bundles, and rubbing them well with the hand in a lather of soap and
water, after which they are rinsed in clean hot water. They are then
bleached by washing first with Spanish white, then are passed quickly
through a weak solution of indigo, and the process is completed by
exposing them to the fumes of sulphur, after which they are hung upon
cords to dry. As much of the beauty of ostrich feathers depends upon
their graceful pliability, they generally require to be scraped with
glass, to render them pliant; and the curly form so admired, is given by
drawing the edge of a blunt knife over the filaments. They are then
dyed. The process of dying black needs no preparation; but for receiving
the other colors it is necessary that they should be bleached by
exposure to the sun and dew; and a bleaching ground presents a very
singular appearance, seeming for all the world as if it was bearing a
luxuriant crop of feathers, ready to be mown; for each feather is stuck
singly in the grass, and left for fifteen days, after which it is ready
to receive the most delicate shades of pink or other color.
By the natives the feathers are little used; but a curious statement is
made by Captain Lyons, to the effect that at all the towns of Sockna,
Hoon, and Wadan, it is customary to keep ostriches tame in stables, and
to take three cuttings of their feathers every two years; and he adds,
that the greater part of the fine feathers sent to Europe are from tame
birds; as the plumage of the wild is generally so ragged and torn, that
not above half a dozen perfect white feathers can be found in each. We
have not been able, however, to verify this assertion.
To all Englishmen the triad of ostrich feathers has a peculiar charm as
the especial crest of the Prince of Wales. Romantic is the history
connected with this well-known badge, which in its adoption was sorely
stained with blood; for at the battle of Cressy no quarter was given,
and nearly forty thousand good men and true, of the best blood of
France, then yielded up their lives. But of all the sad incidents that
occurred that day, there was none more touching than that which marked
the closing scene of the life of the brave old King of Bohemia, whose
crest was the ostrich plume. Barnes, in his “History of Edward the
Third,” thus describes it:—“And first the Marquis Charles, Elect
Emperor, resisted the Prince with great courage, but his banner was
beaten to the ground, his men slain miserably about him, and himself
wounded in three places of his body; wherefore, though not without much
difficulty, he turned his horse and rode out of the field, having cast
away his coat armor that he might not be known. The meanwhile his
father, John, King of Bohemia, who was son to the noble Emperor, Henry
of Luxemburgh, although he was nearly blind with age, when he understood
how the day was like to go, asked his captains what had become of the
Lord Charles his son? They told him that they knew not, but that they
supposed him somewhere in the heat of action. Then the good old King,
resolving by no means to disgrace his former victories and cancel the
glory of his youth by a degenerous old age, said unto them, ‘Gentlemen,
you are my men, my companions and friends in this expedition. I only now
desire this last piece of service from you—that you would bring me
forward so near to these Englishmen, that I may deal among them one good
stroke with my sword.’ They all said they would obey him to the death;
and lest by any extremity they should be separated from him, they all
with one consent tied the reins of their horses one to another, and so
attended their royal master into battle. There this valiant old hero had
his desire, and came boldly up to the Prince of Wales, and gave more
than one, or four or five good strokes, and fought courageously, as also
did all his lords and others about him. But they engaged themselves so
far that there they were all slain, and the next day found dead about
the body of their king, and their horses’ bridles tied together.
“Then were the arms of that noble king (being the ostrich feathers, with
the motto ‘Ich Dien,’ signifying ‘I serve,’) taken and won by the Prince
of Wales, in whose memory they have ever since been called the Prince’s
Arms.”
It appears, however, that the same device had been previously worn by a
former sovereign, “For,” says Guillim, in his “Display of Heraldry,”
“the ostrich feathers in plume were sometimes also the device of King
Stephen, who gave them with this word, ‘Vi nulla Invertitui ordo: _No
force alters their fashion_;’ alluding to the fold and fall of the
feather; which howsoever the wind may shake it cannot disorder it; as
likewise is the condition of kings and kingdoms well established.”
The death of the blind old King of Bohemia recalls to mind an incident
which occurred at the battle of Waterloo, and which displays, in a
remarkable degree, chivalric bearing. During the heat and fury of the
fight, a very distinguished British cavalry officer, who had lost his
right arm in one of the Peninsular actions, led on a dragoon regiment to
the charge. In the _melée_ which followed, he found himself opposed to a
powerful French officer, who raised his sword to hew him down; but
suddenly perceiving the helplessness of his antagonist, who made shift
to manage his sword with his left hand, holding the bridle between his
teeth—the gallant Frenchman suddenly paused, brought his sword to the
“salute,” bowed, and galloped on to meet some foe more worthy of his
prowess. The English officer, who survived the battle, made great
exertions to discover who the French officer was, but was never able to
obtain the slightest clue: probably a sabre or a bullet, less merciful
than he, had stretched him on the field.
The great swiftness of the ostrich depends not merely upon the length
and strength of its legs, or the aid it receives from its plumed wings,
but we must take into consideration, in addition, the fact that its
bones, like those of other birds, are permeated by air, and are thus
lighter than those of animals. The feathers, too, are peculiar; instead
of the shaft being, as is commonly the case, unsymmetrically placed as
regards the barbs, it is exactly in the middle, and the barbules are
long and loose. The accessory plume, too, is wanting in the ostrich. In
the emu, on the contrary, the accessory plume equals the original
feather, so that the quill supports two shafts; and in the cassowary,
besides the double feather, there is also a second accessory plume, so
that the quill supports three distinct shafts and vanes.
To Mr. Charles Darwin ornithologists are indebted for the knowledge of
the fact, that there are two distinct species of ostrich inhabiting
South America. The first is the _Rhea Americana_, a well-known species
abounding over the plains of Northern Patagonia and the Provinces of La
Plata. It has not crossed the Cordillera, but has been seen within the
first range of mountains on the Uspallata plain, elevated between six
and seven thousand feet. These birds, though generally feeding on
vegetable matter, have been seen to go in groups of three and four to
the extensive mud-banks, which are then dry, at Bahia Blanca, for the
purpose of catching small fish, and they will readily take to the water.
Mr. King saw ostriches on several occasions swimming from island to
island at Port Valdes, in Patagonia, and the Bay of San Blas. When
swimming very little of their bodies appear above water; their progress
is slow, and their necks are extended forward. On two occasions Mr.
Darwin saw ostriches swimming across the Santa Cruz River, where it was
about four hundred yards broad and the stream rapid. Mr. Darwin went out
hunting one day at Bahia Blanca, the men riding in a crescent, each
about a quarter of a mile apart from the other. A fine male ostrich
being turned by the headmost riders, tried to escape on one side. The
Guachos pursued at a reckless pace, twisting their horses about with the
most admirable command, and each man whirling the “bolas,” or balls,
round his head. At length the foremost threw them revolving through the
air; in an instant the ostrich rolled over and over, its legs fairly
lashed together by the thong. These balls can be thrown from on
horseback to the distance of eighty yards, and a striking proof of their
effect was afforded at the Falkland Islands, when the Spaniards murdered
all the English, and some of their own countrymen also. A young Spaniard
was running away, when a great tall Indian, Luciano by name, came at
full gallop after him, shouting to him to stop, and saying that he only
wanted to speak to him. The Spaniard distrusting him continued his
flight, and just as he was on the point of reaching the boat, Luciano
threw the balls. They struck him on the legs with such a jerk as to
throw him down and render him for some time insensible. After Luciano
had had his talk, the man was allowed to escape, but his legs were
marked with great wales, as if he had been flogged with a heavy whip.
The second species, to which the name of _Rhea Darwinii_ has been
applied by Mr. Gould, takes the place of the former species—Rhea
Americana, in Southern Patagonia, the part about Rio Negro being neutral
ground. The first notice Mr. Darwin had of this species was in
accidentally hearing the Guachos talking of a very rare bird, the
Avestruz Petise; afterward, when among the Patagonian Indians in the
Straits of Magellan, Mr. Darwin found a half-bred Indian who had lived
some years with this tribe, but had been born in the Northern Provinces.
On being asked if he had ever heard of the Avestruz Petise, he answered
by saying, “Why there are none others in these Southern Countries;” and
afterward many of these birds were seen; their distinctive characters
being that they are light brown, in place of gray, and the bird
altogether smaller than the Rhea Americana.
In the year of grace, 1839, there was brought from New Zealand, by Mr.
Rule, a most hopeless-looking osseous fragment, just the middle of a
thigh-bone, without a scrap of either end remaining. This, which most
persons would have regarded with despair, was placed in the hands of the
great authority in such matters, with a request that he would state to
what creature it had belonged.
After a careful examination, Professor Owen, in a paper read before the
Zoological Society, on the 12th of November, 1839, (and which paper is
one of the most remarkable examples of acute inductive reasoning ever
published,) announced that, “So far as my skill in interpreting an
osseous fragment may be credited, I am willing to risk the reputation
for it on the statement that there has existed, if there does not now
exist, in New Zealand, a Struthious bird, nearly, if not quite equal in
size to the ostrich.”
This announcement created not a little stir in the scientific world; but
as three years passed away without any confirmation of the opinion,
certain wise men looked extra wise, and pronounced that the Professor
for once “had made a mistake.” But a triumphant vindication was at hand,
even from so unpromising a spot as Poverty Bay, in the shape of two
goodly boxes crammed full of bones, which looked as if they were the
remains of some ante-diluvial pic-nic, where the giants of those days
had been picking the scaffolding of the contents of a Brobdignagian pie;
and the curiosity connected with the said bones was heightened by a
delightfully mysterious history communicated with them by the gentleman
from whom they were sent. For the respectable natives, speaking, of
course, by the card, had informed him that the bones belonged to a
family of extraordinary monsters, one of whom was still in existence in
an inaccessible cavern on the side of a hill near the river Wairoa, and
that, like the lady in the fairy tales, this creature was jealously
guarded by a sort of huge lizard or dragon. Mr. Williams treated these
stories as idle fables, but some time after was a little staggered by a
sort of corroboration of the tale; for happening to speak to an American
about these bones, he was told by him that the bird was still in
existence in the neighborhood of Cloudy Bay, in Cook’s Straits, and that
the natives there had mentioned to an Englishman of a whaling party,
that there was a bird of extraordinary size, to be seen only at night,
on the side of a hill near there. Our countryman, with a companion and a
native guide, went to the spot on murderous thoughts intent, and after
waiting some time, they saw the creature at a little distance, towering
to the height of something like sixteen feet. One of the men was said to
have proposed to go near and take a shot at it, but the other was so
utterly terrified that they contented themselves with looking; and after
a time, the monster took the alarm, and, in almost seven-league boots,
strode away up the side of the mountain.
Professor Owen soon determined that the bones sent to him were portions
of a gigantic bird allied to the ostrich, and the publication of this
announcement, stimulating inquiry in New Zealand, box after box, full of
interesting specimens, found their way to the College of Surgeons, and
proved the existence, at no very remote period in the island of New
Zealand, of at least six different species of Dinornis (as the bird has
been named,) the largest certainly not less than ten feet in height; and
in the eloquent words of the Professor, “without giving the rein to a
too exuberant fancy, we may take a retrospective glance at the scene of
a fair island, offering, by the will of a bountiful Providence, a
well-spread table to a race of animated beings peculiarly adapted to
enjoy it; and we may recall the time when the several species of
Dinornis ranged the lords of its soil—the highest living forms upon
that part of the earth. No terrestrial mammal was there to contest this
sovereignty with the feathered bipeds before the arrival of man.”
