meeting, and was listened to

with deep attention. He impressed upon the young delegates the good

old adage of "Look before you leap," and cautioned them against the

delusive hope that their condition would be improved by change of

measures. In the course of his long life he had experienced measures

of every description, and had invariably found that his supplies

depended, not on the measure itself; but on the hand that filled it.

He had ever given his willing support to his employers, and served

them faithfully; and if they were as well acquainted as quadrupeds

with the secrets of the stable, they would learn the fallacy of their

favourite maxim of "Measures, not men," and trust the administration

of their affairs to upright and steady grooms, rather than those

fanciful half-educated gentlemen who were perpetually changing the

rules of the stables, and altering the form of the measures, whereby

they embarrassed the regular feeding and training of the inmates,

without producing any practical good.

A STAGE-COACH HORSE imputed their want of condition to the misconduct

of their leaders, who, he said, could never be kept in the right path,

or made to do one-half of the work which properly belonged to them. By

a strange fatality, they were generally purblind, and always shyed

most fearfully when an Opposition coach approached them. Indeed, it

was well known that the horses selected for these duties were,

generally speaking, vicious and unsound, and not taken from the most

able and powerful, but from the most showy classes. He then proceeded

to descant upon the general wrongs of horses. He congratulated the

community upon the abolition of bearing reins, those grievous burdens

upon the necks of all free-going horses; and he trusted the time would

soon arrive when the blinkers would also be taken off, every corn-binn

thrown open, and every horse his own leader.

Several other delegates addressed the meeting, and various plans were

discussed; but it invariably turned out, upon investigation, that the

change would only benefit the class of animals by whom it was

proposed. A post-horse was of opinion, that the true remedy lay in

decreasing the amount of speed, and shortening the spaces between

milestones. A Welsh pony was for the abolition of tolls, which, he

said, exhausted the money intended for repairs; whilst some

plough-horses from Lincolnshire proposed the encouragement of pasture

land, the abolition of tillage, and the disuse of oats altogether. The

harmony of the meeting was, at one period, interrupted, by the

unfortunate use of the word "_blackguard_" by a delegate from the

collieries, which caused a magnificent charger from the Royal Horse

Guards, Blue, to rear up, and, with great indignation, demand if the

allusion was personal; but who was satisfied with the explanation of

the president, that it was applicable only in a warlike sense. A long,

lean, bay horse, with a sour head, demanded a similar explanation of

the word "_job_," and was told it was used in a _working_ sense.

Several resolutions, drawn by two dray-horses, embodying the supposed

grievances of the community, were finally agreed upon, and a petition,

under the hoof of the president, founded upon them, having been

prepared, and ordered to be presented to the House of Commons by the

members for Horsham, the meeting separated, and the delegates returned

to their respective stables.

* * * * *

THE PROCLAMATION.

Bold warriors of Erin, I hereby _proclaim_,

That the world never witness'd your rivals in fame;

Bold sons of Macmurraugh, Macarthy, O'Neill,

The armies of earth at your sight would turn pale.

A flash from your eyes would light England's last pile,

And a touch give her sceptre to Erin's green isle.

Hurrah for the vengeance of old Mullaghmast,

On the blood-bolter'd ground where your gauntlet was cast;

Hurrah for the vengeance of Tara's proud hill,

Where the bones of our monarchs are blood-sprinkled still.

Hurrah for Clontarf, though the Saxon may smile,

The last, greatest triumph of Erin's green isle!

Let the scoffer scoff on, while I hereby _proclaim_,

That flight may be courage, and fear but a name;

That boasting is good, when 'tis good for the cause,

But, in sight of cold steel, _we should honour the laws_;

That powder and shot make men swallow their bile--

So, hurrah for the glory of Erin's green isle!

If they ask for your leader, the land's sword and shield,

At least none can say that _he fled from the field_.

_He_ kept a whole skin--for the service of Rome;

So he fix'd his headquarters in quiet at home.

They might just as well hunt for the head of the Nile,

While he reckon'd his beads for St Patrick's green isle.

If beggars on horseback will ride--to Clontarf;

If tailors will caper with truncheon and scarf,

At Sunday carousels, all know, I'm in flower,

My taste for the grape don't extend to the shower.