But what has become of all these huge birds, for we no longer hear of
able seamen or nervous natives being scared by their apparitions? In all
probability they gradually became exterminated by the earliest colonists
who set foot on this lovely portion of the globe. Conspicuous as to
size, heavy in form, stupid, and unprovided with means of escape or
defense, the Dinornis would easily fall a victim to the destructive arts
of man; and although strong hopes to the contrary have been entertained,
there is good reason to suppose that all the varieties of the race have
been extinct for very many years; consequently the mysterious inhabitant
of the cave, and the apparition that strode up the mountain-side, were
doubtless legends that had descended from generation to generation from
the distant ancestors of the aborigines of the island. There is to be
seen in the museum of the Royal College of Surgeons, in Lincoln’s Inn
Fields, a considerable portion of the skeleton of a Dinornis, mounted by
the side of that of a large ostrich, above which it towers in the same
proportion as its neighbor O’Brien, the Irish giant, towers above all
ordinary men.
Gigantic though these New Zealand birds must have been, they were fully
equalled in size by a race of birds coeval with them in the island of
Madagascar; and it is remarkable that our chief knowledge of the
existence of these is derived from that most fragile and perishable of
their products—their eggs.
In 1850, M. Abadie, captain of a French merchantman, was at Madagascar,
and observed one day, in the hands of a native, an egg of enormous size,
perforated at one extremity, and used as a basin for various domestic
purposes. His curiosity was excited, and he caused search to be made,
which led to the discovery of a second egg of nearly similar size, which
was found perfectly entire in the bed of a torrent, among the _débris_
of a land slip; and soon after a third egg was found in alluvia of
recent formation, all being in the condition termed sub-fossil or
partially fossilized. These precious remains were transmitted to Paris,
but so carelessly packed, that one was found on their arrival broken to
atoms; the other two being happily sound. Casts of these marvelous eggs
have been transmitted to Professor Owen, and we can only compare them to
huge conoidal cannon-shot. In fact, in these days of cylindrico-conoidal
bullets, they might well pass for such a projectile adapted for a
sixty-eight pounder. Some idea of their dimensions may be formed from
the following facts. The dimensions of the most oval egg (for they
differ somewhat in form) are as nearly as possible thirteen and a half
inches in length by nine in diameter; and to fill it would require the
contents of six ostrich eggs, seventeen of the emu, one hundred and
forty-eight of the hen, or fifty thousand of the humming-bird! Various
fragments of bones were transmitted to Paris with the eggs, and the
comparative anatomists have arrived at the conclusion, that the bird
approached the ostrich in its main characteristics, but was of a less
slender make than it, and was probably about six times bigger than the
largest known bird of that class! To it the term _Æpyornis_ has been
applied; the epithet _Maximus_ being appropriately given to the species
to which the bones examined belonged.
-----
[2] Ælian. Hist. Animal. lib. xiv. c. 7.
[3] Xenophon, Anabesis, lib. 1, c. 5.
* * * * *
=IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND.=
=BY FREDERIKA BREMER.=
London! great, magnificent, wonderful London! was the thought which
presented itself again and again, during my peregrinations and my visits
to various districts of this immense city, and at the contemplation of
its rich, varied physiognomy. From the city, where trade lives, strives,
and posts its books, speculates and battles for life and death in smoky,
gloomy streets and alleys, to Hampstead, where the country joins the
town, and children ride upon asses over green hills and dales; from the
crowded, noisy Strand, which you can scarcely cross for the throngs of
omnibuses and carriages which are unceasingly driving along it, to the
silent, elegant Belgravia; from the closely built portions of the city,
where human beings live in crowded courts and wretched dens, like moles
in the earth, without pleasure and without light, to the immense,
magnificent parks—justly called the “lungs of London,” where people
wander calmly beneath green trees, or beside the clear little lakes, on
which rare water-birds swim rejoicingly; from Westminster to the Tower,
from St. Paul’s to Pall Mall and Piccadilly, and so on; all along the
Thames, the broad Thames, with its affluent life, with its splendid
bridges, with its steam-boats, swift as arrows, which bow down their
chimneys as they shoot onward under these bridges—what an abundance of
great, characteristic and strong feature is here combined with beautiful
detail!—the splendid palaces, the elegant detached houses, with their
gardens before them, the markets, with their flowing fountains, the
numerous small green inclosures, with their trees and bushes, which are
met with every here and there as a refreshment to the eye of the
wanderers—these, and many other similar objects. And on all hands that
great preponderance of substantial, wealthy, handsome, well-built,
well-arranged houses.
In especial must I remark the way in which London, and, in fact, in
which all English towns go out into, or up into, the country. It is not,
as in many other nations, by the houses becoming smaller, uglier, by
smoky chimneys becoming more numerous, marshes more extensive, the
refuse of the city more perceptible. No! on the contrary, the gardens
become more numerous and more extensive, the houses handsomer and more
open, the streets of the town expand and become rows of beautiful villas
and cottages, stone becomes less rare, flowers more frequent, the gray
is changed into green; one remarks a something “_con amore_” in the care
which is bestowed upon every dwelling, upon every grass-plot, in the
luxuriant growth of every creeper which is trained up the walls of the
houses and which engarlands their windows; in every iron palisade, which
at once incloses and ornaments every plot of garden ground, and by the
meaning of that English word _comfort_ being above all things made
evident to the mind of the observer.
In the midst of the city itself one does not think so much of this;
other interests have here their life or—death. Because the great,
closely-built city, where human beings live in dense masses, where they
live, so to say, one upon another, in secret or open warfare for bread
or the means of existence—the city becomes always, in a certain
respect, a home of death for humanity.
When God, however, created man, he placed him not in a city, but in a
garden; and people have now begun to be aware of this in England. Men of
high cultivation, and even of high birth, deliver lectures and print
pamphlets on the evils of great cities with their densely-built
habitations, and on the injurious effects which they produce on the
human soul, as well as on physical life. And people are already taking
measures by which, as cities grow, breathing room may grow also, and are
preparing for the inhabitants the means by which, even here, they may
preserve health, cleanliness, and the fresh enjoyments of life.
London, though in cleanliness, fresh air, general regulations, and the
great number of detached houses standing in their gardens, which in this
respect far exceeds most other great towns, has yet not been able to
avoid the curse of the great city: I saw that—I saw behind the
magnificent quarters, behind the stately palaces, streets and markets,
where the luxury and pomp of city and aristocratic life flourished in
their fullest extent, that there were hidden regions, streets and lanes
where might be seen the very opposite of all this—haunts of human
wretchedness, of human tatters both outward and inward. I wished also to
see these with my own eyes; to see St. Giles’s and the dirty quarters
behind Westminster; because I endeavor to see, every where, the best and
the worst, the heaven and the hell of existence in all spheres of life.
I wished to see it also in the life of London; and I saw it.
I began to speak of the city’s bright side when I described the Great
Exhibition with its cheerful life, and I will yet linger a few moments
over this side of London life and over some of its gay scenes—namely,
those which may be enjoyed by all, or by nearly all classes, and which
are therefore properly the people’s pleasures.
Of these, none were more agreeable to me than the promenades in the
great parks—Hyde Park, the Green Park, Regent’s Park, which last,
alone, is several English miles in circumference. On Sundays, one sees
them crowded with well-dressed people, mostly of the working classes;
children tumble about freely on the green turf, which remains green and
fresh notwithstanding, or feed with bread the beautiful swans or other
aquatic birds which swim about on the river-like winding pieces of
water. There stands also in one corner of St. James’ Park a row of cows,
from which, if the pedestrians choose, they can drink new milk, and thus
taste the pleasures of rural life; neither do other refreshments fail;
but the best refreshment here is, after all, the fresh air, the
wandering beneath green trees, the sight of the pleasure-takers, of the
sports of the children, and the views which are obtained of beautiful
palaces and churches. Queen Victoria may often enjoy from her royal
residence of Buckingham Palace, the cheerful sight of her people thus
wandering for their pleasure. Yes, it is to be feared that she, like
other queens and kings, sees too much of this side of the life of her
people, and thereby comes to forget that there is any other.
London possesses two scenes of popular enjoyment on a great scale, in
its British Museum and its Zoological Gardens. In the former, the glance
is sent over the life of antiquity; in the latter, over that of the
present time in the kingdom of nature; and in both may the Englishman
enjoy a view of England’s power and greatness, because it is the spirit
of England which has compelled Egypt and Greece to remove hither their
gods, their heroic statues: it is England whose courageous sons at this
present moment force their way into the interior of Africa, that
mysterious native land of miracles and of the leviathan; it is an
Englishman who held in his hand snow from the clefts of the remote
Mountains of the Moon; it is England which has aroused that ancient
Nineveh from her thousands of years of sleep in the desert; England
which has caused to arise from their graves, and to stand forth beneath
the sky of England, those witnesses of the life and art of antiquity
which are known under the name of the Nineveh Marbles, those magnificent
but enigmatical figures which are called the Nineveh Bulls, in the
immense wings of which one cannot but admire the fine artistic skill of
the workmanship, and from the beautiful human countenances of which
glances oriental despotism with eyes—such as those with which King
Ahasuerus might have gazed on the beautiful Esther, when she sank
fainting before the power of that glance. They have an extraordinary
expression—these countenances of Nineveh, so magnificent, so strong,
and at the same time, so joyous—a something about them so valiant and
so joyously commanding! It was an expression which surprised me, and
which I could not rightly comprehend. It would be necessary for me to
see them yet again before I could fully satisfy myself whether this
inexpressible, proudly, joyous glance is one of wisdom or of stupidity!
I could almost fancy it might be the latter, when I contemplate the
expression of gentle majesty in the head of the Grecian Jupiter.
Nevertheless, whether it be wisdom or stupidity—these representations
of ancient Nineveh have a real grandeur and originality about them. Were
they then representatives of life there? Was life there thus proud and
joyous, thus unconscious of trouble, care, or death, thus valiant, and
without all arrogance? Had it such eyes? Ah! and yet it has lain buried
in the sand of the desert, lain forgotten there many thousand years. And
now, when they once more look up with those large, magnificent eyes,
they discover another world around them, another Nineveh which cannot
understand what they would say. Thus proudly might Nineveh have looked
when the prophet uttered above her his “wo!” Such a glance does not
accord with the life of earth.
In comparison with these latest discovered but most ancient works of
art, the Egyptian statues fall infinitely short, bearing evidence of a
degraded, sensual humanity, and the same as regarded art. But neither of
these, nor of the Elgin marbles, nor of many other treasures of art in
the British Museum, which testify at the same time to the greatness of
foregone ages, and to the power of the English world conquering
intelligence, shall I say any thing, because time failed me rightly to
observe them, and the Nineveh marbles almost bewitched me by their
contemplation.
It is to me difficult to imagine a greater pleasure than that of
wandering through these halls, or than by a visit to the Zoological
Garden which lies on one side of the Regent’s Park. I would willingly
reside near this park for a time, that I might again and again wander
about in this world of animals from all zones, and listen to all that
they have to relate, ice-bears and lions, turtles and eagles, the
ourang-outang and the rhinoceros! The English Zoological Garden,
although less fortunate in its locality than the _Jardin des Plantes_ in
Paris, is much richer as regards animals. That which at this time
attracted hither most visitors was the new guest of the garden, a
so-called river-horse or hippopotamus, lately brought hither from Upper
Egypt, where it was taken when young. It was yet not full grown, and had
here its own keeper—an Arab—its own house, its own court, its own
reservoir to bathe and swim in! Thus it lived in a really princely
hippopotamus fashion. I saw his highness ascend out of his bath in a
particularly good humor, and he looked to me like an enormous—pig, with
an enormously broad snout. He was very fat, smooth, and gray, and
awkward in his movements, like the elephant. Long-necked giraffes walked
about, feeding from wooden racks in the court adjoining that of the
hippopotamus, and glancing at us across it. One can scarcely imagine a
greater contrast than in these animals.
The eagles sat upon crags placed in a row beneath a lofty transparent
arch of iron work, an arrangement which seemed to me excellent, and
which I hope seemed so to them, in case they could forget that they were
captives. Here they might breathe, here spread out their huge wings, see
the free expanse of heaven, and the sun, and build habitations for
themselves upon the rock. On the contrary, the lions, leopards, and such
like noble beasts of the desert, seemed to me particularly unhappy in
their iron-grated stone vaults; and their perpetual, uneasy walking
backward and forward in their cages—I could not see that without a
feeling of distress. How beautiful they must be in the desert, or amid
tropical woods, or in the wild caverns of the mountains, those grand,
terrific beasts—how fearfully beautiful! One day I saw these animals
during their feeding time. Two men went round with wooden vessels filled
with pieces of raw meat; these were taken up with a large, iron-pronged
fork, and put, or rather flung, through the iron grating into the dens.
It was terrible to see the savage joy, the fury, with which the food was
received and swallowed down by the beasts. Three pieces of meat were
thrown into one great vault which was at that time empty, a door was
then drawn up at the back of the vault, and three huge yellow lions with
shaggy manes rushed roaring in, and at one spring each possessed himself
of his piece of flesh. One of the lions held his piece between his teeth
for certainly a quarter of an hour, merely growling and gloating over it
in savage joy, whilst his flashing eyes glared upon the spectators, and
his tail was swung from side to side with an expression of defiance. It
was a splendid, but a fearful sight. One of my friends was accustomed
sometimes to visit these animals in company with his little girl, a
beautiful child, with a complexion like milk and cherries. The sight of
her invariably produced great excitement in the lions. They seemed
evidently to show their love to her in a ravenous manner.
The serpents were motionless in their glass house, and lay, half asleep,
curled around the trunks of trees. In the evening, by lamp light, they
become lively, and then, twisting about and flashing forth their snaky
splendors, they present a fine spectacle. The snake-room, with its walls
of glass, behind which the snakes live, reminded me of the old northern
myth of Nastrond, the roof of which was woven of snakes’ backs, the
final home of the ungodly—an unpleasant, but vigorous picture. The most
disagreeable and ugliest of all the snakes, was that little snake which
the beautiful Queen Cleopatra, herself false as a serpent, placed at her
breast; a little, gray, flat-headed snake, which liked to bury itself in
the sand.
The monkey-family lead a sad life; stretch out their hands for nuts or
for bread, with mournful human gestures; contentious, beaten, oppressed,
thrust aside, frightening one another, the stronger the
weaker—mournfully human also.
Sad, also, was the sight of an ourang-outang, spite of all its queer
grimaces, solitary in its house, for it evidently suffered _ennui_, was
restless, and would go out. It embraced its keeper and kissed him with
real human tenderness. The countenance, so human, yet without any human
intelligence, made a painful impression upon me: so did the friendly,
tame creature here, longing for its fellows, and seeing around it only
human beings. Thou poor animal! Fain would I have seen thee in the
primeval woods of Africa, caressing thy wife in the clear moonlight of
the tropical night, sporting with her among the branches of the trees,
and sleeping upon them, rocked by the warm night wind. There thy
ugliness would have had a sort of picturesque beauty. After the strange
beast-man had climbed hither and thither along the iron railing, seizing
the bars with his hands, and feet—which resembled hands—and also with
his teeth, he took a white, woolen blanket, wrapped it around him in a
very complicated manner, and ended by laying himself down as a human
being might do, in his chilly, desolate room. They say that he will not
live long in this country.[4]
After this, all the more charming was the spectacle presented by the
waterfowl from every zone. Ducks, Swans, and Co., all quite at home
here, swimming in the clear waters, among little green islands on which
they had their little huts. It was most charmingly pretty and complete.
And the mother-duck with her little, lively, golden-yellow flock,
swimming neck and heels after her, or seeking shelter under her wings,
is—at all times—one of the most lovely scenes of natural
life—resembling humanity in a beautiful manner.
Even among the wild beasts I saw a beautiful human trait of maternal
affection. A female leopard had in her cage two young cubs, lively and
playful as puppies. When the man threw the flesh into her cage, she drew
herself back, and let the young ones first seize upon the piece.
Crows from all parts of the world here live together in one
neighborhood, and that the clattering and laughter was loud here did not
surprise me, neither that the European crows so well maintained their
place among their fellows. That which, however, astonished and delighted
me was, the sweet, flute-like, melodious tones of the Australian crow.
In the presence of this crow from Paradise—for originally it must have
come therefrom—it seemed to me that all the other crows ought to have
kept silence with their senseless chattering. But they were nothing but
crows, and they liked better to hear themselves.
Parrots from all lands lived and quarreled together in a large room, and
they there made such a loud screaming, that in order to stand it out one
must have been one of their own relations. Better be among the silent,
dejected, stealthy, hissing, shining snakes, than in company with
parrots. The former might kill the body, but the latter the soul.
Twilight came on, and drove me out of the Zoological Garden each time I
was there, and before I had seen all its treasures. Would that I might
return there yet a third time and remain still longer!
Among the places in London which were much visited at this time by the
millions of strangers who streamed hither, was the Egyptian Hall—a
temple or museum for the remarkable things and curiosities from all
foreign lands, which are traveling through the world, together with
extraordinary men, animals, conjurors and conjuration—a temple of
novelty which ought to be found in every great city, for the support and
refreshment of the spirit of curiosity in the human breast. I saw here a
couple of beautiful dioramas, and these were a glorious and
extraordinary delight. What is the use of giving one’s self a deal of
trouble to travel through far countries, in the face of danger by land
and sea—to make great efforts to be in time for the railway-train—to
get up in the night to go on board the steam-boat or by _diligence_—to
eat food which does not agree with one—to lose one’s luggage and all
one’s clothes—to be paying one’s money away all day long—to have an
empty purse and weary body—in a word, to do battle with a thousand
difficulties, when one can—here at the Diorama—sit quietly upon a
bench, listen to music, and for a shilling behold Europe, Asia, or
America pass before one, exhibit their ruins, their rivers, their
capitals, their temples, and beautiful natural scenes before one’s eyes.
Thus it was that I here beheld Egypt and the Nile travel past me: saw
the ancient pyramids and temples with their colossal statues: saw Copts
and Turks reposing beneath the palm-trees, and European tourists smoke
their cigars under the nose of the old gods of the Hindoos: saw Sirius
ascending brilliantly above the Nile: saw the beautiful head of the
Sphinx glancing upward from the desert sand, whilst night rested above
the desert, and Canopus looking down upon it—a sight which I shall
never forget. Beyond this, I allowed the journey from London to Calcutta
to journey past me; by Malta, and the Mediterranean, through the desert
by caravan, with camels, Arabs, and so on to Ceylon and Hindoostan, with
its cities and Hindoo temples. And it is impossible for me to say how
convenient and entertaining I found it all.
Among the luxurious establishments of London, I heard much said of the
clubs; palace-like houses where certain corporate bodies in the
government or the city have their place of meeting arranged for their
own especial accommodation, and where every thing which is most
_recherché_ in food and in wine, and every article of life’s luxury is
provided for the use of these gentlemen. I was shown the Lawyers’, the
Merchants’, and the United-Service Club-Houses, with many others. Men of
all classes, who have good incomes, may here enjoy themselves every day,
without any other danger than that of here forgetting the nobler
business of life and their better self; for these magnificent abodes are
the promoters of selfishness and the desire for self-indulgence; and the
man accustomed to the refined enjoyments of the club not unfrequently
comes to despise the more frugal meal of home, and simple domestic
pleasure. He is afraid of taking an amiable wife, because he might be
prevented from having his delicate club-house dinner; and the man thus
corrupted by luxury, renders himself incapable of life’s best enjoyment.
Ah! he does still worse than that, because the evil which
self-indulgence begets is not negative, is not merely individual!
And now from these halls, where the thirst of pleasure—a beautiful,
false Delilah—seeks to lull men to sleep and rob them of their
strength, and the saloons where self-indulgent women trifle away life in
vanity, and worse still, although they have not their public club-houses
for this purpose, I will pass over at once to scenes which present the
strongest contrast and resemblance to these places—the quarters in
London where the wretched, the poor and the openly criminal of the
community, have also their clubs and places of meeting, the great
revelation of the dark side of life.
I had already seen it many times, even in the rich splendid parts of the
city. I had seen in front of magnificent shops, filled with bread and
confectionery of every kind, women stealing along with pallid
countenances and glances which earnestly demanded what the lips dared
not to ask. I have seen children coming out of the cross streets of the
Strand, children with eyes so beautiful that I could have kissed them,
but clothed in rags and covered with dirt which was revolting, and I
proposed to myself to seethe “nightshade” of London life in its fullest
bloom. The poison-flower of this name, so dangerous to the noblest
feelings of humanity, and thence seizing upon life, grew here in
luxuriance—that I knew—not in nature, but in human life.
And I saw it, saw it in St. Giles’s, and in particular in a part of
Westminster, the whole quarter, streets and lanes, filled with wretched
half-tumble-down houses, windows stopped up with rags, rags hanging
fluttering in the wind outside the houses, as if they were banners;
every thing in tatters, every thing dirty, wretched! And human beings
with traces of the ale-house upon them, traces of every species of vice,
of crime, and want, and misery: pallid-faced women and men, great,
ill-conditioned boys and girls, who—in the middle of the day—idled
about doing nothing: in fact, “the dangerous classes” were here in
vigorous growth. But even into this realm of darkness had the light of
the sun began to penetrate.
Only a few years ago, it was not safe even for the police authorities to
venture into this quarter, and several persons of the better class who
had ventured into houses here were never afterward heard of. Some,
however, ventured in yet again, and came out scathless. Clergymen, “The
Missionaries of the Poor,” dared to come hither without fear, because
they too were poor in every thing but the strength of eternal life—they
dared to come hither; visited the sick and dying, penetrated into every
corner and nook, helping, comforting, admonishing, and bearing away with
them the intelligence of what they had seen and experienced into a
higher class of society. That was the beginning. After that, came men of
respectability, birth, fortune: men—yes, and women also, of high
acquirements, who turned themselves hither both with thought and deed.
Thus real and powerful material means were enlisted in the service of
humanity. A broad street was opened through the densest portion of the
district, through the worst abodes of darkness, and was now in progress
of completion. An old house which had been purchased and converted into
a “Model Boarding-house,” stood close beside the former den of thieves,
whither guests had been inveigled and plundered, if not murdered.
“I expected this summer to have seen many of my countrymen,” lamented a
fat and ugly French hostess, to one of her wretched neighbors; “but I
have had scarcely any. My room stands empty.”
I did not much wonder at that when I went through this room, up in a
third story, and afterward saw the rooms in the large model eating-house
just by, established by Lord Canning, and where every thing, although in
the highest degree homely, was remarkable for cleanliness and order.