Besides, those blue pills disagree with my chyle,

So, hurrah!--pence and peace for the grand Emerald Isle!

If the scoffer should ask, what the deuce brought you there?

Of course, it was only to taste the fresh air;

To pick cowslips and daisies; and brush off the dew,

Or drink gin o'er the tombstone of Brian Boru.

As to flags, and all that; 'twas but doing in style,

The honours of Freedom to Erin's green isle.

Then, as to your "Squadrons," your "Mount for Repeal,"

'Twas merely to teach them the "Right about wheel,"

By the word of command from the Saxon to run,

As your leader would fly from a bailiff or dun;

In short, since a miss is as good as a mile,

Swear the whole was a humbug for Erin's green isle.

Besides, these are delicate moments to croak,

Since the Saxon's new plan of a word and a stroke.

My mind is made up, like a poodle or pug,

No longer to stir from my berth on the rug;

Though the bold may revile me, so let them revile--

I'm determined to _live_ for old Erin's green isle.

I _proclaim_--that the Saxon will tremble to meet

The heroes of Erin; but, boys, life is sweet.

I _proclaim_--that your shout frightens Europe's base thrones;

But remember, my boys, there is luck in whole bones;

So, take the advice of a friend--wait a while,

In a century or two you'll revenge the Green Isle.

I know in my soul, at the very first shot

That your whole monster meeting would fly at full trot;

What horrid mêlée, then, of popping and flashing!

At least I'LL not share in your holiday thrashing;

Brawl at Sugden and Smith, but beware "rank and file"--

They're too rough for the lambkins of Erin's green isle.

Observe, my dear boys, if you once get me hang'd,

'Tis fifty to one if you'll e'er be harangued.

Farewell to the pleasure of paying the "Rint"--

Farewell to all earth's vilest nonsense in print--

Farewell to the feast of your gall and your guile--

All's over at once with the grand Emerald Isle.

* * * * *

THE FIREMAN'S SONG.

"Ho, comrade, up! awake, arise! look forth into the night:

Say, is yon gleam the morning-beam, yon broad and bloody light?

Say, does it tell--yon clanging bell--of mass or matin song?

Yon drum-roll--calls it to parade the soldier's armèd throng?"

"No, brother, no! no morning-beam is yonder crimson glare!

Yon deep bell tolls no matin--'tis the tocsin's hurried blare!

Yon sullen drum-roll mutters out no summons to parade:

To fight the flame it summons us--the valiant Fire-Brigade!"

Then fast the Fireman rose, and waked his mate that lay beside;

And each man gripp'd his trusty axe, and donn'd his coat of hide--

There bounds beneath that leather coat a heart as strange to fear

As ever swell'd beneath the steel of gilded cuirassier.

And from beneath the leather casque that guards the Fireman's brow,

A bolder, sterner glance shines out than plumy crest can show;

And oft shall ply the Fireman's axe, though rude and rough it be,

Where sabre, lance, and bayonet, right soon would turn and flee!

Off dash the thundering engines, like goblin jäger-chase--

The sleeper shudders as they pass, and pallid grows his face:

Away, away! though close and bright yon ruddy glow appear,

Far, far we have to gallop yet, or e'er our work we near!

A plain of upturn'd faces--pale brows and quivering lips,

All flickering like the tropic sea in the green light of eclipse;

And the multitude waves to and fro, as in the tropic sea,

After a tempest, heaves and falls the ground-swell sleeplessly.

Now, by my faith! goodly sight you mansion fast asleep--

Those winking lamps beside the gate a dull watch seem to keep--

But a gay awaking waits them, when the crash of blazing beam,

And the Fireman's stern réveille, shall mingle with their dream!

And sound as sleeps that mansion, ye may mark in every chink

A gleam, as in the lava-cracks by the volcano's brink;

Through key-hole and through window-slit, a white and sullen glow--

And all above is rolling smoke, and all is dark below.

Hark! hear ye not that murmur, that hush and hollow roar,

As when to the south-wester bow the pines upon the shore;

And that low crackling intermix'd, like wither'd twig that breaks,

When in the midnight greenwood the startled squirrel wakes!