This house was under the management of respectable people—a man and his
wife, with a fixed salary—who had one hundred boarders, all men. Five
or six beds stood in each room. Fresh air, cleanliness, and good order
prevailed every where. I saw also a lodging-house somewhat of this kind,
but for decayed gentlemen. Each of these had—besides a small sum
weekly—a bedroom, together with fuel and the privilege of reading in a
common room. Each cooked his own food by his own fire.
I saw in the eating-room here, as well as in the kitchen, several highly
original countenances, good studies for a Boz or Hogarth, and evidently
still estimable ruins of a better and not insignificant humanity. It
seemed to me that I could observe traces of genius or humor of so high a
degree that something great might have come out of them, if they had not
gone astray or lost their balance. However that might be, still these
figures, with their remarkable noses, seen by the light of the fire,
with their pipes or their tea-cups, each one busied for himself in that
large warm room, produced a peculiar appearance, not unpleasing nor
without interest. They had shelter, companionship, a certain
independence, and a certain comfort, these old gentlemen. They might
wait in peace for the great “flitting day.”
I saw also a newly-erected Ragged-School in this quarter, but the
scholars were evidently yet an uncultivated set of urchins, who had
great need to go to school. Public baths and wash-houses had been also
established here, and these were assiduously visited on Saturdays. Who
does not see in all this the commencement of a better state of
things?—and already has this begun through these means in various parts
of London. In many of the worst and poorest parts of London have model
lodging-houses been established, or are about to be so, together with
public baths and wash-houses.
I visited one of the larger model dwelling-houses, in company with the
good and cheerful Mrs. C——, whose countenance belongs to that class
which ought often to be seen in dark places, because it is like
sunshine. The building, a large, well-constructed block, with
accommodation for twenty families and one hundred and twenty-three
single women, was known by the appellation of Thanksgiving Buildings,
because it had been erected the year after the last visitation of the
cholera in London, and in grateful acknowledgment of its ceasing in a
quarter where, in consequence of the unhealthiness of the houses, it had
been most fatally prevalent. In truth, a beautiful mode of returning
thanks to God: worthy to be considered and imitated.
We visited a few families. The doors of their dwellings had handsome
knockers upon them, and every thing in the interior was arranged with
the same well-considered attention as in Prince Albert’s cottages. The
mistresses of these families, agreeable-looking young women, with many
children, took an especial pleasure in showing us how easily and
abundantly the fresh water flowed forth by merely turning a little tap.
They seemed to place a particular value upon this. The rooms were light,
and in arrangement and number similar to those in the dwellings I have
already described. One of the women, mother of two little children,
lamented that the rent was high, and that she was unable to do any thing
to assist her husband in providing for the family. Formerly, and while
unmarried, and in the employment of a dress-maker, she had been able to
earn seven shillings a-week. She mentioned this with a melancholy
expression; and one could not but—while listening to her—think upon
the deplorable manner in which the education of the poor woman is
circumscribed, and which allows to her hand no other occupation but that
of the seamstress. How easily the woman’s work at home, in manufacture
or art, might be advantageous to the husband and the family!
A bath and washing establishment were in progress of preparation within
the building. The rooms for single women were yet empty: nor were,
indeed, all of them complete; and even when they are finished, I hope
that they may not become occupied, at least by amiable women. Each room
is intended for two occupants, each of whom will pay one shilling per
week as rent: and the rooms are so small and so entirely devoid of
comfort of any kind, that it required an effort to look at them. I could
not help thinking of the magnificent club-houses. Not that I would have
such for women; but, nevertheless, I would have something a little nice,
and with some convenience—yes, and with something attractive in the
neighborhood; this is a mere act of justice which I would demand for
these lonely ones.
The great public wash-houses present a gladdening sight. Hundreds of
women stood here, each one in her little alcove, with her steaming wash
before her, busy and cheerful.
“I can get all my washing done in two hours,” said a woman to me, with
sparkling eyes, beside whom I stood.
“And how frequently is it needful for you to wash?” inquired I.
“Once a week,” replied she. “I have a husband and five little children.”
One may fancy this woman doing her washing at home, drying and ironing
it on the Saturday in the only room in which is the whole family, in
order to have the clothes ready for the Sunday; one may fancy the
husband coming home on the Saturday evening from his week’s work in
order to enjoy rest and refreshment with his family—and finding the
room full of wet clothes, damp, or filled with steam during the ironing
process; the wife, occupied by her work, tired, and perhaps cross, the
children in the way, or else—out of the way, in order to make room for
the wet clothes! If the husband, under such circumstances, did not leave
home and wife in order to find rest and refreshment at the ale-house, he
must have had the soul of a martyr and hero!
In these new public wash-houses, the wife can do the whole of her
washing and have it ironed and finished in two hours. And it was in the
highest degree interesting to observe the means by which this operation
in all its various departments can be carried on so rapidly and so well,
and at the same time, for so small a payment.
The baths are also much frequented by the lower classes, but that most
generally on the Saturday. And then the numbers are so great, that the
lobbies are crowded with people waiting for their turns. Both these
institutions are of incalculable benefit to the domestic life of the
poor.
What the model dwelling-houses are and may become for the same class,
the following anecdote may suffice to prove.
“On one of my visits to the Metropolitan buildings,” related to me Dr.
S. S., one of the noble men who was foremost in their establishment, “I
saw a woman standing at her open door. She greeted me so pleasantly, and
with so kind an expression, that I was involuntarily compelled to stand
and speak to her. She invited me into her dwelling, a sitting-room and
kitchen, (but which also was a sitting-room,) showed me how prettily
arranged she and her husband had every thing here, the beautiful,
extensive prospect from the window, and how convenient was every thing
within; she showed me their flowers, books, birds, and seemed to be made
most sincerely happy by all these things. I fell into conversation with
her, and by this means became acquainted with her history.
“‘We have been in better circumstances,’ said she; ‘at one time, indeed,
we were very well off. But my husband became surety for a friend in whom
he had as entire faith as in himself. His friend, however, became
bankrupt, and by this means we lost nearly all that we possessed. We
were obliged to sell a part of our furniture, and to remove from our
comfortable dwelling to one much worse, but of a rent which we could
afford. Here, however, new misfortunes met us; every thing began to go
downward with us; we were obliged to sell the greater part of that which
was yet left, and again to remove. We took a house in one of the suburbs
of London, the best that we could get for the low rent which we could
now afford. But it was a gloomy, damp, ugly, and in the highest degree
inconvenient dwelling. When my husband used to come into the gloomy,
chilly room, he became, as it were, struck with numbness. He sat silent,
without taking pleasure in any thing; he could not even open a book, and
reading used formerly to be his greatest delight. ‘It is all over with
us now,’ thought I to myself, ‘and we must sink down into wretched
poverty.’
“‘One day, however, I saw by chance, in the newspaper, an advertisement
of rooms here at a reasonable rate, and I thought, if we could only
manage to get into these rooms, he would perhaps come round again. I
persuaded him therefore to let us go and look at them. These rooms which
we now have, were fortunately still untenanted; and as we could produce
the required certificate of character and respectability, we were
accepted as tenants. My husband had not been long in these cheerful,
excellent rooms, before he again took to his books, and began to work
afresh. ‘Thank God,’ thought I, ‘now are we right again!’
“‘And so it was. My husband now earns good wages, and is promised an
advance in them. Our rent costs but three shillings a week. We are now
again getting on in the world—God be praised!’”
And a hand extended to the sinking—light, air, health, hope to those
who sit in darkness—behold, these are offered by this institution of a
truly Christian community, to the children of desolation. Prepare ye the
way of the Lord!
“If you could remain longer with us,” said the same friend of humanity
to me, “I would take you with me in my walks through the city, and I
would show you, not our palaces and places of magnificence, but our
wretchedness, and that which we do to alleviate it.”
And I have now seen sufficient thereof for me to say, that _much_ is
done, but that still more yet remains to be done. How much may be
conceived from this single fact, that out of the immense population of
the London poor only about fifteen hundred persons can be accommodated
in the model dwelling-house!
In connection with these establishments will I mention two of a similar
design which I visited during my stay in London. One of these is known
under the appellation of “The Dormitory for Thieves.” This was the
undertaking of a single individual, and still depends, in a great
measure, upon the extraordinary courage and clear-headedness of this one
man, together with private assistance which his undertaking has received
from noble-minded women and men.
Mr. Nash was a teacher in a Ragged School. Just opposite the school was
an open shed, beneath which Mr. Nash observed that early in the morning
a number of youths, of from about seventeen to twenty years of age,
assembled, who appeared to have no other place of shelter. Before long
he fell into conversation with them, and learnt that such was the case,
and that these youths spent the greater part of the night, as well as of
the day, on foot for the purposes of theft or plunder. He inquired from
them whether they would be willing to give up this miserable occupation
for something better. All declared that they had no higher wish than to
do so. Mr. Nash then proposed to them that they should pass through a
probatory period of two weeks, during which they should be placed in a
solitary room, and have no other food than bread and water. After this
time of trial, if they passed well through it, he promised to receive
them into the school, and teach them some trade, of which they
themselves should have the choice, and which would thus open to them a
respectable path for the future. The boys willingly entered into the
plan, and, under the oversight of Mr. Nash, commenced their noviciate on
bread and water; a pound weight of bread each a day, in a solitary room,
but without fastenings. Some of them grew weary in a few days, and went
out again to cheat and to steal, but the greater number persevered, and
with these Mr. Nash commenced the institution called the “Dormitory,”
which soon extended itself, and now contains about fifty pupils, and at
which forty or more candidates present themselves weekly, young men of
from sixteen to thirty years of age, who are desirous of leaving the
paths of vice. The great school for juvenile offenders, situated a few
miles from London, receives only children under fifteen years of age. I
very much regret that my time was too short to allow of my visiting it.
The house designed for the Dormitory was now building, and Mr. Nash was
therefore compelled from want of room to reject each week many young men
who were desirous of being received on trial. The fifty who had
successfully passed through the heavy probation—a short one, it is
true, but a sufficient trial for young men with hungry stomachs,
unbroken wills, and unaccustomed to discipline—were employed in various
rooms as shoemakers, tailors, carpenters, smiths, printers, and so on.
They scarcely looked up, and were zealously occupied by their work.
Three young men, of from eighteen to twenty, underwent, as best for
them, their trial in an empty room, the doors of which stood open. They
had determined upon pursuing a certain trade, and had firmly resolved
upon amending their course of life. I saw among these young men many
pleasant, hopeful countenances, and some also which it required courage
to admit into an institution for improvement.
But this Mr. Nash has a countenance which is remarkable for great
courage and the most cheerful confidence. And, perhaps, it is precisely
this very courage and this cheerful confidence which are most needed and
of which there is most want in society. Perhaps there would not be found
any thing altogether irremediable in the world if we had only this right
courage, this right trust—in the strength of resurrection!
The fallen youths in this institution are taught not merely a handicraft
trade, but, as a matter of course, first and foremost the principles of
Christianity. Many of them are destined for emigration, and, after
having well passed through their apprenticeship, obtain aid for their
outfit and their voyage, which is in a general way to Australia. For
Australia Felix is a picture which floats before the eye of the
converted youth as the goal and reward of his industry and his good
conduct during his apprenticeship. And the beautiful skies of Australia
seem intended by Providence as a symbol of mercy, to entice home the
prodigal but repentant son of earth.