Lo, how the fire comes roaring on, like a host in war array!

Nor lacks it gallant music to cheer it on its way,

Nor flap of flame-tongued banner, like the Oriflamme of old,

Its vanward cohorts heralding, in crimson, green, and gold.

The engines now are ranged a-row--hark, how they sob and pant!

How gallantly the water-jets curve soaringly aslant!

Up spins the stream--it meets the flame--it bursts in fleecy rain,

Like the last spout of the dying whale, when the lance is in

his brain.

Ha, ha! from yon high window thrill'd the wild shriek of despair,

And gibbering phantoms seem to dance within the ruddy glare;

And as a valiant captain leads his boarders to the fray,

"Up, up, my sons!" our foreman shouts--"up firemen, and away!"

Their arms are strong and sinewy--see how the splinters fly--

Their axes they are sharp and good--"Back, comrades! or ye die--

Look to the walls!"--a rending crash--they topple--down they come--

A cloud of sparks--a feeble cheer--again!--and all is dumb.

A pause--as on that battle-day, 'twixt France and England's might,

When huge L'Orient blew up at once, in the hottest of the fight:

There was not one, they say, but wink'd, and held his breath

the while,

Though brave were they that fought that day with Nelson at the Nile.

And by to-morrow's sunrise, amid the steaming stones,

A chain of gold half-melted, and a few small white bones,

And a few rags of roasted flesh, alone shall show where died--

The noble and the beautiful, the baby and the bride!

O fire, he is a noble thing!--the sot's pipe gives him birth;

Or from the livid thunder-cloud he leaps alive on earth;

Or in the western wilderness devouring silently;

Or on the lava rocking in the womb of Stromboli.

Right well in Hamburg revell'd he--though Elbe ran rolling by--

He could have drain'd--so fierce his thirst--the mighty river dry!

With silk, and gold, and diamond, he cramm'd his hungry maw;

And he tamed the wild republicans, who knew nor lord nor law!

He feasted well in Moscow--in the city of the Tsar--

When 'fore the northern streamers paled Napoleon's lurid star:

Around the hoary Kremlin, where Moscow once had stood,

He pass'd, and left a heap behind, of ashes slaked in blood!

He feasted once in London--he feasted best of all--

When through the close-packed city, he swept from wall to wall:

Even as of old the wrath of God came down in fiery rain,

On Sodom and Gomorrha, on the Cities of the Plain!

* * * * *

POSITION AND PROSPECTS OF THE GOVERNMENT.

A recruited revenue; reviving trade and commerce; reduction in the

price of provisions; the triumphant termination of hostilities in all

parts of the world, with its great immediate prospective advantages: a

general feeling of confidence, arising from the steady administration

of public affairs, in spite of persevering and atrocious efforts to

excite dissatisfaction and alarm; nay, even the stern repose

prevailing in Ireland, preserved though it be, for a while, under

cover of artillery, and at the bayonet's point, but affording a

precious respite from agitation, and a foretaste of the blessings that

may be expected from its permanent suppression: all these

circumstances unequivocally attest the existence of a powerful

Government acting upon a comprehensive and enduring policy, which is

becoming daily better appreciated by the strong good sense which ever

distinguishes the British character, when a fair opportunity is

afforded for its exercise.

Upwards of two years have now elapsed since the accession of the

present Government to power, at a period of universally admitted

difficulty and danger. We have been, during this critical interval,

dispassionate and independent observers of Ministers, and their

conduct of public affairs, anxious to see whether they were really

equal to the occasion, and worthy of the confidence of the Sovereign

and the country. We are ourselves satisfied, and undertake to

demonstrate to our readers, that this question must be answered in the

affirmative. We say all this advisedly, and with no disposition to

deny the existence of difficulties, which, if serious to the present,

would be absolutely insuperable to any other Government. During the

interval in question, Ministers have triumphed over more formidable

difficulties than any which they have at present to encounter. _That_,

also, we say advisedly--cheerfully, confidently--with Ireland before

our eyes, and the din of the audacious and virulent Anti-corn-law

League in our ears.

Passing these topics for the present, let us proceed to examine

carefully the real position of Sir Robert Peel and his Government,

with a view to ascertaining its prospects of a continuance in power.

This enquiry cannot be successfully conducted, without referring for a

moment to the immense changes in principles and parties effected by

the Reform Bill in 1832--a period of quite as great a revolution as

that of 1688. The Tory party it nearly annihilated!--The first Reform

Parliament consisting of only 187 Tories to 471 Whigs and

Radicals--the former being thus in the fearful minority of 284. We

recollect sharing in the despondency, and even despair, which

paralysed our party. There was, however, one signal exception in the

person of Sir Robert Peel, whose conduct on that occasion entitles him

to the eternal gratitude of every man pretending to the character of a

Conservative, nay, of every true lover of his country and its

institutions. With surprising energy, calmness, and foresight, he

instantly addressed himself to the formation, even under those

inauspicious and disheartening circumstances, of that _great_

CONSERVATIVE _party_ of which he is now the acknowledged head. In

1841, just _before_ the general election, he thus _reminded that

party_, and apprized the country at large of the principle on which he

had acted in 1832. We beg our readers to ponder his words, and the

period when he uttered them.

"I then foresaw the good that might result from laying the

foundation of a great Conservative party in the state,

attached to the fundamental institutions of the country--not

opposed to any rational change in it which the lapse of years,

or the altered circumstances of society might require, but

determined to maintain, on their ancient footing and

foundation, our great institutions in church and state. In

order to form that party, however, it was necessary, in the

first instance, to widen the foundation on which it should

stand: to call into our connexion men from whom we had been

separated in consequence of differences which no longer

existed. My grand object was to build up that great party

which has been gradually acquiring strength in this

country--which has been gradually widening the foundation on

which it stands, and which has drawn, from time to time, its

support from its opponents."[11]

[11] Speech to the Tamworth Electors on 28th June 1841,

(Painter, Strand.)

The shortest and best evidence of the success which has attended the

unwearied exertions of Sir Robert Peel during the ensuing then years,

is afforded by the following summary of the results of the four

general elections since the passing of the Reform Bill; three of them

under the auspices and with the unscrupulously exercised patronage of

the Reform Government. Observe the ascending and descending scales:--

C. L.

187 471 (1832)

275 383 (1835)

314 344 (1837)

373 283 (1841)

Who was it but its founder, that led the Conservative party through

these successive stages of triumph? Who did so much as he to effect

that gradual but decisive change in public opinion which, in 1841,

routed the Liberal Ministry in spite of their extraordinary exertions

and advantages, and placed a Conservative Government at the head of

affairs? To enable us to appreciate the importance of that great

victory, and also the decision of character evinced on that occasion

by Sir Robert Peel, let us for a moment advert to the calm

self-reliance with which, amidst the breathless apprehensions and

misgivings of his whole party, he gave battle to the enemy--proposed

the memorable vote of want of confidence, and carried it by a majority

of one.[12] A more critical move never was followed by more signal

success; every ensuing event serving to show, that so far from his

movements having been impelled by rash and desperate party

speculations, they had been based upon a profound and accurate

knowledge of his resources, and of the state of feeling and opinion in

the country. "I gave the Government every advantage," said he, "to

make their appeal to the country. They boast of the confidence of the

crown--they have every means at their disposal which official

influence can command to exert in their own behalf. An appeal has been

made by them from the House of Commons to you, and it is for the

country to decide the question at issue. They have made an appeal to

public feeling on account of cheap sugar and cheap bread. My firm

belief is, that the people of this country have not at all responded

to that cry." How well-founded was that "firm belief," was proved by

the glorious result:--the "people of this country did" _not_ "respond

to that cry"--they rejected--they repudiated it, and they would do so

again if another such appeal were made to them to-morrow.

[12] Ayes, 312; Noes, 311--4th June 1841.

Let us now proceed to show what pretence there is for the injurious

insinuations and assertions of Sir Robert Peel's traducers--whether

treacherous friends or open enemies--that, in order to obtain power,

he hung out false colours to the nation; that his declarations before

the general election have been disregarded and falsified by his acts

on attaining office. We will for ever demolish all such calumnies and

false pretences by going, step by step, through a document which we

made a point of procuring at the time, and preserving hitherto, and to

which we have since frequently referred, on hearing uttered the

slanderous charges to which we allude. That document is a copy of the

speech which Sir Robert Peel, on the 28th June 1841, addressed

formally to his constituents, but virtually, of course, to the whole

nation.