I hear at this point an objection which is often made.
“You are promoters of crime, inasmuch as you assist the criminal more
than the innocent; inasmuch as the quality of thief becomes a letter of
recommendation to ‘the Dormitory for Thieves,’ and thence to Australia.”
This objection would be just if no protecting, aiding hand were
stretched forth to guiltless and destitute youth. But in England this
objection is overruled by many benevolent institutions. Among these is
the Emigrant’s Home for young persons who can produce certificates of
blameless life, and who wish to emigrate, but have not the means of so
doing. I visited the Home, where young women of the working class and of
good character are received for a time, examined, and afterward enabled
to leave the country and to obtain situations in the English colonies.
Between seven and eight hundred young women had, within rather more than
a year, been sent abroad from this Home, their passage paid, and
services obtained for them in the colonies, mostly in New Zealand and
Australia. In the Ragged Schools also is Australia Felix a land which
stands before the souls of the children as a future home with a brighter
sky and better prospects for them than their native land, and the
sending them thither is a reward for their progress in learning. From
thirteen to fifteen years of age they are sent thither—that is to say,
to the southern part of the continent, where the climate is most
healthy, and where none of the convict population are to be met with;
these, as is well known, being confined to the northern coast. The
children obtain situations in the families of the wealthy colonists,
still remaining in connection with the mother-school which sent them
out; and their letters to the teachers and their friends, about the
country and the people of that new world to which they have removed,
diffuse the utmost pleasure and excite the deepest interest in the old
home. I read some of these letters, printed in small, neat, stitched
pamphlets, which are sold and circulated for a few pence, together with
many other small writings of the same price and form. I read with great
interest these child-like, naïve descriptions, fresh with morning dew,
from the new world. And this led me to a more intimate acquaintance with
the popular folk-literature of England. This subject, however, is too
great to be treated of here, and demands a separate chapter. Merely a
few words in short.
In order that it may actually be an advantage to the child to learn to
read in the school, it is of importance that when it leaves the school
it may find something good to read—something improving for the
understanding, something ennobling for the heart. Rich men’s children
have this in superabundance: the children of the poor have long had, and
still in many countries have—when they leave school—no other reading
of an amusing kind to go to than wretched ballads, rude stories, immoral
tales and pictures, which degrade mind and taste—and they form
themselves accordingly. In England, and in various cultivated countries,
people have begun zealously to provide for the needs of the reading
portion of the lower classes. Societies have been formed both in the
Episcopal church and other religious bodies, for the diffusion of useful
and entertaining reading, designed especially for the youth of the lower
classes who have the wish to read, but who have not the means of
purchasing expensive books. Small works, illustrated with beautiful
vignettes, circulate in England by thousands, especially narratives,
biographies, and such like, which are calculated to please the most
uneducated as well as the most childish mind. The number of these
writings, and so called “tracts”—which are sold at from one penny to
six-pence each—is immense in England. They circulate over the whole
country, and may be met with in all the book-shops.
In the Ragged Schools, in the Model Boarding-houses, in the Home for
poor emigrants, in the Dormitory for thieves, in many benevolent
institutions, had I seen a copper-plate portrait of a handsome,
middle-aged gentleman, holding a roll of paper in his hand, from which
he seemed about to read. This was the portrait of Lord Ashley, now Earl
of Shaftesbury. It was thus that he stood up, time after time, in
Parliament, with narratives which he had collected and written down from
the life of the working-classes of England, with its neglects and
necessities, its temptations to crime, and its bitterness against
society, especially in the manufacturing districts. It was thus that he
continued to stand forth and to plead, spite of opposition, derision,
reproach, and threats, until he aroused that universal attention and
that universal sympathy for the sufferings of the lower classes of
society, which he made it his mission to search into and to alleviate.
Thus, he became the promoter of important reforms, and of many excellent
institutions for the oppressed and the fallen of the laboring classes.
Thus, he became so well known for his spirit of active human kindness,
that not long since, the thieves of London, to the number of more than a
thousand—if I am not mistaken—sent to Lord Ashley, requesting he would
meet them at a certain place which they named, where they wished to ask
his advice, as to how they might get into some better way of life. Lord
Ashley undertook to meet these thieves. These dangerous classes had laid
aside their fearful aspect for the occasion. They came now as repentant
children to a father, to whose counsel and guidance they would submit
themselves. During this meeting, his lordship wished to give a small sum
of money to an old man, but not having small change with him, produced a
sovereign, and asked if some one would go out and get change for him.
Many hands were stretched forth, and Lord Ashley gave the gold coin to a
boy, who immediately sprang out with it. As he remained a considerable
time away, a general uneasiness spread itself through the assembly; all
looked eagerly toward the door, all were evidently anxious that he
should not abuse the confidence of his lordship; and when, at length, he
returned with the proper amount of change, a general satisfaction showed
itself.
I am sorry not to know more about this conference, nor what advice Lord
Ashley gave to the thieves, because it must have been something beyond
mere theory. The Dormitory, as a preparatory institution, and emigration
to countries where there is plenty of honest labor and labor’s wages,
are good practical means, which Lord Ashley could refer them to.
And it cannot be denied that England, in its extensive and as yet
scantily-peopled colonies, has an excellent mode of assistance and
resource for its dangerous population, and in especial for its
superabundant population. And one cannot but acknowledge that it is the
increasing emigration to these colonies which gives England at this time
freer breathing-room and a more vigorous life.
-----
[4] The ourang-outang is dead since Miss Bremer’s visit. He died of
inflammation of the lungs; and, with truth it may be said, much
regretted. During his short life in the gardens he had shown himself
docile, and remarkably intelligent.
Trans.
* * * * *
=THE EXILE.=
=BY CAROLINE F. ORNE.=
Weep for the dead! for him in silence sleeping,
O’er whose lone grave the wild winds coldly sweep;
Weep for the dead, yet make but little weeping,
He lies at peace, unbroken is his sleep.
His last fond look of love on thee was resting,
His hands last feeble pressure met thine own;
It was of thee he made his last requesting,
Fell on thy ear his last, sweet, lingering tone.
Weep that ye hear his steps no more returning,
That he in darkness and in stillness lies;
Make not for him a long and bitter mourning,
Calm is the slumber that has sealed his eyes.
But weep for him who far away has wandered,
Whose feet tread painfully some distant strand,
Who sad and long life’s dream has vainly pondered,
Who mourns, deep longing, for his native land.
Faint and afar his heavy burden bearing,
No smile, no word, no look from thee can cheer;
Once all his cares were lighter for thy sharing,
Once all his joys, for thee, were doubly dear.
Oh, weep for him! there is no consolation;
He liveth, but for thee his life is o’er;
Count the slow years with weary annotation,
The mocking years shall bring him back no more.
Sit by thy hearth-stone in the silence grieving,
Take from the past its sweet yet faded flowers;
For thee no tree of hope has spring-time’s leaving,
The song is silent in thy pleasant bowers.
From all thy future him thou must dissever,
Poor broken heart! in vain must thou deplore;
His feet from that far land shall seek thee never,
He shall return no more—to thee no more.
* * * * *
=REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.=
_Lillian and Other Poems. By William Mackworth Praed. Now first
Collected. New York: Redfield. 1 vol. 12mo._
Praed, one of the most brilliant, fanciful and peculiar poets of the
century, has met with singular ill-luck in his native land in not
finding either an editor or a public for the chance-offsprings of his
sparkling muse. To Dr. Griswold belongs the credit of rescuing his
pieces from oblivion, of collecting them in a permanent form, and of
introducing them with a preface which presents, with condensed felicity
of expression, the leading incidents of Praed’s life, and the subtle
peculiarities of his genius. Poet, scholar, and politician, Praed was
also a most popular and accomplished man of society, and not a little of
the raciness of his poems consists in their curious combination of the
romantic and the worldly. They suggest one of those modern parlors
opening on one side into a greenhouse, with a strange blending in the
atmosphere of musk and sweet-briar, _eau de cologne_ and lilies. In such
a forced union of the ideal and the conventional we are, of course, all
the more piquantly reminded of their essential contrast. With all this
clever deviltry, however, in the instinctive action of Praed’s mind, he
has still given us some poems which indicate that a stout English heart
beats beneath the embroidered waistcoat of the man of fashion, and will
sometimes gush out in natural tenderness or passion. But his exquisitely
nice perception of the falsehood of cultivated and conventual life,
combined with a laughing charity for its pleasant hypocricies, commonly
interferes with his poetic faith; and he is continually provoking
sentimental readers by raising their serious sympathies only to give the
greater force to the flush of sarcasm which dissolves them. This
peculiarity springs, perhaps, from a deeper source than mere
intellectual mischievousness, and refers to a humorous sadness of mood
which is apt to characterize men who are both poets and wits—who see
things at once in their ideal and conventional relations, and are
fascinated by both. The observing reader will also detect, as a result
of this, a certain fine misanthropy in the poems, but a misanthropy
which is without malice or hatred. His description of the Troubadour, in
his delicious poem of that name, may stand in some degree for his own
portrait:
A wandering troubadour was he;
He bore a name of high degree,
And learned betimes to slay and sue,
As knights of high degree should do.
While vigor nerved his buoyant arm,
And youth was his to cheat and charm;
Being immensely fond of dancing,
And somewhat given to romancing,
He roamed about through towers and towns,
Apostrophizing smiles and frowns,
Singing sweet staves to beads and bonnets,
And dying, day by day, in sonnets.
Flippant and fair, and fool enough,
And careless where he met rebuff,
Poco-curante in all cases
Of furious foes, or pretty faces,
With laughing lip, and jocund eye,
And studied tear and practiced sigh,
And ready sword, and ready verse,
And store of ducats in his purse,
He sinned few crimes, loved many times,
And wrote a hundred thousand rhymes!
Among the best among the many good things in this volume is “The Belle
of the Ball,” “The Vicar,” “The Legend of the Teuful-Haus,” “The Bridal
of Belmont,” and “The Red Fisherman.” We have but space for a
description of Richard Cœur de Lion—a fair specimen of Praed’s dashing
manner:
A ponderous thing was Richard’s can,
And so was Richard’s boot,
And Saracens and liquor ran,
Where’er he set his foot.
So fiddling here, and fighting there,
And murdering time and tune,
With sturdy limb, and listless air,
And gauntleted hand, and jeweled hair,
Half monarch, half buffoon,
He turned away from feast to fray,
From quarreling to quaffing,
So great in prowess and in pranks,
So fierce and funny in the ranks,
That Saladin and Soldan said,
Where’er that mad-cap Richard led,
Alla! he held his breath for dread,
And burst his sides for laughing!
At court, the humor of a king
Is always voted “quite the thing;”
Morals and cloaks are loose or laced
According to the sovereign’s taste,
And belles and bouquets both are dressed
Just as his majesty thinks best.
Of course, in that delightful age,
When Richard ruled the roast,
Cracking of craniums was the rage,
And beauty was the toast.
Ay! all was laugh, and life, and love;
And lips and shrines were kissed;
And vows were ventured in the grove,
And lances in the list;
And boys roamed out in sunny weather
To weave a wreath and rhyme together:
While dames, in silence and in satin,
Lay listening to the soft French-Latin,
And flung their sashes and their sighs
From odor-breathing balconies.