One of his earliest declarations was the following:--"Gentlemen, _I

have ever professed moderate opinions on politics_. The principles I

professed, and adhered to, I shall adhere to during my public life,

whether in opposition or in power, are, I believe, in perfect

conformity with the prevailing good sense, the moderation, and the

intelligence of the great body of the people of England." This was a

sufficiently distinct notice to all men, especially to those of

extreme opinions, whether Tory, Liberal, or Radical, of the course of

action which was to be looked for from the expectant Prime Minister.

Then, first, he proceeded to admit the existence of manufacturing

distress.

"I admit and deplore it, but I do not despair. I have seen distress in

manufactures and in commerce before now. I think the causes of the

present distress are but temporary--that the cloud will soon blow

over--and that the great foundations of manufacturing prosperity are

not affected; and I hope I shall very shortly see the day when our

manufactures will once more revive, and when we shall again fill the

place we have always occupied--that of producers for the markets of

the world."

Now for its _cause_.

"Now let us consider the important question, as to how far the

distress in the manufactures and commerce of the country is fairly

attributable to the corn-laws." He proceeded to show, from Lord

Palmerston's official statement in Parliament on the 22d July 1840,

that, between the years 1830 and 1839, the _exports_ had risen from

the value of L.38,000,000 to L.53,000,000, and the _imports_ from

L.46,000,000 to L.62,000,000, "a clear proof that, notwithstanding the

local and temporary checks which our commerce had experienced, on the

whole it had gone on steadily improving, and that between the two

periods it had increased not much less than from two to three."

He then took the _shipping_ and _navigation_ of the country for the

preceding three years; and in looking at them, I cannot help thinking

that, if there was any thing like an absolute decrease in trade and

commerce, there would also be a decrease in the shipping of the

country. "Well," said Sir Robert Peel, "What do I find?" The returns

"showed an increase, presented within the last three years, from

4,000,000 tons to 4,780,000 tons." Now mark--"during the whole of this

period the corn-laws were in operation; how then can they be fairly or

honestly assigned as the cause of the present manufacturing and

commercial distress?"

But if the corn-laws were _not_, what _was_ the cause?

"I see causes enough in the world, as well as in this country, why

there should be manufacturing and commercial distress at the present

moment, irrespective and totally independent of the corn-laws."

These were--

1st, "_I do fear that, in the north of England, an undue stimulus has

been given to manufacturing industry by the accommodation system

pursued by the joint-stock banks. I think the connexion of the

manufacturer with the joint-stock banks gave an undue and an improper

impulse to trade in that quarter of the county; and I think that, in

consequence of this, there have been more manufactures produced within

the last two years than were necessary to supply the demand for

them._"

2ndly, "Look to the state of some of the foreign countries, which

took, at one time, the greatest quantity of our manufactures;" South

America, its ports strictly blockaded by France; the United States of

North America, "in a state of nascent hostility," and also labouring

under "a distress similar to our own, and arising from similar causes.

The facility of accommodation afforded by certain banks there gave an

undue stimulus to industry; this produced extravagant speculations;

many persons failed in consequence, and trade necessarily then came to

a stand-still." Canada--the peninsula, France, the great Kingdoms of

the middle and north of Europe--Syria, Egypt, China, had been, and

were, in such a state, as occasioned all interruption of our trade

thither; "a stoppage in the demand for manufactured goods, and a

correspondent depression in commerce." "When you put all these things

together, all causes, mind you, affecting the market for your goods,

and then combine them with the two or three defective harvests we have

had of late, I ask you to answer me the question, Whether or not they

have been sufficient to account for the depression of manufacturing

industry."

Then came Sir Robert Peel to the two grand and suddenly discovered

panaceas of the late Government, for recruiting the exhausted revenue,

and relieving the general distress--viz. "cheap sugar," and "cheap

bread."

1st, As to foreign sugar:--