* * * * *
_The Howadji in Syria. By George William Curtis. Author of “Nile
Notes.” New York: Harper & Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._
Mr. Curtis has the finest genius for description among the myriad
tourists of the day. His observation is clear, accurate and
comprehensive, and the picture formed on his own imagination he can
transfer to the imagination of the reader without the omission of a
single detail. But he also has the poetic faculty of seeing not only the
external form and colors of objects, but their inward spirit and
meaning; and this makes his pictures alive with thought and feeling, and
constitutes their peculiar attractiveness. The reader is literally
transported; his eye falls on the page, and at once he is in Cairo or
Jerusalem, not only seeing those places, but experiencing the pure and
perfect luxury of the feelings they awaken in an imaginative mind. It is
this magical power which places Mr. Curtis above all contemporary
writers of travels. He has really caught the spirit of the east. Some
London critics have objected to his book on account of its
characteristic excellence, they being pleased to call his felicity and
sureness of insight by the name of idealization, using the word to
convey a charge of misrepresentation. We believe that he daguerreotypes
both forms and emotions, and is equally true to fact and thought. His
faculty of external observation is none the less accurate, because he
has in addition the genius which most travelers lack.
We do not know whether Mr. Curtis would succeed as well in describing
Western as Eastern life, manners and scenery. In the East he is at home,
even the fanciful fopperies with which he pertinaciously bespangles his
style, aiding the effect of his pictures. It may be that the sensuous
and dreamy atmosphere through which he shows us the forms of Oriental
life is native, not so much to his own mind, as the scenes he
represents, and that he could vary it with a variation in his subject.
If so, we hope he will not leave a corner of the earth unvisited, for
such a representative faculty would make him the Shakspeare of tourists.
One of the most delightful pictures in the present volume is the
“counterfeit presentment” of Oriental shopping. We quote it as a
specimen of Mr. Curtis’s word-painting. The Howadji enters a bazaar:
“The merchant, gravely courteous, reveals his treasures, little dreaming
that they are inestimable to the eyes that contemplate them. His wares
make poets of his customers, who are sure that the Eastern poets must
have passed their lives in an endless round of shopping.
“Here are silk stuffs from Damascus and Aleppo; cambric from the
district of Nablus, near the well of Jacob; gold and silver threads from
Mount Lebanon; keffie, the Bedouin handkerchiefs, from Mecca, and
fabrics of delicate device from Damascus blend their charm with the
Anatolian carpets of gorgeous tissue. The fruits of Hamas hang
beyond—dried fruits and blades from Celo Syria—pistacchios from
Aleppo, and over them strange Persian rugs.
“The eye feasts upon splendor. The wares are often clumsy, inconvenient,
and unshapely. The coarsest linen is embroidered with the finest gold.
It is a banquet of the crude elements of beauty, unrefined by taste. It
is the pure figment unworked into the picture.
“But the contemplation of these articles, of name and association so
alluring, and the calm curiosity of the soft eyes, that watch you in the
dimness of the bazaar, gradually soothe your mind like sleep, and you
sit by the merchant in pleasant reverie. You buy as long and as much as
you can. Have rhymes, and colors, and fancies prices?
“The courteous merchant asks fabulous sums for his wares, and you
courteously offer a tenth or a twentieth of his demand. He looks
grieved, and smokes. You smoke, and look resigned.
“‘Have the Howadji reflected that this delicate linen (it is coarse
crash) comes from Bagdad, upon camels, over the desert?’
“‘They have, indeed, meditated that fact.’
“‘Are these opulent strangers aware that the sum they mention would
plunge an unhappy merchant into irretrievable ruin?’
“‘The thought severs the heart-strings of the opulent strangers. But are
their resources rivers, whose sands are gold?’
“—And the soft-eyed Arab boy is dispatched for fresh coffee.
“We wear away the day in this delightful traffic. It has been a
rhetorical tilt. We have talked, and lived, and bought poetry, and at
twilight our treasures follow us to the hotel.”
* * * * *
_Paris Sketch Book. By William M. Thackeray. New York: D.
Appleton & Co. 2 vols. 18mo._
In these volumes the author of Vanity Fair appears as the social critic
of Paris. With an eye that nothing ridiculous or bizarre can elude, he
peers into the shady corners of French life, and transfers its oddities
to his page. His English sense, it is true, is somewhat too constantly
accompanied by his English prejudice; but even where he loses his
fairness he never loses his brilliancy.
Among the many attractions of the book are some capital stories
illustrative of French manners and character. Perhaps the best chapter
is that on Louis the Fourteenth. Its exposition of kingship is
mercilessly satirical and remorselessly just. There is a little wood-cut
in this part of the book, which the revolutionists should distribute in
every country in Europe as an instrument of insurrection. It represents
first the royal robes, then royalty without the robes, then royalty in
the robes. The inference to the eye is irresistible, that the robes and
not the men constitute royalty. The satire is especially directed at
Louis XIV., but it might with more justice be fastened on the present
sovereigns of the continent of Europe.
* * * * *
_The Study of Words. By Richard Cheverix French, B. D. New York:
Redfield. 1 vol. 12mo._
This volume has been very popular in England, having passed rapidly
through four editions. The author not only considers words as “fossil
poetry,” but fossil ethics and fossil history. Many of his speculations
are ingenious, tending to impress upon the mind the truth that language
is the incarnation of thought, and that words are things. But in all
that relates to the philosophy of the matter he is very inferior to one
of our writers, the Rev. Dr. Bushnell, of Hartford, who, in his late
theological writings has exhibited extraordinary depth and sentences of
thought in demonstrating both the vitality and the limitations of
language. Mr. French’s work is sketchy and readable, distinguished
rather for the value of its detached remarks than for the
comprehensiveness of its general plan. Its tendency, however, is to
provoke independent thinking on the subject, in which Mr. French’s
“Story of Words” may be disconnected from the languid wordiness of Mr.
French.
* * * * *
_The Works of Stephen Olin, D. D., LL. D., late President of the
Wesleyan University. New York: Harper & Brothers. Vols. 1 and 2.
12mo._
An elegant edition, such as the present promises to be, of the works of
so eminent a divine as the late Dr. Olin, is a contribution to
theological and to general literature. The first and second volumes
contain his Sermons, Lectures and Addresses. They are worthy of the
author’s extensive reputation as an accurate and practical thinker, and
are animated throughout with a tolerant but none the less kindling
religious faith. In an age when charity is so common a screen of
indifference, it is a refreshment to read an author whose toleration is
the result of the depth and breadth of his religious feeling, and whose
zeal is as intense as his mind is large. To young men, especially, these
volumes are invaluable as guides in the practical duties of life, and
the formation of a manly Christian character. Dr. Olin possessed, in no
ordinary measure, that wisdom which comes from the union of exalted
sentiment with sturdy sense, and his advice is therefore always elevated
and always practical.
* * * * *
_Claret and Olives; from the Garonne to the Rhone: or Notes
Social, Picturesque and Legendary, by the way. By Angus B.
Reach. New York: Geo. P. Putnam. 1 vol. 12mo._
This little volume, one of the series of Putnam’s Semi-Monthly Library,
is altogether the most attractive book on the south of France we have
ever read. It is written in a style of great liveliness and point, is
full of vigorous descriptions of scenery and manners, and some of the
legends are told inimitably. The series of volumes to which it belongs
we cannot too cordially commend to the public. Taking into consideration
the excellence of the type and paper, it is the cheapest collection of
books ever published in the country, the price of each volume being but
twenty-five cents. The cheapness, however, of the series is not so
noteable as the rare taste which guides the selection of books. The
present volume, “Claret and Olives,” is, in point of style alone, a work
of high literary merit, and we cannot but think that its author will
wake up some fine morning and find himself famous.
* * * * *
_The English Family Robinson. The Desert Home, or the Adventures
of a Lost Family in the Wilderness. By Captain Mayne Reid,
author of the “Rifle Rangers.” With Twelve Illustrations, by
William Harvey. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 18mo._
This charming volume belongs to a class of works possessing universal
interest. It narrates the trials and experiences of an English family
lost in the great desert in the interior of North America. In this
desert they discover a delightful oasis, and dwell on it for ten years.
The descriptions of their housekeeping and hunting are exceedingly
vivid, while there is just enough variety in the characters of the
family to add a dramatic interest to the narrative. The volume is mostly
devoted to exciting representations of hunting adventures, and we know
of few books better calculated to convey to young persons a knowledge of
natural history. The author evidently writes from personal observation
both of the scenery and animals he describes.
* * * * *
_Gaieties and Gravities. By Horace Smith. New York: D. Appleton
& Co. 1 vol. 18mo._
Most of the pieces contained in this volume were originally contributed
to the New Monthly Magazine, in the old days of that periodical, when it
was edited by Campbell, the poet. Smith is now widely known as one of
the authors of the “Rejected Addresses,” and as the sole author of
numerous admirable novels; but we doubt if any of his works show his
genius and character in a light at once so amiable and so sparkling as
they are exhibited in the present delightful volume. Full of curious
information, brilliant satire, keen observation, and tingling wit, every
sentence is a stimulant to attention. The essays on “Noses,” “Lips and
Kissing,” “Ugly Women,” “The Eloquence of Eyes,” “The Literary Society
of Houndsditch,” not to mention others, are radiant with fancy and wit.
* * * * *
_Thorpe, A Quiet English Town, and Human Life Therein. By
William Mountford. Boston: Ticknor, Reed & Fields. 1 vol. 18mo._
Mr. Mountford is favorably known to thoughtful readers as the author of
“Martyria” and “Euthanasy.” The present volume will add to the
reputation he has already acquired by them, conceived as it is in the
same kindly spirit, and admitting of a greater variety of incidents and
characters. The whole representation of the town is exceedingly
felicitous, combining considerable diversity of topic and subject with a
pervading unity of impression. The most attractive portions of the book
are the religious and philosophical conversations which are naturally
interwoven with its homely incidents—conversations which are
characterized by profound spiritual feeling, pure in tone, sweet in
sentiment, full of original thoughts and suggestions, and expressed in a
style of great clearness and beauty.
* * * * *
_Life of Lord Jeffrey; with a Selection from his Correspondence.
By Lord Cockburn. 2 vols. Philadelphia: Lippincott, Grambo &
Co._
We have read with great interest this admirable life of Jeffrey, from
the pen of an intimate friend, who has performed his “labor of love,” in
a most admirable and satisfactory manner. The great Edinburgh critic is
presented to us in the character of a most amiable friend, and a
profound, but somewhat timid statesman. He who put forth, through the
“Edinburgh Review,” his fierce and remorseless criticisms of
contemporary literature, is here pictured as the agreeable friend, the
loving husband and father, and the honest censor of what he deemed
pernicious in letters. He stands out from the canvas “a man of gentle
amenities, full of all charity, profoundly impressed with the dignity
and responsibility of his mission.” Every reader of Jeffrey should
purchase these volumes to obtain a fair estimation of the worth and
various ability of the man.
* * * * *
_A Treatise on a Box of Instruments, and the Slide Rule: for the
use of Gaugers, Engineers, Seamen, and Students. By Thomas
Kentish. Philadelphia: Henry Carey Baird._
This invaluable little volume is a continuation of a series of useful
works, for which the country is indebted to the enterprise of Mr. Baird;
and we are mistaken if his efforts to extend the knowledge of the useful
do not meet a very ample return. The title of the volume is sufficiently
significant; and we have only to add, that the book is admirably adapted
to fulfill its purpose.
* * * * *
_The Waverly Novels. By Sir Walter Scott. Complete in 12
volumes. Abbotsford edition, vol. 1.—Waverly. Philadelphia:
Lippincott, Grambo & Co._
This beautiful edition of the Waverly Novels, has long been wanted by
American readers, and the beautiful type and paper of this edition
afford a most desired relief to the eye. The publishers announce that
they have now ready, Guy Mannering—The Antiquary—Rob Roy—The Black
Dwarf—Old Mortality—and The Bride of Lammermoor. The price per novel,
in paper, is fifty cents.
* * * * *
_Romanism at Home. Letters to the Hon. Roger B. Taney, Chief
Justice of the United States. By Kirwan. New York: Harper &
Brothers. 1 vol. 12mo._
These letters are the production of a vigorous and witty
controversialist, who brings the full resources of a firm will, a clear
understanding, and an animated rhetoric, to the task of assailing the
church of Rome. It is a very stimulating book.
* * * * *
_Hearts Unveiled; or, “I Knew You Would Like Him.” By Sarah
Emery Saymore. New York: D. Appleton & Co. 1 vol. 12mo._
This is what may be called a didactic novel; a kind of composition which
we find it very difficult to read. It is, however, replete with shrewd
remark, and contains many admirable maxims for the discipline both of
the mind and the heart. The question of woman’s rights is very
elaborately discussed in the volume, and a strong leaning manifested
against the new ideas on that topic.
* * * * *
_The Practical Model Calculator. By Oliver Byrne, Civil,
Military and Mechanical Engineer. Philadelphia: Henry Carey
Baird (successor to E. L. Carey.)_
This is another of the series of very highly useful works with which we
have been favored from the press of Mr. Baird, and one that will be of
great service to the engineer, mechanic, machinist, naval architect,
miner and millwright. It is prepared with great care and accuracy, and
will be invaluable to all whose business or studies lead them to inform
themselves fully of the subjects upon which it treats.
* * * * *
=LITERARY GOSSIP.=
LIFE OF THACKERAY.
Everybody knows Thackeray, and nobody knows any thing about him. We are
therefore glad to help ourselves and our readers to a little knowledge
of him, derived from a German authority by the _Tribune_. He was born in
Calcutta in the year 1811, and is now consequently 41 years old. His
father was a high official of the East India Company, which secured him
the _entrée_ of the best society, and a large income. Our author was
born a “gentleman.” He went to school in England—experienced all the
tyranny of a brutal master, and the misery of that system of fagging, a
legalized bullying of the little boys by the larger, which is so
repulsive to every noble and decent feeling, and which the Englishmen so
stoutly defend, as a process which “takes the starch out of pride,” but
which is altogether too unreasonable not to lose temper about in
discussing. Thackeray has revenged himself upon this inhuman and
disgusting system in his Christmas story of “Dr. Birch and his Young
Friends,” and he has a general fling at Boarding Schools in the opening
of “Vanity Fair,” in which he exhorts the reader to trust the promise of
a school prospectus no more than he does the praises of an epitaph. He
left school for the University at Cambridge, where he studied with
Kinglake, the author of Eothen—Eliot Warburton, who wrote “The Crescent
and the Cross,” and was lost with the Amazon, and Richard Moncton
Milnes, a well-known London _litterateur_, a poet, and biographer of
Keats, and an ornamental liberal member of Parliament.
Meanwhile the elder Thackeray died, and the future historian of Vanity
Fair, launched himself into its midst with an annual income of about a
thousand pounds. He lived according to his whims, drew sharp and clever
caricatures, smoked, lounged, feasted upon books of every kind, and
opened the oyster of the world at leisure. His mother, a woman of great
beauty, and full of talent and tenderness, whose memory is so filially
embalmed in the character of the mother of Arthur Pendennis, married
again, about this time, and the young man, always the object of the
proudest maternal love, came into possession of his paternal
inheritance. He immediately returned from the continent where he had
been staying a little time, and took up his residence in the Temple.
Nascent Jurists and Budding Barristers at Law, who have completed a full
course at Cambridge or Oxford, enjoy the privilege of paying high prices
for comfortable quarters in the Temple, and of eating splendid dinners
in its ancient dining-room. Here Thackeray entered himself as a student
of jurisprudence, and in the character of Warrington in “Pendennis,” he
has developed the career of the students, and the varied life of the
Temple, in some of the best passages he has ever written. Henry Taylor,
the dramatist, author of Philip Van Artevelde, is among the residents of
the Temple, and is mentioned by the German Commentator as the original
of a character in Thackeray’s romance. We are at a loss to determine
which, for if Warrington be so intended, he seems to us to lose the
point. Warrington is a man of power without a career—Taylor, a man of
talent, who has certainly achieved a reputation quite equal to his just
claims. However, the Temple not only furnished our author characters,
but also the necessity of drawing them; for while there, and when
scarcely more than 23 years old, the young man had “fooled away” his
property, and was poor. The days of smoking, lounging, and “loafing”
were evidently ending, and he betook himself to Paris, conceiving, from
his facility in sketching, that he was born for an artist. A brief time
among the Parisian ateliers sufficed to remove this idea. But as his
step-father at this period established a journal in London, called “The
Constitutional,” the artist naturally became its Paris correspondent.
Thus, like Dickens, he commenced his literary career as a journalist. In
Paris, Thackeray met his present wife, an Irish lady of good family, and
married her.
From this time dates his first purely literary effort—the “Yellowplush
Papers,” afterward published as “Jeames’ Diary”—in which his
characteristic tendency is clearly indicated. The step-father’s
“Constitutional” absorbed most of his property, of course, and failed.
The son was obliged to return to England, and to begin work in earnest
for himself. He wrote for _Frazer’s Magazine_ and literary reviews for
“_The Times_,” in which he ridiculed the early Bulwer style of
romance—the interesting burglars and romance murderers. But the public,
resolved upon enjoying the fascination of crime sentimentally described,
received his strictures coldly. The struggling author turned to the
humorous, sketchy style, to win an ear and gain a penny. Literary
friends, more fairly favored than he, opened their purses to him; but
his wife became insane, and is, at this day, the inmate of an asylum. He
worked industriously with his pen—he wrote the “Great Hoggarty
Diamond,” “The Snob Papers,” the “Irish Sketch Book,” “Journey from
Cornhill to Cairo,” “Our Street,” “Rebecca and Rowena,” “The
Kickleburies on the Rhine,” and smaller papers, under the name of
Michael Angelo Titmarsh; and Chambers’ Cyclopedia commended him, before
he was so universally known, as “a quiet observer.” In all these
sketches his characteristic power shows itself. The two last were
written after the great fame and success of “Vanity Fair;” but they are
only studies for his large pictures—and it may be noted as proof of his
genuine genius, that the completed figures are infinitely superior to
the designs, and it is in completing the picture from the speech, so
that it shall gain in meaning as well as in elaboration and size, that
the true artist is shown. Mr. Thackeray offered the MS. of “Vanity Fair”
to a magazine. The editor declined it. The author published it, and made
his name immortal. It was followed by “Pendennis,” a mellower, riper
fruit, to our fancy; but we have no thought of entering upon a criticism
of the author. His latest public literary work is the course of lectures
upon the wits of Queen Anne’s times, which has been read before literary
and fashionable London, and received with the greatest applause. Copious
abstracts were published in the leading journals, and there is little
doubt that they are quite worthy their author. Mr. Thackeray is now
understood to be engaged in completing a novel of which the scene is
laid among the persons and the times treated in his lectures.
Of Mr. Thackeray’s intention to visit the United States, we hear nothing
said. We think that there could be little doubt of the success of his
lectures here.
* * * * *
Tight Lacing.—In “Dickens’ Household Words,” we find a notice of the
first Evening School for Women opened at Birmingham for the instruction
of young women who labor in the factories during the day. The experiment
has been rewarded with complete success. It is solely under the charge
of ladies, who, with the most praiseworthy assiduity, devote their
evenings to the moral and intellectual culture of these poor sisters of
toil, adding the force of example—even in matters of dress—to the
wisdom of precept. The following passage is worthy of the attention of
our fair readers.
“As to the matter of dress. There can be nothing but good in telling the
plain fact, that the most earnest and devoted of the ladies have found
it their duty to wear no stays, in order to add the force of example to
their efforts to save the young women who are killing themselves with
tight-lacing alone. One poor scholar died almost suddenly from tight
lacing alone. Another was, presently after, so ill, from the same abuse,
that she could do nothing. A third could not stoop to her desk, and had
to sit at a higher one, which suited the requirements of her
self-imposed pillory. In overlooking those who were writing, we were
struck by the short breathing of several of them. We asked what their
employments were, supposing them to be of some pernicious nature. It was
not so: all were cases of evident tight-lacing. The ugly walling-up of
the figure is a painful contrast to the supple grace of some of the
teachers. The girls see this grace, but will not believe, till convinced
by the feel, that there are no stays to account for it.
“‘And what have you got on?’ said one of the ladies, feeling in like
manner. ‘Why, you are perfectly walled up. How can you bear it?’
“‘Why,’ answered the girl, ‘_I have got only six-and-twenty
whalebones_.’
“The lady obtained some anatomical plates, and formed a class of the
older women, apart from the rest, to whom she displayed the
consequences, in full, of this fatal practice. At the moment, they
appear to disbelieve the facts; but a little time shows that they have
taken the alarm—to what extent, the dress of their daughters, as they
grow up, will probably indicate.
“The number on the books of this school is about one hundred; the
average attendance is about fifty. The eagerness to attend is
remarkable; and the dread of losing their place through non-attendance
is testified in the strongest ways. Many are detained late at their work
on Friday evenings; but they come, if only for a quarter of an hour; or
if prevented, perhaps send a supplicating note that their place may not
be filled up.”
* * * * *
American Literature in England.—America is rising in literary greatness
with startling vigor. The spirit of progressive enlightenment is there
ever present, and the motto blazoned in the intellectual escutcheon of
the nation is, “Excelsior!” We were aware that a republic with a cheap
and unfettered press, and a system of public schools that brings the
means of an education within the limits of the humblest class of
society, must naturally have a co-existent amount of national
intelligence, which other nations with less advantages could not
possess. We have long been admirers of the genius of Cooper, Irving, and
Bryant; but it is only recently that we have been made acquainted with
the weird and subtle efforts of Edgar A. Poe, the remarkable power of
Hawthorne, the playful fancy of Holmes and Saxe, the beautiful melodies
of Morris, and the ingenious heart-picturings of Grace Greenwood, the
sisters Carey, Mrs. Kirkland, and Clara Moreton. The works of these
writers have contributed to increase our already formed admiration of
the remarkable freshness and vigor of intellect that is daily developing
itself in the United States; and it is with a joyous friendliness that
we recognize the growing claims of the young country to a place among
the literary nations of this era.—_London Daily News._
* * * * *
=GRAHAM’S SMALL-TALK.=
=Held in his idle moments, with his Readers, Correspondents and
Exchanges.=
Among the agreeable letters we have received from many of our
subscribers, upon the superior character of our June number, we make
room for the following. The remark of our correspondent upon the value
of newspaper notices we do not agree with, at least not in their
valuelessness, except in cases where they are “paid for” or _solicited_.
A frank expression of sentiment in regard to “Graham,” we invite, and
try sometimes to provoke a little captiousness—but the 1340 editors
with whom we exchange, will be honest in spite of us, and pronounce
“Graham” a great Magazine; and as these opinions coincide with that of
our correspondent, we must submit.
* * * * *
_Cincinnati, May 23, 1852._
George R. Graham, Esq. }
Philadelphia: }
The reception of your Magazine for June, with “new type and paper,” and,
I may add, new attractions in the shape of an increase of “solid
matter,” reminds me of a promise made myself long ago—to write you a
letter expressive of earnest sympathy in your efforts, and hopes of your
ultimate success, in the publication of a journal worthy of our country
and yourself.
From month to month, since you resumed the management of “Graham,” I
have noticed a gradual yet sterling improvement in its pages, until the
June number relieves me from all anxiety as to its future course and
_success_. I congratulate you, my dear sir.
Now that “Opinions of the Press” are so profuse and so _worthless_,
(especially to the book-buyer,) I have thought a word of unsought,
_unpaid for_ praise, might not be received unkindly from
A Subscriber.
* * * * *
A Fine Lithograph.—We have received from Messrs. Fetridge & Co., of
Boston, one of the finest specimens of the lithographic art that ever
commanded our attention. It is decidedly a credit to the artists and to
Boston. The subject of the picture is a representation of Miss E.
Kimberly, the celebrated Shaksperian reader and actress, in the
character of Isabella in “The Fatal Marriage.” It is from a
Daguerreotype by Southworth and Harvey, of Boston. Our readers will
recollect that this gifted young lady made her _debut_ as a Shaksperian
reader in this city (Philadelphia) some two and a half years ago. Since
that time she has appeared in various cities, before large and
intelligent audiences, with entire success. Her reputation is fully
established on a remarkably intellectual and correct delineator of the
leading characters in the higher drama. She has now fully adopted the
stage as her profession; for, with the approbation of such a veteran in
histrionic matters as Thomas Barry, Esq., of the Broadway theatre, New
York, (who was her instructor,) there can be no question of her fitness
for the avocation. Her friends are sanguine that she will reach the
highest round in the ladder of histrionic fame. The likeness of her, now
before us, portrays the intensity of sorrow more vividly than the
portrait of any female actress, in character, we ever beheld.
* * * * *
The writer of the following asks us to forgive him for venturing into
the regions poetic, and begs us not to clip his wings. Well, we wont;
and shall say in his defense that there is a very sober and serious vein
of prose in his poesy, which it becomes some delinquents to study.
Clapping our hand upon our pocket, we can say with the wag,—“You’ll
find no change with us;” so, if the following only induces a few of our
subscribers to “do better,” the change will be duly recorded.
“Dear Graham, how ‘heavenly-minded’ you seem,
Slicing your steel through the poet’s young dream,
For you off with his wings, as you say, with a sweep,
And then push him over the dangerous leap;
Where wingless he falls through the phantomy air,
Shrieking his wail o’er the gulf of despair.
“You’re ‘tender to poets,’ God grant it be true,
For what would they be if it wasn’t for you,
Who seem made to carve poets, by slicing away
The parts they need most when upward they stray,
For what, my dear sir, could one do without wings
To carry aloft every lay that he sings.
“There are those, or have been, who need none at all,
For their writings are far too ethereal to fall,
They soar of themselves to the regions on high,
In musical numbers that never can die.
But then there are those, dearest sir, who in song
Soar not thus aloft, but are plodding along.
“Perhaps you will say it is better at once
To slice off their _legs_, or even their sconce,
Than to be badly _bored_ as you’ve been before:
If so, this will _bore_ you at least one time more;
I know this is bad, your censure’d be just,
But bore you this once, I shall, for I must.
“You say ‘Mr. Reader, we make our best bow,
And stand with our cap in our hand even now;
If you don’t like our rig, don’t turn up your nose,
But suggest us a change, and what’s proper propose.’
The change that I’d wish I will give at a glance—
It’s I wish all subscribers would pay in advance;
Then the _two dollar fashion-plates_ would surely swing clear,
Instead of nine forty-five per month by the year.
“If I _bore_ you much more I shall have to be quick,
For a message has come to me now from the sick,
And wishing your readers with plenty of _tin_
To knock at your sanctum and walk boldly in,
And _fork out_ the _rhino_, three dollars apiece,
’Tis the change that I wish you—may it daily increase.
“For nothing I’ve found in this vain world of trouble
Will suit _Eds_ like having their subscription-lists double;
Not only in names, but that each one will pay
In advance for the paper, and take it away.
Now I wish you, dear sir, in all good to increase,
With plenty of readers, and money, and peace.
“Orion.”
* * * * *
Fitzgerald’s City Item.—The other day this beautiful and ably conducted
weekly came to us clothed in a new suit of type, and printed upon white
and firm paper. The Item is now one of the largest, handsomest, and
certainly one of the ablest of our weeklies. All who take an interest in
Business, Literature, the Fine Arts, Music, and the Drama, are
recommended to subscribe to it. On these and kindred subjects, it has
ever been regarded as first-rate authority. Every family, every
gentleman and lady of taste and leisure in the country, should take
Fitzgerald’s City Item. It is furnished at the moderate price of $2 a
year, in advance. Address Fitzgerald & Co., 46 South Third street,
Philadelphia. (Post paid.)
* * * * *
Graham’s Magazine for June is a capital one, as usual. Graham don’t get
out any other kind but the best kind. He’s quiet, don’t brag; but he
does better, by publishing the best Magazine in
Philadelphia.—_Perrysburg Star._
Well, yes, brother; we have learned the value of the adage as to “Brag
and Holdfast.” Hence our 112 pages were _announced_ and have been
carried out in every number since January. Our wood-cuts are engravings.
* * * * *
Church, who has just enlarged his excellent Weekly, enlarges also upon
the value of Graham’s wood-cuts.
Wood Engraving.—The beautiful specimens of wood engraving, now
beginning to be seen in many of our modern publications, do, indeed,
indicate a marked improvement in that branch of pictorial embellishment,
over the rough unsightly cuts of a few years back, and at which now the
growing taste of the public eye would hardly glance. Nor can we indulge
these remarks without bestowing upon the printer his own success in
doing full justice to the engraver by clear and beautiful impression,
which surely depends upon _him_; and when he has the proper material in
ink and paper, our fine publications compare well with those from across
the water.
Our friend Graham has not been relax in his exertions to beautify his
agreeable monthly with fine embellishments in wood, and his numerous
patrons will be much more gratified with the results of Mr. Devereux’s
prolific pencil, than the smoky mezzotints which have so long intruded
upon the pages of magazinedom. We go for good legitimate line
engravings, either steel or wood, and nothing else. One of “Mote’s” gems
is worth a bushel of commonplace truck. We are right glad to see fine
wood specimens interlarded in the pages of Graham. Onward, say we, with
your well-stored monthly, rich in literature, beautiful in
embellishment. A large list is your sure reward. “To him who wills there
is no obstacle.”—_Church’s Bizarre._
* * * * *
The New Volume.—The almost universal voice of the American Press, in
the notices of our June number, encourages us to great hopes for the
volume which commences with the present number. The elevated tone of the
work seems to meet with the entire approval of our readers, so far as we
can learn from letters received from all parts of the United States,
giving us ample warrant for a continuance of our efforts to render
“Graham” a Magazine of the very highest order.
If our friends will assist us in extending the circulation of “Graham”
for the next six months in their respective post-towns, we flatter
ourself that we shall open the volume in January next with a reputation
and circulation unequaled by any former volume of this Magazine. A word
to a neighbor may secure his co-operation; and as we send five copies
for six months at half the yearly club rates, the outlay will be but
small for each six months subscriber. Try it, friends!
* * * * *
The Family Friend.—Our friend Godman, of Columbia, S. C., has assumed,
we see, the entire responsibility of the publishing, as well as the
editorial department of his admirable weekly paper. That he may extend
its circulation, with all the rapidity its manifest merits should
insure, is our most sincere wish, and, to aid him, we offer Graham’s
Magazine and The Family Friend, one year, for Four Dollars, in advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
=A FRENCH IDEA.=
To keep the mind intently fixed
On number one alone—
To look to no one’s interest,
But push along your own,
With the slightest reference
To how, or what, or when—
_Eh bien! c’est la première Idée._
_Napoléonienne._
To sneak into a good man’s house,
With sham credentials penned—
To sneak into his heart and trust,
And seem his children’s friend—
To learn his secrets, find out where
He keeps his keys—and then
To bone his spoons—_c’est une Idée_
_Napoléonienne_.
Bon Gaultier.
* * * * *
[Illustration: =SMOKE NO JOKE!=]
* * * * *
=Transcriber’s Notes:=
Archaic spellings and hyphenation have been retained. Punctuation has
been corrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted
below. For illustrations, some caption text may be missing or incomplete
due to condition of the originals used for preparation of the ebook.
Page iii, Race. By Bon Gualtier ==> Race. By Bon Gaultier
Page iv, By Bon Gualtier ==> By Bon Gaultier
Page 7, quick retrogade movement ==> quick retrograde movement
Page 11, the unparalled number ==> the unparalleled number
Page 11, a detatched segment ==> a detached segment
Page 24, your poor old kinsnam ==> your poor old kinsman
Page 24, Nothwitstanding ==> Notwithstanding
page 25, of Gaudalupé” is said ==> of Guadalupé” is said
page 25, out to Gaudalupé, ==> out to Guadalupé,
page 26, gates of Gaudalupé ==> gates of Guadalupé
page 26, otter of roses ==> ottar of roses
page 27, Gaudalupé. The building ==> Guadalupé. The building
Page 27, others appying a handful ==> others applying a handful
page 27, tired of Gaudalupé ==> tired of Guadalupé
Page 29, the but-end of a song ==> the butt-end of a song
Page 32, One one side ==> On one side
Page 37, his eyes fixed stedfastly ==> his eyes fixed steadfastly
Page 40, errant of mercy ==> errand of mercy
Page 41, it its true ==> it is true
Page 49, Countess De Salins ==> Countess de Salins
Page 50, came down again to day ==> came down again to-day
Page 51, but cbme and see me ==> but come and see me
Page 51, received intimatioes ==> received intimations
Page 52, will comprohend the passing ==> will comprehend the passing
Page 52, twelve hours te me. ==> twelve hours to me.
Page 55, accuse himself at any moment of feeling like a scoun-
Count de Salins Nor do I comprehend how he could ==>
Count de Salins. Nor do I comprehend how he could
accuse himself at any moment of feeling like a scoun-
Page 57, it was done, Jeneatte ==> it was done, Jeanette
Page 57, Noalles is his confessor ==> Noailles is his confessor
Page 63, Monsieur de Lacey,” he said ==> Monsieur de Lacy,” he said
Page 65, you were the second, Loius ==> you were the second, Louis
Page 67, render him comfotrable. ==> render him comfortable.
Page 68, it is quite honor ==> it is quite an honor
Page 70, stories of Goliah ==> stories of Goliath
Page 76, like to to know ==> like to know
Page 79, in his frendly glance ==> in his friendly glance
Page 83, disappeared frow his lips ==> disappeared from his lips
Page 86, her rose-colored boddice ==> her rose-colored bodice
Page 91, callous protruberances ==> callous protuberances
Page 101, Cops and Turks reposing ==> Copts and Turks reposing
Page 107, district of Nablons ==> district of Nablus
Page 107, Anadolian carpets ==> Anatolian carpets
Page 108, The Bride of Lamermoor ==> The Bride of Lammermoor
Page 111, too etherial to fall ==> too ethereal to fall